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Those words were burning in his mind as he took a deep breath, the pain in his chest and body subsiding after yet another painful reminder that his time was running out. He needed to get another soul. Someone had to die.
Cristianno felt helpless and somewhat alone. The sun was rising over the cove and his restless night was slowly coming to an end. He needed a drink. He needed to be around others. “Stormwind.” The human city had to be awake and with Brewfest going on, all the taverns were busy as long as the lush were awake and aware. As much as he wanted to be with someone, Ziggly and Laerchel were not the ones he wanted to be with. “Humans are just as good, I guess,” he muttered. He slipped his white swashbuckler shirt over his head and tied his dagger onto his belt. On his right hip, he adjusted his sword and slipped a pistol into his right boot. He couldn’t be too safe while walking in Stormwind, especially when his appearance was a red flag.
Being festival time, he was sure that the Alliance citizens were going to be busy drinking to notice that he was walking around town. The best way to get to the city was by foot. He managed to hitch a ride with some vendors who were driving their cart to Goldshire and he walked straight to Stormwind, where he got a few glances, but as he suspected, everyone was in a celebratory mood. Without any disturbances, Cris walked all the way to the Slaughtered Lamb, where he noticed Jarel Moor serving the patrons alone. His sea-green eyes wandered, looking for the girl that usually helped him, but she was nowhere to be seen. As he approached the bar, he slammed on the surface for service but nothing worked; Jarel was too busy. What else could a thirsty pirate do? He leaned forward and served himself in a dirty mug. He didn’t care who had drunk from it as long as he had somewhere to put his drink. He continued to do this several times for a while until his sight began to blur. It was then that the drunken sailor saw the entrance to the basement and decided to take a walk downstairs.
After being groped by female human warlocks, whom he did not oppose to, he continued walking down the familiar, yet blurry path. It was there that he saw the familiar crates and the hooded human woman he had visited more than twice now. Somewhere between winking at her and telling her that she was “pretty when she was angry,” while entrapping her between himself and her vanity, everything went black and he felt as if he were swimming in shadows, an oblivious feel of resignation. While he lingered in the womb-like shelter of shadows, he felt a rush of desperation. One week. Tia’Zula’s voice lingered in his drunken head and he tried to wave his arms in an attempt to exit this enclosed shadow crypt.
It wasn’t long before he felt himself fall through the shadows and into a lake of water. His clothes and hair were soaked and he rushed to his feet, trying to get out as quickly as possible, mostly to protect his weapons. The human woman was there, pulling him out and throwing him onto the ground. The drunken stupor was going away, but this left Cris confused, especially since he wasn’t aware of where he was.
The woman climbed onto him, straddling his belly, her robe hiked up to her thighs as she leaned in on him, her dagger pointed at his neck as she pressed her thumb over his windpipe. "If you talk, or move, I will drive this blade through your throat and only I and the grass you lay on will hear your dying gurgle," she whispers to him intently.” Cris stared at her, well aware of the threat and avoiding unnecessary deaths. She spoke to him of the gnoll camps and as she compared him to those dogs, Cris’ heart beat faster. Perhaps it was the anger within him, or perhaps the fact that there was a woman on top of him, speaking to him threateningly, yet her voice was soft and sensual. The dagger ripped open the strings on his shirt and she slowly slid a hand down his chest, stopping at his quick-beating heart. "What reason is there for you to live, if you only live to copulate?" She whispered, leaning in close. "What gives your heart reason to beat anymore than those dirty beasts?"
Cristianno glared at her, “I don’t live to fuck, if that’s what you’re getting at.” His words were spat out in anger. “I live for love, something a witch such as yourself would never understand.” She grinned at him, her dagger sliding from his neck down to his chest.
"You underestimate me, little lamb. I know of love. It is devotion--whether it be to a place, a person, or thing." Her dagger twitched along his chest, drawing patterns along the skin, but not cutting yet. "Yet...we are fickle things of flesh and bone. Our capacity to love one another is only as steady as the beat of our hearts...which will fade and speed at the strangest things, don't you think? It is folly to love another mortal, when we live such short lives. ‘True love’ does not exist, when applied to a fickle woman, or man." Her lips whispered against his ear. "And that is the truth. Open yourself to it, and life shall be easier for you."
Her words burned into him, infuriating him even more. Thoughts of Rosaelynn and Kahlen rushed through his head and how he felt both betrayed and used. The woman’s words were digging into his heart, carving out truths that he denied even to himself. “I… I live for myself.” He closed his eyes, unable to believe the word coming out of his mouth. For a second, he denied what he had just said, but the more he thought of it, the more it made sense. At this very point in his life, what was he really living for?
She smiled down at him, satisfied as she dug her dagger just barely into his flesh, cutting in a criss-cross pattern over his heart, drawing blood. “And...that is how it ought to be. To live. To survive. Not at any will, but your own." As her words came to an end, Cris felt the trembling pain spread from within his chest, his body tensing. The woman jumped off him and stared at him. “What’s happening?”
Cris rolled over in a fetal position, “Damn…soul.” His skin surrounding the large shark tooth began to pulsate. He felt the pain getting worse each time he got an attack. One week. He knew the week was almost up and he had to do something quick. The pain faded and he sat up, catching his breath. She looked at him curiously and Cris laughed, “Jarel will be losing his trader soon if don’t get this fixed.”
