World of Warcraft Class Micro-Stories ~~ Monk

(This one isn’t so much a micro-story because it’s almost 2k words, but we’ll fudge a bit for the sake of the series’ title)

 

 

So-Ra knew Zheng was in trouble. Again. She knew it the same way her yehyeh knew the rain was coming when his knees ached. Except with Zheng it was a churning in her gut like a hundred snakes coiling around each other, and she bit her lip to keep a nervous laugh from escaping.

When she’d woken from her afternoon nap, he was gone, and though he’d left no note there was only one place she was likely to find him: the bar. Before heading out of the room she grabbed her staff, not knowing what she’d encounter when she found Zheng. When she got to the door of their room, the raucous noise from the downstairs and upstairs drinking areas made her pause. However, it was a particularly loud voice that caused her white and grey ears to twitch.

It was nearing dusk, and as she made her way across the plank bridge to the second floor of the Salty Sailor Tavern, she found the bar full to capacity with pirates. So-Ra didn’t have any particular issues with pirates, per say. However, when the barkeep in Orgrimmar suggested this place to Zheng, she didn’t believe he’d done so from a kind, helpful place. Zheng had, to be fair, annoyed the orc with all his talk of pandaren brews. Zheng, oblivious to the orc’s growls and bared teeth, had jumped immediately on the idea, and So-Ra reluctantly followed him out of The Broken Tusk.

“Pirate brew, Ra! I can’t wait!”

Zheng was excited to hop on one of the zeppelins on the middle rise of the Horde city, and then grab a couple of wyverns from Grom’gol down to Booty Bay. If So-Ra was being honest, she enjoyed flying over the lush jungles, as the salty, humid wind made her nose twitch and eyes water. It was a vast improvement over the smell of ale she swore would never leave her nostrils, but all too soon it was over.

After all the travel, the two agreed to a nap before he’d drag her down to the bar. Apparently, the excitement had been too much for him, and he’d left her upstairs. While she’d been snoozing away, there was no telling what kind of trouble he was getting into.

She nimbly made her way through the first set of tables, avoiding patrons who were already well into their drinks, and stopped dead in her tracks at the top of the stairs that led to the main floor. Zheng wasn’t difficult to find, being the only pandaren, but even if they’d been in a bar back home, she’d be able to pick him out. His onyx black and ash grey fur wasn’t too terribly common among the black and whites and reds. His short hair was pulled back with a spring blue tie that matched his eyes, one of which had a black marking that made him appear as though he perpetually had what furless races called a black eye.

“—and I only managed to make it away from the hozen with nothing but my staff. And when I say nothing, I mean nothing.”

So-Ra rolled her eyes. If there was one thing Zheng enjoyed almost as much as new brew, it was new people to tell his stories to.

The tauren next to him, whose fur closely resembled Zheng’s in color, threw his head backward in an uproarious laugh. His steel nose ring glinted in the cheery lantern light, and his one, ivory horn gleamed dully. The other was broken close to his skull and capped off. When he brought his head forward again, he raised one of his large hands and clapped Zheng on the shoulder.

This was where it all went to pot.

When the tauren hit Zheng’s shoulder, it caused him to take a step back and knock into a goblin sitting on a stool. When he hit the goblin, the goblin’s face was knocked into his drink, and he came back up, spluttering and coughing. While coughing, he knocked his drink over, which spilled all over the back of the dwarf next to the goblin. The dwarf shouted and jumped back, knocking into the table closest to the bar. The wood of the table against the wooden floor let out an unholy screech, and the jarring motion knocked every single drink over onto the group of human pirates.

It was like So-Ra was witness to the worst-luck game of dominoes, and with each event her horror and panic grew like a balloon ready to pop.

There was a moment of silence from all who witnessed the event, and then the brawl started.

So-Ra made her way down to the main floor, dodging and slipping through a crowd full of jabs, kicks, and elbows. More than once she used her staff to deter anyone foolish enough to square up on her, and one hit was usually more than enough. When she finally made it within sight of Zheng, she stopped in her tracks and clenched her fists around her staff.

Back-to-back with the tauren, the two of them were laughing and throwing punches as though this were all part of some grand game. However, before she could get through the rest of the crowd to Zheng, there were cries of genuine pain instead of the grunts of a brawl, rippling from the front door. So-Ra turned just in time to deftly avoid the spiked mace of one of many of the town’s bruisers pouring through the door.

Zheng and the tauren hadn’t noticed yet, though, and both managed to take a hit or two that had So-Ra cringing. Not just from the imagined pain, but from how much work it was going to be to heal the two fools.

