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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
A glimpse into a character, this fanfiction was designed, inspired, and written, from ten minutes of World of Warcraft.

Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, Horde, Alliance, or any affiliated merchandise. That belongs to Blizzard, and was merely the setting that inspired the story. Only Ahna, the main character, and "Meeks" is mine.

Submitted: November 08, 2011

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Submitted: November 08, 2011



(General Disclaimer; I do not own World of Warcraft, the Horde, Alliance, or any affliated merchandise. That all belongs to Blizzard Entertainment, and merely gave me the inspiration and setting for this short practice in character development. Only Ahna is mine.)


A glimpse:


Meeks scrambled to the corner of his jail cell to sound of commotion, eagerly and excitedly going to his tiny peephole to see what the fuss about.

Because his killing of a noble had demanded punishment, he had been sentence to live in this dingy, wet hell for the rest of his days; but his bleeding heart of a lawyer had convinced someone it was an accident, and was therefore granted one small concession. Meeks knew, though scrawny, sickly, and mostly likely to die within three years in this tiny confinement, the slightly drier and most mossy cell in the stockades was a blessing to live out the rest of his days in. It was the nicest of most other potential dying quarters, and next to the interrogation room.

He knew things, many things he learned from his cracked, crumbling hole that allowed a single eye to see into the sterile and near empty stone cube next door. He knew the names of the Defias Brotherhood members in rank from peon to crime lord. He knew of slavers, cheaters, smugglers, and murderers for hire.

Each time the rattling of shackles and the thudding of steel armored boots sounded down the hall like an alarm, he scampered over on all fours, hunched over and eyes straining to take in the only interesting thing to ever happen within sight of his dark, molding cell.

This particular day the noise sounded more obnoxious than usual. Whoever was being brought in was putting up quite a fight; and four guards, instead of the standard two, dragged in their haul.

Meeks clapped excitedly from his side of the wall that he was in luck to have found something so intriguing to interrupt the steady, droll, ear splitting drip of the water leaking into the corner by his bed.

He tucked a piece of greasy, straggly hair behind his ear and leaned his brow against the top of his miniscule window, mouth parted in a giddy, soundless laugh at what was about to occur before him.

He peered at today’s victim, eyeing sturdy, and what looked like heavy, leather boots. Simple linen pants were tucked into them at the knees, pockets numerous in number littered the legs, but all of which seemed to have been recently rummaged through.

This person’s belt seemed to hold many holsters, sheaths, and straps for any number of weapons, and these also were missing. His old and harried eye moved up over the small inch of warm, brown skin between pant top and linen shirt bottom hem, hanging loosely and fluidly over the struggling form.

With a gleeful glance at the human’s torso he discovered this newcomer was a woman, and as she fought with the men holding her, he swore he caught glances of silk wrapped steel between where cloth ended and began again between each article of clothing.

He couldn’t see the woman’s face yet, her skin dark and her hair even darker, hanging over her face from the messy ponytail it had been pulled into.

They had this one’s hands shackled behind her back that much was clear. There was a man on each of her arms as she churned this way and that, and two others led her in, one with a sword drawn in front of her, as if the threat alone would make her behave like a beaten pup.

For most incoming inmates, Meeks knew this would work. But this woman, whoever she was, didn’t seem to care.

He shifted his weight as they entered the room and directed her roughly to the rickety wooden chair they reserved for people they were about to “pump” for information. The Warden and his Marshal Officer liaison already awaited behind a large desk Meeks knew well. The former sat, hands folded and self-important, the latter standing stiff, straight, and silent as any well-trained soldier.

When the woman finally hit the seat she lifted her head to meet their gaze dead on, tossing her mane back out of her face so as to not show fear. It was then Meeks got the first glance of burning, honey-brown eyes, a small, pointy, and pierced nose, and full, but sneering lips.

The woman’s ears jingled with exotic jewelry, her irises burned with spirit, and the smirk she gave those now confronting her had Meeks feel more anticipation than he had in the last five years he’d be introduced to this dark little hole.

When the woman spoke her voice was colored coy, and her accent easily wove its way into her almost playful tone; even if the disdain plain on her face was sneaking into it as well.

