Topic: World of Warcraft
It was her first contract as a hired mercenary. To see to the disgrace, and demise, of that drunken sot, Lord Wishock.
To Tyra'Cal's mind it was a job for a rogue, but money was money and she was in need of a new sword. All she need do was gather the herbs for her employer the warlock, Zardeth the Black Claw, for a special drink he planned to make for the meddlesome noble.
It would seem that while he was trying to shut down the Slaughtered Lamb tavern, an establishment that warlocks and casters congregated at, Wishock was also spending time there drinking up a long unpaid bar tab. Zardeth had, had enough of him.
Tyra'Cal traveled to Darkshire and the Wetlands to gather the plants and a few days later had returned to the warlock.
She took a room at the Lion's Head Tavern in Goldshire to await Zardeth's summons. While there she partook of drink and the local entertainment, in this case a nice local farmhand who was more than happy to keep her bed warm at night for a few pieces of silver.
Two days passed before Zardeth contacted her. Tyra'Cal arrived at the Slaughtered Lamb late in the morning sporting a rather nasty hangover. The warlock scrutinized her reddened eyes and disheveled appearance and snorted.
"I pray what turned you into THIS was well worth it!"
"Oh...it was, I assure you!" she responded.
"The special beverage is complete. I want you to deliver it to Wishock. The fool will most likely be found in the Hall of Petitioners at Stormwind Keep where he pretends to be someone of import. It should be a simple matter to entice him to "taste test" this new alcoholic brew. Report back to me with the results. I will have your payment ready. Oh...and mercenary! Kindly clean up a bit before you venture into those most hallowed of halls of the Keep!"
Tyra'Cal gave a snarl as she slipped the corked bottle into her beat up knapsack, which she shrugged securely onto her shoulder, and made her way across town to the other side of Stormwind where the Keep stood rising majestically over all.
Keeping her head bowed she nodded a greeting to the guards at post who ignored her completely. Relieved that they paid her no mind, Tyra'Cal continued on past them into the castle proper where she inquired as to where she could find the Hall of Petitioners.
"Do you know if Lord Wishock is present today?" Tyra'Cal inquired.
"I'm not in the habit of keeping track of his comin's and goin's!" a guard barked impatiently, "But you'll find the hall yonder, first room t' the right."
Tyra'Cal nodded a 'thanks' before moving on. She got the distinct impression that this Lord Wishock was not a popular man.
Unthinking, she gave her armor a quick buff with the palm of her hand in a fruitless attempt to appear presentable oblivious to the scattered dried blood stains on her gear.
She had been on the field of battle. Clean up was not always an option.
She continued onward up the corridor till she finally located the Hall of Petitioners and cautiously stepped inside.
There were groups of high level individuals clustered together in small bands. The hum of their collective conversations echoed off the walls of the great hall. The mercenary approached one such assemblage asking if Wishock was about.
One gentleman pointed across the room to a bald headed man sitting in a wing back chair conversing with another individual. Tyra'Cal walked, followed by the stares of the curious nearby.
What was a Night Elf doing here?
What did a warrior want with Lord Wishock?
Whose turn was it to foot the bill for the refreshments due to arrive?
Tyra'Cal ignored the looks and slowly approached her target.
"Lord Baurles Wishock?"
The man in question turned his head to her.
He was a stout man in his late 40's, early 50's, with the look of old wealth about him. His blue eyes took her all in with obvious fascination. A night elf warrior, and a female no less! With weapons of destruction blatantly displayed hanging from either hip, and armor stained with blood stood in this room and dared to address him?! Him! Lord Baurles Wishock! A noble of the highest standing!
"You dare to disgrace this hall with your presence, young woman?!!" he snapped rising from his chair.
Tyra'Cal straightened her posture so that she was well looking down upon this shameless human.
"What business have you with me?! Speak! And be quick about it! I'm a busy man!"
The mercenary almost let out a guffaw over that notion, but quickly composed herself.
"Roland Bosch. The new bartender at the Blue Recluse, having heard that you're a connisseur of fine liquor, asked if I would do him the favor of bringing his new drink recipe to you to taste and give your official opinion of."
Wishock's face brightened. "Well now! It would be my pleasure to help the lad with my expertise! Give it here, girl!"
Tyra'Cal pulled forth the bottle from her knapsack and un-corked the stopper.
"Bottoms up!" she stated pouring the contents into a crystal goblet Wishock held out to her.
The man took a brief whiff of the beverage, passing the goblet beneath his nose then, smiling, threw back the contents into his mouth. After swishing the liquid around in his mouth...he swallowed the brew. Tyra'Cal watched him intently.
"A good tasting beverage!" he spouted, "You may tell the bartender....."
But he said no more for he soon found himself quite dizzy, unable to stand. With a cry he abruptly grabbed at his gut, in obvious pain, and collapsed to his knees!
Others in the hall turned quickly toward the commotion and saw Wishock on the floor doubled over and the mercenary standing over him.
One man raced over to see to his colleague and bent down over him.
He peered up at Tyra'Cal shock in his eyes.
"Wishock is dead!"
The man stood up and pointed an accusing finger at her.
"What wizard's brew did you poison him with, wench?!! Guards! Call the guards!"
Tyra'Cal bid a hasty retreat, pulling her bandana back up over her face as she moved. Ahead of her Stormwind guards were racing to the scene, blocking her exit. She made ready to fight, drawing forth her swords. As she did so a summoning portal suddenly appeared beside her and a voice called out from its center.
"Jump into the portal, mercenary!" It was Zardeth's voice.
Without thinking twice, she did as was commanded of her and slipped through the portal.
She came out back at the Slaughtered Lamb. Zardeth stood before her. A smile crossed his features.
"Well done, mercenary! Wishock will no longer harrass the Slaughtered Lamb and we have you to thank for it! Your reward will be great!"
Tyra'Cal could only think of how her presence in Stormwind would now be curtailed till the heat died down. But there were other places to go and contracts to fulfill with which to bide her time.
This was just the beginning.