Change on the Wind

"Elf! Let's see your papers!"

Alleriel winced as the voice called out behind her, subconsciously hunching over slightly. It was, of course, far too late to avoid detection or harassment, but perhaps if she made herself as non-threatening as possible the entire thing would go more quickly.

She was in the Valley of Wisdom in Orgrimmar, walking past the various structures there on her way to obtain more supplies for her journey. She'd spent some time in the region so far, particularly in Durotar and Azshara assisting the orcs and goblins in the area. While the work had been somewhat violent, she'd also aided quite a few of the local citizens and felt overall good about the trip. Until, that is, she came to Orgrimmar.

It had been clear from the moment she arrived that her kind was not welcomed there. From the suspicious glances to the random searches by Kor'kron that seemed to be conducted on all foreigners or people acting 'suspiciously,' Alleriel had seen more than enough to know she didn't wish to remain in the city for very long. She'd taken great efforts to cover her face and head with a hood, but nothing could disguise her ears, which gave her away immediately.

"Are you deaf elf?" the voice said, more demanding now. "I want to see your papers!"

Alleriel turned to find five rather burly orcs staring her down. In full combat armor and festooned with weapons, they were typical Kor'kron grunts that she'd seen keeping the population in line as the Warchief continued to gear up for full-scale war. That she'd avoided them until now had been a blessing, but it seemed her luck was over. She took a deep breath, reaching into a pocket sewn into her leather armor to pull out several documents. One was simply her identification, while the other was the sealed and signed charter of the Blackhearts, detailing her rank within the organization and the greater Horde military. The Kor'kron might have the authority to search her, but there were limits to what they could do if there were no officers present. Judging by the look of the five, none of them were officer material.

The orc that had challenged Alleriel snatched the papers from her hands, scanning them over quickly before thrusting them back at her with a grunt. He scrutinized her weather-beaten armor, tanned skin and golden blonde hair before growling, "This seems to be in order. Go about your business and then leave. We don't want your kind ruining the strength and power of our city."

Alleriel frowned slightly and offered the orc a curtsey before turning and starting to walk away. She sighed with relief, knowing that the encounter could have been worse. Ever since she'd left Quel'Thalas the rumors of the Warchief's ever more intolerant bully-force had reached her ears, and now she'd seen it first hand. Just as she was almost out of earshot of the five, she heard the orc bark out again.

"You! Boy! What do you think you're doing? You should be over in the labor camp. We've need of more strong arms for one of the iron mines."

Although it was against her nature to intentionally seek out confrontation, Alleriel could not help but turn her head to look back. The five orcs had surrounded a much smaller orc, looming over him as one roughly grabbed his arm. The orc they were accosting could not have been more than an adolescent, although Alleriel was not great at judging the age of other races. Despite every nerve in her body telling her to keep walking, she found her body turning and stepping towards the orcs, her own voice surprising her.

"Unhand him at once!"

All five orcs turned to glare at Alleriel, and she swallowed a lump that had suddenly developed in her throat as she continued to move towards them. The lead orc growled at her again, his eyes staring daggers, "This is none of your concern elf! If you know what's good for you you'll leave at once!"

Alleriel did just the opposite, walking closer and quickly inserting herself between the terrified looking young orc and the Kor'kron. She straightened up to her full height, looking the leader directly in the eyes. It was hard for her to project the power of her station wearing her battered travel gear instead of the dresses and finery she might have worn at court back in Quel'Thalas, but she WAS the Lady Sunhaven and she'd be damned if she watched some soldiers try to forcibly recruit a CHILD of all things.

"This boy is a Page for my portion of our forces," Alleriel said, her voice firm. As she spoke, she looked around to see what the reaction of the local populace was. As she had hoped, most were not interested at all and those that were would not be likely to interfere. If they helped the Kor'kron, it would make them look weak since they outnumbered her and would be insulting. Most would not stand against them to aid her, so she was on her own. Just as she'd hoped.

They respect strength. I have to be strong in my stand or they will try to crush me.

The orc she addressed glared at her, stepping closer and looming over her, his bulk many times her size, "I don't think so elf. He goes to the mines. And you're coming with us if you don't get out of my way. Right. Now."

Alleriel took a deep breath, calming herself and focusing, falling into a meditative place within herself where she was at peace and calm. Although she'd only been studying the ways of the monks for a very short time, she had learned much and banishing fear, anger, and rage was one of the key goals she had focused her studies on. She looked at the orc with a serene expression as she replied calmly, "No. I am the Lady Alleriel Sunhaven, Scion of House Sunhaven. This boy is my Page. You are not authorized to take him, nor to command me. Stand down and continue with your duties."

The orc grinned, and behind him the other four began to draw weapons with the sickening sound of steel sliding out of sheaths. Alleriel remained calm, focused and balanced within herself. Her eyes look at the orc as if she were in a distant place as he took a step towards her, still growling, "I warned you elf. Now you will suffer the consequences."He reached for Alleriel, his hand about to clamp on her arm, the onlookers grinning as they realized there would be a fight.

And then she exploded into movement.

There was no warning, no warcry, no hint of anger or rage on her face as she moved. One moment his hand was about to clamp down on her rather small arm, the next moment she was simply not there. She dodged past him as if he were no obstruction at all, rolling between two of the other orcs who also tried to grab her. She whirled as she came to her feet, falling into a half-crouch, her hands up, palms open as she watched the orcs. Although Alleriel carried two swords on her back, she didn't dare draw them, as any intent to kill the orcs would be illegal and WOULD egg the crowd on to aiding her assailants.

The orcs looked at each other, shrugged and then grinned before charging her.

The first orc lunged with his sword, aiming it with deadly intent at her torso. To his everlasting surprise,  her hand darted out at JUST the exact right moment to slap the flat of his blade and send the weapon off course. His momentum carried him forward, and she stepped within the reach of his arms, her other hand locking with his still swinging forearm and hooking it in the crook of her arm. She applied force to him as he moved, and his arm bent at an unnatural angle. All of the orcs winced as the sound of a bone snapping could be heard, followed quickly by his howls. Alleriel spun, letting him trip and fall past her.

The others were already rushing towards her, blades extended. She rolled again, the weapons narrowly missing her lithe form as she dodged, slashing nothing but air. As she came up on her feet in a crouch, her leg swept out, taking one of the orcs by surprise and sending him tumbling to the ground in the path of one of his companions. The second orc tripped, his arms windmilling as he landed face first atop his comrade.

