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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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"...if only, if only, the woodpecker sighs, the bark of the trees was as soft as the skies..."

Maia sang softly as she pulled bags and saddle from Sun-Iron, piling everything at the feet of her proto-drake. She patted the scaled, rust-colored shoulder fondly.

"Hunt yourself sick but not stupid," she chuckled. The drake opened her maw to rumble and hiss at the permission. "I'll probably be ready to leave in a few days. Drop by in three, mm?" She scratched her mount's chin, grinning as the creature's eyes lidded in pleasure. "Don't leave me to use one of the gryphons to get home. You know their dander makes me sneeze."

Sun-Iron snorted indignantly at this, making her way to the edge of the landing platform. Maia watched her drop off the edge, waiting to see the dragonkin coasting towards the horizon before hefting her bags to one shoulder and gripping the dragon-saddle with her free hand.

Dalaran was at the height of its business today, carts and wares on display along the edges of the streets, people of all races and professions and factions coming and going as they pleased. Classified as a 'sanctuary' here in the middle of Northrend, both the Horde and the Alliance had headquarters here. While this close proximity with each other led to all manner of fights, arguments, and skirmishes, the presence of the Kirin Tor kept such things to a minimum, and at the very least, encouraged the disagreements to settle themselves in private.

Maia finally managed to get to an inn, renting a small room in the highest tower she could obtain. Of all the things she disliked about cities, the crowds were the worst. The further she could get from the hustle and bustle and well-trodden streets, the better she felt.

It's not that she was completely agoraphobic, but she toed that line pretty frequently. She had wondered if it was her self-imposed hermitage that made her this way, but more and more she realized that the dislike of over-crowding was the very reason behind her happy exile; she just didn't like being surrounded by people every day.

She dropped her bags on the full-sized bed, throwing the saddle in the far corner against a wall. It wasn't a large room, but it was spacious enough. Two strides brought her to the balcony doors, and she pushed them open to examine her view.

Despite her distaste for crowding, she did love the sight of a decent city. Dalaran was a beacon of beauty and magic, the crowning achievement of decades of magic. The air tingled with energy, and even the most unenlightened of person could feel the breath of the intangible forces that kept the city aloft, its people alive, its functions healthy.

There was a large tub in her room, and while summoning hot water would have been easy enough, she knew that once she climbed in to soak, she wouldn't leave the room until the next morning. She sighed, and opted for a quick wipe-down instead; Maia just had too much to do before she retired for the night, and the sooner she took care of things, the sooner she could head back home.

And the less I'll have to deal with anyone ... complicated.

She left that thought alone for now, focusing instead on the mundane task of dressing.

Her thick, untamed mass of curly, long dark hair was piled, artfully messy, at the back of her skull, a silver filigree comb keeping the tresses in place. Tear-drop pearls hung at her ears, dangling gayly whenever she moved. Normally, she usually left her bottom lip unadorned, the hole of her piercing hidden by the shape of her generous mouth. It was just under her lip, centered, and her only nod to personal ornamentation. Today, a small diamond set in a tiny starburst lily twinkled there, displaying her ability to do all manner of custom work, including personal body modifications.

She pulled on a pair of butter-colored, soft doe-skin boots, lacing them just under her knees. Her dress, of deceptively simple cut, hugged her hips before flaring out in a wide hem, the skirt full and ending just below her knees. The fabric, a soft, dark red expensive wool, clung to her curves attractively, the scooped neckline accenting her figure without giving anything away, although it was low enough to display a decent amount of bosom. The color of the cloth went well with her warm brown skin, white embroidery edged along the hem and the three-quarter length sleeves in echo of her starburst crest.

Her jewelry was her only advertisement, along with the great praise of her customers and their word-of-mouth suggestions. By wearing her own creations, it was easier for her to obtain orders; no one had to approach her to inquire about her skills if they didn't want to. The pendant at her throat, hung on a chain that settled it just above her cleavage, was the crest of the jewel-crafters guild, an organization seperate from the guild she belonged to socially. It declared her profession openly to anyone that looked, and kept future customers from asking the forever annouying, most irritating of questions: "Did you make that?"

