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 It was starting to feel like those first few tentative weeks in Stormwind after he had rescinded his dark and bloody past as a Death Knight in an honest effort to turn over a new leaf; the mixed feelings of compassion and hatred were ballooning in the air,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?”
Eli did his best to stifle a cold chuckle at the remark, but he sensed a wry smirk being shared between himself and his she-rogue companion.
“You must be feeling pretty crappy about what happened back at the pumpkin farm,” Tuan ventured.
“I’m tempted t’ say ‘what pumpkin farm?’ … but I dunno,” Eli quipped off-handedly, trying to lighten the mood for himself – and failing miserably. “I guess you could say that much,” he finally muttered.
“No sense in trying to forget what happened, Eli.” Tuan allowed herself a sympathetic, yet still very wry grin. “Besides, your memory’s swiss-cheesed enough as it is.”
At this, the Death Knight managed to crack a lopsided but genuine smirk.
“I guess what I should say is don’t beat yourself up over doing something you knew should have been done.” Tuan shifted in her saddle, eliciting a quiet huff from her mare. “Those thugs had it coming … just …”
“… not that soon,” Eli finished with a sigh, unconsciously tightening his grip on Dionysus’ reins. The skeletal steed tossed its head.
Another shuffle. “Yeeeahhh …” she exhaled explosively. “Look at it this way, Eli. The mystery isn’t solved just yet, but you haven’t sabotaged our chances of uncovering the truth. We’ll figure out what the fel is going on regardless of what’s happened and show that ignorant jerkwad Laine a thing or two in the process.”
“If y’ say so,” the Death Knight responded flatly. After a moment, he lifted his blind eyes to the cloudless Westfall sky. “All I want’d t’ do was figure out who I was before …” He trailed off again as the flicker of broken memories returned; gold fields gave way to hard, red earth and screaming skies, a dark, gloating silhouette hovering above his line of sight, lifting a sickly glowing blade to strike a final death blow.
He started slightly, yanked back to reality as he felt Tuan land a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sure something will turn up for you, Eli,” Tuan spoke with a gentle smile in her voice. The smile then collapsed back into a wry grin. “… especially with all the dirt we’ve been digging up lately.” Her mare whinnied in agreement.
Eli returned Tuan’s grin, appreciating her silent confidence.
Tuan lifted her hand off her companion’s shoulder and took hold of her reins again.
Something jilted Eli’s memory. “Say …” he ventured. “Y’ seem’d to rec’nize the Saldeans’ name back thar. People you know?”
“People I know of,” the she-rogue replied, leaning back slightly in her saddle. “They’ve pretty much been around for as long as anyone can remember. Can’t recall if I’ve ever actually met them, but I used to spend a lot of time dodging Harvest Golems while running all over these steads five years ago.”
“You were here during the Defias?”
“Uhuh.” The wily woman didn’t hide her unspoken satisfaction. “Punted brigands, walloped highwaymen, snuck into hideouts … most of the reason why VanCleef got outed is all my work.” She swung her arm out flamboyantly.
Eli smirked. “So humble.”
“Naturally.” She shot him one of her signature grins, then sobered up, looking ahead. “Anyways … I see a homestead just up ahead, and it looks like someone’s working the fields.”
“Tha’ must be our dest’nation,” Eli observed, squinting to make out the silhouettes in the fields of solid gray that made up his limited vision.
The two riders turned their horses off the road and trotted over to an aging farmer tilling the dried fields with a half-broken hoe made of salvaged metal. Various vagabonds and ne’er-do-wells of every hue of destitute were laying about half-useless all along the fences of the homestead, listless from lack of food and sleep. The old farmer kept muttering under his breath as he struck the only bit of unmolested land he had left with his battered farm implement. Barefoot children wandered around behind the homestead, playing tag, or stuffing their faces with the leftover wheat chaff from the threshing floor to stifle their grumbling stomachs.
