Beckyann dashed around the corner,
finding herself in a long corridor with stained glass windows looking
out over the ocean on one side. The slanting rays of the dying
sunlight sent colors dancing playfully across the marble floor, but
she had little time to pause to admire the view. In a rush, she
dashed off towards the far end of the corridor, her thick-heeled
maryjane shoes echoing loudly on the stones as she picked up speed.
Her dress and petticoats billowed out behind her as she ran, her
hands bunching the material at her hips to allow her greater speed.
Behind her from the doorway that she'd
emerged from, muffled shouts and the clatter of armor moving quickly
across stone could be heard. Beckyann didn't pause to look back as
she continued her mad flight, even as the first of the armored men
rushed into the corridor, pointing and shouting, “THERE SHE IS!
THIS WAY!”
Beckyann rolled her eyes, a hand
releasing her dress for a moment to check the pouch at her hip. She
grinned as she felt the object there, her mind recalling the events
of the day.
************************
It had all started mid-afternoon. She'd
been out and about around Stormwind, procuring some supplies and
going about her duties. As she'd wandered through the outer Canals
near Cathedral Square, she passed the opening to a large building
that had a crowd of people in it. Curious, she'd paused and
discovered that an auction was going on.
That is when she saw it.
The object that was being bid on was
something that had no place in Stormwind. Even as Beckyann stared at
it in abject horror, the auctioneer began the bidding process. Long
and thin with a red gem on top, the object was a scepter that the
auctioneer had indicated was a magic wand, but Beckyann knew so much
better.
It was a scourge artifact!
Not only was it heavily imbued with
necromantic energy, but Beckyann knew exactly what the object was
used for. It was precisely like one of the devices that the Cult of
the Damned had used to torture her to death years ago. Now it was
sitting in the middle of Stormwind, being presented as a magical
artifact with valuable gems on it. It had taken Beckyann a while to
snap back to attention as the mere sight of it sent memories flowing
through her that she preferred not to even think about. She noted
that none amongst the rather rich looking clientele at the auction
appeared to be spellcasters themselves. Likely they were collectors
looking to pick up a rare piece.
She had watched as various people bid
on the item, noting which ones were willing to spend the most on it.
As she bit her lip in tension, she witnessed a dark haired man in an
expensive suit making the final bid and coming to collect the item to
a spattering of polite applause. The auction continued, but Beckyann
hadn't cared; she'd stayed just outside the building, watching and
waiting.
When the man had emerged, she'd
'accidentally' collided with him, sparking a conversation. With her
expensive dress that she'd looted from some noble family's tomb in
Lordaeron and her tinted glasses, the rich man, who'd introduced
himself as Lord Geoffrey Edgewood, had believed her to be a young
noblewoman from the city. With his newly purchased package in hand,
he'd offered Beckyann his arm and escorted her to his manor house on
the edge of the city for brunch.
The death knight had happily played
along. Beyond her desire to obtain the artifact, it had been nice to
be treated as a living woman, even if she knew it was a lie. From the
moment he began escorting her though something felt out of place, and
it was not just the object he'd purchased.
The visit to his manor house had gone
almost text-book predictably. He'd taken her on a brief tour, leaving
his purchase in a sitting room. Then he'd taken her to a large dining
hall where he proceeded to make small talk with her for over an hour
while his servants prepared a completely unnecessarily large brunch.
Things had, as Beckyann expected they would, taken a turn for the
worse as time wore on. He became annoyed when she ate only a few
nibbles of food. He looked at her in puzzlement as she continued to
wear her glasses even though they were indoors. He had almost glared
at her when she'd sipped the fine wine he offered and taken no more,
and when her flesh had not developed the flush of drunkenness that he
likely had been hoping for.
