[Caeryn] The North ((Finished))
The recruitment office had been teeming with them. These overly eager men and women – young and old, at varying levels of experience in their careers as Paladins, all stumbling into William Gallo’s office at the tournament grounds.
“I want to join the Ashen Verdict!” they would cry, their plate mail nearly blinding, as they would strain themselves in a strict salute.
William would sigh, leaning back in his chair he would look over their dossier and find some reason, any reason, to get them out of his office so he could get back to doing something else. Anything else. He went through the interviews as almost by rote, what brought them here, what were their qualifications, what made them want to join the Verdict, what were their weaknesses, what experience did they have with Scourge, etc.
Many of these Paladins were fresh-faced boys and girls who were children when Arthas marched his army across Lordaeron the first time. William, however, had a long memory. So long it’d landed him a desk job.
“We’ll contact you,” William held the dossier away from his face to read it, “Anna Ken.. Kennedy.”
Anna Kennedy’s face fell, but she gave a stiff salute all the same, hoping that her stiff posture and newly polished armor gave some sort of authoritarian air. An Ashen Verdict authoritarian air, “Always a pleasure Lord Gallo.”
“Whatever,” William muttered, “Light go with you.” He said the second more audibly.
Anna turned and marched out of William Gallo’s office and collided with the next person to seek his fortune. Anna’s armor, in a reflection contest, would have passed the mirror test; however, this next candidate looked as if he walked off a dirt nap on the jousting grounds.
Jeremy Smith was no one of consequence among the Argent Crusade. He was at his post on time each morning. He guarded with authority. He was generally clean. He’d not had a mark against him in his record, but he’d never been accused of doing anything extraordinary either. He took his turns in the mess hall admirably, cooking amazing stews. He also provided quite a bit of aid repairing damaged armor.
The collision between Miss Kennedy and Mr. Smith occurred due to Mr. Smith having his nose buried in a copy of The Light and How to Swing It.
“Watch where you’re going you cretin!” Miss Kennedy exclaimed.
“So – So sorry, are ya hurt? I c'n … I c'n prolly fix 'ny dents 'n yer armor…” Mr. Smith said.
“Oh, leave me alone,” and with a wave of the hand, Anna Kennedy was around the corner.
William Gallo witnessed the entire exchange, and made a mark on Miss Kennedy’s application. He then threw it in a large crate marked, “BURN.”
Jeremy Smith knocked lightly on the doorframe of William Gallo’s office, “Hello. I got an appoin'men'. The name's Jerem…”
“Jeremy Smith. Yes. You’re exactly on time. No surprise there,” William smiled a strained smile.
Jeremy continued anyway, “Jeremy Smith,” he said, walking into Mr. Gallo’s office, looking around. The office was full of commendations, medals, and lances. It was impressive indeed. Jeremy noticed a standard of Lordaeron on the wall; he went over to it to touch it, stopping himself.
“You like that, boy?” William Gallo asked.
“Well, I ain't from Lord'ron, but, well, iss hard t'xplain,” Jeremy said, he then cleared his throat, “but I kinda wanna join th' Ashen…”
“The Ashen Verdict. I know.” William smiled at Jeremy, with more warmth this time, “Are you fond of history, son?”
“I'm kinda curious 'bout it, yeah,” Jeremy replied, “I mean, ya can' jus' go livin' yer life without knowin' what came firs'; otherwise yer jus' … what’s th' word … delusionalising yerself.”
“Deluding, I think, is the word you’re looking for.”
“Yeah. That 'ne. Anyway, ya gotta look at what people did 'afore ya t'know how to live yer life, like an 'xample. Kinda like role models,” Jeremy tried desperately to hide his book in his hands.
William saw the young Paladin’s poor sleight of hand attempt, “You fond of Uther, then?”
Jeremy seemed to catch his breath, “OH YEAH!” He cleared his throat, “I mean, Sir, yes sir.”
William smiled, showing his teeth this time, “You know, Uther made mistakes, just like anyone else.”
“Thass what'cha learn, though, ain't it? That everybody makes mistakes. Even the best. Even the mos' noble,” Jeremy said. He swallowed hard, “When we're thinkin' we're makin' th' bes' decision ever, it could be th' wors' one. But what we gotta un'erstan' is that iss our decision, an' we gotta own that.” Jeremy looked at the Lordaeron standard again; William followed his gaze.
“We reap what we sow.”
“Yeah. I had these friends, they done died in th' plague. I was ‘sposed to be with 'em. But I left 'em. One of ‘em was tryin'a get t'me, but she never did.”
William touched the Lordaeron standard, “We all have pasts, boy. We can’t let those take us over.”