The bruisers went about their work, sussing out what happened with practiced efficiency. In short order, Zheng and the tauren were thrown from the tavern without so much as a by your leave. So-Ra, though, had started upstairs the second after the first mace hit landed. She gathered their things, since she was reasonably sure they’d be asked to leave, anyhow, and made her way outside after not finding them at the bar.

Despite the smell of fish and seawater, So-Ra’s keen nose managed to follow the scent of blood from outside the tavern door to one of the ramshackle shops. The sign on the door proclaimed; ‘Closed! Go Away!’ in a way that came off as very goblin, and she shook her head at the general lack of manners the race possessed.

When she ignored the sign and knocked, a grumpy voice called from the other side; “Go away! We’re closed! Don’t you know how to read?”

“I’m here to help,” So-Ra said, just loud enough for her words to travel through the door.

“It’s So-Ra!” Zheng said, his words slurred. Though if it was from drink or injury, So-Ra wouldn’t know until she could see him.

There was some scuffling, and as she waited for the person on the other side of the door to open it, she shifted the heavy packs on her back. After more time than she deemed necessary, the door finally opened.

In the doorway, and backlit by the lantern in the room, was a grumpy goblin face to match the grumpy voice.

“Yeah? Whatdya want?” the male goblin asked, and tilted his pointed chin up so he could meet So-Ra’s blue eyes with his black ones.

“To heal these two idiots, unless you have another trained healer at your beck and call. If so, I’d be more than happy to leave them to you,” So-Ra said, biting the words off in clipped tones. Then she smiled wide, meeting his sharp-toothed scowl with her own set of sharp canines.

“Oh, cousin, please don’t be that way,” Zheng mournfully slurred this time.

Probably drink instead of injury, then, if he was sounding that put out at her.

The goblin growled, but then moved aside to let her in.

The sight in front of her made her grimace inwardly. There was blood, of course, but pandaren, and apparently tauren, had tough hides. So, despite the maces being spiked the damage was minimal. Still, it wasn’t the busted knuckles, swollen faces, or cuts that had her frowning.

It was the fact the two of them were leaning on one another and giggling. Like two sprites who managed to get into some brew and set about causing mischief in town.

“Monag and this fluffy monstrosity busted through my door not a few minutes ago. They’ve done nothing but cackle like drunk witches since. I’m guessing the state they’re in has to do with all the bruisers running toward the tavern?” the goblin asked So-Ra.

So-Ra nodded, and set her packs down. She didn’t want to know how the goblin knew what a drunk witch cackled like, but she’d take him at his word. She was sure stranger things happened across the lands outside of Pandaria.

“He is not a fluffy monstrosity, Syxkes. He’s my new friend. Zheng!” Monag said between breathless laughter.

The goblin, Syxkes, snorted and shook his head.

“You got anything to put them under?” Syxkes asked, his tone pleading.

“I do, but it will have to come after the sobering potion. Combining a sleep potion or magic with drinking is a good way for someone to never wake up again,” she explained, and started pulling vials from her pack.

Her ears twitched at the goblin’s grumbling, which sounded an awful lot like; ‘Well, that wouldn’t be the worst thing if it shut them up,’ but she ignored him.

After she gathered the correct vials and administered the sobering potions, the two males were far less amused and groaning in pain.

“Oh, So-Ra, you’re so cruel,” Zheng said, leaning forward in a sitting position on the floor, holding his head between his hands.

“Hah!” she said, her voice sharp enough that the two males’ ears flattened against their skulls.

“Please, not so loud,” Monag whispered, his deep voice rumbling through the small room.

She simply harrumphed at this, and went about healing them. After the worst of their injuries were seen to, she handed them their sleeping potions. A wry smile crossed Zheng’s face as the two of them lifted the vials to clink them together.

“Here’s to new friends and good brew,” Zheng said.

Monag lowed his agreement, and the two of them downed the potions. Not long after the two were fast asleep, their snores near to rattling the windows from their panes.

So-Ra shook her head. “Males,” she said in a long-suffering voice.

“Hey, not all of us are idiots,” Syxkes said, affronted.

So-Ra graced him with an apologetic smile. “You’re right. My apologies. Do you mind if I sleep here with them?” she asked, not wanting to impose on the goblin any more than they already had. Though, she wasn’t sure where she’d go if he said no.

“Nah, go ahead.” As Monag let out a particularly loud snore, Syxkes shook his head. “Better you than me, anyway. I’ll be here in the morning to open shop, though, so you’ll all need to be out by then,” he warned.

“Of course, and thank you for your hospitality,” So-Ra said, and bowed.

Syxkes waved her off. “You shut them up. That’s payment enough.” Then he took a set of stairs behind the counter up to the second floor.

