The Red Templar

[Renetet]

The Red Templar

Prologue: The History of the Templar

As told by the Guardian Medivh:


Across all the races, and all the time that life has existed upon this earth, there has always been the need to watch the suspicious, and should those suspicions become truths, one to carry out justice, impartially and without mercy. Always there have been warriors of great skill and stature, whose blades belong to others for the glory of gold alone. Always there have been those whose keen ears hear all that is worth hearing, and who make friends with those in the positions of power. Always there exists those who survive against the odds, winning out where winning is not possible. Such is the path and life of the Templar.

Trained from birth to be the finest of warriors, the Templar have always been misunderstood and maligned. Their talents range from swordplay to magecraft, and their tasks range from casual observance to cold blooded assassination. Ever survivors, Templar carve their lives from the misery and suspicions of those around them, feeding off of fear and enmity and making it their home. Whether by their skill with a blade or by their cunning and wits, Templar thrive where others would die, staying one step ahead of their enemies, and one step behind notice of those who would be a threat. Such is the path and life, of the Templar.


The history of the Templar is a long and perilous one. It originally began with the ancient civilization of the Kal’Dorei, or Night Elves, over 10 000 years ago, on the shores of the Well of Eternity. The common folk feared the magical powers of the Highborne, for magic was as yet a new thing, and poorly understood. A few came forth, with the willingness to watch and learn from the Highborne, the most dangerous of elves. They were the forerunners of the Templar. They used their skills in weapons and wit to live a life on the edge of disaster, mere steps away from annihilation. They kept the populace informed of the Highborne’s actions, and even assisted in the war against the Legion, lending their fighting prowess to those with the money to afford it.

After the Great Sundering, the Templar split. Those who were of Highborne blood went to found Quel’Thalas, and founded too the Red Templar. Those who didn’t leave remained as Black Templar. Unlike the Black Templar, the Red Templar is exclusively women, who learned from other Templar to live where the living was rough, and to take up opportunity wherever it was to be found. The Red Templar served as spies, emissaries, and when needed, assassins. They did their work well. With the coming of the Orcs to Quel’Thalas, the opportunities to the Templar exploded. They made their work as assassins and cutthroats, working behind the orcish lines and causing havoc and chaos. Those who survived were made all the stronger, and those who died made the Templar stronger. They grew and thrived in the peace of the wars end, and Templar could be found from Lordaeron to Stormwind, far and wide, seeking adventure and riches.

The Red Templar however was unable to destroy the Scourge threat, and it was to the dismay of them all that Quel’Thalas fell. Those who survived the ashes of the dead land called themselves the Blood Elves, and it was these tortured souls, driven mad by their thirst for magic and power, which followed the renegade Kael’Thas into the madness of demonic servitude. Though the hunger for magic consumed them all, the Red Templar came to be known as Red Elves, and they learned to draw their magic from the plane of the Arcane. Now, the homeless Red Templar carve their lives from the back alleys of the human cities, finding their fortune wherever it beckons, making their homes amidst the hidden world of thieves and thugs. It is in this environment, of throat cutting and backstabbing, where those who can survive have their names passed down through the generations and those who cannot have their bodies picked clean by the beggars in the gutters.

It is in this world that Sherlys Calais, the self-proclaimed Queen of Red makes her home, on the treacherous streets of Stormwind Keep.

[Renetet]

The dawn broke across the city of Stormwind, clear and cold, the sky cloudless and sun shining brightly, as the occupants of the city grudgingly began to ready themselves for another day of hard, honest work. Peasant farmers kissed their wives and daughters goodbye, taking their sons down to the fields for a long day’s work, where they would slave in the chill wind of the fast approaching winter, the women staying behind to clean the home and cook the meal for the men and boys when they returned that night. Merchants set up their shops in the streets, keeping up a steady stream of banter, jokes and smooth talk, trying to make an honest living selling their wares to the down-trodden peasantry. The city guard patrolled the streets, keeping the peace and enforcing the laws of the city, making sure that the merchant’s fast talk and even faster hands didn’t get the best of the unwary. Drunken laughter and loud music came from the taverns and inns around the city, filled to capacity with men drinking away the chilly day, and trying to forget their troubles and tell the most pointless stories, drowning themselves in mug after mug of cheap drink. All in the city were running like clockwork, not a single thing out of the ordinary and all of it so predictable. Perfect.

