Can I post a quick disclaimer? This story contains violence, implied rape, some Sapphic (over)tones, incredibly inaccurate references to Warcraft history and the revelation of a truly (lol) horrific secret about Edwin VanCleef.

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The Brotherhood

Chapter I

The muted slap of boots on wood was a noise that would follow Conyeri through the rest of her life, and possibly beyond. She had been pretending to sleep, listening to her parents' light conversation through the thin and creaky wooden floor of her room, which was directly above the fireplace. They were talking about goretusk liver pie, she remembered. How that nice woman a couple of farms over had come around the day before and showed her mother how to make the dish. It was a beautifully simple and comfortable natter that became, as the evening wore on, a thrumming lullaby of her father's baritone, mumbling on as the base line and the interjection of the higher-pitched melody that she doubtlessly knew was her mother's.

In fireside stories, there is a great deal of drama attached to most of the happenings. This was nothing like that. Conyeri felt it acutely, about a minute before her parents. It was a niggling, uneasy realization that things were slightly amiss. Occasionally there would be a slight noise, like the scuffle of a boot in the loose Westfall soil, or the rasp of a heavy breath. Conyeri's stomach flipped around as she tried to gain comfort in snuggling underneath the warm linen of the bed covers, but to no avail. A sudden languorous breeze tickled the back of her neck and the curtains of her previously closed window fluttered. She almost forgot to breath as the presence behind her moved closer, believing she was asleep. The air in the room was suddenly disturbed, and as she focused on it, she could almost visualize the hand signals. She did not know the code, but the jerky and fumbling movements made it clear that the presence was not experienced. They stopped their communication and padded from the room with a foul noise, that of the unsheathing of a blade.

As soon as they entered the hallway they abandoned their stealth. There were four of them, led by a woman, all in dark leather armour and carrying an array of weapons that glinted maliciously in the dying light of the fire from downstairs. Conyeri, however young people perceived her as, knew these people. She could sense their cruel smiles from underneath their blood-red bandanas.

The leader gave the order and they ran down the stairs, weapons brandished. Thump, slap, thump, their boots impacted the wood. Her father started to shout, but he was cut off and gurgled the rest of his warning. Taken unawares, her mother said nothing. Conyeri jumped out of bed and crossed lightly to the balcony heart filled with terror. This could not be happening to her. Not to them, the normal farming family who had no debts to pay, no skeletons in their cupboards and no cobwebs worthy of dusting. She was sixteen years old; she should be hopelessly in love like Maybell Maclure and her Tommy Joe. She should be having fun in her last days of childhood. Not this.

"Aren't you a pretty little one," a sultry female voice purred into Conyeri's ear. She stiffened at the firm grip from behind and the gloved hand cupped over her mouth. "You shouldn't be up so late. I'll tell mommy,"

Conyeri inwardly cursed herself. The woman hadn't ever left the balcony. She had just sat back against the wooden paneling and slipped into stealth. She had known from the beginning that the child wasn't asleep. Triumphant cries from downstairs interrupted her mental breakdown of the situation, but the woman did not loosen her grip in the slightest. Conyeri was beginning to have trouble breathing. The looters began scraping around, opening cupboards and draws, taking everything that was transportable. Her mother's jewelry box was hotly contested, but in the end a tall, scarred looter with the biggest sword won it.

In a single, fluid motion, the newly orphaned Conyeri found herself facing the woman. If she had not just broken into her house, ordered her parents to be killed and had her men loot everything, Conyeri would have thought her outstandingly beautiful. Her long golden hair spilled over her leather-clad shoulders, contrasting its darkness. Her face was milky-white, and though mostly concealed by the red bandana she wore over her nose and mouth, exceptionally smooth. Conyeri, however, found her imperfection- the seething hatred and bloodlust that radiated from her green eyes.

"What to do with you, mm?" she puzzled, giving the poor girl her most predatory grin. "These nasty men have done away with your lovely parents and everything that isn't bolted down in your house." Her smile faltered. "I've never had to decide what to do with a child before."

One of the men shouted from downstairs. "We got it all, Ma'am!"

"Very good. You go back to base- I've got some clearing up to do."

A different man, with a deeper voice, called out in question- "the kid?"

"No, I spilt something on their nice wooden floor and I'm going to mop it up," she retorted, face contorting. The men grumbled and left, Conyeri's entire life with them. "Sometimes I think they're just not worth the effort," she sighed, releasing her iron grip. "Where were we?"

She didn't expect an answer, evidently, but her eyes were goading Conyeri to give one. She opened her mouth to speak, but her sweaty hand slipped on the banister and she fell to the floor with a painful thump.

The woman snorted. "Not the stealthiest of escape attempts. You'd better not move so quickly again, or I'll lose the few inhibitions I still have,"

Conyeri nearly said something about her current level of inhibition but bit her tongue. The cause of this was the sudden realization that the woman had not only a very pointy-looking sword strapped to her hip but a powerful magical aura. She frowned at Conyeri's sudden epiphany. "Cat got your tongue?" she slid her sword from its sheath and brought it up to rest on Conyeri's lips, breaking the skin and causing a small trickle of blood to roll down her chin. "I think I'd prefer if I had it." She pried the defenseless girl's mouth open easily and rested the flat of the blade on the top of her tongue. "I enjoy killing, but not children. Especially ones that might grow up to be so pretty," she almost purred again. "But I don't want to let you go."

Conyeri didn't much like the sound of that. She wanted her parents, her friends from the other farms.

"Don't look at me that way. To be honest, it's my choice, and if I don't do it, my boys will. They have no qualms with doing that kind of thing." The woman gave her a once over. Her nightdress was getting a bit short and tattered in some places and it was cold tonight. Her eyebrows rose jeeringly as she continued her visual exploration.

Conyeri instinctively wrapped her arms around her chest and shied away. She was no stranger to attention like this since she had begun to grow up- usually from men, but not that it mattered- but she was in a dangerous enough situation now without unwillingly putting perverse thoughts into the woman's head.

"How old are you, Conyeri DeHayersae?" the way she spoke Conyeri's name made shivers crawl up her spine. The fact that the woman even knew her name was sinister enough; let alone the tone of voice. "Eighteen? Nineteen?"

