Thief No More

by **Haen Strongwind** Sat May 10, 2014 12:51 am

"NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!! NO!!! THE BASTARDS. WHERE ARE THEY? THEY MUST BE HERE."

The man screamed as loud as his magically enhanced voice box would let him. Tables were overturned. Rotten wall panels were ripped off and thrown aside. Floorboards were upturned. Cabinets were smashed. While the old, rotted inn wasn't exactly tidy to begin with, its inside was in tatters now. The man roared with anger. Throwing his hands up in defeat, he fell to his knees and began to sob. Flakes of dead skin fell from his scalp and neck as his shoulders heaved up and down.

"It's gone...all of it...gone. My livelihood, my life's work. Every penny I've ever made..."

The man hunched forward until his head was on the ground. He let out a loud, gargled roar, pounding the floor with his clenched fists. His hand went right through one of the floorboards, causing it to spring up and strike the side of his head. He let out a loud grunt and rolled over onto his back, continuing to sob.

"Why me? I didn't deserve this. Don't they know how many hours I spent planning every heist? How much I spent on all of those bombs and scapegoats and burials? All that time and effort I put into acquiring and trading all of those classified war plans? All of the risks I took jumping from faction to faction? What about all of the mental stress I went through?! Having to tie up every loose end and witness? The predicaments I had to deal with? Those farms I burnt down? That garrison I accidentally vaporised? That orphanage matron and her children I accidentally infected with the plague? Or the months and months I spent cleaning that reservoir I accidentally poisoned?

I PUT SO MUCH WORK INTO ACCUMULATING ALL OF THAT WEALTH. WHY WOULD THEY STEAL FROM ME? HOW COULD THEY BE SO COLD HEARTED AND CRUEL?" the man began to sob again.

Unknown to him, a female Blood Elf creeped in through the inn's entrance. Tall and slender, donned in sleek black leather armour that covered her from head to toe. Pulling her blackened hood up, she peeked out from behind the doorframe, peering at the man lying on the ground. It was an odd sight; a bald undead man donned in grotesque leather armour lying on his back crying like a child. She smirked slightly, almost amused. She withdrew her bow, pulled back an arrow and aimed it at him before speaking.

"This...this...is..this isn't how I usually find my marks. Are you...okay?"

The undead man didn't even look at her. He just kept sobbing while shaking his head. "No, they took all of it. All of it. I spent over ten years storing that money up for a day like today."

She was almost amused. She'd been paid a handsome sum of money to find this man, and was promised that it would be the most 'dangerous job of her career.' Yet all she saw was a broken, upset...child.

"You're Boucher, right? The information broker? The old Sixty who the others called "Blade"? The man wanted by the Forsaken for selling plague samples to to the syndicate, by the Horde for selling Garrosh's war plans to the Humans and by the Alliance for selling Wrynn's war plans to the Orcs?"

The man sniffed and stood up, nodding slowly. The Elf narrowed her eyes and drew her bow tighter. He never seemed to notice. He just stumbled over to one of the old broken tables and leant against it, shaking his head.

"Right, well I'm here to kill you, okay? According to the authorities you've been captured, killed and executed on over seventeen different occasions, but that's obviously not true now, is it? I've been sent here to make sure that you actually -DO- die."

The man sniffed. "It's amazing who you can pay off if you have the right amount of coin. The kind of coin I USED TO HAVE!" the man screamed and swung his foot through the table. It shattered into pieces, sending a hail of cockroaches and woodlice all throughout the room. The Elf winced. "...Would you like some time to say some last words? Any last thoughts or memories you want to collect before I erase them all completely?"

The man didn't seem to be listening. His face lit up for a second. He stood upright. "I STASHED SOME UNDER THE STOVE. THEY WON'T HAVE LOOKED THERE!". The man turned and ran into the kitchen. A plagued deer bolted out from the behind the door he entered, sprinting past the Elf before running outside. The kitchen door fell from its hinges, leaving the man in plan sight as he began to dismantle some of the bricks in the stove. The Elf frowned to herself.

"I don't think you understand how serious this is. I've found you unarmed. I trained with the Farstriders for thirty years then killed my instructor and went rogue. I've been named as one of the deadliest Sin'dorei women of modern times, and I've been hired to kill you. Doesn't that phase you? Hasn't it sunk in yet that you're about to die?"

Not looking up from the stove, the Undead waved a quick, dismissive hand at her as he continued to pull bricks out of the wall. "Did Magister O'Malae send you?"

The Elf was stunned. Only a handful of people were supposed to know that the Magistrate was still alive, let alone in power. She was hired with strict instructions that no one at all was to know who she was working for. How did he know? She stammered.

"I..I...well, no, but--"

"Aye, I thought so." the undead man interrupted, now on his knees with one arm up the old stove. He still hadn't even looked at or made eye contact with her. "I've known O'Malae was after me ever since I robbed his daughter's birthday ball. That family has more money than sense. I mean, who buys an Arcane Destroyer for a 118 year old's birthday? You Elves are just learning how to talk then, let alone give commands to a sentient robot. No, no, he was asking to be robbed that day..."

