Chapter 3

Good Morning

The coach skittered to a halt, kicking up plumes of dust. When it settled, the goblin bruiser was still there, a gloved hand raised while the other rested easily upon the weapon at its side.

“Carriages are forbidden beyond this point,” the bruiser said automatically.

After a moment, a muffled voice answered from within the coach.

“It is alright, Percilus. I can make the rest of the journey on foot.”

The door swung open, and from the coach emerged a Draenei. He was dressed in the ambassadorial robes of a magus, and his shoulders were nearly as broad as he was tall. Three of the bruisers could have been put side by side across, and he still might have been broader.

“Booty Bay thanks you for your cooperation, mage,” said the goblin, revealing a set of fanged teeth in a wide smile.

“It is nothing,” replied the Draenei, turning toward his driver, “Wait for me, Percilus. I shall not be long.”

The hooded driver, most likely human judging by his posture, nodded in reply.

The Draenei turned and walked into Booty Bay’s Stranglethorn entrance, casually wondering if the giant jaws guarding the mouth were real.

---

He finally opened his eyes. He had been awake and aware for several minutes, but it was against his free will. In Booty Bay, one could rarely escape the noise and cacophony for even a second. Every hour of the day there would be one commotion or another. It was inescapable.

“Good morning, Stefan.”

So was she. But he liked that.

“Morning, blue eyes,” answered Stefan, turning and planting a kiss on the woman’s cheek. “Sleep well?”

“It took some time, but eventually I was able to close my eyes,” she replied slyly.

“I love when you talk like that,” he said, brushing a stray magenta-hued hair from her face.

“Mmm,” she murmured.

He saw the glimmer in her eyes. For the love of everything holy in the world, he wanted to answer it. But he couldn’t.

“Sorry, baby. I’ve got some work to do today,” he started, sliding out from under the covers. He began to dress himself.

“And there’s no time for dallying,” he started, turning back to her. She smiled provocatively, pulling the covers aside.

“Not even for that," he managed to choke.

She pouted her lips, sliding the covers back on. He pulled on a clean white jacket and turned to check himself in a mirror.

Stefan Dreis was a young man who would turn twenty-seven next month. For as long as he could remember, he would always do his dark-brown hair the same way every day: wild. As a result, beyond his clean-shaven face and nifty wardrobe, the crown of his head appeared as if it had endured a full hour in the Maelstrom.

He slid on his weapon belt, running a hand along the wooden maces, admiring their craftsmanship. He had come a long way from that dreary afternoon in Elwynn.

---

Stefan had just turned twelve when his father had decided it was time for him to learn the art of war. Every day, for just over an hour, his father would have him practice strokes and stances. And every day his father would scold him for not using his sword properly, or laying to heavily into his axe strokes. At one point, his father was not sure if he would ever become a warrior.

But one day, Stefan had stumbled upon a pair of old rolling pins stashed away in the woodshed. Till the sun was dipping low in the sky, he kept wailing away at an oak tree. When he returned, beaten and sweaty, he had told his father of his find.

Father! I am not good with a sword, and am even worse with an axe...but I think I’m a master with the mace! he had said.

Then show me lad. The Light has yet to show me a miracle, but I’m all for second chances, his father had replied.

In the end, Joseph Dreis still bettered his son. But Stefan had put up quite a fight, and nearly bested him. After months of training and endless frustration, Joseph Dreis could finally give his son a genuine smile.

Well done lad. Tomorrow, we’ll take you to the smithy and get you a fine pair of maces. I reckon that some old day or another, they will earn you a fine coin in your purse. And if you’re any son of mine, it’ll earn you plenty.

---

“And look at me now. I’m a bloody sword for hire.”

“What?”

He turned back to the naked woman in his bed, and smiled.

“Ah, nothing, love. Talking to myself,” he confessed, giving the collar of his jacket a quick turn, “Anyways, I’ve got to get going. Probably already late, knowing me.”

“Then why not stay and make another appointment?” she cooed.

“Ha, wouldn’t you love that? Alright, I’m off. Bye Lory,” he said, disappearing behind the door.

In the hallway, he cursed inwardly.

Miss that for some pence? Better be a good deal of it, or Uther’s not getting any donations for the next six weeks.