“But they kinda push us inna direction. An' I don' think if I ever heard 'bout that plague an' her, or saw them Paladins in Southshore, I wouldn'a become ME. I wouldn'a never come t'Icecrown,” Jeremy said, setting his jaw, “When th' firs' person ya ever care 'bout dies cause'a somethin' stupid, ya try everythin' t'stop it. I’m workin’ t'stop it.”
“So you think you’ll always do right?”
“Nah, I done alotta wrong in my life, Lord Gallo. But I KNOW that, an I done made my 'pologies; I jus' try now not to do no more,” Jeremy said, looking William in his eyes, “If I end up doin' wrong when I think I'm doin' right, well, then, I messed up."
William looked Jeremy over. His armor was that of a working Paladin. His beard was neatly groomed. His hair neatly combed. He looked as innocent as any boy could look, with his blond hair and blue eyes, he looked as if he was playing Make Believe in his father’s armor. There was seriousness, though, a conviction really, in Jeremy’s eyes that William Gallo had not seen anywhere else. And more than anyone else, Jeremy Smith had his head on straight. The boy may not be a day over twenty-two, but he was intelligent, and thought things through.
The boy had a moral compass, and wasn’t a Light wielding killing machine.
William Gallo put his hand on the boy’s plated shoulder, “Jeremy Smith, I believe the Ashen Verdict needs someone like you.”
Jeremy bit his lower lip, “Lord Gallo, I sure do hope yer not kiddin', cause this's all I ever wanted my whole life.”
“And what sort of person would I be to deny that of you? Welcome to the Ashen Verdict, Jeremy Smith.”
The two shook hands. The handshake was firm. Jeremy looked straight into William Gallo’s eyes, and gave him a firm nod.
It is a funny thing, when a person actualizes their destiny: Jeremy Smith walked out of William Gallo’s office, now having everything he had ever wanted, and all of a sudden, was at a loss of things to do.
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[ blindmachine.livejournal.com] - Caeryn Peyton & Audre Day: Immortality is a real bitch.
Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 04/26/2010 05:22AM by Caeryn.
Oh, I like this a lot. I love your attention to detail. 
Great point at the end, too -- once you've gained something you want so badly, it can be such a let-down to actually get it.
I'll be interested to see more.
(It's great to see Jeremy again. I am looking forward to his eventual reintroduction to Caeryn. After the events of the last story (plug for Cae's cool Goldshire Players story) it will be very interesting to see his reaction to Caeryn in her current form. Kudos.)
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You should read Merlin Mann's "Better". [ www.merlinmann.com] Seriously, read it now.
If I’m not laughing at your joke, complimenting your insight, or leading the Standing O for something you spent 10 seconds pecking up on your phone, it may not be because I don’t get it; it may be because I think we’re both capable of better and just need to find the courage to say so.
And here we learn that everyone mostly dislikes level 80, unguilded paladins.
Jeremy Smith stood watch as another burned corpse was removed from the citadel. The men had been ordered to burn their fallen, the features colleagues and friends now unrecognizable after the fire was done with them. The alternative, however, was even more horrific. The young Paladin continued to stand his ground. It was an image he’d been trying to become accustomed to: these charred remains of comrades and heroes lying in simple pine boxes. Tirisfal Pine, one Paladin had joked. How fitting.
The Ashen Verdict was nothing that he had learned about being a Paladin. No. It was about bloodthirst for the dead, under the guise of righting wrongs. Streaming in every day were heroes of the Alliance, to whom he saluted and gave his good wishes. With whom he joked at the mess hall. Whose women he would stare at in their leather armor and cloth robes.
And then there were the heroes of the Horde. The monstrous orc and troll men and women who hulked over their tables, eating their food with such … passion, and the tauren who towered over him and, at the same time filled him with such calm. One of his colleagues said that one had to feel calm when an eight-foot bipedal cow was breathing on them. The elves were easy enough, and he stared at their women the same way he stared at those in the Alliance.
… but the Forsaken. He’d seen them walking the Ashen Verdict camp as Death Knights, and had become used to them in that role. Reclaimed Scourge. He was able to almost write them off in that capacity. But as a hero? No. These animated corpses reminded him of everything he was fighting against, and when one passed him while he was on duty, he found himself gripping the hilt of his weapon more tightly.
Of course, there had been Horde races in the Argent Dawn for years, and the Argent Crusade was no different. But Jeremy had heard stories of what happened at the Wrathgate, and how loyal were these dead things to their Warchief, anyway? He would take no chances.
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Due to Jeremy’s age and relative inexperience, he was placed on guard duty at the front doors of the Citadel; it was a glorified greeter position. His job was to nod, to salute, and to do everything he was meant to do, and to look good doing it. He did it well: his beard was well groomed, his hair neatly combed, and his armor polished. He felt that if he continued to do well at nodding and saluting out here, he may be promoted to nodding and saluting closer to the actual breach.
