The Story of Lyesa: Part One

This entry is dedicated to two important members of my guild, Strovia and Nothing, who are not feeling well and trying hard to get better. Get well soon guys.

“Uh... E-e-excuse me, Miss L-L-Lyesa?” The worker asked tentatively, pulling his cap off his head and using it to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead. He shifted uncomfortably, praying to the Light that his boss was in a good mood today. She was currently hunched over her desk clutching a fistful of bills in one hand and a clump of her thin, dirty blonde hair with the other. The severity of Lyesa's frown and the way she tightly gripped at the hair on her skull gave him the distinct impression that she was not in a good spirits at all.

“Crushed velvet for the carriage seats!” She screamed suddenly, throwing the receipts against her desk angrily as she kicked her chair back. She levelled a glare at the poor worker; a glare that could have set peacebloom on fire.

Another interruption! Lyesa thought as she dug her nails into the surface of her desk to keep from screaming again.

“C-crushed velvet, M-miss?” He stuttered in response, taking an involuntary step backwards towards the door he had entered through.



Lyesa terrified him. She had a face that wasn't even a little bit pretty, and no breasts to speak of. Her jaw was too large and her brown eyes were small and sparsely circled with blonde eyelashes. A few freckles dusted her cheeks in way that could have helped her appearance, but the effect was ruined since her face was permanently twisted in that special sneer only a woman can have, the one that makes all men think twice about everything they say.

Lyesa stood imposingly behind her giant mahogany desk, drumming her gnawed-on fingernails against it rapidly, making no effort to hide her agitation. The worker watched the giant opal ring on her index finger bounce and catch the light from the oil lamps. It must have cost more than his annual earnings.

“Yes, for the carriage. Our carriage. That fat fuck actually tried to hide the bill in the trash so I wouldn't see. We share that carriage! The price of oak from Elwynn forest is inflating faster than my brother's waistline, and he actually thinks that's a good investment. Argh!” She banged her fist against the desk and began pacing the length of her office furiously, turning abruptly on her heel when she reached the end of the small room.

The worker gulped nervously, pulling at his starched shirt collar. Lyesa was no doubt speaking of her younger brother and co-owner of the shop, Konravi.

Konravi was a round as Lyesa was thin, and the workers preferred him when it came to requests for new chisels or raises, since they would all just have their wives bake pies that they would use to bribe him. Konravi would be so delighted he'd sign the necessary paper work cheerfully while fruit filling dribbled down onto one of his many chins.

Lyesa and Konravi had opened the shop immediately after the Second War ended and peace once again returned to Azeroth. Operating out of Stratholme the sign making shop quickly became a great success. Lyesa and Konravi took turns running the business, with each of them having control for six months at a time. They couldn't stand each other, so running it at the same time was out of the question.

Lyesa would usually go south on a safari when it was her turn away. The large, stuffed tiger growling at the worker from a elm pedestal was her latest trophy, and it gave this particular worker the chills. Konravi, on the other hand, would travel the world to gorge himself on delicacies far and wide. He was constantly comparing everything he ate to something he had eaten elsewhere. With him it was always, “The cream in this tea tastes just like the stuff that comes fresh from Lordaeron's cows.” Or, “That danish crust resembled the flaky pastries Stormwind bakers are so fond of.”

The worker was definitely having second thoughts about having come to visit Lyesa. He had only come because the dingy apartments in Market Row where most of the workers lived had had their rent raised. However, upon further consideration he now felt the small wage increase he and the other workers wanted could wait the two months until Konravi came back. Asking for it wasn't worth being trapped in a small room with a giant stuffed tiger and Lyesa pacing back and forth like a slightly smaller and much less stuffed predator.

The worker took a few more steps backwards until his hands felt the doorknob that would grant him sweet freedom. He then slipped out while his boss was looking particularly distant and angry.

Lyesa's head snapped up as she heard the pine door click shut softly. She had been going through her breathing exercises, trying to imagine she was exhaling as she squeezed (squeezed, not pulled) the trigger on her rifle. Her imaginary target had been the massive head of her worthless younger brother, Konravi; who was so fat she was convinced their mother died squeezing him out of the birth canal. Seeing the grey matter of his brain explode into a thousand tiny chunks had been very satisfying, and perhaps a little too absorbing.

Lyesa sat back down in her chair, massaging her forehead and looking down at the receipts with disdain. Her time running the shop always felt like it lasted forever. She closed her eyes, wishing she was in the jungle, stalking a big, beautiful animal so she could kill it, stuff it and mount it. Her aim had been improving each trip, and she was sure on her next turn away from the shop she would bag something exotic.

At the first the cumbersome rifle had been her enemy. Her hunting fascination started after she had demanded her brother watch the shop because she needed a vacation too, and his stupid fat face had made her so angry she'd wanted to kill someone. Which was illegal. So she did the next best thing and went hunting.

Not wanting to make a fool of herself Lyesa had set up a few old pots and plates as targets outside the city so she could practice before trying her hand at the real thing. That first day she had laid prone on a hillside near her targets, tucking her rifle securely under her.

That had been her first mistake.

Looking back, she could barley count all the errors she made. By the light, she hadn't even cleaned the barrel after she bought the damn thing. The musket she'd used had been old, an antique she'd found a street merchant selling for only a few copper. Lyesa had also purchased a box of paper cartridges, which she was told would serve as ammunition.

A paper cartridge was basically a small lead ball and a measured amount of black gunpowder wrapped in paper. The merchant, an old woman who smelt strongly of mothballs, had instructed her to use the packing stick attached to the rifle's shaft to push the ball in, after tearing the paper with her teeth and dropping the gun powder in through the muzzle. Sitting on the hillside preparing, Lyesa did just that, hitting the bullet with the packing stick with far more force than was needed while she envisioned her brother eating a cherry strudel.

Settled comfortably on the hillside Lyesa thew back the hammer. Looking down the end of the barrel that protruded from under her, Lyesa tried to put the middle a large bronzed chamberpot in her sights. She closed her eyes as she pulled the trigger. She felt nervous for reasons she couldn't quite explain, or admit to.

The gun exploded, the barrel burning her where she had lain on top of it. The kick from the shot had punched the stock of the musket painfully into her stomach, and she nearly broke her index finger on the stupid trigger.

Lyesa flung the gun off to the side where it landed with a loud clatter and rolled onto her back, still reeling from the pain. The small field where she had gone to shoot echoed with the the sounds of her cursing and the shattering of a plate three feet away from the chamberpot she was aiming for.

Of course, after that she couldn't stop. Lyesa was never one to keep away from a challenge, and in her mind that's what hunting was all about: a good challenge.

Back at her desk Lyesa smiled as she rested her cheek against her closed fist. She would be out hunting again soon; just a few more weeks.