Side story- Kianga
this took longer than what I would like. But I had to make sure it was perfect as I could make it. @kianga-snowstorm allowed me to use their character for an idea I had. so I hope you like it Kianga.
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Never before has Warrick ever thought a blank piece of paper could ever be threatening. But here it was, the most threatening piece of stationary in all of Tyria. “It’s just a letter, it shouldn’t be this fucking hard.” He growled in frustration. Maverick and Dominick watched as their brother struggled with barely contained amusement. “You’ve been at this for almost two hours, maybe you should take a walk and collect your thoughts.” The tiger-striped charr sighed, he knew that if he stayed at his desk much longer he’d start banging his head in frustration. “I have a few things at my brewery that I need to check on anyways.” Warrick stretched a bit before getting up and heading out into LIon’s Arch.
Walking didn’t help Warrick’s mind much, his thoughts were to scattered to piece together. How should he address the letter, what would he say. “Will he even remember me?” More questions passed through his mind and with every question Warrick became more and more frustrated. It must have been a scary sight to see a scowling charr stomp his way through Lion’s Arch because no one stayed in his path for long. Even a few of the Lion Gaurd took notice and started following Warrick to make sure he didn’t get too violent.
Luckily for the city guards, Warrick made it to his brewery with any violence. When the smell of brewing whiskey hit his nostrils all of his problems melted away. This was Warrick’s sanctuary, his place to escape the outside world for a bit. The ex-Blood Legion soldier took another big whiff before getting to work. There were new batches to make, orders to fulfill, new recipes to try, the list went on. It was tough work for one charr to do, especially one that works as a mercenary, but Warrick enjoyed doing it.
He was just finishing sending out an order when a bird dropped a large envelope in front of him. Maverick’s elegant scrawl was visible on the envelope.
Warrick,
I managed to get my contacts in the Black Citadel to get this for you. I hope it helps.
Maverick
Opening the envelope revealed a dossier. “Legionnaire Kianga Snowstorm.” Warrick read out loud with a smile. “You’re only five years older than me.” The following pages of the dossier listed Kianga’s personality and notable achievements. Warrick’s smiled faltered at the list.
“A letter will not be enough.” He groaned and tossed the papers on a nearby table. All of the frustration and anxiety from before came rushing back with a vengeance. Nothing the tiger-like charr could ever say or do would be enough to thank such an honorable soldier. “Why did I have to remember that night.” Warrick took a deep calming breath, the smell of his work helping to calm him down. An idea struck him, an idea that he wondered why he didn’t think of it before.
Every whiskey maker has one recipe that they prize above all others. Warrick is no exception to this rule. Hidden behind a door with the best security that he could afford were five barrels. “My Khan-ur label, this will do nicely.” These were his pride and joy, it only makes sense to give a barrel to someone he views as a hero. “Hopefully he likes whiskey, if not he can sell it.” Warrick heaved a barrel onto his shoulders and headed over to his desk.
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Dear Legionnaire Kianga Snowstorm,
You may not remember me, but my name is Warrick Ashblood, formerly Seigeclaw. We met about twelve years ago, I don’t remember the exact date. My warband and I were just transferred to the Black Citadel from Grothmar Valley. Unfortunately my legionnaire hated my guts because I was a magic user. She had the idea that the only good thing a magic user can do is heal. So I was forced into the role of a healer for my warband. And to make sure I was the best healer I could be, she would have me heal myself while she and the rest of the warband attacked me.
I don’t remember many details of the night we met, in fact, my memories of that night are a little fuzzy. I guess that’s what happens when you get hit in the head a couple of times by a Warhammer. But I do remember you stopping her. She was so used to people cheering her on every time she hit me that it never occurred to her that someone may not share her point of view. You saved me that night. And not just from my legionnaire, you gave me the strength to soldier on. You gave me hope that I can have people look past my magic and see me.
Which now leads me to the reason I’m writing this letter, I don’t remember if I thanked you. So, well thank you. I don’t know where I would be now if it wasn’t for you. Dead, ran away, became Flame, who knows. But you saved me in more ways than one. There is nothing I can say or do to will ever be enough to truly thank you for what you did for me. But I hope this letter and barrel of whiskey will be a good start.
I run a brewery in Lion’s Arch called the Fith Legion whiskey. The barrel I’m sending you is one of my grandest creations, my Khan-ur label. Only the finest ingredients, even the barrel is of high quality, went into this ten-year aged whiskey. I hope you like it, if not you can sell it for a few hundred gold.
With all my thanks,
Warrick Ashblood
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Warrick watched the messenger bird fly off towards where ever Kianga was. A weight seemed to be lifted off of his shoulders. “Thanks again KIanga for everything.” He whispered before heading home.
That is so sweet (and flattering). I didn’t know exactly what you had in mind when you asked me about using Kianga in a story, but I’d like to think that this is something he would do. (And he’d never sell that whiskey - that will be shared with the warband!)
Beautiful story, thank you so much Warrick! 💕