“I told them the cuffs weren’t necessary…” She almost seemed to challenge the Warden, acting more like a deeply offended guest than a criminal about to be booked.

“And yet you struggled,” the Warden returned easily.

Meeks watched as the greying man waved a hand about half heartedly. The guards that had been tight on the woman’s heels took a step back, but seemed no less prepared should she make any sudden movements.

There was the rustle of paper that Meeks could only assume was a report, and then almost an amused “hm,” as if Warden Logan were amused about something.

The woman waited patiently at first while her captor readied, not taking her eyes off him. After five minutes or so, as Meeks was beginning to grow weary of the silence required to read what must’ve been a lengthy inscription, the woman huffed and leaned back in the chair, her movements causing the men in the room to stiffen.

She hooked one leg over the other and stretched her arms behind her, still in the shackles, popping her bottom lip out to blow air up to her hairline, moving a rather stubborn piece of dark wave that fought to cover her eyes.

That sudden motion however was all it took for the grinding of metal boots on stone to sound, and the nearest guard to step forward, ready to take action.

Meeks watched as the woman tilted her chair back a little more, one brow rose at the active soldier while she whistled in a teasing way.

“A little jumpy today, aren’t we?”

Before the guard could respond there was the sound of knuckles rapping at the Warden’s desk, and all their attentions, Meeks’s included, focused on him.


“It’s Ahna,” the woman corrected shortly.

The older man furrowed his brow at her that she would interrupt, but she only raised her brows at him as if she didn’t know what his problem was.

Ahna…” he said again, drawling it out until the woman rolled her eyes. “Is there a last name that goes with that?”



The woman tilted her head at him and narrowed her eyes slightly. “No. Just think of it as ‘Ah’ for the first name and ‘Na’ as the last, if it would make you feel more useful to write one down…”

Meeks snickered to himself and quickly rotated to see the Warden’s expression between bushy mustache and brows.

The man however was not as amused; but rather than address her obvious attitude, seemed to opt for ignoring it altogether. “And is this true…? That you attempted to taunt one of the keep guards to piracy? Piracy is treason in Alliance waters, you know this right?”

“I didn’t taunt him with anything,” she woman shrugged easily. Then a smirk grew along her lips that Meeks could instantly see was a common expression for her. The way her sun-warmed skin pulled along her cheeks and eyes, it fit her face almost perfectly. “He asked if he could see my ship. I told him I’d show him mine if he showed me his.”

There was a cough from the corner of the room, but the woman named Ahna seemed to dismiss it.

“A ship that had gone missing from Booty Bay since the tsunami caused by Deathwing swept the docks clean. How did you get it…?” the Warden pressed.

The woman tilted her head the other way as if he were accusing her of something. “I found it.”

“You found a ship we searched three days for with no avail?”

The dark woman looked around the room as if bored, gently bobbing one leg over the other if only to have something to do. “What can I say? Your boys are lousy searchers. They wouldn’t be able to find a continent if you strapped a map of the world to the inside of their helmets.”

Meeks shifted his weight on his aching knees, peering through his window into the outside world eagerly.

“I think, Ahna, that you stole it,” the Warden continued, drawling on in his usual “official” manner that had Meeks craving the personality that this woman-creature possessed. “It doesn’t seem too off base from what I see reported here. You’ve done many deeds… devious in nature.”

“Name one…” The woman challenged.

“Well,” the man sighed. “You’ve got some mild misdemeanors, some general law breaking, and even a few felonies… add to that your possession of a missing Alliance Navy vessel, and you could be charged with treason.”

“I conduct myself with honor, sir,” Ahna stared back disinterestedly. “Because your sense of honor is different than mine does not make me a criminal.”

“You fornicated in the druid’s moonwell in the city!”

There was a short snerk from one of the guards, and Meeks almost felt the Warden’s glare at the source.

“We were going skinny-dipping and it happened to be the closest, cleanest water.”

“They’re calling it vandalism.”

“To take a bath?”

“It’s a spiritual well for them!”

“They’re night elves, you can’t sneeze around them without desecrating some ancient idol,” the woman argued.

