Thoughts of a Sea-Loving Whelp

East of Continental Kingdoms but much too far South for her to get caught up in trade routes between Tol Barad and her home. She wondered how many of the ships she passed along that way were carrying prisoners. While she’d never seen the stronghold herself despite it being claimed by her homeland, she was certain that it existed.

She was also certain that she’d be in a cell there should she ever be caught. Especially now—with the Arlandria carrying more than her weight in Kul Tiras gold and treasure.

She had kept true to her word, as any good pirate would. If Lantis wanted his ship back, he’d have to seize it from her himself. Last Elendori knew, she had the ship in the Vale somewhere. The young lass had seen it, but Airethul got tired of waiting and waiting. The wood of the Arlandria cracked and moaned, and it grated on the edge of Airethul’s spirit. She spent her nights in Stranglethorn getting as wasted as any undead pirate could expect to get and doing dirty jobs for shitty pay. She hadn’t expected to be in the Vale for so long. It wasn’t exactly the best place for her given her history with the Bloodsails, and Elendori’s reputation could be in shreds if the wrong person saw them talking.

So she left.

She didn’t say anything to anyone except a local who was employing her for mercenary work from time to time—as infrequently as she could manage without losing herself to the Hunger.

The cove seemed the perfect distance from the Maelstrom and Booty Bay that she could go back and forth without having to worry about any frilly magic shit fucking up the ship. The ship remembered these waters, and it remembered that storm. She’d say no lie about being able to speak to a ship, but she knew getting too close to the storm was a bad idea. Any further North and she’d be outrunning Alliance ships everywhere she went.

Whenever something nagged at her—asked her why she’d decided to steal the ship and separate herself from everyone—she’d remind that tiny part of her soul that she had all she needed. There was absolutely no lingering hope that the more isolated she made herself the more likely it was that if someone did find her, it would be that red-haired fucker--come to take back what was his (no pun intended). And she could fight her battle with the Hunger in peace here, starving herself until she couldn’t go on anymore. When she reached that point, the woman would watch the horizon for hours and days until the next message from her employer came and she could go on the hunt again. He knew her needs well, and she was lucky to have found him amongst all the filth in the Bay.

However, it wasn’t as if she was miserable all the time. She actually felt more at home alone on this island than she had ever felt in Quel’thalas and Booty Bay. Sometimes, if she dozed long enough on the beach with the sun beating down on her grey and pale skin, she swore she could hear her dad’s voice on the wind as he told her to come help dock the ship and unload the catch for that week.

Correspondence between her and her employer was all that ever brought her back to reality now. The letters were carried by bird, as weird as that sounded. She didn’t know how he did it, but he trained them well enough to carry short messages. And that was all she ever needed.

It wasn’t too long ago that she’d sent with her usual “mission update” (as she called it) a postscript at the bottom in tiny ugly handwriting.

P.S. If you see a young lass by the name of Elendori around, let her know where to find me.

She did feel bad about leaving without a word to the girl, but she hoped she’d gone and found herself something to do that wasn’t tied to this ship and a Captain that had lost himself.

It had been months by that point, and Aire just felt like getting an update if she could. It wasn’t until a month later—after another job or two—that she received a quickly scrawled note at the bottom of an inquiry about a job. Even as her ears lowered and a frown formed on her face at what was written, Airethul felt a bit of excitement pooling in her gut.

P.S. You might want to be expecting a visitor.

~*~