“How so? What needs to be fixed?”
He lifted his shark tooth and looked at her, “It’s a vessel…for souls.” Inside, he wondered why he was telling her. Then again, she had threatened to kill him so many times, he was sure she would have done so already if she wanted to.
“And it’s attached to yours?”
Cris nodded. He knew then and there if she were going to kill him, it would be soon. Her calm demeanor had him curious as there were no quick movements coming from her. “"I see..." the woman said quietly, a murmur. Her eyes were still on the shark tooth, even as things seemed to sound off in the distance. Her voidwalker came back from the left with a group of gnolls following behind it. Her eyes flicked back to the elf, smiling innocently. "I suppose we are fortunate then, that I decided to test your logic." She glanced out now calmly to the coming packs of angered gnolls, four of them in all, ready to shed blood. "You say you live for yourself?" The woman looked up to him, with the same blank stare. "Prove it."
Cristianno’s eyes grew wide as the dog-like creatures ran after the blue demon. He turned and glared at her, his teeth gritting and his fists tightening. “You’re a sick woman. And what if I just run away and let them attack you? Hm? What then?” He saw the voidwalker getting closer and he placed his hand on the dagger’s hilt.
"Oh..." her eyes closed and opened slowly as the group of mongrels closed in, slobbering as they lifted their axes, teeth gnashing. "Are you quite worried for me? How very sweet." There was no feeling in her voice as she gazed at him, studying his posture methodically. The growling howls and yips of the gnolls surrounded them now as they charged, rabid. "When they are done with me, they will come for you. And do trust me when I say they can run for miles without stopping." Her lips curved into a small smile, challenging him silently. "Whatever will you do...?"
With a single leap, Cris jumped off the ground and drew his dagger, preparing to attack the oncoming creatures. His initial plan was to simply injure and let them suffer, but he made a promise the night before. Don't let anyone suffer. Make it quick. He sighed and lunged at one of the gnolls, dodging its fangs and sword. A swift duck and he dug his dagger into it's back, the gnoll gasping for air as its lung was punctured. He again remembered the promise and dragged the dagger across the gnoll's neck, its body twitching before it went limp. Another gnoll rushed the calm woman and Cris ran toward it, drawing his sword and swinging it, slicing across its chest. The last two ran toward them both. Pulling a pistol from his boot, he aimed straight between each gnolls' eyes, one shot each, dropping them to the ground. When they were all down, Cris noticed something he had never seen before. He saw what appeared to be a small light rising from each body, moving very slowly.
He approached the first body and knelt beside it, leaning over it, watching the blood slowly spread over the ground. The light seemed to gravitate toward him, into the shark tooth, which lit up briefly. Cris gasped, inhaling for a good amount of air before he looked at the other bodies, rushing over to them before the soul was gone indefinitely. There was a burst of energy each time the souls settled within the tooth. For a brief moment, Cris felt the corners of his mouth curl up in a smile. He felt alive once again, but that was soon replaced the stench of blood and innards.
The woman was ever so quiet--it had been easy to forget that she was there, watching his every move as he dispatched the gnolls with such quick maneuvers, and with relative ease. Yet, in comparison to the nimble elf, the gnolls really had no chance. Her thoughts were on pause as she watched Cristianno gasp over the first dead body, and with only a warlock's concentration could she see the small soul flow up to him, wispy particles glimmering in the sun. She stepped toward him slowly as he rushed over to the next bodies, the grass rustling as it was crushing underneath her little boots. The trails of light darted to his throat, and she watched as the large shark's tooth dangling from his neck was suffused by a vibrant glow. "...better...?" she could only say, her eyes on the soul "vessel" as it slowly began to dim once more.
Cris looked at the bodies around with a deep sigh. Lifting the dagger in his hand, he watched the blood drip onto the ground. His sword was driven into the grass and his pistol lay at a distance. He took a deep breath and nodded quickly at her question. He indeed felt better, in fact, a bit rejuvenated, but he was keeping that information to himself. He dropped to his knees and stared at the ground. How long would these souls last him? A few days? A week? Hours? How vile were these dogs?
The woman stood over him, watching him as he slumped. "It will become easier." Her voice was flat, uncaring, as if going over a training exercise. She'd killed too many to feel any grief or regret for the mongrels. "In the end, you have to do what you must. But I am sure you know that." She went quiet for a time, examining the bodies, her hands already freeing them of needless things. She blinked, pulling out a red linen shirt, folded away into the furry carcass' dagger casing. Laying it out before Cristianno, she brushed the bits of fur off it, and peered at the elf. "Hmm. I think red favors you. No doubt that one stole this from the logging encampment. Here." She nodded at him to take it. "I apologize for ripping your shirt. Consider this payment."
He looked up at her and grabbed the shirt without saying a word. Gazing at the bodies once more, he wiped the blood off the dagger on the grass, and rose to his feet. "I’m going home." His voice was somber and soft. "Tell Jarel that I'll be back in a few days for the crates." He walked toward his sword and pulled it out of ground, placing it back on his belt. He looked at her once more before stepping away. His chest no longer lingered in pain and his body felt young and energized, but his conscience was killing him. All he could think about was the one person he didn’t want to disappoint: Rain.
“I’m just a bloody pirate,” he muttered, deciding that walking to Booty Bay would be his punishment for the time being. He had managed to live and keep the spirits happy for another few days.
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