Alleriel darted forward, using the fallen pile of orcs to gain height as she moved. A fourth orc had rushed towards her after her roll, and she launched herself into the air from atop the pile of orcs beneath her, her form flying across the distance in a heartbeat. Instead of encountering an elf in a crouch on the ground, the rushing orc found a well-made leather boot connecting squarely with his face. He gave a light grunt as the impact knocked him out, his weapon tumbling to the ground and followed soon after by his unconscious form. He landed atop the other two orcs, who grunted as the unconscious weight slammed into them.

Alleriel landed, whirling to face the last orc in the group. Behind her, one orc whimpered pathetically, nursing his broken arm, and two others were grumbling at each other as they attempted to push their unconscious friend off so they could get up. The remaining orc glared at her, his voice rough and threatening, "You will pay for all of this elf. Your pain will last for days before we finish with you."

Alleriel did not respond. She simply dropped back into a crouch, serenity and focus on her face, her hands open and awaiting the next attack. The orc quickly obliged, charging across the distance and bringing his two hand-axes up to slash at Alleriel.

She wasted no time, moving in swiftly. As the first axe came down, her hands lashed out, striking the orc in the throat, then stomach, and then groin. As her opponent reeled back from the lightning fast blows, she stepped in closer, slipping past one of his flailing axes and making it impossible to strike at her. She darted around him, a hand lashing out and striking one of his knees as she moved.

The orc turned in a panic, his axes lashing out and hitting nothing but air, "She's like a damned sprite darter!"

Alleriel rolled, coming up in a crouch a short distance away from the orc, her hands again open, awaiting his move. She took a deep breath, keeping herself centered and focused.

I am a sprite darter. I am the wind.

Enraged by her lack of response and the humiliating blows he'd taken, the leader of the Kor'kron group roared and charged at her. She rushed forward as he moved, coming to meet him in an unexpected counter attack. As his first axe came up, her hand lashed out, striking his underarm and dislocating his shoulder. His roar turned into a yelp as the axe tumbled from nerveless fingers, his second weapon slapped away by a well timed parry from Alleriel.

Her hands lashed out again, striking his chest near his diaphragm and driving the air from his lungs. As he bent forward, coughing and gasping, her whole body whirled in a circular motion, her foot coming up to connect squarely with the side of his head. His now-unconcious body cart-wheeled sideways before landing unceremoniously in a heap on the nearby ground.

Alleriel completed the move and came to a rest, not even remotely out of breath, her hands coming together before her as she inhaled and exhaled, retaining her center of balance and focus of Chi. Before her, the two orcs that were still conscious and battle ready looked at their two unconscious comrades and the third holding his broken arm and then gave each other glances. Around them, the crowd laughed at the fact that five trained warriors had been unable to defeat an unarmed women. Flushing with shame, the two quickly sheathed their weapons, each of them grabbing one of their unconscious comrades before hurrying off, the ever-increasing jeers of the crowd sending them on their way.

Alleriel remained unmoving for a moment, completing the mental exercises necessary to purge her mind and body of the exhilaration that combat brought and keeping her thoughts centered. She breathed in and out again, her eyes closed. She felt a tug on her armor, and her sea green eyes opened to see the orc child standing before her.

"T-thank you miss! That was GREAT!" the orc said happily.

Alleriel smiled at him and nodded, her exercises complete and her mind clear, "It was necessary.  They believe that strength of arms is all that matters, and cannot appreciate the rest of what the world has to offer. Remember that lesson well as you grow older. It is not just strength of arms, but strength of heart and mind, that matter."

The young orc nodded at Alleriel, his eyes wide, "I-I'll remember that!"

Alleriel smiled and offered him one last piece of advice before turning to leave, "My offer stands by the way. You may become a Page of House Sunhaven if you wish. If you cannot find something safer to do here."

She paused, turning to hand him a token with the emblem of her House on it, "Simply present this to the guards, and they will know what to do. This is not a requirement though, but an offer. You have the right to choose your own path, and whatever path you choose, may it be green and golden young one."

With that she walked away, the crowd parting to let her pass and the young orc smiling at the golden emblem in his hand. It had been a brief encounter, but it had taught both orc and elf much in that short time.

Alleriel would know now to be more careful amongst her 'allies' that was for certain.

A Letter of Acceptance

Biara sighed, shaking her head and setting the parchment down on the writing desk before her. She reached out, her delicately manicured hand scooping up a goblet of fine wine which she sipped as her fel green eyes ran over the contents of her desk once more.

It had been several days now since the Blackhearts had been ordered to assemble an expeditionary force to aid the Horde war effort, and in that time Biara had come to some stark realizations over the position of House Sunfire within the grand workings of Quel'Thalas.

They were low on manpower.

Not just low, bereft. The fall of Dayfire Spire had slain many House Dayfire supporters, and even with the money Kyliska had provided from her own coffers to found House Sunfire, they had only been able to assemble a small military force. What was worse, House Dawnsea had ALMOST claimed control of the Blackhearts military company while House Dayfire was in decline. Only the presence of House Moonblade forces in the mix, combined with the new House Sunfire's tenuous grip on outlying properties liberated from House Dawnsea allowed Biara to even command a fraction of the force. As a result, when the call had gone out for troops to be supplied to Quel'Thalas, it had forced a round of negotiations as the Magistrix tried to find a way to supply those troops without draining House Sunfire's forces at a crucial time.

And thus, the letter and papers sitting on Biara's desk. And the reason for her headache.

Biara took another sip of wine before setting the goblet down, a golden bracelet on her wrist sparkling in the magical lights that surrounded her. Although the negotiations were not entirely favorable, things could have been worse she supposed. Maybe. Her gaze came to rest once more on the letter before her.

Magistrix Sunfire,

Greetings and salutations! I pray that this letter finds both yourself, and your sister Kyliska in excellent health. I was pleased with our recent discussions over the future of Quel'Thalas and the need to meet the Warchief's demands for troops and materials of war.

As we had discussed, let this letter mark my official and joyous acceptance of your offer for a military alliance between House Sunfire and House Sunhaven. I believe that between us and the other Houses already included in your military company, we can gather the appropriate soldiers and materials needed to meet our obligations to our nation and to the Horde as a whole.

As we have previously discussed, I am henceforth dispatching four companies of House Sunhaven soldiers to our mutually agreed upon muster point. Please see the attached appendices for a complete list of the capabilities of these companies. As per the laws I am enforcing upon my own House, we will not be providing you with magical support or materials, as we no longer retain any Sin'dorei with such capabilities. 

