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The Price of Gratitude	By : Mayamahal Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 6057 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Blizzard or World of Warcraft. I make no profit or money for writing this.

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The sun was setting.

Maia watched the skies burn with color as the day ended, the mage contentedly perched on the roof of her humble little house. Her skirts were tucked around her feet, her hands busy with the mindless task of brushing her long, thick hair.

As days go, it had been production and satisfying; she had just returned from an excursion to the roads, had met with a trade caravan, on time for once, and made a tidy sum selling her wares to the intrepid tradesmen on their way to the various outposts and cities on their travels.

The goblins were shrewd but to some degree, honest and quite respectful to traders and craftsmen, especially those who devoted their entire focus to their profession. Maia had demonstrated repeatedly that, while off the grid, her work was exceptional and peerless in its imaginative design. And while any goblin would tell you that time is everything, her work even had them waiting on the road for a day or two, if storms or monsters happened to delay her. She was quite flattered by this, and made a point to take a few custom jobs from the caravan leaders at least once a year, usually in time for the Winter Veil festival.

Every finger the human mage had was adorned by a ring, some gold, some silver, some even platinum... a dozen bracelets split between two wrists adorned her arms, clinking softly as her clever fingers continued to untangle her hair. The dusky sunlight caught the metal as she moved, glittering mutely; her generous lips curved in a small smile, and she paused to admire the metalwork.

It wasn't vanity. It was well earned pride; Maia was a metalsmith, a jewel-crafter, and she worked very hard at her trade because she loved it so. Not only did it earn her money and buy her a place far, far from the whole wretched war, but it also fed something deep and sacred within her, a hunger that she'd never known was there until she'd first sated it. Always, she sought to learn more of her craft, and knew that a true master understood that there was always more to learn, and there was never enough practice to be had.

Her small house was tucked away along the coastline above the closed city of Gilneas, built between two enormous pine trees and snug between the cliffs at her back and the ocean before her. The natural stone harbor, though small, kept the tide from creeping very close to her home. The beach curved out from the stones, the stones from the turf, the turf from grass.

The house itself had been built mostly by Maia herself, the materials brought in with her proto-drake. The large, beautiful, primal beast had objected to being used as a construction transport, but didn't protest otherwise. Maia had little use for flying her into battle these days, and while the feral nature of Sun-Iron would suggest a love of violence, her drake was content sunning herself on the rocks along the coast.

Stone walls made up the front of the building, the architecture similar to that of a Dwarven house. She had dug into the soft dirt of the cliff, the turf pulled over to form the roof, grass and wild flowers left to grow as they would. It was here that she sat, legs dangling over.

Two stories tall, the stone was warm gray, the cracks filled with moss and lichen to keep out the wind, though the cove did most of the protecting from the harsher elements. Her bed-chamber made up most of the top floor, the bottom floor made up mostly for the kitchen and living room.

Further up the cliff and to the right of her home, there was a seperate building, the room within almost as large as her whole house put together. Dug into the earth, the front wall was mostly made of one large window, to let in as much light as possible, the roof cleared back and braced with iron beams that framed glass, making the structure a greenhouse built into the mountain. It was here that she practiced her art, crafting her living and pleasing the hunger within.

Her musing came to an end, the sun almost only a sliver of light glowing on the horizon, the woman dropped down to the modest balcony below. As she made ready to sleep, she couldn't help but smile at the world in thanks, and joy.

It had been a good day, one more day she wasn't setting fire to the homes of innocents, or fighting a cause she didn't believe in. One more day of doing what she loved, at peace, and alone.

It had been a good day.

The next afternoon found her in linen trews, a baggy shirt and a tight fitting vest, her long dark hair bound up and tucked beneath a large-brimmed pale hat. The sun beat down in earnest, causing sweat to bead up on her brown skin and making her white cotton shirt stick to her working arms.

She was crouched before a large chunk of exposed volcanic rock, chipping away at a vein of silver.

Tnk tnk tnk-! went the metal as she dug at it with her pick and chisel, dropping nuggets into her large reed basket. She'd nearly filled it this morning, and now she had happened across this bit of glinting silver on the surface of the rough, weather-beaten stone. Heavy though it was, she couldn't help but top off her gathered materials.

