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By Risri Elthron

Harboson Company long known as a supplier for many of our Alliance Military Units suffered a loss last week when their canal side shop The Vital Spice was robbed. In the hours past midnight, anything in the store not bolted down, was taken including Mr. Elstine Harboson’s desk chair.

A brick through the window investigators confirmed to be the entry point. The stock in the store was mostly medical from cloth and bandaging to herbs used for medicines. All of it was taken in what investigators say was a coordinated and organized manner. Mr. Harboson discovered the theft in the morning hours and reported it to the guard. The shop has been closed down to repair the damage and until inventory can be replenished.

When asked when the shop might reopen, Mr. Harboson responded, “A large portion of our suppliers are taking vacations and such to spend time with families as this is generally a low time of year for crop yields. So, reopening may be pretty far off as late as next spring perhaps. As far as the value of supplies? Of course it varied with economic fluctuations… But generally speaking, we keep enough supplies in stock to keep us full for half a year - maybe upwards of a few thousand gold. The immediate needs will be cotton, linen, and soothing herbs such as Peacebloom since all of those  are rare in the colder months.”

Investigators are seeking anyone who may have witnessed the theft or anything unusual around the canals last Friday morning.

@demon-with-the-blue-eyes

Fall is in the air and Apple picking time is nigh. Come out October 20th and 21st to join the members of the Gold-Stone Concordance at Aventine Farm’s Apple Orchard for games, contests, prizes, vendors, and more!

What to expect at the faire:

Face painting

Games with prizes

Dueling (IC PvP Competitions-Faction and Cross Faction.)

Battle Pet Competitions

Bobbing for Apples

Pie baking contest

Tea infusion center

Petting zoo

Candied/Caramel Apples

And more delicious foods!

Are you a vendor? Would you like to sell your wares? Contact Harboson Company to reserve your spot before they are all gone!

When: October 20th and 21st Time:   6 (server) both days Where: Aventine Farm, in the Apple Orchard (The Dagger Hills, Westfall oocly)

(The Gold-Stone Concordance is comprised of a series of roleplay guilds and together we’d like to invite you to our first server-wide event the Falling Apple Faire that will be held on the 20th and 21st of October at the Aventine Farm’s Apple Orchard! (10/20 - 10/21) This event is cross-faction with equal fun on both sides; hosting a series of contest, fun events, games, merchant stalls, and more!

Entry will consist of a small In-Character fee, where you’ll be given a numbered and lettered ticket that is part of our lottery; everyone will have a chance to win the prize!

Vendor locations will have an In-Character fee based on the location purchased for the evening; (first come, first serve.) all legal businesses will be allowed to purchase a spot - last minute entries will be given whatever spots are left over.

If any more shops decide to open, we will let you know! Keep an eye on our tumblr!

ALL COMMISSION GET A 5$ DISCOUNT IF THE CHARACTER WEAR HALLOWEEN COSTUME! AND 5$ DISCOUNT ON SPOOKY BACKGROUND!

My art Link 

My commission info

Hello, hello folks! Yes, yes it is true - the Harboson Company is turning into a ‘house’ of sorts through a long-term storyline. We’ve been gathering land, resources, and the support of various respected Noble Houses to advance forward with our storyline; so why the change? Well, let’s get into it!

1. What is the difference between the Harboson Company and the Harboson Chronicles?

An excellent question; the primary thing is that the Company isn’t the main focus anymore - rather more of a side product. We still own our storefront, we’re still running the trade routes, running the GSC, etc, etc. Now, the Harboson Chronicles will be focused on Politics, Intrigue, Strategy/Tactics, IC Growth, Wargames, and Land-Management. If you’re familiar, think Crusader Kings but with your friends, Azeroth as the theme, and more in-depth character progression.

In addition, the Harboson Chronicles is made up of more than one guild. We intend to partner with any and all interested in this new direction. One does not have to join the guild to be involved, but all those involved will be required to follow the same rules and act as decent human beings.

