Netherbane

[flammos200]

Foreword

Spoiler:

The following excerpt from More Magic and Mayhem inspired this story/concept. All of the devices, inventions, technological items and modifications portrayed in the post(s) are found in the various RPG books and/or in-game.

“Magic suffuses the world of Warcraft, and throughout Azeroth it is a driving force for change. Mages, shamans, paladins and others employ it as a means to an end, using energy to create spectacular and miraculous effects that defy the reason of science. Yet science, an art mastered by the tinkers and alchemists of both the Alliance and the Horde, has become a new force for change, a frightening force that is capable of competing even with powerful magic.

The craft of the tinker, gadgeteering, mechanics, call it what you will — across Azeroth inventors are spilling out wonders powered by phlogiston, chaos energy, power cores or the energies of the elements. From the weird contraptions crafted by diminutive gnomes to the often malicious devices forged in goblin workshops, the range of abilities and permutations of these machines challenge the might of magic with principles and methods that rely on the tried and tested rules of the physical world. The element of the fantastic that permeates these devices is based on their rarity and the wonder they bring.

Technology sets the world of Warcraft apart from stock fantasy; while players still have access to mages, necromancers and priests casting arcane bolts and calling upon divine favor to deliver miracles to the masses, they also have a new type of power. Technology is a wonder of a new age; and the craft of creating devices from metal, steam and innovation possesses equally powerful capabilities compared to magic. Technology allows everything from spring-heeled boots to automatic lock-picks, to steam powered armor, tanks, and even fabulous flying machines like gnomish airships and goblin zeppelins. All of these miraculous devices rely on principles that anyone, even characters without magical training, can quickly learn to master and even create.

It is a renaissance of power, as a normal mortal with a rifle can easily become as big a threat as a slavering orc berserker. Technology represents choice, the choice of another path to follow, another way to harness power and craft. Where magic requires a massive investment of energy and time, the rewards of technology are almost immediately accessible. The possible complexity of his devices only increases with a character's experience, and there are feats aplenty to aid a cunning tinker in his craft.

Technology is as mysterious as magic to those who cannot comprehend it. To the peasant or farmer, to the cobbler or woodworker, technology is inscrutable, yet it does not have the aura of the forbidden that magic carries. Magic is the stuff that draws forth fel demons and swells the ranks of the Scourge. Mages, warlocks and necromancers — those who use arcane magic put the world at jeopardy with every spell and enchantment they cast. Everyone in Azeroth knows that magic use spirals to a dark place where power corrupts absolutely and irrevocably. Technology has a different face.

The craft of technology requires sheer know-how and ingenuity. The fundamental steps to learning technology are materials that are accessible to even a normal farmhand — and all it requires is the desire to discover. The peoples of Azeroth understand that hard work is at the core of technological discovery, and any craftsman can comprehend the work that has to go into some mighty device in order to complete it. That the craft requires little more than some planning, a good idea, and a bit of cavalier invention makes it all the more charming to those who seek to master it. Magic may corrupt, but technology is a powerful counterweight to the potency and corruption of the arcane.”

Saved by the...

Spoiler:

Cold, dark and damp. Those would be the first words that would come to Nim's mind, were she asked to describe her current location. Perhaps ‘going to be attacked at any moment, whilst being trapped inside a collapsed tunnel' would've worked better, but she liked to keep a measure of optimism in her thoughts. After all, it was for a good cause. Nim Evenstride had taken yet another in her line of mercenary jobs, this time not against the Burning Legion, but aimed at a group of bandits that had camped in a cave in the Northern mountains of the Swamp of Sorrows.

She shook her head, muttering to herself as her fingers worked hurriedly to fit a small, glinting silver power core into the shell of a small harvest reaper she'd built inside the collapsed tunnel out of the spare parts she'd picked up on the way there. “It was supposed to be just another job. Fellin' great...” she sighed.

“Oh well. It's not the first time an employer tried to stage an ambush for me. Blew the entrance to the cavern... Still, they're digging in and I don't have that much air. It won't matter in a little bit, though. I bet they're after the vial of plague I got from that Death Knight... Besides, I've got a few grenades, my rifle, ammo... Aaand...” she pulled her hands out of the reaper's casing and closed it, pressing a big red button – salvaged out of the self-destruct device of a goblin shredder – next to it. Nothing happened.

