Lucid Dreaming

I’ve gotten better at driving away bad dreams, but they occasionally can come back if something triggers them.  Let me tell you, trying to get ready for the Armistice Day Ball is definitely a trigger.  Putting up with my mother and her balls and parties are some of the worst memories I have from that part of my life, especially the last one I went to.

Though I have to admit it’s quite different when I’m the one in charge. I’m making the decisions instead of having someone else tell me what to do, where to go, and what to wear.  I find myself automatically thinking about whom I should talk with to help keep things smooth and wondering what I should know about them.  I’m starting to think I owe Ma a little bit of an apology.  She really did try to get me involved with the planning and taught me some useful things… I just wasn’t very enthusiastic about her endgame.  When it comes to the AAMS, however, I guess actually caring about the goal helps.

Impossibilities

There were some things that Kezrin simply avoided thinking about, and she was wary of breaking that rule.

Unfortunately, the mind had a stubborn way of thinking about things anyway, particularly when one is trying to fall asleep unsuccessfully.

The Inside Trade

He must have been waiting for her to show up. Kezrin had barely come within view of the AAMS’ office when a gravelly, familiar voice called out, “Miss Goldwick?”

She stopped with a long sigh and turned to see a middle-aged, well-dressed goblin walked up the boardwalk toward her. Trailing behind him was someone who’d fit in among Steamwheedle Bruisers.

“You’ve grown a bit!” he chortled as they came with conversation distance. “Not as scrawny as I remember. You remember me, of course?”

She mutely nodded. She hadn’t seen Brunz Lockspring since she’d left home, but it was hard to forget one of her father’s most trusted negotiators.

The Inside Trade

The AAMS Hides Shocking Secret
Booty Bay, Stranglethorn-

The ‘Anytime, Anywhere Messenger Service’ (AAMS) has long had a history of anti-goblin sentiments. Many still remember its former slogan of, “Why Trust a Goblin?”

However, ever since the inclusion of the Bilgewater Cartel as official members of the Horde, the AAMS has been slowly caving to pressure to treat goblins with equality. The company has hired goblin staffers, and even has moved its official headquarters to Booty Bay and hold events in Hardwrench Hideaway, a boon for that town’s tourism industry.

The Inside Trade

“OW!”

She was leaving the Booty Bay offices for Lounge when the rather hard pebble bounced off her head. She glared angrily at the sky, then blinked a few times in surprised before she recognized the face peering over the roof edge’s, urgently waving at her.

“Renzly?”

“Yeah, now get yourself ova here so I can talk ta ya!” she hissed angrily, pointing toward one of the narrow alleyways between Booth Bay’s tall buildings. Kezrin looked at the dark, confined space skeptically.

“Yeah… I don’t think so.”

The Inside Trade

It had gotten to the point where the room Solendenus had offered Kezrin was starting to feel like home. She felt a twinge of guilt at that, particularly when she thought about the goblin-sized furniture he’d arranged for her not too long ago, but staying at the Quel’thorin estate had its benefits. There was the obvious protection of the anti-demon wards, and the convenience of the salle when he had time to teach her (though in fact she hadn’t seen him in quite a while; he did have a tendency to disappear frequently), but it was probably the gardens she’d miss the most. The greenhouse had become her haven when she wanted a bit of peace and quiet.

Well. If she were truly honest, she’d also miss the pampering.

The Inside Trade

The paper hit Renzly’s desk with a sharp slap.

“And just what is this supposed ta mean?” Grizweld Hopper jabbed a finger at newspaper. “You’re workin’ for a rival paper?”

The Scholar lay flat under his finger, one of the Renzly’s pictures clearly showing on the first page.

“Hey, now,” Renzly Silvertip shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “No one ever said anythin’ ‘bout me workin’ for The Inside Trade exclusively.”

“I’m the one who first offered ya a job in this biz,” Hopper reminded her. “And now you’re workin’ for a gnome! Ain’t ya any goblin pride?”

Matchmaking

http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/18300116991


It’d been several days since Kezrin visited Booty Bay. It’d been days since she’d been in anyplace for more than a few hours. The bossgnome was keeping her busy and not easily found, which meant either cooped up north at Solendenus’s estate, or doing so many deliveries few could say for certain where she was.

It was with both dread and relief that Kezrin remembered she still needed to contact Irilin Duskwhisper about his most recent AAMS request. Irilin was one of the few people she’d ever felt comfortable chatting with (so to speak) and she rather liked the calm energy of Moonglade, even if the druids there weren’t so pleased to have a goblin in their midst. It’d be definitely a break from the stress to head that way.

Matchmaking

Knock-knock

“Come in!” a far too bubbly voice called out from inside Derscha’s office. Kezrin sigh and pushed open the door.

“Hey, boss, ya wanted ta-” She stopped.

The bossgnome’s office was even more bizarre than normal. Rows of paper were lined up along the floor, and Derscha was busy slowly walking between them, a general overlooking her troops. She quickly waved Kezrin inside. “Shut the door, please, and don’t step on any of the papers.”

