Fynne

Correspondence

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__________

Dear Nymare,

(Should I have put Baroness? I’m awfully new at this!) It was good to see you alive and well; I must apologize again for my immovable position regarding your presence in Gnomeregan, but due to the recent political climate in regard to The Grim, particularly regarding capital cities, it wouldn’t be prudent to allow you to remain in Alliance territory. Although, may I suggest that the next time we meet for conversation, perhaps we select a more comfortable locale – the bar fights in Booty Bay didn’t lend well to productive conversation, and I fear that I may have missed some important translations from the Cartel in the noise.

Despite the brawling, it was communicated to me (perhaps jokingly? I can never tell, it doesn’t translate well) that you might have need of some flasks, which I would be more than happy to provide you. Actually, I remember your talent as a jewelcrafter, and if you are willing, I would be very interested in trading some of your wares for mine.

I hope that the war between our factions, guilds, and I dare say, peoples won’t come between us.

Your friend,

Sir Henri Fynne

p.s. Since I put Sir in there, I probably SHOULD have put Baroness at the beginning! I’ll remember next time!

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It had been days since she received it, and she could have overlooked it, but bumping into him was becoming too much. Nymare glowered down at the parchment by candlelight, not sure if she was more irritated by the fact that she felt she had to respond or that she did not know what to say.

Or perhaps it was because the last time she had to write a letter and Henri Fynne was involved, it required far too much of her own involuntarily spilled blood as ink, pain as a message, and love as a result. She had not been sure what all she would give for Leoren until that moment. All these months later, however, all she had left was the memory, which elicited a dull sear of pain down her left forearm and a wrenching ache in her chest. With a frown, the Sin'Dorei flexed her fingers until it was gone again.

The ache did not fade as mercifully.

After a few more long moments of contemplating just crumbling the message and not thinking of it again, she finally began writing.

__________

Fynne -

I appreciate the sentiment, but formalities are hardly necessary with me. I think we have experienced enough with each other to be passed that. At the very least, I would hate to think what else it would take to allow us to drop such rigid structure.

There is also no need to apologize for the somewhat awkward escort out of Gnomeregan. You were far more merciful than I might have been to a perceived trespasser, even if she were doing me the favor of ridding the world of irradiated troggs and gnomes.

Have you always been a Sir? I forget. I noticed you and Jilliane were together. Does this mean your fairy tale has found its happy ending? Whatever became of the wicked witch?

As for our guilds, factions, and peoples coming between us - such a thing cannot be anything but inevitable. It is human nature to destroy and betray. Just as my people were victim to Arthas, to Garithos, I've felt destruction at your hands.

You helped save me once, do not think I have forgotten, but I also have not forgotten how it came to be -- what you are capable and incapable of. You shied away when I looked you in the eye. Can I take that to mean you are still not as free as you should be?

Nymare

PS - What is it you were trying to tell me in Shattrath? It really is too loud there to understand even my own language half the time.

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__________

Nymare,

I did not realize your intentions in Gnomeregan, and despite the Alliance’s official stance on the situation being under control, I have little doubt that more help in that regard is always welcome. My party had been tracking the progress of a small band of Horde, no more than two or three at the most, as they traveled from Menethil Harbor up through the Loch and Dun Morogh; there was much butchery along the way, and with Gnomeregan being so near, Herms suspected that it might have been you. I dissuaded him, but as I’m sure you noticed, he’s very set in his ways. Still, joining up with The Grim – even I have my doubts, sometimes.

I haven’t always been a Sir, no – that (and being with Jilli) is definitely a perk of living in a fairy tale world, these days! As for the wicked witch, do you get The Gazette in Silvermoon? If not, it’s easy enough to pick up in any goblin town. Jilliane sold the story to some Goblin, it talks about what happened to Aly in it. Actually, I just checked, and they haven’t published it yet. I think they’re going for some kind of weekly release aspect, sells more copies, gets more gold or something.

(And definitely not any writer’s block or laziness on Fynne’s part, no ma’am!)

If the suspense is all that terrible though, we can meet up somewhere again, and I’ll give you the details.

