Chapter Eight
Title: Retribution
Author:
exobiologist
Fandom: World of Warcraft
Warning: Mature themes.
Rating: PG-13 (so far)
Disclaimer: Blizzard owns World of Warcraft.
Summary: It was not long after he was released from the stupor imposed upon him by the Lich King that he gave up on humanity, for humanity had given up on him.
Notes: The continuation of Simon Spencer's
quest to hunt down his cult-member wife.
He really shouldn’t have said it quite like that. Spencer felt instant regret the moment the words flew from his mouth, but it was too late. He should have explained it to her, clarified it a bit, rather than just leaving and slamming the door in her face. But he couldn’t stop walking away.
Constantina shared many qualities with his wife. Their personalities were similar-they were both young, headstrong, demanding women. Even their physical traits were comparable. There were just too many things that made him reminisce…about the good and the bad.
Spencer shook his head in self-loathing. There was no way he could have confessed to Constantina that he saw in her the qualities that had once made him fall in love with his wife. She had obviously interpreted his comment differently. Without a doubt, she perceived that Spencer associated her with an evil, deceitful bitch. Which wasn’t entirely untrue…this was one of the reasons he found it difficult allowing her to get close. And damn Malek for constantly telling her where they were going and what they were up to.
He sat at the bar downstairs and picked at a thick, bloody top sirloin. He had been ravenously hungry earlier, but he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the lovely, lean piece of beef. A nearby Tauren gave him a dirty look; Spencer ignored him and ordered a pint. Sucking the foam off the top, he began to swallow the bitter liquid when he saw Constantina’s feet descending the stairs. Promptly, he set his tankard down and stealthed.
What an idiot I am, he thought to himself. He buried his palms in his eyes. What was he, a skittish adolescent boy?
He looked up to see her paused in the foyer of the inn, looking back in his direction. He knew that she couldn’t see him, but was rather staring through him at his semi-eaten steak. Her face tightened in scorn, and she quickly made her way out. Spencer waited several moments before making himself visible again. He briefly considered going after her, but found himself ordering another lager instead.
Three hours and six pints later, Spencer was in trouble. It had been a very long time since he’d had so much to drink. His small frame didn’t have the tolerance it used to when he was alive and had a regularly functioning liver. His steak was completely destroyed now, for after the fourth lager, he though he’d be clever and try to eat it with one of his swords. The orcs nearby got a good laugh out of it, but the Tauren got up in disgust and left with a flick of his tail.
Spencer was eventually asked to leave or go up to bed, so he stumbled outside into the streets of Orgrimmar to cool off in the night desert air. He reflected on Constantina as he wandered, spurs jangling irregularly. The wind blew through his hair and clothing, and he closed his eyes to feel it leach through him. It was chilly out, but the alcohol had diminished his senses. He felt stuffy and hot, and tugged on his collar in an attempt to let more of the breeze in.
He needed cold. Much more cold than this. Relying too heavily on his faltering eyesight, he made his way to the Valley of Honor to speak with the battlemasters.
“Are you sure you’re fit to fight?” Kartra Bloodsnarl asked him as she picked her own well-savored dinner out of her teeth with a jagged machete.
“Indeed I am,” Spencer slurred. “I’m in the mood for some slaugh-ter tonight.” He spoke in annoyingly sing-song voice and swayed in a rather unsteady manner. The orc eyed him doubtfully, but seemed hardly concerned for his safety or lack of good judgement.
“Kill one or two for me,” she said as she opened a portal for him to Alterac Valley.
Spencer materialized in the wintry, dark cave that led into the valley. A gust of wind traveled down the tunnel and blasted him in the face, reviving him somewhat.
Just what I needed.
He stepped out of the mouth of the cave into the powdery snow, his boots sinking in with a muted crunch. It seemed that the battle was already well underway; he was going to need to hurry to catch up. The area around the cave was completely deserted. Quickly, he began to call upon his horse.
Before the beast appeared, the sound of thundering hooves pounding near gave Spencer a start. He whirled around to see a massively armored felsteed bearing down upon him, fetlocks, eyes, and nostrils streaming alight with fire. He made an inebriated dive out of the way into a snow drift, narrowly being missed by the demon horse.