“R-right. What did ya need me for?”

“Take a look. I need you to help me sort through these.”

How to Torture a Goblin

It was all of two minutes after Moradinel left Hardwrench before Kezrin wished she could have slapped herself.

He had asked her if there was anything wrong with dress. Given her the perfect opportunity to reject it, but all her thoughts were focused on getting him to leave. She could have made something up: said she didn’t like the color, or that the fabric was all wrong, or the (wrist-length) sleeves were too short.

Some Answers, and None at All

Kezrin closed her eyes against the mottled patterns of light shining through leaves and branches, slowing her breathing and concentrating on the feel of the soft grass beneath her and the warm, moist air.. She had spent some time tentatively poking around the large Quelthorin estate, but ever since she found the hothouse, it had become her favorite place to simply relax.

Nearby, a rose bush scented the air. It wasn't the same strand as those cultivated by her mother (it would have been extreme unlikely to find that in Eversong) but it and the tropical warmth were close enough to trigger a wave of homesickness. Still, she felt more comfortable enjoying the solitude of the garden than roaming Solendenus's house.

(And oh, light, did she never want to accidentally run into his mother.)

Training

((I felt the need to write a reply to http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/16491679168))

The feeling of someone watching Kezrin was very unnerving.

She didn’t even need to be looking in Olu’s direction to feel the tauren’s eyes upon her, watching her every move. Somehow the shaman had found out that Solendenus had offered to teach her to fight, and she had taken it upon herself to make sure Kezrin practiced daily in one of the Shield Bearers’ training rooms.

Solendenus

Solendenus wasn’t kidding when he said her arm would be sore.

It hurt even to turn the pages of her book. Kezrin sighed and rolled her shoulder again. Maybe one of the cold wraps she had left over would help.

After Lounge had ended, Solendenus had offered to teach Kezrin to defend herself. It… hadn’t gone very well at first. Sol had given her a practice sword and told her to attack a pell as though it were Moradinel, but all she could see in her mind’s eye was TAE giving her a dagger and telling her to kill him.

A Plan, of Sorts

It was more than a little boring staying cooped up at Irilin’s place in Orgrimmar. She couldn’t stand sitting around and waiting on others. Kezrin found herself sneaking out several times, though Grit usually ended up accompanying her.

(Though technically was it sneaking out when no one except herself was forbidding her from leaving?)

Myzzi Delivers

Yunhua paused in the hallway. Which door was it? Ah, yes. She found the staircases leading to the main offices of the Booty Bay headquarters, nodding to a few of the people as she walked past, confident that she'd know all their names soon enough.

The other day Olu had promised to show her where to find the assignments for Shields, but then the Tauren had dashed off, saying something incomprehensible about "an elf and his bike." However, it wasn't that difficult to find where the pending deliveries were filed.

A New Friend

((Note: This is out of order; it happened before the beginning of the 'One Very Confused Goblin' arc))

Run.

That was usually the best option, and the first one she excercised. Kezrin wasn't particularly clever, or strong, or much of a fighter. Nor was she gifted in the arcane like her sister Myzzi. When trouble came, she ran as far away as possible, and when that wasn't possible, she relied on her friends to keep her safe.

The option that Ellua offered her, to take an unknown portal to somewhere, seemed a bit risky, but it meant she'd be far away from the demon outside of the tavern's door. It would be impossible for him to know where she went, and all she would have to do it call back home on her hearthstone, then wait for the all clear.

NOT Running Away... Promise

The next day, Kezrin examined the neatly packed bag; the AAMS had taught her how to travel lightly and pack rather efficiently. After a moment’s thought, she grabbed a couple of random books off her shelf and tucked them in a free spot; she had no idea how long she’d be gone, afterall.

Wish TAE had been more specific.

After even a longer moment’s thought, she reached behind a couple of other books, knocking some over, to find the latest Oarwind novel and tucked that securely underneath a piece of clothing. On top of everything went the vial of ointment Iceia had made for the burn on her arm and a clean wrap for her wrist. She closed everything up, then she went to her desk to write a quick letter.

She wasn’t running away, but it was clearly a bad idea to continue staying at her home in Booty Bay where she’d be easy to find. She just… wasn’t sure what she was hiding from.

The question kept bothering her: as clearly crazy and homicidal Moradinel was, why hadn’t he killed her? Why offer to have her kill him? Why let her go? It was as if she were dealing with three different people who switched places more rapidly than a coin during a shell game.

At one point during his ravings he said she wasn’t safe. As ludicrous as the idea was that he’d be protecting her in some twisted manner, now she wasn’t sure she should dismiss the claim. Last night her friends had discovered evidence that Bragdus, or someone working with him, was causing trouble again.

So… whether it was an insane bipolar elf, evil demon, or something so far undefined, she wasn’t taking any chances. But neither was she going to run away; she finished her letter, written neatly in Thalassian, and signed her name.