So-Ra pulled out her mat and laid it down in front of the door, just in case she didn’t wake up in time to avert whatever disaster Zheng would try to get himself into next. As she drifted off to the chorus of familiar and new snores, though, she was smiling.

Writing Prompt ~~ “You here to finish me off?”

Art by Vyrhelle-Comm @ http://vyrhelle-comm.deviantart.com/art/We-need-No-I-need-you-275135835

 

“You here to finish me off?” she asked in a lightly accented whisper, barely audible over the patter of rain on the muddy ground and the rolling thunder as its grumbles dissipated.

There was no emotion in her voice, just as there was no life left in her pale blue eyes. No will to live. Even the chill of her pale flesh beneath his hands was able to pass through her clothing and his gloves, as though death was already claiming its next.

His hair, darker than the night sky between flashes of sizzling, white lightning, was sopping wet and escaping the braid he wore at the nape of his neck. Still, it couldn’t touch the darkness of the scowl that furrowed his brows over one, luminous amber eye and the eye-patch he wore over the ruin on the right side of his face.

“You had that handled well enough on your own, I’d wager,” he said. His words were clipped, and the anger in them was like the first rush of desert heat when leaving the cooler air of mag-temp buildings.

Something fluttered briefly behind her eyes, which had tears running down both sides of her face, and he took in her disheveled appearance. Her wet, pale, ash blonde hair was pooling in the mud, which was also spattered along the back of her uniform. It was made of the typical material the Cynosures used: lightweight, deceptively strong, formfitting, and covering her from the top of her neck to the top of her boots. It would deflect everything from knives to the intense rays of the harsh sun that beat down mercilessly over Heartland. However, she was missing the head gear for it: a low-hanging, pointed hood to shade the eyes, and a fitted face mask to protect the mouth and nose from dust and dirt kicked up by the desert winds. The fashion for kertilla varied between civilian men and women, but the Cynosures–soldiers of Heartland–all wore the same, simple type.

It had been months before Fyna had relented and taken her kertilla off, stating it was helpful even on his ship out on the vast oceans. Graeym couldn’t imagine how anything so suffocating, not to mention something that limited your vision to such a degree, could be helpful. But it hadn’t hurt anything, so he’d just shrugged it off, and silently admired the way the sun tanned Fyna’s flawless skin as she wore the kertilla less and less.

Grief raked through his chest like the claws of the sea-dwelling saerens, who dragged sailors to their blissful deaths in the depths. He clamped down on the emotion by clenching his jaw, swallowing hard, and cursing Fyna and her final request of him.

With her memory as fresh in his mind as the first breeze after a sea storm, he saw the ghost of Fyna in her younger sister’s features. The delicate brows, elegant nose, and angelic lips were all a few years removed from the life Fyna had crafted at sea with Graeym.

But this was not Fyna, and it took every ounce of his willpower to keep that rooted firmly in his mind.

“Your sister sent me,” he said, his words less angry and more final, like the throwing down of a gauntlet.

When she jerked in shock at his proclamation, he gripped her wrists tighter, and shifted his body weight to prepare for her to try and buck him off. Mostly because her service weapon was scant inches from her hands, which were now balled into fists ready to fly at his refined nose or strong jaw. Her lips curled into a snarl, her nostrils flared, and she did indeed try to buck him off.

Graeym maintained a calm facade, but his patience for her behavior was wearing thin, and fast. It had never been his strong suit, and his crew–well, his former crew, anyway–knew the signs for when their behavior was intolerable for their Captain.

Unfortunately for Edlyn, she didn’t know, and Graeym lost his cool.

“Stop! Or so help me, Enos, I will finish what you started!” he barked at her, a mere inch from her face, his words ending in a growl.

She froze, but instead of being in fear for her life her eyes narrowed. “You are that filthy pirate that killed my sister,” she hissed.

He’d expected it; the Cynosures would have sown their own story of how the magus deserter had perished. It still made him want to scream wordlessly at Edlyn until his throat was raw. To vent at the only person on the other ‘side’ he had access to.

Fyna’s final words came to him, like a murmur amidst the howling winds of the hurricane of his agony; “Find my sister–Edlyn. Tell her I love her. Tell her…I’m sorry, but that I had to do it. Please, Graeym.”

Like a fool, he’d agreed, and held her till she passed. The attack orchestrated by the Cynosures had been swift and deadly, taking Fyna and most of his crew. Of course, the Cynosures had used actual pirates to take down the Abyssian sailors, and Abyssia–not wanting war with the Heartlanders–denounced Graeym and his crew. Calling them traitors and murderous pirates. Because, what were a few sailors in the grand scheme of peace?