The blade slid from her mouth so that she could answer. "S-sixteen…" she mumbled, pulling herself up, clinging to the banister so tightly now that she couldn't feel her fingers.

Conyeri couldn't physically see the woman's mouth, but her eyes showed her grin just as keenly. "You haven't trained in a class yet, have you? Or were mummy and daddy never even going to let you? Marry you off to some bumpkin lad with more acne than brains so you could toss out thousands of spratlings- that was the general idea, I assume."

A well of hate surfaced within Conyeri like hot vomit and boiled over at the mention of her parents. She wanted to defend them, to show this woman that they were good people. Her left fist connected squarely with what had at first appeared to be a stomach, but was replaced by the wooden paneling of the wall. Splinters broke off and dug deep into Conyeri's hand and she gasped in pain.

"That was ill-considered," the woman remarked. "I could heal those if you want," her hand began to glow greenish, but quickly went a sickly purple, corresponding to the feral flash of the woman's eyes. Conyeri felt the splinters bore further into her hand and she fell to the ground, hand outstretched and shaking violently. "Say thank you,"

Conyeri screamed as the splinters began to heat up and screw their way down to her bones. "That wasn't a very good thank you. Try again."

Through the pain, Conyeri's pride shone like a sacred candle. She was most definitely not going to place herself in the gratitude of this monster of a woman. A shadow fell over her and she looked up into hungry green eyes. "I was actually planning to let you go, you know. And you turn out to be a stubborn little shit." She sighed and kicked Conyeri's injured hand, causing a piercing cry that burned her throat, but she didn't even ask for reprieve.

The woman crushed her hand this time, beneath her heavy boot. Conyeri gritted her teeth and growled, pulling it out from underneath. The woman raised her eyebrows.

"Oooh," she said, looking down at the helpless girl. "I think I like you."

-

The smell of mould, sweat and magic hung thicker than elekk hide in the air when Conyeri woke up. Everything hurt more that she had ever considered possible. The time when she had accidentally shoved a pitchfork through her foot was like a prick in the finger in comparison. There was no comfy feather bed underneath her or fresh linen keeping her warm. She was laid out on a wrecked table, her naked body covered in a material similar to the rough weave that her father had used for sacks of oats. Her left hand was heavy bandaged and she couldn't even think about moving it without ricocheting pains making her whole arm spasm.

The real horror set in when she cast her exploration to her right side. There was a small dressing tied over her right hand. It was throbbing slightly.

"Good mornin', sunshine," a gruff dwarven voice made Conyeri jump, which she immediately regretted. "Miss Du'Paige will be thrilled yeh've woken up so soon."

The sound of that name made Conyeri's already upset stomach lurch. She leaned over the side of the table and threw up what little she had managed to keep down the night before. The Dwarf chuckled and cracked his knuckles. "Trus' me, kiddie, yeh're a lucky one. I'd give me two front teeth fer a go at Marisa Du'Paige- and so would the vast majority of me buddies."

Conyeri threw up again as a slew of fragmented recollections hit her like the Deeprun Tram, each more frenzied than the next.

She was pinned under Marisa's body, struggling to get free, anticipating another brutal beating. Hot breath in her ear.

"Just because I wouldn't kill you- that doesn't mean you're off the hook,"

She was weakened, fastened by her bad hand to the post of her bed, eyes wide with primal fear. Sparkling eyes surveying her naked body.

"You remind me of myself," the woman said, fumbling with the strap on her belt. "Young, weak, inexperienced. Pure. It's maddening, Cony."

"Don't call me that!" The air was kneed from Conyeri's stomach.

"I can call you whatever I want, Cony."

She was at the edge of consciousness. She was beyond her physical limit, twice. She had endured several more brutal beatings. She just wanted to pass out, but suddenly her limbs were filled with revitalizing magic that brought her back. A tear carved a salty path down her cheek, stopping where her thick brown hair was plastered to her sweaty face.

"Stop… top…stop…please…" Her pride had long been shattered into a million fragments and scattered into the wind. "P… please…"

"Don' ye go throwin' up all over the place, girlie," the Dwarf took her by the back of the neck. "It's already in enough of a state as it is, aye?"

She shook off his grip and steadied herself before lowering her body down from the table, careful to avoid the pool of vomit. Her legs shook, but held, if not painfully.

"Where is this?" It came out as less than a whisper. Her throat ached for all the screaming. "Who are you?"

The dwarf tipped an imaginary hat at her. "Dashel Stonefist, at yer… well, not exactly service, eh? More like… yer…" she scratched his bald head. "whatever. Most call me Dash, though the Boss prefers Fist. It does have a more aggressive feelin' to it, dunnit? I can't disclose the location, 'cause yeh're bein' moved ta'night anyways,"

He hopped off the chair and moved over to the pack that rested against the grotty wall. "It's steamed goretusk liver or wolfmeat, I'm afraid. If yeh're one of these vegertarist types, yeh're screwed." The very sight of the meats nearly made Conyeri throw up again.

"No." She took his chair. And ran her the fingers of her semi-good hand through her hair. The dressing caught and the moment she was dreading came. She undid the crude knot and peeled the cotton off, revealing her worst nightmare.

It was just less than the diameter of the back of her hand and perfectly circular. The cog tattoo stood out a thick back against her light skin.

"Yer jus' the same as me now, girlie. Same as all of us. I think t'wd'have been nicer for Miss Du'Paige ta just get rid of ye, but I ain't callin' any shots, I guess."

The cog of the Rebel Stonemasons. Mark of the Defias. "Let me go,"

Dash snorted into his goretusk. "T'wouldn't be a great idea, lass, considerin' that there's about 'alf of the Defias in Elwyn outside, all of 'em green with jealousy at ye. An' Miss Du'Paige will be on 'er way as we speak."