It was the sight of the orphans that set Tuan’s jaw to the point where Eli could hear her teeth grating. It was a pathetic picture of impoverished serenity, marred only by the presence of wide-bellied, inhuman shadows roaming the unkempt fields of wild grain, glaring at the homestead with unearthly glowing red eyes.
Finally, the two travellers pulled up in front of the stead just as the old farmer came trudging in from the field. Tuan waved him over, greeting him kindly. “Excuse me. Do you know where we can find Farmer Saldean?”
Silence greeted them, a pair of weary and exasperated eyes blinking in the harsh afternoon sun. After what felt like an eternity of shared staredowns, the old farmer finally spoke in a gruff tone: “I’m Farmer Sal Saldean. Who th’ fel’re you?”
“Travellers, sir,” Tuan fibbed before Eli could say anything. “Just passing through, and we’re needing a place to cool our heels.”
“Horse poop,” the old man spat. “I know ya mean well, but no one jus’ saunters int’ Westfall thinkin’ ‘bout jus’ passin’ through … I should know. This land … she calls ya an’ keeps ya here, one way ‘r another.” His steely voice shifted into a tone of reverie. “Y’ see, I’ve been in Westfall all m’ life, miss. I can r’member a day when Westfall was the lushest land this side o’ Stranglethorn Vale. People would come from all o’er t’ these parts to get a slice o’ this land’s bounty …” The old farmer shook his head with a sigh. “… now, those days ‘re long gone.”
The Death Knight and the she-rogue had already sensed that Saldean needed to vent, and respectfully remained silent long enough for him to unload a little.
“While we don’t have Defias causing problems no more, th’ fallout from their reign o’ terror can still be felt.” The old man’s expression hardened again, and he gestured with his hoe to the red-eyed shadows stalking his abandoned fields, muttering something about having to find a way to get rid of ‘those mechanical wretches’.
The word ‘mechanical’ made Tuan perk up ever so slightly. Oblivious to the she-rogue’s sudden, unspoken interest in the red-eyed shadows, the old farmer continued his tirade.
“T’ make matt’rs worse, we’re in the worst economic downturn in history. All that gold we spent on fightin’ th’ Scourge left anyone not in a milit’ry related occupation jobless an’ eventually homeless.” Saldean struck the parched soil with the butt of his hoe, and gestured to the vagabonds and orphans. “Guess where all those people ended up.”
He looked back up at the two mounted adventurers with a now understandably dubious look on his weathered face. “Anyways, like I said … no one jus’ comes t’ Westfall expectin’ t’ stay one night an’ then mosey on through. What’s yer deal here?”
Tuan sighed and lowered her voice discreetly, leaning forward onto her saddle pommel. “Truth is, Sal, we’re investigating the murders of the Furlbrows out near the Elwynn border.” The old farmer’s hardened countenance fell ever so slightly at the mention of the news. The she-rogue continued: “We were instructed by the lead investigator, Horatio Laine—”
Sal Saldean threw down his hoe with a dull rattle, prompting both horses to spook slightly. “Horatio Laine, y’ say?” he growled with narrowing eyes.
“We’re not lyin’ ‘bout that, sir,” Eli finally spoke. The distinct accent he carried seemed to soften the old man again.
The aging farmer sighed and rubbed a calloused hand over his rough face. He scoffed and let his hand drop. “… Horatio Laine. I won’t lie t’ ya neither – but if y’ ask me, that man’s a scumbag. He may come off as sharp an’ clean, but he’s dirtier than my underwear.” He looked up at his ‘visitors’ with a deliberate and sincere look on his hardened countenance.
“Listen. I don’t say this often t’ nobody, but you two folks seem like right an’ sensible people.” He leaned forward, allowing his already stern expression to darken into outright foreboding. “Get the fel outta Westfall, y’ hear? If you’ve got here t’ me, it means yer a’ready in ov’r yer heads. Yer better off leavin’, or else yer just layin’ yer necks on the choppin’ block.”
