Four Points Trading

If that wasn't haunting enough, beyond the glow they created, everything first darkened then took on a red tinge. The ground came up fast, her landing ungraceful and painful despite her shifting to the wicker feline before impact. 

There was no trace of that familiar scent here. Just burning. It was hard to describe, to place the smell. Burning metal, burning rock, burning bones? The landscape was like nothing she'd ever seen with its jacked black rocks against a sky that was as much smoke as it was...what?

She quit trying to figure it out, slipping into shadows and padding off on what looked like a well travelled path.

It felt like hours had passed though she really had no idea. She dodged patrols by animated suits of armor and what she called angry souls. Her downfall was trying to wave down what she thought was a kyrian. 

That led to a fight then chase as the ruckas drew the attention of others. She had developed a habit of jumping without looking, trusting in her magics. This time, they didn't come when called and she found herself flailing over the abyss, shifting and catching the links of a massive chain in her hand. 

Her weight threatened to pull her shoulder out of joint but she managed to hold on, mindful that behind her, persuers were gathering at the ledge. To emphasise this point, a spear sailed past her into oblivion. 

She clambered up onto the chain, and pulled herself to the structure it was anchored to. If Larkin was here…

No, she shook that thought from her head. It couldn't have been her. Her scent had been strong where that Kyrian had been and her compass had gone dark, but the  Kyrian gateway was over there too. 

But here? Everything here was either some form of prison or forge it seemed and the animated armor and dark kyrians seemed intent on putting any soul they came across into a cage. 

She had tried to free a few initially but found many had no will left to escape. The few that did, were just resigned and relished the brief time free of the cage. Too many were confused as to why they were here, especially those she encountered who recently passed. It was gut wrenching and heartbreaking and left Wieda feeling more than helpless. She felt useless here. 

There was no rescuing anyone, no freedom to be had. This was the afterlife and with what she knew of Revendreth and the Maw, only those beyond redemption were supposed to be here. 

But that wasn't the case. And no matter how many cages she forced open, there was no where to go. 

Unlike her. She had, she hoped, a way out. One she was ready to take. Below her, forces gathered, starting to climb. She was effectivly trapped. 

She didn’t come to Maldraxus often so it always took her a bit to get her bearings. As was habit ever since she arrived in the Shadowlands, she pulled out and checked her compass once she landed. There was no comforting glow on the face and the needle spun lazily for a moment before finally limiting its arc to a roughly thirty degree sweep. Something either metallic or magnetic in that general direction, and near. Which was why she was here.

A couple hours later she was stepping off the landing pad in Oribos, satchel of ores and weapon fragments over her shoulder. She would see if she could trade these to one of the brokers for some Azeroth foodstuffs and maybe, just maybe, that bottle of rum she had asked for last time.

She pulled out the compass and nearly dropped it. For the first time, the blue etchings in the face glowed. Her head snapped up as she scanned those around her, nose high to try and catch a familiar scent.

She edged closer and closer to the shaft, the column of souls still funneling into the Maw lighting up the Ring. In her visits here, she had seen people jump in, though it was a rare thing and unheard of prior to mortals arriving.

Some jumped, searching for lost loved ones. Some were going on dangerous missions for various covenants. At first, the Maw Walker was The champion of Azeroth, someone Wieda had heard mentioned a few times in the past. A mythical figure more powerful than any of the Kings or Warchiefs, yet somehow humble enough to never have usurped any leaders. She’d never seen them herself and honestly thought they were a myth.

Now, she was again thinking the Champion was not just one person but an Honorific because it seemed there were more than one fabled Maw Walker, if the conversation she overheard the last time she was here held merit. The glow on the compass intensified as she got near the edge and across the way, she could make out what looked to be a Kyrian maybe, also facing the chasm but standing further back.

Wieda glanced around again, the scent trail gone. She checked the compass, which still glowed. “LARKIN!?!?!” she called out, causing some around her to look her way, but the only movement she saw was the figure opposite as they leapt into the column of souls and disappeared from sight.

“Crazy Kyrians” she mumbled, looking around once more before starting to backtrack. She glanced at the compass once more and saw it dark. She spun, staring at the souls rushing by. Could that have been…

She ran around the circle, to where the figure had been. Strong scent, familiar scent. She stared at the souls for a long moment, hands trembling as she closed the compass and secured it to her belt again. Forgotten was the bag of trade goods, the food, the rum. Gone too were thoughts about no one returning from the Maw. Others had done it, aye? And she had access to the Mirror Network, even carried a small one with her that let her get to Sinfall. That would work, right?

The man didn’t seem to own a shirt. At first Penny had thought that this was perhaps a trend here. The more time she spent in the area the more time she realized it was just him. At first this had been a bit jarring but it hadn’t taken long for Penny to take a liking to this Mad Duke. They had in fact quite a bit in common above all he understood the ins and outs of a really proper cup of tea. 