On a Monday evening, a Jeremy noted a Forsaken in black and red leathers walk by the front door on three occasions. On the fourth, the corpse approached the door.
‘Oh, please let 'im go see Sam. Please let 'im talk t'Sam. Please let him talk t'Sam,’ Jeremy pleaded silently, his eyes closed.
“Very poor guarding, standing with your eyes closed,” the corpse said, his voice rattling around in his chest cavity, “One might have taken easy advantage, if it were one’s wish.”
Jeremy instantly grabbed for his weapon, “Are ya threatenin' me?”
The dead man calmly held up both arms, his head hidden by a dark red hood, “Not at all. Poor humor, I am afraid. We lose it upon death.” The Forsaken lowered his right arm slowly, watching Jeremy through the hood. He extended his hand, “Gideon Sparrow. And you are?”
Jeremy scoffed, leaving his right hand on his sword, “Gideon Sparrow? Sounds made up.”
“I rather liked it better than Ralph Quarry,” Gideon said, “your name?”
Samuel Cameron, the Paladin on the other side of the gate spoke up, “His name’s Jeremy Smith. An' I don’ think he likes ya very much, Mr. Sparrow.”
Jeremy sighed, his chin falling to his chest, “Well, that became rather obvious when the young man leapt for his weapon, “ Gideon laughed – it didn’t sound pleasant, “And you, sir?”
“Samuel Cameron, but ya can call me Sam. Everyone else does,” replied Sam.
“Very well, Samuel. Now, to the matter of Jeremy Smith, for whom I have a question.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes, “What?”
Samuel Cameron gave Jeremy a ‘watch it’ look. Jeremy met his gaze and stood up a bit straighter, “I mean, how can I help ya, Mr. Sparrow?”
Gideon smiled, neither Jeremy nor Samuel could see it, but they could hear it in his voice, “Do you have the time?”
Jeremy started to open his mouth, aghast, but instead pulled a pocket watch from a chain on his armor, “Iss half pas' nine bells.”
“Then I am early, I am afraid, Mr. Jeremy Smith. And I do believe we can enjoy one another’s company a bit longer.” Samuel Cameron laughed, Jeremy forced a smile, and Gideon Sparrow tilted his head to the side.
“How could'ja be so early?” Jeremy asked, “You been walkin' this area fer about an hour.”
“It’s a funny thing, time,” said Gideon, “When you have all of it in the world, the particulars cease to matter.” Samuel laughed again.
“Must be nice,” Jeremy said, “But, ya won’ be able t'chat with us, Sam and I have lotsa important … stuff t'do.”
“Yeah,” Samuel said, “Like noddin' an' salutin'. Come back in about ten minutes, we can chat for a bit more then. Can’t be seen chatting the entire shift away, looks bad for business.”
“Yeah, looks bad, us talkin' to ya,” Jeremy said. Samuel sighed.
“To me? Such a pity, and here I thought you Paladins had reformed a bit. Good day to you both, Samuel Cameron and Jeremy Smith. I think I saw some Death Knights down the way who looked to be having quite the ball looking dour and depressing.”
And with that, Gideon Sparrow walked off. Samuel Cameron looked at Jeremy, “What the hell was that about? You’re about the nicest guy on the planet, but it looked like you were gonna take that guy’s head off.”
“I feel like I shoulda.”
“You got a problem with the deaders?”
“Yeah. Don’t you?”
“Nah. They’ve got a problem with The Lich King prolly bigger than yours or mine. They wanna see him dead more’n you or me’ll ever know, I bet.”
“I dunno.”
“Ya know, if ya don’t believe me, we got someone from the Undercity who can explain this stuff to ya. And, as yer superior officer, I’m gonna go recommend ya see 'er.”
“Her? They got lady deaders?”
“They’re hard to tell apart. Anyway, her name’s Peyton, and she’s in the blue and black tent with the Undercity seal on the side. I want you to see her tomorrow for an hour before your shift, got it?”
“Huh? I gotta go talk to someone ‘bout my problem with these people?”
“Yeah. You do. You can’t go attackin’ every single one that comes to the door, or we’re gonna look bad. An’ we can’t go around lookin’ bad.”
“This is stupid.”
“You’re actin’ stupid. You’ll be at that tent tomorrow morning, if ya know what’s good for ya.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
They stood in silence for the remainder of their shift, which was two hours. Gideon Sparrow witnessed the entire conversation, from his place in the shadows not ten feet away.
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[ blindmachine.livejournal.com] - Caeryn Peyton & Audre Day: Immortality is a real bitch.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 04/26/2010 05:21AM by Caeryn.
I think I can sum this up in simple terms:
Miss, I do believe you write Forsaken better than just about anyone. Can't wait for more.
