The pale blue light of morning had just begun to creep over the walls of Shattrah city, slowly bringing warmth back to it's crumbling stone. She moved toward the city, inhaling the air, thick with mist from the ever flowing water atop the Aldor Rise. It was good to be back.
She took slow steps toward her old spot on these walls, savoring the famillar sight before her. Sitting sat down on the edge, she picked up her old habit of watching as the refugee's below slowly awoke from their camps in the lower city, ready to start a new day.
The small brown sack she pulled in front of her contained only a small portion of the rations that were left from her journey back. Her stomach reacted to the sight of the bread she pulled from it, giving a rather large growl before she ripped into the food eagerly with her teeth.
She immediately cringed at the stale taste it left in her mouth afterward. Tossing the bread aside, she wondered if the food here was still as good as she remembered it to be. But the lightness of the coin pouch at her side was a reminder that there was still much to be done before that time. To her, Northrend's supposed benefits had left something to be desired.
Pulling herself from the thoughts of her painful lack of wealth, she turned her attention to the city. The beacon of light from A'dal still shone through the sky, bathing the city in an almost unsettling calm. Enchanted lifts moved effortlessly as a transport to both the rise, and the tier. The Lower City seemed to have prospered tremendously in her abscence, the sheltering of the refugee's was more throughly patched, and the roads better paved. More stands stood next to the old ones she knew. Her eyes fell upon Griftah's place with a look of distaste. It seemed that troll was still up to no good.
Although the state of the city was better than when she'd departed from it, the lack of adventurer's made it seem a little emptier than before.
A small smile came to her face, this didn't bother her at all. If there was one thing she hated, it was crowds. It had been her mistake to think Shattrah had been the worst of it. When she'd arrived in Dalaran, the mere sight of all those people nearly sent her into full blown panic.
The only reason she'd traveled to Northrend in the first place was the promise of money, and that was far from the truth. What they cared about, and what she needed were two very different things. She was used to being a mercenary, not a solider. 'Those days are long gone.' She thought bitterly. A few battles were fought, but the rewards were too few, so she'd returned back to the Eastern Kingdoms with empty hands.
'It was full of fools anyway, looking for fame and fortune. A name for themselves. A lot of good those do you.' She scoffed, reaching down for her hipflask, only to curse when she met air in the space it had once occupied. The flask had gotten lost it somewhere in the bogs of Zangarmarsh while she was trying to outrun those damned Naga. It had been an ambush, and a well thought out one at that. In the end, their overwhelming numbers had thwarted her plan of ridding herself of them the old fashion way, though she took pride in the fact that she managed to take a few down before fleeing.
As her stomach gave another growl, her thoughts traveled back to the sack in front of her and the apple she'd packed along with the bread. Hopefully it would be in better condition than the former. She discovered the apple had suffered the same fate as her bread, it's bruised skin oozed fluid, clearly on it's way to rotting. It was glared at it for a few moments before she turned and threw it behind her somewhere into the forest. Her stomach protested her actions.
She sighed, trying to ignore the ache in her throat, begging for the comfort of the alcohol in her missing hipflask. Things might have at least been a bit more tolerable for her then. The Naga had become even more unruly with the fall of their commander, Lady Vashj, and their desperation had become her misfortune.
Her brow furrowed. Now that she thought of it, very few things had been accomplished here in the Outlands. Most of their former leaders may have fallen, but the burden of what happened afterward fell on the shoulders of those that stayed. The city's improving state showed much progress, and yet, she doubted they were able to completely stand on their own two feet again...or hooves, whichever of the two that they had.
But not all of the old threats had gone, she could still feel some of the lingering fear and anger here, despite the peace A'dal's light gave off. Last she'd heard of, Illidan Stormrage still remained in the Black Temple. The final attempt on his life ended in the deaths of Akama, and Maiev Shadowsong, along with many of the adventurer's who assisted them, and only a few of those made it back to speak of it. If you could call it speaking that is, some rambled on, muttering to themselves, and others refusing to speak of it at all. Nobody is still quite sure what happened, or what went wrong, but after rumors of how brutally the raid was slaughtered spread, none dared to set foot in the temple again.
Soon after, suspicions of Kael'thas' alliegance came to light, and the Scryers were formed in Shattrah. An attempt to stop him was also made, but it seems that 'Prince' Kael'thas Sunstrider had somehow gotten wind of their plans, and fled from Temptest Keep. He was pronounced missing. She recalled avoiding the Scryers Tier for quite some time after that, the aura exuding from every bloodelf there had been absolutely venomous. Some speculate he went off to join the Burning Legion, lured by promises of power, but where the treacherous prince had ended up was still anyone's guess. She could care less about it honestly, though her hope was that he'd skipped off in his pretty little robes and found himself a very, very, very high cliff, then threw himself to a pit of demons that devoured him very, very, very slowly...but that was probably asking too much.
