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.

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.