The Sum of All Things

There was this odd thing about Stormwind's streets. No matter how long you'd been away the return to them was as if a day hadn't passed. The Old town was still gauntlet of the less off, the wary and the brave. There we're little few milling about as the cathedral rang out nine bells, save for the occassional beggar, shoeshine or guardsman on patrol. Jayse, wearing nothing but a simple jumper and pocketed leggings ambled along with a cigarette as his only possession and people in passing didn't as much give him any regard. Everyone had an agenda..

The evening was relativley warm still as for the time of year, but it wasn't a comfort. He felt cold, wrapping his arms tight about his waist he stopped. A man at the side of the street had caught his eye, laying face down in the dirt as others simply stepped over or around him. From the look and upon approach it was clear he'd had a skinful, yet upon crouching beside the man in silent observation something struck him. This man could have all but been dead and soaked in alcohol, no-one seemed to care.. The thought flashed back through his mind as he momentarily saw himself, not an evening drunk, laying before him..

You see, that's the funny thing about working for Stormwind Intelligence. To be effective, you have to be subtle.. you have to be what people would expect you to be. In the most part selfless, otherwise you wouldn't be doing it. Let's face it, it's not a profession of glory and accolade. Ninety percent of what you do, no-one would ever know about it, or at least know you we're responsible. There are no parades, no knighting ceremonies nor feasts and celebrations in your honour. You are the noble, friend to the locals, the nextdoor baker and tax clerk. You are the well paid serfdom..

Placing the cigarette to his lips Jayse propped the man up beside the wall in a piled seat next to the stairs of the pig and whistle. Just enough for people to realise this man was not infact dead and at some point could use help, but right now he was beyond rousing. A few slaps to the face as the man remained very much the picture of comatose excess. Rising to his feet Jayse continued along the streets and turned to the canal's. His footsteps echoed among the cobblestone, guiding in the sound of rippled waters and moore'd rowboats. Crossing the bridge he stopped halfway and turned to rest his arms against the wall, looking down to the waters.

His job was clearly not without risk. That much wouldn't take a learned scholar to work out, but it isn't until you set out on this road that the risks hit home. But there is so much more to risk then life and death. Courage and valor, above and beyond. They're all words easy enough to say but when put upon each shoulder it's suprising how heavy they weigh. These murkey canal waters, passed by so many every day, could have been his grave and no-one would have known, no-one would have looked for him if even to offer a decent burial. Risk, to a gambler it's a thrill yet to an agent of the crown it's your daily bread; which you simply are offered little more then a handshake and "Good work Six" for stomaching it. Afterall, it's simply expected.. You are the first in line and last to leave, you are promt and direct, you are swift in execution. You are the soldier's soldier.. You are the glorified Squireboy..

The sun was setting, turning the once clearblue skies to a golden hue. Jayse continued on with a hand in his pocket until crossing the cathedral square. He felt empty as he took a seat and stared blankly across to the cathedral steps. He hugged his arms around his waist; drawing a deep breath. For a man having met so many, he had little to keep close. Life within Section Seven was alot different from the military. Back then he was known for whom he was, he had freinds. But in this walk of life keeping anyone close would potentialy put them at risk, for simply knowing you. An agent of the crown is a prize target for the aspiring cultist or cuttroat mercenary to make a name for themselves. Sure, the're were people that did know who he had told them he was. They knew Soap Harrison, the once bartender now harbour mechanic. He could count the number of people that knew Jayse Ravenwest as close on one hand, with fingers to spare. The one thing he desired more then anything was beyond his reach, not simply because his arms we're not long enough. But because they were chained to the crown with unpickable locks. If there was one thing that could eat a man alive with greater effectiveness then any demon, it was lonlieness. Jayse had grown cold, and as he looked across the square at conversation and companionship. He felt more alone then he'd been before..

He sat trying to fight the urge to simply stand atop the bench and scream "MY NAME IS JAYSE RAVENWEST AND I EXIST" from the top of his lungs in sheer vented frustration. But he couldn't, he knew he couldn't. To be the crown's eyes an ears, you simply do not exist. It's a hard thing to drill into new recruits to Elwynn House, for the moment you step forth into the halls, your life dissapears. You are the number, you are without aknowledgement, you are all things in plain sight yet you are nothing.. You are the Ghost among the living..

And as one man sat on a bench in the middle of a thriving city, this one man felt complete isolation. For to be recognised as yourself is a simple thing the common man can take for granted without thought nor question of it. The sum of all things when equated to the wellbeing of one man, can be something rather complex.

Oh, I liked this. Been awhile since I had a glimpse into Jayse's head, and you definitely pulled this off so as to make it interesting.

Thanks ^^ I wasn't sure at first but just went with it. Wanted to show there's more to SI7 then one would innitially think :p