Experience had taught Maia that it was best to gather one metal per trip, to keep cross-contamination to a minimum. Nothing was worse than melting down a batch of ore, casting it into ingots, only to find cracks and bubbles in the metal when she turned it into wire and stock. Best case, the cracks would splinter when the customer was wearing it, and possibly make them bleed. Worst case, a pocket of magic would snare in the bubbles and the whole item would explode when the wearer accessed the magical benefits the piece possessed. Explosion size would not matter; someone would probably die.

Satisfied at last, she tucked her pick into her belt and tossed her chisel atop the pile of ore in her basket, then hawled the whole thing up and slipped her arms through the straps. Eyes on the shore, she made her way south, and home.

She had taken to sticking primarily to the coast, never straying too close to the walls of Gilneas, prefering instead to forage north. She kept the ocean in her sights most days, and today was no exception.

The sea was beautiful, with the expansive sky meeting the water some far off, immeasurable distance away... As she walked, she sighed, smiling. It was an understatement to say that she loved it here.

Let the world destroy itself, she thought. I am happy staying out of the whole mess.

It's true, most of her jewelry went off to adorn and aid Alliance soldiers and warriors, but thanks to the Goblin neutrality, members of the Horde were given the chance to purchase her enchanted wares too.

She never told her Guild leader this, of course.

As it was, she thought it was none of his business; he benefited from her expertise as she sent the best of what she made to him to disperse amongst the other guild members, and he had one less person to keep track of. He knew exactly where she was and exactly how to get a hold of her.

Picking her way from sand to turf, she made sure to hide her tracks the closer she got to home. While friends and guild members knew where she lived, she didn't want to inadvertently lead anyone to her tiny bit of paradise. That had only happened once, and she had no interest in doing so again. Thankfully, because of the cliffs and Gilneas' shuttered walls, she only had to worry about threats coming from the north. Keeping her home hidden was easy enough, though required a little forethought.

Lost in thought, trekking and gazing at the sea, Maia didn't notice the world tremble until her foot missed the ground.

With a grunt and a shift in weight, she managed to get most of her fall on her knees, lest the burden of her basket tip forward. Eyes wide, she scrabbled away from the ocean as fast as she could manage, animal panic driving her legs forward. She didn't look back, only sensing the danger.

The world, however, had different plans. Everything went dark, and a sudden trickle of heat in the air warned of fire, and burnt flesh.

With a gasp, unable to see, Maia jerked and made the elegant motions of a spell, her fingertips glowing blue as the sigil left lines in the dark. As the walls of protective, impenetrable ice encased her form, her eyes widened as the red light of something horrible loomed overhead...

The light of normal day returned, muted by clouds of ash and dush. It found Maia just shaking off the last bits of her spell, melted water wafting from her clothing in gentle steam. It was brief, whatever it was that had wracked the earth. Brief, but incredibly powerful.

What in all the hells has happened?

The lines of the coast had changed. The water had risen, a tower of ocean, and had pounded against the land. Large trees, rocks, chunks of landscape, all had been wrenched asunder and some had even been claimed by the sea.

The mage didn't realize she was panting until spots started to form in her vision, and she sat down with shaking legs. The earth was soaked, but she didn't care; the walk home was bound to drench her-

"Fuck," she swore.

And then she was running.

She hadn't gone that far to scavenge for metal, but she didn't realize how close she'd been to home before she rounded the bend of exposed cliff and ran over rock, sand, and grass. Fearing the worse, she scrambled over damp bedrock and hawled herself up and over the natural wall and into her hidden cove.

The relief was staggering; the natural formation of rock and earth and tree had kept her little house protected. As far as she could tell, all that told of the destruction she'd witnessed was a new waterline about a foot up the stone and door. Her studio was untouched, her trees were solid.

The sigh that escaped her was loud to her ears; the world had gone quiet in the wake of the darkness. Quiet, and yet horribly disturbed. As unchanged as her little world had been, what else had been affected by the rage of fire, gloom, and ash?

And what had caused it all?
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The Price of Gratitude