A moment of silent standoff passed between the two adventurers and the old farmer; the dry skeleton of a tumbleweed breezing by them in the stifling wind that whispered through the forgotten fields. Finally, Eli spoke: “With all due respect, Mister Saldean … we can’t leave on good conscience. Innocent folks got killed t’day, an’ I ain’t leavin’ ‘til we figg’r out whodunit.”
Tuan was readily in agreement. “Same goes for me.”
Saldean sighed and shook his head. “Either yer both very nice people, or yer some kind o’ stupid. I pray t’ the Light that the latter ain’t the case.” The haggard old farmer passed a calloused hand over his bald head in thought. “Tell ya what … I may not have th’ clues yer lookin’ fer, but I do want to give y’all a hand in figgerin’ out who killed th’ Furlbrows. But first—”
The she-rogue flashed a disarming grin with glittering eyes as she swung herself off her riding mare with a little flourish. “—you need help, too.”
The old farmer genuinely returned the grin. “Yeah.” He rested his hands on his hips. “Now I won’t lie t’ ya. Times are tough these days. The washed up and downtrodden from Stormwind findin’ their way into Westfall … safe t’ say resources ‘r stretched pretty thin, and people ‘re gettin’ plen’ny desp’rate …” Saldean seemed sincerely concerned for the wrecked souls scattered about his equally wrecked property as he looked around. “These folks need help.”
“Ain’t tha’ th’ truth,” Eli whispered, dismounting from Dionysus and securing the Deathcharger’s reins to a low-hanging branch on the barely living tree next to the homestead. Tuan’s mare was already grazing idly nearby.
Saldean nodded slowly in Eli’s direction, then turned back to the still very interested Tuan. “Anyways. It’s a known fact tha’ our farmhouse has been servin’ Westfall as a sort of halfway house fer broken folks like these fer years – clear back t’ the First War, ev’n.”
Tuan let out a low and appreciative whistle.
The old farmer glanced over his shoulder and towards the door of the farmhouse with a sigh and continued his tale. “My Salma … my wife, I mean … she’s been workin’ her hands raw just keepin’ all our guests fed an’ alive, but sometimes those damned Watchers pick ‘em off.”
“Harvest Watchers?” Eli’s voice echoed, the dark form of the Death Knight coming to rest behind the she-rogue.
“Yep.” Saldean dropped his arms down along his sides and clenched his fists as he gazed out at the abandoned lots that had once yielded rich harvests for him and his family, glaring at the tottering, barrel-chested scarecrows tromping around on what was supposed to be his land. “Damned twisted abominations,” he growled. He folded his arms with an exasperated sigh. “Them Watchers were a ‘gift’ from them Defias years ago … before VanCleef was dealt with and the whole gang got scattered t’ th’ winds.”
Tuan turned to look at the grinding, hissing golems and she did her best to remain professional, but Eli could tell she was decidedly giddy inside. She slowly turned back to Saldean with a kind smile on her face. “Would you like me to take care of them for you?”
Judging by his immediate reaction, the farmer obviously didn’t know if he should laugh or be thankful, but he didn’t hide the fact that he was not a little bit surprised. “Well, sure … if y’ think y’ can handle ‘em. Damned things are farkin’ dangerous.”
“Don’t’cha think they should eat a little first before y’ send ‘em off to lose a limb or two, Sal?” a lilting and clearly elderly feminine voice reprimanded from the threshold of the farmhouse.
Sal Saldean flinched minutely, and then turned with a smile towards the woman stood in the doorway. “It’s up t’ them, Salma, dear.” He glanced back at his ‘visitors’, partly curious, partly panicked.
Tuan answered right away: “I’ll just give those Watchers a good look, ma’am, then I’ll come right back.” Salma Saldean arched an eyebrow, then rolled her eyes and vanished back inside.
