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Egan’s Prison Art

Who: Grant Scylla, Wintervein

A night of failures. In which Egan tries to steal the soul of one who knows much more about souls than her. 

Scylla Master whip count:3

[swines-of-the-stockade]

Egan’s Prison Art

Who: Vitrixia, Scylla, Egan, and the Master in the well

Egan scratched this image into her cell wall the night before the end of the month

((Mentions @everyone-just-calls-me-jeri, @kyndolin))

[swines-of-the-stockade]

Egan’s Prison Art

Who: Archivist Murphy

An archivist who discovered Egan’s true identity while she was searching through tomes of the Old Gods in the Stormwind Library.

When he confronted Egan, she polymorphed Murphy into a pig and leapt out a window with him. 

Murphy remains in pig form as Egan repeats the polymorph spell every hour. 

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The Steps We Take

Nana used to say that you could try one hundred paths in one day so long as you weren’t too lazy about taking the first step. “One step Egan, one step is all it takes to change your fortune.”

Damn it Nana, I know better now. Same step that leads to fortune can easily lead to a great fall too. Wish we had all been too lazy. Wish the first step had never been taken.

It all began with a road. The Lakeshire Highway to be exact.

Some Years Ago

Three sisters popped their heads above the crest of a hill overlooking an old oak tree. ‘The kissing tree’ they mundanely called it, on account of all the times they’d caught their older brother flattering his latest flame beneath its canopy.

At that moment they were watching their brother woo the town’s blondest and rosiest cheeked lass. He’d been smitten with her for some time.

“Is he really gonna do it? Whattya think?” Delilah smirked into her hand. 

Delilah was the fourth Swines child out of six. Her hair was a mousy brown, her face unremarkable. But oh how she knew how start an adventure.

“He loves her Delilah. I mean, really loves her. He told me two days ago that she was the wifiest of wife material.” Charity’s soft voice trickled like a mountain stream.

Charity was the third Swines child out of six. Her name was etched into the round glow of her face and the honey of her hair. Indeed, her name was etched in the fiber of her being. Charity gave and gave without expectation of being given. 

“Wifiest of wife material? Damn, what does that even mean?” Egan blurted into her elbow.

Egan was the fifth Swines child out of six. She always cut her strawberry hair, to her mother’s dismay, down to the baby hairs in order to keep it out of her face. Egan was just Egan.

“Egan please, language.” Charity whispered. “Oh, look, Abe’s doing it! He’s taking a knee!”

Aberdein, the oldest and only boy of the Swines children, indeed was lowering himself to one knee. He was likely in the midst of professing his undying love for the merchant’s daughter when a boisterous voice cut through the air.

“ABERDEIN! ABERDEIN WHERE ARE YOU?”

At that moment Tamworthy Swines, father of the Swines children, came into view. His face was flushed red, matching the redness of his hair. He waved at the merchant’s daughter and politely bid her on her way. 

The three sisters simultaneously leaned in closer, trying to hear the words being exchanged between their flustered father and now disoriented brother. Egan lifted her eyes to see a well dressed stranger standing not far from where her father had come from. 

“Who is that?” She whispered to Delilah. “He’s dressed all funny.”

Delilah bit her lower lip as she followed Egan’s gaze. “Don’ know. Alls I can say is it's the ones with money that can afford to dress as funny as that.”

Charity kept silent as she stared down on the scene with her sea blue eyes that never missed anything.

Tamworthy Swines spoke. “You take my place, watch over the pigs. Gotta go speak with yer mom.”

“What’s going on pa?” Abe prodded. He pointed at the stranger who had stopped a couple feet away. 

“He comes from the city. Stormwind. They want to build a highway. They want to buy our land.” Tamworthy pushed at his son. “Now go an’ see to the pigs.”

Tam looked up the hill. Delilah and Egan ducked, Charity met her father’s eyes.

“Oy! Charity, come an’ keep Mister Greeps here company whiles I have a chat with yer mom!”

Egan watched her older sister glide gracefully down the hill to the funny moneymonger stranger. She watched her father lean into an eager trot back toward the house. She watched Abe head for the pigs. She and Delilah turned to look at one another.

“You hear what I heard?” Delilah asked.