Nim sighed. She reeled in her right leg and gave the harvest reaper a sharp punt between its wooden, stiff legs. It bounced a little, then smoke came out of its casing and it hobbled around the elven girl, spinning its wooden barrel torso and making slashing motions with its metallic claws rather randomly through the air. She crossed her arms over her gut, nodding once. “...You. I name you... uhmm... Punt.” She grinned. “Yup.”

A low, rumbling sound came from the entrance to the tunnel, and Nim reached for her rifle, taking it off her back and checked it over rapidly, her eyes scanning over its most prominent features. The Darksilencer on the muzzle, the adjustable scope, the modified butt to accept ammunition magazines, the two bayonet blades and one spike to stick into the ground when shooting from a prone position... or to stick into an enemy's body should they get too close for comfort. She shrugged and reached down for her belt just as light started creeping through a slowly growing hole in the rubble at the entrance and pressed a button on the device there, disappearing suddenly from view.

Into the tunnel hobbled three humans, fairly well armed and armored. Nim frowned from her cloaked state. The quality of their equipment put them above your average mercenary. Still, she did nothing but watched the mini-Harvest Reaper make its way over to them, churning out plumes of smoke as it went.

“...The fel is that?” one of the men said, leaning down to examine the construct. “Looks like one o' the toys I got my son once for his birthday. Only, that one didn't have claws.” Said another, tipping his head to the side.

“Naw. It's one of them Harvest Reapers. Only it's tiny. Doesn't pose a threat. Look for the girl.” The third said and looked around. ‘Punt' buzzed and whirred defiantly at them, as though asserting itself. One of the mercenaries coughed from the smoke coming from the tiny reaper. “Oh, look. Lil' thing has an attitude. Ain't you cute?...” asked one of the men, grinning. ‘Punt' started spinning rapidly, claws outstretched, and managed to cut at the calves of all three men, who quickly turned towards it and swung their swords at it. “Kill it! Kill it!” one shouted.

‘Punt' took quite a few blows, and, shattered, fell. “Well, that was all felled up...” a man grunted, peering over the wreckage of the construct. “Right, now do your jobs and lo-“ he was cut off, as ‘Punt' let out a last, angry little buzz and exploded violently, the power core inside it detonating and blasting the three men apart, into the walls of the tunnel, and also clearing its entrance.

Nim dropped out of cloak, letting the device on her belt cool down. She shook her head. “...You were a hero, little guy.” She murmured, walking out towards the exit, rifle in hand. As her eyes readjusted to the daylight outside, she spotted another of the mercenaries, his back turned as he scanned the marshes. Nim didn't wait for him to turn. She raised her rifle, took aim rapidly, and pulled the trigger. Poff! – A bullet left the barrel with an angry, quiet huff in a small cloud of black dust, and the man fell forwards, flat.

Something rustled behind her, but Nim didn't get the chance to turn. She was fast, but not that fast... She barely managed to turn halfway and something splattered all across her side and the side of her face. Something warm. She opened the eye she'd squeezed shut to the incoming substance and glanced rapidly at herself - she had been splattered with blood. She looked to the source, only to find yet another mercenary, a silvery-green blade sticking out of his chest, his mouth open in a silent scream. From his hand dropped an elaborate scimitar as he stood there.

The man slowly slid off the blade, dropping limply to the ground, a female Kaldorei in scanty green leathers standing behind him, flicking the blood off her sword. “Nim Evenstride?” she asked, indifference in her voice, her facial expression concealed behind a metallic mask similar to the one Nim herself wore.

“I... Yes-Who are you?” Nim immediately pointed her rifle at the stranger.

“I'm the one who's escorting you to the Netherstorm. You're wanted there. I've been contracted to get you there in one piece.” The Kaldorei said, her tone as placid and calm as before.

“Right... And I can trust you... how exactly?” Nim did not lower her weapon.

“I just saved your ass, Blood Elf. I've got a job to do, and I will do it, with or without your consent.” The Night Elf replied, disdain echoing in her voice.

Nim nodded, sighing annoyed. “Alright, fine.” She lowered the rifle, but did not holster it.

“Good. Come.” The Kaldorei said, and they set off South, towards the Dark Portal.

The Netherbane

Spoiler:

As a Kaldorei and Sin'dorei neared Area 52, the former of the two stopped. Purple lightning cracked the skies above, which were so deep into the Twisting Nether that the very skies seemed to churn with its chaotic flows. Mana flowed in cyclone-like formations into one of the Mana-forges in the distance, as the Night Elf turned towards the other and spoke – breaking a very long silence.

“You're to go in and find out where Nova Anchorage is. You're expected there in half a day. Good luck.” She said, and gestured to the goblin walled town. She turned sharply on her heel.