Please also note that the Blood Knights I am dispatching alongside the above noted companies have been given their own command structure. Their role on the battlefield is that of healer and they have been ordered to engage in no bloodshed during any engagements that we may participate in. I am aware that your sister Kyliska already commands her own formidable assemblage of Blood Knights, and must remind you that my men are not under her direct command and have been ordered to ignore any orders contrary to my own during any deployments. As we discussed, I believe your sister is quite capable, but her methodology does not correspond with the edicts of House Sunhaven, and I would prefer if my men remain under the disciplinary guidelines we have in place for them.

I hope that we may work together towards a brighter, healthier Quel'Thalas where our people can once again live in peace and harmony with our ancestral lands and where we can, with a group effort, finally heal ourselves from the ravages that magic has left upon our bodies and minds.

I will be undertaking a journey over the next few months in an effort to learn more of our allies and the events that have transpired in the world. For too long I have remained secluded here, and it is time that I leave Quel'Thalas for a while to learn firsthand what has happened since the restoration of the Sunwell. During my absence, all requests may be routed through my seneschal, who will be more than happy to assist you with any issues that may arise. With luck, I will return in due time and the gates of Quel'Thalas will open for one who has gained some wisdom.

I wish you well, Magistrix Sunfire, and hope that these arrangements are pleasing to you. May your path be green and golden. 

Sincerely yours,
Alleriel Sunhaven
Scion of House Sunhaven
Former Magistrix of the Whispering Grove

Biara sighed, shaking her head again as she reread the words. The alliance was necessary to maintain the balance of troops within the Blackhearts, and would help to ensure that House Sunfire didn't fade in power as they recruited more Sin'dorei to their cause. She could only hope that Lady Sunhaven was less irksome to deal with than the other Houses already included in the fragile alliance. Time would tell.

Her headache was getting worse.

"I swear this will be the death of me," the Magistrix murmured as she arose from her chair. "Miscalculations and defeats have forced us to this point. Let us hope that we can rise above the need for such things one day."

With that she walked from the room, heading towards the armory. She had much business to complete before the day was done, and the work was vital to the growth of House Sunfire.

Dangerous Seas

The carriage rolled to a stop before a small stone building on the upper tier of structures overlooking Stormwind's harbor. The non-distinct building was identical to all of the others along the row, with narrow, easily shuttered windows and thick doors to keep out inclement weather coming off the sea. Above the building's entrance hung a white sign with red lettering that stated “Sea Lanes Trade and Import, Inc.”

The driver of the carriage hopped down, hurrying around to the side of the conveyance and lowering the steps towards the building's main entrance. He opened the door, stepping aside to allow Britany LaFevre to descend from the transport, her white and silver gown trailing down the steps behind her. She paused, looking up at the sign and giving a soft sigh before looking over to her driver.

“James, I fear that this will take several hours,” She said almost apologetically. “Why don't you go and make some purchases for yourself while I'm occupied. Return at two bells to collect me if you would. Oh, and here is a small stipend for your personal uses.”

Britany handed James a small coin-purse as he bowed and replied, “Thank you m'Lady. I will return at the appointed time. And...good luck.”

The noblewoman gave him a fleeting smile before proceeding into the building, the guards posted within the foyer opening the inner doors to allow her to proceed to her destination. She had been unilaterally summoned by the rest of the trade conglomerate that operated from within the building; an action that would have been unthinkable in years past and one that had set her ire stirring almost immediately. With swift strides that caused her heels to echo loudly within the stone confines of the building, she made her way to the conference room, pushing the door open and unceremoniously entering.

Within, five men and a woman awaited her around a long, polished hardwood table. Luxurious high-backed chairs sat each of the attendees comfortably around the furniture, with the chair at the table's head remaining empty and awaiting her presence. Britany paused, her eyes roaming over the well dressed collection of minor nobles.

At least they didn't have the audacity to sit in my chair. I honestly think I'd have to slay someone if they presumed that much.

With that thought in mind, Britany walked slowly towards her seat, sinking down into the soft cushions, the banner of House LaFevre hanging on the wall centered behind her head, it's deep blue field with dual fleur-de-lis glittering with gold behind her falsely benevolent smile. She opened her mouth to speak, only to have the words die in her throat as one of the men near her half-rose and tossed a folder her way.

The folder struck the table's surface, opening and spilling papers which slid across the highly polished wood, coming to rest just within her reach. Her eyes scanned over them quickly without any movement to collect the papers as the man raged at her, “You tried to run a blockade! You lost an entire VESSEL to orc warships and didn't think you needed to TELL us about this?”

Angry mutterings arose amongst the other present, each of the conglomerate's nobles chiming in on the sentiment and looking to Britany for an explanation. For her part, she remained calm, her facial muscles displaying not even a hint of irritation as those present murmured and finally settled. When they were done, she spoke, looking each of them in the eye and not bothering to reach for the documents. She knew what they said after all.

“Yes, I sent two vessels to Teldrassil in an attempt to run the blockade while it was in effect,” she spoke with a strong voice. “One of the vessels was hulled by goblin cannon fire and sank beneath the waves. The other did manage to escape with minor damage, returning here.”

“Minor damage! The ship will need weeks in drydock to make it sea-worthy again!” another of the men shouted. “Do you have any idea how much this co-”

Britany interrupted him, affixing a less friendly stare at him, “Three hundred twenty-seven lives. One hundred fifteen pieces of artillery. Five battle-magi sworn to our Houses. Seven fullsails, three halfsails, eight hundred feet of rope. Five thousand, two hundred crowns worth of lumber. Seven thousand crowns worth of labor and repair costs. Three weeks of drydock fees and associated taxes. Is that an adequate summary?”

The man sputtered on for a moment and then fell silent, nodding. Britany looked away from him, her eyes wandering over each member of the conglomerate, “Yes there were heavy losses, however the second vessel did return with merchandise that has, due to the intervention of the orcs, been temporarily made unavailable. As a result, the cargo that we did bring back was eight hundred percent more profitable than it otherwise would have been, not to mention the fees we charged several passengers who for whatever reason were unable to use the portals of magi to return to Stormwind. As you can see, the voyage more than paid for itself.”

The woman sitting at the table glared at Britany before speaking sternly, “The cost in lives is far greater! How can you justify-”

She too was cut off as the Lady LaFevre sent a glare her way, “The sailors knew the risks and their families will be compensated.”

The statement was met with shouts and a chorus of disagreement, the volume rising in the room. All noise ended abruptly when Britany brought her hand down on the surface of the table hard enough to create an echoing boom. All eyes turned to her, several of the trade nobles wondering how the Lady LaFevre had not just broken her hand, so forceful was the blow.