She decided she was going to deliver the mithril bracelet first, knowing that the evening was the best time to do it; less people around see such business take place.

Her feet took her down into the lower level of the city, what many call 'The Underbelly'. Here, the rules were bent a little, the rising tensions between the people above easily vented in the arena, or even the darker corners of the tunnels. It wasn't exactly a safe neighborhood, but Maia had trekked through worse.

Plus, she had a personal interest in the goings-on here.

The soft splash of water softened the echo of her footsteps, the runoff glowing with the remnants of several kinds of magic. If Dalaran had one flaw, it was that its denizens were still struggling with a proper means of disposing its excess potions and magics. Still, the side-effects of magical contamination tended to be benign for the most part, and slightly amusing.

After a few turns and doorways, she finally made it to the cavern unofficially termed 'the Black Market'. Here, one could buy ... well, just about anything. The vendors ranged from pleasant seeming to downright threatening, but they all had one thing in common: they all had something to sell, the quicker the better.

Her customer was often here, selling his wares in the shadows while his compatriots stood boldly beneath tents. It kept their heads dry, this place always dripping and damp. The walkways were made of wood, secured in place but partially floating on the water. You see, this wasn't just a hole in the sewers, it was a part of them. The black market was actually situated atop an isolated cistern, the murky waters splashing in little waves against the stone walls by the displacement caused by footfalls on the wooden planks.

She made her way unerringly to a dark corner, and murmured a name.

From the shadows, a figure peeled himself from the darkness to step forward. Rotting flesh and pale, peeking bones marked him as undead, a Forsaken, a loyal citizen of the Bansidhe Queen. Maia smiled at him.

"It's done," she murmured.

Hope flared in his milky eyes, and he bowed low before her. "I... thank you, my lady," he whispered, his voice cracking with more than the decay to his vocal chords. "May I see it first?"

She nodded, expecting this. Fishing around in her bag, she carefully withdrew the pouch she wanted, loosening the drawstring to reveal the contents within. Her smile deepened as he inhaled (...alright, so he made a noise that sounded like an inhale) sharply.

"Ooh..." he whispered, eyes wide and staring, hands twitching to claim the contents. Without so much as a fuss, he withdrew a small bag and passed it over, taking Maia's offered pouch with trembling, careful hands as she took her payment. The mithril bracelet caught the lantern lights and blazed back, purple and yellow gems and flashing white metal. "Oh, she will love this," he sighed. "Oh, lady... I cannot tha-"

Maia shook her head. "Stop that. It's a deal made and paid for. I'm just happy I could craft something so lovely for such a sweet reason!" She smiled, and, unable to help herself, she cupped his rotting cheek. He looked at her, and she was startled to see tears in his eyes. "I just hope your heart does not get broken."

At this, he smiled, straightening a little. "It will not, lady-mage. I loved her madly in life, and she did the same. She is dead now, same as me, moving and making do with this new life we've been given, and our love hasn't changed a bit. But rotting flesh or no," he said, suddenly passionate, "She deserves the pretty baubles and gems of any breathing dame, and I'll be damned beyond and after if she doesn't have something better."

He bowed again. "I will tell others, if you wish?" he whispered faintly. "As was told to me by...?"

Her nod cut him off. "Have them contact me as you did, encrypted and subtle; otherwise, I'll have to use the anonymity and blasted luck of the auction houses again."

As he scampered away, she heard another thankful word. It was impossible to be immune to the romanticism of it all; granted, the lovers were bound in decaying flesh, but they were together, in love, and content with the life they'd be given.

She turned about to leave the dank hole of a market, when a seeking customer came sauntering in. A Troll, by the look of him, but ... off, some how. She discreetly examined him, noting the green, pale flesh, the unkempt, greasy black hair, the dirty clothes, and the reek of rotting fish. Her attempt at discretion, apparently, wasn't prepared for the smell of him, and she stepped over a little further than was polite.

His beady, angry eyes caught her movement, and he shoved at her shoulder. Already off balanced, she shot out a hand to steady herself against the damp wall.

