The End of All Things

((This story came to me, I suppose as a form of closure. Some characters are special to the writer and/or the audience, and it feels wrong to leave them without an ending, be it happy or sad. Consider this story an ending then, and a gift to two characters that were beloved to those who made them. I hope you enjoy! And yes, this is a WoW story.))

*Precisely One Thousand, Seven Hundred and Eighty Three Years in the Future*

Sunlight streamed into the bedroom from the tall archways that lead onto the balcony. Beyond those portals the small tower-top loomed over the forest and lands below it, the distant sounds of Darnassus carrying up to the top along with the fragrance of Teldrassil in the spring.

The room's occupant gave a hacking cough, the sound echoing in the relative quiet and dimness of the chamber. It was difficult for her to see now, her aged eyes barely perceiving the end of the bed let alone the sight of the sunlight or blue sky beyond. Despite this, long tapered ears that were partially obscured by messy silver hair twitched as they heard the door to the bedchamber open and the patter of bare feet enter the room.

The sounds stopped at the foot of the bed, and she could make out only the silhouettes of those who had come to visit her. It was rare in these times that so many came at once, but this was a special occasion, for she had summoned them all here by request. Perhaps it was a final whimsy, or maybe it was the drive she felt to pass on what she had learned, but the need existed to say a few things yet.

“You wanted us, Matron?” one of the older children said. His voice was not unkind, and had a strength to it that hinted at his mixed heritage. Although she could not see them, the old elf knew them by heart; they were her heritage, her gift to the world. Her great grandchildren and her great grandchildren's children. Kaldorei with a few of human blood mixed amongst them, they were the living testament to the story of her life, her triumphs and defeats. They were everything to her.

“Please, come closer,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. It was taxing to talk now, the sickness and age making even the simple task of drawing a breath a challenge. She was determined to speak though, no matter the difficulty. She waited until she heard them shuffle around her, until she could see their shadows looming over her bed through her weary old eyes.

“If I had my way, I would say so many things to you,” she began slowly. She drew in a breath with a great deal of labor, her words barely a whisper. “There is much in life you've yet to learn, but I think that I have discovered that the learning, the DOING is what makes every moment so special, as you will come to see.”

One of the younger children leaned over her, clutching a stuffed animal, “Matron, are you well? You sound so tired.”

The old elf raised her hand with difficulty, patting the small elf-child on the head gently, “Yes little one, I am as well as can be because of all of you. There is but one thing I have left to tell you, one thing that has made all of this possible, all of what you dream a reality.”

The children huddled together, some hugging each other and the older children looking sad as the old elf spoke, “The lesson is this; do not overlook one who would befriend you, for in the end your entire life may be the better for it. Friendship and love are the coin that enrich us, and no matter the cost you should reach for such things above all else. It is because of friendship that I have come to this moment, because of love that I was able to survive and prosper. It is because of this endless love that you live happily here, and will be blessed with family for all of your long years.”

Several of the children nodded, the elf's words only partially understood; they all knew that this was important to their elder, and they would remember her words even if they had yet to fully realize them. The old elf smiled as she looked upon the half dozen children around, nodding happily.

“Always remember children. Now go and play and enjoy the day. The sun is warm I think, yes?” she murmured.

“Yes Matron!” one of the boys said happily. Several of the children lined up, gently kissing the old elf's head as she laid in bed before they filed out, closing the door behind them and leaving her in silence.

She lay in happy reverie for a moment, remembering the things that had come to pass. The centuries of trials she had experienced, the loves she had gained and lost and the battles she had fought. All of it had come to this moment, this one instant in time, and all of it had been because of those who had been kind enough to extend a hand to her. She could only hope that her own gift to the world, her family, would continue to give such gifts when she was gone.

She drew in a breath, sighing softly to herself. It was time to face the facts; her health was a passing thing now, and she'd not been out of her bed in several weeks. She was weary, her tired old body expending the last of its energy to impart her lesson to her descendants. It was worth it though, and that thought carried with her as she struggled to draw in the next breath, the room becoming dimmer around her.

Her vision was fading now, the silver light in her eyes a dim glow that slowly dulled as the last of her rallied in the sight of the sunlight. She studied the patterns it made, the way it began to bend and curve as she clutched that last breath in her body, clung to a life well lived. In that moment, as the dimness began to grow, so too did the light, the shape of it changing. She blinked once as it shimmered, the shape growing to become that of a body, and then a woman, standing over her, smiling down on her. Golden hair kissed her shoulders, and even the dim ghostly outline of her form did nothing to dull the pure joy on her face as she leaned towards the elf laying on the bed.