Eli folded his arms, hiding his glowing eyes under his hood. “I guess that leaves me t’ help with th’ cookin’ …” he muttered quietly.
Tuan patted Eli semi-sympathetically on the shoulder. “Like ol’ Sal told Salma, Eli … up to you.”
~||~
Eli sauntered into the farmhouse and carefully set his massive blade by the door. Baccus released an indignant puff of icy vapour at being left behind, but the Death Knight ignored the quiet protest. Once he felt a little more comfortable moving about the confines of the farmhouse, it didn’t take him long to find the kitchen. After all, the scents coming from the room were a world away from the smells he had encountered when he had met Mama Celeste back at the Furlbrow stead; this was actual food being cooked, not dirt and hairball facsimiles.
“Sure took yer time makin’ up yer mind, sonny,” Salma said coolly as the Death Knight joined the woman in her kitchen. From the sounds and smells, Eli could tell that her hands were hard at work preparing the food. It took Eli a moment to come out of his polite pause to notice the weight of Salma’s inspecting gaze. “And you certainly look well off, boy,” she remarked off-handedly, returning her focus to the evening’s meal.
“I try t’ take care o’ myself, ma’am,” he replied respectfully.
Eli shifted his stance a bit as he heard Salma chuckle lightly. “My, you’re a sweet bear of a Death Knight, aren’t ya? Y’ got a name, boy?”
“Don’t have a name, ma’am.”
“Hogwash, sonny. Ev’ryone’s got a name.”
“… well … the livin’ folks jus’ call me Eli.”
“… Eli, huh?”
“… yes’m.”
Eli could sense that Salma had paused in her movements, staring off into space while some half-forgotten memory seemed to coalesce in her mind.
The pensive silence was just about to become awkward when it was duly shattered by a deafening roar of mechanical rage from outside – which in turn died away almost instantly in a screech of gears grinding together, followed by a drawn-out metallic groan and ended with a heavy, distinct thump – along with a triumphant and decidedly roguish whoop.
Eli couldn’t have kept himself from facepalming even if he had tried.
Having jumped back slightly with her hand to her chest, Salma managed to recollect her wits. “… that’s what th’ young lady meant by ‘givin’ a good look’?!”
Eli actually rolled his glowing eyes. “Yes’m. … y’ don’ hav’ta worry ‘bout her, ma’am.”
Salma breathed a deep exhale. “Well … uhm.” She quickly found herself in the preparation routines again. “Anyways … this part of th’ meal’s fer the orphans we took in recently. Alls I need now is some boar belly, some fresh buzzard meat, an’ some wild okra from the fields. Think you can get those fer me? Tha’s all I need t’ get this meal finished … jus’ mind ‘em Harvest Watchers while yer gatherin’ the okra, sonny. They kill without mercy, I tell ya.” She paused briefly. “Though I s’pose yer friend’s all busy takin’ care o’ that,” the old woman added with a lopsided smile.
Her words were confirmed – after a fashion – by an agonized shriek of distorting metal and another thump. Eli cracked an equally lopsided, but nevertheless kind, smile in return.
Eli stalked out of the kitchen, about to swing out the front door when Farmer Saldean nearly barrelled into him. The old man narrowly managed to steady himself, grabbing Eli by the shoulders. “Ah swear to tha Light, that woman is farkin’ insane!!” he bellowed at the Death Knight, temporarily more terrified of what was apparently going on outside than of the deathbound man in front of him.
Eli managed as gentle a smile as he was able, lifting the shaking farmer’s hands away from him. “I reckon she knows what she’s doing, sir,” he replied diplomatically. “She’s an eng’neer, see – mechanics’ her thing, so ta speak.”
Sal seemed sufficiently mollified, catching himself and stepping away from the Death Knight with his palms raised apologetically. Eli merely adjusted his hood with a light bow of the head, hoisted Baccus onto his back and strode out through the doorway.
“HEADS UUUUP!!”