I'm gonna hafta second Hekimi here. I'm sucked in. I want more.
“So … what I don’t understand is …” the fresh faced human Paladin began.
“What is it, now?” the rogue responded. She was tired, bored. She reached forward feeling for a small instrument on the table; finding it, she held in her claws, the talon what stood in place of a fore-claw tapping on its handle.
The Paladin was somewhat unnerved. He searched the Forsaken’s face for some kind of expression. Caeryn’s face, however, remained blank.
“Well, I still don’t understand how you’re not Scourge. I mean, you’re dead, like the Scourge. You kill people indiscriminately, like the Scourge,” Caeryn sighed, “And you eat people like the Scourge.”
Caeryn Peyton struggled to remember the Sensitivity Training she’d gone through in order to ‘best serve the target population;’ however, she failed.
“And what would make a Scourge tolerate your coming in here, day after day, barraging her with the same questions – to which she provides answers – without having killed you, and eaten you, long ago?” Caeryn tilted her head to the side, her talon resting comfortably on the tool’s handle.
The young Paladin squirmed up his face, “I guess not much.”
“No, ‘not much’ indeed,” Caeryn replied, replacing the tool exactly where she’d found it, “If I were Scourge … if the Forskaen were Scourge, we wouldn’t tolerate your presence, the Horde’s presence, nor the Alliance’s presence anywhere near us. No.”
Somewhere above the Paladin’s head, a candle seemed to appear, and catch flame, “But you could be smart Scourge!”
The rogue’s chin fell to her bony chest, “Enough. Do you think the Lich King has the desire to play with his food?”
“Yes.”
“What?” the Forsaken was incredulous.
“Well, this whole time we’ve been at the Tournament, what has he been doing? Playing house in this Citadel of his?” the Paladin countered, defiant. He stood up straighter, his voice more confident.
“I do not think you understand the reasoning of the dead,” Caeryn said.
“Ah ha! But you do! I knew it!” the Paladin answered. He considered himself vindicated.
The rogue ground her teeth; the sound was unsettling to the human. She crossed from behind the desk to close in on the Paladin, who backed toward the tent’s closed flap.
“If I were an agent of the Lich King, I would have much better things to do than to cater to your ridiculous theories and attempt to disprove them,” she said, her voice low, “I would not spend my days inside a closed tent, awaiting the arrival of another of your number in order to convince you of the honor of the Forsaken.”
The Paladin listened hard for any approaching people outside. He did not like the rogue’s proximity to him. Although she wasn’t wearing knives at her belt, she could … she could leap at him and eat him alive. He began to panic.
“But I am Forsaken, so I do have a sense of honor and duty, and not mindless devotion. My current duty is to serve the Ashen Verdict in this capacity. So I arrive here, day after day, to attempt to disprove the moronic theories of you and your compatriots, because I feel a fealty to my Dark Lady, and her cause to crush the Lich King.”
The Paladin nodded slowly, monitoring his movements carefully, “We all do our part.”
“Yes. So why don’t you run off and go do whatever heroic thing it is you’re meant to be doing now … such as cleaning latrines, or changing bedclothes in the infirmary,” the Paladin glared at her, his breathing quickening. Caeryn heard it, and continued, “Those who actually fight alongside the Forsaken never come to see me, no. They understand our vengeance - our drive. It’s the nameless grunts who have nothing better to do than to expound on ill formed rumors who bother me daily.”
The Paladin continued to glare.
“Leave me.”
He stuck his tongue out at her and tried to make a dramatic exit from the tent, which is always less satisfying than one wanted. The tent flap refuses to make a satisfying slamming sound.
Caeryn turned and opened a flap further in the tent to her quarters. They were bare. A simple cot, a crate that stood for a table – upon which was a humming machine – and a small contained instrument for cooking in the center. On the cot, lying on the undisturbed bedclothes, was a rather large orange cat. The rogue crossed the bare room, and sat next to the corpulent feline, who promptly rolled onto his back, exposing his expansive belly.
“You must be hungry, little kitty. Little kitty is always hungry,” with that, the rogue lifted the cat into her thin arms and cradled him there, he purred, nuzzling his face into her cold torso.
The rogue and cat spent the rest of the evening uneventfully. The Forsaken cooked a rather simple meal, which the cat ate happily. Caeryn stared at the dark until morning, where she stared at the dark again, until the outside tent flap opened.
“What is it?” she called out. She set the cat back down on the cot, and opened the inside tent flap.
Another day is dawning.
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[ blindmachine.livejournal.com] - Caeryn Peyton & Audre Day: Immortality is a real bitch.
I thought she was going to eat the cat. Then she didn't.
I really enjoy this and am looking forward to your next installment!
Caeryn is such a hoot!