Gently the spirit extended a hand of pure light, her voice a friendly memory that had been lost centuries before, “Come Malandrae, you have so many more adventures ahead of you. It is no time to lie in bed.”

She expelled her breath, knowing that another would not be coming, her own hand reaching up to the spirit's. To her great surprise, it moved with ease, her fingers clutching the ghostly hand in a warm embrace. She felt herself lifted up, pulled by a friendly hand to her feet, her body light and warm.

She looked down and laughed, for why would it not be warm? She was in one of her favorite dresses and shoes, her skirts twirling about her as she moved. She turned, looking over her shoulder to see a still form laying in the shadows on the bed behind her. For a moment, sorrow built in her heart, but the ghost whispered behind her, gentle and encouraging, “Come my old friend, you've had enough weight on your heart.”

With another laugh Malandrae turned, nodding and lacing her fingers with that of the ghost, her own voice light and young now, “Coming Professor Knox! I can't wait to see where you've been!”

With that, the two figures walked hand in hand from the bed, their bodies glowing brightly as they passed through the wall and into the slanting beams of sunlight on the balcony beyond. There they faded, off to begin a new adventure in another place.

All along the balcony they had left, the flowerpots bloomed with vibrant red roses, the beautiful colors a last gift to the world from two friends.

To Trap a Thief

The bar was filled with noise. Glasses clinked as men and women raised them in toasts, laughter echoed through the enclosed space as friends told jokes, and murmurs flowed under the louder noises as news was exchanged and business was discussed. There was even the occasional *thud* of darts striking a target on the far side of the room.

All of the noises bled together and passed over the woman who sat at the bar. Perched atop one of the tall bar-stools, her long leather coat hung nearly to where her boots rested against the stool's crossbar. Dyed a deep red, the coat looked rather expensive although in need of some serious care after extensive traveling. The same could be said of the woman who wore it; her medium length hair was haphazardly kept in place with a few clips and the shirt and breeches she wore beneath the coat looked to have seen better days. Even so, the glint of golden buttons and the elegant stitch-work of the material hinted at wealth in days past.

Perhaps it was the implication of wealth that caused the burly, greasy looking man to slide into the stool next to her, or perhaps it was the way she hunched down over her drink, a drink she'd been nursing for an hour or more. Whatever the reason, as the man sat and swiveled his own stool such that he could view her better, she merely stared into her cup, not even acknowledging his presence.

Britany had more important things on her mind after all.

This didn't stop the uninvited guest as he leaned across the bar to grab a handful of nuts left in a bowl on the bar-top His hand came within inches of her, but Britany remained motionless, staring deeply into the gently rippling amber liquid in her glass. Although silent, her mind whirred with thoughts, planning and considering her next course of action and the events that had preceded her current situation.

The man sitting next to her leaned causally on one elbow, as if trying to stare past the wall of jet black hair that framed Britany's face and kept her expression from sight. He cleared his throat loudly, popping several of the nuts into his mouth and chewing loudly.

“Here we go again.” Britany thought to herself.

“And what is a fine looking lass like yourself doing in such a place hmm lovely?” the man said, his voice a deep rumble.

Britany chose not to respond, simply lifting her glass up and taking a sip before setting it down again. She glanced at the man once; he was exactly what she had expected from the glimpses of him she'd gotten in her peripheral vision. Tall, burly and unbathed, he wore a mixture of studded leather armor pieces and a few scraps of stained decorative cloth likely meant to mimic the latest court styles. On his belt was a rusty sword, its hilt battered and stained. He was likely a thief or street thug who made his way in the world by intimidating others and taking whatever he could get his dirty hands on.

After a moment of silence, the man leaned closer, his breath reeking, “Lady LaFevre, this would be a lot easier if you paid attention hmmm?”

Instantly Britany's cold blue eyes affixed on his, her charade of silence shattered by the simple sentence. She looked the man over more carefully, paying close attention to the bulges in his armor where other weapons might be concealed. After a moment she sneered at him, her voice low, “What do you want?”