Conyeri slumped back into the chair, suddenly so tired. Everything had happened so quickly, so ferociously, that she hadn't stopped for a breath. She felt so detached from it, like she was watching the whole thing happen from the corner of the room, or standing on a sandy shore, but the waves wouldn't lap over her feet, however far she went in. Her life had been eviscerated, pillaged and twisted beyond recognition. And now the Monster had done this to her- assured her that she could never walk free again in Azeroth. Her innocence had been snatched from her in the worst way possible, leaving her catatonic with confusion. She was not confused about what had happened, of course, because that was fairly obvious. If she had been younger, maybe that would be the case, but she couldn't wrap her mind around the Monster's motives and split decisions. One moment, she had been brutally beating and desecrating her, the afterwards she'd cradle Conyeri in her arms and whisper soothing spells in her ear.

"Don't cry, don't cry,

Little one, rest and lye,

To sleep, to sleep,

Little one, grow strong and reap,

Sing peace, sing love,

Sing heaven above,

Sing, my little one,

Sing for me."

Conyeri began to cry. Not great weeping sobs, but a slow meandering of tears that scorched her rosy cheeks. Her mother had sung that to her when she was younger: it was an old rhyme that ran in the DeHayersae family. Conyeri couldn't sing well, but she'd sing along anyway, for the twinkling smile her mother would offer her when they finished. She was alone, even if she did not quite accept it- she was alone. Alone. Alone, she reminded herself again. It hurt, but not as much as her body. She wondered if that was all she appeared to be to the Monster, a weak physical presence to be dominated.

"Lass, yeh'd be wise to stop thinkin'. I dunno the details of all o' what's happen'd, an' I'm probly not one ye want te get advice from, but it'll make thins worse."

Conyeri looked at him. He was old, with a long graying beard braided on two sides, and his eyes were hard and beady. He was dressed simply, faded yellow breeches, black boots with big metal buckles that were rusting and a plain overshirt. She wondered who he was, and why he was like that. She noted the cog tattoo on his hand. Why had he joined the Defias? Had he been forced, like Conyeri, or did he have his own reasons? He seemed of decent temperament, wise to the way of the world perhaps a little too much. Did he have a wife? Children? Grandchildren that depended on him and this was his only source of income? Did he commit some heinous act and get exiled?

Boots crunched outside the door and Conyeri nearly threw up again. The bolt slid open and the Monster stepped inside, looking a little haggard.

"My apologies for the delay- I was only informed at the last minute that you weren't in Stormwind any more, Dashel."

"S'no trouble at all, Miss Du'Paige. The lass woke up a couple o' minutes ago." Dash replied, enacting what Conyeri guessed was their form of salute. He took the hand with the cog tattoo on and created a fist with it, and pressed it, palm inwards, to his opposite shoulder. Marisa did likewise, but with apathy.

"You can go stretch your legs now. You will be adequately rewarded for your service." She motioned for him to leave and she shot a lingering glance at Conyeri that was filled with something she didn't expect- possibly a little pity mixed with concern. The door swung shut and the Monster bolted it. They were alone again. "Hello again, Cony. You're no end of trouble, you know," she pulled off her bracers and unclipped her belt. "Mind undoing this for me?" she motioned to where her bandana was tied behind her head. Conyeri had learned that disagreeing with Marisa Du'Paige was not, in any circumstances, the smart thing to do. She deftly undid the firm knot and the red cloth fell off Marisa's face. Conyeri held it on one of her hands, fascinated at the incredible texture. It was light and soft, breathable and yet she felt magic swirling around it, clinging to the threads.

"It's netherweave," the Monster said, noting Conyeri's amazement. "Not cheap, but the best material we've found so far- not that many Defias get to wear one of these."

She slid the cloth from Conyeri's grip. "Don't look like that. I'm in a good mood now- I've just attacked two supply caravans headed to Sentinel Hill. Filled with weapons and armour, plus cloth and trade supplies. Means that ten more homeless people will have beds to sleep in tonight."

Conyeri frowned. "What would they have to do to earn those beds?"

The Monster chuckled. "Not that much. A bit of dirty work- some small-time stealing from people who have enough to spare."

"What about me?" Conyeri shifted the focus, having abandoned her plan to try being cautious and letting it crop up in natural conversation- not that any conversation she'd had with the Monster had been anything near natural so far.

The Monster sighed. "Yes. You. Seemed fine at the time, but now I regret it- you know the feeling?" Conyeri nodded. A few freshly baked cherry pies came to mind, followed by the sickliest evening of her life. "Well, since I don't expect you to be well-versed in what goes on behind the red bandana, so to speak, you can take stay seated and I'll explain."

She crossed over to the table next to Conyeri, who instinctively recoiled. "Don't be like that. I'm not in that kind of mood now- I drank my fill of lust with slaughtering some rich merchants. You're safe for the time being, Cony."

Conyeri growled. "Don't call me Cony."

"I can think of several other things I'd like to call you, but most of the will make your skin crawl, Cony. Anyway, before you interrupted, I was explaining my plight. The Defias Brotherhood works of a policy of self-initiation- anyone with a cog tattoo and a piece of red cloth can be considered a Defias. But word usually reaches our ears of their activities after a while, and we send someone to scope them out. If they're good material, we train them. If not… they don't last long. Bad publicity, see."

She hopped up onto the table and looked at Conyeri. "Last night, I got a bit ahead of myself. You were pretty, vulnerable and insanely talented. Your parents were never planning to let you train- I know, since they were talking about it a few nights before when we went to scope out your place- and you had so much to offer. You had excellent senses- you knew that my men were coming several minutes before. You of course didn't know that I had been in the room for about an hour already, but I can't blame you there- I'm no rogue, but my stealth is enhanced greatly by magic. You struck out even when you were cornered, and you had such a fighting spirit. You were everything I'd look for in a potential recruit."

"I'd never voluntarily join you," Conyeri interjected, glaring at her. The Monster laughed straight at her, giving Conyeri a look that seemed to say that she knew more about her than she did herself.

