I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I really should stop inflicting my little literary ramblings on you, but someone on my last fanfiction post demanded more. So here more is.
Once again, this story was inspired, but this time by a A Softer World comic and my own paladin alt.
Note: “prince “is used in a derogatory fashion, similar to how one might say “chief” or “bub”.
I always thought that violence never solves anything. And then one day it did, and the guilt I expected never came.
Mom had always taught me to be kind, to be nice. She even tried to get me to follow her path, as a holy priest of the Light. I was never much good at it; I’d always been a little rough around the edges.
Mom’s dead, of course, along with who knows how many other high elves Arthas killed in his quest to… I don’t know, something about a velcromancer and some demon named Arkimound. I could never really concentrate in history class. It was always blah blah trolls blah blah burning legion.
I never really cared, you know? It was all in the past, didn’t matter. What mattered was friends, having fun, kicking it in the streets of Silvermoon.
Oh, sure, the guards would have you think it’s some stuffy ol’ elf town filled with pompous… I dunno, shoe parties maybe, but that’s not the truth.
Truth is, everything you think you know about Silvermoon? All the shiny stuff management tries to show the outside world? It’s all a mask.
Deep down, Silvermoon is just a rowdy party, boiling over with drugs, booze, and best of all, rampant sex. I loved every minute of it.
Well, some minutes more than others, but you get my point.
I suppose there’s always been a dark side to this territory, something terrifying and awful brewing just below the surface.
I’d heard of… things. Things that happen to pretty young elves in a dark alley at night. No one I knew had ever seen anything bad happen, so I mostly ignored it or just chalked it up to those horror rumors the young elves like.
Wishful thinking, I know I know, but I was young, and everything was covered in a sunny glow.
Heh. Pun not intended.
My sister was a lovely girl. Three years younger than me, but twice as rowdy and more than willing to try anything as long as a handsome face suggested it.
And this guy’s face sure used to be handsome, I can tell you that much.
I suppose he picked my sister up in a bar somewhere. Took her home, had a fun night, drugged her into a stupor then sold her to some “alternative businessman” from Booty Bay.
I hate goblins. I really, really do.
It’s too late for me to save her. She’s probably in some whorehouse in Stormwind trading her body for drugs. She’ll probably be dead within a year.
The crumpled body below me whimpered. He’d been doing that a lot since I broke his legs.
“Please…” Blood bubbled out of his shattered jaw.
“Oh, hush now, no need to say anything.” I pressed my boot down on his neck.
“What would you say anyway? ‘Sorry I sold your sister into slavery as a prostitute’? ‘Please forgive me for destroying what little was left of your family’?”
I leaned my face down close to his. Close enough for flecks of blood to splash onto my face.
“It’s too late for that. You think you’re going to make it out of this? Think someone’s going to help you? Well I got news for you, prince, nobody is going to care that you’ve died. Nobody! Some guard is going to find you in the morning, the paladins will get a piece of paper detailing the brutal murder, and that paper will be filed away somewhere, forgotten.”
I savored this last part. “Just like you.”
I straightened myself out, boot still firmly pressed to his neck. I pushed down with all my strength. A brief gurgle escaped his lips before his neck gave out. A wet cracking noise later, and his miserable life was over.
I waited for the guilt. The grief. The horrific sinking feeling of having done something irrevocably wrong.
But there was nothing.
Well, I suppose there was that sense of grim satisfaction.
But was it justice that was served there, on the stained floor of some alley? Or was it vengeance?
And more importantly, do I actually care?
Whatever, I don’t know, you tell me.
What I do know… I graduated today as a fully fledged Blood Knight.
I looked around the huge ballroom, surrounded by my friends and colleagues, my teachers behind me emanating their silent approval, and I could feel the very essence of Light writhing and shimmering under my control.
The same Light my mom had tried to teach me to serve, I had now enslaved to my will.
And as I was handed the reins of my charger, deafened by the cheers of my fellow knights, I couldn’t help but think that something, somewhere, had gone horribly wrong.