2. So, what’s to be expected if we decide to sign up with you?

There are three separate paths to be included within the guild. A Knight-Inspired path, a Mercenary path, and Partisan path. That being said there are a series of Noble Families with different cultures/customs to sign up with - all the current Noble Families are vassals, or loyal to the Harboson Family. So, one Noble Family might have more of a Gypsy-ish culture focused on trade and exploration, while another might be more Scandinavian-ish focused on raiding and warfare.

The ‘Knight’ path will require one to start as a ‘Squire’ sworn to an already established Knight. The Squires will of course be trained in warfare, tactics, politics and so forth; while generally aiding the Knight in their day to day task. Life in general will vary depending on which Knight you decide to swear yourself to as people will have different values and customs depending on their House. After you’ve proven yourself, your Knight or Lord may grant you some land in which case, you will become a Knight.

The Knightly Path primary consist of politics, intrigue, engaging in battles, and in general trying to expand your influence/wealth/land.

The Mercenary Path is primarily focused on combat-only and suggested for those that won’t be able to be on as often. Folks within the Mercenary Path will be here in a more casual setting generally speaking, hopping on to aid in combat events, get paid and then head off; though not necessary. With time, a Mercenary can be granted the role of Captain, taking on a series of Mercenaries under their wing - increasing their own pay as well. Mercenaries will not be typically be awarded lands.

The Mercenary Path can be used as a trial/introduction rank until you’ve made your decision to stay or leave - a Mercenary can be allowed to become a Squire as a long as a Knight is willing to take them in.

The Partisan Path is not focused on things like blacksmithing and the like, but more on the Noble-Court roles fulfilled by non-Nobles. Such as Stewards, Viceroys, and so forth. Partisan roles are typically things of management, business, and intrigue. Trying to maintain your position and grow your influence while the Nobles squabble over one another. A Partisan Role can be anything from a servant to the Viceroy of the entire Harboson Company; undoubtedly a potentially powerful route.  

Partner guilds will be able to generally structure however they choose to; though strictly OOCly rank titles such as Count, Duke, and King will remain for ease of OOC understanding. For example, someone titled ICly as “Matriarch” would OOCly be listed as a Queen/King.

3. The chance to win land? Sounds too good to be true.

Not at all, that is the primary resource of reward really. The whole point is to follow along with a Feudal-Style system complete with ‘Counts’, ‘Dukes’, ‘Grand Dukes’, and even ‘Kings’ though these are all just OOC ranks designed for simplicity and ease to follow. It’s rather simple once you think about it. A Count runs a County, several Counts work under a Duke who owns a Duchy that typically consist of several county-sized territories. A Grand Duke runs a Grand Duchy, which has two Dukes/Duchies, and upwards of six Counts/Counties.

(Please note; ranks such as Count to King/Queen are considered OOC Ranks used to detail general power for ease of understanding. ICly there can be no one with a real title of King/Queen or higher.)

The beauty of the system is one does not have to be good at politics or intrigue to do well; simply serving your Lord or impressing the right people can grant you more land. More land means more resources, more resources means more units for combat. On the other spectrum, a person that is piss-poor at combat can be incredibly sneaky - making alliances and deals, trying to forge land deeds, so on and so forth to gain land in a less direct way.

Upon gaining a certain amount of land and becoming a County you can name your County, describe your culture in as much detail as you’d like - IE: “Western European, Traditional Knights. – Holy Roman/Gothic styled armor and weaponry. – Eastern European, light armors, heavy weapons.” Etc, etc – and if you’d like, even make a family crest and flag for your county using a heraldic system. At that point, you’ll be able to make a lot of choices that’ll affect your county. IE, you can choose to focus on growing your food stocks, focus to train more soldiers, focus on making the best weapons possible, focus on making gold, etc, etc.

4. This sounds like a lot… It seems complicated.

TLDR: We promise it isn’t really. I do not like math, and I do not like homework so I made management as meaningful as possible with the least amount of math and work possible.

On paper, it is - yes. In reality, and once you start getting into it and roleplaying with it - not at all. It typically seems to flow naturally and gives you feeling of what a King back in the day likely felt like. Do you trust that your Allies will come and aid you when your arch rival comes to attack your lands? Or in your paranoia will you rely on your soldiers, constantly drilling them potentially to the point of exhaustion. Do you want to have a smaller elite team of Soldiers, or are you going to attempt to use horde tactics and swarm the enemy with superior numbers? Perhaps you’ll focus on technology like cannons and rifles over the more traditional Knights and Footmen. The choice is up to you.