“Yeah, they wanna buy up our land. Turn it into a road. Damn.” Egan leaned her chin on her sister’s arm. 

“Pa won’t do it. What’d we do with all them pigs?” Delilah leaned against Egan’s side.

Egan set to chewing on her thumbnail. “Nah, yer right. Nuthin’ to worry bout. Pa won’t do it. Nuthin’s gonna change.”

[swines-of-the-stockade]

Order for Three

“Two gowns, seven shirts, seven pairs of pants, a pair of black dress shoes... and a sun hat.”

“That’s correct, yes.”

Sellandus craned his neck as he reached for the hat shelf. In his many years of employment at the Sagelight Emporium, he had come to regret his decision to work customer service at least thirty times over. The patrons irked him on a daily basis, especially the ones that yelled. His employers weren’t much better. He didn’t even want to get started on the stupid Court and their stupid falling stars.

With his height, he easily pulled a sun hat off the shelf and dumped it into the order box with about as much grace as an elekk on stilts. The customer lofted a brow at his actions but didn’t seem too bothered by it. “It really is lovely,” she said. “Green is my favorite color, you know.”

Sellandus did not care.

With a turn of her head, the customer looked to the side, where her companion thankfully didn’t seem much for conversation. She loomed in the corner, green hair pulled into a tight ponytail behind her horns. She was one of those Night Elves who’d been all buddy-buddy when Illidan returned. The fools.

The muscled woman merely glared at him with those empty eye sockets as she scarfed down her fourth snail-ammon roll. A dumb name for a dumb snail-shaped bun, if anyone asked him. Which they didn’t.

No one ever asked the tailoring assistant.

Sellandus knelt down behind the long stretch of shop counter, sliding back the oak cabinet door as he did so. “Gonna run you three hundred big ones. Three hundred twenty-three including those rolls your friend’s been snacking on.”

“It is no problem,” came the reply from the customer. “I promised her as many snacks as she wanted. They are just adorable little desserts, are they not?”

Yeah. Adorable. Sellandus reached behind a row of empty crystal jars to grab a shoebox. He promptly shoved away the black, goopy creature that often used them as a place to nap. He could almost hear the echoing laughter of that creepy, curly-haired Void Elf who let the thing loose in the first place. Sellandus quickly nabbed the box away from the thing, which hissed at him, and he wiped the lingering goo on his orange tunic. The stain would take forever to get out of this type of linen, but that wasn’t his problem. Something to worry about at a later date.

“Delivery will take a few days,” he said as he tucked the black dress shoes into the box. “Where do you—“

“The Cathedral, please,” the customer chimed in, her sharp, yet musical tone. It seemed she was in a hurry. Also very much not his problem. “The name is Sister Varilla,” she added.

Sellandus scribbled the name down on the order form. “Mhm. Sure.”

“You are most kind, sir. Thank—“

“Yep, have a good one.” He shoved the box aside, sliding it next to Ismuth’s weekly order of shirts. He looked down, intending to return to his tastefully trashy romance novel.

She didn’t move.

Sellandus frowned into page forty-nine. He wondered for a moment if she hadn’t heard him. He was about to repeat himself, when the Draenei backed away from the counter. He glanced up, his long, violet hair yielding to either side of his face. Just in time to catch her look of... plain disgust.

The shift caught him off guard. Her deep set frown and slightly curled lip - something about it unnerved him. And then, it was gone.

The customer turned on her hoof. She called out, “Thank you. May the Light bless your sales this day!” in a tone so cheery and just sickly sweet that he thought he’d imagined the whole thing. A chill ran down his spine and he couldn’t exactly place why.

The only thing that shook him from his sudden stupor was the voice of the shop’s owner calling from the top of the stairs. “Sellandus!” came her shrill, distinctly Highborne cry from above. “Where are you with that needle sharpener? It’s been ages!”

Sellandus fumbled, elbowing the needle sharpener in question and sending it teetering off the counter’s surface. Oops.

He felt as though his hand moved through molasses as he made a desperate grab for it. He watched in horror as the blasted thing fell with a heavy thud, and he heard the scraping of metal as a few pieces freed themselves from its base. Sellandus swore.

“Sellandus? What was that noise?”

His head dipped low behind the counter. Looks like I’m on the chopping block next, he thought as he heard the front door creak closed.

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