A chuckle escaped him as he leaned back on his stool and popped another handful of nuts in his mouth. While chewing he replied, crumbs spilling down into the stubble of a beard he sported, “You know what I want Lady LaFevre; the dowry chest. Lord Rochefort has not been pleased by its absence, and the time has come to pay up as it were.”

Britany looked away from the man, staring back into her cup, “It's not his to have and it's not here regardless. Go back to your master like the sniveling dog you are and tell him that he'll not lay a finger on it.”

Her response caused the thug to sit upright in his chair, a frown over his face, “Your husband has the right to the dowry Lady La-”

His words were cut off as Britany turned and glared at him, “That man is NOT my husband. I don't care what you say on the matter or what ill-gotten documents he has procured to say otherwise. It is not HIS property and belonged to my father, therefore it is mine. Remove yourself from my presence. I am done speaking of this.”

The man blinked in surprise as the woman spoke, his expression changing into an angry glare as she turned her head away to stare back into her cup. He leaned forward, grabbing her wrist and squeezing it tightly enough to hurt, his voice a threatening murmur, “I don't think you understand the situation Lady LaFevre. I WILL have that chest, and you will tell me where it is. In fact, I have a feeling Lord Rochefort would be quite pleased to see you again, so you and I are going to take a little trip.”

He released his grip on Britany's arm, leaning back and smirking at her. She remained motionless for a moment, not bothering to rub her aching arm or look back at him. She simply raised her drink to her lips, draining the rest of it and setting her glass down. Without turning towards him, her voice came back even and emotionless, “This will end in violence.”

The thug grinned, his hand reaching for his sword. His face took on a look of surprise as Britany leaned over and quickly grabbed his arm, her tone chiding now, “Have some sense of decorum if you would. People have paid money for their meals and shelter for the evening. Let us conclude our...business...outside.”

With that she rose from her stool, reaching to her belt and taking out a singular gold coin. It was worth far more than the drink she'd had but she let it fall to the bar-top. The barkeeper looked at her, seemingly uncomfortable with what he'd overheard but she merely shook her head slightly and turned towards the door. The thug rose to follow her, and out of the corner of her eye Britany observed others rising in time with her uninvited companion.

“Three of them in here with me. Likely another waiting outside. Not so good odds, but that is the hand that fate deals you.”

She walked casually towards the door, ignoring the other two men who joined the first thug. As she pushed through the doors, they followed her out, grins spreading across their faces. Britany ignored them, walking around the side of the building to a little alley where there would be less attention paid to their business.

“Now then, we have a disagreement. You wish to have the information, and I wish you to be gone,” she said calmly. “Are you sure you wish to pursue this matter? It will not end well for you.”

As she spoke, Britany pushed her coat aside and drew a long-blade from its sheath on her hip. The sword was a masterpiece, perfectly designed for dueling and lightweight for her comfort. Her other hand drew an equally impressive dagger from a brace of daggers strapped to her left hip.

The leader of the little group grinned, drawing his rusty sword and elbowing his companions who also drew blades. Together they had a mixture of short swords and daggers that would not be worth the value of a good night's meal, let alone weapons that would be distributed to soldiers. Britany almost sighed as she watched them prepare.

“The question is if YOU are sure Lady LaFevre,” the thug said with a smirk. “We outnumber you a bit, so maybe you should reconsider coming along more quietly. We'll be gentle. Maybe.”

His two friends began to chuckle from the joke. Britany shrugged her shoulders once, flipped her dagger up into the air so she was holding it by the blade and in one smooth motion threw it at one of the men. It twirled through the air, abruptly lodging in the shoulder of one of the men who dropped his own sword and howled in agony, clutching his wounded arm as blood began to seep out.

“One down,” Britany said cheerfully.

The leader of the group snarled, pointing his blade at her, “You nobles are all alike, trying to pretend you've got honor. You're no better than one of that lot back in the bar.”

Britany smiled, drawing another dagger from her hip, “Oh I engage in honorable duels. In fact, I was trained by some of the best instructors my father could afford to ensure I would WIN those duels. This isn't a duel though is it? Those are reserved for foes who have a little...how would you say it...class?”

It was enough to enrage the two unwounded thugs. Both of them howled and charged at her, their boots pounding on the cobblestones. Britany's smile faded and a look of pure cunning took its place. She brought her weapons up in a fighting pose and then simply disappeared, using the shadows to go from 'here' to 'there' in a moment's notice. It was a little trick she'd picked up from her training.

