Beckyann rolled her eyes behind her tinted glasses, walking slowly across the bridge in the Valley of Heroes. She'd had quite enough for the evening, even if the last part had been more pleasant while she stood and talked with the Corporal. Beyond that one highlight, tonight had seemed to be, to her eyes, a disaster.
Living people were so obtuse sometimes.
She made her way around the outer perimeter of the gates that lead to the trade district, her silver-threaded gown flaring around her ankles with each stride. Although it was evening, she continued to wear the heavily tinted shades that she normally adorned while pretending to be one of the breathers. Normally she would enjoy such an outing, but after tonight the outfit felt stifling, as if she were trying to be something that she had no desire to be any longer.
"Really, how hard is it to keep order?" she mused aloud as she approached the gates. There were guards stationed there in larger number than normal, and they were searching people entering the city. It had created a bit of a queue although in the late evening it was not too terrible. It was obvious that the near-riot at the entrance of the Valley of Heroes had created some concern amongst the enforcers of the law. The delay only made Beckyann's impatience grow.
The evening had gone downhill because of the gathering she'd attended. While Beckyann had visited the self-proclaimed 'Queen's' court on several occasions, this particular visit had resulted in a spectacle that she was still trying to process. A man had been tried for a simple crime of desertion. Protests had started over the legality of trying the man, clergy had come and denounced the proceedings, and what was almost a full-scale riot had occurred at the city gates as various guard groups and political leaders clashed with one another. Being relatively newly arrived in Stormwind and formerly a country girl at that, Beckyann was still trying to add up all of the fallout of the incident in her mind as she waited on line to re-enter the city proper.
It all came down to names. Names and titles and rank and position. Such things could be powerful weapons in the hands of the shrewd. They could build kingdoms up, or tear them down in rebellion. They were so important that everything revolved around them, and yet, to Beckyann, she knew they were meaningless.
As this thought crossed her mind, she reached the front of the line. A guard in a Stormwind tabard stepped up and looked her over, speaking flatly, "Name?"
"Beckyann Eastberg, sir," She responded politely.
The guard looked over some list in his hand; likely a list of wanted names (as if she would ever give her real name if she were a criminal...) and then nodded. "We need to check you for bloody weapons or evidence that you've been rioting. There was some fighting in the streets and a few duels."
Beckyann sighed and nodded as another guard came up and began rather intimately patting her down. As she held her arms up and allowed the man to check her for weapons (she didn't have any!) or any evidence of spilled blood (she mostly didn't have any!) her mind wandered back to her previous line of thought.
Names. What is in a name? Who is Beckyann Eastberg? My first name comes from my grandmother Becky of course, and that is a fine and proud thing. And my last name is the name of a group of peasant commoners who never owned land or properties. I come from nothing, or at least that is what the nobility would tell you, if they happened to still be alive. If I myself happened to still be alive even!
And that was the problem, wasn't it? That was what was causing the riots in the city streets. That was what caused the political bickering and backstabbing. Names. Blood. Position and power. All of these things meant nothing in the end. Beckyann smiled to herself knowingly.
They think that their posturing means anything. They think that this one is a Queen or that one is a Lord or a Duke or a Baron and it has any real, lasting impact on the world. What they do not realize is that death is the great equalizer. It comes for all of us in the end, and lays us low. We all look the same in our tombs, we are all peasants and vassals of the ultimate Lord Death.
The guard patting Beckyann down gave her a puzzled look as she giggled to herself. Although it was normally pleasant to lay hands on a nice looking woman such as the blonde, there was something off about her. She felt...wrong somehow, cold and stiff even. He looked up at her, gesturing for her to lower her arms. "Is there something wrong with your eyes Miss Eastberg?"
Beckyann offered him a polite smile before reaching up and pushing her glasses into her hair. Her baleful blue eyes looked deeply into the man's own, and he backed up a step, realizing who and what he had just been touching. "Light! You should have TOLD me about that! Ugh, I'm going to be sick!"
For some reason, the man's comments made Beckyann giggle more, a sound that would have been delightful if not for the hollow echo behind it. She shrugged and pushed her glasses back on her face. "Will that be all sirs? Am I free to enter the city?"
The guards quickly stepped aside, gesturing into the city. "Yes yes, just go and get away from us," one of them said.
Beckyann offered them a mocking curtsey before continuing on her way, the guards making a large space for her to pass through, as if they were royal guards and she their Queen. The thought plastered a smile across her face.
In time, all things die. Even those who think they are above the others. But some of us pass beyond even death's reach. We are the true Kings and Queens of this world, because we are here eternally. The little fool by the gate can spout whatever she wishes, all she is in the end is a tool to reclaim the lands some of us once lived in. Barring that, she will die to our enemies, making them stronger and the need for us greater. Either way, it matters little to me as long as I can continue to be.
In a thousand years the names of the lords and ladies of this city will be nothing but dust, their tombs empty and forgotten. But my name, the name of a simple peasant girl from Corin's Crossing, will still be on the lips of others, because I will do more with this existence than they can possibly comprehend.
We are not amongst them anymore. We are above all of this. And we certainly would not have let one of our prisoners ESCAPE. No, this farce will last only so long, but it will be amusing to see how many it takes to the black hereafter with it.
The dead woman made her way into the thickening crowds of Stormwind's trade district, her mind wandering over these thoughts. No one paid her any heed in her guise. No one realized what walked amongst them.
Just the way she liked the sheep to think and act.
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