She had ended up in Revendreth after following a lead about Weida. A black wolf person with one eye? Who else could it have been? Hope had sparked inside her as she sent a message off to Maggie. This was not the time to stop and wait her friend (and she was more and more sure of it as she changed into her spell weave) had been seen by the merchants only that morning ( or at lest what she thought was morning) and had gone back to Revendreth. 

Getting there had not been hard and it had been her small tea chest of samples that had opened the door to the Duke. Honestly she was glad for his “protection” as he was fond to drawl out. The landscape seemed to be riddle with creatures.  As for the  inhabitants  while polite and seemingly “well bred” found no need to hide just how deadly they could really be.

That was not to say she didn’t like the area. On the contrary it was almost overwhelming in a special type of beauty. The vast crumbling castles, the damp smells and the mist all tugged at her. It made her think of damp days being sent to market as a child. It was hardly as strange and fantastical as some of what she had seen, and it gave her comfort. Above all else something seemed to pull at her inside as if she belonged. It was familiar.

Even this dance of nobles wanting to impress each other with party’s she understood. Not just from her serving days but from everything she had done to build her company. So she gladly said yes to allowing her teas to be sampled at the next court event, and agreed to stay around to attend. The Duke had been thrilled at this, and found her a place to stay for the time being. It could only be described as decaying elegance, though it was surprisingly grime free.

 Someone had left a tea service for her to use and she found jars of loose leaf for her to use. Once she had a small fire going it was rather cozy. Unsure of how much time had passed she decided that at lest some rest would benefit her. After all the party wasn’t until tomorrow…(In two days? What they said was soon? Time seemed to hold still here also…) and saw no point in running ragged. She knew these sorts and she would need her wits about her.

 It wasn’t as if she had given up on finding Weida, in fact her plain was to ask around at the party. This Duke seemed to think some rumor’s of an “an upright and very much alive wolf” that had passed though one of the other noble houses. He had offered to make an introduction, in exchange for her allowing her tea samples to be tried at the court event. It seemed almost to good to be true but the man was so giddy about it she found it hard to press further.

Larkin woke slowly, at first registering nothing more than softness and warmth. Then came a subconscious knowledge that moving would hurt and, adding to that unwanted intrusion, was an increasingly sharp sense of wrongness. She turned her head and opened her eyes to see a translucent curtain of silvery blue insulating her from the strange world beyond, and she silently went to war with herself over which side of that curtain would hurt less.

Once they’d realized Larkin needed sleep, the Stewards had made quick work of turning one of the hold’s relatively isolated alcoves into a bunk of sorts. ‘No…’ the engineer thought to herself, staring up from her makeshift bed. ‘A nest.’ The touch of the avian creatures was especially evident in the bowl-shaped mound of pillows that Lark found easy to fall into, but a struggle to get out of again, especially when she was still aching from her last mission into the Maw.

Rolling onto her side with a quiet groan, the worgen pushed herself up onto her knees and then paused to make sure she’d remain steady before she got to her feet. Lark had no sooner pushed aside the curtain that separated her little nook from the rest of the wing before a Steward was padding towards her with a bowl of fresh purians. Biting back another groan, she knelt to bring herself more eye level with the creature and took two of the fruits with muttered thanks.

“Can you bring my spaulders from the smith?” She still felt strange about asking the Stewards to do something she’d normally take care of herself, but Larkin had learned in her early days here that they truly lived to serve, and she suspected it bordered on insult to not let them help. Her request was met with a bow and a happy sounding trill and then the Steward was off.

Lark had finished both fruits and pulled on all of her gear except for the shoulder pieces when they finally arrived. Not in the hands of the Steward she’d sent for them, but instead carried by one of the Ascendants who had helped her get settled in Elysian Hold shortly after she’d arrived in Bastion.

“Morning, Ilias,” she greeted. Her tone held wariness, and rightly so based on the young kyrian’s reply. 

“Good afternoon, Larkin.” He’d made a point to emphasize the time of day she’d finally roused. Rather than handing her armor over, he instead delivered another thinly veiled hint. “Here in Bastion, Ascendants are taught that knowing one’s limits is as important as knowing one’s strengths.”

Larkin sighed loudly and stepped forward to take her spaulders from the Kyrian’s arms. “Yeah, well, I learned that lying around makes hurts settle in deeper sometimes, not go away.” 

The words carried a far heavier meaning than she meant for them to, and she quickly pushed down her emotions about her pack. She could think about them in a strategic way, and she did that every time she re-entered the maw or traveled to another land in search of them, but she couldn’t think about how much she worried and wondered about her packmates, especially Wieda.

The worgen got the right spaulder on and strapped down without issue but, when she set the left one into place, her shoulder felt like one gigantic bruise. And reaching up to hold the buckle steady with her left hand so she could thread the strap through with her right sent a tearing jolt of pain across her upper back. Unable to hold it back, she yelped like a kicked pup and was further mortified when Ilias winced in sympathy.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, still fumbling with the buckle. “Just a little sore still.”