It was only by the grace of his unearthly reflexes that he scooted back in time to avoid the rampaging golem careening past him, stubby, clawed arms flailing like the sweeps on a windmill in full storm. The Watcher carried on along the fence, blazing a trail of flying sparks as the reckless she-rogue rode it like a Gnomish carnival attraction gone haywire. She leaned hard to one side, forcing it into a lurching turn that brought it onto a direct collision course with another, idling Watcher. The split second before the two constructs would smash into each other, she flexed her muscles and somersaulted off her impromptu joyride, letting it thunder squarely into its counterpart, gyros hissing and screaming. Their respective combat automatics kicking in, the two golems proceeded to tear mindlessly into each other, until they both toppled over with a joint, clanking rumble as their internal cores went out, power lines severed by whirling metal talons.
Eli felt the earth turn and heave beneath him, and suddenly—
—the titanic, cybernetically endowed demon swings its massive buzz-saw at him, roaring blasphemous oaths at the top of its otherworldly voice, and he raises his shield to ward off the attack – the blade hits in a shower of fel-green sparks, only a timely barrier of solidified Light keeping the weapon from cutting straight through. He feels the surge of power from the stately, raven-haired Night Elf behind him and renews his stance, even as he spots the she-rogue’s lithe form darting around behind the towering Mo’arg, leaping onto its back and beginning to yank at the sprawling cables and tangled connectors making up the command implant embedded in the demon’s neck—
“Boo-yah!” Tuan whooped, punching her fist into the air, and then she spun to face her companion. “—Eli? Hey, Eli!” She quickly waved an arm to get the Death Knight’s attention, as futile as she knew the gesture would be – the man was very nearly blind as a bat, after all.
He quickly blinked his eyes, realising that he had frozen halfway into a defensive combat stance, his arm instinctively raised as if holding up a shield against an invisible foe. It was not without effort that he managed to loosen his muscles, tight as they were from the sudden, inexplicable surge of adrenaline. Even then, he still felt a strange, thrumming sensation deep within him – something that maybe, once upon a time, could have been likened to a beating heart. The warmth was both painful and oddly reassuring.
He breathed deeply through deadened lungs, fighting to reassert his hold on reality. When he finally came to, Tuan had walked all the way up to him and was watching him intently.
“… you alright there?” she asked in a quiet voice.
Eli swallowed, his mouth dry. “… y-yeah … I’m … I’m fine. I’m alright.” The way his head kept swimming ever so slightly told him otherwise.
She continued to regard him, the empathy evident in her usually so capricious, silver-teal eyes. “That’s the third time so far you’ve seized up like that. You sure you’re alright?”
Eli couldn’t keep his head from drooping, and he let out a defeated sigh. “… you’ve noticed?”
“Some. I didn’t really think about it the first time, but …” She paused, wiping excess oil off her gauntleted hands with a linen rag. “I guess this was to be expected.”
He looked up at her, spotty as his limited vision was.
“You came here to figure out your past. It’s starting to come back to you, isn’t it?” He nodded mutely after a moment’s hesitation. She smiled wanly and put a hand on his shoulder. “Then it’s working. It’s probably going to be a lot like this right now – your mind’s digging up all these bits and pieces, and you have to get enough of them in one place before you can start putting them together into a whole thing.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but it took a split second before the words would come out. “It’s … a little frustratin’.” A solid understatement.
“I bet.” Her smile turned distinctly lopsided, and she patted his shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, alright? Can’t have you go catatonic in the middle of a critical moment.”
Eli finally felt his spine relax, and he smiled in genuine relief.
The moment was defused by a discharge of electrical energy from further out in the field, followed by the yelps and shrieks of children. Tuan spun around, spotting the crackling form of one of the Harvest Watchers she had disabled earlier, and orphans scattering every which way – except for one small girl, wearing a grimy, tattered dress, sitting on her knees and cradling her hand, tears running down her face.
