~*~ Original Author's Notes ~*~
I enjoyed writing another chapter where the Druid's personality gets to develop a bit. Not just through internal monologue but also through actions, which are always the best way to describe people IMHO. And not just hers but the priest as well shows a glimpse of his inner spark.
After spending an hour of my life on Wikipedia finding out just who Anastarion is I vow to spend a chapter detailing my newly discovered lore in order to justify time wasted
This is not that chapter.
~*Reuploaded on Aug 31, 2012*~
Corrected the worst of the obvious grammar mistakes (threw and through, as example), hacked apart some of the run on sentences, and clarified some details.
I have a chapter that's been sitting in my folder called "Latter, Yo!" that was written out of order, back at the beginning of the LK xpack. If I had been as diligently writing on this story as Blizz pumps out xpacks then Malorne as a travel form would have made it onto FFN in MY story before Blizz even had Deathwing on the chop block. Great minds think alike; just know that I though of it first!
~*~Chapter 9 ~*~
The mind controlled sentinel pointed in the direction of the priest. The Druid didn't have the mental recall to shift into her Dishu form and flee. She shouldn't have blurted out her understanding of the girl's affliction. No doubt the other kaldorie would catch on rather quickly and their actions would earn them nothing but another round of gathering the wounded and singing the dead back to Elune.
There was an urgent need to get back to the priest before they rest could mobilize. No doubt if they saw him they would attack: no doubt he could and would defend himself. It would be a slaughter; no contest and enough had died this day. Being young as she, and with little experience by which to take on a fully realized High Priest, they would all be killed. Why were they even hear? They are no older than… well never mind those left behind in Auberdine.
It would be her fault as well, for blurting out her discover for all to hear!
Standing on shaking legs she made her way mutely past the surprised sentinels, giving the one the priest was controlling her best I-really-don't-like-you-right-now glare. At the door the commanding officer made a move toward her, to drag her back to the sickbeds or question her or offer a bed to rest; the Druid bolted. Blood splattered feet moved swiftly over the flat grounds of the camp, past those carrying in wounded and attempting to avoid what gore was avoidable. Whoever had done this work, if she ever found them, had their name on her longest fang. Elune, grant these brave souls revenge for the hell they have been put threw this day, and the strength to make it back to a place where moonwell waters pool freely.
Long legs carried her sprinting down the hill. Muscles ached with the effort, from lack of use in her upright form and also from lack of energy. Behind her came both shouted commands and the instruments by which the sentinels were trained to attack by. The tunes of battle were winding up, tunes she was well familiar with by now.
A line of trees and tangled bushes hid the priest, eyes half lidded in concentration and glowing darkly of some sinister magic he rarely called upon. The distrust of the shadow energies gave the Druid pause to slow down lest she run right into him. From the top of the hill she heard cries as her fellow kaldorie turned against her kin to slow their advance.
Realizing what was happening, the little Druid struck out in anger. Unable to change into any of her feral forms, she opted to grab one of his wrists and break the flow of energy. Jerking it down, she pressed one of her palms against his chest and tried to push him back into the bushes. As much to hide him from her kind as to stop him from making them attack each other.
The break worked and he stumbled back a step, grabbing her wrist to drag her down into the dirt of the path. He was not happy. Neither was she. "Fifteen minutes is hard for you to measure? Should I add an alarm to this collar?" he hissed in the deep voice of a male of her race.
She turned her face away. He was Horde and she was Alliance. More to the point she was a child of the stars, of Cenarius and Elune, and he of blood and magic and who knows what the fel else. What he knew of her love for her people he seemed to care not. Who could rightfully be upset with her for trying to help?
Silence was his answer.
Snorting, he snapped the collar around her neck with one swift move. "I'm going to put a range on this so I don't have to take it off again. Next time I take control of a body, it won't be a female Nigh Elf in heat!" Before there was time to react, her form shifted into that of a wolf. Panting from such a hurried physical change, she lay down on the path by his feet, nose turned towards the sound of approaching sentinels.
Please don't see through his disguise! She pleaded silently to whoever of her people's guardians were listening. Please just think he's a ranger or scout with a tired wolf-pet. Through her mind blew the extent of what he said, but the pondering on the words would come after the mental exhaustion had gone.
Breathing deeply, as he often did before casting a powerful spell, the priest's eyes went white behind the green as he slid into his casting stance. Though not the same as the ones the Priestesses of Elune use back in Auberdine, the Druid understood it by now. He was not evil in his actions and knew little of the shadow arts. What he did knew however, he knew well enough.
When they rounded the corner they paused to look for their quarry. Quickly his hand flashed out, streaks of dark energy uncoiling where he summoned it from the Nether. Snaking, the energy flooded quickly to its victims and hit them all. Too inexperienced to understand what was happening, each Sentinel became listless and confused.
The Druid didn't understand what was going on. His shadow spell wasn't hurting them, but their judgments seemed to be impaired. To her surprise, the priest moved forward into view, waved and called out to them. She followed, heeling by his side as a well-trained pet does. Someday she would remember her submission to this and recall what had been pounded into her head, quite unnecessarily, from day one of her Druid training: Druids are not battle pets! Any would-be ranger or scout who tried to use them that way swiftly came to understand that Druids Do. NOT. Do. That.
