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Murue

A Reunion

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It had been almost a week since Myria had replied to the invitation.  The time since seemed to both slow to a crawl and then also suddenly be on her before she could fully grasp what was happening.  The young warlock sat in the Legerdemain Lounge’s most pushed back table she could seat herself at.  The wall may as well have been to her back, yet her safety wasn’t what was driving her nerves.

There was a clock.  A loud, obnoxious thing.  Or had it actually been that she was just focusing too much on every little thing?  The clinking of glass as what she assumed was a new server clumsily almost dropped her tray.  The obnoxious goblin making some joke in a language she didn’t know.  A barker yelling out the day’s news from over the din of the city around them.  Hoofbeats.

Myria raised her head from the book she wasn’t actually reading.  Her eyes turned to the door, waiting to see who was coming in next.  The wolf’s instinct made her tense but the draenic couple walking in seemed to permit her the relaxing exhale that she needed.  It wasn’t the corpse.

The thought occurred to her that's how she had been referring to him more and more recently.  She didn’t even get a good look at him aside from the glance of him in his armor.  She did however know, he was dead.  Undead.  It didn’t sit right with her, but at the same time she recognized it made sense.  Why wouldn’t he be undead?

The moment he arrived was of course the moment she had lost focus.  By the time she had regained her attention, he had spotted her.  The death knight looked across the room at her and smiled.  His face was ripped almost from ear to ear, held together only by disgusting dark twine.  Myria flinched and in turn so did he.  The dead man shrugged, as if to say ‘I get it’.  He then walked over to her table and stood at the opposite seat.  His hand, normal seeming save for the pale cold dead color of the flesh, rested on the back of the chair.


“May I sit?”

Myria was looking at him.  Her face unreadable as the mix of thoughts and emotions made it difficult to express.  The corpse’s disgusting, abominable smile shifted but remained a sickening sight.  The warlock realized she was staring and nodded.

“Y-Yes, please.  Sit.  Make yourself comfy…”

The corpse paused then nodded, almost cheerfully, as he pulled the seat back and plopped down into its cushion.  The death knight’s hands laced their fingers together and then there was silence.  The awkward silence had garnered some onlookers but lost them almost as quickly.

“So,” began Myria.  “You’re my dad?  Mum didn’t exactly paint you as the knightly sort.”

James raised an eyebrow.  His smirk straining the twine.

“No.  No I was not.  As far from knightly as I could get without being an utter bas-err, well without being a monster.  I take it you don’t remember me much then?”

Myria shook her head.  “Just what mum told me and I think a few dreams I had as a child but not really, no.  I was what, three when you disappeared?”

This cut the death knight a little, though that hadn’t been Myria’s intention.  He nodded, his body relaxing in a dismal fashion.  As if he were slumping into the uncomfortable truths that were liable to be brought up.

“That’s about right.  You weren’t very big at all.  Kept disappearing into boxes and barrels every time we packed up the wagon.”

The young warlock seemed confused by this.  “Wagon?”

“Yeah,” James responded, nodding as if to confirm it further.  “We didn’t exactly live in one spot.  We had a big wagon.  Maybe you’d call it a carriage but we lived in it.  It was like a moving house pulled by two rather stubborn nags.”

“I don’t remember.”

“I’m not really surprised.  I don’t remember being that young either.  Given what was happening at the time...no, nevermind.  You had your own issues I can guess…”

 

His smile never stopped seeming sinister.  The jagged and unhealing wounds beneath the stitching seemed to ensure it would always have a malicious tinge to it.  It made it hard for Myria to read him.

“Yeah, you could say that.  I know you guys thought Gilneas would be safe and it was for a few years but you know how that went.  It got worse when mum left me with auntie Breigha.  Poor old lady disappeared one night just a few months in too.  Though I expect the poor old maid got mugged or bit or something one night.”

This twisted smile seemed to look sort of like a W for a second.  Was the dead man frowning?  James sat back in his chair, thinking something.

“So who took you in then?  I know it’s not easy for a child to get by on their own.  Especially in a town like Gilneas proper.”

“I got picked up by a pissy warlock named Scriehemn.  He’d been picking off urchins and orphans and homeless folk to offer up to the Legion.  He was after mum’s books.  Got me along with them.”

“And you learned how to summon Ahn’Kheralhath.”

This made Myria pause.  “How do you know her full name?”

“We’ve crossed paths.  More than once.  Never pleasantly.  I think it’s best that the fewer details shared on that the better.  I will tell you I know that’s only a third of her name and that unless she’s had a massive change of personality in recent times, she is a massive bitch.”

Myria just blinked.  Her clear attempts to suppress whatever thoughts she may have had about the demon and the dead man claiming to be her father were painfully inadequate.  Perhaps the disgust was a sign maybe it was all true.  After this regretful moment she looked back up at him.

“Can I ask where you were?  I mean, after you got free I mean.”

James’ frown became more mournful.  The twisted ruin of his face allowed at least that it seemed.

“I spent a number of years...unwell.  Nearly a decade.”

The warlock’s eyebrow raised.  “You’re undead.  I didn’t think you could get sick.”

The death knight tapped the side of his head where the brain should be.  After a moment, Myria mouthed ‘Oh.” and the two sat quietly.  A server finally came by to break up the silence.

“Can I get you two anything?  We’ve a number of a fair selection of ales and wines and our kitchen can make just about anything.”

“Just water for me, oh and I’ll be paying for the whole lot when we’re done.”

Myria glared at the death knight.  He gave her a smile but then gestured for her to order.  Then a devilish thought came to her.

“Two stouts, a roast chicken, a large slice of ham, steak, the soup you had advertised, a salad, a slice of the apple pie and some bread if you don’t mind to start.”

“Coming up dearie.”

James waited for the waitress to leave before smirking.

“I see we’ve spent time with the dwarves.  Not bad company usually.”

“Not going to break the bank is it ‘dear old dad’?”

“Not really no.  I wrote some books I hope you never read.”

The calm way he seemed be unphased by either her order or her attempt to catch him off-guard irritated Myria slightly but she was more amused by the notion of the books.  “Why?”

“Well, one of which recounts the night your mother and I-”

“NOPE!  NOPE NOPE NOPE! I REGRET EVERYTHING!”

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