Story Time: Codex

This is the story I wrote for Tyledres for the #FFW

http://tyledres.blogspot.com/2013/12/furtive-father-winter-gift.html

Codex

By Mataoka

Nothing came easy for her, nothing. Never did, never will, Vaunt reckoned. She stared at the giant Orc’s bushy, black-bearded face.

Deep in a protected grove of Silverpine Forest rested a small farm owned by a human family. The patriarch of the family gave her father Borbchek his first job, years ago. “Job” is too kind of a word, for he was an indentured servant, working off a debt, and they took him in not out of kindness or charity, but because they recognized cheap, crafty labor. Some say the family had ties to the Proudmoores, but the lady of the house started these rumors. Borbchek kept his mouth shut, and big, green pointy ears open.

The Second War Goblins were notorious financial mercenaries, and would sell their own grandmother if enough gold were involved. Many did. In the case of Borbchek, his father drowned in a crossing, and his mother’s unscrupulous morals and addiction to nogginfogger elixir trumped her motherly instincts, as feral as they were, and she packed off Borbchek to the highest bidder, never giving him a second thought.

From bits and pieces, odds and ends he found in the tool shed, Borbchek crafted a mechanical device designed to dig up rocks, clear debris and scrubby pines, pulverize each stone and boulder to get to the rich soil. His tinkering and engineering contributions to the family are what created their prosperity, and yet they did not reward him or allow him to share in the riches. So, he stole what he needed, or felt he deserved: they seemed none the wiser. A piece of silver cutlery here, or an ivory button there, made no difference. His mechanical cleverness, however, did not carry over to his rapacity skills, and one of the other house goblins tattled on his thievery. He had stolen more than a kiss from her, and she was disgusted in his lack of honor in claiming paternity rights to the green bun in her oven. So, pregnant with his bastard daughter, she told the mistress of the house about his thievery, and his loss would be replaced by the baby’s future labor. He hanged in Gallows’ Corner the next full moon.

The snitching maid raised her daughter, Vaunt, in the household without incident. Her mother wanted to name her something that sounded close to ‘vault,’ to remind herself that she was a secret treasure. Or perhaps her spelling wasn’t too accurate. In any case, Vaunt joined the human household and as soon as she could walk and carry a bucket, began her life of servitude.

Vaunt inherited little of her father’s mechanical skills, so she served the family in the dairy, milking cows and goats. She had a knack for delicious cheeses and butter, and an odd manner or talent with the livestock. Every chicken, barn cat or field mouse would do her bidding: she discovered this talent one pathetic winter morning: slicing snow and sleet caused the milk bucket to freeze up, so she commanded the poor cow to heat up her milk, and squirt faster. The cow obliged. Though she didn’t speak cow, chicken, or goat, somehow she knew their thoughts, and they hers.

Then came the Third War: slaughtered by the Scourge, the family members arose, reborn from death, one by one to serve the Lady. Even in death they reigned supreme, chartered by the sensual Sylvanas. Vaunt looked at her own knobby, bowlegged posture, her overly large hands, calloused from milking and churning, and felt that deep acknowledgment that her destiny would never fit in with this beautiful, lost-souls of a clan. Her mother felt dissatisfied too, with serving the ghoulish lot who were ungrateful at best, and damn near elitist puffery at worst. So in the middle of the night, they packed up their things, helping themselves to the family silverware and guild gold, and headed for the sunnier, warmer side of the world: Orgrimmar.

Farming, dirt, and stink were no strangers to the canyon compound of Orgrimmar. It was quite a contrast from the moon-soaked grass and the hushed, haunted pines of the forest she left behind. Homesickness shook her to her core. Her mother found employment as a hostess and barmaid in a local tavern, and barely noticed her daughter’s comings and goings. To get some different air than the burnt-oil grease fires on the walls of the city, Vaunt followed her nose to an underground, shadowy place, aptly named the Cleft of Shadow. It smelled refreshing to her big green nose: like burnt ink and toads’ kisses, more like home than any other place in Orgrimmar. She tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible while she slunk down the long, rough-hewn corridor. A master warlock trainer, Zevrost, smelled the cow dung and spoiled milk on her clothing, and grabbed her by the nape of her neck, holding her prone to get a good look at her. She pursed her lips in fear, afraid that her big mouth would get her into further trouble: this Orc meant business, growling, “What are you doing down here, little runt?”

Vaunt had had enough: the homesickness, the loss, the solitude, and the stink. She shouted back at the Orc’s angry face, “How the hell should I know! Your breath stinks, this place smells like pig’s ass on a hot day, and you can all go straight to hell and Draenor for all I give a rat’s nipple!”

No one had ever spoken to Zevrost in this way. Not even that barmaid…no, never mind, a story for another time. His Voidwalker, Zekkor, even seemed flummoxed. Zevrost looked in the girl goblin’s burning red eyes, with the ring of deep purple around the green-black pupils, and saw who she would become.

Years later, a powerful warlock in her own right, she found a book.

Or the book found her.

From Jeni: A Little Fish

A Little Fish

Mrs Whitworth returned to acting out the normal cat duties that were expected of her by society.  She slept in sunny windowsills during the day, only moving when the dark memories of the faire returned with dusk. Nights, she left presents of rodent parts on the front steps, because that is what cats do, isn't it?  Knowing she owed her life and safety to the girl, she deigned to warm her lap when it suited her. Life returned to bland normalcy, except that Mrs Whitworth was still a cat. Without an antidote, that wasn't going to change anytime soon.

