Inspired by "Russian Roulette" by Rihanna
A dark iron dwarf. Out of all places, he found a dark iron dwarf in Ratchet. Cris was highly intrigued as he drank his bourbon in the tavern, waiting for the sun to rise. His night terrors were starting to cost him sleep. The most recent ones were of someone engulfed in flames as he tried to reach out to them, trying to save whoever it may be, but he simply couldn’t. The night terrors were beginning to seem real to him.
Cris was one of the only ones in the tavern that morning, along with the goblin bartender and the dark iron dwarf. He stared as he sipped his bourbon, curious as to why the dwarf was there, drowning in his own stein of alcohol. It wasn’t long before the dwarf looked up and glared at Cris. “What are ye looking at?” His voice was deep and gruff as his words were spat out in common. Cris shook his head and simply continued to stare.
“Just bored. I’ve never seen one of you out in the world.”
“Yer lucky. We don’t like yer kind.”
“You don’t like anyone from what I heard.”
The dwarf grinned, his yellow teeth showing brightly with his dark skin as the backdrop. “Ye ain’t a normal elf, eh?”
“Depends what you mean by normal.”
The dwarf grabbed his stein and waddled toward Cris’ table. The bartender looked at them curiously, wondering what two drinking men could possibly discuss at three in the morning. The dwarf sat across from Cris and stared at him. “Interesting eyes ye have there.”
“I’m not interested in men.”
The dwarf laughed and shook his head. “I thought yer kind only had green eyes.”
“What’s my kind?” Cris leaned back with his bourbon in his hand.
“Horde.”
Cris chuckled and shook his head. “I’m just an elf, sir. No allegiance to anything but myself.”
“Smart man.” The elf took a drink and leaned back as well, staring at Cris, who glared back, smiling back at him. “Tell me, elf. Are you a lucky man?”
His words seemed to seep into his mind, triggering memories of the sea and his death. He had come back to life. He had survived many stabbings and attacks. Leaning forward, he placed his mug on the table and nodded, “Ay, I think I am.”
The dwarf nodded and leaned forward as well. “How lucky?”
“Very lucky.”
“I see. Ye elves are always full of yerselves.” He chuckled and finished the rest of his drink, pushing the stein to the side. “I am a lucky dwarf too. Ye see, I’ve faced death many times and even ran away from the other dwarves. They kill you if you leave.”
“Sounds like a cruel life.”
“Shit happens.” He rubbed his beard and smiled at Cris. “Are you willing to put your luck on the line?”
Cris’ smile slowly vanished as he watched the madness in the dwarf’s eyes boiling up. Something wasn’t right and he grew cautious. “What do you have in mind?”
“A game of chance.” The dwarf leaned to the side and pulled out a gun, placing it on the table, removing his hand from the handle. Cris stared at the black gun in the center of the table and looked at the dwarf, trying hard to not let his body or eyes betray the serenity he was trying to portray.
“What do you have in mind?” He asked again.
The dwarf reached for the firearm and raised it to his eyes. “This is a revolver. See? The cylinder spins.” He popped the cylinder out and dumped out four bullets and spun it fast. “One just never knows where it will stop.” Cris watched closely, looking up at the dwarf and narrowing his eyes. What could that gun possibly have to do with luck? “I’m a bored, elf. My family doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me. So everywhere I go I play this little game.” He popped the cylinder back and pointed the gun at Cris. “And I’m still here.”
Cris stared at him. “What do you do?”
Opening the cylinder once more, he took one of the bullets from the table and placed it within a chamber, spinning the cylinder and looking straight at Cris as he locked it back into place. “You test your luck. We’ll take turns placing the gun to our heads and whoever is the luckiest will be able to walk out of this tavern.”
Cris gulped, staring at the revolver. He knew better than to tempt fate, but this was a challenge and the Captain’s words rang in his head: Take the plunge and accept the challenges ahead of you. He also thought about his other guideline: Don’t be stupid. “I can’t accept. I should get going.”
The dwarf laughed and slammed his hand on the table. “What’s the matter? Yellow? For a bloody pirate, you’re so soft.”
Cris glared at the dwarf and finished his bourbon, wiping his mouth with his hand. “Fine. Bring it.”
The dwarf nodded and looked at the bartender. “Hey! Goblin, come here!” The goblin sighed and walked toward them, shaking his head. “Flip that coin, eh?”