The thugs slid to a halt as she disappeared, only to hurriedly attempt to parry her blows as she struck at them from behind. One of the men brought his sword up only to find Britany's dagger sticking between the bones of his wrist, the strike lightning fast. She left the dagger in him, whirling as her original antagonist's sword came down where she had been standing. He snarled, slashing at her again and pushing his now wounded companion out of the way with his free hand, trying to strike at her as she moved acrobatically out of the range of his sword.

Britany twirled on her feet, turning to face the man again as he clumsily charged at her. She jumped into the air, her sword raised above her head and her dagger trailing up from behind. The man brought his sword up to impale her and she shifted in mid-air, the shadows taking her from 'there' to 'here', well below the angle of his sword. She lashed out, her dagger biting deep into the leather armor that protected the man's chest, the blow staggering him and drawing blood. Her sword came up, slashing at the man's knuckles and causing him to lose his grip on his weapon as he reeled back, yelling obscenities. The dropped weapon clattered to the ground as both of the wounded men staggered away from her.

Britany smiled as one of them fell over, the blood loss making him feel weak. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the adrenaline a rush that she loved so much. It was why she had learned the art of dueling in the first place; the men couldn't know how entertaining their little assault was. She flicked her sword blade, watching the blood splatter the cobblestones with horrific patterns of red as she cleaned her weapon.

“Well, I guess you've learned a valuable lesson tonight,” she said happily. Even as she spoke, a loud bang interrupted her. She whirled, her weapons coming up defensively as she saw a fourth figure in the alley. Dressed like the others, this one was actually armed with a pistol. He'd fired a warning shot up into the air, and smoke curled from the barrel of the weapon as he held it upright. A smirk crossed his face as he watched the noblewoman.

“That'll be enough of that lass. Drop the weapons. Now.”

Britany hesitated for a moment and the thug shrugged, dropping his pistol and pulling his own long black coat open to reveal a half dozen additional pistols, some single shot like the one he'd just used and others more advanced models. He clearly meant business and Britany sighed, letting her blade and dagger clatter on the cobblestones.

“That's a good girl. You've got more of 'em on you though don't you?” the newcomer said. “The coat. Take it off and let me see that you're not armed.”

Britany stared at the man, her gaze unbroken as her hands moved down her hips. She slid them along the leather breeches she wore, pushing her coat out to reveal her dagger and sword sheaths. With a smile, she pushed the coat out further, letting it reveal more of her upper body, and the pistols holstered there.

For a moment there was a tense silence in the alley, broken only by the sounds of the moaning thugs Britany had already wounded. The gunslinger studied her carefully, not moving a muscle, his hand resting on one of his pistols but not grasping it. For her part, Britany remained equally motionless, her hands on her hips and her coat hanging open, the butts of her own pistols showing in the dim light.

“Your move honey,” Britany said in a flat tone. “You can walk away.”

Her words were met with silence, the man staring her down. She returned his gaze, waiting at the other end of the alley. She watched a bead of sweat trickle down his face, even in the cold of winter. It was a sign that it wasn't going to end well.

In a heartbeat, the man reached to grasp his pistol and bring it up. Even as he moved he saw Britany's hands dart into her coat, her movements impossibly fast. He brought his barrel up, but it was slow, oh so slow as she pulled her own pistols out. She had special harnesses for them, it was the only way she could possibly have drawn them so inhumanly fast. Even as he thought this, the barrel of his pistol came in line with her feet, while he was staring down the length of her two well-maintained weapons.

The alley was filled with two loud *pops* as her pistols went off, and the man was hurled backwards as a projectile hit him in the shoulder and right wrist. His own weapon clattered to the ground as he fell, crumpled in a heap. In a haze of pain and blood, he looked up to see the noblewoman standing over him, smoke curling from the end of her two pistols as she looked down at him.

“You weren't worth the time,” Britany said chidingly. She holstered her pistols and turned, bending down to retrieve her sword and dagger. With a vicious yank she pulled her other dagger from the wrist of one of the downed thugs, his howl of pain silenced when she pressed the tip to his throat. After he became quiet Britany nodded, as if this was all well and proper, before turning and stepping over her fallen enemies.

The last the four saw of her was from the ground, her stylish boots walking casually away before mingling with the traffic on a nearby street, lost to the crowd.