The girl seemed to have become attached to having Mrs Whitworth around. Her bowl was always full of fresh meat. The girl placed a potted catnip in the window above the sink. There was a basket lined with a warm, slightly worn blanket for her to sleep in next to her bed. The window in the back of the house was open just enough to allow her to escape for hunting and other business, and of course to return through. A normal cat would be content.

Mrs Whitworth was not content, she was frustrated. At the time, being anything other than human was a happy daydream. The reality of not being able to study due to the sharpness of her claws and the weight of the books was always in her thoughts. Her inability to replace the antidote didn't bother her as much, having the little one to look after. To have books to read while she was watching the little imp would certainly improve things. She needed something to wile away the time.

Opportunity presented itself in the form of a vacation. The girl had fashioned leashes for the kitten and Mrs Whitworth, but never attempted to use them. This day she spotted them laying over a satchel next to the front door. Her dish was empty and the window was closed. The girl scooped up the kitten and fitted it with a leash. Mrs Whitworth debated hiding under something low and difficult to reach under, but acquiesced. Leashes in hand and satchel looped over her shoulder, the girl made her way to the hot air balloon. They were going to Pandaria!

Mrs Whitworth kept the kitten from climbing the sides of the basket. She had help, but the view from where the girl was kept her distracted most of the time. About 3 hours into the trip, the kitten tired of trying to escape and settled down under Mrs Whitworth's watchful paw for a nap.  The smell of the air had changed from the slightly sooty smell of home to a cleaner, flowery fragrance. Whiskers twitching appreciatively, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the smell.

The basket landed with a bump, startling the cats awake. The girl tugged gently on the leashes, resettling the satchel on her shoulder as she left. The cats followed as she walked off the landing pad and over to a small village on the side of a hill.  Bridges connected the bits of green broken by the oddly shaped pond the village was built around.   A bear-like creature motioned for her to follow it to a slightly larger cottage. Inside what now was obviously a tavern, the girl spoke with another bear, who led them to a a spot by the fireplace. "You can bunk down here.  It's not much, but when you need it, it will have bedding and a privacy screen.  The little ones are welcome to stay in the village while you are off picking up the jade you wanted at the mines.  We'll make sure they stay close and out of trouble." The girl set her satchel next to a bench and let the cats off their leads. "I'm trusting you to stay close.", she said as she scratched each one gently under the chin. She left the bowls and leads near the bench and nodded to the tavern owner as she left.

The innkeeper filled the bowls with some chopped meat then whistled loudly. A cub came in and asked, "Whatcha want, Uncle Goldendraft?"

 "Make sure these little ones stay within the village walls, Shin. Why don't you find them some friends to play with?"

"You got it, boss!" Shin patted the cats on their heads then said, "Let's go to the pond.  There are some nice fish in there.  Maybe you can catch one!"

Mrs Whitworth followed the cub to the waters edge and peered in.  There were many different colored fish in the water, and all sizes. She watched the kitten tentatively put its paw into the water, then frantically shake it to get the water off. The kitten began a lengthy grooming, so Mrs Whitworth sat looking at the fish, trying to decide if she wanted one for a toy or a treat. As she sat contemplating, her tail swishing back and forth, the cub tossed a handful of crumbs out onto the water.  The water boiled with frenzied fish, all fighting at the surface trying to get a morsel. A crumb floating near the shore was snatched up by a very small white fish. Without thinking, Mrs Whitworth swiped her paw, claws sheathed, under the fish and pulled it out of the water. The cub, seeing this, hurried over and plopped the little fish into a mug of water. "You caught one!"  Now you have a friend to take home with you. Let's go show Uncle Goldendraft!"

The cub picked up the kitten who had dozed off and carried it with the mug of water to the tavern, Mrs Whitworth close behind. "Uncle! Do you have a glass bowl?  The cat caught a tiny white carp!" He set the kitten down on a table, still sleeping, and brought the mug to the bar.

"Yes, Shin, here it is. While I get the fish settled, why don't you make sure your friends are comfortable.  Get the screen and the bedding out of the closet and set them up near the fire."

Anything you say, boss. Can I have a mug of Pearl Milk Tea?"  The question was muffled by a pile of bedding twice as tall as Shin as he staggered toward the fire under his burden. He laid it out, fluffed the pillows, then settled the purring kitten against them.  Mrs Whitworth circled several times, pawing the blankets into a suitable nest before settling down. Shin went back to the closet, walking back with a flower patterned silk screen, which he set up between the fireplace and the bar, closing off a small area for the travelers to call their own for their short stay. Happy with his work, Shin hopped up on a bar stool and grabbed a mug.

"Shin! Don't drink that, it's pond water!" Uncle Goldenbrew slid a new mug full of tea closer to the boy. "This is yours. Thank you for your help. When you're done, take your mom this package of rice noodles.  She needs it for your dinner."

Shin wiped his mouth on his arm and grabbed the package. He peeked behind the screen at his new friends, smiled at their purr filled dreaming, and slipped quietly out the door.

Evening came and the girl returned with a much heavier satchel.  Wearily, she asked the barkeep for a glass of wine and something warm to eat as she sat down heavily at the bar.  Mrs Whitworth hopped up on the next stool. "This land is so rich. I have enough jade to make a trinket and even possibly a few pieces of jewelry. We'll leave in the morning. Did you enjoy yourself, cat?" The girl rubbed behind Mrs Whitworth's ear.

Mrs Whitworth smiled to herself, a paw resting on the small glass bowl.  She had enjoyed herself, for a while. She might enjoy the fish later, too. She licked her lips in anticipation as the girl picked her up and brought her back behind the screen for the night.

Look! My Furtive Father Gift from Jeni at Escapist Scrawl! Thank you so much, I love it! Postscript: Here is the other part of the gift, a beautiful, pearly Tiny White Carp: