Peter let out a breath and gasped in another, coughing and feeling his gut wrenching up as he struggled to control his breathing. He must have sounded like he had just come up from a dangerously long dive, and that was indeed how he felt…except that his "dive" had been into the most foul-smelling cellar he had ever had the misfortune of descending into in his life. There in the open-air courtyard of the keep at Westguard, he fell to all fours and continued to gasp for air, mentally begging his stomach to cooperate. He wanted to puke his guts out and weep for sorrow at what he had seen down there, but tried desperately to keep it together a little longer. He forced himself to his feet and, nodding to a nearby guard as if nothing had happened, headed through the front gate.


His stomach lurched. The stench down there was just too much. He broke into a sprint, heading for the cliffs as his body shifted into his worgen form. He dashed on all fours for the cliff and put his snout over the side, grateful to have made it. When he had concluded his unfortunate business at the cliffside, he returned to his human form and drew water from the nearby well, rinsing his mouth and gulping the rest of the water eagerly. 


Transporting a dead body was never a pleasant business, but examining one that had begun to smell was even worse. Worse yet was the realization that the body had once belonged to Tyrilyna, a former Templar whose shredded tabard had been found in Draenor of all places.


Peter considered himself a proper Gilnean gentleman. He believed chivalry wasn't dead, and he would show that to the woman who had had his attention for some time, if he ever got the chance. It wasn't that she was incapable of doing things herself; far from it. It was just that he wanted to treat her like the queen of the universe — which she might well become if she keeps going at her current rate, he thought with a lopsided smile. The thing with Peter was, he wanted all women to be treated as he would treat his special lady. So…violence? Against a woman? Leaving nothing but that gruesome pile of meat, and with evidence suggesting that her own husband might have been the attacker…? It quite literally made him sick. Add the stench as well, and there never was much hope for the lunch Peter had lost.


Fortunately, this special assignment was over, and he prayed there wouldn't be another like it. For now, at least, he could get back to his real job — being the Shadow Trader's courier. The sooner he delivered his report, the sooner, he hoped, he could extricate himself from this dreadful mess.

Author Rann
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