He had landed in the mound headfirst, but from within the snow he could hear the animal pound to a halt and a muffled feminine voice exclaim, “Oh, my! I am so sorry!”
Someone was tugging on his coattails, trying to pull him from the snowbank. He backed his way out and sat up, chunks of sobering cold white on his face and hair...and paused as he realized it was Constantina. She recognized him immediately as well, and without a word, released his coat and retreated back to her horse with fists clenched in loathing.
Spencer wiped his face, trying to clear the snow out of his eyes. “Wait…just wait a moment…” He reached out for her, disconcerted that she too had chosen to come to this specific battleground at this specific time. Had she seen him enter the valley, or had she already been there for hours?
"You know what?" she said, turning around and stamping back towards him. "I'm going to do what you didn't give me a chance to do after you said that awful thing to me."
Without warning, she slapped him clean across the face. He was more in shock than pain by it, but still flexed his jaw and touched his cheek as he looked at her in surprise. She stood defiant before him, trembling slightly. “By the way…you reek of booze!”
She…hit me, Spencer stammered to himself. He rubbed his cheek, debating how to react. Before he realized what he was doing, he had already reached out with a reciprocating smack of his own.
This time, she gaped in surprise with a protective hand on her face. If she had still been a living human, she would have been red with rage. "You asshole!" she shrieked as she lunged at him, strings of curses flying from her lips. They weren't just obscenities…they were demonic spells. She meant business.
Spencer caught her slim, bony wrists as her claw-like fingers came at his face, and they fell to the ground together, rolling through the snow, mud, twigs, and over shrubbery.
"I don't want to hurt you," he chortled sluggishly as she wrenched herself off of him and shook the ice out of her hair. She had cursed him with exhaustion, and between that and his gut full of ale, he was having trouble standing up; he got to his feet filled with lethargy. "Look at this…fighting you is making me want to take a nap.” Spencer’s fingers slipped as he tried to draw one of his swords.
Constantina was visibly becoming more and more enraged by his mockery. While he continued fumbling with his sword, she pulled out an infamous little soul shard. A red haze rippled and circled about her as she quickly muttered an incantation to bring forth a demon.
An enormous, well-muscled felguard appeared at her side, wielding a rather intimidating double-bit axe. Spencer gazed at it, and wondered why he seemed to be having such bad luck with warlocks lately.
"…Oh come now, you can't be serious," the rogue sighed in fatigue, finally freeing the sword from its casing. That had been an immense effort in itself. However, any moment now the curse would wear off.
Any moment now...yes, any moment...
The curse vanished, and so did Spencer, emitting something that sounded like a giggle.
Constantina's face was a maelstrom of anger, and her nose crinkled up as soon as he disappeared. "Leave up to rogues and their cheap tricks. I-"
Before she could say more, there was a sharp thunk as Spencer brought the hilt of his sword down on the base of her skull, stunning her. She gasped and wilted forward like a dying flower, her spine locked. While she was unable to move, he went to work on the felguard.
The demon roared in disapproval at the incapacitation of his master, and slung his enormous axe at Spencer's head with a grunt. Duck, gouge, backstab, stab, stab, stab, evade, well-aimed shot to the kidney, stab, stab, stab, eviscerate…the rogue was a veritable blur of his “cheap tricks.” And that was the end of the demon.
Spencer shook his limbs out like a dog after a bath as the creature fell and dissolved into nothingness. Constantina was still sapped of all bodily movement and could only moan in protest. Squaring his shoulders, he approached her...and gently pushed. She fell over onto the ground, relieved of her disorientation. Frantically, she got to her feet...
...and the rogue found himself fleeing, in total lack of control. He watched in dismay as he ran directly towards a fallen tree, but was unable to divert his course. As expected, he stumbled over the tree, tumbled down the hillside in a spray of disturbed dead leaves, and managed a face plant into some frozen mud right at the feet of a fully-armored human paladin astride his glorious mount.
“Bur!” the paladin yelled in his strange tongue.
“What’s so funny?” Spencer muttered in Common, as he stood and wiped the mud from his face.
“This,” the paladin replied. He promptly dismounted, and the next thing Spencer knew, he was unable to move. He could see, however, that an entire pack of Alliance members were emerging from the forest and moving to encircle him.
He silently begged Constantina not to come down the hill to seek him out.