The man in charge pressed forward, cutting through her glib responses. “You stole weapons from the local armory-“

“Borrowed without permission-“

“Which you used in a bar fight-

“It was more like a negotiation,” the woman spoke over him.

“You tried to enlist a member of the Alliance military into piracy-“

“I already explained that-“

“You destroyed one of the oldest buildings in Old Down-“

“It was coming down anyway-“

“And you were seen meeting with a member of the Horde known for his attacks on Alliance ships!” The Warden finished.

“It’s not my fault you can’t keep your soldier’s hands out of their own pants long enough to fight those that outclass them…”

Meeks sensed when she crossed the line before he heard the reaction to it. This woman, though smug and confident had underestimated her captors’ loyalty to Stormwind.

There was a quick slap of fingers on soft cheek and Meeks winced. His view was temporarily blocked as one of the men that had been guarding the woman passed a shadow over the wall to slap her.

When the massive bulk of the man moved again, Meeks could see the woman shake her face as if trying to break free of whatever pain it caused her. She looked up into the face of the man that has struck her, unafraid, the skin over her right cheekbone already growing red.

Meeks had seen many people been struck in that room, but none seems as smug as the smirk that grew on this spirited woman’s face. “You must jack off with your right hand… as soft as silk, what kind of lotion do you use, Princess?”

The sound that came soon after was similar to the first, but deeper, thicker, and this time the victim actually made an unsettling sound.

It was a moment before Ahna looked up again. Meeks saw blood trickling from her lip, and her mouth was parted as she moved her jaw from side to side, a grimace on her face until a sickening crack sounded through the room and she seemed to get it back into place.

She wasn’t smirking anymore, but her eyes smoldered dangerously at this one armored guard.

“Well, there you are…” she said to him, sneering as if having him figured out. “I was wondering when you were going to earn that uniform.”

“Alright!” The Warden interrupted before another confrontation could be made. “That’s enough…”

The man with a twitchy fist backed off, but not without baring beady eyes down on the human woman, who tilted the corner of her mouth up just slightly so he could see her give a tiny tease that she had won.

“Ahna, you are being charged with piracy, and treason against the Alliance Navy, Stormwind, and its citizens, for stealing a military vessel, thieving from our armories, and conspiring against the crown with the King’s Enemy, a capital offense.

“If you’re lucky and some poor sod shows you mercy for being a woman, you will never see the outside of these stocks again. If justice is followed, you may find your time here shorter than that, and we’ll escort you through a brisk walk to the gallows, do I make myself clear?”

Finally, the confidence in the woman’s face seemed to falter, and her fiery sarcasm melted to rigid and carefully measured anger. Her lips pulled tight, her eyes glowed darkly, and it was clear the Warden had become her new enemy.

“I don’t like cages,” she said slowly, a bruise blooming over her cheek.

“And I don’t like pirates or mercenaries,” the Warden responded easily, dismissing her obvious indignation at such a prospect.

“And you are not listening,” the woman ground out from behind her teeth.

Meeks had been watching her carefully, mapping her every move as if taking notes, but even he didn’t see the swiftness of her form once the movement started.

He saw her dip the toe of one of her boots behind the leg of her chair, he even managed to follow her motions with his eyes up to standing, whipping a kick that sent the chair careening over to two of the guards, causing them to trip long enough for her to elbow the nearest one in the stomach, then twist her body to reach the hilt of his sword, spinning until it were free.

She was easily outnumbered and outweighed- but she had been quick. Before they could reach her she was standing strong and solid, sword blade at the Warden’s throat, the cuffs she’d been shackled with dangling from her sword-wielding wrist, her other hand free now and forming a halting motion to anyone who tried to advance on her.

Meeks realized he hadn’t breathed in awhile, but let out a relieved sigh when the soldiers seemed to value the Warden’s life more than over-taking her and risking it.

Ahna gave each of the armored men a stern ‘dare me’ look before turning her face to the man she was directly threatening. She tilted her chin at the single cuff still slapped around her left wrist.

“I told you these were unnecessary,” she started, almost smirking again for a tiny second, but quickly fading to a stern line of lips and a narrowing of eyes. “And I told you, I don’t like cages.”