The Ascendant stepped closer and she reluctantly looked up from her task to meet his gaze. There was no judgement there, only concern. “I can’t say anything to convince you to wait a little longer?” Ilias asked.

“Hasn’t worked before, has it?” Lark countered sharply. 

Ilias huffed out a breath through his nose and shook his head. Gently batting Larkin’s hands away, he fastened the spaulder to the rest of her armor and then gave it a tug to make certain it stayed in place. 

With obvious reluctance, he nodded and said, “Then I’ll retrieve your spear and let Cassius know you’ll be departing for Oribos. He stepped back then and, with a bow, added, “Courage steel your heart, Larkin.”

Her heart felt anything but brave.

When she really wanted to be alone, she went to the Ember Ward, found a big clearing and would just sit there. Venthyr only came here with parasols in hand and even then very reluctantly. Dredgers came here at the Venthyr’s request but hesitantly because of the Ash Ghouls. Those in turn avoided places like she now sat because the Light was so intense, even for them.

None of them could see her anyways as she was using the druidic magic to hide in plain sight. Blending with nature as her teacher had said.

So why did it work here?

Maybe it was less Nature and more just the natural world, though that still begged the question of how and why it worked here. Maybe it had to do with the Drust magic she used for her druidism, taught by the Thornspeakers. This was a place of death as much as life.

Regardless, it worked and why was not the question at the forefront of her thoughts.

She glanced around, noting a couple ghouls over in the shadows to her far left. What had they believed in, in life? The Light? The Titans? Odyn maybe? Or were they from an entirely different world and reality and believed in some group of all powerful beings, or maybe even one supreme being.

And look where it got them. Sent to Revendreth to atone for some redeemable sin. Those who were redeemed, were sent off to Bastion or Maldraxxus or any number of other lands here. None of which, so far, had fit Wieda’s mental images of the afterlife.

Granted, she had always assumed she was destined for the Nether, after her deal with the demon. But the Venthyr didn’t seem to think that was all that big a deal. True demons were not here, cast back as they belonged to the Nether or something, or so she thought she understood. Likewise, those heavily touched by the void, though on that she wasn’t as sure. She’d met a couple souls in Bastion that claimed to be Rendorei. So, maybe just those who followed the Old Gods?

The only souls she was seeing little to none of here were vrykul and trolls. Well, Horde trolls. She’d seen a couple from Zandalar, with their scales and such. Funny how those details still came through. Was your soul here a reflection of how you looked or your self-image?

She thought probably the last, since she’d not seen any old looking souls here. Which in turn made her search even harder. If her folks’ self-images didn’t match how she remembered them, would she even recognize them?

And what land did they end up in? With so many and her still searching just this one…

She sighed. She had thought the Afterlife would be like this huge city of bright buildings and people waiting for loved ones. With seas and lakes and waterfalls and all the things she loved and…

Nothing like this. Bastion was as close as anything here came to her mental image. But there were no seas, no oceans, no ships sailing on anything. More over, there was war, and strife and death again. What happened when a soul died here. Where did it go? Was that it, done, no afterlife to the afterlife?

Which brought her back round to matters of faith. All those who believed so strongly in Elune, the Light, the Earthmother. For what? What would that faith get them in the end? There were sinstones aplenty of the faithful here, who’s good deeds didn’t balance out the bad. There were no scales, no atonements in life that mattered.

And yet, she lay here, with the Light blazing down around her, a real manifestation of that power. The Light was real, as real as the Void and the Nether. And according to the Venthyr, it attacked the Ember Ward.

Why? If the Venthyr are doing just and good work, why would it attack them? How did it know?

Penny sat at the bar with a cup of something cupped in her hands. She had been told it was tea but it’s smell was not very strong and its taste was off. Why that surprised her she didn’t know…everything in this place was off. 

Oribos was not an unfriendly city, in fact she has been rather warmly welcomed after they understood she was here to sell and trade. The inhabitants remined her of the Ethereal traders back home. As long as you carefully worded your deals she could see making a good profit and quickly too. 

All of that is what she should have been doing if things had gone right. Penny, Maggie, Wieda, Larkin and Rose had all stepped though the portal. Only Penny and her mate seemed to have made it.

At first she had thought it was some sort of delay in the magic itself. So while worried she had waited on panicking. Then what she could only assume a great deal of time passed and they still didn’t appear. Trying to stay calm (and trying to keep Maggie from dashing off to look for them) she arranged for rooms. Maybe something had happened back on the other side. Asking around it seemed like there had been some groups that had been told to wait. No one was sure why though some thought it might have to do with the portal itself.

After a restless night (hours?) the idea that the rest of the Tea Pack was back at the offices safe began to feel more like a lie. Regardless she forced Maggie to sit tight while she sent a letter. After who knew how long a response came back, the others had stepped through when Penny had. So where were they? 

The possibly loomed that something was wrong with the portal and they had perished in the transfer. As much as that could have happened it didn’t feel right. After all wouldn’t she know deep down if they had been killed some how? Maggie had set off sniffing about and had heard rumors’ that there were a few others who had reported missing members of their party’s on this side of the portal.

