Post by Archivist~Addie on Feb 25, 2006 8:38:18 GMT -5
A Case of Revenge
Author: Ethna
Link: forums.worldofwarcraft.com/thread.aspx?fn=wow-realm-scarletcrusade&t=161704&p=1&tmp=1#post161704
"There was a note found next to the body?" asked the arch-druid, frowning with impatience and gripping his gnarled oaken staff tightly, hands draining of blood.
"Yes, sir," admitted the acolyte, trembling slightly.
"Well bring it forth, simpleton!"
The acolyte took a step toward his master and hesitated. "Sir, you...you will need to wear gloves." He reached into his side-satchel and fished out a pair of elegant silver-white gloves, holding them forth at arm's length.
"What? Gloves?" His brow furrowed and lips formed into an arrogant sneer. "Oh all right!" The arch-druid tossed his staff aside and snatched the gloves impatiently. Pulling them hastily over his slender hands, he commanded, "Now the letter!"
"As you command, sir." With gloved hand the acolyte retrieved a single vellum page from a golden runeweave folder.
The arch-druid narrowed his eyes and read the elegant Darnassian script.
To The Honored Jullian Swiftwater,
High Council of Druids,
Darnassus.
My Good High Druid,
You may think it beneath your time to read a letter from an unknown source, but let me assure you both that we are known to each other and that this letter is a matter of life and death.
Though we are acquaintances, you would not know me if we passed on the streets of your verdant city. Both the change you forced on me and the events of the intervening years would leave you gazing at me worried but without recognition.
Ah, but I so well remember you and your brethren! So powerful and proud you stood in robes of gold and emerald, circled around me and pronouncing my fate and doom! A compromise you called it, knowing my father could not simply have me killed, you instead contrived a plan for the ultimate exile. One from which there would be no possibility of return, no trace of your injustice, and no chance of revenge. A shapechange made permanent by powerful eldritch magics, and young woman cast away from her people into the arms of the enemy.
Ahh, the memory stirs in you now! Perhaps you see visions of that night; perhaps a name comes to your lips? "A fair solution," you pronounced, "to protect the stability of the council." Stability? It is your power you sought to preserve. What of justice? What of mercy? Are those virtues so forgotten in Darnassus? Is your conscience really clean, or merely buried and ignored?
"Bah!" I hear you say. "She cannot reach me; what is done is done!"
But justice does not sleep forever, and the evils you and your brethren perpetrated will be punished. True, I cannot come to Darnassus. No knife will crease your skin. No spell will burn your flesh.
Think you safe? You are already dead. The ink on this letter, perhaps you've gotten a little on your skin? Yes, it does have special properties. Is your hand trembling? Quickly! A spell to clear poison? What's that, the vocal cords evade your command? Do these words blur before your eyes? Hurry, your breathing grows labored. Ah, you're calmed by the thought of resurrection whole and hale? No, I'm afraid it's too late, the poison dissolves the memories and mind as quickly as control of your muscles. I have tested it on several of your race.
I would love to tell you more, but your ability to read is fading quickly, and it would be wasted.
So I will simply say goodbye.
Ethna of the Darkspear
formerly Ethné Morningstar of the Quel'dorei
~~~
Treloc Talltree sat trembling before the Triumverate of high druids, glaring down at him from elevated oaken benches. He sat in a small uncomfortable chair in the center of the tree-carved room.
The Chairman, the right honorable Pythos Silverwind smoothed his magistrates robe and spoke down to the quaking witness, his voice echoing in the hard hollow room. "Assistant Talltree, we want you to know you are not on trial here. This is merely an inquest to investigate the death of Councilor Armintrage."
"Y..Y..Yes sir!" stammered Treloc, nervously.
"Please tell us in your own words the events of the fourteenth of this month."
Treloc shifted nervously in his chair, scraping it across the polished wood floor with a screech. Apologetically he looked up. Wringing his hands, he said, "The Councilor... Councilor Armintrage, but I guess you knew that, or else we wouldn't be here right? So there's no need to mention that.. of course I am his Assistant... was.. I guess.. now I'm not anything..."
"Please calm yourself, Treloc, and tell us what happened."
"All right, sir. Yes, sir! We of course were scheduled that d.d.d.day to fly from Theramore to Auberdine, then to the Lunar Festival in Moonglade. We got off to a late start... that was my fault... I had forgotten to gather the mooncloth the night before. We were making rather merry you see, the Councilor and three human girls and.."