"Your father did." Conyeri was silenced. "Harrigan DeHayersae, skilled architect. He was five or six years older than me when the nobles betrayed us- older than Edwin. He was a role model to him, someone who fought strongly for his beliefs and stormed straight up to the that blackhearted wench Terenas and demanded payment for his fellows and the backbreaking work they'd done to make his city great. He had a young wife, a woman of outstanding beauty- so Edwin tells me. The king took her and offered your father a deal- he could stay in the city if he persuaded the stonemasons not to launch full-scale attack on the city. The sap that he was, he spoke with Edwin and encouraged him to keep his actions against the kingdom small-scale, at first- he couldn't really do much with the number of people he had rallied under him anyway. Edwin agreed and set out to for the Defias brotherhood, with Harrigan acting as an inside agent- his wife didn't know of his continuing support for the Defias. This continued for many years, until that woman had to get pregnant- with guess who?"

Conyeri's voice caught in her throat. "Me, but do you expect me to believe-"

"Look it up. Stormwind city files, hard printed evidence. You'll see the deal that the King gave him. And if you absolutely insist, I can show you his letters to Edwin, in his own hand. Will you let me finish?"

Conyeri nodded dumbly.

"Harrigan severed his ties to the Defias and moved out of Stormwind. He traveled to Westfall with his wife, thinking to start a new life in which his child could grow up properly. He bought a derelict farmhouse and some land, and there you have it, story of your life." She finished, sighing.

"So what? He changed. He became good. That's all that matters."

"Tsk, tsk. I went a bit off-topic. You don't appreciate the dilemma I'm in. because I gave you that tattoo, you'll never be able to do anything else. But you don't want to be a Defias. So what's an orphaned, classless pretty young thing like you to do?"

"I could run off to Kalimdor."

"On what boat? What crew would take someone marked as an aggressor to society? And besides, you really think there aren't Defias on Kalimdor? We're just more low-key there, but a lot of big stuff goes on. I recall being told that our scapegoat Hendel had been dispatched of, as was the plan. Smite was one of scores or Tauren that rallied to our cause after being exiled from their villages. We're bigger than you think, Cony."

"So what do I do now?" She asked, almost trembling. She hated this all, every contradicting fact and vicious truth, every one of the Monster's soft smiles and rambling monologues. The way she said Edwin, like he was a man worthy of affection. How she was so loose with herself, how Conyeri was being forced to choose between her life and her personal beliefs. She rephrased her question. "How long do I have to decide?"

"Rather generously, in my opinion, until tomorrow morning. It's about midday now, so I'd use the time wisely." She then grinned. " I can think of a wise use of your time, if you're stuck, though."

Conyeri pushed herself back in the chair. "No thanks. Can Dash come back in? I want to talk to him." Marisa's eyebrows rose, but she unlatched the door and stepped outside. Dash entered and looked at her quizzically. "Privately," Conyeri explained, noticing her captor about to re-bolt the door.

"I'd say you weren't in the right position to make demands," she replied dryly, narrowing her eyes. Nevertheless, she picked up her bandana from the table and tied it in one swift motion. She slipped her bracers on and gave Conyeri a dangerous look before grabbing her belt and fastening her sword on and striding out the door. Once it had closed, the bolt fizzled with arcane magic and shut itself.

"Why'd ye want ta talk with me, lass?" Dash asked, looking at her. "I ain't exactly the best o' sorts,"

"I know," Conyeri said, relaxing her tense muscles. "But you're a damn sight easier to talk to than her." She growled the last syllable out, filled with renewed rage now that Marisa wasn't physically present and acting relatively normally. "Do you have children?"

"Why'd ye want ta know that?" Dash asked, cocking a busy eyebrow. "I guess it don't matter why. I got me two lads, the eldest of which has himself a wee spratling."

"A wife?"

Dash's face darkened. "Used ta. She were the gem of all o' Ironforge, me wife. She committed suicide after she found out I'd been mixed up with the Defias. Jumped into the Great Forge, like me father did."

Conyeri mulled this over. "Why are you still here then?"

He sighed and cracked his knuckles absentmindedly. "Me youngest son's in the Stockade, lass. He calls himself Bruegal Ironknuckle- he forgot who he was down there. Bruegal was the name o' me other son, an' it's all he remembers. As long as I keep working for the Defias, I have access ta him. The Defias control the whole Stockade, see, under Master Thredd, so they can smuggle me in. I have to pay hefty, though."

"So you're a good person. You're just backed into a corner." Conyeri reasoned, catching sight of a washbasin on the other side of the room. She certainly felt like a wash.

"I wouldn't quite go that far, lass," he sighed. "I got myself into the Defias in the firs' place. I was young and poor, and me clan had lost all it's money tryin' to frame the man we thought pushed me Da into the Forge. I had no wife and no kids, and nothing to lose. When I did get richer, and find me wife, I wanted ta settle down- but once ye join the Brotherhood, ye never truly leave. We moved ta Stormwind and settled in the centre of Old Town, away from the hustle and bustle, but Runa's heart was always in Ironforge. She'd take the tram all the time, just to be there… I didn't know she was so unhappy… I'd've done something…" His voice became choked. "Look at me- spillin' me heart to a spratling."

"It's okay," she felt odd assuring the haggard man who made his living killing and stealing, but swallowed her prejudice. "You have a reason. That's why you're here. But I don't, other than lack of choice."

He scratched his chin under the bushy beard. "Ta be honest with ye, lass, there ain't no easy way out o' this. Not all o' the Defias are as altruistic as Miss Du'Paige."

"Altruistic my ass," she snarled. "You know what she did to me!"

"She's one o' the nicest, ta be honest with ye. She has her… indulgences, once in a while, but she's good at heart."

"How can you say that!" Conyeri rose from the chair, muscles protesting and her injured hand throbbing. "She delights in hurting people! She thinks she's some kind of Blackbird the Cowled figure, stealing from the 'rich' and giving to the poor- who are conveniently bolstering the ranks of the Defias!"

"Who's Blackbird the Cowled?" Dash asked in confusion, breaking Conyeri's rant.

"Oh," she relaxed. "A human legend- he was a hunter who didn't believe in 'enslaving' animals to do his bidding. He went around Elwyn Forest stealing from the wealthy lords who had summer houses out there and doled it out amongst the poorer townspeople of Goldshire."

"Sounds like a particularly nice Defias to me. He wore a red bandana?"

"Green," Conyeri insisted. "And you're getting off-topic."

