Shirelle wiped the sweat off her forehead as and she wearily filled out paperwork on the new arrivals in the infirmary. Another attack on Tol Barad, but the Alliance firmly kept its hold on the strategical base this time. Like every battle however, there were casualties. 34 wounded, 12 of those enough to admit overnight, and not enough beds or space for everyone. Her partner tonight, a robust dwarven paladin, had helped her get everyone settled in more or less, then dashed off to get more supplies from the stores. There weren't too many severe injuries, but apparently the group had been drinking on the way back after the battle and some of them were in worse shape for that than any physical ailments. Shirelle's mouth twisted at the thought of babysitting soldiers sleeping off the effects of liquor. What would she do with them if someone seriously ill arrived and needed their bed? She got up and walked the rows again, checking names and numbers on bed with ailments. Male night elf with lacerations on his chest and broken rib. A pair of gnome mages spent from mana-exhaustion. Dwarf with a broken ankle, came in belligerent and drunk. She was so glad he had passed out while they set and wrapped his bones. Then in this corner, several humans with nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, but drunk and bone-tired. Her hooves clicked on the floor as she moved past them at a quicker pace. Two of them had made a pass at her while she and Freyda were checking everyone over, one of them being impertinent enough to grab her tail. She shuddered as she remembered his groping fingers. Other species seemed to not realize how sensitive draenei tails were, and treated it like an extra hand or other appendage. But their tails were full of delicate nerve endings, and in fact were decorated and made much of in her culture as an object of beauty and sexual enhancement. Freyda had roughly put the two back in their place, but she still felt a little unnerved from their advances. Finished with her rounds, she strode back over to the desk and filed her paperwork. Freyda was taking her time getting supplies...probably grabbing some food while she was out. They were both in for a long watch tonight. She leaned back in her chair, lightly dozing, when she heard a low moan from the other side of the room. She sat up just in time to hear a crash and some cursing. She hurried over to see a human pulling himself to standing, shaking his head to clear it. Her blood chilled a little: it was one of the men from earlier.
"...Sir?" she cleared her throat, willing confidence in it. "Sir, I need you to lay back down now, you are still ill."
The soldier lifted his head and his face broke into a lazy grin that didn't quite meet his red eyes. "Well, if it isn't my favorite nurse," he said, taking an unsteady step in her direction. She did not like the look on his face: he seemed to be regaining his balance with each passing minute. She took a step back to mirror his own.
"Sir, if you are feeling better, you are free to sign out, but you have to check in with your Captain when you leave," she attempted to deflect him to proper protocol. He continued to advance slowly. Every step unnerved her more and more until she lost her composure. "I'll just get the paperwork for you," she squeaked, and turn and dashed the few steps back to her desk. Slow down, slow down, she reprimanded herself as she hurriedly dug through stacks on the desk. You are not acting professional. You are panicking over nothing. She continued to berate herself until she felt his hot breath suddenly on the back of her neck.
"Don't worry about that, sweetheart," he whispered. She froze, still clutching a piece of paper. "I'm in no hurry out of here."
Breathe. "Sir, I think you better leave now," she said, unable to keep her voice from shaking. She made herself set the forms down on the desk and turned slowly. The smell of sweat and alcohol clung to the man's disheveled clothing; he was tall and stocky for a human, but still not quite reaching her considerable height. It was the cocky confidence on his face that was formidable, not his stature: his eyes shone with an emotion she could not place as they swept down her body. Hunger? She blushed despite herself: she wanted to cross her arms in front of her chest and back away.
"Ah come on, sweetheart, there's no need for that, " he said, leaning forward. She stepped backwards until she bumped into the desk. "Look at the frown on that pretty blue face. Let's see a smile." he reached a hand towards her cheek and something snapped inside her.
"Don't touch me," she said sharply, smacking his hand away. She started to turn to leave when faster than she could have imagined, his fingers closed around her wrist, and he moved with the motion of her hand, twisting her arm around behind her, pressing himself against her so she was slightly leaning back over the desk. He ran his free hand up her neck and to her face. She shivered. "Come on baby, smile for me."
"Let go of me," her voice came out much tinier than she meant to. She pulled at his grip, panic rising inside her.