Ooh, I like it.
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Quote
Kaphik
you have to remember: do not let the horses dial for themselves! Touch screen + hoof = bad
the Culte des Ghoules
The Paladins all ate together, sitting at long tables in the Mess tent. There was talking, serious talking; and joking, boisterous joking. Jeremy Smith, however, sat with his bearded chin cradled in his hand, picking at his meat with his fork. He’d been doing this for the better part of the meal hour.
“What’s eatin’ you?” Samuel Cameron asked, “You gotta finish yer food.”
“I don’ wanna visit this Peyton woman in th’ mornin’,” Jeremy said, giving his overdone Shoveltusk flank a pointed stab, “I don’t see the point in it. I have a spotless record everywhere else …”
“Yeah, exactly, and if you wanna get to the Citadel, and off of guard duty, you’re going to want to continue with your ‘Spotless Record,’ and show that you’re capable of working with others. All others..”
“You don’ unnerstand my history with the Scourge,” the young man said, sighing. He pushed his plate away.
“Listen, Jeremy, we all got ‘history with the Scourge.’ We all do. We all lost loved ones. We all lost friends - and some people lost family members,” Samuel leaned over his plate, pointing at the young recruit with meat covered knife, “You ain’t no unique and special snowflake, kid.”
Jeremy looked up, studying Samuel’s pock marked face. He knew Samuel Cameron had a wife and family in Elwynn, waiting for him. Two teenage daughters. The blacksmith’s adopted son shook his head, “I’m not from Southshore, you know? I’m from Goldshire. An’ I don’t even know if I’m from there. I was an orphan kid, an I lit’rally ran away with a band o’ theatre types. We ended up in a bad place … well, they did. I ran off. I ‘bandoned them. I ran t’Southshore. They died in Brill. Th’ man that I write all my letters to, an’ all that, he ain’t my father, but he’s more of a father than any man who’s ever been in my life before. But … for a long time … those theatre guys were my family. Th’ only one I ever had.”
Jeremy looked up at Samuel, who was grinning, “Eat up kid, and save yer sob story for the dead woman you’ll be talkin’ to tomorrow mornin’. I’m sure she’s heard ‘em all. An’ I’m sure she’s got one sadder,” he took a bite of his potatoes.
Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. He looked ten years younger than he was, a mere boy.
“Listen, kid,” Samuel continued, “This woman is dead, an’ she’s still fightin’ th’ Scourge. Which is a lot more than I can say fer any of th’ self righteous Light wieldin’ mouth breathin’ types we got in here. Bein’ dead an’ fightin’ for a cause has got t’ take some dedication,” he laughed, “Deadication. Anyways, we’re all in there … when we get in there … fightin’ fer our lives. Th’ Forsaken? They’re fightin’ fer somethin’ more’n that. You gotta give ‘em credit.”
Jeremy raised a bushy eyebrow at Samuel’s speech, “An’ what about that whole Wrathgate business I heard about? We just s’posed t’ sweep that one unner th’ rug an’ forget about it?”
“Th’ deaders that’re here? They fought t’be here. They fought alongside th’ very same people that Putress jerk an’ his buddies were tryin’ t’kill off. I think they had their chance at betrayal,” Samuel replied, pointedly.
“An ya don’ think they’d be tempted by Frostmourne or nothin’?” the young recuit asked.
“You’re gonna sit here an’ tell me that you AIN’T tempted by that damn sword?”
“No. I wan’ that thing destroyed.”
Samuel exhaled through pursed lips and put his utensils down, “Then, Jeremy Smith, kid, you got a lot more good in ya than – I’d say – everyone in this whole Light blessed room.” He stood up and saluted the blonde haired young Paladin, then leaned over and ruffled his hair, “You’re a good kid. Do me proud tomorrow. Talk to th’ woman. An’ don’t ‘mberrass me.”
Jeremy looked down the table to see if any of the younger female Ashen Verdict Paladins had seen the juvenile gesture, as he quickly tried to put his hair back into place, “I won’t. I ain’t happy ‘bout goin’. But I ain’t gonna make a fool outta nobody.”
“Good boy,” Samuel walked away, his tabard swinging confidently behind him as he went.
Jeremy went back to picking at his food until Mess was declared over. He packed up his kit, and walked slowly back to his tent. The tent that he shared with all of the other young recruits; some of whom would be trying to scare the less (or more?) fortunate with stories from inside the Citadel.
The tent bearing the Undercity colors was on the route from the Mess tent to his barracks. He watched as a Paladin a few years his senior stalked out of the tent and became tangled in the tent flap. The elder Paladin threw the tent flap closed, and – making a rude gesture at the structure – stalked toward Jeremy. Jeremy saluted his colleague, who returned the gesture, and they passed one another.