I feel that I can never apologize enough for what I allowed myself to become at Alyiane’s hands – but even so, you can see that I still make excuses. I’m sorry, Nymare, for all the pain I’ve caused you, and any terrible things that came to pass because of your ever getting mixed up with me. If it is any consolation at all, what I told to Herms and Sare in Gnomeregan all that you sacrificed to help me – someone you didn’t know at all – against Alyiane. The displeasure of the Ghants (how well I remember), Alyiane and Evanthe’s wrath, your friendship with Skafloc, no doubt some manner of tension with Leoren, whatwith breaking Silvermoon’s laws to meet with me near the city so often—the list goes on, and I’m sure it’s not nearly complete.

I understand that saving you does little more (if that) than set even for what Alyiane made me do – see? There I go making excuses again - for what I did. There are still many, many things for which I owe you, and I do try to settle the debt from time to time. No doubt you might have noticed paths devoid of monsters, where monsters ought lurk – or treasure and trinkets found easily where it ought not be. Perhaps, of late, you might have noticed the fervor with which my party have hunted warlocks of The Grim, and found yourself spared.

It is true that I am not free of Alyiane’s runes, but I am free of her control. The other warlock that travels with me, Sare, sees to that. She has much to fear from Alyiane, and is bound with runes to be unable to defend herself from the witch – but Jilliane sees to it that Alyiane cannot harm Sare, and so Sare keeps me safe from Alyiane as well. It is a curious triangle of alliances, but it allows me freedom to use my considerable experience with warlocks to my advantage rather than my detriment, and I have taken to hunting them.

It was that, which I tried to communicate to you in Shattrath – I saw you upon a flaming steed, as I had in Nagrand – but this time of my own mind, and not clouded by Alyiane. As you know, I cannot lie to a warlock, and I give you my word, Nymare, that so long as we are friends, we will not be enemies.

Your friend,

Sir Henri Fynne

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Livid - to her, the word was far too small to describe how she felt. About everything. If one thing had not changed in all this time, it was her reaction to being questioned. About anything.

Untrustworthy? Did she blind -herself-? I shot him. I was taken down mercilessly in return in Skettis. I retaliated in Nagrand when the bear moved out of turn and attacked.

Bitterly, her fingers tore at the clasps of her armor, the fel green of her eyes cutting an eerie swath through the darkness of the Inn's room as, one by one, the pieces of mail fell to the ground in an unceremonious clamor at her feet.

What would she know? She was dead.

And when I shot, they kept me from attacking.

They took Aeacus away. They knew they would need to in order to restrain me... that was my fault, I should not have given them the chance. Aeacus for The Grim, though? If it bought them time...

The sound of Greebo's voice in her head suggesting she might be better suited in Sanctuary only further destroyed what semblance of calm she had managed to regain after leaving Nagrand. She had never felt so utterly alone, so insulted. It was Anaie's words that had helped ground her, and eventually Qabian's oddly inspiring assertion that if she knew what she wanted, she could make it happen, which had brought her even the smallest bit of peace. Without looking, she reached to the bedpost and ripped away the robe hanging from it to wrap securely around herself.

Just breathe.

Resting her head in her hand, she slowly turned to face the desk wedged under the half-shuttered window, the moonlight showing through the cracks to reveal a letter waiting for her there. It was not a long read. Without a word or sigh, she let it fall from fingertips beginning to radiate with a deep violet back to the desk from whence it came.

It began as a small growl in the back of her throat, slowly evolving into something more like the feral scream of an enraged animal as all energy burst from her at once. The darkness pulsed out in a violent explosion of fel energies that quickly imploded back in on itself, sucking in some of the room's shadows with it.

A void and a soft thrum remained where the desk once stood.

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__________

Dear Nymare,

I can only assume that your adamant refusal to allow me any closer to your warlock ally means that you condone his actions and his methods. I have come, with great difficulty, to the conclusion that not all warlocks are wicked. The Grim, however, have professed time and time again that they are wicked in their entirety. I can conclude, therefore, that warlocks from The Grim merit slaying at every turn, and I had thought, with your exception.

What is the meaning of your – intervention? Betrayal? Is this your idea of an eye-for-an-eye? Gazes and blood, to be certain, would be terrible enough, I think, coming from you, but to teach that to the rest of your company? To what end, Nymare? Shall I stop hunting Grim, and let them walk about Azeroth, Kalimdor, and Outland unchecked, to spread their taint and wickedness, and I dare say, corrupt those that were once so full of goodness and kindness and tempt them into their fold? Shall I let warlocks wander free, that we all might someday have a thousand Alyiane’s on our hands?