“Aw, fel,” Tuan snarled and turned on her heel, hurrying over to the scene.
“Okay! All of you – back here this instant!” Her voice carried easily across the derelict farmstead, and its authority was unmistakable. Gradually, the fleeing orphans trickled back warily, keeping their distance to the tall, threatening she-rogue.
Tuan pointed with the outmost precision at the motionless golem next to her, sparks still flying from its damaged machinery. “Learned something?” she asked loudly into the suddenly very still air, a palpable edge in her voice. She continued to look around until a satisfactory number of agreeing mumbles had been heard, and nodded. “Good. Leave the grown-up toys to the grown-ups.” She turned to leave … and caught sight of the still distraught little girl on the ground.
“Oh, Light,” she sighed exhaustedly. She kneeled smoothly, dropping her backpack onto the hard-packed soil. With a gentleness that utterly belied the ruthlessness that she had up until now employed on the runaway golems, she took the little girl’s hand in her own, tenderly turning it over and examining it. A quick rummage in the backpack produced a small, tightly sealed cup of salve and a roll of smooth linen. Without further ado, she carefully applied the soothing balm to the burn on the girl’s hand, finishing with an expertly bound bandage on top. Stuffing the first aid kit back into her satchel, she put her hands on the little girl’s still shaking shoulders. “Better?” Her voice was now very soft and calm.
The girl flinched slightly, but her trembling frame steadied somewhat and she nodded weakly. Tuan smiled reassuringly in turn, lifting her head and gesturing to Eli. He came over to them tentatively.
Tuan stood up, helping the girl to her feet, and spoke to Eli in that same still voice. “Bring her over to the house, and let Salma know what happened.”
Eli nodded silently, kneeling down and extending one strong arm to the little girl. She shied away at the sight of his glowing eyes beneath the dark hood, and he smiled as kindly as he was able.
After the longest moment, the girl scooted over and let him lift her up. Giving Tuan an understanding look, he turned slowly and walked with great care back to the farmhouse, past lounging transients that kept watching him with a peculiar, mute respect.
As was to be expected, Salma got into an obligatory conniption fit at the news of the accident, but her thoroughly worn-in housewife spirit swiftly established itself as she put the wounded little girl alongside her in the kitchen, giving as much comfort as she was able in the middle of her cooking chores. When Eli passed the main room on his way out, Sal stopped him for a moment.
“… I s’pose ya really are jes’ very nice people, after all,” the old farmer mumbled, extending his hand. Eli grasped it in turn. “Yer good an’ caring folk. We need more of yer kind ‘round here.”
Eli merely smiled wanly, and went outside again. By now, most of the golems that had been wandering the field had been dealt with, and the few that remained along its edges kept idling around in sufficiently tight circles to not be an immediate threat.
Tuan came up to him. “I seem to recall you having the honours of helping Salma with the food,” she quipped, back into her usual ornery mindset.
Eli rolled his eyes, though not aversely so. “Boar bellies, fleshripper meat, an’ okra. S’what I gotta round up.”
Tuan raised an eyebrow, and then smiled lightly. “I’ll get the critters, then. Can’t have Baccus getting all tipsy on pork juices.” The runeblade rattled indignantly in its holster.
“Ah shaddap, Baccus, ya know it’s true,” Eli snapped. A sullen puff of ice vapour rose from the hilt.
Tuan snickered under her breath and sauntered over to where her mare was still grazing, unhooking what until now had appeared to be a thoroughly wrapped-up walking stick from the saddle. A yank at the leather bindings revealed the object to be a significantly embellished sniper rifle, complete with an elaborate sighting scope and kill marks all along the barrel. Taking the gun in practiced hands, the she-rogue vanished behind the farmhouse with little fanfare.
Eli stalked off into the field, letting the wild herbs’ natural aroma lead him to them in the hot air, collecting a solid handful with care. Behind him, he heard the echoing bangs from the rifle, followed by garbled screeches as the circling carrion birds were brought down.