Sherlys Calais stood on the balcony of the inn where she had been staying for a few days. To Sherlys, the clockwork of the city pleased her. She had survived all these long years through her knowledge of everything that went on in the city. From the highest noble’s most luxurious and elaborate banquets, to the pettiest argument of the lowest rabble, she knew it all. Sherlys brushed her long red hair from her beautiful face, as she prepared for another day of honest work in the city that had been her home for the last seventeen years. She remembered who she was when she came here all those years ago, seeking a life bought by the anguish of others. She had been quick-witted and confident then, and held faith that she would persevere in the face of any threat. She was still swift and sure, but seventeen years of life on the streets of Stormwind had given her a sense of humility, a lesson that few in her line of work lived long enough to learn. As she headed out of the Drunken Donkey Inn, leaping from the balcony to land in the alley below, she felt a sense of pride for all that she had accomplished.

The city of Stormwind had seemed such an unlikely place to find the life that she so ardently desired. Its clean looking stone buildings, its many guards, its honest reputation, they all made Calais doubt that she would ever find what she was looking for there. But beneath the thin veneer of cleanliness and truthfulness lay the dark and hidden world of thievery and blackmail. Hidden from sight in the dark allies of the city, those who would seek to benefit from another’s pain find their lot in life. It was in this rough and hidden society that Calais had made her fortune. Calais was extremely well respected amongst the various thief guilds, who were always vying for supremacy. These guilds often hid themselves beneath false facades as good honest businesses, and you could never tell a seedy thief from an honest man, which of course was a great benefit. Calais was also rightly feared, for her knowledge of absolutely everything that went on in the city made her a difficult target. Always a few steps ahead of the game, Sherlys managed to survive by knowing with certainty what was coming around the corner.

Her skill as a warrior was what made her stay in power however. Sherlys was no novice fighter, and as deadly with her bare hands as she was with her two slender swords. They were two feet long and expertly made, with a slight curve to them. She also had several daggers concealed on her at all times, all well hidden and easily accessible, including a powerfully enchanted magical dagger that she was particularly famous for. It was a short, but sharp blade, close to a half foot long, and enchanted with several spells. The dagger had been imbued to be invisible and impossible to find to all except Sherlys, who could draw it from anywhere on her. It had been enchanted with a silencing charm, and thus, she favored it for assassination, where the victim became unable to gasp as the dagger pierced a lung, or unable to scream as it flashed across their throat. Its edge was sharp enough to cut through any metal, and was strengthened to be almost unbreakable. And finally, it was empowered to be very accurate when thrown, its magic leading it into its target almost without err.

Calais was also a beautiful elven maiden, and was not above using her alluring charms to get what she desired. She never engaged in whorish pleasures, nor did she do it out of fun or enjoyment, only for personal gain. She would never bed with anyone; unless she was confident it would put her in a position of power. For Calais, her natural charms and beauty were just more tools in her arsenal of survival tools. And thus, the day found the beautiful, deadly, and confident Calais walking down the Main Street, looking for her target.

Calais had been tracking a rogue dwarf for the last several months. The dwarf had been recruited to assassinate the leader of another thief guild, and return with the head of the man and his lieutenants. Most unfortunately for him, Sherlys caught wind of his assignment, and sold the information to the leader of the guild for a high price. The dwarf had arrived thinking to perform an easy task, and instead wound up facing the legendary Sherlys Calais in the stead of the leader. He had only barely escaped the fight. The fight had really not been of much importance to Sherlys - she had gotten her gold for the information and that was good enough for her - but the guild master wanted the dwarf to be “discouraged” from trying the stunt again. Calais agreed at once.

Sherlys had been monitoring the Joking Jester Inn for close to three weeks, watching closely the comings and goings of the unsuspecting dwarf who, judging from what the stealthily concealed Calais overheard at the bar one night, felt that he had escaped the blades of the Templar.

“Knew she’d ne’er find me, ye shee,” he slurred drunkenly. “No ‘un findsh Frear Garbuckle unlesh he wants ‘em too.”

Sherlys dearly wanted to make herself known to the dwarf when he started talking that way. She would laugh at the expression of the dwarf as he would stammer and sputter, looking for excuses anything that would save him from the inevitable. She would make it quick and painless death; she would cut his head from his shoulders with one stroke of her blades. Eagerness was replaced by thoughtfulness however. Let him brag, she thought. Let him, it will make his death all the sweeter. And she had let him, and now it was time to end it.

