Prompt: May 10, 2012 - Your character is presented with an offer far too tempting to turn away. For one day, your character is allowed to be the leader of any race (other than their current one) of either faction. Which race would it be? Why? And what would they do as the supreme ruler?(It is worth noting that my best friend, dearest love, and partner in all manner of crime is also participating in the site write challenge and that entry #4 here follows quite directly from his own entry #4 posted here.)
. . . . . "Interestink," mused the draenei.
. . . . . "I thought so," replied Eredis as he cast his line back into the water. "What would you do?"
. . . . . "If I took over Undercity?"
. . . . . "Or anywhere. If you were ruler of any group."
. . . . . The small herm of flat rocks balanced on the wood next to her right hip grew smaller by one, and a sharp gesture sent the topmost sacrifice skipping across the ocean waves. "Six!" she crowed, before looking contemplatively up at the sky. "Ze first thing I vould get rid of are zose ridiculously mismatched pauldrons..."
. . . . . The Keep was silent for about ten seconds, not even the drip of blood daring to make a noise after that first startled indrawn breath. Instead, the blood pooled sluggishly on the marble, collecting in her palms as it ran off the spikes of her vambraces onto her gloves and sluiced into the lowest point it could reach - her curled, gloved hands resting on the floor. There would have been counselors to intervene, of course. Guardsmen. Secret agents. Presume it was all dealt with ahead of time; after all, if she really had a plan for handling all that, she'd be implementing it, wouldn't she?
. . . . . Valdiis broke the silence by reaching forward and gingerly removing the horrible, mismatched steel pauldrons of eagle and lion. Honestly. The exiled ones would have to teach their new subjects about symmetry. Respect for the dead would have her closing the eyes of the late King Wrynn, but they'd popped when he'd taken a full blow across the face with her spiked arm.
. . . . . Scratch that, leave one counselor. Some sycophantic little traitor who'd probably made this possible. The rat-nosed human counselor would creep up, all trembles and hand wringing, and ask what the new King's will was.
. . . . . "Get Mathias Shaw in here." The counselor scurried off to retrieve the head of SI:7.
. . . . . Wiping her bloodied palms down her cheeks to mark herself with the old king's blood, signifying her supremacy in battle, she tilted her head towards her right pauldron - perfectly matched with the left, mind you - and the tiny gnomish communication device clipped to it. "Someone bring me ze jar labeled Iron #8 from my vorktable. And a glass jar of curry. I vant ze bloodvorms excitable."
. . . . . Now that she was King of Stormwind, it was time she found out precisely why SI:7 was harrying her soldiers.
. . . . . "That's it?"
. . . . . "Vhat? I am supposed to be grand and create havens for undead, or cause ze slaughter of legions of my enemy by orderink zem to valk off a cliff?"
. . . . . "Well, something more interesting than getting rid of ceremonial armor and running inquisition on Shaw."
. . . . . "Pff." The draenei illustrated her lack of concern for this further by flopping backwards onto the deck and folding her plate-covered forearms beneath her head. "Clearly, you don't understand how offensive I find ze lack of symmetry."