“Now … Eli wasn’t his real name, no,” Sal Saldean began, pausing to gather his thoughts before he went on with the story. “Y’see, he was one of the first orphans Salma an’ me took in, way back when th’ Orcs were pushin’ northward durin’ th’ First War, an’ our oldest boy, William, took t’ callin’ the kid Eli.” Sal chuckled softly. “Th’ nickname stuck, and we’ve kept on calling him Eli since.”
“He was such a sweet dear,” Salma chimed in, her eyes moist from the memories. “I dun think he was more than seven years old when he showed up on our doorstep, all covered in soot an’ scared nearly witless … we knew near all the homesteads out southaways must’ve been burned t’ the ground by all them greenskins.” There was a grim pause before she continued. “Most children his age would’ve grown up with a seethin’ hatred for what’d been done to him by them Orcs, but he never did hold a grudge.” Salma smiled weakly. “I guess that jus’ added to what he was. He was a light of hope to us.”
Her husband picked up the unspoken cue. “He lived with us fer several months, maybe a few years. ‘Twas like he was one o’ our own. In fact, he an’ Willy were practically brothers by th’ time we figgered it wasn’t safe no more fer all the orphans we kept takin’ in, Eli included.” Sal sighed heavily. “So we sent ‘em off to the local port an’ shipped all of ‘em youngin’s t’ Lordaeron, where we figgered it’d be better fer ‘em all. Salma’s sister up that a-ways was a priestess o’ th’ Light, and she took all o’ them in once she got word they were headed her way.”
“Th’ boys’d write us back reg’arly,” the elderly housewife continued. “That’s how we learned Eli got enrolled in one of them fancy academies up in Lordaeron. Willy, o’ course, didn’ want none of that schooling stuff.” Salma chuckled quietly, but her eyes were solemn. “He was about thirteen by then, too old t’ get enrolled anyhow. He headed back down t’ Westfall as fast as he could.” She smiled wanly. “He did go back t’ Lordaeron ta visit a little bit fer us ev’ry now an’ then … keep tabs on our loved ones.”
“When Eli finally came back from Lordaeron, he let on that he was trainin’ t’ become a paladin!” Sal Saldean slapped his knee, his voice edged with pride. “Who would’a thought it, tha’ little sooty boy who showed up at our doorstep all them years before, learnin’ t’ wield the Holy Light?”
Eli blinked.
There was a palpable sense of awkwardness in the air as the Death Knight and the she-rogue gathered their wits and their rides for the trip south. Mama Celeste stood almost protectively at the threshold of the battered homestead, a huddled group of haggard transients peering out from the door behind her … all of them wearing expressions of gratitude, mixed with uncertainty, anger and abject horror. Eli could hear a forced smile from Jim when the limp man was told about the Death Knight’s single-handed kobold extermination in the Jangolode Mine, but there was no mistaking the fearful derision in the old candle hunter’s voice. It made sense that the same brutal effectiveness Eli had employed in the mines could just as easily become applied to taking on a group of armed thugs.
Chaos reigned the waning day, with terrified transients fleeing to parts unknown and investigators poking their noses where they shouldn’t. Confusion coloured words spoken either in thanks and distrust. In the end, there seemed at the very least to be a genuine air of concern for the adventurers when they finally untied their steeds and saddled up, followed by what would be described as a collective, unanimous sigh of relief when the odd pair finally hit the road.
The trip southward was understandably silent between Tuan and Eli, the Death Knight eerily introspective of what had transpired at the Furlbrow’s old farm. It was starting to feel like those first few tentative weeks in Stormwind after he had rescinded his dark and bloody past as a Death Knight in an honest effort to turn over a new leaf; the mixed feelings of compassion and hatred were ballooning in the air, rising in the heat of the sun that kept beating down relentlessly. It was an atmosphere he was admittedly still getting used to for the most part … even after all this time.
Eventually, his mind’s eye began to wander again into fragmented memories of golden fields stretching for miles, all of them ripe with grain and produce, waving at the push of a cool ocean breeze under a clear blue sky. In his reverie, Eli swore he heard a young girl laughing in happiness off to the side of the road, and his memories reflected what he heard; the ghostly recollection of a girl who seemed barely fifteen, running barefoot in the fields in his direction, waving at him with a warm and encouraging smile. As quickly as it came, the bright memory would flash away and melt back into the formless, grayed-out reality of his present, and then he only heard the steady footfalls of his and Tuan’s respective steeds while the two of them continued southward at a slow trot.
“Eli,” Tuan spoke up, finally breaking the silence. “Hey. You alive over there?”
The two riders trotted slowly along the dusty, half-way overgrown westward road.
“I have to admit, I’m a little surprised no-one’s tried to make off with our horses yet,” Tuan remarked idly, leaning back in the saddle and letting the reins hang. “Golden opportunity for a quick getaway from this craphole.”
Eli opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Dionysus’ sharp snort, the Deathcharger tossing its bony head for dramatic effect. Tuan’s mare nickered dismissively, shaking her mane lightly.
Tuan arched an eyebrow and leaned forward. “… you gone and got yourself your very own bodyguard?” The she-rogue chuckled and rubbed the horse’s mane when the mare whinnied playfully in response. “You clever girl, you.”
Eli let show a lopsided smirk. “Never thought that about ya, Dio.” The spectral steed let out a somewhat slighted huff.
Tuan sobered up and straightened herself. “Well, here we are. More or less.”
They tapped their respective mounts into a short gallop, thundering north off the path, through a gaggle of screeching vultures and across the short stretch of windblown grass to the small pumpkin farm that sat unassumingly between the road and the cliffline bordering the Longshore.
The farm appeared virtually as derelict as the stead they had departed from minutes earlier. Handfuls of wild-seeded pumpkins sat forgotten in random clumps on the hard-packed soil, most of them either thoroughly dried-out or halfway rotten. At the far north end of the field, a small cottage still stood with a ramshackle windmill creaking morosely nearby whenever the breeze would pick up enough to rattle its well-worn sweeps.
As was to be expected, a collection of homeless and transients had taken up a form of residence in the building. Outside, by the doorway, one man was stood that appeared only slightly less destitute than those unfortunates idling about the fences – although in a hustler’s terms, he could most likely be considered the equivalent of a Stormwind merchant noble.
He had shoes. On both his feet.
--Three Weeks after Deathwing’s Razing of Stormwind--
A leather-bound folder landed with an unceremonious slap on the desk in front of the she-rogue.
“Give that a look,” the master assassin spoke sideways, straightening himself to standing and beginning to pace his side of the desk.
The she-rogue casually undid the straps on the protective wooden clapboards sandwiching the papers. Most of what was on the brittle parchments appeared to be reports of minor and varied goings-on in Elwynn Forest; most of them her own. The rest were official documents: deeds, wills, citizen papers – nothing out of the ordinary as far as the lady-sellsword was concerned.
“What else is new, Mathias?” The she-rogue sat back rakishly, tossing the folder back onto the table and rocking back onto the chair’s rearmost legs in boredom.
“Add this to the mix, Tuan.” Master Mathias Shaw produced another parchment from the mysterious compartments of his workdesk. Upon immediate inspection, it was seen that one side of the parchment was crudely decorated with scrawled handwriting, while the other clearly looked like official documentation of some sort. Tuan took the parchment cavalierly from Mathias’ hand and read first the handwriting, then the documentation.
“The Furlbrows, huh?” the she-rogue mumbled. “I thought they got this back already …”
“Well. They didn’t.” Mathias stopped pacing and turned to face the she-rogue. “Give the date on the note written on the back a good look, then go through that folder again. Tell me what you see.”