“Wait, so... That's it? I just go in and ask about some Nova Anchorage? What's this about anyway?” Nim asked, watching her.

“I don't know.” The Kaldorei answered without turning and sprinted back towards Blade's Edge.

Nim sighed. “Oh yay. Then again, this is just another day in the life of Nim Evenstride. A crappy one at that.” She muttered, moving for the town, holstering her rifle across her back just as she entered. She proceeded to ask around...

...Ten hours later and still, she found no answers. What she did find, however, was a human woman just standing in the middle of the Northern entrance to the goblin city and looking quite possibly as confused as she was as she found her flask – presumably of some alcoholic beverage, empty. The human looked to Nim and asked her where the tavern was. Nim pointed her in the right direction and offered, out of boredom, to buy her a drink.

She accepted, and the human, who was called Erizabeth, got her drink, whilst Nim herself offered her a bomb. Erizabeth took it, and for about an hour they simply made tense conversation with one-another, before saying their farewells as Nim went off for another round of asking. She eventually reached a Nether Rocket rider. A goblin with a rather insane hairdo, a blue Mohawk cutting along his scalp.

“Yeah? Waddaya' want?” he asked, looking up to Nim suspiciously. He didn't like Blood Elves. They were always up to something. Especially here, in the Netherstorm...

“I'm looking for a place called Nova Anchorage.” Nim said simply.

The goblin's eyes widened for a moment, but then his expression returned to normal. “What's in it for me?”

“A fist-full of silvers.” Nim answered, slipping a hand in her pocket.

“Goblin fist or Blood Elf fist? Y'know, it doesn't really matter... Give.” He held out his grubby green hand, palm facing upwards. Nim deposited the coins without counting them into his hand, gritting her teeth behind her mask.

“Right. What'cha' wanna do is head South-East, until you reach the end of the continent. There should be a mana-forge on the other side o' the gap in front of you, and Nova Anchorage should be on your end. ‘S just a clump of floating rock – Dunno why you wanna go there – but it's used by us Nether Rocket pilots t' land.” The goblin said, grinning as he pocketed the cash.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Nim said, rushing out of town and for the Anchorage point.

There was just a half an hour to her deadline as Nim reached her intended destination. There, she found a tall, apparently Human man, standing up straight, in his black, long trench coat, a military-looking cap on his head covering his gray hair, below which were a pair of bushy white eyebrows made their home, one of which was parted in two by a jagged scar that continued over an eye covered by a mechanical device supposedly replacing the lost visual organ, lenses glinting from it. The man had a short, well-trimmed beard and looked rather plain. He took a drag out of a thick cigar and tapped it with his index finger, ash falling to the purple soil beneath his black boots.

The man cleared his throat before speaking. “So you made it in time, hmm? Not that I mind watching the Nether for twelve hours on end. She is a terribly beautiful thing...” he said, glancing over his shoulder into the depths of the Nether, before looking back towards Nim.

“Y-Yeah..” Nim caught her breath, nodding. She stood up slightly straighter. “So, you called me here? Who are you to bring me from one world to another anyway?”

The man chuckled, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Me? I am Avern Halsford, though you will most likely come to call me Captain from now on, miss Evenstride.”

“Avern, then... How'd you know who I am? Or where I'd be?” Nim asked, suspicion in her voice.

“We know everything there is to know about you, miss Evenstride. No living immediate relatives, no friends – I am sorry to inform you that the Death Knight you procured that batch of plague-puss from is dead – And best of all, no standing contracts. You are also neutral as far as racial respects go. For all intents and purposes, you do not exist - You are a ghost. Though, of course, this may be subject to change in the future.” Avern answered with another smoky chuckle.

Nim stared at him for a moment. “So, you've had me followed or scried on. Sounds like a lot of bother for someone that doesn't exist – like me.”

Avern shook his head, taking another drag of his cigar. “Not in the least. Especially not since I am here to offer you a job.”

“I'm a freelancer. A soldier of fortune. I don't take permanent jobs...”

“Ah, but you see, this one is precisely the job for a soldier of fortune, for in truth, there are few ties that would bind you to it save secrecy. Don't you wish to know what it entails?”

Nim sighed. “All right. I'll bite. What's it ‘entail'?”

Avern smiled. “You will fight the Legion's forces on Draenor and beyond. Azeroth is included. By use of technology and physical skill, as I assume you have no Arcane potential.”

“I have none. Alright, but I'm not a one-girl army and you don't look much like a fighter, old man... And Demons are pretty hard to kill.”