After a time, he'd risen in what
Beckyann believed was a huff to go 'deal with some business'. As he
walked out, she smirked to herself and quickly rose from her seat,
heading for another doorway from the massive dining room. She'd
wandered the halls of his manor-house, her senses always aware of the
location of the scepter, moving quickly towards it. When servants
questioned her, she'd politely told them she needed to use the powder
room, and they'd helpfully given her directions which she promptly
ignored once they were out of sight.
At last, she'd found the den again,
complete with the wrapped package that contained the scepter.
Slipping into the room, she'd unwrapped it, holding the deadly
artifact in her hand, the memories that it stirred in her making her
hand tremble. Of course, at that moment, the Lord Edgewood had
entered the den, immediately pointing and shouting.
And so the chase had begun.
*******************************
Beckyann's shoes skidded on the marble
as she struggled to maintain her balance. She had not exactly been
planning on running from angry guards when she'd dressed that
morning. As she reached the end of the corridor, her hands came up in
front of her, pushing open the double doors at the corridor's end and
bursting into...
Sunlight. A balcony overlooking the
ocean. A dead end.
She skidded to a stop, whirling to look
back down the hallway. Several guards burst through the double doors
behind her, weapons in hand. Lord Geoffrey Edgewood walked up behind
them, a smirk on his face as he pushed his way past his men, “Going
somewhere with my property, Lady Eastberg?”
Beckyann almost giggled at the fact
that he had called her 'lady' but she shook it off and offered him a
scowl instead, “This is not something that a citizen of Stormwind
should possess, my Lord. It needs to be taken somewhere for safe
keeping. Such objects can inflict terrible pain on others, or even
worse, be used in illegal and foul rituals.”
The man laughed, a smile crossing his
face as he stared at Beckyann, “Lady Eastberg, I am quite well
aware of what the object does. More so than you I am sure. Now hand
it over before my men have to take it from you.”
He gestured and two of his guards
stepped forward. Before they had taken two steps Beckyann's hand shot
up and a tendril of dark energy flew out. It wrapped around the hilt
of one of the swords and yanked it from the man's hand, depositing it
neatly in her own hands. It was not a runeblade, but it would do.
“I cannot allow that Lord Edgewood.
Please withdraw your men. I do not wish to fight with them,”
Beckyann said.
The noble scowled, shoving his men
aside again, “I can see that you are more than you appear, but
then, so am I Lady Eastberg. I was not asking you to relinquish it, I
was telling you.”
His hands came up and he spat out words
of magic. Black energies began to curl around his upraised hands, and
Beckyann idly noted that his guards seemed not to be surprised or
overly concerned as he pointed at her and hurled a bolt of pure
necromantic energy at her. She smiled sweetly as it flew towards her
and whispered a single word. The spell struck a flickering array of
anti-magic wards around her, dissipating into nothing.
Beckyann gave the man a stern look,
even as his guards brought their weapons up again, “Know this, Lord
Edgewood. All is not as it appears and you are not the master of such
magics. We will be watching you closely going forward, to ensure that
you are not...crossing the line hmmm? Good day my Lord.”
With that she leaped backwards, her
shoes just clearing the edge of the balcony's railing. She watched
with amusement as the noble dashed forward with his guards, looks of
shock on their faces as he reached for her in vain. And then he was
far away, growing ever further by the moment as she tumbled from the
edge of the manor house and the sea below rose up to meet her. Her
dress billowed around her in the wind, making her appear as a large
black bird diving towards the water. And then she was gone.
On the balcony above, Lord Geoffrey
Edgewood shook his head and scowled. There was no way the woman would
have survived that fall, and now he'd have to send divers out to try
and recover her corpse and the object that he'd purchased. As he
turned to walk back inside, her parting words to him nagged at the
back of his mind.
He never realized that Beckyann
Eastberg was no living woman. That the fall that shattered her
against the rocks far below was merely inconvenient. Or that she had
no need to breathe beneath the surface of the waves.
Several hours later, Beckyann's black
dress was hanging in her quarters in Acherus to dry, the scepter
locked safely away in one of her trunks.
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