The magistrate cut him off. "We do not need to know the details of the previous evening."
Treloc smiled briefly, "Oh, uh, all right. We made our way to the griffon master near the outer wall and mounted separate griffons, me following close behind the Councilor."
"Did anything unusual happen before the flight began?"
"No," recalled Treloc. "Well, there was a funny little goblin in the griffon nesting roost. You don't see that many goblins in Theramore."
"Could you recognize him if you saw him again?"
Treloc shook his head. "They all look the same to me."
"What was he doing?"
"Nothing, just speaking into his hearthstone."
"Please continue." The magistrate raised his palm upright and motioned in small circles.
Treloc wiped his sleeve across his moist forehead, trying to calm his rapid breathing. "The flight was uneventful. It was a clear day with little wind. I was enjoying the quiet rush of flight when I noticed a wyvern approaching from the south and curving toward our flightpath."
"This did not alarm you?"
"No, it's common to cross flightpaths with the Horde, briefly, here and there. As the wyvern got closer I could see it was guided by a female troll in a dark green dress. She had long golden hair and blue-green skin."
"Was she armed?"
"Only a small knife at her side. I waved at her, but she seemed to have her attention focused on the Councilor. Then -- O, it was terrible, sirs -- they both fell off their mounts!"
"Tell us more. Did anything happen before they fell?"
Treloc scratched his left ear with his fingernails. "You see, that's been bothering me. I keep seeing it over and over, whenever I close my eyes and try to sleep. The Councilor and the troll seemed to lock eyes. Then, she raised her left arm and spread her three fingers wide, then clasped them tight into an upraised fist. The Councilor did the same thing, at the same time! Raised his left arm, spread his hand, then clasped his fist.
"She turned her head to the left and he turned his head to the left. Together, simultaneously, they loosened their stirrups and released the guide strap with their right hand. Then...then.." Treloc's voice quavered, "then they both plunged over and fell." Sobbing, Treloc covered his face with his hands.
The left magistrate leaned toward Pythos and whispered in his ear, and the chief magistrate nodded.
"They both plummeted to their death?"
"Well, no, Great Sirs." Treloc turned his eyes toward the ground as he spoke. "The Councilor did, certainly, down and down he fell towards the Ashenvale forests. But the troll just glided down like a feather."
"And what did you do?"
"At first.. nothing.. I was shocked. I finally turned and landed at Astranaar."
"But you did not recover the body?"
"It was gone! Only that horrible Note was left, weighted down by the Councilor's silver dagger."
The magistrate gestured to a parchment laying on a table near Treloc. "And that is the note, there in front of you?" Treloc nodded slowly, his lips pulled into a tight frown as he scowled. "Could you read it to the Inquest"?
Treloc sighed and lifted the hated letter before him. "It says: 'Justice sleeps, but not forever. It has already touched Swiftwater and Armintrage. No one shall escape its reach. -- Ethné Morningstar'."
The magistrates conferred and nodded solemnly. "We find you blameless, Treloc Talltree. Go from here with clear conscience.
"It is quite clear who perpetrated this crime. That hated Troll! And some day her own words will turn against her. Eventually, justice will reach Ethna of the Darkspear as well."
~~~
((Warning: graphic violence.))
"Pardon me, I'm looking for the assassin known as 'The Shiv'", said the Elvish druid haughtily, staring down at the goblin. "I was told I could find him here."
The goblin flexed a fine silver chain between his hands. "What's it to ya, Sis?" he responded with a quirky smile. Though the Night Elf was dressed in flowing gowns of forest green and shimmering silver, the goblin was clearly unimpressed. He continued leaning on the edge of a massive oak desk and picking bits of gristle from between his teeth with a thin stiletto.
"I wish to procure his services," she continued, stepping deeper into the candlelit room. "I wish a threat ended and a certain Troll priestess killed." The elf's face wrinkled with distaste, as if she preferred to be elsewhere, discussing caviar and brocade, rather than hiring an assassin in a dingy Booty Bay office.
"The Shiv is a busy man. You got payment?"
The Elf reached into her gowns and produced a sizeable leather bag, slapping it onto the desk with the jangle of coins. The goblin retreated behind the desk and sank comfortably into a worn leather chair, propping his feet on the desktop. "Sister, The Shiv is in the office!" he proclaimed, flicking his stilletto towards the wall behind her. It sank deep into the center of a knothole and shivered vertically.