Author:
exobiologist
Fandom: World of Warcraft
Warning: Mature themes.
Rating: PG-13 (so far)
Disclaimer: Blizzard owns World of Warcraft.
Summary: It was not long after he was released from the stupor imposed upon him by the Lich King that he gave up on humanity, for humanity had given up on him.
Notes: The continuation of Simon Spencer's
quest to hunt down his cult-member wife.
He really shouldn’t have said it quite like that. Spencer felt instant regret the moment the words flew from his mouth, but it was too late. He should have explained it to her, clarified it a bit, rather than just leaving and slamming the door in her face. But he couldn’t stop walking away.
Constantina shared many qualities with his wife. Their personalities were similar-they were both young, headstrong, demanding women. Even their physical traits were comparable. There were just too many things that made him reminisce…about the good and the bad.
Spencer shook his head in self-loathing. There was no way he could have confessed to Constantina that he saw in her the qualities that had once made him fall in love with his wife. She had obviously interpreted his comment differently. Without a doubt, she perceived that Spencer associated her with an evil, deceitful bitch. Which wasn’t entirely untrue…this was one of the reasons he found it difficult allowing her to get close. And damn Malek for constantly telling her where they were going and what they were up to.
He sat at the bar downstairs and picked at a thick, bloody top sirloin. He had been ravenously hungry earlier, but he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the lovely, lean piece of beef. A nearby Tauren gave him a dirty look; Spencer ignored him and ordered a pint. Sucking the foam off the top, he began to swallow the bitter liquid when he saw Constantina’s feet descending the stairs. Promptly, he set his tankard down and stealthed.
What an idiot I am, he thought to himself. He buried his palms in his eyes. What was he, a skittish adolescent boy?
He looked up to see her paused in the foyer of the inn, looking back in his direction. He knew that she couldn’t see him, but was rather staring through him at his semi-eaten steak. Her face tightened in scorn, and she quickly made her way out. Spencer waited several moments before making himself visible again. He briefly considered going after her, but found himself ordering another lager instead.
Three hours and six pints later, Spencer was in trouble. It had been a very long time since he’d had so much to drink. His small frame didn’t have the tolerance it used to when he was alive and had a regularly functioning liver. His steak was completely destroyed now, for after the fourth lager, he though he’d be clever and try to eat it with one of his swords. The orcs nearby got a good laugh out of it, but the Tauren got up in disgust and left with a flick of his tail.
Spencer was eventually asked to leave or go up to bed, so he stumbled outside into the streets of Orgrimmar to cool off in the night desert air. He reflected on Constantina as he wandered, spurs jangling irregularly. The wind blew through his hair and clothing, and he closed his eyes to feel it leach through him. It was chilly out, but the alcohol had diminished his senses. He felt stuffy and hot, and tugged on his collar in an attempt to let more of the breeze in.
He needed cold. Much more cold than this. Relying too heavily on his faltering eyesight, he made his way to the Valley of Honor to speak with the battlemasters.
“Are you sure you’re fit to fight?” Kartra Bloodsnarl asked him as she picked her own well-savored dinner out of her teeth with a jagged machete.
“Indeed I am,” Spencer slurred. “I’m in the mood for some slaugh-ter tonight.” He spoke in annoyingly sing-song voice and swayed in a rather unsteady manner. The orc eyed him doubtfully, but seemed hardly concerned for his safety or lack of good judgement.
“Kill one or two for me,” she said as she opened a portal for him to Alterac Valley.
Spencer materialized in the wintry, dark cave that led into the valley. A gust of wind traveled down the tunnel and blasted him in the face, reviving him somewhat.
Just what I needed.
He stepped out of the mouth of the cave into the powdery snow, his boots sinking in with a muted crunch. It seemed that the battle was already well underway; he was going to need to hurry to catch up. The area around the cave was completely deserted. Quickly, he began to call upon his horse.
Before the beast appeared, the sound of thundering hooves pounding near gave Spencer a start. He whirled around to see a massively armored felsteed bearing down upon him, fetlocks, eyes, and nostrils streaming alight with fire. He made an inebriated dive out of the way into a snow drift, narrowly being missed by the demon horse.