The goblin looked at Cris and sighed, “This is the third time this week. I’m sick of cleaning up the blood and brain pieces.” Cris’ eyes widened and glanced at the dwarf, who was grinning wickedly at him.
“What’s the matter? Scared?”
He gulped and replied, “What do you gain out of this?”
The dwarf chuckled coldly, “I ain’t scared ‘cause I ain’t got nothing to live for but myself. Isn’t that the beauty of life? We’re selfish creatures and we seek the best only for us. The lucky simply keep going. The unlucky become a bloody mess for the goblin here to clean up.” The madness in the dwarf’s eyes seemed to explode as he leaned forward. “Do you have something to live for?”
Cris stared at him but his mind was already gone with memories of his crew, of Ziggly and Laerchel. He thought of his mother and father. He thought of his friends. Suddenly, his heart started to beat hard. Did he have something to live for? If not, why was he so eager to live whenever the shark tooth demanded souls? He looked at the revolver on the table. What were his chances? Was he truly lucky?
“Well then, elf?”
Cris took a deep breath and turned to the goblin. “Flip the coin.” The goblin shook his head and flipped the gold coin in his hand. Both the dwarf and Cris looked up at the rotating coin. It moved so slow in the air, gyrating over and over and stopping for a brief moment before making its way back to the goblin’s hand.
“Call it, elf.”
Cris closed his hand and squeezed his fist tightly. “Heads.”
The goblin caught the coin and slowly opened his hand. He looked at Cris and said, “Tails.” Both he and Cris looked at the dwarf who laughed softly. His dark grubby hands reached for the gun and shoved it toward Cris.
“Ye first.” With a trembling hand, Cris grabbed the fire. Its cold metal surface shocked him at first, but once it settled in his hand, he simply stared at it. His breathing was noticeably heavy and the dwarf just laughed. “You can back out now, blue eyes, but you’re always going to wonder what would have happened.” Cris looked at the dwarf and nodded quickly. The goblin shook his head and walked back to the bar, ready to avoid the blood splatter when it came. “Six slots, one bullet. Are you lucky, elf?”
Cris took a deep breath and lifted the revolver, placing the barrel to his head. The cold steel pressed against his temple made him shudder and as he placed his finger on the trigger, he had a sea of memories flood his mind. The hammer snapped back.
I want my mother back! Emii, she’s not your mother, she’s mine! Marcus is your real father. You’ll be a real pirate one day, boy. You cheated on me! I don’t love you anymore. She’s gone and married a noble? This is the sea, boy. Mother is part of the sea. Never do magic! Don’t you dare betray me. We’re buddies. Thank you, Wolf. Hey there, beautiful. Get to Stormwind! I’m Captain Seawolf. Cherry Grog sounds good. I just wanted a family. I just wanted a real life. Teach me to be a real pirate. Teach me to be a man.
Click.
He opened his eyes and gasped for air. There was no bullet. Cris lowered the gun, his hand shaking as he placed it back on the table. The dwarf looked at him and laughed. “You look like you’ve just had a rush with death.” Cris didn’t say a word as he leaned back. His trembling got worse as he nodded. The dwarf reached for the gun. “I told ye, you could have backed out if you wanted to, but now, we need to finish this.” He placed the gun to his head. “I ain’t got nothing to live for.” His finger pulled the trigger as Cris’ eyes widened.
Click.
The dwarf chuckled, pushing the weapon toward Cris. It was his turn once again. “Do you, elf?” Cris’ hand trembled.
“Y-yes.”
“Oh really? Shoulda thought about that before you started playing, eh?” The dark rumbling of his laughter surrounded Cris and he simply took a deep breath. “Well, go on.” This time, his hand was shaky as he lifted the piece of black metal to his head. The flood of memories overwhelming him were more emotional than the last as his heart pounded, beads of sweat forming across his head.
You need to find your sister. You’ll find love, Cris. I want to form that family with you, Cris. You’d make a good father, Wolf. Rosaelynn, I need you. Kahlen, you’re so feisty. You’re my closest friend, Laerchel. I owe you one, Zig.
His finger on the trigger, he slowly began to build pressure against it, taking one more breath before pulling it back fully. It was for that split second that his eyes widened with the one memory that caused his heart to ache. One word. One face. One smile. His reason to live. The reason he left Silvermoon, yet the reason he longed to return. In a single gasp, he not only thought of her, but also whispered her name before everything turned to black.
“…Rain.”
Boom.
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