He reconvened with the she-rogue by the farmstead’s rickety old outhouse, the woman carrying a gaggle of the smaller vultures by their feet, rifle slung carelessly over her shoulder. “Bring these over to start with. The pork will be ready in a moment.”
He raised an eyebrow as he shifted the okra to one hand, taking the birds in the other. “Ya know what yer doin’ with them boars?”
She shot back a wry smirk. “Eli, I’ve been slaughtering things for eight years. If you haven’t learned a thing or two about anatomy by your hundredth kill, you’re just not trying.”
He chuckled ironically and made his way inside. As he handed the birds and okra to Salma, they both heard another, far more calculated bang from outside, a frenzied squeal from a charging boar, and then a gurgled snort and a faint thud. Eli nodded without a word to Salma and headed downstairs again.
He found Sal being swarmed by a group of slightly more healthy-looking orphans – obviously taken in a while ago, by the looks of their clothes.
“Uncle Sal, uncle Sal!!” “Y’ should’ve seen it!” “She jus’ pointed the long boomstick at the boar—” “—an’ hit it right between the eyes—” “—but it still came comin’ at her!—” “—an’ then she pulled her knife out—” “—an’ right when it was about to hit her, she jus’ stepped past it an’ put the knife right in its heart!”
Sal chuckled awkwardly, trying to steer the children past him. “Ah’m sure she’s been doin’ her thing for quite some time, boys’n’girls. Jes’ try not ta do that kinda thing on yer own, ya hear?”
“Alright, uncle Sal!” came the chorus reply. And with that, they barrelled up the stairs, chattering excitedly among themselves.
Eli went outside, following the smell of fresh blood to where Tuan was busily flaying the boar corpse. The Death Knight did his best to ignore his runeblade clicking expectantly at the tantalizing scent of the dead animal.
“Yer pretty thorough,” he remarked off-handedly as Tuan stuffed various choice innards and chunks of meat into a rudimentary sack fashioned from the boar’s still-steaming hide.
“Always pick up the leftovers,” she replied flatly, wiping her bloodied dagger and hands on a spare piece of linen. “That’s the motto I’ve lived my life by since half of Lordaeron was left in smoke and cinders after the Second War.”
Eli hesitated, shuffling his feet. “I thought ya were from Stormwind.”
She shot him a faint smile. “I am. But as I’m sure you’ve read up on by now, the entire citizenry had to be evacuated north when Stormwind was captured at the end of the First War.” She secured the meatsack with a length of rope. “The Northshire Abbey Orphanage took me in – along with dozens of other orphans – while Stormwind was being rebuilt.”
Eli pondered her words, crossing his arms and leaning against the half-withered tree to which Dionysus was still tethered. The Deathcharger was dozing idly, resting its back feet alternatingly. “… so that’s why?”
She glanced at him, a sudden new edge in her gaze.
“Why yer acting the way y’are ‘bout them orphans here.”
She stiffened minutely, and then lowered her head with a quiet sigh. “I know what it means to grow up without parents, Eli,” she replied at length, very quietly. “I also know how much of a difference it makes to still be able to grow up in some semblance of an organized environment.” She rose smoothly, sheathing her dagger and picking up the meatsack. “These children don’t even have that.”
And without further ado, she strode past the now pensive Death Knight and towards the house.
~||~
“Oh … oh gracious.” Salma Saldean put her hands to her mouth after Eli handed over his provisions sack not long after the children and vagabonds had eaten their fill of Westfall stew and gone to sleep. “Y’ … you don’ really have t’—”
“I insist, ma’am,” Eli replied, calmly. He smiled warmly and wryly. “I don’ think I’ll be needin’ it much anyhow.”
“You might have jus’ saved all our hides from a cruel winter an’ then some, boy,” Sal Saldean said, resting a grateful hand on the Death Knight’s shoulder. “I dunno how we could repay ya an’ yer friend after what ye’ve done fer us in one afternoon.”