"Oh, so sorry lass." He replied sarcastically. "Ye seem a wee bit too comfortable now. Maybe I should call Miss Du'Paige back in…?" he trailed off and grinned at Conyeri. Even as he spoke, the latch came apart and the door swung open. Marisa entered with urgency.

"Some crazy spratlings with daggers have been sighted. We need to move out to Bird Mountain," she said, while the men, one of whom Conyeri recognized as the thug who'd won her mothers jewelry box, formed a circle around the entrance. "We had planned on keeping you here 'till you fell asleep and moving you then, but we can't risk anything. There's been a warrant out for the recovery of the DeHayersae daughter, by some fancy official that used to live on the farm you bought. Alexton, I think. He worked with your father."

One of the men said something to the thug and he stiffened. "Ma'am, we need to move out now. They have three members of the City Guard with them"

Marisa nodded. "Shame they found this place- we'll have to forewarn the goblins not to deliver." She took Conyeri by the wrist and pulled her out of the small shack. The dazzling sunlight made her dizzy, but Marisa's grip was like Iron and she had to keep walking. Down onto the docks, they passed frenzied men and women in red bandanas loading crates onto a flotilla of small, fast boats that were tethered to the quay. They all saluted Marisa as she passed, even through their bustle. A ripple went around the assembled rogues, and Conyeri heard the phrase 'impact kobold' repeated by the Defias closest to them. They crossed the pier and clambered into the boat furthest downstream. Marisa, Conyeri, Dash and the thug were the only ones who boarded. The bow and stern lines were quickly slipped and the boat began floating away from the dock. Dash and the thug grabbed oars in the middle while Marisa quickly set sail, with one hand on the tiller.

"Hold on, lass!" Dash told Conyeri, who was nearly thrown overboard by a sudden lurch to starboard. She sat down and gripped the side, water slicking her hands. She quickly thought about escaping by actually jumping off, but the current was strong and the river rapidly widening, and Conyeri could hardly swim. She looked behind them to see that several of the ships had also left the docks, low in the water with crates of supplies and weapons. The small landing was retreating further into the skyline, but Conyeri could see a large group of people approaching from the forest, brandishing weapons. She longed to go and talk to them, to tell them about her plight and to be accepted by the just and righteous again, but one sidelong glance at her hand and the ink that patterned it were enough to bring tears to her eyes and break her fantasy.

"Where'll we de heading, Ma'am?" the thug said, grunting through his powerful oar strokes on the port side of the boat, which Dash was mimicking to the starboard. "Oh, and Master VanCleef send a message that he 'doesn't want to see your pretty little ass anywhere near the barn for at least a week after what you did'. His words, Ma'am."

Marisa chuckled. "More quality time to spend with Cony, Racun." She winked at him and pulled the sail in a bit. They were making speedy process down the river, and Cony could acutely notice the changes in terrain from her vantage point. On the right side, the loose orange soil of Westfall was slowing creeping into Elwyn's lush greenness. On the left bank, the thick hardwood trees obscured anything a couple of meters back into the forest, shady even in the afternoon sun. The weedy and marshy Duskwood land looked sinister.

"We're off to the little place we have on the edge of Addle's Stead. We were originally going straight to Camp RUTN."

"Wouldn't have been safe to take her there, really, since that feller put up the reward for her," Racun whistled. "500 gold for a girl. And it would go straight into the pocket of some already heinously rich Paladin or a Mage with pure gold robes. Assholes."

"Isn't Addle's Stead in, um, Duskwood?" Conyeri voiced her concern. Nobody from Westfall ever went into Duskwood, unless accompanies by a large guard and straight to Darkshire and back.

Marisa cast an incredulous glance her way. "You're not scared of a few rotting, infectious, ghouls, are you?"

"No," Conyeri huffed. "I just don't like the place. It seems a bit… off."

"I bet you'd rather a nice, handsome Paladin in shiny armour with a big sword-" Racun snorted under his breath. "Very funny. Keep rowing. Anyway, you want to be rescued, yes? But what will your rescuers think why they take off the glove- that I saw you take, by the way- and find your lovely new tattoo? They'll think you did it. That you killed your parents as an initiation rite and ran off to join the Defias. It'll be terrible- a young, pretty girl gone astray- but they'll get over it, and in a month you'll be another bandana'd face with a knife in a crowd."

Conyeri curled her fists. She'd grabbed some clothes- a loose, man's cotton shirt and some blackened leather trousers that were slung over the back of the chair- while she was talking with Dash, since being naked was incredibly degrading to her. Upon the Defias exodus from the landing, she had seen a crate of neatly arranged gloves and swiped one. So far it had been under her shirt, but Marisa was smarter than that. "Kitting up already? I'll have to admit, Blackened Defias Leather looks good on you." She grinned and Conyeri recoiled at the same feral gaze, but was then startled- it ebbed away and was replaced by self-restraint. Marisa, who Conyeri was finding harder and harder to refer to just as 'the Monster', turned back and looked at the horizon with a look of forlorn longing.

Conyeri shook that straight out of her head. She felt oddly comfortable with everything, and decided that this wasn't the correct feeling associated with having been brutally beaten and raped the night before, plus having her parents murdered. Or maybe it was- maybe victims felt a strange sort of correlation with their captors. What was that called? Stockholm Syndrome. Conyeri shivered at the thought of somebody actually genuinely liking Marisa or indeed any member of the bloodthirsty Defias Brotherhood. She had wary respect for Dash, she decided, knowing his circumstances, but was this reason to vanquish any of the prefabricated prejudice she owed the Defias? Surely if so many people thought something, then it must have some truth. There was no doubting the evil nature of the Defias, but their reasons, Conyeri supposed, were just. The nobles had cheated them, and they had been exiled. Equally, however, they could have become farmers or tradesmen, and not ran down the path of thievery. They also made no distinction between rich traders and normal merchants, and they had taken land and resources that were vital to the survival of Westfall. Not so much Elwyn, but the presence of Stormwind was too strong there to launch a full-scale takeover.

