Seeds.

[Drinn]

A stout human worked in a small field settled between the hills of the Arathi Highlands. His tasks seemed arduous, repetitive. He would work down line after line of the newly turned soil of the plot, planting seed after seed. The thick smell of earth hung in the air as the sun started its descent and the sky lined in soft hues of blue and violent.
The farmer stood from his hunched position and stretched his tired back, looking out over his days work. He smiled to himself glad to see the job done and knelt to pick up a half empty bag of seeds. He had only half a breath before a pain shot suddenly through his lower back as a slim blade slid just below his first rib.
The man’s eyes bulged and rolled backward as small hand came around and clamped firmly over his mouth, silencing any possible noise.
“Shh. Quel thenal….”, a soft female voice soothed as his body jerked forward once, twice and then suddenly became still.
________

Atticuss hobbled his way down the overly decorated halls of the Silvermoon Inn towards the now all too familiar accommodations. As he entered the room his fingers curled and pulled at the piece of fabric that covered his face, loosening it just the slightest bit.

“Elf?”

There was no response.

“Drinn, you here?”

Again, silence.

“Hmph”, the Forsaken grunted and glanced over the sparse living arrangements to find it empty. Dismissively he rolled his shoulders and went to only table in the room. On it laid a thick burlap bag stained in blood.
Atticuss furrowed his brow and without much regard pulled the bag open only to have a number of seeds spill onto the floor along with a small piece of parchment.

The parchment also stained in blood read in now brown lettering: “Love, D”

[Atticuss]

Atty stared at the bag, the note, and the pile of seeds on the floor for a moment, then uttered, "Drinn can't touch nothin without gettin blood all over it."

Leaning over, he pinched a single seed between his thumb and forefinger. "So what the hell are you?" He asked it. "Some kind of berry?"

He popped it into his mouth.

Though Atticuss would sometimes bore drinn with detailed explanations about how to plant, nourish, and harvest crops, he had no firsthand knowledge of it whatsoever. His fascination with farming was a purely intellectual one, rendered totally insubstantial by the fact that he, in all his life, had never worked at something honest.

He spit the seed onto the floor. "Bleh."

Atticuss flipped over the page that Drinn had written on, reached for a quill pen and began scribbling words.

"Thanks for the wood chips," he wrote, then pondered what more to put down. He drew a picture of a gnome with it's arms cut off, cartoonish fountains of blood spraying from the stumps.

"Love, Atty," he finished.

He left shortly thereafter, looking for some place to start up trouble.