Not even for that one scout, pretty as he was at the time- before I mauled his face half off – who tried very hard. Even after he found out I was not just some oddly colored jungle cat… Her mind was wondering, some of the shadow energy of the spell having hit her as well she assumed.
"That way." The priest pointed towards the path that leads down from Zul'aman. "A troll priest with big tusks and bright red hair. Might be one of the Amani."
That's right… blaming another race! … Wait, when did he learn Darnassian? To her surprise she ralized he had been speaking in her own language since first he shifted into the dark-skinned elf. She hoped it was the trinket or some magic he possessed. For a fact she knew her people would never willingly teach an enemy how to speak her language. Unless you're just that old that you remember…
The Sentinels, trying to shake off their stupor, advanced quickly towards the road, soon out of sight. When they were gone the priest took the stance again, recalling the Shadow energy back into his hands. The white faded from his eyes.
Instantly he took a knee beside her, mail tinkling as he moved, shaking her by the scruff, "You foolish little… child!"
Irritation burned in her gut; she bit at his hand, growling with raised hackles. They're my people! You don't care if they die but I do! One of yours did this to them. One of you!
He stood, letting go of of collar, "These lands don't belong to Darnassus; the Night Elves have no right to be here! You were to take a bath, not heal them!" The words coming from his mouth were so at odds with the form standing in front her. It was very wrong.
She growled. He had known there were injured enemies at the camp; he had scanned the place before letting her go in. Why sent her, a Druid who holds all life sacred, into a place like that and expect her not to do something? Did he really think that just because she followed the path of predator and prey that she was incapable of holding life in higher regard? Did he think her so cowed by he and his fel-damned companion that opportunities to complicate Horde schemes would not tempt her to action?
The priest was disgusted at himself. For a second he stopped to think of the consequences of what had taken place here, no doubt for his hide and not for hers she assumed; they headed back to camp. The little wolf followed, slowly staying as far away from him as the collar would allow. He was as lost in his musings as she was in hers.
In the way he moved through the paths and trails it seemed as if tainted plants and wildlife didn't surround him. Perhaps he chose not to see the scars of the present, but instead chose to walk through the blooms of the past. The very grasses, trees, and earth – it all cried out for healing but he acted as if he felt none of it.
Practice makes perfect.
Still angry from the attack on her people, and the priest reprimanding her for wasting those fifteen minutes helping them, the young Druid fought her rising sympathy. Yes, she could feel it. He loved this land once upon a time. Now it hurt him to move through its shadows. There was something of an empathetic gift in every Druid; they were sensitive to the emotions of every living being. Even an enemy.
Outside the camp he removed the trinket, turned back into a Blood Elf. If he though they would just slink back into camp and sit down as if they had never been gone he was wrong. The warlock waited, arms crossed, scowling something fierce. Upon seeing her, the little Druid cowered in the bushes. Upsetting the priest upset the warlock. Upsetting the warlock always ended with punishment.
The priest was unhappy to see her as well. "Why are you back so soon? Did you even get in?" He failed miserably at keeping the emotion out of his voice. Were he one to follow any of the Light-forsaking paths this world had to offer he may have been better at the art of deception.
As if he could hide anything from his warlock to begin with.
Though the priest and the warlock knew each other better than they knew themselves, they were both experts at avoiding the other's manipulation. Even if all others fell under their charms and/or influences, they alone possessed the ability to see strait into each other's souls. Or whatever this bit of Scourge-tainted thing had in place of a soul.
The Warlock hissed, the white skin of her face stretching to hold in her disapproval, "Where did you go? And why is the meatsack shaped like a wolf?"
I'm not a meatsack, you hag! I have a name. The Druid refused to come into the clearing, opting to stay in the bushes where the warlock couldn't ignite her with those glowing red eyes. The woman was madder than she had ever been in all their travels. There was something so… humanizing… about this tantrum.
The priest dropped to the ground in a fluid move, drug his bag up beside him. "I took her to the Moonwell for a bath." His pretence, acting as if the Scourge and kaldorie both invading his homeland didn't bother him, was weakly acted. Typical movements, such as stripping off silkened gloves to dig through the bag and tossing back strands of black hair, were too scripted.
"There are Alliance chits crawling all over this hilltop now, all of them crying foul! We're supposed to be here to aid in bringing down the Amani together, not stirring up trouble with the Darnassian Emissary!" Her voice, though almost shrieking in anger, was quiet lest she alert the settlements patrols that there was a problem.
The area outside the troll stronghold was dotted hundreds of campsites, but few camping spots had any privacy. The walrock had to show papers to get them one alone – though still not far enough away that arguing would go unnoticed. The papers, the Druid latter saw, had nothing more than bloody handprints on them. It had made the Druid shiver something fierce.
"Emissary?" The Priest scoffed, jerking both food and drink from their slots in his travel sack, long eyebrows twitching in anger, "Tyrande sent spies and Fanadral-"
"Don't even pretend you don't know Theron sent someone to take care of that!" He refused to answer her accusations. "Every army on this hill awaiting entry into Zul'aman was denied access because of you! You and your- your- PET – risking everything!"