"You're The Shiv?"
"You got it, Babs. You were expecting someone else? Who but a goblin can travel freely and inobtrusively between the two factions? Who else gets overlooked, laughed at, and ignored?" He gestured with both hands. "It's the perfect cover. Look around you, I'm proficient with every weapon you see." She turned her head and regally surveyed the room. From the darkened walls hung all manner of weaponry, fine inlaid silver knives, blowguns, leather garrottes, broken bottles, decanters laced with poison. "And every weapon you see," bragged the goblin, "has been used in a Job. I like the variety. I like challenge. Now who is the Mark?"
"A troll priestess named Ethna of the Darkspear."
"Ooo hoo hoo!" barked The Shiv. "That's gonna cost you!" He took a thick blade from his desk drawer in his right hand and placed his left hand palm down on the scarred desktop. As he spoke, he plunged the knife down between the fingers of his hand, emphasizing each point with the sound of the knife strokes. "One: <whack> leader of an important Horde Tribe. High visibility. Two: <whack> capable, not some Wet-ear from the Valley of Trials. Three: <whack> well-connected. Killing her will make enemies."
The Elf turned her head and smoothed her silver hair. "Name your price. I am well prepared to pay."
"All right, it'll be 75% up front and 25% after the job is done. Any...uh... special requests?" He grinned wickedly, meeting her eyes.
"Yes!" For the first time the elf showed emotion, her lips pulling away from her teeth and her glowing eyes taking an orange tinge. "She has been responsible for the death of two of my closest associates. She has threatened my person and several others. I want her death to be painful, but most of all I want her to realize who was responsible for her demise."
The goblin stopped his knife game and shaved a blackened stain from a hardened fingernail. "And who should I say is responsible, then?"
"Chatelaine Nora Silvercreek Windwhisper. And you can tell her she should have stayed with her little tribe of savages." She crossed her arms and tilted her delicate head downward, staring at the goblin from under long silver eyebrows. A smile tickled her lips.
The goblin's dark eyes flickered up and down, and the room fell silent except for the gentle murmur of waves beneath the floorboards. He took a long quill pen and scribbled notes into a stained form. "Painful", he mumbled, "Chatelaine Windwhisper". A pink tongue darted between his lips as he wrote.
He shoved the forms toward her. "Now, if you'll just look over this requisition, I'll select the weapon." He pushed back from the desk and walked around her, a finger on his lips as he surveyed his arsenal.
She bent over the table, wrinkling her nose at the distasteful smells of fish and tobacco as she read the forms. "Yes, yes, this looks perfectly accept...."
She broke off as she felt a sharp pain in her throat and her head jerked backwards. A gush of warmth flooded the chest of her robes, and she sank to her knees. Behind her, the Shiv pulled tightly on two rings, his arms taut with straining muscles. The rings were connected by a thin strand of razorwire, now wrapped around her neck. She tried to cry out, but the wire had sliced through her windpipe. The air smelled of hot iron as blood blackened her elegant green gown. As she crumbled, the goblin placed his knees against her back and pulled tightly on the wire until it cut through flesh to bone.
The elf sprawled on the rough planking, a dark pool of blood pooling underneath her. Her lips moved silently, but her eyes looked up at him pleadingly, asking 'Why?'
"Sorry Chatelaine Windwhisper, but I cannot accept your Job. You see, your mark -- the Priestess Ethna -- anticipated your coming here and already took out a contract on your life." He chuckled. "I even gave her a discount since she said you'd probably deliver yourself to me, in the dead of night with no witnesses."
A look of horror spread over her face as she the blood bubbled from her open throat. Her skin turned pale and ghostlike, and the light in her eyes grew wan.
"She was one step ahead of you." He leaned close and stared into her eyes. "You have to anticipate your prey! Easiest kill ever, I must say." Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and the light in her eyes darkened and extinguished.
Afterwards, he rolled the elven body into a leather bag --- later its contents would go to feed the rapid Frenzies of the bay below.
He sat back at his desk and ripped up the forms he shown to her. "Don't worry, Chatelaine," he said to the stiffening body, "I won't keep your money. It'll go to the Orgrimmar Orphan's Fund.