If you like tactics, even just a little this system will likely be a lot of fun for you - but if you have no interest in even the smallest bits of tactics, politics, or intrigue - then the Mercenary Path is for you; engage in our fun combat-oriented events and still be engaged in the story.

5. You can’t own land.

Ah, that’s weird because I kind of do. But fret not, the land we’re using while based in Azeroth have no exact location nor particular position in which we’ll constantly be flooding and claiming ‘you can’t roleplay here, because this is ours.’

The most detailed one should ICly get is “I own some/lots land in Redridge.”

6. Ahaha, calling yourself a King seems like a quick way to be called a traitor and executed.

TLDR: There will be no IC titles equal to that of a king/queen. Anyone called a King/Queen is done in an OOC sense to easily distinguish ranks.

Typically, yes - but the term is used OOCly for ease of understanding ranks and chain of command; even though by all technical means the ‘King of Stormwind’ is actually an Emperor considering they own several Kingdoms; in reality it wouldn’t be uncommon for there to be several Kings under said emperor - but that’s just plucking at straws. So, for example my character may be the OOC rank of a Grand Duke. with 2 Dukes Under him, and a total of say 12 Counts. But, ICly, I may refer to myself still as Patrician (A more accurate term anyway.)

7. Idk, it seems too ambitious - I’ve seen groups try to do Kingdom RP before.

Ambitious is a rough term, especially since it’s something we’ve been doing amongst ourselves for an extended period now with a series of other organizations and guilds through Discord. (Which we will continue to use as well.) This is not an announcement stating we are ‘trying’ this, this is an invitation stating ‘Hey, we’re doing this. We’re having a good time, you’re welcome to join us.’ And yes, others have done (And are still doing.) styles of roleplay ‘like’ this… Though nowhere near as structured I’d argue.

8. I have seen this before; you just want to control things. This is just a power play!

While I understand your concern all too well, I will have to disagree with you strongly. We are not here to rule over other groups, we will not be prewriting stories or the outcomes. (except for maybe, you know, agreed upon storylines with agreed upon results.) We are here for one simple purpose; having fun. One thing many of us enjoy but can rarely get at a satisfactory level without a butt-load of OOC drama is Politics, Intrigue, and War. We are here as an OOC collective working together with the goal of not winning at a board game, but rather having a good time with all those present. There are rules and limitations in place that add a sense of realism, immersion, and balance that will prevent a lot of potentially upsetting happenings. (Ie, someone steamrolling through all the groups in a day.) We just want to have fun, and more over we want you to have fun.

So fear not, if you want politics, intrigue, strategy, wargames - or just want to give it a shot, give it a try.

———-

All in all, we’re extending a hand to folks that think they’d like to be involved. Rather you want an immersive experience as a Knight/Squire/Mercenary, want to be involved in intrigue and politics, or you think you’d really enjoy our detailed wargame system involving several guilds and actual players rather than just NPCs, and on top of it all enjoy solid storylines then this is something you’ll want to look into my dudes. Leave a message on the post, send us a message on Tumblr, or contact Elstine or Tideguard in-game.  Reblogs are appreciated. 

“Is there someone you hold dear?”

“Don’t you feel any guilt?”

“You’re actually afraid to be alone, aren’t you?”

“There must be something you fear.”

“Do you have a home?”

“Is there someone you like?”

“Are you really expecting a positive outcome out of this?”

“Aren’t you ashamed?”

“Aren’t you happy?”

“Who do you despise?” 

“How do you sleep at night?”

“What do you think of kindness?”

“What do you think of hatred?”

“Why do you fight?”

“Why do you live?”

“How much blood have you spilled?”

“How much death have you seen?”

“Don’t you think your actions are reckless?”

“Don’t you know how much good you’ve done for others?”

“Can’t you tell they love you?”

“Can’t you see he/she would die for you?”

“Can’t you tell the truth for once?”

“You’re not tainted.”