Avern nodded. He slipped a hand into an inner pocket of his trench coat and took out what seemed to be a pocket watch, opening it and pressing on something inside. It took a moment for anything to happen, but soon a rumbling noise came from above and they both looked up sharply.

A half-bullet shaped mass of gray metallic plating slowly became visible against the multicolored sky, a little ways above them. White runes glowed dimly on its underside, alongside four metallic boxes with ventilators and heavier plating than the rest of the object which were two on each side.. Nim blinked. She recognized the boxes as Gnomish Gravity Negators. She tipped her head to the side, the very lowest point of the floating half-bullet opening, a rope ladder uncurling down to the two. Avern proceeded up it.

“So... Some weird floating gunship? Looks like a destroyer ship, only with gravity negators instead of sails. And smaller and with... What? No cannons?” Nim asked as she moved for the end of the ladder, which slowly receded up into the floating vehicle.

Avern looked down. “It's nowhere near the size or firepower of an actual Gunship. This is the Netherbane Two and I am its captain. Magic and Technology alike function in a discordant opus to allow this ship to function. It has only one cannon – embedded into the bow. The other ports are water-tight windows and Dwarven Reciprocator ports. Two Phlogiston Extractors work on it constantly to provide power for both its Phlogiston Furnace-“ he pointed to the rocket-like exhaust on the end of the Netherbane Two. “-And our usual technological devices. I try not to let Chaos Technology get on board, though Fizzypop, our gnomish engineer, tends to disregard that.”

Nim grinned beneath her mask. She nodded quietly as the rope ladder reached the keel and receded up into it. Nim looked around, and saw a narrow hallway, at one end being a flight of stairs, at the other the inner side of the phlogiston furnace, plastered with metallic plating which, she assumed, was applied with heat-sink in mind. She looked over to Avern. “So, what happened to the Netherbane One?”

Avern shot her a stern gaze and gestured to one of the doors. “This will be your room – Which you'll be sharing with another of the crew. A human by the name of Tara Spinner.” He then gestured to the stairs. “However, the crew wishes to meet their newest – well, all save for Fizzypop, as he keeps himself in the lab at all times, and Number Six, whom remains locked in the cargo hold beneath our feet. After meeting the crew, you may sleep, as you're probably tired after the journey here.”

“Fine by me. Let's see the crew.” Nim shrugged, following Avern upstairs, boots tapping quietly on the metallic floor. The level above had the ports for four Dwarven Reciprocators – six-barreled firearms that shot their bullets in quick succession by spinning the barrels and firing them successively – and the windows next to them. To the front of it all, next to the stairwell, the butt end of a black cannon was, with a few different kinds of cannonballs next to it. On the opposite side of the level, a construct stood in dim lighting, behind another narrow hallway with doors on its sides.

Continuing upwards, the two reached the actual deck of the Netherbane Two, where an assortment of people stood, peering over at the newcomers.

Avern smiled over at Nim. “Well? Introduce yourself.”

Nim nodded once and moved for the first in the line of people. A human girl, which couldn't have been past her mid twenties, with clear goggles strapped to her forehead and a heavy pair of armored gloves in her hands. The girl grinned over at Nim. “Hey. So, you're my new roommate, huh? Never thought Captain'd bring a Blood Elf on the Netherbane Two. But hey.” She shrugged. “Nice to meet you. Like you probably heard, I'm Tara. Tara Spinner. We can talk more when you go off to nap. The others are prolly waiting.”

Nim nodded. “Nice to meet you too. Like you've probably heard as well, I'm Nim Evenstride.” She said, loud enough for all in the line to hear. She moved on for the next in the line. A massive, burly Orc, that frowned as he looked down on her. “Grim'krosh.” He said in a deep, bass tone, and only continued to stare, before saying “Steam Warrior.” With so much pride that it seemed as though his black scalemail would burst. Nim nodded. “Right. Well...” she moved off for the next one.

“Bann Radathar.” The Dwarf recommended himself. He held a hand out for the elf to shake and she did so. His left hand was occupied with a hammer, hefted over his shoulder, which had its head modified into a Steam Ram. A modification that made the head of the hammer expand rapidly upon impact, making the weapon even more formidable than before. “Tech-Paladin o' the Light, lassie. They call me Legion-hammah.”

The next was a Draenei, his long, gem-filled ponytail reaching down to the base of his tail. He wore fairly elaborate purple robes, and at his hips lay two swords – One had wiring all about its blade, connected to a power cell on the hilt, the other having metallic teeth along its edge, going into a miniaturized motor on the guard – which Nim recognized as a Voltaic Coil sword and Chatter Blade respectively. “Taar. Techno-Mage of Argus, little one.” He said, smiling and bending down to her eye-level. “It is I who am responsible for the Netherbane's non-technological maneuvering, shielding and arcane weaponry. Thirty thousand years of practicing Arcane magic allow me this. Tell me, little one, what is it you wish to accomplish aboard the Netherbane Two?...”

“I... I wish to fight the Legion. As I have back in the Black Temple, and before that with Kael'thas' troops. Fel, it's the Legion that spawned the cursed Undead that ravaged my homeland. I'm going to get back at them, one way or another...” Nim answered, nodding once, firmly.

Taar straightened, not losing his smile. “Tread lightly, little one, for the path of vengeance can lead to your own destruction, as well as that of the enemy... Now... Rest.”

Avern nodded once. “So, that's the end of that. Miss Spinner, if you would accompany miss Evenstride to her room.” He said, turning as the others dispersed.

Tara nodded once, grinning over at Nim. “C'mon.” she said, skipping for the stairwell and descending with Nim in tow. They reached the room and entered it, Tara unlocking it with a key, a copy of which she passed to Nim. The elf pocketed the key as she looked around.

The room itself seemed somewhat bare, save for a vertical locker, a workbench and a couple of wall beds, that Tara pulled down from the walls. The floor was littered with gadgets and parts, and the human girl shrugged. “Eh. Sorry about the mess. Umm... You can find spare gear in the locker and whatnot. For ammo and weaponry, see Fizzypop. Though, he's usually grumpy – Scratch that. He's always grumpy.” She said, thumping down on one of the beds.

Nim wandered over to the locker, nodding. “It's fine. I could probably make something out of the parts. It'll be fun.” She said, unlocking it with the key she'd received. She peered inside and took out what seemed to be a multi-part black, gold and white skin-tight suit made of an either leathery or rubbery material. She couldn't discern what it was. She glances over her shoulder to Tara. “So, what's this?”

“That?” Tara looked over lazily. “Oh. It's just an environment suit. Basically, it's a durable leather and rubber skin-tight suit that sutures itself up if you get cut. And it's actually really comfy. I never got one. Not my profession, so to speak.” She chuckled. “Also, you put it on whilst not wearing anything beneath it. So, if you wanna try it on, I'll look away or something. And I think it's more comfortable to sleep in than normal clothes. There's gloves in the glove compartment to the left of the locker, I think, and boots down at the bottom.”

“...Are you just trying to-Nevermind. All right. Turn around.” Nim said, and watched her turn to face the wall. She herself put on the environment suit as instructed and blinked. “...Hey, it really is comfortable.” She grinned, having also taken off her mask. “I could totally sleep in this. And fight in it too, I think. Feels... Flexible.” She stretched.

Tara turned, grinning as well. “Yeah. It's what it's for.”

Nim nodded, and plopped herself down on the bed, stowing away her gear in the locker, all save her rifle, which she cradled in her arms. “So, what do you do?... From the way you're playing with that bomb, you're a sapper, right?”

“I knew you'd ask. I also know a few, trace thoughts going along the very surface of your mind.” Tara said simply. “...The cold of the Nether... But yeah, I'm a demolitionist. I was to be trained to be an Infiltrator, the mind-messing type. But I was found to be too chaotic and, hell, I loved bombs, so, here I am.” she said, nodding.

Nim looked down at herself. The Nether was indeed fairly cold, and she had been changing. She blinked, blushing and looking away. “Right. So, a vaguely telepathic bomb maniac.” She muttered, then lied down, rifle in her arms, and pulled the coverings over herself, facing away from Tara.

“Heh. Sorry... G'night.” Tara said, facing away from her.

Nim mumbled a good night and closed her eyes, drifting off, to sleep...

[flammos200]

Memories.

Spoiler:

Nim's eyes fluttered open. She looked about the steel-walled room, and let herself slip out of bed. No one was around, and the door was closed. She was still cradling her rifle in her arms. She smiled down on it, then sighed. The room was cold, the faintest of hums coming from the hallway. The elf moved for the window and looked out of it. The multicolored skies of the Twisting Nether spanned infinitely out her circle-shaped water-tight window, purple lightning streaking across it from veins of green, Fellish energies.