"After all," he chuckled, "I'm not a thief!"
Author: Ethna
Link: forums.worldofwarcraft.com/thread.aspx?fn=wow-realm-scarletcrusade&t=161704&p=1&tmp=1#post161704
"There was a note found next to the body?" asked the arch-druid, frowning with impatience and gripping his gnarled oaken staff tightly, hands draining of blood.
"Yes, sir," admitted the acolyte, trembling slightly.
"Well bring it forth, simpleton!"
The acolyte took a step toward his master and hesitated. "Sir, you...you will need to wear gloves." He reached into his side-satchel and fished out a pair of elegant silver-white gloves, holding them forth at arm's length.
"What? Gloves?" His brow furrowed and lips formed into an arrogant sneer. "Oh all right!" The arch-druid tossed his staff aside and snatched the gloves impatiently. Pulling them hastily over his slender hands, he commanded, "Now the letter!"
"As you command, sir." With gloved hand the acolyte retrieved a single vellum page from a golden runeweave folder.
The arch-druid narrowed his eyes and read the elegant Darnassian script.
To The Honored Jullian Swiftwater,
High Council of Druids,
Darnassus.
My Good High Druid,
You may think it beneath your time to read a letter from an unknown source, but let me assure you both that we are known to each other and that this letter is a matter of life and death.
Though we are acquaintances, you would not know me if we passed on the streets of your verdant city. Both the change you forced on me and the events of the intervening years would leave you gazing at me worried but without recognition.
Ah, but I so well remember you and your brethren! So powerful and proud you stood in robes of gold and emerald, circled around me and pronouncing my fate and doom! A compromise you called it, knowing my father could not simply have me killed, you instead contrived a plan for the ultimate exile. One from which there would be no possibility of return, no trace of your injustice, and no chance of revenge. A shapechange made permanent by powerful eldritch magics, and young woman cast away from her people into the arms of the enemy.
Ahh, the memory stirs in you now! Perhaps you see visions of that night; perhaps a name comes to your lips? "A fair solution," you pronounced, "to protect the stability of the council." Stability? It is your power you sought to preserve. What of justice? What of mercy? Are those virtues so forgotten in Darnassus? Is your conscience really clean, or merely buried and ignored?
"Bah!" I hear you say. "She cannot reach me; what is done is done!"
But justice does not sleep forever, and the evils you and your brethren perpetrated will be punished. True, I cannot come to Darnassus. No knife will crease your skin. No spell will burn your flesh.
Think you safe? You are already dead. The ink on this letter, perhaps you've gotten a little on your skin? Yes, it does have special properties. Is your hand trembling? Quickly! A spell to clear poison? What's that, the vocal cords evade your command? Do these words blur before your eyes? Hurry, your breathing grows labored. Ah, you're calmed by the thought of resurrection whole and hale? No, I'm afraid it's too late, the poison dissolves the memories and mind as quickly as control of your muscles. I have tested it on several of your race.
I would love to tell you more, but your ability to read is fading quickly, and it would be wasted.
So I will simply say goodbye.
Ethna of the Darkspear
formerly Ethné Morningstar of the Quel'dorei
~~~
Treloc Talltree sat trembling before the Triumverate of high druids, glaring down at him from elevated oaken benches. He sat in a small uncomfortable chair in the center of the tree-carved room.
The Chairman, the right honorable Pythos Silverwind smoothed his magistrates robe and spoke down to the quaking witness, his voice echoing in the hard hollow room. "Assistant Talltree, we want you to know you are not on trial here. This is merely an inquest to investigate the death of Councilor Armintrage."
"Y..Y..Yes sir!" stammered Treloc, nervously.
"Please tell us in your own words the events of the fourteenth of this month."
Treloc shifted nervously in his chair, scraping it across the polished wood floor with a screech. Apologetically he looked up. Wringing his hands, he said, "The Councilor... Councilor Armintrage, but I guess you knew that, or else we wouldn't be here right? So there's no need to mention that.. of course I am his Assistant... was.. I guess.. now I'm not anything..."
"Please calm yourself, Treloc, and tell us what happened."
"All right, sir. Yes, sir! We of course were scheduled that d.d.d.day to fly from Theramore to Auberdine, then to the Lunar Festival in Moonglade. We got off to a late start... that was my fault... I had forgotten to gather the mooncloth the night before. We were making rather merry you see, the Councilor and three human girls and.."
