Marriage, Pirates, and Other Important Topics

I have lost track of how long I've been married, though I could easily recall the date- I prefer not to.  Some balked at the idea- after all, I am more than somewhat deceased, presenting both a legal and religious obstacle to marriage.

However, my decision to marry was not taken in light of the desire for "holy matrimony" or the equal ownership of property... It was more as a contract, an acknowledgment, between myself and my wife.  I told Knight-Master Duskbane that, in spite of all things, my wife and I accepted each other as we are; she with her "eccentricities," and me with my notable lack of pulse.  This is, in retrospect, what makes our relationship function, and it is something I treasure.

Very recently, my sense of duty and her stubborn behavior clashed over the topic of her previous service as a Farstrider, resulting in her execution, resurrection, and disguise while efforts were made to clear her name.  This, as can be imagined, had put quite a strain on our relationship.  Until, one evening, she decided we should take a vacation.

~From the journal of Xynrael Frostbane

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The sun shone brightly over the horizon, its early-morning rays crossing the southerly heading of the Floating Treasure as the Goblin-owned luxury ship passed out of visual distance of Booty Bay.  The shining of the sun caused the Death Knight standing on the starboard railing of the ship to shield his eyes.

The motion left him oblivious to the source of a distinct "clack" on the deck behind him- oblivious, that is, until a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, long, powerful fingers interlocking on his chest, over the flesh his loose shirt left bare.  He smiled a little at the familiar touch in these unfamiliar surroundings, knowing that she was only likely comfortable with the show of affection because most of the crew was still asleep.

Xynrael turned, noting a rope dangling all the way down from the crow's nest, where his wife had likely been enjoying the literal bird's-eye-view of Stranglethorn as they left it behind the horizon.

"Morning, love."  Muttered Iliae Duskryder, as she lay her head against his chest.  He wrapped his arms around her for a moment, leaving them about her waist where they had come to rest, until she lifted herself from him and began to walk the deck.  He followed in silence, his eyes focused not on the sparkling ocean, but instead seeking out his wife's form, looking her over with a surprisingly lust-less appreciation.

The Death Knight had to remind himself that his wife's comparatively small and wiry body contained a surprising amount of strength and speed, the deception thereof perfect for a Ranger, and even better in a wife.  When the two paused in their walk, he took a moment to reflect that although a small part of him enjoyed playing soldier at home, he didn't often have to worry about Iliae.

As she moved again, he started to follow, nearly slamming into her and knocking the Ranger over.

Iliae tapped him on the shoulder as she had during the few occasions where they had gone hunting together, indicating she had noticed something he was either oblivious to, or simply in a bad position to spot.  Her finger led over the gently rolling sea, towards the horizon.

There, with the morning sun's rays as its shield, sailed a medium-sized vessel, probably easily capable of running circles around the Floating Treasure.  At that distance, Xynrael could just barely make out the rapid lowering of a black flag, and found himself surprised his wife had noticed it at all.  What replaced it was a larger Alliance flag, looking weather-worn and tired, with small holes and tears through it, by the unsteady way it flapped in the wind.

"That better not be what I think it is," Iliae growled, as if taking personal offense to this possible interruption to their vacation.  Her hands fell to her daggers in the easy way they usually did when anticipating a threat.

Like a tiger about to flash its claws, Xynrael thought, somewhat amused.  Aloud, he replied, "It looks like it.  I'll go wake up the captain.  Feel like going down to the powder room and loading up a few rifles?"

The Ranger shot him a glare that quite clearly said "No, and I want them to go away."  Despite this, she voiced no reply, and instead disappeared down a staircase, towards the crew quarters.

As soon as Iliae left, Xynrael ran in the opposite direction, making for the captain's quarters.  He pounded heavily on the door, attracting the attention of the present skeleton crew.  They made for him, but not before a loud, nasally call of "WHAT" came from within.

"Pirates!"  The Death Knight replied, eliciting some swearing and a small explosion from within the room.

The captain emerged a moment later, still tugging on his shirt.  The little goblin darted out, his body breezing past with speed that Xynrael believed was disproportionate to the little man's legs.

Captain Boltplank immediately rushed to the port side of the ship, unfolding his spyglass to search the waters.  "I don't see a DAMN thing!"  He barked, after a moment.

The crew looked around as well, apparently quite puzzled at the alarm.  By now, two or three more crew members had arrived on the deck and were gathering around to hear Captain Boltplank yelling at one of his guests about interrupting "private time."

Finally tiring of the so-called discussion, the larger of the pair simply leaned down, picked the captain up by his underarms, and turned him to face the starboard side of the vessel.  By this time, the "Alliance" ship was in plain sight, though still some distance away.  The captain seemed to consider the vessel for a moment, before waving a hand dismissively.