If nothing else, I have learned today not to hunt alone – that I cannot be trusted to know myself when I have gone too long to be susceptible to my enemies’ blood, or when the odds have grown so great that I should retreat rather than converse, whatever my curiosity begs me otherwise. Thank you for not killing me outright with your first arrow, though I have little doubt it is within your skill – or perhaps, once was, before you split your practice between other arts. I have come to be prepared for almost anything in this new line of work, but I would have surprised myself to ever have guessed that you would have done what you did so underhandedly today. I shudder, then, to think what you might have done if I had not escaped.

I once bared to you many of the deepest yearnings of my heart, and so I will again. There are few things I wish for more than to hear you tell me that there is a purpose utterly benign behind all of this, that you are not my enemy. I hope to hear from you soon.

(The writing here is shaky)

Your friend,

Sir Henri Fynne

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__________

(The entirety of the page is lettered with shaky handwriting)

Nymare,

Where is the woman who helped me? Who showed me kindness? Who did not slay me utterly for any reason other than the fact that my race is a part of the Alliance? Is she dead, buried beneath tome upon tome of warlock magic? Have The Grim brainwashed her, so consumed with their ugliness that they could not help but consider her beauty a trophy to be taken? Whatever has happened to her, does a part of her yet remain?

I must tell myself so. I beg for it. I weep for it. I have hunted these Grim, and you are not like them – despite what you so earnestly tell me. I found a druid, quite inexperienced, bearing Grim colors in Hellfire Peninsula, shepherded along by a rogue, easily a veteran, wearing the same. I slew them both, but when they made their way through the Nether back to their bodies, they were clad in different colors: cowardice. The rogue vanished away, and it was only moments later that my scouts reported to me that he had fled to Orgrimmar.

Perhaps this was an isolated incident? Rogues are often cowards, as well I know, for I battle the stigma, among others, daily. But it was only last eve that I tracked down those two warlocks you saw fit to bring to the World’s End, the eyeless one and the water-bound one, and I found the same behavior. The weak one fell quickly enough, but the eyeless one showed the same colors as the rogue – rather than stay to help her comrade, she fled and leapt from the edge of the floating island. Two, still, can be coincidence, can’t it?

I would have stayed longer – warlock corpses do draw my attention, as you well know – but I received a terrible notice. The voice of a Draenei sang out over my hearthstone, pleading for aid; the call was followed by screams, and I had to silence my own stone when the cries and shrieks from Forest Song were too much, for it became quickly apparent that this person was no longer capable of silencing his. When I came to their aid, imagine my surprise to stumble across you and another Grim. I cannot stress enough, however, the distinct
lack
of surprise when this other one abandoned you. Three times, I think, is not coincidence.

You stood to face us after Sare had her way with you, but this other elf fled, like so many other Grim. And yet, you do not flee when it is only you that can help them; you ride deep into forests, across lakes, you betray friendships to give them underhanded tricks like blood and gazes. You risk everything, fight to your last, and they flee, and cower, and hide. Don’t you see? You’re different, you’re not like them; there is honor and camaraderie and spirit in you – gleaned from where, I cannot say for certain, but I can guess. And I would have never thought that it would be me to say that you were in better company surrounded by the House of Ghant.

Your friend,

Sir Henri Fynne

p.s. Your eyeless ally dropped something when she so hastily fled in Nagrand; you’ll find it attached to this letter. I have the fondest hope that you’ll use it to barter your way free from this ill company.

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((hehe I didnt know the fire elemental in the throne of elements aggro'd on battle :P that was funny. I am confused though, you hate all warlocks, but you travel with Sare? either way, this is fun and very good stuff. ))

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((hehe I didnt know the fire elemental in the throne of elements aggro'd on battle :P that was funny. I am confused though, you hate all warlocks, but you travel with Sare? either way, this is fun and very good stuff. ))

(Fynne doesn't hate all warlocks; he used to, but he realized that's pretty unrealistic - there are 'good' people who take up bad habits. That's why he's taken to hunting The Grim, because from what evidence he's gathered, The Grim are, without exception, evil. Fynne travels with Sare for a very specific reason: he needs at least one warlock on his side, and he knows that Sare isn't evil, per se.)

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Fynne travels with Sare for a very specific reason: he needs at least one warlock on his side, and he knows that Sare isn't evil, per se.

