“I’m telling you guys, those trees are following us!”
“Why would trees be following us?”
“They’re not really trees, Ren, they’re assassins in disguise!”
“Sure Em, assassins in disguise. And who would want to kill a bunch of homeless nobodies like ourselves?”
“Prolly Thrall,” Em nodded to herself, “Definitely Thrall.”
“Em does have a point.”
“Whoa whoa whoa. Back up. Iyo is agreeing with Emi’s conspiracy theory. Did I stumble into bizarre-o-world?”
The odd procession of hawkstriders, worgs, skeletal horses and a talbuk was currently passing through Redridge. It had been a quiet, introspective week for most of the 43rd, riddled with full days of silence as they travelled by foot. They were headed for the Swamp and Doogie had estimated it would take a couple weeks to traverse half the entire continent, so they took their time. Only now, a week into their exile, were people beginning to reach out to one another again. Emilei had actually been going on about Horde secret police and assassins for the past three days. Redridge was the first time someone actually responded.
“Hear me out Ren,” Iyo began, “whether or not there actually are ‘secret Horde police’ isn’t really important. What is important is the rather large conspicuous target we make. We’d like to think we’re all battle-hardened warriors, but we are headed into human territory and within an hours ride from the most populated Alliance city to boot.”
“The chicken makes a good point,” Ren grinned, earning a glare in return. “Let me guess, Iyo, you’ve already got a plan?”
Iyo didn’t reply, only squinted at the sun and then turned to look for the moons. Nodding to himself, he counted a few fingers before a manic grin lit up his face, “A solution shall present itself just over the next rise.”
“And now he predicts the future! Is there anything Iyo can’t do?” Cloe giggles from atop her pink hawkstrider, “I’ll race you there!”
“Hey guys! Wait up!” Berzhula grins, his own skeletal pony decked out in the 43rd’s colours, “Wait up!”
“Giddyup!” Em yells, her own hawkstrider ploughing through the pack and nearly dismounting a thoroughly dishevelled Seishougen. The remaining members of the 43rd passed by Lakeshire unmolested, leaving cowering guards in their wake. They were on the bridge when they heard Cloe’s excited squeal. Iyotanka merely chuckled to himself and continued his sedate pace, his worg’s claws clicking on the worn stone bridge.
At the top of the next rise, what Iyo was referring to (a campsite with nearly half a dozen tents) was visible, but his plan was not. As they got closer, the reason for Cloe and Emi’s excitement was apparent, but again, Iyo’s plan was not. One could have easily assumed the campsite was full of vacationing Lakeshirers if it hadn’t been for the brightly coloured purple and green flag atop the largest tent.
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“We’re going to what? Excuse me Iyo, I think I heard you say we’re going to join the Darkmoon Faire,” Leda fumed. They were battle-hardened warriors for Ysera’s sake, not chicken juggling carnies!
“That’s because I did say we are going to join the Darkmoon Faire. This way, we can travel through Elwynn without any humans noticing us – “
“I’m not sure you noticed, Iyo, but not all of us are as talented as you are.”
“Ah calm down, Leda. I’m sure they’ll pay remarkably well for a dancing bear,” her twin grinned and took the resulting punch in the arm as his punishment. “Its as good a plan as any.”
With a sigh, the General pulled off her tabard, gesturing for the others to follow suit. Their red tabards were stashed behind a bush near the border to Elwynn – they were now carnies.
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The first full day the Faire was open went by fairly quickly. It seemed all of Stormwind had been counting down the days and the fairgrounds were full of doe-eyed Gnomes, drunken Dwarves, bouncing Night Elves and the ubiquitous Humans. Leda and Cloe were assigned to the beverage counter and instructed to “Sell as much ale, beer and lager as you can and we’ll let you keep the profits!” As the goblin wandered over to Iyotanka and Sei at the rare goods stand, Cloe eyed up the tauren at her side.
“Cloe, what’s with the weird look? Hey, Cloe, my eyes are up here! What are yo- Whoa!”