Graeym, grievously injured and grieving, had been carried off by his few remaining loyal crew to a healer. He was still getting used to the change in depth perception that losing his right eye had caused, and his numerous, newly healed scars littering his body were still tender to the touch.

“I am no pirate, but if that is what you would prefer to believe, kill me now. It will save me the trouble of dealing with you.” He was only half-serious, of course. He also left out the part where he’d told his men waiting for him just over the crest of the hill, that if she did manage to kill him, to kill her in turn.

It would have been simpler for them all if she’d just agreed and shot him. Life was anything but simple, however.

At his words, something uneasy passed through her expression, followed quickly by her wiping her face clean of any emotion, and looking down and away. “My sister was no fool, pirate,” she spat the word at him like venom, trying to deflect his attention to her guilt, “and she did not trust easily. I will listen to your tale, but if I do not believe you, I will kill as as surely as the sun will rise.”

“Fair enough, but just so we are clear: I am armed, and will not hesitate to kill you should you reach for your weapon. I am here as a favor to Fyna, nothing more. I can do this just as easily with you dead as I can with you alive.”

Her eyes met his, fluttering to an all-over pale gray before fading back to their usual blue, and then she raised a single brow. “That is a lie.”

He growled, and silently spat another curse at Fyna. “You are an Axiom. A truth-sayer.”

She nodded, and her body relaxed beneath his grip. “I do not have to use my powers so overtly as I just did. Most of the time I can get a read, or ‘feeling’, without doing so. However, I wanted you to know before we spoke.”

“Why? Wouldn’t you have more to gain by not telling me?”

“Because I do not lie knowingly, either directly or by omission. Not telling you before we spoke would have too much flavor of a lie for my comfort.” Then she looked away again, squirming just a hair in his grip as though uncomfortable with what she was about to say. “You are not the first to arouse my suspicion in regards to the means of my sister’s death,” she admitted. “Can I get up now?” she asked, tone as neutral as she could manage.

He hesitated a moment, eye flicking to her weapon, but released her and backed away quickly to avoid an attack, hand going to his right hip but not drawing his own weapon. Not yet.

She rose slowly, keeping her hands away from the weapon. When she stood, she pushed her mud-clumped hair back over her shoulder. The rain was still falling, but it was a warm, summer rain, common at the bottom of the mountainous border between Heartland and Abyssia. So while they were wet, they were not chilled.

Edlyn motioned to the closest crop of rocks, a couple of which were the perfect distance for two not-quite-allies to converse, and the two made their cautious ways over and sat down.

Graeym told Edlyn all that he knew, all that Fyna had suspected, and why she’d deserted and started to work for the Abyssians, whose strength came from the ocean. Corruption was at the heart of Heartland, and a country who traded heavily with Abyssia for resources not found in the desert could be swayed toward better treatment of its people if pressured with losing said resources. What was in it for Abyssia? The influx of Heartland refugees would would slow in the face of better conditions at home, or that was the hope.

Fyna had never made it that far, however, only having spoken with Graeym’s upper command once. She’d been placed on his ship in the hope that she’d be safe as far from Heartland’s desert as they could get out on the ocean. There was a lot they didn’t know, but with Edlyn’s help, maybe Graeym could carry out the vision for a better future for her people that Fyna had painted for Graeym.

Well, that would be a positive byproduct of him getting his revenge for them killing a woman he’d grown to love, but who he’d never had the courage to tell. He left that part out.

“So, are you in?” he asked.

She considered his words, the silence extending between them as the final drops of rain fell from the sky. The gray clouds didn’t part and the sun didn’t shine down on them in a sign from Fyras, god of fortune, that their path was luck-laden, but Graeym had never put much stock in fortune or luck. He usually made-do with sheer willpower alone.

“Yes. I will see this path to its end, whatever that may be,” she said, and nodded.

He nodded in return, and they both stood to leave. As a sign of their agreement, he walked over, picked up her weapon, and handed it to her butt first. She’d extended the first token of trust by not grabbing it and trying to kill him, even though he told her he was armed, and now it was his turn.

As she took and holstered it, her outfit was still incomplete. There was something that he’d wondered from the moment he found her abandoned kertilla at the bottom of the hill, followed by her on the top of the hill, kneeling, gun pointed toward her head.

“Why did you take your kertilla off? Fyna wore hers more than I figured must have been comfortable.”

She glanced at him, then toward the sky, and a small, sad smile graced her lips. “I’d never felt the rain on my face before, and I guess I wanted to know what it was like before I died,” she said.

He took a deep breath, and dipped his head once in understanding.

Maybe she was more like Fyna than he’d first thought.