Heresy

"I think I've finally had enough of trying to fit in..." she thought, quietly. "Sometimes perhaps its better to make a place for yourself, then to try to fit into someone else's...."

Heresy, a female undead rogue currently bored off her bony arse, sat on the high ledge in Stormspire, sipping cherry grog and dangling her legs over the edge, out into the nothingness below, idly watching mana-charged lightning dance across the violently beautiful skies. She'd been finding herself in Netherstorm more and more often.

Nagrand reminded her of Maxus far, far too much - she had begun avoiding the place, throwing herself deeper into work...and mischief. Even the work she did for A'dal wasn't filling her mind anymore. It was as if Maxus had opened some door to an empty room, but could offer nothing to fill it with. It seemed destined to be that the filling..would be her job.

Like a hungry animal shown a piece of meat, she'd come to feel a hunger in her belly grow for something again.

Only Prince Haramad's remote outpost gave her some sense of adventure, and thus comfort; she'd grown somewhat keen on the etherals, elegant, intelligent, well-mannered and mercenary. Nothing could be more charming, and their own independent ways had suited hers all too well. They gave her something to do, they didn't ask questions when she did it, and then they paid her for it. After years of complicated moral battles, it was a refreshingly simple arrangement, free of ties and doubts and second guesses.

At the very least, they gave her something to think about besides that damn human rogue. She'd almost grown angry at her sentimentality; as if she'd lost track of herself somehow along the way. A'dal had guided her thinking to something greater, it was true. But she also felt her hands had been bound somehow.

As for Maxus..she'd seen him only once after, tucked away in a remote corner of the Outlands with the elf-woman again; she knew the scent immediately. At the time, she felt a distant bolt of pain, but swallowed it down with a smirk, knowing it didn't matter any more. And now, knowing what she did about him, she glanced at the night elf and wondered if he'd eat her or make love to her.

Some things never change, do they?

But the truth was, something had to....otherwise she was going to lose the plot.

What was more, she knew wasn't the only one needing a new focus.

She knew others that felt the same way...powerful, experienced fighters - together, they had battled Nefarian, Ragnaros, Ossirian and countless other foes - and yet, they all now grew restless and frustrated, aimless...

How was it that so many of them had come to this point, after so long together? How was it possible?

Snub. The old warhorse shaman dedicated to damage, restrained and reined in once too often by the needs and wants of others, she wondered how long before he cracked completely. How long had it been since he just...did what he did best? Despite his advanced years, the grumpy greenskin came to life anew everytime he faced a foe. Of course he had a soft spot, but she chose to play along; she always had.

Dravius. It had been far, far too long since she'd seen the quiet and unnervingly intelligent priest, elegant but macabre....she'd almost expected he'd passed on somewhere, fallen to the Legion. With a smirk she mused that it might not be a very LONG fall. Neither he nor Setanta had been seen for ages....Setanta...she used to twiddle his horns for healthstones, while lookers-on raised eyebrows. Those had been the days....she missed the warlock, one of the few she had truly befriended.

Gharm. Without question, the best warrior and leader she'd ever known, a soft-spoken, surprisingly kind orc who, despite his mellow nature, had led countless legions of Orphans and Void members through battle after battle...she last heard he was withering away in Nagrand somewhere, disillusioned and bored. It was through him she'd gotten the idea; seeing him so dejected shocked her when he'd once been such a vibrant and dedicated warrior.

Ariades. The dark paladin, vain, high-strung, self-centered, handsome. Always expecting her to make him a sandwich for some reason....Heresy still wasn't sure what a sandwich was. She hated blood elves, but she had to admit, he knew what he was doing and he looked good doing it. Even if she did usually feel like cannibalising him - slowly, and with exceptionally jagged cutlery - at least she'd enjoy the view. Someone had told her he was quite the healer; but as she watched him ogle a night elf on Scryer Terrace, she had to ask herself if he hadn't misunderstood the concept of "laying on hands" entirely.

Thruee. The female warlock was quietly confident, with noble bearing and extreme self-composure...she rarely spoke a word, but when she did it was with her hands and usually involved someone's skeleton burned to ashes. She was a seasoned battle veteran, a former Champion of the Horde...but with a wry, almost private sense of humour. Heresy never forgot the day she fought the Baron in a red dress better suited to a Durotar picnic without even breaking a sweat.

And what of Lacho...it had been..forever. The coolest temper and the frostiest fingers, the mage had always been a great friend, and her very definition of 'swagger'. If he stroked his right tusk? He was pondering serious matters. And if he stroked his left... well...somewhere in Ogrimmar a female was probably still blushing.

And then there was Fenriz. The tauren warrior thought of three things. Hitting the enemy, hitting the booze, and hitting on women. She hadn't managed to figure out which one he was better at; he gave the mage Zolamon a run for his money when it came to pursuit of the flesh. All the same, he knew how to fight when it counted; he took blows like a furry brick wall.

It was a small band...just eight. Thoughts began to forge in her mind. What about others...she knew others. Where were they now? It'd been too long, Heresy realised, shame-facedly. Too long - because she had no idea where..or how..they were.

She'd have to ask them. One by one. She knew Snub would come, no doubt he'd gone mad by now having to tend to people like some sort of unwilling physician.

She laughed. Snub having to tend to others was only marginally more unnerving than the idea of Plenair being sane or Gharb standing over a dead warrior and saying "no thanks, I'll just have the salad."

She couldn't believe she had not thought of it before. Would it be enough for a start? After all, a few more......and they would be invincible.

Could they band together and forge a new way for themselves with no rules but their own?

They had all always been that little bit..confined, frustrated with their lot, craving a freedom in this strange new world that they had not yet been granted.

Perhaps it was time they made that freedom for themselves. They didn't HAVE to answer to anyone. It was time to act like it.

They'd need a few more, but it was perhaps enough to make a start. And perhaps if they came, others world follow.

It was a lot to hope for, but she felt invigorated by the idea.

She leapt to her feet and ran into Haramad's quarters to begin writing all of them. She barely glanced at the holograph of the Consortium's leader, and she didn't worry about bowing; she wasn't that kind of rogue, and he wasn't that kind of Prince.

"Prince Haramad..." she began slowly, her glowing red eyes eyeing him up before she formed the next sentence. "What would you say to a few friends joining me? Maybe protect your interests and resources around Netherstorm, run some patrols....we'd bring more gold to the table and of course you'd benefit from a cut; in exchange for letting us set up a base here."

The image before her swirled a moment, and he merely nodded at her. She thought she saw a slight smile form but it was impossible to tell. Swirling ethereal beings of energy, barely held in a recognisable form by magically charged arcane fabric, aren't given to intricate expressions of mood.

Elegant, mercenary, and asked no questions.

These days? That was just the way she liked it.

She licked the tip of the quill pen and began to write.

Snub...

You grumpy old orc...read this with both sides of your brain, will you? I have an idea that might interest you...

Days passed.

The responses began to come in, one by one.

She stood by the mailbox, clutching letters from them in her hand...Rags and Torune, Sancha, Doombreed.... and even Arcorash.

A slight smile formed on her lips.

It had begun.