“C’mon, you need a makeover honey!” The little blonde elf dragged Leda to Goldshire Inn, where thankfully no one commented on a Blood Elf and a Tauren holding hands and beelining for upstairs. Cloe closed the bathroom door behind her, both of them barely able to stand inside the tiny room. The corner of the vanity jabbed into Leda’s stomach and in the mirror, the Tauren could see Cloe cringing as the towel bar cut across her upper back. “Nice and cosy!” she beamed. Leda glared at her in the mirror. “Could you just sit a ... Hm... I didn’t realize you were so tall!”
Leda crouched uncomfortably so Cloe could reach her hair, crossing her arms like a petulant two year old. “I’m not exactly sure what you expect to accomplish here Cloe. Female Tauren aren’t exactly known for their sex appeal. We might be better off if I switched with Sei – some women drink beer right? Ow!” Cloe held up a large twig with several crunchy, dead leaves still hanging on it.
“Honestly, Leda, how often do you brush your hair?”
“It needs to be brushed?” Cloe’s resulting sigh was followed quickly by a fierce, determined look which only served to make Leda even more nervous. She knew that face - that was Cloe’s battle face. An hour later Leda’s hair had been brushed, curled, pinned and sprayed, her face had been washed and exfoliated (somewhat awkwardly) and copious amounts of eyeliner and lipstick had been applied.
“And now – drumroll please – the finishing touch!” Cloe grinned mischieviously, grabbed the front of Leda’s Darkmoon Faire tabard and ripped.
“What in the god’s name are you doing?!”
“Here, I’ll do it to mine too!” Her little hands grasped the thin silk fabric at the collar and ripped a good four inches down the front. “Watch, watch! We’ll sell soooo much booze!” Cloe quickly wriggled into it, which again, was extremely awkward inside the miniscule bathroom. Her arms zipped inside the tabard again and when they zipped out – her shirt was in her hand. “Ta da!” The resulting effect was more of Cloe’s chest on display than Leda ever wanted to know about. And then her brain made the connection.
“Oh no, no no no no,” the ex-General shook her head, “I’m not doing that.”
“Oh c’mon Leda, don’t you want to make gold for our long, dangerous trip? Think of all the cool potions we could buy and all the people we could bribe!” Grumbling, Leda slipped on her own modified tabard, batting away Cloe’s hands as they attempted to fix her mane. “Now take off whatever you’ve got underneath!” Leda glared, but pushed down the top she had underneath. There was no way in hell she was going out in public just wearing a flimsy tabard.
They didn’t sell ‘sooooo much booze.’ In fact, they sold a regular amount of booze. Cloe sold ‘soooo much booze’ and Leda sold 6 mugs. In the end, they made a whopping 4 gold, 68 silver and 2 copper.
Their second day at the Faire was a little less lively. Cloe sewed up Leda’s tabard the night before while apologizing profusely, claiming “Silas and I thought the humans might be into something foreign.” Seishougen was now manning the beverage booth and it looked like both elves were the hit of the Faire. Iyo and Leda spent the day tossing an old leather ball back and forth from opposite sides of the exotic goods stand.
Ren approached the fenced in area around noon on their second day. She and Brock had been assigned the “kitty pen.” Didn’t sound so bad, after all, she was a ranger, experienced in the training and care of all kinds of animals. The fence was a bit low, the top rail only coming up to her knee, but realistically, all the “kitties” would be well trained and unlikely to wander away anyway. A few minutes after she settled into the wooden chair provided, Ren wished she had been able to read Common.
“Oh no no. This pen is for kitties,” Ren smiled at the Night Elf woman with her spawn clinging to her left leg. The woman’s brow furrowed in confusion and Ren continued in Thalassian, speaking slower this time “Pen is for kitties, you know, meow?” She made little claws of her fingers and scratched at the air. The woman looked at Ren with a look that transcended language and was usually reserved for the mentally insane. Regardless of her evaluation of the caretaker, the Night Elf decided that she would risk her young, snotty, female spawn’s wellbeing for a few hours fun.
“No no! Wait! You can’t put a little ... a little girl in the kitty pen! The kitties will maul her!” Ren sighed as the mother continued walking away, flopping down into her chair with her head in her hands. Brock had wandered over from where he had been lounging and tugged gently on her sleeve. “Not now Brock,” the elf mumbled, but the gorilla only tugged harder making soft little gorilla noises. When she finally did look up, Ren saw what Brock had been pointing at – a sign and below the Common was written clearly, in Orcish “Kiddie Pen: free of charge.”