"I...I was unaware his daughter's ball was robbed. No, I think it's because of the time you--"

"Ah, the time I met his wife on Murder Row after I'd sank that bottle of port? When I stripped her, tied her to that Hawkstrider and sent it running around Farstrider square?"

"...N...No, it was the time you--"

"AH, the time I pulled that joke on his Brother at his wedding and fed him that poison that made him defecate his intestines out whilst he sat at the banquet table?"

"...No...No, I think it's because you blew up that Bloodsail boat that was transferring all of those gems he illegally bought from Kalimdor to Quel'Thalas. He lost a lot of money because of that, and he had to break all his ties with the Bloodsail because of it."

"Ah well, that explains it. He's a funny man, O'Malae. Though it's a pity you won't get paid." The undead put his head under the stove and began to pick away at the bricks underneath it. The Elf stared.

"...What?"

His voice echoed from under the stove.

"If O'Malae sent you, you won't get paid. He sent someone after me a couple of months back and the guy put a bullet through my favourite copy of "I Want To Be Your Canary". It was a first edition, printed back when the Lordaeron Theatre Company first started publishing books of it's plays. The guy tried to shoot me but it hit the book in my pocket instead. When I found out it was O'Malae who sent him, I paid off one of the Goblin's who run his private zepplin and had him rig it with 40 kilograms of copper dynamite.
O'Malae was due to fly to stranglethorn for a break yesterday morning but he's probably in several thousand pieces over the Thandol Span just now. If he paid you 25% before and offered 75% once you return, like he usually does, sorry. I just really liked that book."

The Elf was speechless. He's lying. He must be. O'Malae can't be...dead...

The Forsaken was now out of the stove. He sighed, shaking his head. He began to wipe the soot from his armour.
"I must have moved that money when I went to pay off the Executioner. You know they've given me a new name? 'Deathstalker Zordo'. Isn't that great? They gave me a whole new identity. I don't even have to work for the squares over in Undercity either - I've been put forward as an auxiliary member of some elite special forces squadron they call 'Dominate' or something. 'Dominion' maybe...or 'Dominatrix'...I forget.
I stashed every coin I'd made up until this point in this very inn, but would you believe it, some bastards came and took it all. I bet it was those prats over in Westfall, Van Cleef's old lot. We'll find out soon enough after I plague every acre of crops they have. Maybe I'll even get someone to send a Devilsaur down that mine of theirs...can you imagine how funny that would be?"

The Elf stared. She was in utter disbelief. Never in her twenty years of bounty hunting and assassination had she encountered a target like this before. She was so confused that she didn't even realise that she'd lowered her bow. The Undead man shook his head slowly. "I suppose I'll just have to accept that I'll be starting this new job as a peasant...Build everything up from scratch...again..."

He sighed and shrugged at her, before something behind her caught his eye. His eyes widened as a look of child-like excitement fell over his face. "Look! The panel up there! It's exactly how I left it! They must have missed that!!"

The Elf sheepishly turned her head to look at where the blubbering man was pointing. She didn't even hear the crack of the Flintlocke pistol go off, nor did she feel the bullet penetrate her skull. She just felt a slight knock on the side of her head that caused her eyes to lose focus. She stumbled backwards for a second before collapsing on the spot. Everything went black as she quickly lost consciousness.

The Undead took out a dirty hankerchief from the inside of his sleeve and wiped the end of the still smoking Flintlocke pistol sat in his hand. He sighed to himself before sheathing it. He looked around. "Nothing. They must have scoured the whole building. I knew I should have kept some of it at the bank. I bet they even took my Dwarven pipe flute. Bah, how am I supposed to keep myself entertained on those long journeys now?"

The Man shook his head and grumbled to himself as he stepped over the lifeless body of the Elf, letting out a faint "yeeeuch..." as he tip-toed around the various pieces of brain and skull that dotted the floor around her.

As he stepped out into the cool night air, he inhaled deeply. Or he pretended to inhale deeply. Sometimes it was nice just to pretend that he had working lungs again. The forest creaked and groaned as a gentle breeze flowed through it. The howling of a distant wolf or worgen could be heard as the breeze settled. The man shook his head sadly and turned back to look at the inn, removing a small book of matches from a pocket sewn into his armour. As he looked over the old building, sad tinges of nostalgia filled his mind. He sighed, striking three matches before throwing them all into the wooden doorway. Almost instantly the dry wood of the inn caught fire. He felt his eyes welling up again.

"Goodbye, old friend. If I can't have you, no one can. Maybe once I'm killed fighting for this Dominion lot you and I can be together again."

Taking a step back, he blew the building a kiss before turning on his heel, trudging sadly into the dark of the forest as the inn began to burn behind him.