 After what they thought was at lest another day (maybe two it was hard to tell here) a story of a missing  messenger boy who had come with a set of troops, suddenly turned up in an area known as Ardenweald. It couldn’t be confirmed but the pair felt hopeful. 

After a night of a long debate Maggie would go in person and ask around. Penny only agreed on the condition that her mate checked in regularly. So far she had kept that part of the deal but no luck finding anyone yet in the pack. 

It was agreed that Penny should wait in the city  should any word come, or even better one of them turned up. To be honest staying put was hard, but it was clearly the best option. So here she sat waiting with the tea that wasn’t right in the hopes that some how someone would turn up. Deciding that it was time to at lest look over her paper work, Penny had just pushed back to leave when she over heard a snatch of conversation, 

“That black wolf thing was back” 

“So strange some of the shapes they take as mortals”

“They don’t get a choice of shape, besides who would decided not to have an eye”

She almost knocked over the tea in her jolt to get over to them. A black wolf with one eye? Could it be Wieda? The fear of being to hopeful left her standing for a moment very still. She shook it off and went over to the low table were they sat.

“Excuse me” she drew a deep breath “I….I was hoping you could help me”

She had debated trying to take a portal home, back to Azeroth. Stood before it, in line with others even, but turned away before she got too close. Time had no meaning here but there? It flowed. What if a brief trip back made her miss the others, assuming they yet lived? What if they aged and she didn’t, or vice versa? No, she was staying here. Too many unknowns. Never-mind she was seeing merchants and adventurers come and go. She was beyond rational thoughts and this place was well beyond even time magic, which she knew just a little about.

For similar reasons, she didn’t send a letter home either. One of the Ebon Blade could have taken it for her, or the occasional traveler. But in her mind, she reasoned it would miss the people she wanted to reach or arrive too late.

So her trips to Oribos dwindled, limited to meetings with Brokers and gathering supplies, then back to Revendreth to search more. Obsession is what her sin stone should be carved with now, not pride. The fact she even had one was something. The inscriptions on it though were faint, sometimes struck-through even.

Wieda Ashcroft-Kiden

Many have consorted with the Legion, even taken one of them in as Wieda did…

Pride in her heritage, her abilities and herself led to the death of generations when she stole a loved one away against their own wishes.

Too sure of her own self, her actions caused not only her own death, but the death of those close to her.

There were more, but they were all unfinished or had been marked out. “You have been here before. Not here in Revendreth per se, but you were touched by the Arbiter and pulled back. But it created a connection I believe. Twice you have almost done a thing to earn a sin stone but somehow diverted from that path at the last moment. But your prior connection caused the stone to be started in anticipation I believe?”.

The venthyr fell silent, hand on his chin as he studied the stone. “The last entry is the puzzling one. It is yet to be written and yet was. Someone messed with Time and undid what was done, undoing an earlier manipulation of time and setting things back the way they should be I believe”.

Wieda thought hard on that as she searched for the other’s stones. It was akin to searching Stormwind for a specific rat but still, obsession doesn’t listen to reason. Besides, she found her stone near where she found her uncle’s. From what she knew of this place, it was probable he was still here somewhere, as his death was within her lifetime. Then again, that issue with time here made her unsure.

If he was, he was beyond her searches and inquiries for now. If he had been redeemed? No telling where he was. One thing was certain though, he was not the saint she remembered. Now she understood why her Da and mum disliked him coming around and his influence on Wieda.

…

It was like no portal Wieda had ever stepped through. The usual chill was replaced by a bone-numbing cold and the brief flash of light lingered and grew in intensity, blinding her with its brilliance. Not to mention the sound, usually a quick fizzle and pop of arcane energy was now a roar of sound she couldn’t place. Too many sounds overlapping and yet nothing so distinct as to even attempting to describe nor place it.

The silence that followed was louder in her mind and lingered even as her vision returned. Still chilled, she was unsure if it was from the air or from the grand castle, almost forsaken in design, that she stood before.

Forsaken meets Gilnean meets Sin’dorei maybe? With out the gold trim. Tall imposing spires, slate roof tiles and ornately detailed buttresses. Windows either lit from inside with a deep red light or light seen through crimson shades, she wasn’t sure.

A carriage rumbled past not far from where she lay, similar in design to the castle but not. It took her a moment to realize it was a hearse, like the ones she’d seen in the city proper a time or two. Pulled by two massive chargers with glowing red eyes.

Instinctively she shifted, Drust-magic swirling about her as her humanoid form melded to that of the large wicker cat and faded into the shadows. Where ever she was, it wasn’t where she had intended to go and the others were not in scent range.

She took time to quietly search about, making sure no one else that entered the portal was nearby before heading down the road, staying just off it so as to avoid the carriages and their weird little goblin drivers. Grey, thick goblins with rather un-goblin-like features. With accents not too far off those she remembered from the lower Market Square folks.