“You’re not alone.”

“You’re awful.”

“You don’t think of anyone but yourself.”

“You’re an emotionless robot.”

“You’re just a lap dog.”

“It’s not over.”

“He/she needs you.”

“Stop lying.”

“Stop fighting.”

“Stop pushing others away.”

“You’re cruel.”

“You’re far too kind. Too kind for your own good.”

“You depend on him/her too often.”

“You’re overprotective, it’s stifling.”

“He/she is bringing you down.”

“You’re too timid, it’s easy to see you as a target.”

“You need to listen.”

“You need to speak up more often.”

“You’re weak.”

“You’re too proud.”

“You won’t always be around to save him/her.”

“One day, he/she won’t need you anymore.”

“You can’t cheat death.”

“You can’t hide forever.”

“They’ll find out the truth eventually.”

“That person is only holding you back.”

“They’re too good for you.”

“You’ll be rewarded for your efforts if you keep trying.”

“It will get better.”

“You look lonely.”

“You look bitter.”

“You look tired.”

“You’re hiding a painful burden.”

“You’re perfect.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“You will always be worthless.”

“Your hands are too dirty, too tainted to be clean.”

“You’re lost in this world. Wandering without a purpose.”

“You’ll rise above them all.” 

“You’ll find your place in this world.”

(Warning generally graphic, and self-mutilation. Ambiance at the bottom.)) The gypsy nodded her head, and thankfully returned home - half expecting to be eaten by the wolflady. Now, with Amash on the trail. She’d continue on through the fast approaching night, escaping far beyond her territories and venturing further into modern day Gilneas; it was raining as it always seemed to be even in the days of old, the elderly, abandoned buildings marring the outline of a sanguine sky; before long she would find herself in a muddling of scents. Freshly broken soil, phosphates of broken and ripped grass roots, rotting meats, decaying stones, and air thick with age like venturing into a nursing home.

There were blessings to being a beast beyond better sense of smell and better hearing. Night vision was vastly improved, pale eyes piercing the growing night as she continued her hunt. Rain trickled down her fur, into the creases and tears in her armor, and down her snout, forcing her yo pause occasionally to shake her head clear. During one such shake she looked around, fear clutching her stomach into knots when she realized she recognized the land she was in. Hesitation kept her poised mid-step before she growled at herself and forged ahead. She wasn’t going to abandon Jon. That large, furry head swept left, then right, sniffing until the scents became too entangled, too muddled. A small whine escaped her was she looked to the torn earth and soil, decaying stones, inhaling the rancid air with a heavy chuff. 

“Gods…” she sighed, looking around, even risking standing upright to get a better view.

Stone tomes pressed into the muddied earth had been weathered down, chips of cobble flaking from their surface, most of the writing intelligible. Besides a series of weathered headstone were mounds of dirt with six-foot holes that were now primarily large scale puddles; further into the graveyard there were ornate crypts made of marble and cobble, expertly crafted and carved to resemble the owner’s wealth in one life.

Amasheri shuddered as she looked over the graveyard, grimacing and sidestepping one of the stones. “Gods…” she whispered, hastily making a series of signs with her hands before dropping back to all fours. Of all places to end up while hunting a possible forsaken, a graveyard was one of the worst places to be. Nearly belly down the gypsy turned worgen slunk through the stones, sniffing and snuffling in a desperate attempt to catch Jon’s scent, jade eyes searching for signs of their passing, anything that could hint on where they were. It was difficult in the shambles graves, the gypsy jerking to an alert halt with every noise or shuffle, large ears up and listening. Gods she was nervous, briefly wondering if her heartbeat was only heard in her ears or if it was broadcasting in the silence.

Gradually the gypsy wove her way to the ornate crypts, wrinkling her snout at the audacious grave before beginning to scent and sniff around and in the first one, trying to see if Jon had been taken within.

Sure enough one of the large, ornate marble buildings that had its intricate features generally worn down - ended up being much more than a simple housing facility for a wealthy person or two; but rather seemed to burrow down into the cold earth ; carved stone steps making their way down in an ever darker below.