Britany's voice was cold now, and her gaze held a hint of malice in it as she spoke, “In past times, my brother ran this conglomerate ruthlessly, as you may well remember. With his unfortunate and sudden passing, I elected to take a different path, allowing each of you the freedom to expand our interests and profit greatly from the trade we encouraged. Let us never forget though that the property and lives we are discussing belong to House LaFevre, and there is a limit to the patience I will display.”

She paused for a moment, her tone softening as she looked at each member of the group, considering their strengths. Minor nobles or even non-noble rich tradesmen, the group had been built slowly by House LaFevre since the rebirth of Stormwind after the second war. The Sea Lanes Trade and Import Corporation was a facade for an underlying network of ship-builders, sailors, soldiers, and all of the necessities to encourage sea trade and the power and wealth that it brought. The question now was how the conglomerate would face the challenges of the future.

“Times have changed. No longer can we look upon the conflicts between the Horde and Alliance with indifference,” Britany continued. “Where before a Horde warship might fire upon our vessels here and there, now they will actively hunt them. Where before an invasion might disrupt trade to a specific port, we now have to consider that total annihilation of a port may occur, removing the trade indefinitely. We have three options as I see it.”

Britany arose, pacing behind her chair and setting the banner of her House fluttering with her passing. “We can profit by current events as I have just done through bold trade with beleaguered Alliance ports. We can engage in war profiteering, and trade in commodities that the Alliance military will need in the days and months to come. Or...”

Britany paused, the smile on her face a cruel one now, “We can obtain a writ and become privateers.”

The group murmured softly, considering what Britany had said carefully. The world had changed, and they were savvy enough to understand that they had to change with it. The meeting that had started as an attempt to wrest more power from Britany for her actions quickly turned to a brainstorming meeting as they discussed the possibilities. One question arose above all of the others though, spoken by one of the more silent members of the conglomerate.

“What of House Baxon and the recent troubles with the contracts, Lady LaFevre?”

Britany smiled and shrugged, “I have taken what steps I may to rectify that. I put in a petition with the Claimant of Lordaeron, with the hopes that Lord Baxon's ties to that former Kingdom will require him to concede some ground on this front. Although Her Grace could not definitively resolve the issue in our favor, I am confident that this will, at least, give Lord Baxon pause before he presses us further.

Although the act was surprising, those present began to nod at the wisdom of this course. Whether House Baxon and it's associated minor-houses would concede was still in question, but at the very least their workers would hopefully cease with their attempts at sabotage at the piers and angry protests in joint council meetings. Britany raised a hand, silencing the others as she returned to her seat, a smile on her lips.

“It occurs to me, my esteemed friends, that if we cannot obtain a writ to savage Horde ships with our own galleons from His Majesty, there is always the possibility that Her Grace would see fit to provide us with the proper writ. I imagine that she would shed not a tear if we took Forsaken vessels off of the coasts of Lordaeron,” the noblewoman said happily.

The others nodded and Britany slowly gathered the now pointless papers up in front of her, neatening and organizing the stack as she spoke, “I will consider whether or not to present another petition to her on this matter. In the meanwhile, let us begin planning for the best. We will need to increase the armaments on our trading vessels, and make plans to import more dangerous weapons to deal with Horde warships. I have some...ideas about this.”

With a smile, Britany leaned back in her chair as those around the table began to chatter excitedly about the possibilities. The meeting had gone from irritating to triumphant in a matter of minutes, but such was the nature of the game, if one knew how to play it properly.

A Letter to the Queen

The news had spread through Stormwind like wildfire, and like that consuming flame, it danced and flickered, passing from ear to ear and becoming ever more horrible, ever more real with each retelling. Regardless of how the tale was spun though, there was one underlying truth that could not be denied.

Theramore was gone.

Not just gone, obliterated. It had ceased to exist. And worse, the ships that the 7^th Legion had sent there had also suffered great losses. Ships built in Stormwind's harbor, ships crewed by the loyal citizens of Stormwind, ships that House LaFevre had, in part, helped to build with its various holdings.

Britany LaFevre sat in her parlor, feeling nothing but numbness inside as her servants passed in and out of the richly appointed estate in Stormwind's magic district. Dimly she heard their chatter, heard the hushed whispers as they spoke of the loss and speculated about what the grim future would hold. She dismissed them for the moment, simply contemplating the reality of the blow that had been struck against the Alliance. Beside her, a cup of tea sat slowly cooling on a coffee table, forgotten for a moment as the Lady of the house tried to make sense of the news.

She had never had any strong patriotic feelings. House LaFevre had originally hailed from Lordaeron, and had been established in Stormwind for three generations, building its shipping empire slowly with the growth and rebirth of the city after the Second War. In all of that time, House LaFevre had taken great strides to keep itself firmly grounded in its primary businesses and buried its head in the sand when it came to talk of war. Except, of course, for the opportunities it presented.

This was a completely different situation.

How could a House prosper when the threat of total annihilation existed? What trade would exist when the seas were owned by Horde vessels, slaughtering even the innocent crews of trade ships and merchants like those that House LaFevre sent out to sea regularly? In all of her thirty seven years, Britany had never been forced to contemplate that all of those who relied upon her could be put at risk because the Horde had become suddenly genocidal.

Britany's thoughts were interrupted by a polite cough. She turned to see her manservant James standing in the parlor's entrance, a parchment in his hand covered in elegant script. She nodded to him once and he immediately walked into the room, arranging the parchment before her, their familiarity over the years allowing them to almost communicate subconsciously. With a frown, she read the declaration, pausing to run her hand across the words written there, as if touching them would give the moment more substance.

“Quill, ink, and parchment James,” Britany said softly, “I've a missive to send.”

In moments the necessary supplies were gathered and the declaration and Britany's cold tea were pushed aside, her quill flying across the page and a message quickly being put to paper.

Your Grace,

In dark times, goodly men and women wish for light to illuminate the path. They huddle in despair, their wills and hearts crushed by the weight of disaster and ruin. In rare cases, such feelings are banished when one comes along to lift up the downtrodden and inspire them to dare to believe that hope may still exist.

Your words, your declarations are exactly such an illuminating power. Through them, within them, is the hope that such a black day may be set behind us, that we may grasp at fleeting victory and cast down those who would bring about the sorrows we have suffered. I am certain that you have inspired many with your words.

Although my home is now Stormwind, my ancestors hail from your lands and my blood stirs to hear said what you have proclaimed. I am but one woman, and my influence is but a paltry thing compared to the power of a nation or your own might, but know that in spirit I support your words and encourage you to speak more of them, for these times call for such words and the actions implied within them.