"It's an Alliance trading ship.  We've got mixed passengers on-board; they'll leave us alone, friend.  Don't wake me up again."

"That so?  Then why are their broadsides opening?"  Xynrael inquired, pointing towards the ship.  The captain raised both brows, sticking his spyglass under one of them.

There was some commotion in the minutes that followed, including the rousing of the crew and the hurrying of all the passengers to the center of the ship.  When finally the foreign craft approached, the captain thereof hailed quite loudly, and in a deceptively friendly manner.

"Ahoy!"  Boltplank responded, after receiving word that food, supplies, and gold had been safely stowed away.  "Whaddya want?"

"Food and fine goods!  We're sailing from Stormwind to trade in the Bay, and thought ya might have somethin' to sell, master goblin!"  The captain of the other ship, a middle-aged human in clothes only slightly less becoming those of a true merchant vessel's commanding officer.  He removed his hat, a tattered, three-pointed affair, and held it to his chest, bowing slightly.  "I'm Captain Armand, of the Stormwind Virtue, by way of name.  Have ya anything to sell?"

"No!  Go aw- Err... "

Xynrael could see the look of greed in the goblin's eyes as he spoke, and through the open hatches in the side of the vessel, he could also see cannons lurking, and hear the commotion from belowdecks.  As the two captains continued their back-and-forth, the Death Knight closed his eyes.  Beyond the salty air, the calling, and the creaking of ships, he could feel smaller life as it ran back and forth belowdecks on the other ship.

Powder boys.

It was then that Xynrael realized the ship upon which he was standing was a target of opportunity- they hadn't been prepared, and were likely coming back from another raid.  There was a window, a very small one, where he might be able to shift the course of the encounter.

As if summoned, his wife appeared in the stairwell, holding several single-shot powder rifles, apparently loaded and ready to go.  Iliae pressed her back against the doorway leading belowdecks, and tossed all but three of the rifles down half a flight to the landing.  One she rested against the door, the other she lifted into her own hands, her eyes giving the Death Knight a questioning look.

A small jerk of the head was his response.

In that one instant, as it became clear that the two captains were getting nowhere, Iliae threw the rifle she was holding to Xynrael, then scooped one up for herself.  Her husband reached for his belt, producing the dueling pistol that could usually be found hiding behind his cape.  With one arm crossed under his shooting hand for balance, the Death Knight fired, striking Captain Armand in the left shoulder.  At almost exactly the same time, another shot rang out from the doorway, striking the opposing ship's helmsman, whose throat exploded in a spray of blood.

"HOIST THE COLORS!"  Someone called.

The entire process took south of two seconds, and Xynrael snatched the rifle Iliae had thrown him out of the air, dropping his pistol in the same moment.  Both raised their firearms as the crew scurried to the stairwell to secure more rifles and powder.  Two more shots rang out, followed immediately by the thundering of a broadside from the pirate vessel.

The decks of both ships lit up with gunfire as planks descended.  From the Stormwind Virtue came a roar distinct from the cannons and gunfire- the roar of men preparing to charge.

"Over the side, boys!  BOARD THEM!"  Called Captain Armand, still shooting from where he was leaning, bleeding to death, against the upper deck of his vessel.

Sure enough, the raiders came, brandishing cutlass and pistol with wild abandon.  In spite of the boarding, the cannons continued, this time from both sides, a single tremendous hole ripping out of the Virtue.  Iliae had come out from her place in the stairwell, and knocked the first pirate she could find off of his gangplank.  Rather than continue fighting, however, Xynrael watched as she ducked aside.  It took him a moment to comprehend, but when he finally figured out her plan, he dove away as well.

A small explosion ripped off the railing of the Treasure in the area immediately around one plank, also knocking another off of its bearing.  Several men hopped from the plank either back or forwards, onto the ships, but most on both planks fell into the sea.

Iliae rose, spewing throwing daggers with unnatural speed.  Three found their mark, and three pirates likewise fell.  Beside her, Xynrael drew the rapier at his left hip.  A rather long-haired, ruddy sort of dwarf launched itself at him, and was immediately impaled, flung aside, and replaced by an orc- clearly, Captain Armand made no distinction of race when hiring his crew.

Amid all the commotion, the Death Knight heard a bloodcurdling yell from behind him.  As he turned, he saw the head of a bald human erupt in a spray of red and gray, round shot piercing the man's skull and scattering bits of brain everywhere.

To the left of this scene, Iliae lowered her rifle, grinning at her husband before turning and flipping the weapon in her hands to use it like a staff.  She struck a troll once between the eyes with the stock of the firearm, then once in the crotch, and used the whole of it to shove him over the edge of the ship.