The Sin'dorei moved shook her head, frowning. She wandered over to the mirror just above a sink built into an indent in the wall. “Where's Tara when you need her?...” she turned the tap, letting some water flow forth. She bent over the sink's basin and peered into the mirror.

The environment suit had been very comfortable during the night, and still felt so. In truth, it felt more like a second skin, rather than the combat-ready invention it was designed to be. Still, she watched herself. She saw a pair of almond-shaped, slightly slanted Fel-green orbs peering into hers, the same jet black hair that was easily found in all her bloodline, running down, halfway from her shoulders to her elbows, and down to the middle of her back. She inhaled once, blowing a lock of hair away from her face, and grinned over at the small, faintly sharp nose and angled chin, which, along with her ears and typical elven slenderness gave her an aquiline look.

Nim reached her hands under the water flow, and finding no glass or cup nearby, she simply cupped some in her palms and drank, before turning the tap off. She sighed a little, peering into the mirror. The water tasted a little bit like iron. Memories flooded her mind – Always of her first experiences, as those are said to be the strongest...

Her first kill...

The elven girl held the flintlock pistol to an old man's head, both her small hands fitting on the grip of the firearm. Her arms were outstretched, shaking. Another pistol was pointed at her head, held by another person at her side. She glanced sidelongly and upwards, noticing a cruel smirk curling the lips of the one with the gun to her head.

“Kill him or die. We agreed you would. You need the money...” The man at her side said coldly. “Do it now.” He pushed at the side of her head with the pistol. Nim winced. She looked down at the old man she was supposed to kill. He looked up to her, glowing blue eyes meeting glowing blue. And he smiled...

It was a serene smile. The kind of smile that reassures others that everything will be all right. That nothing can go wrong. How could he smile like that when everything had gone wrong? When he was about to die by the hands of a little girl with a gun?

Trembling digits reached for the trigger, both index fingers struggling to pull it back, a faint clicking sound coming from the hammer being pulled back. Nim's vision was blurry. Tears started streaking down her cheeks and yet she made no sound. A wicked grin flashed somewhere at her side, just as the powder flashed somewhere inside the weapon, projecting a led sphere out the muzzle of the weapon. Blood, bone and brain splattered across the cobblestone, the girl stumbling back from the recoil, splattered with the red ichor of life. In the sunset, the sky felt set ablaze with horror at her deed as she dropped to her knees next to the corpse.

“Keep the gun. May it forever remind you of what you are - A murderer...” a bag of coins flopped lazily onto the ground next to her, into the puddle of blood. Nim was clutching her pistol for dear life.

She sighed, shaking her head, trying to clear that particular memory from her mind. “Think happy thoughts, damn it.” She rubbed at her eyes.

Her first love...

A bright, warm day in Silvermoon. Nim was indoors, facing a translucent white silken screen, the golden sunlight filtering through it giving it a faintly tinted colour. She knew she was atop one of the highest spires of the elven city and was smiling quietly, walking forwards with her hands clasped together, fingers twined.

A shadowy silhouette made its mark on the silk, mimicking Nim's movements in its approach. A palm pressed against the veil, its contours sharp, long, slender fingers reaching out from it. Nim unclasped her hands and reached her own hand out, towards the contour. The two hands met, separated only by the soft veil, and both curled slowly closed, around one-another, yet never truly touching.

The two hands moved off to the side slightly, and Nim felt her heart pound in her ears as the veil shifted soundlessly, gliding on the wind, and revealing a long braid of fair hair, the tip of one ear, and the corner of a sea-blue eye.

Shoulder, collarbone, neck... Smile. Happiness...

Nim blinked a couple of times, trying her best to hold on to the memory, but stopping once she noticed her cheeks had flushed a bright, cherry red on her image in the mirror. She shook her head. “Even happiness is short-lived, huh?...” she blinked, hearing her stomach rumble.

“I'm hungry...” she muttered to herself, and slipped on her boots and the corresponding pair of gloves, strapped the ammunition magazines around her thighs, and her grenade-and-Cloaking device belt on. She holstered her rifle across her back and pushed open the door, exiting and locking it behind herself, and wandered up towards the stairs, climbing them.

Hey, it's for a good cause.

Spoiler:

Nim's boots tapped very lightly on the metallic stair pieces, as she reached the central floor of the Netherbane. Still, Avern, who was at the opposite end of the corridor, turned sharply to their sound. He waved her over, and she walked up to him.

“Ah, miss Evenstride. I'm glad you're up. You're probably hungry, and it is a fairly uneventful day, as such, may I escort you to the kitchen? Our engineer happens to be our cook. Fizzypop. You might like him, if you're the ‘taste an experiment with each bite' type of gourmand.” Avern said, smiling knowingly.