The grin on his face turned down to a sneer. "You draenei woman are all the same," he said, no longer bothering to keep his voice quiet. He twisted her arm sharply behind her and she cried out. "You all think you are so much better than us lowly humans." He caught her other arm and twisted it as well, locking both her arms behind her back with one hand. In one motion turned her around and slammed her upper body against the desk, pressing his legs against hers to hold her in place. The position left her tail vulnerable, and he did not waste the opportunity. He grabbed it and yanked hard, digging his fingernails in. She screamed as pain surged through her body, nauseating her.
"Stop it!" she cried, her voice finally finding her. She desperately tried to pull away as he continued to abuse her tail as he spoke.
"So exotic. So pure. So good," he panted, punctuating each sentence with a savage pull. All words, all defensive spells flew from her mind as Shirelle sobbed, trying not to vomit. He dropped her bruised tail finally and she closed her eyes, thinking the onslaught was over.
"But I'll let you in on a little secret," he continued. He started fumbling at his belt. She stiffened in horror, finally realizing his intent. She pulled harder against his grip, trying to turn her body to the side, to bring her legs up, anything to stop him. He grabbed her arms with both hands, nearly losing her in her sudden fervor to get away. He pressed against her closer: his arousal was apparent as he leaned over to whisper in her ear.
"You all still want the same thing," He ground his hips into her. She started to scream, and then with no warning, she felt his hands torn off of her. Her arms hit the desk in its suddenness: from across the room came a horrible crash. She turned her head, and through her bangs she saw him struggling to his feet. Chains of ice erupted out of the floor to snake around his legs, holding him immobile. A whisper of cold air blew through the room as an imposing figure dressed in solid black armor strode without hesitation toward the cowering human. Her body trembled with her barely-controlled rage as she reached her target, but her arms were steady as she lifted the blade of her impossibly big sword directly to his throat. The human swallowed loudly, whimpering.
"Do not speak again." the Death Knight's husky voice was like the breeze off a lake in winter. The human trembled visibly but remained silent.
"Oy!" cried a female voice from the doorway. Freyda had dropped the bags she was laden with by the door and was rushing towards the commotion. Some of the patients were starting to wake and mutter among themselves. "Wot the hell is goin' on here?!" Like most things with her, it was a demand, not a question. She turned on the imprisoned human. "Horace, git yer arse out of me sick ward, and I'm reportin' ye to yer Captain in the morrow!" Her brogue came out in full force in her anger. The Death Knight lowered her sword, and the ice fell from his legs. Horace fell stumbling into a run, bumping into beds as he tried to stare at his captor in terror and flee at the same time. Crashing into the door jam, he finally turned and ran for his life.
"Buggerin' idiot," the dwarf mumbled to herself as she started settling the gawkers back in to their beds and straightening the room. Shirelle had not moved since she first saw her rescuer cornering the human, but now as reality started to sink in, her legs started to shake and she slid to the floor behind the desk. She didn't care if the patients saw her; she wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and squeezed her eyes shut as tears formed at the edges. Presently a soft clicking came around the side of the desk. She shivered at the sudden drop of temperature.
"Are you alright?" The same low, husky voice quietly asked her. Shirelle opened her eyes to see the Death Knight kneeling down beside her. Her sword was now sheathed, and her manner was more subdued. Piercing eyes the color of blue crystal met hers. Shirelle stared, amazed at their depths. The Death Knight's skin was much darker than hers, although the same hue of blue, and it was her hooves that clicked on the floor; she was a draenei as well. Dragging her gaze away from the eyes that seemed to pull her in, she nodded her head shortly.
"I'm okay," she said in a tiny, shaking voice. Words started to tumble out of her mouth. "He was drunk, and angry, he tried to...he..." she couldn't complete the thought. "But he didn't, so I'm okay." she finished lamely, looking away. She was suddenly acutely aware of how much of a mess she must look: tears covering her face, her hair straggling out of the buns she had braided to the sides of her head before her shift. Self-consciously she tried to tuck her bangs behind her ears.
"Why did you not defend yourself?" The question was curious, not an accusation. "You are a priest, are you not?"
Shirelle felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. "I...don't know. It happened so quickly, I just panicked." Her eyes did not meet the other draenei's. Her humiliation weighted her to the ground.