Know that House LaFevre firmly supports your efforts, and will contribute what we are able to donate to aid in the elimination of a threat that would doom us all, champion and artisan alike. Our shipping concerns will always be available to you and yours, be it for the movement of supplies or men. Consider this small act, however insignificant it may be, as a gift from myself. The future of all good men and women depends upon what we do next, what we all do together.

May the Light bless you and your cause, and may you and your men return to the embrace of your homeland one day, victorious over the darkness that looms.

Respectfully,

Britany LaFevre

House LaFevre

Upon completion of the letter Britany set her quill aside, allowing the ink to dry before carefully folding the letter before her. She poured wax on it, setting her signet ring against the cooling substance to seal the missive before looking up to her manservant. James stepped forward, taking the letter in hand and bowing.

“Please see to it that Her Grace receives this James,” Britany said softly. “It is a small gesture I am sure, but we must bolster the morale of our allies as best we can.”

“At once Lady LaFerve,” James said, quickly turning and slipping from the room.

Britany watched him go before turning to look out the window, her thoughts returning to the losses the alliance had suffered. There was little she could do directly, and it was galling. She would have to make more sacrifices, gain more power. In time, she would have a part to play.

If any of them had any time left.

The Lady's Honor

As the morning sky lightened towards dawn, the carriage rolled between the sparse trees surrounding the forest edge in Elwynn. It slipped into a clearing, still gray and dull with the last shadows of night, rolling slowly to a stop several yards from a group of people that waited there.

The conveyance itself was extravagant; a wooden structure framed with carefully rounded sides that had been artfully painted and filigreed; it was clear that the person within was of some importance or wealth. As it came to a halt, a tall, lanky looking man jumped down from the driver's seat, quickly hurrying to the carriage door. The man was dressed in the finery usually provided to only the highest level servants within a noble house, his vest and pants cut perfectly to his size and a fashionable hat perched on his head adding further to his already imposing height.

With practiced efficiency the man quickly lowered the retractable steps on the side of the carriage's frame before gracefully opening the door, allowing the occupant to dismount. The group of people already in the clearing, which consisted of two men dressed in the latest style of the nobles of Stormwind and another who was obviously a manservant of some sort, watched as the shadows within the carriage stirred and the person within made an appearance.

A golden head of hair appeared first, followed by a pale countenance that had been enhanced with cosmetics to give the descending woman an almost ivory appearance. The gaze of the onlookers took in her form as the woman carefully set a designer shoe on the first of the steps, one of her delicate hands gracefully accepting the aid of her manservant as she stepped down. The Lady Britany LaFevre was in her middle age, her figure filled out from her life of luxury but not gone entirely to fat. The dress she had selected, like all of her dresses, was carefully styled to accent only her best features, and the huge affair of expensive cloth and laces cascaded down her body, the glittering of jewels and golden jewelry at her fingers, wrists, and ears highlighting the wealth she displayed.

As she reached the grass, she carefully gathered her dress at her hips, preventing the dew that clung to the greenery from soaking her outfit. Her manservant smiled almost sadly at her, leaning forward to whisper to her softly, "M'lady, you don't have to do this. I am sure another solution can be reached."

Britany turned and offered the man a smile, reaching out to pat his hand with one of her own, gloved hands, "Ah James, you worry overmuch for my health. Despite the danger, honor must be upheld and in these difficult times it is even more important to show a brave face. Thank you for your concern though my dear old friend."

With that the Lady turned and walked towards the group of waiting men, pausing within a few feet of them and offering them a polite curtsey. When she spoke, her voice had no hint of malice, but neither did it hold fear, "Good day gentlemen. I trust that all is in order? I would like to finish this quickly as you can imagine."

One of the men stepped forward, removing his hat and offering a polite bow, "Lady LaFevre, it grieves me terribly to see that you have chosen this course. Please, I beg of you, reconsider before we commence. I will be reasonable should you capitulate."

Britany offered the man a half-smile before shaking her head, "My Lord Baxon, although I appreciate your sincerity, I cannot allow House LaFevre to lose face in this. You made bold statements, accusing me of stealing your share of the latest ship-building contracts, and if I were to allow such a slight to pass the others would swoop down upon my poor head, pillaging what remains of my father's once mighty House. I fear that I cannot rescind my acceptance of your declarations or offer."

The man she addressed sighed heavily, looking over his shoulder at the other two and nodding. The manservant stepped forward, holding a small box in his hand. He opened the lid, presenting the contents to the two. Britany's eyes roamed over the paired dueling pistols, her hands caressing them. Beside her, the man who had challenged her to the duel sighed again, speaking softly, "As the challenged, it is your right to select your weapon first M'lady. I do wish you would choose a champion however. It is...unseemly for me to fire upon a Lady."

Britany shook her head, one of her gloved hands grasping the handle of one of the two pistols. She looked at the man and offered him a smile, "Nonsense. As my House has no Lord, it is my duty to defend its honor. If you would fire upon Lord LaFevre, then you should have no issue with firing upon Lady LaFevre. And fire upon me you shall, as I shall upon you."

She reached out, grasping one of Lord Baxon's hands in hers for a moment, their eyes meeting, "Do try not to strike one of my better features, would you my Lord?"

Lord Baxon blinked once in surprise, his eyes roaming over several of the lady's 'good features' before he managed to restrain himself. He offered her a polite smile before taking up the second pistol and placing his back to hers. "One shot each m'Lady. Regardless of the outcome, honor will be satisfied."

Britany nodded and spoke over her shoulder to her opponent, "Agreed."

Their Seconds scrambled to take their places as the two began to pace away from one another, each taking ten steps. When they reached that point, the two turned to face one another. Lord Baxon, a known duelist who had slain or wounded almost a dozen other nobles as of late in the forests near Stormwind, brought his pistol up first.

In the seconds that he sighted down the barrel, something washed over him. His weapon aligned with the Lady LaFevre, but as he looked at her, it seemed not to be her anymore. As the Fear spell that Britany had placed upon him with her touch took full effect, he began to see horrible sights. The Lady had sprouted horns from her head. Dark wings flapped behind her, and instead of her cheerful face, a wicked sneer stared at him. Flames licked the hem of her gown and the ground around her, and imps playfully frolicked in the fires, peeking at him from around their Mistress. Lord Baxon's hands began to shake as he witnessed the horrifying vision, the imps dancing towards him, leaving little trails of flame behind them and laughing at him, always laughing.

