A Storm's View
[ Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash ]
As they rounded the northwestern shores of Tirisfal, it came fully into view.
The Voidstorm.
A dark swirl of Shadow and Void suspended in the sky, lanced by a spear of Light.
Quel’thalas, below, was still hidden behind the horizon.
If the winds held, they’d make the harbor come morning.
A N Y P O R T – F O U R  D A Y S  E A R L I E R
From Kul Tiras, it was merely an ominous presence on the edges of the horizon when it manifested, the lookout noting it as a stormfront that was unlikely to reach the Aralya’diel at her dock in Anyport.
But it was Seraanna who emerged from her quarters soon after, tentative steps taking her to the rise of the aft deck where she looked silently to the east. Shadows swirled about her feet, rising and falling, and when she returned to the main deck the crew parted before her like waters before a tidesage.
The ren’dorei’s declarations that dark power swelled past the eastern horizon would have been disturbing enough, had there not been a quaver to her voice as she described emanations of the Void from the distant shadow. And she insisted that they needed not to stay distant, but must instead sail to Quel’thalas with “all haste that... we might make.”
Maxinora stood quiet in the doorway to their shared quarters, but Annadia was the one to challenge her sister.
“The hell, Seraa? It’s just a stormcloud, we can’t drop everything for–”
“...no.” The whisper cut off Annadia’s protest like a cleaver. “Azj-Kahet. K’aresh. Now she comes for Quel’thalas. Our home, dear sister. Take us... home.”
Seraanna turned, crew shuffling out of her path as she returned to her quarters, the Alchemist wrapping an arm over her Shadow’s shoulder and glancing back at the Captain before closing the door.
* * *
Later that evening, Annadia stood watch on the aft deck, searching for that dark smudge of shadow her sister had sensed, finding it only by the lack of stars in its place on the horizon. Seraa’s whispers echoed in her mind. Now she comes for Quel’thalas. Younger years played in memory, the pair of them hiding in Silvermoon’s rubble, minions of the Scourge lumbering through ruined streets, and darkness descending on her soul as the Sunwell was extinguished.
The unhurried pace of Ko’jin’s tread, recognized easily, broke her reverie and drew her attention. It was an effort of will not to reach for a weapon, even when it was an old friend that approached her back.
Habits learned in Murder Row never died.
“I know you be doubtin’,” the old troll offered without preamble, coming to stand beside his captain and leaning forward to rest his elbows on the railing. “Lotta money, lotta trade we be settin’ aside if y’do as ya sistah asks.”
“It’s another four days to make our contacts in Boralus, three for the business,” she sighed. “Even with the armistice, Kul Tirans pay top coin for exotic goods. We’d give that all up. Not to mention passing by pretty boy’s place entirely, either bring him and Cherise with us or risk dropping them off in Gilneas.” A humorless laugh. “And you know how much Gilneans love the armistice.”
“True, true. Still, you heard her, same as me. Been more herself since she came back from Arom’s Stand wit her Alchemist, for what dat’s worth. But dis?” Ko’jin tilted his chin towards the horizon. “Hearin’ de fear creep inta her voice, ya cool sistah’s voice? Dat grips me gut more den any shadow in de sky.”
Annadia was silent, eyes closed as she drew a slow breath.
“It was simpler when it was just the three of us, Ko’jin. Me and Ghaz following you while you ran around with that stupid amulet.”
“De woons!” Ko’jin laughed.
She chuckled low. “Yeah. But some things are still simple when I don’t let all this shit get up in my head.” A wave of her hand encompassed the Aralya’diel, the cargo on the deck yet to be traded or stowed in the hold, the ragged piers and flickering lights of Anyport. “In the end, it’s Seraa. I trust her. She’s my sister.”
The sin’dorei sighed heavily before offering Ko’jin a sidelong glance. “And you know most of what we’ve gone through together.”
“So let’s wrap it up and get out of here." Annadia slapped her hands on the railing, a sound of finality. “Unload what we’re trading, secure what we’re keeping, and sail for Quel’thalas with all the haste we can make.” The last few words uttered in imitation of Seraanna’s halting murmurs.
Ko’jin rose to his full height and snapped off a surprisingly passable salute, a smile wrapped around his curving tusks.
“Aye, Cap’n. S’much for de pleasure cruise...”
* * *
The ship was already a-bustle the next morning, crew loading and unloading cargo as Ghaz engaged in a spirited debate over moorage fees with Anyport’s goblin quartermaster that sounded like the prelude to a brawl. A courier was the least noticeable thing in the cacophony, dodging the barely-organized chaos to deliver a message for the Aralya’diel’s captain.
Minutes later the prelude was on the precipice of mak’gora, work slowed to a near-halt as crew and dockhands began to exchange bets on orc or goblin. Few heard the string of curses that came from the captain’s quarters, but the wooden thud of the door slamming open drew the attention of some. It was the echoing retort of a gunshot that stunned all into silence – even Ghaz and the quartermaster.
Annadia stood on the deck, gun lifted in the air and a sheet of parchment in her other hand. The morning breeze made a loose mess of her unbound hair, and she’d hastily tucked a half-buttoned linen blouse into leather pants, but there was still a full complement of weaponry at her belt. Eyes ablaze, she stuffed the still-smoking pistol into its holster and drew a shortsword with casual ease. The crew that knew their captain’s storied “education” stepped carefully backwards.
“Now that I've got your attention – stop fucking around!” The sin’dorei leveled her blade towards Ghaz. “Enough with the foreplay and pay the moorage already. At a fair fucking rate, too,” she snarled towards Anyport’s quartermaster. “And if you two’re gonna have a hate fuck, then do it quick. The rest of you get back to work. We sail on the tide.”
“Cap’n, that’s in two hours!” One of the newer crew, joined at their last port in Kalimdor, spoke up.
“Damn right it is. Better get on the fucking stick, then.” A menacing jab in his direction served as emphasis.
Annadia spun on her heel and stomped back to her cabin, the parchment still in hand. The crew were already scrambling to work, but Ghaz caught a glimpse of a sigil on the note - a cog writ in black ink.
“It’s that kinda news, huh? Ko’jin was right, pleasure trip’s done,” the hulking orc muttered before returning his attention to the quartermaster. The goblin peered back with more confusion than anger.
Ghaz snorted. “Don’t worry, ya ain’t my type. Now about proratin’ those moorage fees...”