The Warden, for his part, remained calm, cool, and collected, even if he were leaning back from the gleaming metal with his hands slightly raised.

“There’s no escaping justice, Ahna. We have suspicion you’ve been doing this for a long time, and the people will want you punished.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but we’ve got larger problems than the Horde right now, Warden,” she hissed back lowly. “Our people are living in peace with them in places of the world. You’re on a witch hunt. You can’t give the people the head of the enemy you want and so you’re offering them a consolation prize.”

Meeks could feel himself nodding on his crickety old neck in agreement, huddling closer to his wall to see how the others would respond.

“And I will not subject myself to life behind bars just so strangers can sleep better at night feeling you’ve taken a dangerous criminal off the streets.”

“Even if you’re right about us and the Horde, you stole military property, and you compromised the Alliance. That’s treason. And I cannot let you walk out of those doors without justice being served. You’ll have to slice me open first, and then my men will overtake you.”

“Perhaps… an arrangement can be made.”

Meeks switched eyes so that he could get a look at who had spoken. The Marshal liaison, the man so silently standing behind the Warden and observing, combed his gloved hands through his scratchy amber goatee, eyeing the woman with interest.

Meeks has almost forgotten that man was there, for as silent and unmoving as he has been. But now the soldier was searching Ahna’s face and form with intrigue, and Meeks could almost hear the gears whirling in his mind.

“She’s quick, resourceful, hard to contain. We could use an agent like that…”

Both Ahna and Warden seemed to protest, though their sentences blurred together in a general consensus of ‘No’.

“I’m not looking for employment, that’s not the same as going free.”

“And I won’t have her masquerading around as a servant of the Alliance like a soldier; it dishonors me, my men, yours, and the crown.”

Meeks barely caught Ahna roll her eyes at the Warden’s dramatic reply.

“Warden, we’ve heard rumors of this woman for the last three years all over Azeroth. She’s an explorer, not a crime lord. She has information- locations, destinations, coves, camps, forts… information we need to get the upper hand on our enemies. A few strategically placed bases and we can be anywhere in Azeroth in under a week.

“And Ahna… you walk out of here. No cuffs, no jail sentence… in servitude to our cause, yes. But you can undo some of the damage you caused, help us in the future, and you can die under the night sky and not some rusty, rodent-ridden incubation box for the plague.”

The dark woman eyed the Marshal with obvious distrust, and then flitted her eyes to the Warden, then back yet again.

Inside his own cage, Meeks felt a twinge of envy for the offer given to her. Under his breath he begged for her to take it, to turn heel, run and never come back, as he wish he could.

“What’s the catch…?” she finally asked, slowly, sword blade still raised while the other guards remained silent.

“For you? A leash. We’re letting you skip life in prison, Ahna, maybe even the noose- you owe us your life. You report every detail, every shred of helpful intel that can help us win this war. You serve under the blue banner, indentured to us. When we send you appointments with officers you make them without question and without exception.”

It was clear Ahna was not fond of what sounded like being the Alliances beck-and-call girl. And her eyes hardened, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade. Meeks wondered if she were considered making a run for it even now. She’d probably already counted the steps it would take to get to the door…

“And if I do everything you ask…?”

“If you do everything we ask obediently, and without resistance, until the day the wars of our country are won, you will be granted a pardon for your crimes and can live out the rest of your days a free woman.”

“And should I refuse?” The pirate pressed, slipping slitted eyes to the Warden.

The Marshal adjusted his belt and stared her down. “Then we will not rest until we drag your ass back here to rust and decay in the deepest, darkest hole I can find for you for the rest of your short, worthless life.”

Minutes seemed to pass, and Meeks leaned against the wall with all his weight as if he could phase through it. The tension on the other side seeped into his own cell and he shivered involuntarily as Ahna, the Warden, and the Marshal all seemed to try to stare each other down, testing and trying the other’s capacity for honesty and betrayal.

Finally, as Ahna and her captors stood anxious awaiting their next move, she carefully, slowly, backed away from the desk. She kept the sword on her just in case, but the other guards didn’t seem to be advancing on her either, all eyeing the Marshal in oddity at his crazy proposition.