The young human sighed and looked up at the sky. The clouds were parting in that way the Icecrown clouds often did: breaking across the sky, allowing the odd lightning strike to skirt its way across, blocking his vision of the stars. He picked out a star and made a wish. Closing his eyes so tightly he could see flashes beyond them. On opening his eyes, he saw that the clouds had resumed their cover of the night sky, and Jeremy likewise resumed the walk toward his barracks.
“… They just kept coming, like … rats! Or roaches!”
“Roaches?!”
“Exploding roaches! Exploding in bone!”
“Eugh!”
The young Paladins gathered around to listen to the stories until, one by one they all fell asleep. Snoring through the night, their dreams of good food and beautiful people. And home. They all awoke to the fanfare.
Jeremy dressed, gathered his things, and made his way to the Undercity tent. He opened the flap. Her heard someone stirring inside, “What is it?” a tired and worn female voice called.
Another day is dawning.
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[ blindmachine.livejournal.com] - Caeryn Peyton & Audre Day: Immortality is a real bitch.
The young Paladin looked about the tent, his eyes adjusting to the dark. Before him was a simple table, laid out with what appeared to be tools used for some mechanical means. The table also held the tent’s sole light source, which was currently extinguished, and judging by its sheen, seemed to be relatively unused.
He looked up as the tent flap in front of him opened, revealing a gaunt female walking corpse. Her blonde hair fell messily about her head, and her clawed hands reached in front of her until she arrived at the table where she halted, business like. Jeremy noted that one of the claws on her left hand had been expertly replaced with an animal talon of some sort.
“Well …” the Forsaken’s voice rattled, “what is it?” Jeremy could not quite tell if she was amused or bothered by his presence. Perhaps this was too early a time in the morning for the dead.
“Am … Am I too early?” He decided to pose the question.
“The hour of the day is irrelevant to the Forsaken; had you meant to arrive ten minutes from now, you would be too early, yes. However, as I was not anticipating a visitor, you are merely unexpected,” the woman replied. Her right hand rose to her clavicle, claws resting there for a moment, before returning to the table in front of her.
“Oh,” the Paladin had no other response. He remained staring at the undead woman in front of him. Her skin had a greenish tinge to it, and with her missing eyes and exposed bone, she was truly grotesque; the sooner he could leave the tent, all the better. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You have already done so without permission,” Caeryn replied.
“Uh, oh, um … I guess, I, uh … I’m here, I guess, t’ try an’ unnerstand th’ dead.” Jeremy rubbed at his beard, looking down at the stone ground.
“Understand the dead? That is quite a feat indeed,” the rogue replied, “What is it about the dead you wish to understand?”
“Well, I guess I don’ get you Forsaken types. I was told t’come here cause I don’ trust ya, an’ I guess … I guess I just ain’t seein’ much of a …”
“Difference between the Forsaken and Scourge?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“All of you self-professed well-meaning Light-wielding grunts think the same thing; one would think there was something in the water, or some sort of propaganda given out – pamphlets handed out by misguided ‘prophets,’” Caeryn tapped her talon twice on the table, “The living have a difficult time understanding the philosophy of the dead, young Paladin …”
“My name is …” Jeremy began.
“I have no time to know your Shadow damned names, child. I am merely here to provide a service, and I will do so as well I as I am able with as little information from you as possible,” the Forsaken brushed her hair from her face, attempting to tuck the straw-like mess behind her ear. Jeremy found the gesture somewhat human, endearing even. The Forsaken sighed, she lift her right hand to her collarbone again, a gesture Jeremy found familiar from some reach of his memory.
“As I was saying, very few understand the philosophy of the dead, young Paladin,” Caeryn continued, “You should remain content to be absent from their number.”
“But, Miss Peyton, I can’ unnerstand th’ people I’m fightin’ with if I don’ GET them, ya know? Like: Why y’all fightin’? Why y’all movin’ around? Why y’all doin’ what’cher doin’? And why’re you in here … in this tent … rather than out there with th’ rest of them Forsaken?” Jeremy spewed his litany of questions quickly, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. As many people who speak without thinking, he forgot his audience, and did not watch the expression of the Forsaken in front of him, which grew more sour as the questions poured from his mouth.
“That is a rather personal question, young Paladin.”
“What is?”
“Inquiring as to my actions: Why I remain here, in this tent, consoling your feeble little mind - rather than out fighting the Scourge, as many of my people are.” Caeryn’s expression was dark, “What care do you have for my own personal actions? Do you find me threatening?” With that last, she leaned forward, claws digging into the cheap wooden table.
Despite the grim visage which had closed some of the distance previously standing between Jeremy and Caeryn, the young Paladin was unmoved by the aggressiveness of the gesture. Rather, he was curious. There was something nagging him at the back reaches of his memory about this dead woman. And it was caught in the jaw line; which – when presented as she was presenting it – had caught the light from the crack in the tent flap, and Jeremy could not quiet his head.
