The hut was a mess. Blood coated the cluttered floor where books and valuable junk lay strewn and a petite orc girl lay in the middle of it, a massive orc towering over her, shouting obscenities and frothing at the mouth. She couldn’t hear his words for the blood in her ears and the pressure on her forehead, her vision being blocked by his leather clad foot.
Her expensive clothing was ripped in places, and she was shuddering violently, crying out in pain with every loud bellow and him stepping on her head.
It was time to escape.
Larkta was a lady, at heart. Her parents were clothing merchants who, although not rich, had gotten her accustomed to formal clothing and books bound in leather. When she arrived late from curfew one night on the arm of a dashing orc shaman, dressed in a fine suit, she figured they would forgive. But there was something about him they didn’t trust, and it soon became a daily point of argument for the three, until they finally gave her the ultimatum; leave him, or we won’t buy you any more pretty things.
She was young, and in love, and being absolutely spoiled by her new suitor, so it’s no trouble to guess who she turned to.
He collapsed next to her in a drunken stupor, drooling and growling in his sleep, thrashing violently. Still sobbing quietly in pain, she grabbed a few of the nicest things she could find, a few other necessities and all of the gold she could find, sneaking out to the black night.
She ran as best she could, with a strong limp, to the nearby Zeppelin, breaking down in tears as it arrived. She sat in the bottom cabin, trying to use her own tears and some scraps of material to wipe the blood from her face. Moments, or it could have been days, passed as she wandered through the Undercity, seeking aid but finding none. The forsaken barely glanced at the broken orc, mumbling incoherently.
Eventually, however, she stumbled to the translocator that lead to Silvermoon and falling inside she was quickly given aid.
For days, she slept, her eyes moving rapidly below her lids as the thrashed and cried out.
When she awoke, her first instinct was to hide.
So she trained. She learned to stick to the shadows and hide, to tread lightly, to survive.
But she was a lady at heart, there was no mistaking that. She soon learned which gullible people in the inns of Silvermoon could be robbed without noticing, and just how drunk each of them had to be for her hand to go unnoticed flicking into their robes. Soon enough, she had her own small wardrobe of expensive clothing.
Larkta did legal work as well, of course, taking and sewing leather scraps for those in need, crafting herself some of her own work outfits.
It was because of her legal career that introduced her to Sir Lodran.
Lodran was tall and what Larkta figured must be handsome for a bull. His fur was well kept and he looked incredibly well dressed. He stuck out in the middle of Farstrider Square on the Saturday afternoon that they had met, she slowly made her way over to him, dressed in her finest robe. Both were incredibly out of place among the tiny pink elves that ran rampant throughout the square, however both walked with grace and ease, apparently oblivious to those around them.
They hit it off immediately. They both seemed to have so much in common, chit chatting the day away under the bright sun, glinting from the golden and red decorum. When the heat grew too much for their heavy wear, they parted ways, with the promise of tea and discussion of great literature to come. It’s an embarrassing thing when you’re caught with your hand in the cookie jar. When Lodran came strutting up behind her as she pickpocketted an elf cast aside by others, clearing his throat, her eyes couldn’t have been wider. She fumbled for the words, her eyes starting to water a little as she realized she was caught in her black leather, hand in the pocket of someone else’s robe. Larkta frowned at the lack of words, lowering her head in shame.
Lodran stood, several heads over her, watching her reaction. Changing the subject, he calmly spoke, “My Lady, I didn’t expect to see you out here.”
She flinched a little before she fully registered the words, looking up to meet him in the eyes. Searching them, she stumbled over the words that she forgot as soon as they left her throat.
The rest of the conversation was a blur. All she knew was he did show up for their tea date and all was well, in public. In private, he spoke to her at length about the great things they could accomplish together, and about the idiosyncrasies of leading, basically, a double life.
Maybe life as a Lady Rogue wouldn’t be so bad?
You know, life wasn’t so bad with someone to share it with. Larkta was grateful for the company that Lodran gave her, and she enjoyed their time together. He treated her with affection, lavishing expensive gifts on her, filling her wardrobe past capacity. Most of their time was spent around the cities, discussing their favourite topics: Larkta’s love of other cultures and Lodran’s distaste for, well, most other cultures.
They found an organization that was able to offer them some form of protection and security, which Lodran figured was terribly important for the both of them, and in the evening, as the sun set, they both strut out of the city walls, leather clothing deep in the bottom of their bags, ready for another evening of, well, terrible things that best not be mentioned in polite company.
Lodran was powerful, you see, and was able to shift forms into a bear, swiping at their foe as Larkta took care of their gold and their back problems. They worked well together.
Even if Lodran was a little condescending and treated her sometimes as though she were his accessory, she didn’t mind. It was just their public persona’s anyways, and they connected on a much deeper level, especially in private. He knew how to treat a Lady Rogue like Larkta.
She ran back to Silvermoon from the Ghostlands, her bags busting open at the seams as she spoke to the bank teller, trying to see how much more storage space she was allotted. Behind her, Lodran spoke, “Careful, mi’lady, that you aren’t caught.”
Larkta whipped around with a gasp. “Sir Lodr–” she paused, scanning the bank. “Sir Lodran?” the excitement in her voice had faded to confusion, “where are you?”
He spoke again, “that’s hardly any way to be dressing in public.”
“I.. I know!” she stammered, “I just arrived back from my work, and I haven’t any place to change yet. Where are you?” she stepped away from the confused teller, walking around the pillars. Slowly, Lodran revealed himself, his fur golden, his body more similar to that of a cat than that of a bear or a bull. She gasped again, her eyes scanning over him, “Sir Lodran?” he nodded.
“Oh my!” she gushed, “I knew you were powerful, but this is astounding! You can hide in the shadows as well?! We’ll…” she giggled self consciously, blushing deeply.
“Go get changed, mi’lady, and we’ll talk.”