Miraar silently drew an arrow from her quiver, lodging it in its place in her bow. She pulled the bowstring back, aiming directly at her target. A Warp Stalker that had reptilian features paired with white and purple scales no doubt crusted with blood from past ambushes on the opposing faction was poised to leap at the quiet enemy that its mistress had been aiming at. The creature's fangs were bared in a slight snarl, reflecting the huntress' feeling towards this particular target.
The words that Miraar would have used to describe this individual would most likely be scrawny, pale, and perhaps weak- but these words were far from the truth. The truth was, mainly, that the being scrunched over was quite powerful. He, as it could be seen after some scrutinizing over the difference in gender, was a blood elf; a slightly skinny being- pale, as well, with long, pointed ears that extended to the heavens before tapering to a point (his eyebrows could be described this way, extending far past the sides of his head).
Alas, when Miraar had thought she'd snuck up without being noticed, the elf was well-aware of her presence. He already had prepared a spell to deflect Miraar's arrow in a few simple moments, readying another one used to inflict maximum pain to its target after the former.
Miraar, of course, hadn't noticed the spells being performed although they were quite obvious. She was simply waiting for the perfect moment to release her arrow- she wasn't at all fond of the man's race, seeing what they'd done to her own, the Draenei. Tempest Keep would never be the same after Kael'thas, the blood elven leader at that time, had forcefully taken the naaru-made inter-dimensional ship.
And then came the perfect moment to release the arrow. Before Miraar let it fly, she infused the arrowhead with energy from her mana pool to keep it flying true. As the arrow took flight, however, it was simply stopped midair.
The elf turned around, using his powers to absorb the energy. He smirked, launching his second spell at Miraar- which, unlike the arrow she'd shot, kept steady in the air and hit Miraar square in the abdomen. She fell to her knees, arms clasped over the area where she'd been hit. A cry of agony came from her mouth, though not from the pain of the wound; it was from the knowing thought that had flashed across her mind that she was not going to win this battle.
Vakaala, Miraar's companion (the Warp Stalker), launched at the elf as soon as she saw her mistress being harmed. The elf had seen it coming, and he swiftly pulled out a short-sword to strike the creature. He succeeded, his blade lodging itself in the Warp Stalker's
chest. Vakaala was kicked to the side almost immediately after she fell limp from the puncture.
With that out of the way, the man soon had his full attention on Miraar. He looked around, making sure nobody else was around the area that they were in the desolate Shadowmoon Valley. Miraar was still bent over and on her knees from the pain of the spell, and the elf grabbed one of her arms and dragged her away to a more suitable area for what he was to do to this ambusher.
Miraar knew she had possible torture in store for herself, along with countless agonizing Warlock spells being cast upon her. She quietly and without struggle was dragged away by the elf to a more secluded area. He sat her down and pressed a few fingers against her lowered chin to get her to look up at him.
"An attack. What for?" he asked in impeccable Draenic, his free hand forming a mind-searing spell. It glowed purple as he hovered his hand near Miraar's temple.
"I shall never tell you, blood elf scum," she spat out, defiantly glaring up at him. He scowled, pressing the spell into her temple. Miraar yelled from the pain, though she didn't beg mercy.
The elf stood up. His scowl deepened. "Who sent you here?" he persisted, pacing to and fro in front of Miraar. He had already prepared the next spell, this one to cause physical pain.
"I will hold my tongue." Miraar's voice was already wavering. Let us hope that help will come soon, she thought, lest I die for my people...
Another sudden thought occurred: Two people who wouldn't at all benefit from her death. The first of which she was engaged to, and the second of which was her adopted son. Why, oh, why did I have to leave on this mission...? She yelled again, hoping to at least gain attention from a passerby or explorer of some kind.
The elf launched his spell at her legs, successfully immobilizing them while inflicting pain as well. Miraar gritted her teeth, yelling more through the pain.
"Will I have to silence you, Draenei? Very well..." The elf muttered, preparing another spell. This one was a bit more complex, taking up at least a few more agonizing minutes for Miraar to await impact. "You, my dear, shall be a mute until one of us dies," the elf explained, sending the spell at her chest. Miraar gasped for air for a few moments and tried to yell again, though she could not. The closest she could get to speaking was the soft sound of air escaping through her mouth.
"Now isn't that just wonderful, wouldn't you agree?" The elf smirked and delved into Miraar's thoughts for several moments.
I still have hope! she thought. After all, you haven't taken away my abilities to hear and see when help comes.
The elf nodded. "Clever Draenei. Not so clever that you revealed that to me, though," he said, weaving two more spells in each of his hands. He soon fired them at Miraar's chest once more, and-
A veil of black covered Miraar's senses. She heard an extremely high pitched frequency before all sounds simply died off. Her vision immediately became dark. It was what she imagined dying would be like, though with the pain of death lasting and lingering for far too long. It was impossible to decide if what she was seeing was white or black or some other colour, though she doubted it was a colour at all; after all, seeing colour would mean that she wasn't fully blind.
She couldn't expect when the next spells would hit. Most of them came almost immediately, though some of them waited to give her a false sense of hope. Time after time all that she had to cling onto was the hope- the simple hope that maybe, just maybe, the warlock had been defeated. There was a long, long period of time where she could feel nothing: No pain and no pleasure, simply void. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, and she sure as hell couldn't keep track of time.
As soon as she'd tried to fall asleep, the sharp pain of a spell hit her abdomen. She began to cough up blood, but the elf warlock would persist. Every time she yelled, or tried to yell, she was met with a stinging throat and more pain... More pain. Pain was everywhere around her; in her mind, on her body, in her lungs and stomach. It hurt. It hurt more than she'd imagined, and what she'd imagined was surely more pain than a commoner felt in their lifetime.
After what Miraar was sure was a day, at the least, the warlock delved into her mind once more despite the fortification she'd at least attempted to put up. He brought up painful memories and fears, though what he was searching for was the reason that she was here. Miraar made several attempts to push him out of her mind, though all her attempts were met with reminders that the warlock was, of course, stronger than her both physically and mentally.
After he had found the reason, the warlock retreated. He dragged Miraar to the nearest road and simply left her there; lasting spells still in effect, and she was still deaf, blind, and speechless. Her legs were still immobile, as well. She put all her energy (despite the remnants of that being very bare) into clawing her way so slowly down the road. She knew partially where she was, somewhere near the Alliance camp... And she had no way of telling her exact location.