One of the carriages stopped not far from where she lay, in the shadow of an intricate carved feminine winged demon thing. Another statue, this one male, loomed to her right. Though at this second her attention was on the person that exited the carriage.

Tall (oh so tall) and slender with short pointed ears, dark beady eyes and a weird, double bouffant hairstyle, the person (she wasn’t sure of their gender based on dress nor hair) was arguing with someone inside still. They glanced in her general direction, squinted a bit then hurried around to the other side of the carriage.

Wieda glanced around, curious what the carriage rider had seen and stopped. Had the demon statue thing’s head been turned towards her before? The other statue still faced the road…it must have and she just didn’t notice it. Voices carried to her hiding place and she turned her attention back to the road.

“…was sure they saw something fall over this way, not too long ago. Do you suppose it was this Maw Walker the Master is so interested in?”

Another head poked out of the carriage, glanced around, seemed to fixate on where Wieda crouched and shook her head. “Not likely”.

The one outside looked in the same direction and drew his blade. “I heard other mortals have crossed over. Do you suppose some could have fallen here?”.

The one in the carriage shook her head again. “Again, doubtful. Last I heard, they are all arriving in Oribos. Besides, a mere mortal is no risk to us. The Master only wants the Maw Walker. Any others that do come this way? We will treat like the souls in our care…”. She paused, looking again in Wieda’s direction. “Come, I do not like the look of those stoneborn off the path. Rebels have been reported in this area and attacked a carriage just yesterday. If a mortal did fall here, it will quickly be taken by the felbats anyways”.

————————–

As she stood on the ruined ramparts of Sinfall, she wondered how long ago had that been? Days? A week? Weeks? In this land of constant twilight, she had lost all track of time. She didn’t even know the day of the week. How long had passed back home. And where were the others.

She initially had fallen in with one of the Nobles here. She didn’t even remember the House now, but the Lord had been more than happy to welcome a mortal in, even if it wasn’t the Maw Walker, whoever that was.

Too quickly she learned the hard truth of things though, a truth that had her thinking on home and the ways of her own people. Thinking on her own actions and wondering what her sin stone would one day look like. Assuming she was even given the chance at redemption and not tossed directly into the Maw.

Exiled to the Ember Ward by the former gracious host, she drew attention for being able to walk freely in the Light. Soon enough agents of the resistance had collected her and brought her in. She spent the remaining time helping the rebels and learning what she could from them. There were no pretenses here, no airs or falsehoods. Perhaps those Venthyr who had resided here for many many lifetimes could lie to others of their kind, but Wieda could not. Not that she intended to do so, but certain truths she was used to hiding.

But now? Gone was the attempt at a higher class accent. Gone were the titles as well. Captain mattered as little as Lady or Gilnean or Alliance. She was just Wieda or Mortal, though as more mortals arrived, she found her name used more. She kept an eye on the newcomers, looking for familiar faces but none she knew so far.

Not that anyone outside the pack would recognize her anyways, since fewer had ever seen her than even knew she was a worgen. But that was the form she bore in this place. Her deep black fur and blazing green eye almost felt more emphasized here too. Was it something about the place? Had it somehow changed her?

She finished the tea and turned to one of the dredgers next to her. “Things all set, aye? Oim leaving fer this Ori-bos in the mornin? Take some letters and such wit’ me to give to them trader folks?”. 

————————————–

“Do be careful and try to avoid flying into any of the Master’s….pets, will you?”. The Venthyr didn’t quite dismiss her out of habit, pausing to offer an actual smile. “I do hope you see fit to return”.

Wieda nodded, tightening the saddle straps on the flying bat thing. “Oi will. May be a bit, got some folk I came ‘ere wit’ I need t’ see ifn I can track down. See ifn there be a way back to Azeroth too, in case they went that way. But I’ll be back. Err, as a living mortal, aye? Workin’ on that pride bit so I don’ come back ‘ere when I pass”. She grinned.

~*~

https://www.instagram.com/inmybackyardnz/

“You sure you want to take her out, miss? Storm clouds on the horizon, be safer to wait”. The elf looked Wieda over once more before glancing back to the sky, one hand held to shield his eyes. The small fishing vessel had a single mast and a tiller as opposed to a wheel but was Gilnean in design so something she was very familiar with at least.  

Wieda smiled as she ran her fingers along the hull, turning back to the elf and adding a few more coin to his hand. “Safer, aye, but wots the point of having a boat ifn yer not going to take her to sea? She’s not meant to be sitting here tied up on the beach. Besides, night fishing is best when a storms about. Fish are hungrier”.

He smirked and nodded. “True”. He looked at the gold. “For this amount, you could buy it you know”. She nodded. “Aye, but then you’d be without come next time you need it. Security deposit in case Oim not as good as I think I am?”