A boot in the back stopped Conyeri mid-thought. Marisa stood over her, Racun having taken the tiller as the river was thinning too much to row properly. Dash was brooding silently, for which Conyeri felt wholly responsible, having brought up such touchy subjects. "Right, Cony. Listen up, 'cause if I have to repeat this again it will be at your funeral. Addle's Stead isn't a very nice place- there's all sorts of beasties and zombies about just past the borders. We have it pretty tightly defended, but if you stray, you will regret it. Try and run, we'll be seeing you in a casket next, got it?"

Conyeri nodded as the boot pressured her back further. "Good. And remember, you still only have until tomorrow morning to decide what wins out- your pride or your desire to remain alive."

"If I were to leave, I'd be put in the Stockade, right? Well, isn't that Defias controlled? Wouldn't I be okay with the tattoo?" Conyeri figured this out. A life in prison didn't seem that bad compared to life in servitude to evil.

"Have you ever been to the Stockade? Not only is it horrible, but also you'd be surrounded by about 300 of deadliest enemies of the Alliance, all of them male. You thought I was nasty? Think how they'd be after five years without sunshine or girls."

"Gay?" Racun suggested, but Marisa shot him a glare that could drill through rocks. "My apologies, Ma'am, didn't mean to offend no-one."

"You have triple shift when we get to Duskwood." She spat at him. Conyeri was surprised. She knew that Marisa had a taste for, well, girls, but the way she talked about VanCleef, it seemed as though there was something going on there.

Racun grumbled and itched his face under his rough mask as wiggled the tiller around as they rounded a bend. The land was become more and more Duskwooden by the minute. The other ships had already docked a way back on the Westfall side of the river. Conyeri was growing more apprehensive, the back of her neck pricking uncomfortably. Marisa's quick eyes picked up on this.

"You can feel it?" Conyeri nodded. "Your senses are nearly as good as mine- with training, they could be better."

"I don't want good senses. I want a nice, warm home, some goretusk liver pie and a pair of doting parents," Conyeri retorted, crossing her arms and turning away. She tensed her muscles expecting a beating, but none came. She turned around and saw Marisa staring at her, with no desire or hatred, just a puzzled look.

"You're sixteen- by that age I had killed a man. Several, maybe. I lost track. One of them was my father." Her voice was surprisingly soft. "I did what I had to. I survived. I guess not every sixteen-year-old is like me. You had everything and lost more. I took from you the only thing you had left. You should be a gibbering wreck, but you would even steal from us. Defias runs in your blood, even though you choose not to acknowledge it. The organization isn't as two-dimensional as you think."

"I know. That's the difference- you act for yourselves. You take and give nothing back. You burn and never build. You kill and never nurture. Seems pretty two dimensional to me,"

"Then your vision must be messed up," Marisa growled. "How can you be convinced of that when you heard Dashel's past? How can you, concretely, say that everyone who wears a red bandana is evil?"

"Because…" Conyeri thought about what she was saying. "Because you don't need to do these things. You said that member self-initiate? Well, they could just as easily get work on a farm or begin training for a class. There are so many things they could do, with a bit of hard work, but they choose the easy route."

"Let me give you and example," Marisa said through gritted teeth. "There's this girl- she's too old to be adopted and too young to marry, work or take a class. She's recently orphaned. She's got a tattoo on her hand. What's she going to do? Waltz up to Stormwind and go and explain it all to the nice, helpful guards? Get a job she doesn't have the skills for? Beg?"

"No," Conyeri looked into the murky water. "She can't do any of those things."

"That's right," Marisa smiled behind her. "So, where could she go, quickly, mind you, since she doesn't have any money or food, that could give her a roof over her head, a ho meal and the chance to do something with her life?"

"She could join the Chapel of Light. Say she reformed or something."

Marisa knelt down behind Conyeri and spoke to her. "Not when to a Paladin, the dark magic coming from that tattoo is like a human knocking on the Orgrimmar gates and asking to see Thrall."

"There's dark magic in this?" Conyeri asked, looking at the mark. "I can't sense it."

"That's because I put it there and I'm a master mage, duh."

"I didn't know mages dealt with dark magic- that's more a warlock thing." Conyeri said.

"You learn a few things in the business," Marisa replied, reaching over and brushing her fingers over the tattoo. Conyeri's body exploded with magical pleasure, and she toppled down from the crude wooden bench se had been seated on, spasming wildly. "That's a succubus spell. Learned it from a gnome who liked gambling a little too much. He couldn't pay off his debt in full, so to offset the rest, he taught some of our mages the dark arts. Some of them got it, but most couldn't properly control the magic. We called them Conjurers and set them at the very front of our lines in the Deadmines, inevitably cannon fodder to whichever 'adventurer' decides he or she is big enough to challenge us."

"I think you went a bit far, Ma'am," Racun observed, leaning over the tiller to look at Conyeri. "She's out for the count."

"Blast it." Marisa grumbled. "After all that trouble, all she seems to do is fall asleep on me."

"Yeh'd quite like that, wouldn't ye," Dash spoke for the first time. "Her on ye."

"Know your place, Dashel," she frowned, picking the comatose Conyeri up in her arms and laying her out on the bench. "And that was not it."

"Why so reserved now, eh?" Dash stood up from his bench. "Ye flirt the poor lass silly and beat the crap out o' her afterwards. It ain't the kind o' behaviour that would endear the Defias ta her."

He was hit squarely in the chest with a bolt of icy magic that set him skidding backwards, head thumping against the side of the boat. Dash groaned and rubbed his head. "Right. Sorry, Miss Du'Paige. I'll keep me tongue next time."

"Next time, I'll be the one keeping it, Dashel." She warned him, letting the magic evaporate from her hands. "That's a promise."

"Aye," he said, standing up and dusting himself off, offering her a salute. This seemed to satisfy the unstable mage, who set about making sure Conyeri was okay. The gesture was nice, but the place that she put her hands would have disturbed the girl if she were sentient. Dash felt a duty to help her, seeing as though she had been thrust into such dislikable circumstances, purely because Marisa was wanton with her desires.

"Whichever she chooses, she's coming with me," Marisa mentioned nonchalantly as she glanced at her pocket watch. "It's getting close to three. We should dock in a minute" Racun offered an affirmative. "If she agrees, she'll be Defias. If she disagrees, I'll take her for myself. Forcefully."