The magistrate cut him off. "We do not need to know the details of the previous evening."
Treloc smiled briefly, "Oh, uh, all right. We made our way to the griffon master near the outer wall and mounted separate griffons, me following close behind the Councilor."
"Did anything unusual happen before the flight began?"
"No," recalled Treloc. "Well, there was a funny little goblin in the griffon nesting roost. You don't see that many goblins in Theramore."
"Could you recognize him if you saw him again?"
Treloc shook his head. "They all look the same to me."
"What was he doing?"
"Nothing, just speaking into his hearthstone."
"Please continue." The magistrate raised his palm upright and motioned in small circles.
Treloc wiped his sleeve across his moist forehead, trying to calm his rapid breathing. "The flight was uneventful. It was a clear day with little wind. I was enjoying the quiet rush of flight when I noticed a wyvern approaching from the south and curving toward our flightpath."
"This did not alarm you?"
"No, it's common to cross flightpaths with the Horde, briefly, here and there. As the wyvern got closer I could see it was guided by a female troll in a dark green dress. She had long golden hair and blue-green skin."
"Was she armed?"
"Only a small knife at her side. I waved at her, but she seemed to have her attention focused on the Councilor. Then -- O, it was terrible, sirs -- they both fell off their mounts!"
"Tell us more. Did anything happen before they fell?"
Treloc scratched his left ear with his fingernails. "You see, that's been bothering me. I keep seeing it over and over, whenever I close my eyes and try to sleep. The Councilor and the troll seemed to lock eyes. Then, she raised her left arm and spread her three fingers wide, then clasped them tight into an upraised fist. The Councilor did the same thing, at the same time! Raised his left arm, spread his hand, then clasped his fist.
"She turned her head to the left and he turned his head to the left. Together, simultaneously, they loosened their stirrups and released the guide strap with their right hand. Then...then.." Treloc's voice quavered, "then they both plunged over and fell." Sobbing, Treloc covered his face with his hands.
The left magistrate leaned toward Pythos and whispered in his ear, and the chief magistrate nodded.
"They both plummeted to their death?"
"Well, no, Great Sirs." Treloc turned his eyes toward the ground as he spoke. "The Councilor did, certainly, down and down he fell towards the Ashenvale forests. But the troll just glided down like a feather."
"And what did you do?"
"At first.. nothing.. I was shocked. I finally turned and landed at Astranaar."
"But you did not recover the body?"
"It was gone! Only that horrible Note was left, weighted down by the Councilor's silver dagger."
The magistrate gestured to a parchment laying on a table near Treloc. "And that is the note, there in front of you?" Treloc nodded slowly, his lips pulled into a tight frown as he scowled. "Could you read it to the Inquest"?
Treloc sighed and lifted the hated letter before him. "It says: 'Justice sleeps, but not forever. It has already touched Swiftwater and Armintrage. No one shall escape its reach. -- Ethné Morningstar'."
The magistrates conferred and nodded solemnly. "We find you blameless, Treloc Talltree. Go from here with clear conscience.
"It is quite clear who perpetrated this crime. That hated Troll! And some day her own words will turn against her. Eventually, justice will reach Ethna of the Darkspear as well."
~~~
((Warning: graphic violence.))
"Pardon me, I'm looking for the assassin known as 'The Shiv'", said the Elvish druid haughtily, staring down at the goblin. "I was told I could find him here."
The goblin flexed a fine silver chain between his hands. "What's it to ya, Sis?" he responded with a quirky smile. Though the Night Elf was dressed in flowing gowns of forest green and shimmering silver, the goblin was clearly unimpressed. He continued leaning on the edge of a massive oak desk and picking bits of gristle from between his teeth with a thin stiletto.
"I wish to procure his services," she continued, stepping deeper into the candlelit room. "I wish a threat ended and a certain Troll priestess killed." The elf's face wrinkled with distaste, as if she preferred to be elsewhere, discussing caviar and brocade, rather than hiring an assassin in a dingy Booty Bay office.
"The Shiv is a busy man. You got payment?"
The Elf reached into her gowns and produced a sizeable leather bag, slapping it onto the desk with the jangle of coins. The goblin retreated behind the desk and sank comfortably into a worn leather chair, propping his feet on the desktop. "Sister, The Shiv is in the office!" he proclaimed, flicking his stilletto towards the wall behind her. It sank deep into the center of a knothole and shivered vertically.
