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The Goblin's Winter Veil DollFollow

#1 Dec 08 2013 at 1:50 AM Rating: Excellent
A vanilla wow story so pardon the cobwebs. The tale continues soon...

It had been more than two hundred years since the coastal waters of Darkshore were last frozen solid and only the eldest Night Elves could remember it as children…if they so choose. The snows from Winterspring rarely struck Central Kalimdor, but never with such ferocity as it did this year. Auberdine was locked down tight and the few elven villages that skirted the borders between the Veiled Sea and Felwood were left to fend for themselves. One such village wedged between The Masters Glaive and Northern Ashenvale not only had to deal with a record snowfall that literally buried everything surrounding them, but something worse... much worse.

An illness that had spread quickly from the sickly deer of the region to their own stock of winter supplies overtook the children without warning and what started as a concern immediately became a serious dilemna. It was twelve days until Winter Veil and the Night Elves of this buried village had less than that to save their little ones. The constant blizzard battered back any attempt to contact Maestras Post and helplessness was bordering outright panic. Early that morning a banged-up sleigh clawed its way into their lives, seemingly from nowhere.

The first to see this wreck was a whisper of a girl named Bethlamae. Sneezes from the previous night had her alarmed parents confine her to bed for the day and since playing in the snow had grown wearisome she wasn’t going to argue with a warm blanket and hot cocoa. But Beth was terribly bored and equally worried; her letter to the Great-Father still stood at her bedside and the driver of this shambling steel-runner was her only hope to get the message out in time for Winter Veil. With wide eyes, she watched it pull right up to her window and of all people, a goblin jumped from his seat and fell through the snow, disappearing from sight.

“Father!” she cried “A sled is outside and I think it needs…”

As she spoke a small bronze bomb lofted up then down into the snow, exploding with a muffled boom and leaving a small circle around the slightly-blackened goblin.

Bethlamae’s father appeared, speaking to the goblin in hurried tones that she only caught parts of. The goblin had been holed-up in Nighthaven but was now on a forced mission to deliver several crates of crystal vial to Ratchet since theirs were the closest waters not frozen over. In exchange for enough drink and food to get him to Astranaar he’d be happy to take whatever mail they needed to go in route and be back through here before Winter Veil. By now a crowd of elves had surrounded this fellow and they wept hopefully that their plea could reach someone in time. His name was Atnas and though the village didn’t know it, he was a most warm-hearted goblin... and the most accident-prone. Regardless, he was their only hope and Beth’s.

When the group of villagers had quickly dispersed to get Atnas’ supplies, the little Night Elf child opened her window a sliver and tapped the glass, drawing his attention.

“What can I do ya for Wee One?” he said with a toothy grin.

“Um, will you please give this to the Great-Papa?” she said holding her letter out in one tiny hand.

Taking the crudely scrawled envelope to his chest, he then squared up to her.

“The Big Guy will have this precious letter before Winter Veil or else strike me down a sheep." Whether or not he knew that letter would never see make destination we'll never know.

Bethlamae thanked him and closed her window with a rattled cough just as the goblin’s food arrived with the village’s urgent request for medicinal supplies. Climbing into his sleigh, the squat savior drove off with the driving storm on one side and the village’s blessing on the other. The weakened child lay back under her blankets and dreamed only as the little ones can…of visions that will come true.

Slowly, so very slowly, after countless map-checks and beating back of starving wolves, Atnas came upon Astranaar with barely the strength to beg refuge. There were no emergency supplies to be had, but the weather had slackened just enough to open a window for the desperate goblin to make for the Barrens. Unwisely, the for-hire mail carrier sampled several Giant Eggnogs before continuing on and managed to spill a flagon or two into his bag of mail brought in from the elements.

Mercifully, the weather improved somewhat as he passed Fallen Sky Lake into the Barrens a couple days later. Atnas made wonderful time even though, amazingly, the snow continued falling as he drove into the Crossroads. A skeleton crew there warned him to head back as the raptors were as savage as they’ve ever seen them, but the haunting image of that wasted Darkshore village meant only the ticking clock to Atnas. On he went, certain his prayers had a play in the slop of wintry mix and mud slowing down the screeching raptors that constantly hounded his advance. A small hut on a seemingly smaller plot of land that crested the hill down into Ratchet meant Atnas had reached his “side” delivery; a box of cheap baubles for a disagreeable troll clan by the name of Rooge.

“Two minutes and no more” he swore "and then all speed to Ratchet…there must be healer salves of some sort for those lost elves to get by on!”

A young troll boy greeted the deliverer in a crouched snarl. He had been practicing these lately and with the holiday approaching knew that one stray goblin victim wouldn’t put him on the Great-Father's bad side.

“Oy! What kind of fisherman barks at packages this time of year” returned the grinning goblin, handing it to Shoo, who was, actually as well-mannered as troll children get these days. Then the mail express was gone, down over the hill into Rachet. Saddened that he hadn’t a reply from the letter he sent to the Great-Father, the child turned to take the box back into their hut for further inspection…and saw a letter stuck underneath his package, all smelling of Eggnog.

“Great-Papa” is what the little boy read and dropped the package almost in the same instant. Tearing open the letter and certain his Flats Blood Racer was involved, his hopes were dashed. A letter it was and only that, reading:

Dear Papa Winter,

I love you because you made me happy for Winter Veil last year. Since I’m already happy this year could I please just have a doll.