She calmly walked up to the tavern, pushing the door open and quickly spotting the dwarf. Today, he was telling the “gripping” story of how he had escaped Calais. In truth, he had jumped out of the window and fallen several stories, which would have injured Calais but left him unhurt. He had run off into the darkness, leaving Calais in the window above. In this tale however, the fool had apparently fought off not only Calais but the whole guild as well. Sherlys walked up to the bar and took a seat, and ordering a mug of ale which she didn’t touch, intently listening to the dwarf’s story.

“So then, I’m trapped ye shee, on the top floor of a big assh buildin’,” he said drunkenly. The audience seemed to be looking at him intently, but it was likely just to keep him in focus.

“So they comes at me, and bam! I hits one and takes him out, and then bam! I takes anudder one down,” he said dramatically, acting out the moves of his various attacks, though the effect was lost somewhat given how he staggered with each step.

“An’ then, she comes in there, all red and pale, dat feebl’ elf Sherlys!” he shouted.

“Well, I go like thish”– the dwarf made a stabbing motion, which nearly made him fall over –“and then I go like thish” – he spun around, crashing against some surly humans who shoved him back into the middle of the room-“and then I does thish!” And he jumped to the side, stumbled, and smashed his head against the sturdy wood of a chair. Some in the audience groaned at the hit, others groaned with too much ale in their bellies, and others laughed raucously at his drunken antics. He turned around, looking for people who believed him, when his eyes fell across the new one at the bar, and he shouted out.

“’Ey, ‘ey you there, you believes me tale don’tch ye!” he slurred the words, slightly from the alcohol and slightly from the chair.

“It’s good, very good,” Calais said, turning from the bar and throwing back her hood. “But it’s missing a few of the really good points. What about when you thrust your dagger into the wood and couldn’t get it out?” she asked, holding up his prized dagger and laughing at his expression, one of mingled horror and disbelief. “How about your “courageous” leap from the building, where you fell six stories and landed in horse manure?” she added, bringing a shout of laughter, and some vomiting from some.

Calais had gotten off the barstool and was advancing on the dwarf now, who looked as though he had landed in manure again. His back was up against the wall now, and she was standing mere feet away. He was spluttering and spitting half-formed and incoherent curses at her.

“Surely you didn’t think you would live after our meeting? You tried, poorly at that, to kill me!” she said, voice quiet and full of deadly promises.

“Well’n, well’n no, no not that, just, I…I…I had hoped to um, um,” the dwarf mumbled.
“You know what has to happen now,” Sherlys said calmly, drawing one slender blade from its sheath.

The dwarf’s eyes widened at the sight of the weapon, and at the thought of what would come next.

“Well, let’sh not be too quick about thish,” he tried to say, weakly. Calais slammed him against the wall. “I’ll..I’ll…I’ll make you a deal!” he blurted. Calais looked mildly intrigued.

“Typical fool, you would sell your employer to save yourself,” she said, but there was no venom in her voice, rather she was curious. “I’m listening.”

“Well’n, if’n you letsh me go, I’ll tell ye’ who gave’n me the job,” the dwarf said as slyly as he could manage. Sherlys studied him thoughtfully.

“Come with me, we’ll discuss this in the alley,” she said, low enough so only he could hear. A look of deepest relief crossed his face, as Calais steered him out and into the alleyway.

The dwarf had only just closed the door behind him and begun to stammer out how grateful he was, and how much he would owe Sherlys and where his boss was located, when she drove her dagger up under his chin and deep into his brain. She pushed him back as the blood rushed forward out of the fatal wound.

“You didn’t think I would trust you, did you?” she sneered at the corpse.

She wiped her dagger on his clothes, and sheathed it. She calmly walked from the alley way, giving no hint outwardly that she had killed another person, vile though they may have been. As she disappeared into the vast crowd of peasants swarming the merchants and shouting for deals, and merchants who were shouting for guards, and drunken laughter that drowned it all, she smiled to herself. Another perfect hit and one more head for Sherlys Calais, she thought to herself. She decided to not risk reprisal from the dead dwarf’s boss, who would pretty easily manage to locate her at the Drunken Donkey Inn. She decided that she would move to another part of the city, near the noble’s, for the next few days. She would use her connections to find the dwarfs boss and keep tags on him. If he was a threat, he would soon become intimately familiar with her dagger. She smiled. Perfect.

[Inquisistor7]

Interesting. This was a good start overall, mainly because of the setting of the story (namely in the world of rogues and assassins). The only major problem at the moment is that you used the main character's name way too much. I got tired of reading it real fast. This work has potential, and I hope to see more of it.