Amash’s leg was throbbing, lances of pain striking from her thigh all the way to her clawed toes, pulsing with the hammering beat of her heart. She was bleeding again, having strained the arrow wound in her desperate hunt. But that wasn’t what made her heart pound or her breath come in growing pants. Staring down the stone stairs into the blackened depths of the crypt made her realize she was terrified, frozen in place. The other buildings had been simply that. Ornate palaces for the dusty dead, bodies of long forgotten men and women that had held some manner of importance in life held within. They were no different than the rest of the dead now, all dust and bone and despair. This building though… the gypsy swallowed and rose upright, pale eyes staring into the darkness. She knew she had to check the crypt, had to see if Jon was down there, and if he was? Get him out. 

With a slow breath she took the first trembling step onto the stairs, then another, trying to force her fear back. Eyes and ears strained, listening, watching, as step by step she began to descend into the crypt, a clawed, paw-ish, hand brushing along the stone wall as much for comfort as to guide her as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Her nose twitched and nostril flared, inhaling the musty air, desperately trying to find Jon’s scent and anything that could be harmful. Though it was difficult to find the smell of a forsaken in a crypt, she still tried,  a multitude of prayers to the Gods flashing through her mind.

The stillness of the air definitely made things more difficult, along with the stuffing scents of age that covered most of any recent scents, blending them into an unflavored soup. The sound of a single water drop plopping down into a shallow puddle radiated through the cavern of worn, carved stones - echoing throughout, making it difficult to narrow down the source. Pushing further still into the labyrinth, Amash would hear an added noise - something solid, but light was connecting to the stone over and over like a drum, a drum that grew closer and closer until finally she could see, just passing ahead of her at a crossroads, the thin outline of a figure passing from right to left in a staggered, worn step.

Drip, drip, drip… the sound was constant, uncomfortable, and unnerving. It filled the silence ominously, shattering the stagnant air with its plinking complaints and reminding her of her scarves. Hastily she rolled those bangled edges up before continuing, pausing as those large ears flicked forward, catching a new sound that was neither her nor water. She hunkered low, biting back the pain in her leg as she caught sight of the figure, her breath hitching in her throat. The gypsy froze in fear, watching the passing figure with wide eyes. Slowly, she reached to the small of her back, unhooking the hatchet from her belt before easing her bulk forward, ears swiveling to the side and back, listening for more such creatures while her gaze remained locked on that one. She chose the opposite path naturally, keeping her back to the wall for safety as much as direction as she side stepped her way along, forcing herself to breathe, to calm. She killed a bear, a corpse shouldn’t be too hard, right? Gods she hoped not.

Unfortunately for Amash the crypt was of a near ancient origin; as she placed her back against the rough stone surface; pressing through a collection of roached and spiders that were either crushed with a crunch, or went swarming up and over her figure - but that was the least of her troubles. Just like in Jon’s room there had been deep holes bored into the stone to act as makeshift coffins that’d stand test of time; and while the corpses definitely did not live up to standard - they remained. Amash could hear the guttural, throaty hiss and the skeletal arms wrapping over her waist, attempting to hold her against the wall.

Amash froze with a grimace at the crunch of insects, a shudder of disgust washing over her. She bit her tongue and closed her eyes to keep herself from doing a full Kermit flail freak out, feeling the spiders and roaches crawling over her armor and fur, unable to hold back a surprised snort as she shook several off her head. That was when disgust turned to terror, both ears snapping back at the sudden guttural hiss from the wall. That… Was no bug. Skeletal fingers grasped at her fur and armor, the gypsy finally erupting into that flail and leaping away from the wall to the opposite wall, whipping around in a dancers twist to bring that hatchet across the remains of dead arms. Her leg nearly gave out, staggering her with a thump against the opposite wall as she stared with wide eyes at the makeshift coffins. “Gods” she hissed, turning to check the wall she was against now for any more skeletal surprises, an ear turned to lock on to the skeleton that had tried to grab her.

