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| Birds of a Feather; The opening chapter | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 5 2008, 04:17 AM (116 Views) | |
| Zephyrus | Jul 5 2008, 04:17 AM Post #1 |
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It's All My Fault~!
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Here you are. The opening chapter to what will be a slow, slow, slow work in progress. Us Hawks will congregate together in the next chapter. If I get around to writing it. ----------------------------- Chapter One: By Way of the Front Gate... It’s not exactly the cleanest place on the face of the earth, but then, a bar with no name doesn’t exactly inspire visions of cleanliness or order. The Bar With No Name. It was a cozy little place, big enough for at least one hundred, if you were going by human standards, at least. Racial disharmony had long separated the races of Azeroth. Even the so called “neutral” cities controlled by the Goblins teemed with hatred and malevolence. But there were a few places tucked away in the hidden places of the world where anyone, whether they be Orc, Elf, or Man, could walk in, have a meal, and leave unmolested. The Bar With No Name was one of the very few places where a Night Elf could sit beside an Orc and carry on a civil conversation. Not that this happened very often mind you, but here, it was possible. On this particular evening, on the eve of the end of the Midsummer Festival, The Bar With No Name was full of cheerful patrons, each with a mug of cool ale (wine for the Elves, of course) and full plate. Everyone was jabbering to their comrades in their respective languages, full of tales, gossip, and news from every corner of the earth imaginable. There was even a Tauren and a Night Elf, both Druids by their garb, engaged in serious conversation in the far corner. But removed from this joyous atmosphere, unhearing and uncaring of the riebald song began by a Human bard, was a female Blood Elf, sitting with her back to the wall, her green eyes constantly scanning the mass of beings. She was an unremarkable specimen for her race. Snowy white hair, a pale complexion, and jade eyes peered from beneath a hooded tunic. She was daintily sipping a mug of cooled cider. Ale was far too boorish for her tastes, but neither did she deign to join her brethren and distant cousins in the consumption of the weak horsepiss the Bartender dared to serve. The door to the Bar opened and two figures, one large and one small, spilled into the room, bringing with them the scent of the falling rain and a cool breeze. Both figures were garbed similarly to her. They both scanned the room, pausing in front of the door, until the smaller one pointed in the Blood Elf’s direction, tugging on the sleeve of the larger figure. The two made their way to the wall and sat down on both sides of her, the larger figure to her left and the smaller figure to her right. “I would think that you would tire of meeting in such lewd places.” The smaller figure spoke softly, throwing back her hood and revealing a female Blood Elf, with the same features of her companion, but with auburn hair and slightly tanned skin. “The odor never agrees with me.” The much larger figure grunted and a flash of white fangs signaled the Orc’s displeasure as he snarled in agreement. “On today of all days, as well. The drink drives these fools to do…strange things, to say the least.” He gestured towards a human male and what looked to be a female Draenei looking very cozy indeed in a dark corner. The female’s tail was wagging in a decidedly sultry manner. She took a sip of her cider, smiling mysteriously. “Well met, my friends. I’m glad to see you again. My two lieutenants; Cerisse, my sister of the Blood, and Eskander, the Orc who speaks like a Man.” She leaned forwards, setting her half empty mug upon the table. Settling back against the wall, she crossed her arms across her chest, and the faint jingle of dulled metal could be heard beneath her clothing. “I’ve called you here for a very special occasion.” “And what might that be, O Fearless Leader?” The Orc rumbled, amused. He was used to the Blood Elf’s flight of fancy. One of the main reasons he remained companions with this unlikely group was because he had nothing better to do. Or at least, that is what he has told everyone. “I’ve found something.” “You’re going to have to elaborate. I might be able to best you in a battle of wits, but not even I can claim to read minds.” Cerisse had always been fond of dry humor and was always quick to cut her leader down as much as she saw fit. The diminutive Blood Elf grinned. “Very well. As you know, our small group of merry adventurers have been together for over six months now. During that time, we have grown, evolved, and sometimes merely tried to survive. But Hawks are clever creatures. Like our namesake, we are more cunning than the fox, faster than the eagle, and more fierce than the wolf. We are one group among many, nothing more than a name amongst a list of those greater and more experienced than us.” She reached up and drew back her hood, revealing her childish face. “Fortunately, I’ve learned of an Object of Power that will vault us to godhood, and our names will be on the lips of every man, woman, and child in Azeroth and the lands beyond.” Cerisse and Eskander shared a significant look over the top of their leader’s head. “Forgive me, but this isn’t anything like the time that old Troll convinced you that the skull of his grandfather could summon the spirits of long dead warriors to fight for us?” Cerisse drawled. The elf winced. “Well—” Eskander harrumphed. “And what about the time that you were completely convinced that Stormwind could be breached by way of their sewer system and with us smeared with the juices of Bloodberries? That stain still won’t come out.” The Orc frowned mightily. “That was my favorite jerkin.” An abashed aura emanated from the sullen elf. For all of her 220 years, the Leader was prone to fits of childishness and was extremely gullible. “Enough!” She proclaimed. “Despite our…past failures…I have it on the highest authority that this time, we can’t fail!” Cerissed sighed in resignation. It was better to humor their Leader, rather than suffer through a month of sulking and depressed monologues. “Fine. Do share your marvelous tale.” The Leader smiled cheerfully again, instantly buoyant. “It’s a very simple plan. We’re going to steal Lady Sylvannas’s necklace.” Eskander started, his knee almost upsetting the small table that held the drink and Cerisse paled to the point of death. “Y-you, you can’t be serious!” The Orc hissed between clenched teeth. Cerisse’s mouth was doing a stunning imitation of the giant sturgeon found off the shores of Stranglethorn. The childish elf bared her teeth in an impish grin. “Oh yes! We’re going to march to Mordor by way of the front gate!” A silence fell upon the small table. Thunder rumbled gently. Coarse laughter roared at a bawdy joke. Cerisse managed one final sentence. “Pray tell, what in the gods’ name is Mordor and why do I get the feeling that it’s a bad idea to go by way of the front gate?” -------------------------------------- Post your reviews in the original fic thread. Also, plot suggestions and better title suggestions are welcome. Enjoy. =P |
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7:18 PM Jul 11