Love, Beth

Shoo thought for a moment and then realized that someone, a kid like himself, sent this letter and it wasn’t going to arrive in time (it was only five days away.) He was pretty certain that he was going to get something, having stopped being bad a month or so ago, but was she? This Beth didn’t sound nearly as bad. Sitting in the quiet hut he remembered his older sister’s chest full of saved junk. With Shessuna Safely distanced on an alchemy apprenticeship in Grom’ Gol he decided to investigate her contents. Removing handfuls of girly stuff he saw what he was looking for…a beautiful though battered human priest doll. Under-stuffed, she was in decent enough condition and Shoo knew he had little time before the goblin would pass back through from Ratchet. So he got to work.

In Ratchet, the news was bad; Un Goro and Azshara’s supply of healing herbs was depleted to nothing, without question. Whatever was available from Eastern Plaguelands and the Steppes was so far away it made no difference regardless. Every ship that docked answered the same and Atnas began to feel the dread creep in as to what this amounted to.

“Those people are lost…and that poor little girl” he thought with a heavy heart. Purchasing a small crate of Major Troll’s Blood with the entire funds he made off the crystal vial delivery he sadly made his way back up into the Barrens.

“These potions won’t save them, but it might… might ease... their children’s suffering.”

To top it off he had lost Beth's letter. With that thought the miserable carrier raced back up the hill into the Barrens.

Shoo was not standing idle either. Eyes peeled for any movement on the horizon through the constantly drifting snows, he started as a sleigh came into view. Rushing down to meet the downcast goblin who barely glanced his way, the little troll held up his gift... a present for the little elf he neither met nor knew.

“Eh?” the goblin barked as the child thrust the package upon him.

“This is for someone who's letter YOU lost.” he replied with an enormous smile. “It’s what she asked for so I think it will make her very happy.”

The weary deliverer smiled back the best he could; devastated that he couldn’t even get Bethlamae’s simple letter to one old man.

“If happiness was all I could take back to that village I’d crawl back to them with it on my back” he said, taking the small box with a stained ribbon and setting it down beside him in the sleigh. And crawling back is just what it felt like, the poor fellow.

The next couple of days grew increasingly nightmarish for Atnas. He drove his horses without rest; the thought of the Night Elf village emptied of life before he could even get there. The weather eased considerably as he passed through Astranaar but word was that Darkshore was at it’s darkest. It was said nothing was to be heard there but Onu’s mournful chant. The sleigh sped on into that darkness and eventually stopped before the dwelling of that tried village. It was as he had feared…everyone, child and adult alike were deathly ill. The goblin did his best to see to it the Troll’s Blood was given to everyone, but within his heart he wept.

“Can I but comfort them more?" he asked the icy winds, "Anything for that and I ask nothing else.”

Bethlamae lay still in her bed, her shallow breathing the only sound in the room as her parents, feverish themselves, stood vigilant. The goblin, quietly knelt down beside her.

“Hey Wee One. I have something here I’m betting you might be interested in.” was all he could manage, but it was enough to open her eyes.

“Papa Winter was here?” she whispered clutching the box.

"Sometimes I think he's everywhere, I don’t know.” he answered. “Maybe we’ll find out after you see what’s inside.”

With the help of her mother, Beth pulled the battered ribbon and lifted the lid of the box. The child’s eyes flashed with such life it took the breath of the goblin, replacing it with joy. She held the doll up for her parents to see until her strength ebbed and then happily hugged it close, then drifting off into sleep. The goblin turned with eyes shimmering.

“I’m so sorry… I… nothing from Ratchet could be…” Bethlamae’s mother just smiled, touching his cheek to still his tears.

“You brought happiness with you…it’s Winter Veil morning. We are forever thankful.”

She drew the weary deliverer out of the room so he may rest. Beth’s father tucked his daughter in and something so simple but so wonderful happened. Shoo’s poor stitching of the doll gave way and it’s stuffing spilled onto the bed. He held it up to candlelight so he could confirm what his bleary eyes couldn’t believe. It took everything he had to quietly take the doll from the room. It took even more to share what he discovered.

“Sansam…Golden Sansam and Silversage! Beth’s doll is bursting with it! There’s some Dreamfoil too! Some others…I…” was all he could manage before bolting out the door to their amazement. He returned shortly with a neighbor, a seasoned alchemist. He poured out the blessed petals from Beth’s doll and calculated their power.

“Strong ingredients, incredibly strong…but not nearly enough for a whole village. It could be diluted into a vaccine but I would need a load of firebloom for that.” he determined and then shook his head. “But there isn’t a sprout of it in the pile.”

From the corner of the room came a very tired but very relieved voice, “I have stacks of the stuff in my sleigh. And here I thought they were just good for my sinus'.” By the time the stunned elves realized what the goblin had said he was already asleep.

Late that Winter Veil night Atnas awoke only briefly, so it seemed, to confirm his hopes. Elves flowed about Bethlamae’s home, working their magic with the herbs and even the air itself seemed to breathe new life into the village.

“Like the Big Guy's workshop I’m betting” he murmured distantly.

He was drifting off again, but took back into that blissful sleep something to dream all night on; Beth standing at his side, her hand in his and in her other, a healthy and very loved doll.

Edited, Dec 9th 2013 1:06am by matrigs
#2 Dec 09 2013 at 8:34 PM Rating: Good
2,187 posts
Hey matrigs! I cannot believe it has been a year already! But I love that you post this every year at this time, and I'll just link back to my post from last year for my comment.

This always reminds me of my first trip through Darkshore, back in the very beginning of BC, on one of my NE toons (I really cannot recall which one went through first).

Thanks and Happy Holidays!

EDIT: I see you posted the original. Thank you!

Edited, Dec 9th 2013 10:12pm by cynyck
"the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country."
Hermann Goering, April 1946.
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