To the others, it simply appeared as if the Lord hesitated when he aimed at Lady LaFevre. Perhaps he had second thoughts about shooting a woman. Perhaps his heart was not truly in the duel. Regardless of the case, his arm trembled and as he squeezed the trigger, his pistol discharged, the shot well clear of the Lady LaFevre and not even disturbing a single lock of her hair.

For her part, and to the surprise of all of the onlookers except her own manservant, Britany brought her pistol up with some degree of expertise, sighted down the barrel, and gently squeezed the trigger. Her weapon discharged, the shot hurtling across the distance between the two and striking the Lord Baxon in the stomach. The sound of the metal striking vulnerable flesh wetly echoed through the clearing and the Lord crumpled to the ground.

What the onlookers did not see, what they could not see, was that the curse of enfeeblement that Britany had placed on her shot before firing her weapon was affecting the man. The shot, lodged deep in his gut, was giving off waves of fel magic, weakening the organs around the otherwise non-vital hit, stopping his kidneys, his liver, and soon after his heart and lungs. The man gave a great sigh and then perished right there on the spot, to the dismay of his Second and the manservant he'd brought.

Britany stepped towards her fallen foe, smoking dueling pistol in hand. Her face held a look of sorrow on it as the two men tried to resuscitate the man in vain. Finally, they gave up their efforts, laying him on the grass gently and looking up at her.

Britany looked down at them and placed her pistol in the grass gently, sighing, "It pains me that such a great man as Lord Baxon has passed from this world. Although we had quarreled, I did not wish him ill. Let his heir know that even though I am the victor here, I will not forget the Lord's original distress over current arrangements. His heir shall have precisely one fourth of the business secured by House LaFevre, and I shall make a donation to Stormwind's orphanage in Lord Baxon's name."

The two men rose slowly, bowing before Britany. "M'Lady is far too kind," the Lord's Second declared softly. "I am sure his son and widow will be most pleased to hear of your honor in this. All will hold you faultless, for Lord Baxon did challenge you, and you did honorable combat with him."

Britany inclined her head once, ascknowledging the words before turning and looking to her own manservant, "James, I wish to depart now if you will. This morning has been distressing and I fear that I need to meditate in peaceful solitude for a time."

James snapped to action, quickly opening the carriage door and offering a hand to help the noblewoman up, "Yes m'Lady. At once."

The door closed behind the Lady Britany LaFevre and her carriage quickly rolled away, passing into the forest and leaving the others behind to begin the task of taking the Lord's body away. Within the darkness of the conveyance, where no one could see, Britany smiled to herself, her eyes glowing slightly with fel magic as she reclined on luxurious cushions. A small laugh escaped her as the carriage headed back into Stormwind.The interests of House LaFevre had been well served this day.

No one stood again Lady LaFevre and lived to brag of it. No one.

Tomb Queens- Part 4

The sounds of the jungle surrounded the two adventurers as they made their way towards the angled side of a hill. Spanner was in the lead, Beckyann following along behind him, attempting to keep her dress from snagging on the exposed roots and vegetation on the jungle's floor. Every now and then, Spanner would stop, the gnome holding up a small hand to halt his companion as he surveyed pages of hand-written notes that he'd pull from his jacket pocket. He'd mutter to himself before nodding and the two would continue on.

They navigated around the jungle-covered hillside deep within Stranglethorn Vale several times, searching for a specific spot or clue as to the whereabouts of their goal. After a time, Spanner found himself feeling tired, and he signaled to Beckyann that they would take another break. For her part, the undead woman merely rolled her eyes at the frailty of the living, crossing her arms and waiting patiently for the gnome to catch his second wind. As she waited though, something caught her eye above her shorter friend's head. With a smile on her face, she moved towards him, grabbing several overhanging branches and pushing them aside.

With wide eyes, she uncovered a flat, troll-built wall of stone that had been cleverly disguised in the side of the hill. She looked down at Spanner, her glee mirrored on his face, “It looks like you chose a fortunate spot to rest Spanner. I think this is it!”

The gnome leaped up, eagerly helping Beckyann as she pulled more of the foliage away, exposing the trollish glyphs there. With a whoop of glee he dashed over to his pack, pulling out the troll death mask and approaching the wall with it. He looked up at Beckyann, as if asking permission and she shrugged and nodded. Happily the gnome placed the mask over his face, studying the glyphs through the eye sockets before reaching forward and placing his hands against two carefully carved glyphs on the wall. The ancient stone began to blaze with magical light as a spell many hundreds of years old flared into existence, the wall grinding as it slowly receded into the side of the hill, leaving a gaping opening before the two adventurers.

Beckyann smiled, actually clapping Spanner on the back as she peered into the darkness, “You did it! WE did it! By the heavens I can't believe we actually found it!”

Spanner nodded, reaching to his belt and pulling out a flare. He twisted the bottom, igniting the flaming stick and holding it up before walking towards the opening, still wearing the mask on his head. “Shall we then Miss Eastberg?”

Beckyann wasted no time, and soon the two had left the jungle behind them as they delved into the depths of a troll tomb that had not seen the tread of living people for longer than the two adventurers could imagine. The very start of the tomb was rather decrepit, weather and time having allowed some of the stones to be washed clean of the paintings that had covered them.

As the two pressed in further though, the light from Spanner's flare revealed masterful artwork painted on the walls, depicting the rise of a great voodoo priestess whom the two knew from their studies had later become known as the 'Hexmistress'. As they pushed in deeper, the paintings changed from a glorious display of the female troll's rise to the horrific end result of her seemingly endless power. Beckyann paused, turning to study several of the more morbid and sadistic drawings, enjoying the images greatly and thinking that they would likely fit well on the walls of Acherus.

For his part, Spanner ignored the paintings, pushing further ahead. As he came towards a sealed door, Beckyann's voice shouted out behind him, “Wait! There's a trap! I can sense the magic!”

Spanner froze in mid-step as he heard Beckyann's boots pounding on the stones behind him. The death knight ran up, grabbing him by the shoulder and roughly pulling him back. She looked him over once to ensure he was not injured before closing her eyes and turning towards the door. Her hands rose up as she tried to sense the magic. There was something familiar about it, something that tickled the back of her mind. She smiled as she realized that it was necromancy, and divined the purpose of the spell.

With a casual shrug she stepped forward, touching the stone door at the end of the corridor. Instantly torches flared to life up and down the corridor and likely throughout the tomb as its traps came to life, and a haze of deep purple energy bathed the death knight before filtering into the floor. Beckyann merely stood there, shrugging again before pushing the door open. She turned to look at Spanner, amusement on her face.