———————————————————————————————————–

A few hours later, she was, perhaps, regretting that bit of cockiness. She endured the wind and cold as long as she dared before finally shifting. Wieda fought large swells and freezing winds as she steered her way through the cold front, not something she had expected in these waters but the sea didn’t seem to care much for her expectations.

But now, with the water relatively calm, a faint sporadic yet constant sound all around her had her puzzled as she shifted back to her human form and worked to relight the lantern.

Once lit, the sight it revealed took her breath away. Shifted, she’d not felt it on her fur and she had been too distracted with the wick to realize what she was feeling on her face and hands. But now, with the light shining out from atop the mast?

Snow. All around her, snow. A large squall working its way across the open sea, large puffy flakes slowly falling back to the water. She sat down, grinning, content to watch it fall.

The squall held her attention for maybe fifteen minutes, enough to dust her hair and the sail, before she remembered why she had come out here. Soon enough, hooks were baited and lines cast.

It was another couple hours before the back edge of the storm appeared and the seas picked up again. She quickly stowed her gear, secured her catch into the small ice box in the bow and shifted again. Unfurling the canvas as the edge of the storm overtook her, the wind filled the sail and she was off, whooping aloud as the little dingy skipped across waves.

———————————————————————————————————–

It was early dawn when she returned to port, arriving in the same snow that had enthralled her earlier. The elf stood there, shaking his head as she jumped into the surf to drag the small boat onto the beach area. “Have fun out there at least? Was a might rough I’d wager”.

Wieda just nodded as she secured the lead rope to a stump, pulled her fish out of the bow and walked over towards him and his bonfire. “You wait up all night for me?”.

He nodded. “In case I needed to send out a search boat…”

An uncharacteristically soft knock at the door alerts Wieda to the next arrival. A towering ursine man with dark skin and sapphire blue eyes. He’s a bottle of Kiden firebrand whiskey in one hand, and a small box in the other. “‘ere’s 'opin’ Oi made it on toime, ya?”

“Aye, yer in time Nic. Bloody fel it’s good to see you”. She managed to get that out, bouncing a bit on her toes before jumping at him to wrap him in a bear hug. A small, wiry bear hug but still…

He catches her with a bright smile on his weathered and scarred visage, holding to Wieda as if she were oxygen and he caught beneath the waves. “S'good ta see ya agin.” He whispers raspily in her ear. There’s a brief pause, before he adds, “She’d a loved ta walk ta down th’ aisle, y'know. Ya?”

There was another knock on the door, this one very soft “Umm hello…alright to come in?”

Wieda nodded into Nic’s neck, wetness dripping down her cheek and onto his shoulder. She couldn’t speak, soft gentle sobs the only sound she could manage at the moment. She did somehow manage to hook the door with a foot and swing it a bit open.

Nic moves aside, still not letting go of Wieda, to make room for the new arrival. He offers a bleary-eyed smile to Penny as she enters. "Oi.”

Penny stood in the doorway dressed in a very plain grey dress with silver trim. She smiles a bit shyly maybe out of old habits and she goes to say something to Weeds but then stops and smiles to Nic

Wieda gave him one more big squeeze before pulling away a bit to give him a smile and a kiss on the cheek. She then lowered her feet back to the ground and reached a hand out towards Penny. “It is your office, of course you can come in”.

Nic dips his head in, perhaps, his most formal gesture to the noblewoman to date. “S'been more'n a minute since Oi seen any either o’ ya beau'iful ladies.” He turns to receive the affection offered by Wieda as he returns her to her feet.

Taking a deep breath, he holds up the little gift box to Wieda. “So, uhm… Oi may have mentioned ta Teren abou’ th’ weddin’” His hands rise to preclude any concerns that news might engender. His Brother was positively notorious for over-doing wedding ceremonies. “Oi told 'im this isn’ th’ ceremony. Jes’ the paperwork. So, don’ worry. There’s no a flee’ o’ dames an fellas off ta wine an’ dine alla Stormwin’ fer ya.”

A brief but sincere chuckle follows that remark. In a more sober tone, he explains the blue-ribboned gift. “Teren foun’ this in wit Loch’s… personal effec’s. Seems she was plannin’ on puttin’ it t'gether fer ya b'fore …well, y'know.” He shrugs, clearing the lump from his throat before continuing. “Anyway, seems Malura give’d 'is son some magic somethin’ or other, an’ he transfer’d one o’ th’ dweomers onta it fer you to have. Said she’d ha’ done it 'erself if she were 'ere.”

Penny gave Weed’s hand a squeeze and then nodded back to Nic “Good to see you…as…well, and its paperwork but…I have set up a little bit of food in my waiting room you’ll join us after?” she paused as he seemed to have something to say about the box. Her eyes down on it thinking for a moment of Loch.

Wieda took the box but didn’t open it just yet. “Thank you Nic, for bringing it and for telling him this is an informal thing. With everything going on, we didn’t want to wait any longer”. She smiled over at Penny. “I figured you would somewhere have a spread for folks, few as they will be”.