(( Oh silly, of course she is. She is alliance! Look at Stratholme. Look at the internment camps. The list of alliance atrocities is endless. For the Horde side, well, the Orcs didn't do a very good job of introducing themselves to you, but you can blame the Dranei and what they brought with them to the Orcs for that. We Forsaken are obviously misunderstood. Scourge is not Forsaken. This is a war of your own making, and every strike from the shadows that you make against us is another brick in the towering wall you build around your massive reservoir of lies and insanity. Come to us. Abandon your false pretenses. A few simple binding rituals to wipe away any lingering doubts and you can be a Knight-Captain of the Grim Marches. Also, after reading yer bio, what Sare has done to you? Totally evil. Bring her along too, we can always use more 'locks, plus, she looks cute kneeling next to a corpse. Admittedly I am thinking that you both need a *slightly* wider variety of targets than Forsaken-Grim-Warlocks-Named-Greebo, slipping into bit of a rut there. ;) ))

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( <3 Greebo, I LoLed pretty hard at that! Haha, we ARE killing other warlocks - Nymare just came out to stop Aquizit from being stabmofied the other day, and you were there for me killing Acherontia! Really, I blame A'dal and his whole 'sanctuary in Shattrath' thing - I can't get any of you there and you're all there all day long! Or in your home cities, which would be very un-good-guy to go hunt you down in!)

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( <3 Greebo, I LoLed pretty hard at that!

(( pleased to be of service ))

Haha, we ARE killing other warlocks - Nymare just came out to stop Aquizit from being stabmofied the other day,

(( oh I know that, Eboncraft too, I think, at least a few times. But admitting *that* would reduce my importance in my own little private fairy tale and we can't have that now can we? ))

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(On a more serious note, didn't Eboncraft leave and join another guild? I was looking for warlocks the other day and I noticed a change. I hope he didn't leave on account of the ganking. = / )

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__________

Dear Nymare,

You know that I cannot lie to you, though I have not tested the binding of this in letters. I would seek to speak with you, again, but it seems even then there can be misunderstanding. I should let you know what I earlier failed to eloquently declare: I would never tell Sare to use that magic against you, or against anyone, even as you sought to teach your fellow warlocks to use it against me!

I did not mean to imply that I had told Sare everything, though I do confess, she has ways of asking me that I cannot resist. To my knowledge, she has not discerned this information from me yet, and as far as I know, she has no reason to. Sare knows only that you and I were both captives of Alyiane, and that you know her torture as well as I.

I trust Sare immensely, and have the fullest confidence that she knows the wrath she would tempt from me if she ever attempted using Alyiane’s methods, particularly if it were against someone she knows I consider a good friend. However, if it will set you at ease, I will be more than happy to speak to her on the topic.

I regret that our rapport has been strained, of late, between matters with spiteful warlocks, bloodthirsty paladins, burnt towns and The Grim, but it is still my fond hope that we remain friends. I hope that when next I catch your scent, it is not on another battlefield.

Your friend,

Sir Henri Fynne

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__________

Dearest Henri,

I believe you may be mistaken in seeking friendship from any who profess to be Grim with the slightest degree of honesty, whether or not you share a history. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to correct my assumption in this, as you have had so many opportunities to correct my ill behavior in the past. You may have noticed how quickly I learn my lessons.

How sweet of you to direct your pet so well, to keep knowledge from her. We all know what occurs with the discovery of the ability to use true evil, don't we? You should indeed share it with her yourself. You wouldn't want to lose that last hint of control over her to someone else's information. If you trust her so much, prove it. Let your darling demon toy make her own decisions, as the Lady Nymare makes hers.

I doubt that your rapport with the Lady has changed as you may think it has in recent days. She does what she does because she chooses to do it. As do I. I hope that when next you catch her scent, hound that you are, she is inexplicably surrounded by those dead and dying you had hoped to save from suffering, and you will need to question yourself and your intentions yet again.

We are not heroes. Your mindset makes you predictable. What does that say about me? I am sure I will see you at the next burning town, yours or ours. If nothing else, it is good to play the game.

Selama ashal'anore,

Magister Qabian Amberlight

((OKed by Nym - not just me being a jerk))

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Henri read over the letter again, hands trembling angrily on the page. It was the twentieth time, at least, that he had put it away and retrieved it. The page bore creases and wrinkles from the countless times he’d balled it up and threatened to throw it into the hearth. Grabbing his cloak, he resolved to take another walk through Stormwind to calm himself.

