Archive for September 5, 2010

Evil

The Kaldorei couple continued their nightly stroll around the Park, enjoying the sounds and smells of a busy Saturday evening. The recent economic upturn had prompted more people to spend their hard-earned gold on dinner out, and the taverns were full to bursting.

Several dwarves passed the tall couple by, laughing and joking amongst themselves in their distinctive Dun Murogh accent, one of them still clutching a copper-bound tankard. The Kaldorei male smiled down at his companion, his arm wrapping around her shoulders as he masterfully guided her away from the dwarvish rabble, planting a kiss on her forehead.They paused in a secluded corner, just in front of a shopfront with darkened windows.

“I love you, sweetheart” he breathed in their native tongue, stroking the shimmering waterfall of coloured hair that cascaded from his lover’s head, gazing intently down into her silvered orbs, his voice trembling with emotion. She peered up at him from beneath a forest of dark lashes, inhaling softly as she reached over to touch the strong line of his jaw.

YAAAA!

As the couple came together for a kiss, there came a bang from somewhere above them as a pair of wooden window shutters were flung open. It was followed by a banshee-like howl, and a deluge of foul-smelling water. The Kaldorei couple sprung apart, drenched and spluttering, their outraged faces turning as one up to the window above. A young girl of their own race was capering about madly, cackling, a malicious expression on her pointed face and an empty bucket swinging in her hand. A little boy of a few years was peering over the sill, wearing an identical devilish grin.

“Ah!” exclaimed the woman, wringing her hair out angrily. “It’s that nasty little Nighthaven rat.”

“Who?”

“The mate of the Shalah’aman nationalist” the woman muttered as they trudged, dripping, from the scene of the crime. “We should’ve kept away from her corner of the Park. Rumour has it that she’s so unhappy with her own marriage (and who wouldn’t be, mated to that old bastard?) that she torments every happy couple she sees.”

The man shook his head solemnly, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see the Shalah’aman girl pulling the shutters closed. As she caught his gaze, she leered and gave him simultaneous one-finger salutes with both hands, with a malevolent cackle. The woman sucked in her cheeks disapprovingly, taking out a small pocket mirror to inspect her bedraggled reflection.

“Just shows, marrying into old money doesn’t bring class. Her mate is almost as bad as she is. Rude, just rude..!”

Up in the bedroom, Leafsong slid to the floor beside the bed, the embodiment of deviousness. Mirae crawled over to her, red-cheeked, dragging the bucket. Leafsong grinned evilly up at her husband, sprawled against the pillows, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Ha ha. Got ’em!” she chortled, taking the bucket from Mirae and clasping it dreamily to her flat chest, her eyes misting over as she recalled the soaked woman’s gaping expression. Ashamal snorted, scrawling his signature at the bottom of a curling strip of parchment before discarding paper and quill to the side, turning to his young mate as she cackled on the floor. She clambered up beside him, her long limbs folding beneath her as she propped herself up on one skinny elbow, gazing at him intently. He reached out to tuck a strand of thin, slightly greasy hair behind her ear, his face solemn and purposeful.

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