Larkin appeared in the hallway beyond only a handful of minutes behind Penny and at her side was an older man with a friendly face. He was impeccably dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt. Any impression that he might be uptight or stuffy was offset by his hair, black going silver and plagued with cowlicks that stood out in a half-dozen places. With an upturned palm and a sweep of her arm, Lark gestured for the man to enter the room before her. “Judge Bylund,” she began as she entered and stood by his side once more, then pointed to her fiancée. The look she gave Weeds was full of affection. “This is my soon-to-be wife, Wieda Ashcroft-Kiden.” Her gaze moved to Nic, to whom she dipped her head in a respectful nod. “Her uncle, Nic Alair.” She offered Penny a small, nervous smile. “And our dear friend Penvenom Starkstar.”

“Oi’ll 'ave a boite o’ yer food if ye’ll share this bot'le o’ whiskey, m'lady.” Nic replies to Penny, leaving the box for Wieda to address when she’s ready. Larkin’s arrival at the doorway gives him a sense of relief as he steps back toward the nearest wall to give the three women space. He offers a perhaps overly casual two-fingered salute to the judge as the man is introduced. “Alatir.” He corrects his surname, but makes no fuss as he bows to his soon-to-be-Niece-in-law. “Thanks fer 'avin’ me.”

Wieda smiled at all present as she moved to stand next to Larkin, taking the other’s hand in hers. “Right. Seems we be all here, aye? Should get this ship a sailin’ ”.

“I’ll, uh…” The judge grinned. “I will take the helm then, yes?” He looked from Lark to Wieda. “Ladies? We can do this wherever you’d like. Please stand facing one another, then I’ll take my spot and we’ll… hmmm.” He paused a moment, clearly in thought. “Ah! And then we’ll cast off.”

Penny gave an awkward smile back to Larkin and then looked at the juge “Your…honor umm feel free to use the desk if you need to”

Catching her lower lip between her teeth to bite back a laugh, Lark gave Wieda’s hand a squeeze. She wasn’t sure how the judge’s attempts to play off the sailing comment went over with her fiancée, but the unexpected goofiness had calmed her nerves. She led Weeds to a spot where the few chairs that had been set up and then turned so they were facing one another with Judge Bylund taking up position on one side of them and Penny and Nic on the other. She took a deep breath that shuddered when she exhaled. Offering Wieda a warm smile, she quietly asked, “Ready?”

Wieda nodded, just now realizing she probably looked a right mess after having had a good cry on Nic earlier. Still, with Larkin before her, Nic and Penvenom here and a momento from Loch present as well, she was never more ready. “Aye love. I’m ready”.

The judge slid a leather portfolio out from beneath his arm and placed it on the desk before facing the two ladies. He looked past them and addressed Penny and Nic. “We are gathered here, not for you to witness the beginning of what will be, but rather what already has begun. We are here to celebrate with Larkin and Wieda their existing love and understanding of each other, and to honor their commitment to continue their future together.” The man returned his attention to the brides. “Your yesterdays were the path to this moment, and your journey to a future of togetherness becomes a little clearer with each new day. May you always need one another, not to fill an emptiness, but to help each other know your fullness.” Bylund paused and his smile grew warmer, wider. “May you want one another, but not out of lack. May you succeed in all important ways with each other, and not fail in the little graces. May you have happiness, and may you find it in making one another happy. And may you have love, and may you find it in loving one another.” The engineer’s lower lip trembled and the heat in her cheeks told her they were blooming pink but, thank the Light, her eyes remained dry despite all the emotion swirling within.

Wieda was not as lucky, having already opened the dams once within the last fifteen minutes. Tears slowly rolled down her cheek even as the smile on her lips grew with each word. She gripped larkin’s hands tight, raising a shoulder to wipe at her face briefly, eyes pinching shut to force out the wetness.

Lark slipped one of her hands from Wieda’s and gently wiped the tears from her face. When their hands joined again, the judge carried on. Turning slightly toward Lark, he said, “Do you Larkin, take Wieda to be your wife, promising to love and cherish, through joy and sorrow, sickness and health, and whatever challenges you may face, for as long as you both shall live?” Her hands shook within Wieda’s grasp. She nodded and then, after a momentary battle against herself, managed to speak rather than cry. “I do.” Judge Bylund turned to face Wieda. “Do you Wieda, take Larkin to be your wife, promising to love and cherish, through joy and sorrow, sickness and health, and whatever challenges you may face, for as long as you both shall live?”

She pulled one of Larkin’s hands close, placing a soft kiss on the back of it before nodding to the Judge. “Aye, that I do”.