“Yes. I'm feeling a bit peckish, captain..” Nim murmured, nodding. She raised an eyebrow. “Lead on.” She said, with mild enthusiasm and definite curiosity resonating in her few words.

“Excellent. Now, have I ever told you why I picked you?” he asked in his slow trod for a door with a bowl with a cog in it engraved on a wooden slab bolted into the outside. “For the Netherbane Two, I mean.”

“Umm, no. I was wondering, actually. I'm no telepath, nor steamwarrior, nor techno-mage, nor can I wield the Light. Why did you?” Nim asked, halfway towards the door.

“Combat experience, miss Evenstride. We've examined your file. Well...” he chuckled into his grayed-out moustache, the mechanical eye replacement focusing its lenses on her with a faint grating sound. “You see, you had not only experience in bounty-hunting and... well, morally gray jobs. You had even joined the Ravenholdt faction, fought against Kael'thas, your traitor prince, and the entirety of the campaign for the Black Temple, the Kaldorei's own betrayer. Now, while each of the crew has their story, some – such as Number Six – having darker ones, you have the same sort of experience that they have. That, and your uncanny knack for engineering made you the perfect candidate.”

Avern reached out and opened the metallic door, gesturing for Nim to enter. Nim did so. “Well, I enjoy flattery, but I'm just a girl with a r-“ her eyes widened to the sight. The room was a bizarre combination – Half of it was designed to look and work like a kitchen, with stools set around a large, circular table, the other half being an engineering workshop. Nim blinked a couple of times. She looked to the Captain. “You say the word ‘Now' a lot. Also, since when did I have a ‘file'?”

Avern chuckled once more, shaking his head. He gestured her to one of the stools, next to where a Tara in overalls, the top pulled down, and a tunic sat, with a fork in one gloved hand, jabbing at a piece of roasted brownish meat and some greenery on the side, what seemed to be a radio headpiece covering both her ears, a band connecting them over her head. Faint noise – or was it music? – was coming from the headpiece.

Nim nodded. “I'll still want my question answered later, Captain.” She said over to Avern and walked to the stool, plopping down. She looked over to Tara, who didn't seem to notice her. She waved her hand. “Hey.” And got no answer. The Captain had slipped out of the room by now.

Nim sighed. A gnome with frizzy green hair suddenly popped up from across the table, a pressure-pot in his gloved hand, and what looked to be a dragon gun in his other. “Yes? Here to eat, correct? Nim Evenstride, aged one hundred and thirty-three, precisely one point seventy-seven meters in height and sixty-four kilograms in weight, beyond-fel eyecolour gray, penchant for engineering – Robotics, Gunsmithing and Gadgeteering especially. Sexual prefference-“ he was cut off.

“Alright, alright! Just shut up! Damn it... I came here to eat, not hear my life's story. Fel...” Nim shook her head, grumbling.

The Gnome stared at her. “I am Fizzypop. I am the cook and head engineer on this Nether and sea-bound vessel. And you are asking me for food.”

“Yes. Is that so strange?” Nim asked, raising an eyebrow.

“...Not in the slightest.” He popped open the pressure pot, dumping the contents, a similar brownish piece of meat and a few bits of steamed salad, onto a plate. He pushed the plate towards her and slid her a knife and fork. “Here. This is what most people eat. But if you do not believe you are most people, you can always ask for more... experimental recipes.”

“I'll stick to plain food, for now. Thanks.” Nim answered, reaching for the knife and fork, and digging in. Fizzypop wandered off, whistling and humming ‘Experimental...'

By the time she was done, Tara pulled down the headpiece, grinning over at the elf. “You're lucky, you know that? He doesn't experiment on unwilling subjects, unless they're Legion or something. Anyhow, was it good?” she asked, setting her elbows on the tabletop and propping her chin up on her palms.

“Yes. It was, strangely. I wonder if he didn't spike it with additives or something. Anyhow, I wanted to know more about the crew.” The Sin'dorei shrugged.

“The crew? Sure. Ask away.” Tara sounded thoroughly amused.

“Well, let's see... Where's the Dwarf, and what's he like?”

“Bann? He's probably in the furnace room, praying. He likes to pray there. He's your average dwarf. Love for ale, the Light, beards, technology. His hammer's an old thing, but damn, it hits hard. I've seen him just squish stuff like grellkin and imps, not even bothering with proper hits. He's great to have in a fight, and he's a good healer. So, yeah. He can patch you up if you get hurt. To an extent...” Tara smiled.

