Tayt scowled and watched Roshii eat another beaded silk pillow. The orange raptor sprawled across the center of the room, his tiny forelegs clutching the offending decoration. His long streamlined head turned from side to side as he surveyed his prey, eyes half-slitted with ferocious intent.

Finally satisfied with his angle of attack, his head darted forward, wide mouth opening to expose an array of wickedly sharp teeth. Swiftly and viciously, he tore into the smooth pillow with the sort of glee he normally reserved for a fresh carcass.

The entire process was nearly silent, save for a few purring chirrups whenever Roshii found a particularly satisfying clump of stuffing to pull on.

This was his fifth pillow.

At first, Tayt had forced Roshii to stand at attention and behave himself. But after the first hour and a half in the opulent waiting room of the Grand and Illustrious Lady Tyrsdae Sunseeker, she’d let the raptor…relax.

She gave a small smile. Even if Roshii was burping up expensive beads for a week, it would be worth it. What sort of person requested a guest, specifically mentioning the importance of punctuality, and then left that guest sitting in a waiting room for…what was it now? Three hours?

An acquaintance who owned a small bar in Murder Row had mentioned a possible job, with an emphasis on the need for discretion. Now, sitting in the home of one of Silvermoon’s most influential families, she couldn’t help but wonder whether she should have just kept her thrice-damned mouth shut. A servant had answered the first ring of the visitor’s bell and immediately ushered her to this waiting room, admonishing her to be patient as the Lady Tyrsdae would be with her shortly.

Tayt snorted. ‘Shortly’, indeed. If this was how the high and mighty treated guests, she’d hate to see what sort of reception an enemy might face. Friend or no, this was certainly not the way to start a business relationship.

For what was probably the dozenth time since arriving in the opulent waiting room, she allowed herself to muse on what little she knew about Tyrsdae. She’d never met the woman, but all blood elves loved a bit of juicy gossip, and the Lady Tyrsdae was a popular topic of the rumor mills. From what Tayt had heard, it seemed that Tyrsdae had gotten herself into a bit of trouble on Draenor when she was very young, but the details of exactly what sort of trouble were hazy at best. Something to do with the draenei. And then, for a very long time, there was nothing.

Tayt frowned, frustrated. If she’d known that this was her destination, she’d have done a bit more research, paid more attention when the name ‘Tyrsdae’ was mentioned. But the letter had come just that morning and had insisted she leave immediately to begin following the instructions. The letter laid out a long and complicated route that she was admonished to follow without deviation. The route had taken her three times as long as it would have if she’d simply come straight to the Sunseeker home, and had involved some fairly specific and ridiculous requests.

“Retrieve a white stone from the mouth of the eastern fish fountain and throw exactly twenty-three copper into the pool. Do not make a wish. Deposit the white stone in the western bank into an account for a man named Reginald Pierce. The banker will then offer you an envelope addressed to Lilly Fairbanks. Accept it, but do not open it. Bring it to the enclosed address. Act natural and purposeful, do not speak to anyone of these instructions.” The entire situation had bordered on the absurd.

And not until she had reached the destination to deliver the Fairbanks letter to did she realize it was the home of the Sunseeker family. The only useful information about the only daughter of Sunseeker she’d managed to recall had been a bit of recent gossip. As word had it, she had recently dropped the mantle of warlock and had chosen instead to follow the path of the priest.

There had been a lot of loose talk and speculation on the subject. Why would a Sunseeker, a family known for producing powerful warlocks, voluntarily choose to abandon all of her previous training to become (of all things) a priest? And not just any priest - reports confirmed that she was concentrating on the healing arts, rather than the path of shadow.

Some said that she’d had a religious epiphany, turned away from the path of evil and instead chose to dedicate her life to the Light.

Others mocked that assertion, arguing that the Lady Tyrsdae Sunseeker had too much darkness in her soul for such piety. Despite their certainty, they offered no explanation of why she might make such a choice.

More tentative whispers hinted that she’d gone insane. That she’d gathered all of her demon minions together and slain them, one by one in a horrific demonic bloodbath, and now no demons dared answer her calls.

Tayt wasn’t sure which (if any) of the rumors was true. Surely, the hints that the woman had killed all of her demons seemed a bit far-fetched, even by the standards of the admittedly seedy bar that she’d heard the rumor in.

Idle speculation wasn’t getting her anywhere. Frustrated, Tayt watched Roshii slowly demolish the pillow - which was probably worth more than she made in a month - and drummed her fingers impatiently against the arm of her chair.

That’s enough. She cracked her knuckles and straightened her shoulders, a look of resolve forming on her face. She may be an ignorant hunter, but what she DID know was that if the Lady Tyrsdae needed a hireling, she would have to find someone else. Tayt was done. This waiting had passed rude and ventured into insulting at least an hour before. She was through with this farce - the meaningless written commands and the offensive treatment. If this was some sort of game played by the wealthy - see just how far you can push a random person before they break - she was done with it. Let Tyrsdae find some other random person to push.

She clucked her tongue once and Roshii’s head lifted, his long tail brushing hopefully across the plush carpet, disturbing a mound of pillows. Tayt stood and the raptor echoed her motion, dropping the half-gutted pillow on the floor and purring happily. He hadn’t liked waiting either. She brushed a short lock of orange hair out of her eyes and leaned over to run a hand down his head and across the leathery slope of his back, fingers tracing the path of the vivid teal stripes on his skin.

Behind her, a voice spoke up. “Follow me.”

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 15th, 2008 and is filed under Storytime, ~ Vonya. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.