The judge raised his hands enough for him to touch the fingers of his right hand to the ring finger of his left, a signal to the nervous engineer of what came next. Gratefully taking the cue, Larkin drew her hand away once again and reached into her pocket to pull out a ring. The band was yellow gold knotwork flawlessly etched into a background of white gold and, when it was placed on Wieda’s finger, the matching knot on the engagement ring would overlap it and make the two rings appear as one. The symbolism was not lost on Larkin, and she prayed it wasn’t lost on Weeds either. Bylund continued. “Wedding rings are made precious by our wearing them. Your rings say that even in your uniqueness you have chosen to be bound together.” He looked to Wieda. “Let these rings also be a sign that love has substance as well as soul, a present as well as a past, and that, despite its occasional sorrows, love is a circle of happiness, wonder, and delight. May these rings remind you always of the vows you have taken here today.” The judge gave Larkin a nod and, lifting Wieda’s left hand up between them, she slid the wedding band down her fourth finger and into place against the ring she already wore there. “With this ring, I thee wed, and with it, I bestow upon thee all the treasures of my mind, heart, and hands.”

Wieda took a moment to admire the rings, the comforting 'click’ as the knot nestled into the depression in the other band, securing them together making her smile. She looked up at Larkin and almost leaned in, the start of the motion was there before she remembered and stopped, reaching into her vest pocket and withdrawing a similarly styled ring but noticeably different. She looked at the judge, waiting….

The judge smiled at Wieda, flashed her a quick wink and again touched his ring finger.

Wieda cleared her throat. “With this ring, I thee wed, and wit’ it, bestow upon thee all the treasure of me mind, heart and hands”. With a shaking hand, she slid the ring onto Larkin’s ring finger, her eye never leaving her love’s face.

The judge held a hand up and looked past the couple to smile at the witnesses. He then turned his attention back to Larkin and Wieda, making eye contact with each before speaking again. “The story of your life together is now yours to write. Those who are present to witness and celebrate your love and commitment this day, and those who are here in love and spirit, are blessed to be a part of the story not yet told. By the power vested in me by the Kingdom of Stormwind, I now pronounce you wife and wife.” Bylund’s grin was broad and he actually giggled a little in happiness. “You may both now kiss your bride.”

This time, there was no hesitation as Wieda leaned closer, one hand slipping behind Larkin’s neck, the other intertwining their fingers. She pulled her love…her wife…closer, brushed her lips ever so softly then firmly kissed Larkin…

A single step was all it took to close the distance between them, and Lark bridged that gap and looped an arm around Wieda. Her heart raced in her ears and a kind of warmth she’d never felt before rippled through her, spreading out from where her lips met her love’s. Reluctantly, she pulled back to allow them both a breath. She hadn’t gone far though and, as she dipped her chin to gently rest her forehead against Wieda’s, she whispered. “I love you.”

Penny started to clap a little she couldn’t help it and then stopped smiling and folding her hands

Wieda grinned, staring into the other’s eyes. “Oi love you too Larkin Ashcroft-Kiden”. She turned her head just enough to spy Penvenom and catch her gaze. “More of that, aye? Something like this deserves some applause and hollrin’ ”.

At this, Penny nodded and began clapping again.

NIc clears his throat, leaning away from his wall to stand upright. With a smile to each of the newlyweds, he murmurs in his raspy bass. “Th’ two a you are fit as Queens, ya are.”

“They….are ship shape” Penny chimed in, clapping hard now.

Wieda couldn’t respond, her lips having found Larkin’s again.

Nic erupts with laughter as the two women re-solidify their vows.

February 28th - March 5th Weekly Writing Challenge

(Late to this)

She stood on the docks, leaned over enough to rest a hand on the hull of the Wolfheart. Her ship, a gift from her adoptive mother. A mother she let hang on false charges.

She could have saved her. She had it all planned out. Sail along the coast, cut in along the cove till she reached calm waters then fire up the lifting engines. Up and out of the water, over the hills, running at tree-top level till they reached the rise of mountains between there and the Duchy.  Staying that low, they wouldn’t be heard till they crested the peaks, port side already brought to bear so the guns just needed to be sighted in. She figured a couple broadsides would have disrupted the troops. She would then side-slip in, canons clearing around the gallows even as the crew dropped ordnance over the sides onto the heads of the troops they flew over. 

If they pulled the lever before she could get there? She was still using the fel at that time. A green fireball would have made short work of the ropes and she knew Lochlan would take that fall easy enough. 

She could once again sweep in on her flying rug, scoop her up and be back aboard the ship before anything significant could be brought to bear. The ship could take a few spells with out worry and as soon as she had Loch, the ship would have ascended. 

They would meet over the same rise, the ship firing the whole time to deter any gryphon riders, not that Greymane’s forces typically used them. From there?

Well, Wieda hadn’t ever worked that part out, expecting that her mother would have a better idea of where to go. Though she assumed North, towards the Argents was a safe bet. 

But she had not done any of it. Instead she stood and watched as they carried out the execution. Because her mother had asked her not to. Because her mother had ordered others not to. Because of anyone aced, the people of the Duchy would pay the price. The people would have also acted and a rebellion would have ended badly for them. 

It didn’t lessen the guilt though. Honoring her last wishes had been the hardest thing she had ever done and the only thing keeping it from overwhelming her at times was knowing how much greater the guilt would have been if those in the Duchy had died instead.