"That drunk idiot didn't scare ye, did he Shir?" asked Freyda as she rounded the other side of the desk. She must have retrieved her packages from the doorway: she started opening them and sorting the contents. "I could hear ye yellin' as I came up the hallway. I opened the door just in time ta see Maerciless here grab Horace and chuck 'im 'gainst the wall. The bugger prob'ly pissed himself in fright." the dwarf chuckled. "He's just a harmless fool who can't hold 'is ale though. What was he doin', tryin' to impress ye with 'is good looks?"
From the corner of her eye she saw the Death Knight (Maerciless?) stand and lean casually against the desk. She ran a hand through her tousled black hair: it stood up in short curly masses all over her head. It gave her a bit of a crazed look. Her eyes flashed brilliant blue.
"I believe the human was trying to...assault her," she informed the dwarf quietly. The pause in her sentence along with the look she gave the dwarf paladin relayed her meaning. Shirelle ducked her head further down and shifted her weight off her aching tail. Shame flared on her cheeks. Freyda immediately put down the medicine bottles she was sorting.
"Oh Shir, are ye alright?" Freyda crouched down in front of where the priest was sitting. Shirelle felt tears prick at the edge of her eyes. The attention the two were lavishing on her was mortifying: she just wanted to forget it ever happened.
"I'm fine Freyda," she said weakly. She tried again. "I'll be okay. Nothing really happened," she said a little louder.
"Come 'ere, let me check ye' out," the dwarf said, pulling her to her feet. Shirelle stood obediently, trying to show strength she didn't feel. She held her arms out for inspection.
"Just some red marks on my wrists. No permanent damage," she said lightly. She turned towards the piles of medical supplies on the desk, desperate to take the focus off of her, and the paladin gasped.
"Yer tail, Shirelle." Shirelle looked behind her and gasped as well: her tail was covered in a mottling of purple. There were a few scratches as well, and one swollen place that was surely a broken bone. Now that she saw the damage, she realized how much her tail throbbed. With each pulse the pain shot up her spine, leaving her feeling sick to stomach. A hiss of air drew her attention to Maerciless, whose eyes were narrowed in rage as she stared at the priest's tail.
"I should have taken his head off," she growled through closed teeth. Her hand opened and closed on the hilt of her sword, as if she were visualizing the deed in her head.
"Oh don't ye worry 'bout Horace." the dwarf's eyes flashed as she gingerly inspected the injury. "His drunk arse will be 'eaded straight ta jail after the report I'm turnin' in the morrow. I'll not have 'im threatenin' me healers or me patients. Hold still now, I think it's just dislocated."
Shirelle clenched her teeth and dug her fingernails into the wood of the desk, but still cried out as Freyda set the bones back in place. The dwarf efficiently wrapped a bandage around it to hold it in place as it healed.
"There ye go. Give it a day or so ta set afore ye use any healing spells on it. Should be right as rain in a week or two." The dwarf went back to organizing the detritus on the desk. "I've got everything under control here Shir, why don't ye head on home for tonight? Ye've had a rough go of it. "
She did not even bother to protest. She was all too happy to be away from Freyda's mothering, and as much as she was grateful for the Death Knight's help, the intensity of her gaze frightened her a little. She listened to the dwarf continue her conversation with Maerciless with half an ear as she started to the closet to gather her things.
"So what were ye needing Maerciless, before ye swept in to rescue Miss Damsel in Distress here? Which I'm sure she's grateful for, o' course." Shirelle managed a wan smile in their direction before turning back to her task. She was quite done with being the topic of discussion.
"I need to pick up some stomach remedy for my par-uh, roommate," Maerciless replied, sounding distracted. For the first time since she had swept through the door, she stumbled over her words. Shirelle glanced up from fastening her cloak to see the Death Knight's cold blue eyes regarding her thoughtfully. Freyda rambled on, not seeming to notice.
"Fer Aeschlie, o'course. Ye'd think by now she'd know not ta trust an'thing Paul Kubit has ta sell down by the dock." Freyda bustled about in the potions closet. Apparently this was a conversation they had often. "There's a reason The Assurance never left harbour..." her voice became too muffled to understand. Shirelle had everything in order, yet she found herself unable to step past Maerciless's gaze to get to the door. Does she ever blink? To her horror she felt red return to her cheeks. She did not like being scrutinized. She dropped her eyes to the ground again, willing the Death Knight to look anywhere but her, so she could pass and make it to her bunk with the other healers in the barracks, and the peace that sweet oblivion would bring.