The skeleton’s partially exposed skull was swatted by the biting metal of the ax, a plume of dark green ash and particulates ploomed into the air - and her concern for behind her was well founded, a skeletal hand resting atop of her mane - pulling away she’d hear the plastic like tearing as glue-texture flesh rips from the bones and stuck into her coarse hair; to her left she could see another skeleton crawling its way out of the niche, now exposed up to its hips as it tried to push its way out - but wait, there’s more! The skeleton that had passed peaked around the corner, opening its fleshless maw to release a chattering hiss before clomping over.

“Gah!” Amash squeaked, wildly shaking her head as she scrambled away from the wall, backing down the corridor as she tore the hand from her fur. Pale eyes widened more with the appearance of the original creature. “Fuck” she chuffed “fuck fuck fuck!” She practically panted in fear, gaze darting from one corpse to the next until she took a breath and forced her fear down. Like hell was she going to be meek. She’d never backed down before and she wasn’t about to start now. Amasheri flashed her fangs in a guttural snarl, filling the catacombs with her fury… before whipping the skeletal hand at the clomping skeleton, limping back several more steps to draw it in and away from the others, gripping her hatchet tightly.

Fortunately for Amash, Skeletons were not very high on the intelligence scale - in fact, they could just be trying to give her a hug or ask for a cup of sugar; what could they possibly do if they caught her after all. Regardless the clambering skeleton clomped forward, just as the halfway-out skeleton squeezed his way out and tumbled to the floor; tripping the incoming skeleton and soon creating a pile of snarling and hissing bones crawling towards Amash at a hostile speed, clattering their teeth together.

It was slightly comical to watch as the skeletons did their best impression of a stooge act. Her fear of them began to wane the more she watched, dumbfounded until she realized they were still crawling towards her. The gypsy snorted and limped over, bringing that hatchet up, then crashing down, aiming to shatter the skulls and limbs of the creatures, not willing to leave them hissing and snarling to give her away, though she hoped the noise already made didn’t bring anything else. Limping back, the gypsy hunkered and listened, turning to continue down the hall.

Another eruption of foul green ash and particles sprayed into the already thick environment; like spraying a nasty air-freshener in a stuffy room. Regardless, the skeletal remains clattered against the stones and soon the noises of aggression faded to obscurity, leaving only that blasted dripping that ran from the distance. Furthering down the hall, Amash would see a bit of an opening; the hallway entering into a larger, but equally dark room.

Amash sneezed at the dust, scratching her snout and shaking her head  to try to clear it. There was nothing that could clog your senses worse than the dust of some dead guy. Chuffing she made her way tot he entrance of the dark room, stopping at the doorway to close her eyes fully for several moments before slowly opening them, adjusting to the darker light. It wasn’t perfect, but she could at least make out shapes, her ears remaining alert, swiveling as she listened intently. That dripping was annoying, but then, crypts with a rainy outdoors, she figured, had a tendency to leak. Slowly she stepped into the room, staying near the walls as she moved, feeling each step, bit by bit.  Swallowing, she risked a hushed 

“Jon?” Pausing to listen. 

“Jon, by the Gods please be near here…”

Before Jon could reply, there was a shriek of metal screaming down as thick iron bars dropped from the top of the entryways of the tunnels; a trap! Who would have guessed; now imprisoned within the crypt, Amash could see Jon against the bars - and the two together could hear a gruff chuckle echoing through the halls… Just where Amash came from, the half-faced robed man appeared on the opposite sides of the bars.

“Aha! I got another one, very good… It seems you know, Jon… Mm, well that’ll just make this all the better I suppose. Now then… In a few moments, the other cells will open and as Jon can attest, you will not like what’s inside of those cages… I will let you free, and escape this area if you do one of two things… Either you, the dog-woman can remove your eye or Jon will have to remove his finger with the stones in his cell. Either way, the choice is ultimately yours… Oh, what’s that? Awoof? Awoofwoof? I’m sorry, I don’t speak mutt but….  My inferring skills suggest that you think you can just plow through these, things; well….” He’d raise a hand up to his cold gaze, staring at an imaginary watch.

“You see, I have been hunting and killing the Worgen for years now and have become quite efficient at it… As such, all my…. Dummies are filled with a noxious gas, that, right about now should be forcing your to change back to your natural states; and prevent such changes for quite awhile…. So, the time is ticking Worgen! What will it be! Will you watch your friend get eaten? Will you sacrifice your eye for your friend’s freedom?”