“…‘to direct your pet so well’… ‘control over her’…” he mumbled to himself, jaw tight with frustration. “She’s not my damn PET!”

“Who isn’t, darling?” Sare purred, stepping from the shadows. She did so enjoy watching Fynne stalk the streets.

“You’re not,” he spat, forgetting for a moment that his rage wasn’t for her.

She didn’t seem to notice, “Don’t you have it a little backward?”

“Backward? You are my pet?”

“No, dear, you’re not my pet.” the warlock advanced on Fynne, smiling predatorily, “but you are mine.” Her eyes drew quickly to the letter clutched angrily in his hand, “Aly?”

“Qabian.”

“Who?”

“No one of consequence,” Fynne growled.

“Then why do you care what he thinks?”

“Because it should’ve been Nymare writing me!”

Sare’s teasing tone wavered, “And you’ve been discussing who’s whose pet with that warlock, why?

Fynne glared at Sare, shoving her away from him angrily, and taunted her mercilessly, “Maybe I’m looking for a new Mistress, Sare. A nice Blood Elf warlock to blood me, from time to time; the name sounds fitting, doesn’t it? She’s a damn sight prettier than-”

“-don’t you dare say it,” the warlock interrupted icily, stepping very slowly nose to nose with Fynne. “If you go to another warlock, we’re through. I’ll give you right back to Alyiane. Do you understand me?”

Fynne swallowed slowly, staring back at Sare with a growing sense of longing for Alyiane not entirely induced by the eye contact. “I understand. I’m sorry, Sare,” he said, finally.

Sare brightened immediately. Patting the top of Fynne’s head, she admitted, “Good boy. I wouldn’t ever give you back to her, you know that. Now, what’s in that letter?”

The two of them read it, Sare with annoyed curiosity and Fynne with renewed anger. “So, ‘my darling demon toy,’ I really should let you start making your own decisions,” he scoffed, “just like… the Lady… Nymare.” His words slowed as something dawned on him, illuminated in his mind by his own mocking tone. “He’s mocking me-”

“-I could’ve told you that.”

“-No, he thinks I don’t know. He’s hinting at his scheme, but he doesn’t think I’ll figure it out. They do this, you know? Villains. Always underestimating the hero,” Fynne explained to a baffled looking Sare. “Right here,” he continued, pointing to the page, “‘make her own decisions, like the Lady Nymare makes hers,’ but she’s obviously not making them! He’s the one writing the letter, taunting me, calling you my pet and then drawing a parallel to her… her hinting about me knowing what it’s like, to be controlled… her refusal to let me provide her with bone dust; why couldn’t I have seen this before? She’s obviously under his control! Begging me not to hunt him, joining The Grim, becoming a warlock–” he stopped suddenly, excitedly glancing back to Sare, “We have to save her. I owe her that!”

__________

Dear Nymare,

I know.

It is my duty as your friend to inform you that I can no longer keep my promise to you about my hunts; I have the strongest faith that when you are of your own mind, you will forgive me for this small betrayal.

Or perhaps I should address Qabian directly? No doubt your Master will read this, as well he should. I would advise him to find a deep hole to cower in. If I might be so bold, may I suggest Lordaeron? He will soon know a profound camaraderie with the rest of the corpses.

Perhaps he will hide behind The Grim? No doubt he could not perform the wickedness he has without assistance from others’ magic. Let every Grim know that each I cut down may blame him for their agony. I will not let them surrender; I will not let them beg. Let Qabian come, and let him beg for them. Let him free you, and only then, will I spare The Grim.

I will trade one promise for another. I will save you.

Your friend,

Sir Henri Fynne

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(

No doubt he could not perform the wickedness he has without assistance from others’ magic.

Don't you worry, mister warlock, I've got plenty of wrath for you too!)

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((heeey...since we pretty much know Malk has nothing to do with any of this...how about not hunting me down with a bunch of your friends :D, or alternatively (and preferably i might add!) send me gold to make me a happy panda! :D))

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(With 4 rogues lurking around the city? Nooo-ooo thank you! One on one, I'd consider it. But even then, I'd probably wait til it was at least 2:1 in my favor.)

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