"What bothers you more: Theron's displeasure that his whelp's time was wasted or the other's that her poisons were wasted?" Who Theron and 'the other' was were never elaborated on.
The warlock fumed, "I don't give a fig off my imps privates if you stirred up the Alliance and let your she-pup heal some stupid sentinels. I don't care about Theron and I'm not here for her pleasure either. The tentative neutrality you broke between Horde and Alliance put a damper on my fun for the evening! That's what I care about!"
The little Druid was lost, having no idea who these people were, what they were doing here or why they were cooperating all for the sake of killing trolls for the Blood Elves. Alliance helping the sin'dorie? When did this start?! Still, the Druid wondered, there was something else behind the warlock's anger. Not just scolding her companion for putting himself in danger and ruining her fun. Something belied her reasons for wanting to face the Amani.
He still refused to answer and by not accepting her rebuke he refused to indicate he was in the wrong. Fuming, the warlock sputtered into silence, jerked her hood to cover her face and, if looks could kill, mentally set the priest aflame. For his part the priest slowly began eating his food and ignored his companion. Pretended to at least.
What a roll reversal, the Druid though. Normally it was the warlock who went in swinging and the priest dragging her screaming from the front lines. She was curious to understand why he wanted so badly to-
"Come!" The Priest sent a sharp command to the Druid, followed by a magical tug on the collar. Turning back to the warlock, he said, "You should have seen how she attacked me. Pushed me into the bushes and bit at my hands. All to save one more sentinel."
Mortified, the Druid refused to move. And you call me a child? This is the second time tonight you've tried to blame someone else! The Warlock rarely cared if who she targeted were innocent or not; surely she wouldn't stop to hear the Druid's explanation – or care.
"Oh, don't you even!" The Warlock snapped, jumping to her bony feet. The fire flared, her voice echoing. The Druid cowered more, backing up enough to feel the shocks on her neck every few seconds. The warlock wasn't falling for the priest's diversionary ploy. "You said we could come here. You said it was ok. You said you'd stay in the camp and not go wandering!" She paused before hissing in a voice that sounded like dry air escaping from a tomb, "You lied to me and now you're a sodden wreck!"
"Get over here." This time the command was slow and authoritive, his patience wearing thin. Turning, she was skewer with a look, though he couldn't see through the shrubs and saplings. To the warlock he said, "I fudged the truth, I didn't lie. You wanted to come here so badly, so I let you."
The man's moodiness was hard to miss, eyes dimming and brightening with the ebb and flow of hard emotions. The Druids theory about the land must have been spot on. Being here hurt him on a deep, profound level. Body language bespoke emotion she didn't think anyone of the Horde were capable of feeling. Let alone his kind of magic-tainted elf. Apparently he underestimated his ability to handle being here again.
Slowly, belly dragging the ground, she inched forward, ears back and tale tucked. The warlock watched every step she took with keen interest.
"I hate to be a wet blanket, Jet, but your plan isn't working. In fact, it's making things worse for you. You shouldn't have gone out there. You promised you wouldn't." Though her harsh voice was softening, the strength of the words remained.
Yes, they really did understand each other. And each trying to protect the others weaknesses was only making things worse. These were his homelands, the Druid though. How can you expect him to stay away? Even people who look at the ground and just see dirt are capable of feeling that sort of loss.
In the background the Dreadsteed took up its old pastime of chewing on the exposed bones of the Priests warhorse. Ziltip, the imp whose nighttime job it was to prevent this, shot fireballs at the demon horse, which then tried to pound the smaller demon into the dust.
They fought like this often enough to be old lovers.
The Priest was quietly staring into the fire, brow lowered in annoyance and handsome mouth set in a frown. He's really pretty, the Druid though, finally getting within reach. Her angle put him between herself and the warlock, not taking any chances with the other's temper. What plan the priest had which involved her was unknown, but in their weeks and weeks of travel he had yet to say two words to her that didn't involve orders to get in the bag and go find a shrub to water.
Reaching over casually, the priest stroked the collar again, turning her into her upright form, but not removing the resizable metal band from her throat. Anticipating her sudden move to return to the safety of dark bushes he held her firmly by a slim wrist till the struggles stop. Still wet from the Moonwell she succeeded only in creating a dirty mess on her otherwise pristine white dress.
Where the priest touched her, his hand glowed. The warlock cleared her throat loudly, still not having sat down, until her companion noticed the new light in the clearing. Slowly lifting his hand away from her small wrist tendrils of gold and green light flowed between his warm skin and her cool flesh.
Fascinated, she turned her palm over and brought it to the spot under his. Between his palm and hers, the gold and green swirled, ebbed and flowed. Something deep inside her sparkled, as if pulling at her heartstrings. It was like the land and Elune were trying to evoke something out of her that she never knew was there before. The priest's own Holy energies were the catalyst for something.
The Warlock scoffed, red eyes dimming to their usual sickly yellow bulbs, "And she's a cat?"