“No, ma’am, I don’t find you threatening,” Jeremy stated calmly.
Caeryn faltered a moment, and withdrew herself to her previous standing position, “To address your previous questions: The Forsaken are fueled by vengeance and a will to destroy the Lich King – he who so wronged us into what we are. We move on pure bile and vitriol; however, we are not all wholly malevolent – we simply lack, as your living people would call it – social skills. We’ve no use for them.”
Jeremy, previously disgusted by the corpse standing in front of him, now was feeling a familiarity, which moved him between revulsion and compassion, “So – when ya’ll kill the Lich King, what’cha gonna do then?”
Caeryn snapped, “You are a curious little kitten, aren’t you? Curiosity kills little kittens, as you may well be aware.”
“What’s yer name?”
Caeryn glowered, but as she had no reason not to answer the question, she obliged the inquisitive Paladin, “Peyton. Caeryn M. Peyton.”
Jeremy froze. Memories came flooding back to him: skipping stones at Menethil Harbor; loading the cart after a performance; a woman’s laugh – a living woman’s laugh; and the image of a gaunt blonde woman turning to face him, tucking her hair behind her ear, exposing a jaw line which this corpse had stolen.
He stammered, “I kn- I knew- I knew Caeryn M. Ashwood.”
The corpse’s face lost all trace of expression, “Caeryn M. Ashwood is dead.”
Jeremy took a step forward. “Get out,” Caeryn said turning quickly to open the flap to her quarters.
“Wait! Stop!” Jeremy called.
The corpse disappeared into the depths of the tent, and the Paladin stood alone, arm outstretched. He looked around the room quickly, trying to find some sign, some confirmation that this corpse was whom he assumed she was. The room was as sterile and bereft of human comfort as the infirmary.
“I’m not finished here! I have more questions!” He called into the reaches of the tent.
“Go away!”
Reluctantly, he did.
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[ blindmachine.livejournal.com] - Caeryn Peyton & Audre Day: Immortality is a real bitch.
OH SNAP. I'm so excited now ahaha. I really do like this a lot!
Oh wow. O.O The thought of Caeryn as a Public Relations liason between the Forsaken and the Ashen Verdict is hilarious; this particular relationship is... something else. When the past comes back and bites you...
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Khydann Thistledown, tauren hunter
Keetana Icemane, taunka druid
Salyssa Whitesun, blood elf mage
Zekett, troll death knight
Delannia Canning, blood elf harpy priest and antagonist
IC journals and stories: [ gerzgerz.livejournal.com]
Totally loving this. I really like seeing the paladin stumble across her former name/self, and seeing Caeryn's reaction. Waiting for more!
“There’s not much of a point t’be here, eh?” Jeremy said to his partner-in-guard.
Samuel Cameron did not turn his head, instead raising a bushy eyebrow at Jeremy’s comment, “You been a broodin’ kinda guy these past couplea weeks. An’ with th’ Lich King gone, ya seem almost more melancholy ‘bout it than happy.”
Jeremy shrugged, “Well, I guess there just ain’t much of a point t’us bein’ here. Guardin’ this point. Guess we’ll go home, with unfinished business, an’ all that.”
“Wait, what sorta ‘unfinished business’ d’you got? Some lady you been innerested in?” Samuel Cameron teased, still not turning his head. Like good guards, the two Paladins stood stock still, facing forward.
“Nah, it ain’t like that. Not really. S’just …” Jeremy sighed, his shoulders drooping. He shook his head to bring himself back, “It’s nothin’ nevermind.”
“You been like this ever since you went t’see that Peyton woman, that ain’t uncommon, she been known t’be sorta, what’s th’ word --- Demoralizin’,” Samuel smiled, “She didn’t get’cha too bad, I hope?”
“Jus’ brought back mem’ries, is all,” Jeremy stood forward. He wasn’t going to admit that he’d been skulking outside of her tent, as well as a man in full plate armor could skulk. He’d been watching her comings and goings. He couldn’t follow her, of course – he had a job to do; however, since the Lich King’s demise, she’d been away from her post more often than not, making a return visit more difficult.
The Paladins held their post as more artifacts were removed from the Citadel for study. Whether these were going to Ironforge or to the Undercity were anyone’s guess, the two places had been clamoring over rights to pillage the Scourge stronghold. Jeremy Smith and Samuel Cameron were not in a position to be curious.
“What ‘bout that woman was so mem’rable? I seen her, she’s not much t’look at.” Samuel said, after the area had cleared.
“It’s hard t’ ‘xplain,” Jeremy said.
