A Second Chance (Cat)

Amidst the subdued, silhouetted bustle of Stormwind harbour under the half moon, a cloaked man stepped from one of the smaller freight ships and pulled a hood up over his head. None of the dockworkers paid him any attention, but anyone who did would have noticed that the hood failed to hide his frequent, anxious glances as he climbed the steps back up to street level, nor did his pristine cloak fully cover the gleaming fixtures on his boots or the rings on his fingers. Here went a noble unpracticed in the art of disguise.

As his hurried steps carried him through the shadows alongside the canal, the man glanced into its still waters and let go a yelp of fright. He span around and scanned the rooftops for the bright, yellow-green eyes whose reflection he could have sworn he had seen watching him, but there was nothing there. Still looking up, and cursing under his breath, he took a step forwards and tripped, lunging for the wall to steady himself. The black cat whose path he had crossed threw him a look of lazy contempt before slinking off into the night. The man slumped against the wall, closed his eyes, and muttered a prayer.

His anxiety had barely diminished when he reached his home on the outskirts of Old Town. Closing the door of a lavishly-appointed, lamp-lit study behind him, he walked to the window and peered down into the street. There was no sign of life. With a deep sigh, he slipped off the cloak and made to fling it into a nearby chair, when in the polished silver of the circular fastening he saw the eyes again. Dropping it to the ground, he swung his right arm around to snatch up a crossbow from the desk and fired towards where the figure had been. But it was gone. The bolt thudded mockingly into the door.

Before his mind had time to process what had happened, the man felt a weight on his back and the touch of cold, sharp steel at his throat. He dropped the weapon.

“How did you find out?” he asked through gritted teeth, trying not to swallow.

“Oh, please...” replied a small, soft voice, “you may as well have been wearing a sandwich board.”

The man frowned. Something wasn‘t right. He peered around as far as he could with the blade at his neck and then spluttered contemptuously.

“A gnome?? Shaw sent a gnomish girl to kill me? Why not just hang me from the gates with my pants round my ankles?!”

“I haven’t ruled it out.”

The blade at his neck sank ever-so-slightly into his flesh, and through a twinge of pain he noticed for the first time that it was not a dagger but a dual-pronged claw, long and elegant. As the observation registered, he felt a second claw scrape slowly over the back of his thigh and come to rest between his buttocks. He felt the fabric tear, and then heard a soft, rumbling sound just behind his left ear that sent a chill all the way down his spine. Had the gnome... had she... purred?

“Alright!” he exclaimed, arching his hips gingerly forwards. “I’ll tell you everything...”

“It’s a little late for that honey,” she replied. “You’ve been passing information about troop movements to a Horde spy hidden on that spice ship.”

“Well if you know that,” he said irritably, “hadn’t you better find him and get them back rather than playing about with m-- ahh!!” he sucked in a sharp breath as the lower claw withdrew suddenly, then a sheaf of parchment sailed over his shoulder and landed with a slap on the desk. He recognised it at once. “You... but... then he’s...”

“Mhm.”

“And now you’ve come to...”

“Uhu.”

He closed his eyes. There was nothing left to say. Mouthing a silent prayer, he lifted his head, exposing his neck.

“Do it then.”

The claw lifted, and he waited for the slash that would open his throat and end his life.

And waited.

“Actually,” said the gnome after a moment, “there is one thing you can tell me.”

“What?” he muttered. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted the nightmare to be over.

“Why you did it,” she said.

The noble didn’t speak at first. His head fell, and she could feel him begin to shake gently. He was weeping.

“I... had no choice,” he spat through the tears, “they were going to take everything.”

“Who?”

“My ship,” he ignored the question, “sunk by the Horde fleet. All I had in the world invested in that cargo, goods bought on promises, everything lost.”

“You owe money to the goblin cartel,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“They were going to take everything, my gold, my house, put us on the street at the mercy of thieves and bandits and... my daughter...” he sobbed loudly.

“The Horde fished you out of the water,” said the gnome. He nodded, fat tears disappearing into his beard.

“They promised me money if I got them what they wanted. I had to protect my little gir-- ahh!” The claw was back at his throat.

“You’re a liar,” whispered the gnome dangerously.

“No,” whimpered the noble, “she’s in the next room, please...”

“You didn’t do this for her, you did it for you.”

“No!”

“Because you didn’t want to lose your wealth, your...” she surveyed the room with disgust, “possessions.”

“I couldn’t protect her on the street,” he said hoarsely, “I’m a weak man.”

“You are,” she said, “because you took the easy way out. Because there are other ways to earn a living than trading great ships full of things or selling secrets. Not such a lavish living perhaps, but enough to keep the two of you fed and clothed and sheltered. But you thought you were too good for that life.”

“P-please...” he begged, “don’t let her find out--”


“That you were a coward? And a traitor?” Her claw punctured his neck, and a warm trickle of blood snaked down to his shoulder and began to soak into his shirt.

“Yes,” he replied. "That's what I am."

“What would you have me tell her then?”

“Tell her,” he swallowed hard, fighting back a fresh wave of tears, “tell her I’m sorry. Tell her that I loved her more than anything in the world, even if sometimes I forgot it. Tell her...” he glanced towards the wall, beyond which his daughter would be fast asleep. He realised with a jolt that he would never see her again. “Tell her that if I had a second chance, I would do anything for us to be together and safe in whatever place, in whatever way...”

“Anything?”

“Anything. I would dig holes in the cold, hard ground with my bare hands for coppers, if only...”

“The world doesn’t work that way,” she said, and he felt her other claw slide up his back towards his heart.

“I know,” he said quietly, bracing himself. “But I wish it did.”

The gnome purred again, but it sounded different this time. Warmer. Almost affectionate even.

“Granted.”

It took a second for the word to sink in. He opened his eyes, and as he did so realised that the weight on his back had lifted, and that the horrible claws were no longer pushing at his flesh. He turned cautiously, and just caught a glimpse of the small figure with yellow-green eyes before she sprang, cat-like, from the windowledge.

She was smiling.

Must.... corrupt....

*lays out some milk out on the windowsill*

I like the read. A 'Good' Rogue.