“Well, it is late,” Salma ventured. “Why don’t you kind folks at least stay here a spell and we’ll send you on yer way in the mornin’?”
The two adventurers took a moment to respectfully consider the offer, then gratefully accepted having lodgings for the night.
“It’s not much, an’ it sure ain’t the clues yer gonna need t’ help bring th’ Furlbrows justice,” Sal spoke, almost apologetically as he and Salma motioned for their guests to follow them inside their house. “But I said we’d help, and I’m guessin’ this’ll go a long way.”
“Believe me,” Tuan spoke up, stretching her arms lithely behind her head and popping her spine more or less discreetly. “Any help at this point is greatly appreciated.”
The four adults wandered into the tattered front parlour of the farmhouse, Salma sitting on one of the rickety couches while Sal wandered into the kitchen to put away the windfall of provisions they had just received. Eli sat down on the couch opposite Salma and leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees in thought. In a moment, his mind wandered off again to another time, to a house that was eerily similar to the Saldeans’ farmhouse, only it seemed bigger for some reason. He could hear a young boy’s voice shouting for his mama, and a kind and warm face greeting him at the threshold of the kitchen.
Eli shook himself back to reality, his senses on alert for any concerned looks aimed his way. He sighed. There were.
“You’re good folks, too, you and Mister Saldean, ma’am …” Eli finally spoke, rubbing his bandaged palms together unconsciously. Salma blinked a little at Eli breaking his silence, as if she, too, were coming out of some sort of reverie. The Death Knight continued, oblivious to the visual cues his blindness forced him to miss.
“It’s not jus’ the Furlbrows that dragged me here out t’ Westfall. Sal said this earlier in the day: the land calls t’ ya an’ keeps ya here. … I’ve only told Tuan this …” He motioned vaguely toward the she-rogue sitting rakishly on the back of the couch right next to her companion. “But … I haven’t a clue who I am.” Eli rubbed a finger over the massive, stitched-over wound that decorated his face under the hood. “The way I was killed and raised up as a Death Knight … I’ve forgotten who I was before …” He grimaced slightly.
“Oh … you poor dear …” Salma stood up and sat next to Eli quietly.
“… anyways … that’s what I’m really here fer. I’m tryin’ to remember.” He sighed. “It seems to be workin’ some. I’m getting flashes of memories that I feel like I should know, but I can’t recall where they’re from or how I got ‘em. I’ve been havin’ flashes like these o’er the few years I’ve been … well … like this, but never this frequently.”
“I suspect that it’s because he was from around these parts,” Tuan ventured, sensing that Eli was getting really uncomfortable. “Coming home tends to do wonders for memories, from what I hear.”
Sal emerged from the kitchen and found his way over to Salma, sitting down next to his wife while there was still some silence in the room.
“Come t’ think of it …” Eli spoke up again. “I recall y’ hesitating in th’ middle of yer cookin’ when I mentioned tha’ my name was Eli.”
More silence, this time, of the slightly awkward variety.
Salma sighed. “I … I guess I did, didn’ I?” The elderly woman held the hand of her husband and glanced him for a moment before covering her eyes and lowering her face.
“Eli, huh?” Sal Saldean looked slightly pokerfaced, but both Tuan and Eli picked up that the elderly couple were nursing some age-old hurt from the past. The old farmer paused, then spoke again. “You’ve been open t’ us, both o’ you, and have been very kind. I don’ think it’d be a good thing t’ lie t’ ya.”
Both she-rogue and Death Knight sat up with rapt attention.
There was a noticeable pause as a silent exchange occurred between Salma and Sal Saldean; then the old farmer finally answered the unspoken question still hovering in the air: “Salma an’ me knew us an ‘Eli’ once … he was our son.”
((co-written by TheKittyLizard and Tuan Taureo))
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