"You're The Shiv?"
"You got it, Babs. You were expecting someone else? Who but a goblin can travel freely and inobtrusively between the two factions? Who else gets overlooked, laughed at, and ignored?" He gestured with both hands. "It's the perfect cover. Look around you, I'm proficient with every weapon you see." She turned her head and regally surveyed the room. From the darkened walls hung all manner of weaponry, fine inlaid silver knives, blowguns, leather garrottes, broken bottles, decanters laced with poison. "And every weapon you see," bragged the goblin, "has been used in a Job. I like the variety. I like challenge. Now who is the Mark?"
"A troll priestess named Ethna of the Darkspear."
"Ooo hoo hoo!" barked The Shiv. "That's gonna cost you!" He took a thick blade from his desk drawer in his right hand and placed his left hand palm down on the scarred desktop. As he spoke, he plunged the knife down between the fingers of his hand, emphasizing each point with the sound of the knife strokes. "One: <whack> leader of an important Horde Tribe. High visibility. Two: <whack> capable, not some Wet-ear from the Valley of Trials. Three: <whack> well-connected. Killing her will make enemies."
The Elf turned her head and smoothed her silver hair. "Name your price. I am well prepared to pay."
"All right, it'll be 75% up front and 25% after the job is done. Any...uh... special requests?" He grinned wickedly, meeting her eyes.
"Yes!" For the first time the elf showed emotion, her lips pulling away from her teeth and her glowing eyes taking an orange tinge. "She has been responsible for the death of two of my closest associates. She has threatened my person and several others. I want her death to be painful, but most of all I want her to realize who was responsible for her demise."
The goblin stopped his knife game and shaved a blackened stain from a hardened fingernail. "And who should I say is responsible, then?"
"Chatelaine Nora Silvercreek Windwhisper. And you can tell her she should have stayed with her little tribe of savages." She crossed her arms and tilted her delicate head downward, staring at the goblin from under long silver eyebrows. A smile tickled her lips.
The goblin's dark eyes flickered up and down, and the room fell silent except for the gentle murmur of waves beneath the floorboards. He took a long quill pen and scribbled notes into a stained form. "Painful", he mumbled, "Chatelaine Windwhisper". A pink tongue darted between his lips as he wrote.
He shoved the forms toward her. "Now, if you'll just look over this requisition, I'll select the weapon." He pushed back from the desk and walked around her, a finger on his lips as he surveyed his arsenal.
She bent over the table, wrinkling her nose at the distasteful smells of fish and tobacco as she read the forms. "Yes, yes, this looks perfectly accept...."
She broke off as she felt a sharp pain in her throat and her head jerked backwards. A gush of warmth flooded the chest of her robes, and she sank to her knees. Behind her, the Shiv pulled tightly on two rings, his arms taut with straining muscles. The rings were connected by a thin strand of razorwire, now wrapped around her neck. She tried to cry out, but the wire had sliced through her windpipe. The air smelled of hot iron as blood blackened her elegant green gown. As she crumbled, the goblin placed his knees against her back and pulled tightly on the wire until it cut through flesh to bone.
The elf sprawled on the rough planking, a dark pool of blood pooling underneath her. Her lips moved silently, but her eyes looked up at him pleadingly, asking 'Why?'
"Sorry Chatelaine Windwhisper, but I cannot accept your Job. You see, your mark -- the Priestess Ethna -- anticipated your coming here and already took out a contract on your life." He chuckled. "I even gave her a discount since she said you'd probably deliver yourself to me, in the dead of night with no witnesses."
A look of horror spread over her face as she the blood bubbled from her open throat. Her skin turned pale and ghostlike, and the light in her eyes grew wan.
"She was one step ahead of you." He leaned close and stared into her eyes. "You have to anticipate your prey! Easiest kill ever, I must say." Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and the light in her eyes darkened and extinguished.
Afterwards, he rolled the elven body into a leather bag --- later its contents would go to feed the rapid Frenzies of the bay below.
He sat back at his desk and ripped up the forms he shown to her. "Don't worry, Chatelaine," he said to the stiffening body, "I won't keep your money. It'll go to the Orgrimmar Orphan's Fund.
"After all," he chuckled, "I'm not a thief!"
