The Ink Box (Rinny Cursebreaker – WoW)
It was ten inches wide, eight inches deep and twelve inches long. It was crafted from the heart wood of Lordaeron pines. The Thalassian words of the Quel’Dorei Lamentation had been carved into the lid, a shimmering memory of gold filigree was all that remained in the grooves. The lid itself was secured with thorium hinges and a single lock. The key for the lock lost long ago.
The inside of the box was lined with a thick brocade fabric that had become ratty and threadbare over the years. Thin pieces of Quel’Thalas ash wood created two compartments that were usually filled with a variety of inks contained in simple glass vials, a set of hand carved Elekk Ivory tattooing sticks of different styles, a small wood workers hammer and a collection of identical blue jars. Contents that had been set emptied and set aside for the time being. In a rich, elegant hand, “The first of many to store the memories we will create. Your husband, Thyke Starsong” had been carved in Thalassian.
A name and a memory that hadn’t been uttered by her lips in the better part of two-hundred years; her father’s name. The etching had been worn down from the years of tracing her fingers over his scrawl, hoping if not praying to find a memory within his words.
After removing the thin pieces of ash wood the fine blade of a well cared for dagger cuts away the brocade lining, revealing the neurotic scrawl of a dust-addled mind. Directions long forgotten to a destroyed ruin in Old Silvermoon, a path to regaining what had been forcibly lost throughout years of addiction.
Buried deep under the skeletal remains of a building that had once served as the workshop of Thyke and Anyanka Starsong, another box was found. This one nothing more than a simple crate that had been reinforced before set into the ground a good century before the Scourge would destroy that section of the city.
Shifting through the box she would begin to piece together the years she had forgotten. Years spent wandering aimlessly; plying the skills she had with a lyre and her tattooing sticks. Decades of seeking a purpose and a path, seeking the light to guide her through the fog; years of being nothing but another seedy face amongst the dregs of gutter rats. With an unlikely hand to guide her, she’d find a path despite the lack of direction. It would wind and meander; leading her to short-lived celebrity as a musician, disappointment as a mother. It would lead her to Cursebreaker’s and it would lead her to her Tribe.
Her Tribe. The Burning Tusk Tribe. Her family and the guiding force of inspiration that drove her. Within their company she had grown, leaving behind the junkie; the pacifist. Within their company she would emerge from the Starsong shell and begin the challenge of filling the shoes of a Cursebreaker.
With each of the items set aside, she removed the final article. A true silver lockbox; the key to which she had hidden under the lining of her ink box when the claws of her addiction began to dig into her. She didn’t dare open the lockbox here knowing what was inside.
With the lock box tucked safely under her arm she departed Silvermoon, speaking quietly over the talisman with a familiar Zandalari tailor in hopes that he would aide her in repairing and altering the dress inside. A token of the past to carry her into the next stage of her life.
Rinny sets her pencil down and wraps the parchment around the leg of her Stormcrow with instructions for delivery to the Chieftess Anjasa Vilelight. As the great grey wings of the bird spread out and took flight she turned to look over the sleeping form of the Old Orc who would join her on this stretch of road. She blew out the candle and crawled into bed alongside him, the sounds of Ratchet beginning to stir lulling her into a quick sleep.