"Would you like me to walk you to your sleeping quarters?" The low voice was so quiet she almost missed it. Shirelle's eyes were drawn upward again. The Death Knight's face was so hard to read. Was that an earnest look? Sincere? Pitying? The last was most believable: she must seem incredibly weak to her. Freyda's voice came piping up from the back of the room as she returned with two potion bottles.
"That's not a bad idea, Shir," she said as she plunked both potions down on the desk. "Horace is prob'ly slinkin' around somewhere drinkin' again, disgustin' sot that 'e is. This one's fer you," she handed one potion to Maerciless, "and this one's fer you," she handed the red one to Shirelle. "It's a pain tonic. Ye know how ta use it."
"I know how to make a pain tonic, Freyda," Shirelle muttered irritably. She put it in her satchel anyway. As much as she wanted to get away, Freyda's words lodged a seed of worry in her brain; what if he was waiting outside for her? Without warning, she felt again his groping, grasping fingers on her and a slow shudder started up her back. She squeezed her eyes shut and the feeling faded, but too late: both Freyda and Maerciless saw her shaking. Freyda's eyes were a worried chocolate brown and Maerciless's a cold flame of blue anger.
"I will escort you home." The Death Knight's voice left no room for argument as she stowed the stomach remedy potion away and stalked out of the room, a cold breeze following in her wake. She stood at the door with a hand on the hilt of her sword and waited as Shirelle meekly followed her, her hooves echoing quietly across the room..
A light drizzle was falling as they stepped out in the night air. Shirelle pulled the hood of her cloak up to shield her face, although her companion seemed to not notice the rain as it fell on her head with heavy drops. Her short black hair quickly became plastered to her head as she led a swift pace towards the Stormwind barracks. Shirelle hurried to keep up, wincing as the bouncing sent lines of pain through her tail. She was so focused on making her steps as soft as possible that she ran right into Maerciless, who had pulled up short. Across the canal, a small group of men were lounging by the entrance to the barracks. Some talking loudly, a few singing, all of them drunk. Clearly this was a continuation of the victory party that started before the soldiers had even left Tol Barad. The king was very strict about allowing alcohol inside the barracks, but turned a blind eye to the raucous parties that followed victory over the Horde.
Maerciless only deliberated a moment before spinning on her heels and headed in the opposite direction. Having no choice but to follow, Shirelle tried to hurry as much as she could, clenching her teeth as she limped along behind. After several minutes of pain, she finally called out to the Death Knight.
"Wait! Please, slow down." The other draenei paused and turned, already several shops ahead of the priest. Shirelle instantly felt embarrassed, but continued on.
"Please, I can't go that fast right now." The Death Knight waited patiently for her to catch up, then set a much slower pace, turning her blue eyes to the priest occasionally to make sure she was following. Although the icy air that seemed to emanate off of the other draenei's skin made her pull her cloak around her more tightly, she felt comforted to have someone close by to walk with. The rain started to fall a little heavier, and Shirelle watched it run down Maerciless's black hair and horns in rivulets. Curiosity made her bold.
"Can't you feel the rain?" she blurted out. Maerciless glanced at her, then up at the cloud-filled sky, as if she had just noticed the weather.
"Yes," she said distractedly as she pulled her hood up to cover her head. She turned and looked at the priest. "It doesn't bother me though."
They walked in silence a few more minutes before Shirelle spoke again.
"Where are we going?" She had just realized that they were headed back near the Cathedral district; although the infirmary was not the preferred place to sleep, she guessed it would do under the circumstances.
"I don't think I could have gotten you into the barracks without a few of Stormwind's finest losing their heads." There might have been the hint of amusement in the Death Knight's low voice. "I'm taking you to stay with me tonight. Aeschlie will be needing her medicine, and the hunters are off gallivanting in the wilds somewhere anyway. There will be plenty of room for you to stay there. You will be safer with us than in that den of filth."