[Renetet]

Through the smoke-filled glass of the scrying crystal, the three figures watched the unsuspecting Templar, Sherlys. They watched her swiftly vanish into the jostling crowds of the packed Main Street. They shifted in the shadows, observing her finely honed features, and seeing the way she moved, graceful and deadly, a wolf in the midst of a thousand unsuspecting sheep; sheep who would only see the wolf when they were caught in the dark alleys, where no one would hear their final cries.

“The Templar, Sherlys, has killed our operative,” one of the shadowed figures said, his voice rumbling, like a thunderstorm in the distance. “Our people are ready, we could take her as early as tonight, if need be.”

“No. We take no action against the elf. Frear signed his own death when he decided to take the job,” the second replied, waving his hand dismissively. They looked into the ball to see Sherlys quickly slice a fine blade across a pickpocket’s hand, drawing a red line across his palm, and a sharp glare from her. He scuttled away, his shirt cuff staining red.

“Look at her movements,” mused the woman in the darkness, her voice curious. “She carries herself with the confidence of one who is sure of her place. We’ll have no success fighting her, but perhaps…”

“Perhaps what?” the first voice demanded irritably. “If you’re suggesting we use her, she will never agree.”

“She is no fool. She would be…wise, to join with us,” the woman replied. “She seeks only power. We can give that to her. But if we continue to use fools like Frear, we will never accomplish our goal. Time runs short.”

“We will watch and wait,” the second voice decided, watching Calais smash another would-be thief in the mouth with the hilt of her dagger, sending him to the ground, blood pouring from his face. She was gone before his vision cleared. “If we can get Sherlys Calais on our side, we must explore that possibility. She would be a great asset.”

The three continued to watch the unaware Templar, as she finally lost her temper on a thief, kicking him solidly in the face and sending him sprawling, unconscious.


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Sherlys moved silently through the dark alleys of the Noble’s District. Though the district was the most heavily guarded, it was also the most dangerous; only the best thieves survived here. She was unconcerned however, easily more than a match for the common thugs of the region. She knew well the dangers of most of the city, and knew of all the best hiding spots, ambush points, and of all the thief guild houses. She avoided those places, not of fear, but of convenience; her knowledge of the city and its workings was very good and her list of contacts was a long one, and that made her both a tempting target for would-be assassins, and a handy information source. Not wishing to be delayed by a young fool’s blade, or an old man’s ignorance and fear, she cut through alleys and across streets, keeping away from the guilds.

She finally caught a glimpse of the Leaky Flagon Tavern, a tavern with a good reputation. She wasn’t truly in the actual noble’s district, but rather, on the edge of it. The nobles liked to separate themselves by gates, though they never stopped the true dangers. More than one noble had found himself giving up a part of their greedy hoards to the more capable thieves, though Sherlys herself had never needed to resort to such tactics; she usually avoided the nobles, finding their greed and arrogance repulsive. However, there we’re plenty of people who liked to live near the nobles, mainly for the protection that the guards offered. Sherlys however, favored the tavern for gathering information. A lot of good knowledge could be found there, if you had the coin.

The door opened and closed, and she stood in the middle of a smoky blue-hazed room, surveying and taking note of each patron. Most of the people were sitting at tables, chatting animatedly over mugs of ale. The barkeep was talking to a short, squeaky voiced man who Sherlys knew as Weiss, arguably one of the weirdest gnomes ever to come to Stormwind. He was obsessed with all things mechanical, and could usually be found building one thing or another in his shop down the street. Sherlys had found the gnomes knowledge of mechanical traps of great assistance in the past. Some patrons simply sat in the corners, feigning obliviousness to gather information for the various guilds. Sherlys walked over to one of them, a wrinkled, old, white-haired human, called Kier. He looked up.

“Well now,” he croaked out. “Mind you move along, missus, you’re blockin’ the light and much more.

“What do you know of the rogue Frear?” she asked, dispensing with the pleasantries. “He made an attempt on the Red Gauntlets guildmaster, Tyros. I would know why, and who ordered it?”

“Well, I might be knowin’ somethin’ about this…but my memory, its not what it used to be,” he said slyly. Sherlys eyed him coldly, and then tossed a small sack of silvers into his lap.

“Well now, somethin’s comin’ back to me,” he murmured. She fixed him with a cold stare, and he looked politely back up at her. She tossed down another sack. He smiled toothlessly up at her.