Their third day was much, much slower. The novelty and excitement of the Faire had worn off and the fairgrounds were nearly empty. Iyo and Leda had run out of the really rare and exotic goods and were left with a stockpile of golden draenite that no one wanted. Cloe and Sei were running out of bags to keep their gold in and despite the atmosphere of the rest of the fairgrounds, the front of their booth was always full.
The fourth, fifth and sixth days almost ran together. Doogie spent most of her day playing with the Tonka trucks she had been running since Day 1. Mukesh and Berzhula continued to mime out what kind of things the Alliance adventurers could turn in for tickets – leather patches, bird feathers and the like – with little to no success. And Ren continued to look after the “kitties,” which by the sixth day was a single Gnome toddler which continued to attempt escape by crawling under the bottom rung of the little fence. Emilei had finally found her calling and spent her days wandering around Stormwind yelling at people about the Faire.
Their evenings, after such lacklustre days, were spent around the campfire, oddly reminiscent of their days in Venomspite, only much much warmer. Ren and Sei would go out fishing, bringing back enough for dinner. Em would disappear entirely doing gods only knew what, usually with Berzhula close behind. Iyo would read anything he could get his hands on – often the Stormwind Gazette or sometimes an old book he “borrowed” from the exotic goods tent. Doogie and Cloe had a chess game set up, which continued over a couple days because Cloe was too nice to win. Mukesh spent a lot of time alone in his tent and the rest of the 43rd spent a lot of time guessing what he did in there.
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“Y’know I would’ve thought working at a carnival would be fun. Eating food that’s really bad for you, playing with the exotic animals, having first dibs on the exotic goods... But I suppose it’s not all bad,” Ren sighed and cast her rod into the river again, watching the bobber float serenely in the reflection of the sunset through the trees.
“Exile could be much, much worse,” agreed Sei, lounging in the grass next to her. “Although I am glad that we were let off early – I never knew the Faire was open so late.” A few minutes later several Mud Snappers lay quietly on the shore. A couple more Brilliant Smallfish and they’d be ready to head back to camp.
“Hey guys!”
“Hey Em,” they both intoned, neither looking up from the bobber.
“How many you caught? How long you two been out here? I’ve been here nearly an hour and didn’t see you at all! Ren, you been fishing? What’s Sei doing? I’ve been making the trees insulting!” The rogue pointed at a nearby tree, on which was carved (in Orcish) “King Wyrnn is smelly!” and then pointed again at a tree further away: “Jaina has nice bewbs.” Emi snickered at her own handiwork.
“Very uh... creative Em,” the mage acquiesced. “Want some dinner?”
“Naw, I’m good. I had some bugs earlier. Water’s nice though.” She hunkered down between the elves and all three were uncharacteristically silent for a good long while.
With enough fish caught, they headed back toward the campsite. As usual, Em was the one to break the silence, chattering as they walked along the quaint dirt road. Ren’s gasp echoed in the street where the Faire should’ve been.
“Ren, do you remember how many days we’ve been in Elwynn?” The panic was setting into Sei’s usually cool demeanor.
“No! I can’t remember! Every freakin’ day was the same: watch the kids, make sure the Gnomes don’t escape, drink to forget.”
“Uh oh! Uh oh! The secret police, they must’ve caught up with us now and – Oh gods! There’s trees everywhere!” Emilei had moved into a full blown schizophrenic panic attack and was attempting to melt into the shadows and failing spectacularly every time she breathed.
“Ok, calm down Ren. Where does the Faire move onto next?”
“Doesn’t matter where! We know where the others are going! They’ll be headed to the Swamp to question the mutated Draenei, remember?”
“Ok, ok,” Sei took a long, deep breath, “that’s a start. We know where they’re going. But we won’t be able to catch up to them now! Where would they go next?” The mage thought for a moment, “I’d probably head to the Exodar... If we start now, we might be able to meet them there. But we’ll need some disguises....”
Em suddenly appeared at Sei’s side, causing the elf to jump, “I know disguises!” she declared and all three settled down in the empty fairgrounds to plan their journey.
