[Story] One More Chance, Part 2
(( An extension of the last bit, there may be one more if I get to writing it up. ))
Vassanta picked her way toward the market square, cursing under her breath at the round cobbled stones that paved the street. Walking on the smooth, slick stones was difficult enough when she was sober, trying to navigate with a few ales in her was an exercise in frustration. The crowd at the Blue Recluse was a little too stodgy for her taste; a bunch of mages and academics who were more interested in discussing the mysteries of the arcane than the mystery of women. They cleared out for the evening relatively early, and now Vassanta sought somewhere else to slake her appetites.
Even at this hour, the market bustled with activity. She scanned the crowd with the seasoned eye of a hunter, tapping the hilt of her blade idly. Prey was scarce these days, it seemed. The few draenei men in the city had discovered a fondness for kal'dorei women that she could not begin to comprehend. Sure, she had experimented with the strange purple hornless race herself, but it just wasn't the same. Her gaze settled on a male who sat on the curb with what appeared to be two beggars. He was speaking to them, telling a story, from the looks of it.
Intrigued, she moved closer, leaning idly against the lamp post. It was an older male, that much was obvious, his pale skin scarred in numerous places. She didn't mind that. The old ones often possessed a level of skill and subtlety their younger comrades could not hope to match. Though he wore a simple woolen robe, a heavy mace lay across his back, glowing faintly with its own light. A vindicator, she realized, with a sly smile. That would prove to be an interesting challenge.
He was telling the beggars the tale of their people's flight from Argus, though she could tell they were listening more of courtesy and the hope of a few coins than actual interest. Perhaps he sensed it too, for he rose and excused himself, pausing to give Vassanta a curt nod.
She sauntered after him, her hooves clicking on the stones. Beneath one of the massive stone archways, he finally paused to look back at her, his brow furrowed.
"Where you headed?" she purred, her eyes roaming over him.
He seemed at first, not to understand, but after a moment's pause he indicated the street behind them. "I am making my rounds," he explained. "To ensure that the streets are safe from -- well..."
"They seem pretty quiet to me," Vassanta said, half-shrugging. She patted the scabard that held her sword, grinning back at him. "But I'll come with you."
He smiled briefly, continuing across the bridge that spanned the canal. "So what's your name?" she asked, more of habit than actual curiosity.
"Elder Vindicator Kestaan," he replied, without looking back. He strode confidently, pausing to peer into the dark shadows between the buildings as they passed. "And yours?"
They had rounded the corner and neared the Pig & Whistle tavern -- which was far more to Vassanta's taste. If only they had had Dwarves back on Draenor!
"Vassanta." She paused on the wooden porch. "You know, I haven't seen a single ruffian or trouble-maker this entire time. What do you say we take a break and get a drink?"
The male turned back to look at her with that same drawn and puzzled expression. But after a moment's pause his face broke into an amused smile. "Very well," he nodded, gesturing toward the door, indicating that she should lead.
The old guy surprised her by accepting a glass of the Brewfest ale from her little keg. The stuff was strong enough to knock most humans off their little soft feet after a mug or two, but he took several. Perhaps he wasn't so straight-laced as he appeared. He asked about her family, about her goals, about her training. She told him, the lies flowing as easily as the ale. She never meant it, she wanted to tell the truth, but somehow the lie was simpler.
But Kestaan did not berate her as she had expected. He stroked his tendrils thoughtfully as he listened, and instead he made her an offer.
"I will train you," he said. "I will make you ready to fight the Legion."
She could scarcely believe her ears. She'd hoped for nothing more than a few hours' company, and instead stumbled onto something much more valuable. She swallowed a lump in her throat, extending her hand across the table.
"I accept."
Here was her chance. This time, she was going to make it work.
Vassanta picked her way toward the market square, cursing under her breath at the round cobbled stones that paved the street. Walking on the smooth, slick stones was difficult enough when she was sober, trying to navigate with a few ales in her was an exercise in frustration. The crowd at the Blue Recluse was a little too stodgy for her taste; a bunch of mages and academics who were more interested in discussing the mysteries of the arcane than the mystery of women. They cleared out for the evening relatively early, and now Vassanta sought somewhere else to slake her appetites.
Even at this hour, the market bustled with activity. She scanned the crowd with the seasoned eye of a hunter, tapping the hilt of her blade idly. Prey was scarce these days, it seemed. The few draenei men in the city had discovered a fondness for kal'dorei women that she could not begin to comprehend. Sure, she had experimented with the strange purple hornless race herself, but it just wasn't the same. Her gaze settled on a male who sat on the curb with what appeared to be two beggars. He was speaking to them, telling a story, from the looks of it.
Intrigued, she moved closer, leaning idly against the lamp post. It was an older male, that much was obvious, his pale skin scarred in numerous places. She didn't mind that. The old ones often possessed a level of skill and subtlety their younger comrades could not hope to match. Though he wore a simple woolen robe, a heavy mace lay across his back, glowing faintly with its own light. A vindicator, she realized, with a sly smile. That would prove to be an interesting challenge.
He was telling the beggars the tale of their people's flight from Argus, though she could tell they were listening more of courtesy and the hope of a few coins than actual interest. Perhaps he sensed it too, for he rose and excused himself, pausing to give Vassanta a curt nod.
She sauntered after him, her hooves clicking on the stones. Beneath one of the massive stone archways, he finally paused to look back at her, his brow furrowed.
"Where you headed?" she purred, her eyes roaming over him.
He seemed at first, not to understand, but after a moment's pause he indicated the street behind them. "I am making my rounds," he explained. "To ensure that the streets are safe from -- well..."
"They seem pretty quiet to me," Vassanta said, half-shrugging. She patted the scabard that held her sword, grinning back at him. "But I'll come with you."
He smiled briefly, continuing across the bridge that spanned the canal. "So what's your name?" she asked, more of habit than actual curiosity.
"Elder Vindicator Kestaan," he replied, without looking back. He strode confidently, pausing to peer into the dark shadows between the buildings as they passed. "And yours?"
They had rounded the corner and neared the Pig & Whistle tavern -- which was far more to Vassanta's taste. If only they had had Dwarves back on Draenor!
"Vassanta." She paused on the wooden porch. "You know, I haven't seen a single ruffian or trouble-maker this entire time. What do you say we take a break and get a drink?"
The male turned back to look at her with that same drawn and puzzled expression. But after a moment's pause his face broke into an amused smile. "Very well," he nodded, gesturing toward the door, indicating that she should lead.
The old guy surprised her by accepting a glass of the Brewfest ale from her little keg. The stuff was strong enough to knock most humans off their little soft feet after a mug or two, but he took several. Perhaps he wasn't so straight-laced as he appeared. He asked about her family, about her goals, about her training. She told him, the lies flowing as easily as the ale. She never meant it, she wanted to tell the truth, but somehow the lie was simpler.
But Kestaan did not berate her as she had expected. He stroked his tendrils thoughtfully as he listened, and instead he made her an offer.
"I will train you," he said. "I will make you ready to fight the Legion."
She could scarcely believe her ears. She'd hoped for nothing more than a few hours' company, and instead stumbled onto something much more valuable. She swallowed a lump in her throat, extending her hand across the table.
"I accept."
Here was her chance. This time, she was going to make it work.