"That's probably not the best way to win her affection, Ma'am," Racun said, wary, but he needn't have worried.

"I'm not vying for her affection," there was a hint of annoyance in Marisa's voice. "Honestly, I just like asserting my dominance over things I didn't used to control. My life, my body, my mind. And I like sex. It's nice- something nice in a horrible world."

Neither of them replied to her musings. It was not unusual for Marisa Du'Paige to become more vulnerable in private, however tough she appeared to be. She was only a couple of years into her twenties. They sailed in silence and soon a rickety jetty came into view along the river.

"Edwin is old enough to be my father." She suddenly said, hands tracing the outline of her tattoo. "In fact, Edwin was named my surrogate father after my own died in the riots. He never really lived up to the title."

They docked and Marisa scooped Conyeri up and jumped onto the pier as Racun tied their boat up. Dash walked slowly, the frostbolt still deadening his limbs. The thug hefted a small sack of food from the boat before following Marisa and Dash to the forest's edge. They had to pick through some overgrown foliage to get to the treeline, from which they could see Addle's Stead through the thin trees. Disturbing shadows danced along the walls of the derelict barn. Marisa cawed, three times, and the shadows suddenly all stopped their patrolling and began flitting towards them. The unconscious Conyeri squirmed and groaned, her heightened senses exploding with danger by themselves. Two masked Defias unstealthed and saluted to Marisa, who nodded and let them flank her and Dash, as Racun covered their rear. A wolf bayed from a distance, and then closer, but the guards hardly flinched.

Marisa met with man in charge, who was distinguished only by the miniscule jewel set into the hilt of his dagger. They spoke in hushed voices briefly before the party was led into a derelict barn. A mound of hay was cleared out of the far stall and a trapdoor was revealed and the padlock removed.

-

Marisa Du'Paige was fifteen years old. The stonemasons had just been exiled from Stormwind, her father among them. He was a good friend to Edwin VanCleef, a spirited upstart engineer with a mind like lightning. She saw the gates of Stormwind closing on her and wondered what was happening briefly, but soon figured it out. A fat noble, his jerkin embossed with gold thread, was outside the gates, wringing his chubby hands together. He shouted at the assembled Stonemasons.

"The Council of Stormwind apologizes for your plight, gentlemen, but we are afraid nothing can be done. The money simply isn't there after our lands have been adequately militarized. It was assumed that you did this out of the good of your hearts, not for pay. Stormwind no longer has the resources to support your guild."

Marisa watched his chubby cheeks lift in the ghost of a smile, and felt a burning hatred seize hold of her. She grabbed the dagger from her father's sheath and hurled it straight at the noble. Her aim was true and her arm was strong. The dagger sank through his fatty chest, and his lovely gold outfit was stained red. He lifted his eyes and stared at Marisa, who watched triumphantly as the light left them. He slumped to the ground and the guards shouted and rushed towards him, but the riot had been implemented and would not be stopped. Men and their wives rushed forward with any weapon they could muster: daggers, rolling pins, bare hands and feet were the most popular of them.

Marisa had a kitchen knife from under her shirt and her reason. She started forward madly, but a hand grabbed her from behind. She whirled around and thrashed wildly, feeling the dagger sink into her assailant's stomach.

Except it wasn't an assailant. It was her father. "Issa, I don't want you getting hurt up there- ohh…" he noticed the knife protruding from his stomach. "Ohh…" he tried again, glancing from the blade to Marisa. "Ohh…"

And then he collapsed down onto the floor and died.

The gates of Stormwind clanged shut before the enraged artisans could push any further. Edwin VanCleef, with the attention of the entire gathered congregation, bent down and tore the bloodstained red shirt from the fate noble. He tied it around his face and shouted a feral cry to the guards at the top of the wall.

"Defiance!" he cried from underneath the material, but it came out muffled. The craftsmen repeated what they'd heard, which was to become a name that would terrify for years to come.

"Defias!"

Marisa woke up from the familiar dream, eyes wet with the formation of tears. Conyeri slept on the thick bed of hay next to her, and Racun on her other side. Dash was on duty above, sitting in the barn in case anything were to go amiss. It was the middle of the night, but Marisa didn't feel tired- the affect of Conyeri's presence kept her on-edge. She kept berating herself for being so self-indulgent and letting a weakness for pretty girls cloud her professionalism. It was already done now, she supposed, so wishing for it not to have happened was a waste.

They had eaten shortly after arriving- a plain meal of tough bread and cold meats, washed down with weak ale from one of the large kegs in the barn basement. At about five, they'd slept, Dash slipping Conyeri a sleeping draught to make sure she didn't wake from her blackout and cause a ruckus.

Marisa rolled over to look at Conyeri. Her body seemed fragile and childish while she slept, but Marisa's growling lust still tickled her consciousness. She bade it leave and concentrated on subtly healing the girl's wounds, numerous as they were. She felt sickened at herself for doing that. Why did she let these primal urges control her so often? Why did she relish in the trickle of blood on her blade or the racking shivers of pleasure that accompanied a stint in the bedroom? Was she really that low a grade of human that she lacked basic self-control?

Marisa sighed and finished healing Conyeri, who mumbled lightly at the ebb of magic from her body. She saw in the girl something she never connected with after the Riot- innocence. A naïveté born of simple lack of worldly experience. A child.

I am a sick, twisted human being. I don't deserve what I have.

The sentiments plagued Marisa's mind like a pestilent wound, sapping her resolve. She'd painted herself as a stoic and slightly aloof person, a genius for her age with magic and skilled with the blade, as high up the chain of Defias command as she dared. It had not been only her abilities that had got her the spot; people were awfully simple when it came to 'favours'. She wasn't proud of what she'd done, or indeed what she was doing, but there were precious few other options if she wanted recognition.

The way a man had sex told a great deal about his character that he wouldn't normally reveal. Edwin VanCleef liked being dominated, but Mr. Smite preferred to set it to a story, and he would sit and recount tales of his homeland of Mulgore with fondness in his eyes before calling her his Corani and preening her like a little girl. She had been with Erlan Drudgemoor, was a little on the small side, and once even seduced Surena Caledon. All of these people had propelled her to higher rank, by either promoting her themselves or offering her jobs that would get her noticed higher-up. She sometimes wondered if this made her a whore of sorts, to fuck her way through the Defias ranks, but can to the conclusion that if she liked it, it wasn't whoring. I was mutual gratification.