From her position above the fresh hole, the Ranger could see the barrel of an un-manned cannon.  An earlier broadside had apparently killed the men using it; one of them was presently hanging over the side of the ship, conspicuously absent an arm.  In a fit of inspiration, Iliae Duskryder looked from the crew-less weapon, to her husband, whose veins were bulging a deep red with frozen blood.  She watched as he picked one pirate up by the hand that held the very cutlass the man had been attempting to swing with, and then hurled him over the side of the ship.  Iliae grinned as Xynrael took a glancing blow from another blade, turned, and ran the wielder of said blade through without flinching.

The Death Knight looked up, saw the grin on his companion's face, saw where she was standing, and raised a hand, even as he struck down another pirate.

"No," he proclaimed, quite loudly.  "We are NOT doing that!"

"Get in the damn cannon!"  Iliae called, already heading down the stairs.

Xynrael made a great deal of loud protesting, swearing, and cursing of the powers-that-be as he swung down through the hole in the deck, sliding easily into the already-loaded cannon.  Sort of easily, anyway.  He wedged a little on the way down, then gathered a thick coating of ice around himself.  The sound of water trickling into the fuse surprised him, but in the darkness of the cannon's barrel, he grinned. 

Iliae Duskryder was not as crazy as some thought.

The ice slicked enough to allow the Death Knight to exit with a resounding BOOM a moment later.  One layer of ice shattered, splintering into the Virtue .  Another cracked as he crashed through the solid wood hull of the pirate vessel, jarring him, but leaving him unharmed in his makeshift shell casing.  As he passed through something like an improvised secondary hull, all the ice shattered, allowing him to land at a breakneck roll.

The pirates manning the Virtue's guns looked vaguely surprised, and one of them seemed offended that a projectile made out of Death Knight had landed on top of him.  This last was promptly relieved of his nose, the cartilage and bone of which was sent crashing into his brain by the heel of Xynrael's boot.

Xynrael took up the man's cutlass and made for the powder room.  Another volley tore through the Virtue's hull, and was responded to in kind, leaving the air thick with powder and the smell of burning flesh- the Goblin captain had fired an incendiary volley through his opponent's hull, and it was doing its job admirably.

Only four or so met the intruder as he moved for the powder room- the others were too focused on tearing the Treasure to ribbons to bother with a lone boarder.  One , a human large enough to be a tauren, ran at Xynrael and attempted outright to tackle him.  He was met with the edge of a cutlass, his entrails redecorating the room as Xynrael flung the man over his back.

The second and third met similar fates, one impaled, the other shot by his newly-skewered mate's pistol.

The fourth was a powder boy, who, having dropped his powder keg, drew something like a longknife, though certainly a sword to his hands.  The gunpowder spilled across the floor, soaking through in a matter of moments from the spray of the ocean and the rocking of the ships as they traded fire.  The boy was clearly scared, but determined to get in the way. 

With a quick sweep of the blade and an upward twist, Xynrael disarmed the child, then knocked him to the floor and scooped him up by the collar, against a great deal of protesting, kicking, and biting.  With one boot, the Death Knight rolled the powder keg the boy had dropped to the door of the powder room.  As he kicked the door in, others began to turn and take notice, but not before he could nudge the barrel in and set a spark of unholy flame to the explosive trail left behind.

With powder monkey in tow, Xynrael made his way up the stairs, shoving and cutting his way on to the deck.

He threw the boy into a longboat and cut the ropes holding it in place with two quick slices.  The deck was deserted of all but a few gunners and men at their cannons- the fire in the hold took precedence over all else, including the man who had set it, but he knew the fire would not be so easily doused with water.

Iliae was standing on the deck of the Treasure.  She locked eyes with her husband, then pointed upwards.  He immediately began to scramble up the ropeway leading towards the mast, needing no further indication of what his Ranger companion had planned.

Halfway up, Xynrael heard frantic yelling from below, signaling that he was out of time.  Iliae was already walking along the mast of the Treasure, a rope in her hands.  As the first explosion tore through the Virtue's hull, she broke into a run with balance perhaps only a cat or a monkey could match, swinging the rope around her head as she ran.

A second explosion shook the Virtue as it began to sink into the ocean, the Death Knight barely managing to hurl himself up onto the mast of the heaving vessel.  A third explosion was imminent, he knew, and this one meant death if he wasn't clear.  The Treasure was already pulling away.

He ran, blindly, for the edge of the mast, and swan-dove off the side.