“Listen, Jeremy, we don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow, or th’ next day. We might not even see each other in two weeks. Jus’ tell me what’s eatin’ ya up, eh? You been standin’ there like a Death Knight reject for weeks now, broodin’ an’ sighin’, s’like yer ‘xpectin’ somethin’ t’ happen,” Samuel sighed, “Jus’ take my advice here, Jeremy, make whatever it is yer wantin’ t’ happen, happen. Don’ let fate take this girl away from ya.”
Jeremy sounded incredulous, “How d’ya know it’s a girl?”
“I got’cha.” Samuel smiled.
“I mean, s’not a girl like yer thinkin’,” Jeremy claimed, “Geez.”
“Th’ only time I seen strong men like ya all deflated like you been is over some girl. I say to go get ‘er before she disappears, kid.”
“This is real different, Sam,” Jeremy started to explain.
Samuel grinned, “Ev’ry man claims his intended is differen’ than ev’ry other man’s. Thing is, kid, they’re all th’ same. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, they get married, have kids, and die. That’s life.”
“Not always,” Jeremy said, his voice now defiant.
Samuel Cameron was shocked. Did Jeremy Smith – the Golden Boy – manage to do something against protocol, and there’s a Paladin walking about the Citadel currently with child? No, couldn’t be. While Jeremy’s behavior had been erratic as of late - he’d not been spotted by the women’s barracks. Samuel searched his memory, what had happened; what could explain Jeremy’s beha- Oh. Of course.
“What, ‘xactly, went on with this Forsaken woman, Jeremy?” Samuel asked, with some air of authority.
Jeremy picked up the change in tone immediately, “Nothin’. I went in, and we discussed things, an’ my opinion toward th’ Forsaken has changed. I now realize that they were people too, an’ prolly had people that lov- that were fond of ‘em before they died, an’ all that.”
“That’s a pretty big change in attitude there, Jeremy. Wha’d this Peyton woman do?”
Jeremy hesitated, “She … jus’ … talked t’me.”
“Did you harm the Undercity Diplomat, Jeremy?” Samuel asked, his tone flat.
The wind whipped up, as if on cue. Jeremy frowned at the dramatic emphasis of the weather on the conversation. He gripped his sword a bit more tightly; adjusting his shield on his arm, “Course not. I’m a Paladin, I don’t harm people that didn’t do nothin’ t’ deserve it.”
“What happened in that tent?” Samuel asked, his tone remaining firm.
“It’s jus’ … It was … I had a life-changin’ ‘xperience, an’ I wanna go back in there t’show my ‘ppreciation.”
Samuel Cameron sounded confused, “C’mon kid, be honest with me.”
Jeremy sighed, his shoulders drooping, “I. I knew ‘er,” his eyes gazed up at the sky, looking for some other appropriate weather cue. The clouds denied him, covering the sky, blocking out anything he could hold on to. “It’s jus’ ‘mazin’ how death changes a person … an’ how … an’ how much they stay th’ same.”
Samuel Cameron, for the first time since the birth of his daughters, was struck dumb. Always the man who had something to say, and usually the right thing to say, he was at a loss for words. So, the two men stood their post in silence. Jeremy wanted so much for Samuel to say something, anything, and Samuel wished so much to be able to say something to comfort his friend. After some time, Samuel spoke.
“You need t’see her again. You gotta. Ya can’t lose her again.”
Jeremy nodded, as the night moved on, oblivious.
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[ blindmachine.livejournal.com] - Caeryn Peyton & Audre Day: Immortality is a real bitch.
((And Caeryn's response, re-posted from her LiveJournal))
[BEGIN RECORDING]
Begin recording eighteen.
With a name like Jeremy Smith, the damned boy could have passed unnoticed by me. However he had to go up dredging up the past.
Seems a popular activity as of late, a trend. Let us all go dredging up past events to see what emotional baggage they will stir up in our Forsaken friends, or - worse yet - bestow some undue emotions upon our Forsaken friends. It seems as if everything must happen at once: Jeremy's return to my presence, the Apothecaries continual stumble through poor Public Relations, and the death of Meganna Wheeler.
None affect me more than the return of Jeremy Smith: My one note of salvation in my last months of life has returned to me in my unlife, and I am not meant to take that lightly. What his intentions are remain unknown. Worse yet, what my intentions are, too, remain unknown.
I could not help feel a swell of some sort of Anticipation when he said the name "Ashwood." Whether that could be misconstrued as Hope, I am unclear. Whatever I am Hoping from my encounter with that blasted Do Gooding Paladin I should banish the thought immediately, concentrating on more realistic endeavors, such as murder.
End recording.
[END RECORDING]
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[ blindmachine.livejournal.com] - Caeryn Peyton & Audre Day: Immortality is a real bitch.
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