Conyeri stirred and rolled over, her loose shirt riding up to her chest. A pang of lust bothered Marisa again, and this time she couldn't quell it. She reached out and touched the hot flesh of Conyeri's back softly, reveling in the little spark as she connected with the talent that laid dormant inside her. Her hand sought a wider area, to further increase the feeling, and she shuffled over and placed her bare arms over Conyeri's flat stomach.

Pervert. Cradle-Snatcher.

The warnings were lost in the miasma of magic that Marisa was immersed in. She wasn't a cradle-snatcher or anything of the sort: Conyeri was sixteen, which was the age of consent in Elwyn. Even if she wasn't really consenting. And the way that Marisa looked at it, it didn't matter. She was an addict looking for another fix of magic or sex or preferably both at the same time. It saddened her to look at what she'd ended up like, compared to her childhood self, but at the same time it thrilled her. It was good to be bad, to have the power to choose if someone lives or dies. She was playing god.

All these different thoughts clashed and merged in her head as Marisa continued to let herself roam Conyeri's body. Her hands stroked through the thick, chocolate-brown hair, she breathed in the scent.

-

Conyeri stayed as still as she could, but it was hard with the Monster's hands roaming in all her sensitive places. She wanted to cry out, but knew that nobody would come and help her. The Monster was the most senior officer here. The only advantage that the poor girl currently had was that the Monster was too wrapped up in her gratifications that she didn't know that Conyeri was awake. If she was awake, she might be beaten. Or humiliated in front of Dash, which she felt a strange repulsion against. The sleeping potion had been a placebo, she guessed, since she had woken up on being deposited in the basement. Probably Dash, thinking to give her more time to make her mind up.

The odd thing about tonight was that Conyeri couldn't detach herself. Yesterday had been so traumatic and unreal that she'd been out of it. But today, after fully absorbing her new plight, she felt personally involved. Every touch made her body throb, every whispered word felt like liquid metal pouring into her ear. The Monster was getting more frenzied now, hands gripping at her clothes. Magic was also being sapped from her, Conyeri realized, wondering to what end the Monster was enjoying herself. Was the Monster actually obsessed with magic? Obsessed with sex? With power? All of the above?

There, on the hay, with Racun snoring beside her, Marisa lost herself again.

-

Conyeri still hadn't made her decision when meek light filtered through the cracked floorboards above. The Monster had fallen asleep, but she had stayed awake, trying to reason with herself. Was her pride worth the life, or possibly worse? She couldn't see the Monster letting her go that easily. What kind of life was she expected to live?

She weighed the pros and cons. On the minus side, she'd be becoming something hated by the Alliance. She'd have to learn shadowy arts, to kill and maim and steal, the very thought of which made bile rile in her throat. But she'd be safe. People like her, people who probably shared the same doubts,'d surround her. She'd have a roof over her head, supper on the table and a reason to keep on living.

She'd be expected to do whatever Marisa said, though. It made her uneasy, how close she was lying to a woman who had forced her twice and seemed mildly addicted to magic. A woman who did not hesitate to beat her, who found bloodshed and killing fun. Did she have qualms with doing these things? Was she really two-dimensional, as she had led Conyeri to believe?

"Get up."

Dash came down through the trapdoor and roused them. Conyeri leapt to her feet and quickly collected her clothes, which the Monster had strewn about. Her shirt was ripped at the sleeve, but nothing major. She took the stolen glove from her pocket in defiance and slipped it on, fingers poking through the holes where the glove cut off just above knuckle level. She tucked the long arm of her shirt into the larger end and looked to Dash, who looked back. Something passed between them- an understanding, that nothing would ever be the same.

The Monster came up behind her and stretched her arms above her head. "So, Cony. Deal or no deal?" she asked, face split in a grin that betrayed a bit of apprehension but not enough to be full-blown concern.

The whole world waited on that moment. Conyeri had figured out what would become of her either way, by the possessive hand that had draped over her waist all night.

"Deal," she said, trying to keep herself composed. Her pride had not been strong enough to condemn her to a life of slavery and eventual death. As rotten as she felt with herself, a million justifications rattled her brain when she questioned her choice. Dash regarded her with a sad gaze that seemed to agree with her, that she had been backed into the corner. Racun's face was unreadable as he pulled on his tunic. Conyeri did not want to see the Monster's expression, but was treated to it anyway. The Monster walked around to face her, with a face betraying something that Conyeri hadn't fully expected: glee was there, and so was satisfaction, but also a vague disappointment, which she couldn't fathom the exact origin of. She prided herself on her ability to read people, faces especially, but the Monster's forlorn look didn't quite fit her knowledge of the reasons behind everything.

"Good, good," she grinned, showing a dazzling set of teeth. "We're off to Camp RUTN then."

"What does that stand for?" Conyeri asked, trying to forget what she'd just done.

"Camp Right Under Their Noses," Dash explained. "It's in a huge maze of caves below Sentinel Hill that used to be a mine. Now it's where the Defias train all of their recruits."

"You can tell her that in confidence now, but that doesn't mean you can shout it so loud." Racun grumbled, strapping on his scabbard. "You never know who's listening."

"Yes, yes," the Monster sighed, rolling its eyes. "Lets get on our way, then. We've got a lot to do before tonight," she winked in Conyeri's direction. Shivers ricocheted up her spine at the signal, but she tried to show no outward sign of her dismay. She was passed the point where she cared any more. She thought it would take more, but already she was beginning to cement the existence of Marisa as the Monster in her mind. It helped a lot to think of her as something that wasn't human and thus had no conscience.

The Monster pulled something out of the bag that the food had been in. It was a large square of red linen. She folded it in half and held it up.

"Will you do it, or do I have the honour?"

-

Hello everyone. 10k chapter, omg. I hope you liked it. If you did, leave a review. If you didn't leave a review with some constructive criticism. I tried to keep the characters as canon as possible, but personality had obviously been embellished.

Thanks,

Emmy