“Three noble’s, they work as a front for the Black Sails pirate guild,” Kier said. “They want the Red Gauntlets to pay a bit of ‘safety tax’. A dwarf named Frear was supposed to “convince” their guildmaster and his officers to pay up, but he never did it, and walked off with their gold likely. Now the noble’s are looking for a new agent.”

“Names?” Sherlys said curtly, tossing down another sack.

“The nobles are Mike Baxter, he runs the Rattling Rapier Inn, down on Dock Street, Cynthia Moon, an elf mage, she runs the Cloak and Dagger shop in the Mage’s district, and Theodore Reveir, no idea who he is, but he supposedly has contacts outside the city, so he could be running with highwaymen or bandits in the forest,” Kier replied.

Sherlys simply nodded and turned away. She didn’t like noblemen, or noblewomen, but she knew that they paid well for good services. And Sherlys’ service was certainly good. She wondered if she would pursue the opportunity of being an agent for these nobles, but dismissed the idea at once. She turned her thoughts towards the situation with the guilds. The Black Sails operated off of a chain of islands at sea. They earned a profit from their ‘taxes’ on merchant caravels working the sea lanes. They would be far out of their domain, reaching into Stormwind. Further, the Red Gauntlets were one of the better established guilds in the city, and they operated the Footman’s Armory, a well known equipment supplier, and a profitable one at that. Challenging them meant risking the ire of rogues like Sherlys and Apollo, who was rumored to be the most skilled assassin in all of Azeroth. Further, the Black Sails was a sea-based guild. What interest would they have in an arms supplier? Wouldn’t a shipwright be of more value? No matter how she looked at it, there were no gains, just a lose-lose proposition all around the board. No, she thought to herself, there was more to this than met the eye.

Maybe it was time to pay the noble’s a visit.

She swept from the room, the door barely closing behind her before she heard the echoing cry “Damn you!” from the old fool Kier. She smiled to herself. He didn’t expect me to pay did he, she wondered. The silver she had given him was little more than cheap iron flecks that she bought from the blacksmith. They were worth practically nothing. Kier ran out into the street, red-faced and looking both ways, but to no avail.

Sherlys Calais had vanished.


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Back at the inn where she was staying, Sherlys was preparing herself for another trip into the Noble’s District. Though getting into the district was a simple matter, for the walls were enough to keep the common thug out, but nowhere near ample defense against skilled rogues, noblemen were fond of hiring private guards, occasionally even other rogues to guard their estates, and were very fond of traps, both magical and mechanical. Weiss made his living selling his famed Dart Shot traps to frightened nobles, but he had sold her a list of who had them installed, and even floor plans of where they were set. Few nobles bothered with the protection of a wizard, mainly for the expense; nobles were very greedy, but that lust for wealth paled compared to mages, who demanded exorbitant amounts of money for even basic shielding spells. As a result, only the most wealthy – or paranoid – bothered with magical defenses.

As the night fell over Stormwind, with the merchants closing shops, customers heading to taverns, and the thugs of the city beginning to prowl their routes, Sherlys slipped out of her window and off across the rooftops of the city, heading for the walls that divide the richer from the poorer. She moved with the silence of a shadow, the specter of death, using the practiced toe-heel steps that let her move without making a sound. Before long, she was overlooking the gatehouse, and the long guard who paced restlessly in front of it.

As soon as his back was turned, she dropped to the alley behind him, completely soundlessly. The guard disappeared into the shadows of the guardhouse, and she heard the trickling sound as he began to relieve himself. Wasting no time, she dashed up the sheer face of the wall. Despite the excellent fitting of the stone, her nimble elf fingers found handholds, and her booted feet found ridges and pits to grip. Within a few seconds, she was over it, dropping silently into the alley on the other side, as the guard returned to his pacing vigil.

She slipped into the darkness of the alley, moving amongst the crates and barrels. Silent in the nighttime gloom, she moved down to the street, taking a quick glance to see if anyone was about. The street was devoid of life, with the only sounds coming from the taverns, but it was one of nobleman’s mirth and fine music, not drunken laughter and patrons pounding on the bar for service. She got her bearings quickly. The tavern down the way was called the Homes Hearth, and this street was the Avenue of Nobility. Sticking to the shadows, she began to move quickly and quietly toward the Baxter Estate.

[Inquisistor7]

This story's descritions and explanations are full of detail, and that is good. Also, in the last section you didn't use Sharylis's name all the time. So, please keep it up.