Shirelle started to protest, then realized that unless she wanted to go back to Freyda, she had literally no where else to go. She swallowed instead, and slowly limped after the other draenei. Her need to rest and heal was quickly overtaking her embarrassment. She followed Maerciless as she turned onto a small side street on the canal-side of the Cathedral district. Her face fell as the darker-skinned draenei started up two flights of stairs to a small door set into the side of the brick building, but she gritted her teeth and made it to the top without a sound. Maerciless turned and offered her hand up the last few steps. Her tail was in so much pain she did not think twice about taking her hand and leaning against her arm as they walked the last few steps. Through the fog in her brain she briefly wondered what the Death Knight's skin would feel like; would it be ice cold, like the armor she was holding on to? It would explain the aura of cold that surrounded her every movement. Shirelle leaned against the taller draenei's shoulder, briefly closing her eyes and thinking longingly of the pain tonic in her satchel as Maerciless unlocked the door to her apartment. She gently led the priest in and then locked the door behind them. Shirelle only had a moment to take in her surroundings (well-worn and sparse furniture in a large open room, with several doors leading off into bedrooms) when a loud retching sound came from behind the far door on the left. Maerciless quickly let go of her arm and pushed one door open on her way to what was obviously the bathroom.
"My room is in here. I'll be right back," she said as she threw her cloak on a chair and dug through a pouch for the stomach remedy. She knocked quietly on the bathroom door.
"Aeschlie?" she said as she pushed the door open. Shirelle was surprised to hear obvious tenderness in the Death Knight's husky voice as she stuck her head around the door to check on her roommate.
"Just leave it on the counter!" the voice from behind the door sounded angry, and very much alive. Shirelle realized she had been expecting another member of the Ebon Blade and found herself minutely relieved. Maerciless started to speak quietly to her roommate and Shirelle tuned them out as she looked for somewhere to sit. Her entire body was aching. She started to lower herself into one of the available chairs but almost immediately straightened back up; her lower back, tail, and even her bottom and upper thighs were filled with an intense burning pain as soon as she put pressure there. Shirelle's shoulders slumped and her eyes started to fill with tears. She was so exhausted. How was she supposed to rest when all she could do was stand? Pain tonics tended to work strongly on her—even if she took a small amount it was sure to make her dizzy. She couldn't even consider taking it if she couldn't sit or lay down. Sniffing back tears and feeling very sorry for herself, she hobbled into the room Maerciless claimed to be hers, hoping to find perhaps some extra pillows to soften the chair with. The room was very neat and sparse, with an adequate bed, neatly made, a dresser with nothing on top of it, and racks for armor and weapons in one corner with polish and rags for cleaning them. Several traveling cloaks hung on the back of the door. Wearily Shirelle leaned against the dresser. She brushed her damp bangs out of her eyes and looked around for a mirror to try and fix her hair. There was not one reflective surface in the entire room. She looked at the bed for a moment and decided it had to be softer than the chair. Very carefully, she eased down onto it, leaning on her side instead of her tail. Throwing propriety out the window, she lay down the rest of the way on the bed, finally taking the pressure off her throbbing injuries. She breathed deep and tried to think like a healer: though her tail and possibly her lower back were definitely wounded, the pain in her upper thighs was probably tense muscles. More than likely, all she needed as a good rest and one dose of the pain tonic to assure her sleep. The sound of hooves on the wooden floor interrupted her thoughts as Maerciless strode into the room rubbing her eyes, a wave of cold air preceding her.
"She'll be alright. She always insists on buying food from the same person even though half the time it makes her sick. She says the fish remind her of home. She misses Draenor terribly." As she spoke, the Death Knight hung her cloak on the back of the door and started to unbuckle the outer pieces of her armor. Shirelle suddenly realized that she was lying on the bed of someone she barely knew and was a little afraid of. She sat up quickly, hissing through her teeth at the pain.
"No, go ahead and lay down. You're injured," the darker-skinned draenei hung up pieces of her armor neatly on its hooks. "I checked Shan and Nim's room, and it's terrible. Smells like animals. You can have my bed tonight."
Shirelle watched as Maerciless settled her back against the wall and tended to her sword, sharpening out the rough places and oiling the leather. Confusion and curiosity bubbled up inside of her until she blurted out, "Why are you being so kind to me?"
Maerciless paused in her work and her intense blue eyes met Shirelle's silver ones momentarily, then returned to her sword. For a moment she didn't think she would answer. When she did speak, her voice was very quiet and even huskier than usual.
