This week’s shared topic over at Blog Azeroth is:
roleplay a scene with a mount your character has. It can be anything from how you acquired the mount to its death
suggested by Strumwolf
The still damp warlock, her clothes soggy and wet staggered into the Slaughtered Lamb. Sinking onto a stool she ordered a drink. Handing over an ice cold brew, the bartender smiled,
“Had a bad day sweetheart?”
Taking a long hard swig of pure alcohol, Teasel considered briefly immolating him for his cheek, she was after all no one’s sweetheart but then her desire for sympathy won out. Leaning forward,
“Bad doesn’t even come start to describe it. I got a couple of jobs in the Wetlands. Nothing too hard, kill some orcs, slaughter some sailors who didn’t understand that being dead doesn’t mean running around telling passerbys that they will soon be “dead like me”, you know, bread and butter stuff. Easy money really”.
“That doesn’t sound too bad”
“Nah, that bit wasn’t. The problem started when I was running back to Menethil for my wage packet. The heavens opened, the Wetlands lived up to their name. I was so drenched. Every footstep dragged as my robes weighted down with every step I took. Then I foolishly decided I would catch a bird back to Stormwind rather than spend another hour in that half asleep seaside town.”
“There was a blizzard over Dun Morogh.”
Without saying a word, he poured another measure into her glass.
“I’m so cold and so wet. It feels like I’ll never get warm again”.
She drained the glass again and shook herself, droplets of water went flying from her hair, puddling themselves on the already liquid stained bar.
“Poor child. Have another drink but I would drink it fast. Tempers are a little frayed downstairs. Think some Nobleman is trying to get this place shut down again. They never learn”.
“Thanks for the warning, last thing I want tonight is more trouble from a bunch of angry warlocks”.
With the spirits warming her from the inside, Teasel headed down into the basement. At the sound of her footsteps on the cobbled stone, all arguments ceased.
“You’re late. Why are you dripping on our floor?”
Her eyes narrowing slightly, the trainer nodded,
“Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes Ma’am”, Teasel caught the spellbook casually thrown at her head. Retreating to the edge of the room, she spent the next hour, still damp memorising new incantations and spells. Returning the books to the shelf, Teasel started to sneak past the still arguing senior warlocks. She had almost reached the passage spiriling to the surface when someone behind her curtly called her name.
“Since you have reached your twentieth season its time you leant to ride”
“I know, I received a note in the mail from a Mr Randal Hunter, telling me to head out to Eastvale at my earliest convience. I believe he is both an excellent teacher and a breeder of stout stallions”.
Her voice trailed off to the realisation that not only were all the humans in the room laughing but even the succubus, not a creature oft given to merriment was giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Whats so funny?”
It took a second or two for the amusement to die down, or at least most of it. The Imp was still pirouetting beneath the table, his annoying chuckle chiming out like a bell.
“My dear girl, we don’t ride flesh and blood horses. We summon fiery steeds from the realms of nightmares”. Teasel gazed at Zardeth of the Black Claw, trying to rearrange his words into a sentence which made sense. Taking pity on her blank face, he tried again. “It’s all about image, riding up to someone on a pinto mare hardly inspires fear. You just look like someone’s daughter out for a ride in the woods. Now imagine seeing a wild stallion snorting flame with it’s fetlocks blazing as it gallops through the night”.
“I see, yes. That’s why I want a pinto mare. I don’t want a mount I’m scared of”.
“Pfff, call yourself a warlock, sister?” Demisette Cloyce lifted one delicate black eyebrow.
“It also makes excellent economic sense”, Zardeth’s Imp smirked. “No food bills. You could spend the money you’ll save to buy some suitably over the top black clothes for posing in”, dodging his master’s foot, the imp bounced onto the table top regarding her with beady eyes. “It’s a win win situation”.
“I don’t want a demon horse. My friends already think I’m weird. No one else has talking pets or has to trap other people’s souls in pretty pink glass. I just want to be the same as every one else”.
The senior warlocks all looked at each other, “Tough”, Sandahl volunteered from his corner. “Warlocks aren’t like everyone else. We ride dreedsteeds, blast people with chaos and steal their souls. We’re corrupters who drain life and play with demons. Pretty sure that was covered in your first few classes, it’s a bit late now to get cold feet”.
“Wait”, tapping her whip against the floor, Demisette’s succubus stared at Teasel. “So you’re happy to summon us to kill for you, to do your dirty work. You use my kind to seduce your enemies and protect you but you’re too good to ride a felsteed? Arrogant little girl”.
“Can’t we all just get along?”, Zggi the Imp asked chattily, taking a break from doing handstands in the corner. Zardeth raised his hand and the imp vanished in a cloud of smoke. “She has a point you know. I don’t see you slaughtering your way around Azeroth without using demons or the souls of the fallen. Anyway, we’ve got more important things to deal with than your sudden fear of demons. Get outside and summon yourself a mount. Unless of course you want to discuss demon rights with a rather angry succubus in the sub basement?”
A swift look at the succubus made up Teasel’s mind. Grabbing the proffered grimoire she headed for the door. Outside the rain was pelting down, recoiling off the grass. Not another soul could be seen, not even a guard. For once the Mage quarter was deserted. Perfect weather for summoning a beast from the netherworld. Glancing back at the Inn, Teasel sighed. Peeking around the door frame were several heads, some human and some demon, all nodded encouragingly.
Ignoring the eye of Kilrogg bouncing around her, Teasel drew out her summoning circle and placed the candles on the wet grass. Then holding her spell book at arm’s length she started to read. Each word hung on the air, glowing deep red. Overhead the rain worsened and the sky darkened. A doorway was opening between the worlds. In the distance, beneath the rhythm of the rain Teasel could hear hooves galloping closer and closer.
Clutching the grimoire she closed her eyes and took a step backwards. The rain was becoming gentler now, just caressing her upturned face as she waited. Clapping from behind forced her eyes open. Inside the circle standing on scorched earth was a horse. Tall with heaving flanks and fiery hooves, the felsteed flicked it’s tail impatiently.
Instinctively Teasel found her hand reaching out to stroke the beast. As green eyes met red ones, the horse whined softly, rubbing his head against her hand. “See, you’re made for each other”, Zardeth smiled down at his latest student and her horse. Pulling herself up onto the felsteed’s back, Teasel felt finally at home. The last part of the puzzle had fallen into place and it was a huge demonic horse. No more skulking in corners pretending to be a mage, no not any more. She was a warlock and proud of it.