She carefully folded up her letter, but then a tipped over book caught her attention, a worn copy of Meditation and Peace of Mind. Kezrin grabbed it off the shelf and set it next to her bag. She then unfolded the letter and added a quick postscript.

p.s. You asked for help; I think you need this book more than I do.

Letter went into envelope; envelope was tucked into a page of the book. She’d drop off both in the office, with the appropriate TAE fee included, before letting Brae know where she was going and how to find her.

That Was Not a Date

Shhhhh-click, clack.

Shhhhh-click, clack.

One by one Kezrin checked each of the locks on her doors and windows. It was first thing she decided to do upon coming home, before even changing out yet another ruined uniform. Bleach would not fix the burn in the sleeve.

Familiarity kept the routine progressing, for her brain was thoroughly tired and distracted by trying just what, exactly, had happened.

For starters, the bossgnome gave you an “easy” job of giving away flowers because of your sprained wrist. Then some guy came up and offered to take them all so you could get off work early, kissed you in public,  and then asked you to either move in with him or go ahead and kill him.

The second person who'd ever kissed her, and it was Trenetir Moradinel.


It was officially the worst “Love is in the Air” festival ever. She wondered vaguely if she could convince Bragdus to erase the last week of her life.

Not that she’d ever been fond of that holiday since she was a child and still believed in romantic gestures and grand, sweeping romances. Those things only existed in books.

Shhhhh-click, clack.

No, the holiday exemplified how willing people were to throw around money and buy the appearance of sincerity, as though simply buying a flower should earn someone’s favor. Just how often did she deal with a man who thought a charming smile and a vendor-bought chocolate would get him a discount or expedited shipping?

Shhhhh-click, clack.

And then there was Waxworth… he’d perfected the formula for being charming and thoughtful, when in truth, he was only using Kezrin. A smile and pleasing manners were simply not to be trusted; she at least owed Waxworth a small amount of thanks for making her wary of Moradinel from the very day they’d first met.

Shhhhh-click, clack.

She snorted as his so-called "donation" to the AAMS...

The idea that their encounters could grow worse after that first meeting was mind boggling. He never spoke to her except with condescension at the best of times. Now, however, Kezrin wasn’t even quite sure he was sane, anymore; the look in his eyes varied from disturbingly calm to frighteningly wild. The last time they’d met, he’d shoved her on top of a table littered with gore and viscera.  She had been certain she was about to become the next chunk of unidentifiable matter. Thank Rhazin and Mormel that she’d gotten away with little more than a sprained wrist.

Shhhhh-click, clack.


And the snarky voice in her head aside, there was absolutely nothing romantic about what had happened in Orgrimmar. Trenetir had only offerred to take all the flowers because she refused to go with him anywhere until he dragged her off by force.

Shhhhh-click, clack.

He’d only kissed her because he was lying to Iceia about why they were together; she didn’t have any say in the matter, hampered by some sort of hypnotism.

Shhhhh-click, clack.

And Moradinel didn’t ask, he demanded she live with him only because- because-

Shhhhhh-

The bolt stopped before it finished sliding into place. She could not think of an answer. She thought back to when Trenetir had first approached the Wyvern’s Tail using a sing-song voice, annoyed once more that her memory wasn’t as precise as it used to be. He had mentioned correcting the fact that she was always underfoot. That had sounded very much like he intended to rid of her, permanently.

So then why insist that she live with him? And what was that mention of her not being safe?

Shhhhh-click, CLACK.

Kezrin locked the bolt into place with extra force, taking a sharp breath. Did he know something she didn’t? Perhaps it would have been better to stay at Iceia’s, or at the office behind the wards. Someplace safer. Tomorrow she could talk to Telirra or Solendenus about some extra self-defense training-

"And yet... you hold the dagger. I am weaponless, and you hold my blade, tell me then Miss Kanzelry, is my life one worth living?”

He had been serious. Quite literally deadly serious. All she had to do was kill him if she'd really wanted to leave.

She wouldn’t, but he let her go, anyway.

There was another time, in Hardwrench, when he’d ordered her to draw his blood. She had refused then as well and he’d dragged her away from Lounge.

She bit her bottom lip, remembering. No, Moradinel gotten into an argument with Mormel and had taken her away so she wouldn’t be caught up in the ensuing fight.

But that was when he was still sane and not wildly alternating from cold killer to maniac to angsty nihilist.

Kezrin rubbed her temples in annoyance. At least with Waxworth and Bragdus she knew their motivations and what to expect. Who knew what would happen the next time she saw Moradinel? Maybe not even him…

She finished the last couple of bolts and headed to bed.  She fell back without even bothering to change.  Perhaps a good night’s sleep and a bit of meditation would sort things out in her head.  There was still a stack of meditation books on her shelf.  She didn’t remember buying them, of course, but they’d proven immensely helpful, anyway.

Tomorrow she would deal with talking to Brae and explaining to Derscha why she’d lost five baskets of flowers and a booklet of AAMS coupons.

“I hate this holiday.”