"I was a paladin once. Aeschlie was my partner. We were very skilled in the ways of the Light, and together we made a formidable team. We wanted nothing more than to prove ourselves to our new allies, and were assigned a scouting mission against the Scarlet Crusade. We had dealt with religious zealots before, on Draenor; we thought we could more than handle it. We were wrong." Maerciless finished caring for her great 2-hand sword, and took out several small ones. "I was captured. Aeschlie barely managed to escape. She thought I was dead. I very quickly wished I was. This group of Scarlets was particularly insane: they had gathered a group of prisoners they were going to try and bait the Scourge with to come get, and they would lay a trap and kill them all. They of course could not dirty their hands with managing prisoners, and had hired a vicious group of mercenaries to handle things. Their job was to break us. And break us they did." The Death Knight had stopped sharpening her blades and was just sitting there holding them as she recanted her tale. Although her voice was quiet and deadpan, her face showed the briefest amount of pain. Shirelle felt her stomach drop as she started to guess where the story led.
"We were all beaten and starved. The women were violated repeatedly in the worst possible ways." Shirelle's chest felt tight as she listened.
"There was one woman in particular they all took a turn with. She was a priest, and was very pretty, or at least she had been before they were through with her. " The draenei tightened her grip on the dagger in her palm. She started to dig it into the floor, and when she spoke again her voice shook.
"They killed her. They killed her with the violence with which they were raping her, and then they continued beating her body afterward, as if they were angry that she had died on them during their fun. We were kept trapped under an anti-magic shell, and we could do nothing but watch, and try not to hear her screams." She stabbed the dagger down hard, and stuck it into the wood.
"Several days later, the Scarlets got what they wanted. The Lich King himself ordered the attack on their camp, slaughtering both Scarlets and mercenaries alike. The Valkyrs lined all the prisoners up and one by one, deemed us either worthy to be turned or just slaughtered. I watched five of my fellow captives killed, before I snapped. I don't know how many I killed before they took me down, but the next memory I had was waking up like this."
Maerciless lifted her cold blue eyes to Shirelle's, and they burned with the pain of her memories. She got up and walked over to the bed, where Shirelle sat frozen and shivering.
"I had no will of my own, but I channeled my pain and rage into my new role. I took a new name, Maerciless, and was a champion of the Lich King. When I was freed, I tried to come back, but Aeschlie could no longer reconcile what I had become with who I used to be. She finds me abhorrent," She glanced to the side. "She cannot help it: a paladin is taught to hate the undead. I am the manifestation of everything she has been fighting against. I can't seem to abandon her though. So I stay on, fighting for the Alliance instead of the Lich King, trying to find some way to redeem what I have done, what I have seen. "
Maerciless's crystal blue eyes bore into Shirelle's. She found herself holding her breath as she was drawn into them again. "I know what it's like to be violated in the worst way. No one asked if I was alright. No one held me as I screamed and sobbed and bled. No one protected me, or made sure I was safe afterward. I was shattered into nothing. I don't want to see anyone else broken in that way again."
Tears streamed down Shirelle's face, but she didn't bother wiping them off. Words spilled out of her mouth.
"I...I've always wanted to be a healer. I have always been too anxious to be very good, but they say a priest will become more powerful the longer she retains her purity. I don't know if that's true, but I've held on to it, in hopes that I will be better. Tonight, it was nearly stolen from me, and I was too scared to stop it. Too scared to do anything but let it happen. I don't deserve to be protected." She burst into painful tears. After a moment the Death Knight sat beside her on the bed, and pulled the priest into her arms. Shirelle sobbed unabashedly into her shoulder while she held her tight.
"Everyone deserves to be protected," she whispered in her soft husky voice. Shirelle cried until she had no tears left and her entire body ached even more than before. The shoulder of the other draenei's shirt was soaked, but she didn't say a word as she retrieved the priest's satchel from the floor and handed her the pain tonic. Shirelle obediently took a drink of it and lay her head down on the bed without bothering to remove her shoes or even lay correctly on the pillow. Almost immediately the potion made her drowsy, and she was vaguely aware of the Death Knight pulling her hair loose from its braids as she felt her whole body relax. A thought had been niggling in the back of her mind, and she asked it before she went completely to sleep.
"What was your name before?" Shirelle had almost lost consciousness before she heard a low answer to her question.
"Allendrelle."