Iliae threw, and the rope met his hands.  From the corner of his eyes, he saw her hop down towards the deck he himself was headed for.  Despite his superior physiology, the fall would kill him, and the rope was far too long.

For a moment.

Iliae still held one end of the rope, loosely draped over the Treasure's mast.  As she fell, her momentum slowed him, until they balanced, and she began to rise again under his weight.  She straightened, and landed atop the mast, boots planted firmly, the rope still entwined around her arms.

Her husband let out a frightful yell as he swung around the mast twice, then let go, sailing towards the helm and landing with a terrible crash.

When he awoke briefly, Iliae was standing over him, grinning.

He mustered enough energy to swear at her before the light of consciousness departed again.


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The Salty Sailor was winding down, as much as it could.  The tavern was relatively empty- a few tavern wenches still sat comfortably in the laps of drunken sea-dogs, the latter of which appeared to be predominantly dog, rather than man.

In a darker corner of the bar, Xynrael held a mug of ale to the left side of his head, which had taken the end of his landing somewhat more violently than the rest of him.

Iliae was still grinning, though a bit less.  She leaned forward, and drew the mug away from his head.  "It does more to dull the pain if you drink it," the Ranger intoned, leaning across the table to steal a kiss.  As soon as their lips had parted, she left the table, headed to the bar for another flask of Caraway Burnwine.

From her place at the bar, she could hear a new voice above the din, rising in coquettish laughter from what she judged to be relatively far away.

Iliae's fingers twitched slightly as she turned back towards her table, the polite but distant smile on her husband's face giving away the barmaid's intentions almost better than her recent attempt to seat herself in his lap and place her arms around his neck.  This last he had replied to by simply lifting her up with one hand and placing her on the floor, which seemed only to encourage her.  She sat instead in the chair opposite of him, and began speaking in a more hushed tone, her fingers batting gently at his arm.

The distance between Iliae and her husband disappeared quickly beneath thumping leather boots.  A growl cut off in her throat as she heard her husband laugh in the polite, practiced tone usually reserved for politicians, followed immediately by another, more vocal reply, "... But, honestly, I'm not interested, and you had best leave."

The human woman leaned forwards, displaying an immodestly (and really, not at all) covered amount of cleavage, a soft grin passing over her lips.  "Are you sure about that?"  She asked.

Her head jerked forward suddenly, a small trickle of blood dotting the table where her nose had struck.   Iliae removed her hand from the whore's hair and slipped foreward into the darkness in which her husband sat.  An innocent grin tugged at lips as she sat down in Xynrael's arms.

After a moment of the privacy the shadows granted, she withdrew, and headed up the stairs, leaving her burnwine untouched.

Xynrael shook his head and followed her up to their rooms, pausing only to feel the pulse of the woman his wife had knocked out.

[Image]The Bane Theory

((So, this picture requires some explanation.  My friend Jessie, who is a very talented artist, does a sort of cartoony, Disney-style art that I absolutely love.  We met through Warcraft about two years ago, thanks to a theory we affectionately nicknamed "The Bane Magnet."  How it works is this:  Blood Elf names in Warcraft, generally speaking, have a noun-adjective combination, typically suited to the character by their creator.  Sometimes there's a story behind it, and other naming conventions are used.

So, some two years ago, we were staring at eachothers' roleplay addons from across the Bazaar in Silvermoon City, and, upon realizing we had eachother targeted, her character, Eriene Duskbane, proceeded to demand of mine (whose name is Xynrael Frostbane), "Is there something I can DO for you, Death Knight?"  As most people shouldn't have at the time, considering the game's story to date, she didn't particularly ENJOY the company of Death Knights, or anything else Undead.  The reason for this initiation of RP?

Rather than make an ass of himself like most Death Knights tend to, Xynrael proceeded to be fairly polite and cordial, with just a hint of sarcasm.  Eriene took this as an opportunity to verbally beat him with a brick stick.  After the RP took place, Jessie sent me a private message out-of-character, rather hurriedly explaining that "I'M REALLY NOT THIS MEAN OUT OF CHARACTER I PROMISE."  Rather than pursue that, I laughed it off and asked what made her decide to initiate RP with me.  After a moment of silence, she gave the literary equivalent of a shrug and replied "IDK.  Her name is Duskbane.  His is Frostbane.  I just had to."

Thus began one of the most interesting friendships I've ever had with anyone, and a VERY strange one for our characters.  Some of the details are revealed here in my blog some we keep to ourselves.  However, for my birthday, Jessie drew me a picture that very well exemplifies their attitudes towards eachother- a hesitant closeness with a lot of glaring.

Easily one of the best birthday gifts I've ever gotten.  I hope you all enjoy this image as much as I do.))