“All right.” Nim nodded. “And like us all, he probably hates the Legion. What about the Orc? Grim'krosh, the Steamwarrior.”

“Grim's a tough bastard. He's the heavy hitter of the lot. Him and his precious Gann'ar – the thing he fights and practically lives in, are one monstrous pair. He's pretty quiet, though. Don't expect him to talk much outside battle. And even then, he's just yelling battle cries in his native tongue.” Tara frowned a little. “I may not like him much, but he's saved my skin more times than I care to count, so...” she shrugged.

Nim crossed her arms over her gut, leaning an elbow against the tabletop. “Thought so. What about the Draenei? Is he really that old? And those swords...”

“Taar's a great guy. Fel, he's the friendliest of the lot, save Captain, to everyone else. I mean, we each have our preferences on who we like and who we dislike, but Taar just gets along with everyone. Even Grim. And, I don't know if he really is that old, but... He really can shield the ship, teleport it, and turn it invisible. So, either he's insanely old, or insanely powerful – or both. The swords aren't just for show, either. Using that much Arcane energy here in the Nether kinda' drains you of mana. So, when he feels depleted, he'll just draw those out.” Tara answered with a grin.

“Friendliest save for the Captain, huh? What's the Captain's story anyway? Or this Number Six I keep hearing about. Some sort of prisoner?”

“Honestly, I have no idea who either of ‘em really are. Captain's a good man, I know that much. Don't know his past, and don't care to ask. You'll have to take it up with him. And I don't know a thing on the Number Six thing. Probably another of Captain's mysteries. Apparently, it has something to do with the Netherbane One from what I managed to get out of Avern's mind. I tried thinking on the cargo hold, to see if I pick up any thoughts, but I came up with nothing.” Tara sighed. “Anything else?”

“Well, what about you and Fizzypop? When did you two join the Netherbane?” Nim asked, her eyebrows going up.

“I joined the Netherbane Two when the crew was being put together. All of them except Fizzy, you and me are from the Netherbane One. None of the others talk about it, though. Fizzypop came up about a day after I did. Crazy-arse gnome.” She chuckled.

Nim nodded once. “All right. That's good enough for me.” She looked over to Fizzypop, who had waddled away a ways. “Hey. Do you have any tea? I'd like some.” She called over.

The gnome quirked a green eyebrow. He proceeded for a metallic teapot which he picked up off the stove, and took a cup from a cupboard, setting it in front of Nim and poured her a cup of the liquid. Nim nodded and took a sip. “Huh. Not half-bad. What's this? Orange?”

“Precisely.” Fizzypop said with a sly smirk, before walking off once more. Nim took another sip and looked over to Tara. “So, what's the pay and how do we get it? And how can we get off the Netherbane Two if we want to?”

“Well, the pay's in gold every week. Captain puts it straight into your locker. And you can either take the ladder down, or ask Taar for a teleport. I suggest the latter. He can just scry you and pop you out when you're done with your business on Azeroth or Draenor, or wherever you wanna go.”

“Sounds better than another trip, honestly.” Nim drained the rest of her tea. “So, when's our first job? – I mean my first job.” She asked, standing and setting the empty cup on the tabletop.

“About a couple of days from now. And, if you go, see ya'. And have some fun, eh?” Tara answered, grinning and slipping the music-headpiece back onto her ears, resuming a quiet hum, oblivious to the rest of the world.

Nim shrugged. “See you around.” She said and moved for the door, going up the stairs and to the upper deck, where Taar was sitting in deep meditation. He opened his azure eyes and looked over to Nim. “Aah, little one, how may I help you?” he asked with a smile of his cracked, ancient lips.

“I would like to get passage off-board. Someplace warm, with a sun.” she shrugged, grinning. She slipped her mask on, tieing it behind her head.

“Most certainly. I take it you'll be wanting non-physical passage back as well? Do you give you permission for me to scry you when you do so, that I may bring you aboard?”

“Yes, sure, thank you.” Nim nodded once. Taar flipped her a small copper coin. “Keep this. Snap it in half and I will transport you here. It will mend back, much like your suit does, when broken. Also, you will have access to all your normal gear whilst off-board, too.” He smiled. “Now, if you would set your palm upon mine, I will send you to your destination.” He said, extending a massive palm towards the elfling.

She wandered up to him and set her palm upon his, a flash of light marking her disembarking from the Netherbane Two...