“You do this and you belong to us, Ahna,” he finished. “We send you officers and you send us something that doesn’t make me regret even giving you the opportunity.”

As the woman backed away she slowly, only once, nodded. No quippy remark, no all-knowing smirk.

Before she could get too far, the Marshal was upon her. Immediately Meeks assumed the Marshal had gone back on his promise now that the Warden was out of harm’s way, but the officer gripped woman’s wrists in his gloved fingers. He pushed up the sleeve over her left arm, where an intricate tattoo laced along the inside of smooth milk chocolate skin. Without saying a word he checked her right, and upon finding a smooth and unmarred piece of flesh, he reached around his belt for a small knife, too small to fight with.

It could’ve been a shaving knife for its small size, but now he pressed the tip along her arm.

Meek’s stomach churned at the sound of slicing skin, a hiss sucked through Ahna’s gritted teeth soon overpowered the sound though, and a few dark red drops of liquid fell like tears to the cobblestone floor.

In less than fifteen seconds it was over though, and the Marshal retracted the blade. Meek’s couldn’t get a good look at what he’d done, but the pirate woman instantly covered up the mark with her sleeve, the red seeping through.

“You belong to us now, Ahna. If you forget your duty, we won’t forget ours.”

There was a warning in his voice, and a loathing in her eyes, but something passed between them that implied only the two of them understood the pact just made.

The whole room looked on what had happened with mixed feeling… disgust that she was about to  go free perhaps, suspicion that she would run, or disbelief at why the man would even offer such a thing in the first place.

But the deal had been made now, and with a sigh Meeks understood this was no longer an issue for the stocks but for the barracks, where he’s sure she would be escorted to give up the bearing on every secret and sacred place to her that she had discovered on her own.

Meeks didn’t know why he felt sad for her, even with his envy, but he did. He supposed he should feel as though she had won. But there was defeat in her eyes, and seeing that in the countless hopeless sods brought into this room day after day had Meeks’s faith dwindling. This woman had fought the hardest, was leaving without a death sentence- or worse. And yet, he knew as well as she did that she had still lost.

“Gentleman,” the Marshal finally addressed the guards nearest to the door. “Please remove what’s left of our cuffs from Ms. Ahna, and escort her to the captain’s office. She has papers to sign and sigils to be issued. Tell the captain I’ll be along shortly to collect her knowledge once I’ve finished checking her out here.”

The two he had called upon nodded and took a silent indentured servant with them past the wooden-arched door that only a few minutes ago the woman has been dragged through.

Even after the heavy door had fallen shut, the four remaining men in the room didn’t move. Even the Warden, his attacker well out of range, was taking his dear sweet time in letting his hands fall to his desk again. He straightened his vested tunic and cleared his throat to recompose himself, looking up into the back of the Marshal’s head for a clue as to what the man must’ve been thinking.

“Do you think she’s going to stay true to her end of the bargain?” The Warden asked quietly.

“If I thought she wouldn’t, I wouldn’t have offered it to her,” the Marshal replied sturdily, still seeming as if he were trying to see through the door and after the woman in question.

“How can you be so sure?”

“She doesn’t fear death, Logan, or she wouldn’t have pulled that blade on you. She’s a pirate, she fears being trapped. She’ll do what she must to keep herself from having to set foot in this building again. I guarantee it.”

“I wish I had your confidence…”

Meeks quickly lost interest after that. Slumping over, hunched forward, he creaked his way from his hidey hold and back into the safe, dark confines of his cell, the words of the two men growing muddled by stone walls the further away he traveled.

For a few weeks afterward, whenever he heard the wooden door creak and the chinks of armored guards, he hurried to the door of his barred prison, and then to his secret window to see if the woman of fire had returned to fight another day.

But every time he was disappointed. She never returned. In his spare time (which he had an abundance of), he often contemplated whether he was sad, or relieved, at knowing that she was either finding a way to escape the same fate so many others could not, or that she was going to die trying.

Whatever the outcome, he decided one day, chewing sorely on a brick-textured piece of old bread, he wished her the best.

© Copyright 2018 Brittany Knight. All rights reserved.

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