“The spell would have stopped your heart. Pity that such a trap is useless on me hmm?” she purred.

Spanner shivered once, thinking that his undead companion could be a bit creepy at times before he too shrugged and moved towards the doorway. Together they both passed into a larger, wider chamber that was illuminated by burning magical torches. The room seemed rather plain, with about five sealed doors around its perimeter and a tiled mosaic floor depicting a large troll warrior hurling a spear at a voodoo priestess inscribed on the floor.

“Well, we've many options to choose from,” Beckyann said with a smile, stepping into the room. Behind her, Spanner slipped the mask from his head, gazing in wonder around the room.

“We'll have to translate the markings over the door, it shouldn't be a problem,” he said as he nodded. “We just need to find the one marked as the tomb's throne room which is where the energy source was supposedly located. The mask might even have clues to such translations in it!”

As he spoke, he stepped onto a different part of the mosaic, his boot coming down on a triangular piece of colored stone. Rather than support his weight, it sunk into the floor with a click. For a heart-wrenching moment, Spanner's eyes met Beckyann's from across the room before a tripwire lashed out around his ankle, snaring it and then hauling him upwards. The unfortunate gnome found himself dragged upside down nearly to the ceiling, the death mask and many of his possessions raining down from his pockets as he dangled and spun on the wire.

Beckyann giggled with amusement as she watched her companion dangle from the ceiling. She quickly, but carefully walked towards him, checking the tiles by prodding them with her boot before putting her weight on them. She finally got beneath him, looking up with a smile on her black lips, she joked lightly “Spanner, this is no time to hang around, we've got more discoveries to make!”

As Beckyann reached up to try and grab her companion, his retort was cut short by the distinct sound of the hammer on a gun being primed, both death knight and gnome paused, turning to look back towards the tomb's entrance.

Standing there, a grin on her face and a pistol in her hand, stood the female goblin Bix. She looked somewhat worse for wear, her clothing torn in places and her hair singed from the fires that had spread along the docks in Booty Bay the previous evening. She leaned against the entrance to the room, casually covering the two with her pistol.

“Looks like you two morons did most of the work for me after all,” she said in a high-pitched squeak. “Sadly for you, no one crosses me and gets away with it. That'd be bad for business dolls. The mask is mine, and so's the power source in this tomb.”

Beckyann glared at the goblin, taking a step towards her. Bix casually brought her pistol up and pulled the trigger, putting a shot in Beckyann's belly. The bullet ripped through her dress, plunging deep in her flesh and causing black ichor to ooze out. Beckyann ignored the shot at first, still moving towards the goblin. Such weapons normally would cause her only a dull ache, and she certainly no longer needed the organs that the round had penetrated.

This time though something was different. She took two steps forward before unimaginable agony wracked her form. She convulsed, sinking to her knees and then falling on her side, twitching with pain. Bix smirked at her, walking up and standing over her for a moment.

“Got some light-blessed shot here doll,” she purred over the agonized death knight. “Figured it might come in handy dealing with you.” Her grin widened and she pulled the hammer on the pistol back again, pressing the muzzle of the weapon to Beckyann's head for a moment before pulling it away.

“I'd put one in your head, but then you wouldn't get to see me win the prize,” the goblin laughed. She kicked Beckyann once before walking beneath Spanner and scooping the death mask from the floor. She gave the upside down gnome a mocking salute before slipping the mask over her face and studying the doors to the adjoining rooms. Nodding to herself, she walked towards one, leaving a parting comment for Spanner over her shoulder, “Thanks for doing the legwork for me Spanner! Pleasure doing business with you as always!” With a laugh the goblin pressed her hands against a few carvings set into the wall near one of the doors, sliding the stone open magically and moving past the doors into the distant throne room beyond.

As Spanner watched helplessly from his position near the ceiling, Beckyann twitched on the ground. She rolled over, a muffled scream escaping her as she probed the wound in her belly. The flesh had healed over, the properties of the Light causing the shot to be sealed deep in her tainted flesh. She coughed, black ichor spewing from her mouth and running down her chin.

“L-little c-cretin is going t-to pay,” she managed to gasp out. She brought a shaking hand up to her head, Spanner watching curiously as she began to undo the tight bun that she kept her golden locks in. As her hair spilled free of its restraints, her hand grabbed a long, thin piece of metal that she used as a hairpin. The object was made of saronite, and came to a razor fine point that a living woman likely would not have wanted near her neck and head. It also had three death runes inscribed on it.

Without looking at the gnome, Beckyann brought the hairpin up and plunged it into her own gut, mercilessly penetrating the flesh to dig around the projectile lodged within her. Black ichor oozed out of the fresh wound, the death runes on the hairpin glowing with a purple light as they prevented healing. Within moments the wound had been widened, and Beckyann plunged her other hand into the opening, her fingers dragging out the light-blessed shot with a disgusting sucking noise before she gasped and let the little metal ball fall from her hand. It rolled across the room, coming to rest near the door frame as the sound of Beckyann's hairpin tumbling to the stone floor could be heard.

For a moment, the undead woman simply lay as a corpse on the floor, black, brackish blood oozing from her wounds and staining the stones. After a time, her eyes shifted, locking on Spanner before she braced herself and slowly dragged herself to her feet, looking more like an unsteady ghoul than a death knight in her stride.

“That hurt like all the fires of the burning legion,” she muttered. She took a step before stumbling sideways, reaching out and grabbing one of the torch sconces on the wall to steady herself. To her great surprise, the torch yanked downward, the entire assembly a secret lever. With a rumbling noise a hidden door in the chamber's wall opened, revealing a glittering display of gems, gold, and precious items piled in a secret room. Deadly spiders and other creatures crawled amongst the piled treasure, and Spanner shivered as he watched them, suddenly glad he was elevated above floor level.

For her part, Beckyann pushed herself away from the wall, looking at the treasure in wonder. While it represented a significant amount of wealth, something else within called to her. She stepped into the room, ignoring the creatures amongst the piles of treasure and even the valuables themselves. She reached into a pile, seemingly at random, pulling out a jeweled hairclip. She held it, studying its golden form and the sparkling gems on it, shivering as she felt the strong currents of magic flowing through it.

She knew without a doubt that it contained necromancy, but the form and strength of it was like nothing she had seen. The spells were intricate and made by the most advanced of necromancers; it would take her several days to determine its purpose if it was even within her skill. Not wanting to part with the treasure, she took the clip and placed it in her own hair, fixing the mess she'd made when using her hairpin to remove the shot from her gut.