The sound of loud yawning behind her pulled her away from her musings. Her hands instinctively snapped to her daggers as she quietly stood up, ready to face this possible attacker. Although the blatant approach gave her a good clue as to who it was already, (you really couldn't get much worse than this unless you were yelling 'I'm here!' at her), she wasn't one for taking chances. "You're awake already, Evencar?" Her jaw clenched as she waited, tightening her grip on the weapons at her side.
"Not because I want to be." An annoyed grunt followed the response.
She turned around. A nightelf male stood groggily before her, staring through half-lidded amber eyes, glowing faintly as he stood beneath the shadowy boughs of the forest bordering Shattrah. Disheveled midnight blue hair, hung loosely from it's ponytailed style. Even in his half asleep state, she watched his eyes travel down nervously to the weapons in her grip.
"Calm down Eilya, it's just me, Evencar." A bit of sympathy came over her as he brought his hands up in defense, assuming she would attack him at any moment. But if he kept this up, it was a strong possibility.
Narrowing her eyes at him, she growled out her words. "How many times do I have to tell you to approach me where I can see you coming?' She watched him flinch. 'One of these days i'm just going to take you for an enemy, maybe then what I say will actually sink in that head of yours." Eilya lowered her hands from her daggers, a sigh escaping her lips as she briefly recalled the rogue instructor at the Worlds End Tavern, and their pleasant conversation about dealing with those who didn't listen. Was she still here as well? Perhaps she had finally reopened her school...
'Um, Eilya?' The sudden sound caught her off guard, causing her to react in the way she would have normally. Her right arm shot out, fingers curling into a fist that connected with Evencar's nose. It gave a sickening crunch beneath her knuckles, while the force of the blow made him stagger back and away from her.
Unphased, Evencar now stood a few feet away, covering the lower half of his face. "Well, a' leas I gah your attehshion." Eilya ran her hand through her dark blue hair in frustration. She was convinced she would never understand his more than self destructive methods of getting this 'attention' from her, much less the man in general. He just didn't seem to comprehend what her being a rogue meant for him. The paranoia, quick reflexes, and ability to kill someone without thinking twice of it were all part of who she was. As a mercenary, they were often priceless skills that had saved her skin more than once. Around other people however, these skills were a troublesome burdern, she had to restrain herself almost every time someone managed to anger her. It was all too easy to fall into that mindset. But surprisingly, the fact that she could end his life at any time, accidently or...otherwise, didn't seem to cross his mind, carrying around a carefree attitude that more than irked her at times.
But she couldn't really blame him. He was inexperienced of course, considering how young he was, a couple of thousand years old at the most. It may have seemed surprising to anyone but another nightelf, most people never knew that quite a few of them never left the forests at all, content with living their lives among their own kind. Cushioned by ignorance, and then quickly blindsided by the dangers of the world when, and if the time came where their people needed them. Those types were the first to die in battle, their stupidity making them standing out like a sore thumb, an easy target for any enemy.
Eilya's hand parted from her face just in time to see him pull a slick, blood covered hand away from his own. The blood was pouring from his nose at an alarming rate, although the swelling made it hard to tell whether or not for certain she'd broken it. He watched with an alarmed expression as the crimson drops stained the grass beneath him, the reality of the situation finally sinking in.
The fact that the sun had finally risen in the sky did not make things better, in fact, it only made the injury look more gruesome by the second. The idiot would bleed to death soon if he kept standing there, and that was one death she didn't want on her hands. She walked over, harshly grabbing the wrist of the hand he didn't manage to coat in blood, and yanked him in the direction of the city. Eilya silently hoped that the priests rose early here, because he would most likely need to have his nose checked. She thought for a second. 'And his ears while we're at it.'
He didn't fight her as she dragged him towards one of the city entrances, and as she turned her head back towards him she saw him looking past her, observing the city with a curious expression. "So dis ish Shattwah. Ish beuteeful." He was so enthralled by this, he didn't notice the faint light coming from her hand as she subtley placed it near his nose to 'inspect' the damage more.
Turning back again to look at the city, Eilya couldn't help but smile a bit at the sight of it, standing strong despite all it's hardships. It reminded her a bit of herself. "Yes, this is Shattrah, and it is." She let go of his wrist. "Follow me."
She heard him make an incredulous sound from behind her. "Ey, did my no's top bwedding?"
I strive to get better in my writing, if you have any criticism, please put it in a review so I can improve my writing skills. :)