The gypsy jumped at the shriek of the bars dropping, whipping around in surprise, only to buckle to a knee as he leg spasmed. Staring up at the half-faced robed man, she blinked, a sudden rush of fear stopping her heart and halting her breath in her throat. Scrabbling back to her feet she limped backwards towards Jon’s prison, looking him over swiftly to make sure he wasn’t hurt before staring back to the robed figure. Amasheri gave a snarl, baring pearled canines and pinning her ears back until the familiar twinge of agony lanced down her spine, body already beginning the painful process of shifting back. That was the problem with shifting… it looked easy to some, but it was bloody fucking painful when you weren’t on a rush of adrenaline.

Fear was no substitute, leaving the woman shuddering as fur receded and bones snapped and cracked back into human proportions. It took all of her willpower not to drop her hatchet in the process, though those jade eyes looked from Jon, to her belt knife. It was clear what she was thinking as the shift completed and left her slumped and trembling in pain and terror against the bars. 

“Jon… what is in the cages?” She wheezed before turning to regard the robed figure, tattooed fingers already seeking that knife.

Jon smiled when he saw Amash rush into the crypt in worgen form. The girl would easily rip up this undead and find free him. He was saved! Oh shit. No, wait. Fuck. It was a trap! “Gods damn you!” he cursed the forsaken. His finger or her eye? What kind of ultimatum was this? What was the point? What the hell did he do to this guy? At Amash’s question, he looked her, the sound of panic in her voice seeping courage from the warrior. He couldn’t answer her.

Fuck, if only he had his sword and wasn’t in the fucking cell! He looked to the ranger and knew he sure as hell wasn’t about to let her cut her own eye out. Fuck that. He looked to his hands. Damn. He liked his fingers, but he couldn’t let Amash pay the price for them. Jon gripped the bars to his cell and shook them, willing them to bend. They wouldn’t of course. Panic was raising within him, feeding the adrenaline, forcing it to pump through his veins.  

“Gods… Give me the strength…”

He pushed away from the cell door and into the darkness. Quickly, he found a relatively flat rock and one that had a point to it. His hands shook as he placed his left hand over the cold stone. A second stone he held up high with his right. Which finger could he live without? Hell if he knew. He didn’t have the time to really to make that pro and con list.

“Eeny meeny miny moe…” The rock came down and made a sickening crush and grinding sound. Jon screamed.

Blood pooled around his mashed finger, but it was still attached. He worked to ignore the pain, to keep himself from passing out. He pictured Amash’s face before him, he had to do it. He held the rock up, then quickly smashed it down for a second time. Jon had never screamed so loud in his entire life.

Red flashed through his vision, then black with purple dots. He was feeling lightheaded. Ama, he thought. Tear stained eyes closed as he worked to focus on her image, to remain awake. The pain, he bottled it up, choked on it, then swallowed it down. Shaking, he stood to his feet, his left hand cradled against his chest. With small steps, he made his way back to the cell’s door. Once there, he gave the forsaken a clear -fuck you- look, then held up his newly detached middle finger. After a couple heartbeats, he tossed the bit of meat towards the forsaken to land on the floor nearby. Jon’s gate steadily rose up from the ground, freeing him into the larger main room. The undead looked blandly on as Jon threw his mushed finger his way.

“My, my Jon… You never were bright, but you were brave… I’ll give you that. But, unfortunately, I can’t seem to remember how to stop their gates from opening up…” He’d raise a fist to knock on his fairly hollow skull as he’d cant his head; cold gaze focusing on the two.

“A shame that, oh well… Tell you what, in all fairness, I said I’d raise the gate so I’ll raise the gate; but that won’t stop the things from coming after you.”

It smiled a bit with its half-collection of lips, turning and pressing his hand against a particular stone; allowing the opposite side of bars to spread back out into the surface; creating an exit way back into the tunnels of the crypt. But just as those bars of escape raised, so too did the additional cell bars - and with them the hungering, throaty hisses became frequent; Amash could see the mangled, rotting corpses beginning to waddle over to their doors, impatiently trying to reach through the bars.