"Stupid human," he snarled. "Watch where yer goin'!" He shoved at her shoulder again.

It was almost comical, her attempts to snatch her falling satchel from the air, watching helplessly, time seeming to slow, as her leather bag hit the water, and promptly dissappeared into the shadowy depths.

Her dumbfounded expression lasted but a moment, and she came back to herself a second later to mocking, delighted laughter.

The Troll was deeply amused.

"Aww, de poor ting," he chortled. "Yer face looks to curdle, mon'. Are ya gonna cry now, five-finger?"

Gnashing her teeth, her temper flared out of no where and before she could stop herself, she planted a hand against his chest and loosed her power.

The blast of fire and heat sent him staggering backwards, slamming into the wall behind him. Quickly, the other vendors in the alcove dissappeared, one speeding past them and out into the main sewers, shouting.

Her atttacker straightened with a growl, a new light in his eyes. "Ya gone an' dun it now, girly," he hissed, raising the staff he bore in a menacing, conjuring gesture. Maia braced herself, a spell or three at the ready.

But then he stopped.

In her defensive gestures to ward whatever the creature would throw at her, she'd brought her hands up, palm out, her fingertips glowing blue with the telltale beginnings of magic. The bracelet she wore of Koda's hair and glass beads had been almost ignored by her since arriving, but now, that was impossible.

Staring at it, the fetid Troll leered at her, a hand shooting out to grab her arm. Startled, Maia made no attempt to avoid him, utterly confused by his change of direction. He brought her wrist to his nose, smelling the bracelet, touching the tip of his tongue to a roughened glass bead.

With a jerk, he turned his head and spat. "Zandalari!" he snapped, throwing her hand down so hard she almost ended up with her bag in the water. "Be ya proud of dis mark? Troll hunters mark dere pets dis way." he hissed. "See it bound to ya wrist like a love-token, but dat's impossible. I bet you can' even take it off-"

Maia blinked at him, and before she realized it, her fingers had tangled with the silk thread that bound the bracelet together, end to end. With a tug and a wiggle, it came free easily enough. She held it in front of his face.

His eyes went wide, like she'd kicked him in the stomach.

"Impossible..." he whispered, licking his lips and looking her up and down. She slipped the bracelet back on, his expression suddenly very different, and much more dangerous than his previous one of personal offense. Now he looked... interested. Interested, and very, very hungry.

"Whore," he ground out, stepping up to her so quickly that she had no time to react. Her eyes went wide, pressed suddenly into a wet stone wall. "Ya wear it willingly," he continued, "...dat means... it means..." He licked his lips again, his breath wafting across her face. She almost choked.

Fear took hold, fear and utter fascination.

Timidly, she licked her lips, wanting to know more, and asked, "Why?" She lifted her chin. "What does it mean?" she challenged.

His expression changed again, this time into a leering, disgusting grin. Maia went cold inside.

"Means ya fucked a Troll, cunt," he sneered at her. "Fucked an' fucked back." He ground into her, snatching a hand into her thick hair, yanking her head back. "Nobody but Troll women can handle da lust of a Troll man, but ya look neither worse for wear," he snarled softly at her. "Ya wear his lock like he owns ya, but like ya own him, too..."

It was odd, the mage noted. She was horrified, frozen, terrified, scared, and completely helpless, slammed between her molestor and unyielding, mold-covered rock, but she was also irrationally elated, pleased beyond measure at the meaning behind the braid of pale hair around her wrist.

That brought her mind back, her fear burning away into focused panic.

"Get off me," she grit out, glaring up at this near-rotting living creature. She thrashed, trying to get a knee up. He avoided it easily, cackling maniacally at her.

"Is too late, girly," he laughed, driving his tongue into her cleavage, licking up her neck and then worming it into her ear. She shrieked.

"Ya be mine now," he snarled, pressing the erection under his robe into her hip, the shape rubbing up against her. "...an' knowin' that ya can take as good as I give is just gonna make dis even better-"

Maia felt her bile rise, and opened her mouth to scream.
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The Price of Gratitude