He had landed in the mound headfirst, but from within the snow he could hear the animal pound to a halt and a muffled feminine voice exclaim, “Oh, my! I am so sorry!”
Someone was tugging on his coattails, trying to pull him from the snowbank. He backed his way out and sat up, chunks of sobering cold white on his face and hair...and paused as he realized it was Constantina. She recognized him immediately as well, and without a word, released his coat and retreated back to her horse with fists clenched in loathing.
Spencer wiped his face, trying to clear the snow out of his eyes. “Wait…just wait a moment…” He reached out for her, disconcerted that she too had chosen to come to this specific battleground at this specific time. Had she seen him enter the valley, or had she already been there for hours?
"You know what?" she said, turning around and stamping back towards him. "I'm going to do what you didn't give me a chance to do after you said that awful thing to me."
Without warning, she slapped him clean across the face. He was more in shock than pain by it, but still flexed his jaw and touched his cheek as he looked at her in surprise. She stood defiant before him, trembling slightly. “By the way…you reek of booze!”
She…hit me, Spencer stammered to himself. He rubbed his cheek, debating how to react. Before he realized what he was doing, he had already reached out with a reciprocating smack of his own.
This time, she gaped in surprise with a protective hand on her face. If she had still been a living human, she would have been red with rage. "You asshole!" she shrieked as she lunged at him, strings of curses flying from her lips. They weren't just obscenities…they were demonic spells. She meant business.
Spencer caught her slim, bony wrists as her claw-like fingers came at his face, and they fell to the ground together, rolling through the snow, mud, twigs, and over shrubbery.
"I don't want to hurt you," he chortled sluggishly as she wrenched herself off of him and shook the ice out of her hair. She had cursed him with exhaustion, and between that and his gut full of ale, he was having trouble standing up; he got to his feet filled with lethargy. "Look at this…fighting you is making me want to take a nap.” Spencer’s fingers slipped as he tried to draw one of his swords.
Constantina was visibly becoming more and more enraged by his mockery. While he continued fumbling with his sword, she pulled out an infamous little soul shard. A red haze rippled and circled about her as she quickly muttered an incantation to bring forth a demon.
An enormous, well-muscled felguard appeared at her side, wielding a rather intimidating double-bit axe. Spencer gazed at it, and wondered why he seemed to be having such bad luck with warlocks lately.
"…Oh come now, you can't be serious," the rogue sighed in fatigue, finally freeing the sword from its casing. That had been an immense effort in itself. However, any moment now the curse would wear off.
Any moment now...yes, any moment...
The curse vanished, and so did Spencer, emitting something that sounded like a giggle.
Constantina's face was a maelstrom of anger, and her nose crinkled up as soon as he disappeared. "Leave up to rogues and their cheap tricks. I-"
Before she could say more, there was a sharp thunk as Spencer brought the hilt of his sword down on the base of her skull, stunning her. She gasped and wilted forward like a dying flower, her spine locked. While she was unable to move, he went to work on the felguard.
The demon roared in disapproval at the incapacitation of his master, and slung his enormous axe at Spencer's head with a grunt. Duck, gouge, backstab, stab, stab, stab, evade, well-aimed shot to the kidney, stab, stab, stab, eviscerate…the rogue was a veritable blur of his “cheap tricks.” And that was the end of the demon.
Spencer shook his limbs out like a dog after a bath as the creature fell and dissolved into nothingness. Constantina was still sapped of all bodily movement and could only moan in protest. Squaring his shoulders, he approached her...and gently pushed. She fell over onto the ground, relieved of her disorientation. Frantically, she got to her feet...
...and the rogue found himself fleeing, in total lack of control. He watched in dismay as he ran directly towards a fallen tree, but was unable to divert his course. As expected, he stumbled over the tree, tumbled down the hillside in a spray of disturbed dead leaves, and managed a face plant into some frozen mud right at the feet of a fully-armored human paladin astride his glorious mount.
“Bur!” the paladin yelled in his strange tongue.
“What’s so funny?” Spencer muttered in Common, as he stood and wiped the mud from his face.
“This,” the paladin replied. He promptly dismounted, and the next thing Spencer knew, he was unable to move. He could see, however, that an entire pack of Alliance members were emerging from the forest and moving to encircle him.
He silently begged Constantina not to come down the hill to seek him out.