She turned and walked back into the room, giving Spanner a look before heading in the direction Bix had gone. Spanner began to protest but she kept walking, her voice growing softer as she moved off, “I have to Spanner. We can't let her get whatever is in this place. I have to stop her now, or it'll be too late. I'll come back for you, I promise.”

With that, Beckyann moved into the corridor that Bix had taken, following the narrow space deeper into the tomb's structure. Up ahead, an eerie blue glow filtered down the passageway, and Beckyann picked up her pace, sprinting into the adjoining room.

As she entered, she skidded to a halt, her eyes wide with shock. Bix was in the middle of a large, columned throne room, a tomb throne designed to hold dead royalty or tribal leaders. At the other end of the large open space a huge throne had been erected of stone with golden patterns inlaid into it. Atop the throne sat the mummy of a dead troll, a field of swirling blue magic surrounding the structure. Before it, Bix knelt, chanting something with the death mask still over her face.

“NO! STOP AT ONCE! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!” Beckyann yelled. She lurched forward, knowing even as she moved it was already too late. Everything fell into place now. The tomb. The traps. The artifacts. The 'infinite source of power'. She knew what sat upon the throne. It was clear as the clearest cloud-free day.

It was far too late unfortunately.

Bix completed her incantation and suddenly the blue glow around the throne failed, plunging the chamber into darkness for a moment. All along the chamber's edges torches flared bright purple as magical energies were unleashed within the chamber and a hideous laugh echoed through the room. A new blue glow began, and Beckyann faltered in its light.

Atop the throne, the mummy had shriveled, it's form collapsing onto itself as necromantic energies grew. Beckyann could feel them pulsing against her flesh and a cold thrill ran down her spine from a spot atop her head as her body and the objects on her person responded to the magic. She watched in horror as a form slowly condensed into existence atop the throne, a thing that was easily recognizable, despite its race and age.

A lich. The Hexmistress had become a lich in ancient times, and her tribe had thrown her down and sealed her away, her 'infinite power' locked safely beneath the jungle for all this time, only to be freed now by the bungling misdeeds of a group of treasure-seeking adventurers.

The lich hovered over her throne, her laughter mocking now as she looked down at Bix. She waved her hand and the little goblin shuddered, falling forward on her death mask covered face as her soul was torn from her flesh. The corpse trembled, rising slowly in undeath, even as the corpses of ancient troll guardians began to rise in the corners of the room, coming to the call of their tribal leader, to the call of the voodoo priestess that had taken things much much too far.

The lich pointed at Beckyann, the same spell washing over her but having no effect except perhaps that her eyes glowed a little more brightly. She paused, her gaze locked on the lich's.

“So mon, you be thinkin' to rob me tomb?” the lich said, the voice hollow and cold. “I be free now, and da tribe be mine fer all eternity. You be joinin' da tribe soon. You and da others. These be MY lands now.”

The creature gestured and slowly the tomb guards began to shamble towards Beckyann. Bix's corpse also turned, starting to walk towards the death knight. For her part, Beckyann merely stared at the undead walking towards her, completely unconcerned. The sight of Bix converted into a mindless undead servant actually made a small giggle escape her.

“You be thinkin' dis funny mon?” the lich said, sounding irritated. “Your soul be mine now!”

Beckyann rolled her eyes and pointed, death gripping the pistol from Bix's belt. She brought the weapon up, casually putting the second light-blessed shot into the unfortunate goblin, watching as the undead creature squealed and burst into flames. She tossed the spent weapon aside, staring the Lich down.

“I am a Knight of the Ebon Blade,” she said, her tone menacing. “Lesser undead do not command me. Withdraw your guards, or suffer.”

The lich began to laugh, the sound horrible and mocking, echoing from the stone walls of the chamber. It pointed, and the undead increased their pace, many dozens of them holding rotten, rusted weapons from ancient times. Beckyann merely shrugged and reached up, removing the hairclip from her head and holding it in the palm of her hand.

If a lich could look shocked, this one would have at this moment. It reared back on its throne, staring at Beckyann in disbelief, “How is dis possible?! Return that ta me at once!”

Beckyann smiled, holding the hairclip up, “Return what? Oh this? It looks good on me, don't you think? It definitely kept my hair in place. Of course, I wouldn't really want to go around with a phylactery on my head you know?”

The lich hissed at her, and the undead charged at her, howls rising up. Beckyann just offered the lich a sweet smile before her other hand came up and applied pressure to the hairclip. It snapped in half in her inhuman grip.

“Oops..” she said with a giggle.

The hairclip blazed with foul necromantic magic as its confines were shattered. Howling troll spirits flew from it, rising in a cloud around the death knight, their passing sending a wind that blew the hem of her dress wildly and made her hair flare around her face. The charging undead in the room cowered in fear as the spirits raged in a swirling mass around the undead human. They tried to claw at her, their dead hands passing through her insubstantially before their howling increased in pitch, their forms flying through Beckyann's body as they homed in on their true target.

As they homed in on the lich. The troll voodoo priestess that had sacrificed them in life to create a phylactery for herself in death. The priestess who had destroyed her own tribe for a mistaken grab at immortality.

Their rage was endless, and they swarmed the creature, each one tearing a little bit from her. The howling winds of their assault were so powerful that Beckyann actually shielded her face, the sound deafening. Within moments the attack was over, the vengeful spirits having torn the soul of the voodoo priestess to pieces, the lich scattered to the wind.

Light died in the tomb, only the dull glow of torches illuminating the place now as the dead tomb guards fell into crumpled heaps. Beckyann carefully stepped over them, walking towards the throne where the lich had been imprisoned. Upon it were the wrappings that had encased her body, and Beckyann swept them aside with a crinkled brow, cleaning the throne before sinking into it. Upon one of the arms she found a golden tiara that had been used to crown the would-be queen of the dead, and Beckyann smiled as she picked the object up, studying it. The thing was priceless, and even minus the costs of the losses that the gnomes had suffered she'd be able fund many future expeditions after this.

With a contented sigh, Beckyann took the tiara and settled it in her golden hair, leaning back on the throne and looking over the crumpled remains of her enemies and the goblin Bix. The room had, for a moment there, contained three forces vying for control of the treasure and power in this place. Only one had prevailed though, only one person still moved in the silence.

The tomb could have only one Queen after all.

Beckyann's laughter echoed down the long winding corridor, the giggling reaching Spanner where he hung upside down. The gnome found himself laughing as well, knowing that his companion had prevailed and that he stood a reasonable chance of being lowered down gently rather than shot down now. All in all, it had been quite the adventure, and by the looks of the treasure piled in the next room, a profitable one as well.

The end!