***Author's notes: This chapter is a bit grotesque and somewhat disturbing at the end, and it may be a bit vague as to what is going on, however, I think it is clear enough to keep going without overdoing detail. The next chapter will explain more about the Living Stone people and touch on more of Azhi's young childhood. It will also have those crazy twin guys back and more Xavius, along with some more details on where the Legion fits into any of this. Same Disclaimers apply, and forgive me for not updating as often, but I am insanely busy with school right now. Only a few more weeks and then I can really get to working on more frequent updates! ***
Xavius wasn't about to say he disliked the Queen's attention but he had a nagging feeling that didn't involve her lips or hands. Granted, he had several that involved both.
"Azshara…" he mumbled, his tongue more interested in hers than speaking. "Something bad is wrong...get off me a moment."
"Something is wrong?" she quipped, releasing him and staring down at him like a hurt puppy needing confirmation that it wasn't an evil creature. He smiled gently up at her and stroked a few strands of hair from in front of her golden eyes before sitting up and easing her to his side.
After searching the room and using his magic to sense, he nodded firmly. "Azshiri. Something is extremely wrong with Azshiri."
Azshara frowned deeply. She shoved all the guilt that she might have felt had she admitted the reason their daughter wasn't sitting and talking with them was due to her own lust. And she found several safe outlets to dump her anger and blame, namely the handmaidens who let her get away, and the guards who didn't see past her antics. Xavius caught a little, for being so slack as to not have intensified the guard around her room. All Azshara knew was that her daughter was in grave danger and that everyone was to blame. Everyone but herself.
"Where?"
"I have no idea, but I'm going to find out. You should get dressed and consider doing the same. After all, the people don't know she's my daughter as well."
"Xavius. What type of wrong is—"
A loud pounding on the door and frantic, heavy breathing on the other side indicated just what type of wrong. Xavius looked to Azshara inquisitively for a moment, then opened the door.
"Lord Counselor Xavius, My Lady Light, Princess Azshiri has fallen from a balcony and been taken into the temple for healing…her skull was cracked and her left arm broken…several ribs as well, she's still unconscious, but they expect her to recover…"
Before the messenger could continue, both Xavius and Azshara had portaled to the temple. And so he stood, staring at the floor which had several layers of Azshara's clothing crumpled together. Slowly he began to put the pieces together.
This room was one of Azshara's most personal chambers. This room was her dressing room. This room had only Xavius and Azshara in it when he had arrived. Both of them were flushed and sweating. The door had been locked from the inside, and instead of the Queen answering, Xavius, her dear Lord Counselor, had.
There had been no sign of a struggle, and she had been clothed—or at least she appeared clothed. The concern for the princess had been mutual and familial in both of them.
He had interrupted Azshara and Xavius having sex. And discovered who Azshiri's father was.
Fristel ran his fingers through his choppy brown hair as he determined what he would do with the information he had just found. A moment or two passed before he made his decision. He would report to Captain Varo'then with his findings.
"The hell did you let her fall for, you wretch!" Xavius shouted, his anger directed at High Priestess Benaira. Her smile was tight and weary, but her patience remained as the Satyr in front of her began to pace back and forth.
"If she dies, bitch, you have no idea the pain you'll suffer, and your stupid goddess won't be able to do shit for you."
"Lord Counselor, do hold your tongue and do not blaspheme Elune," Azshara stated calmly. She then bowed her head to a statue of Elune almost apologetically before turning back to the Priestess. Benaira was even more unnerved by the Queen's display of respect and control.
"My dear High Priestess, forgive his lack of respect. He is, much like I, upset about the occurrence here, however, he lacks self-control and honor for the Goddess," she explained too politely. Benaira winced openly. If there was anything in the world to fear, it was Azshara. And the reason she was to be feared was because of the impossibility to distinguish her good intentions from the bad ones. And even if you could tell which was which, Azshara could change it at will. She was the Queen.
"My…My Lady Light, Queen Azshara, I assure you Princess Azshiri is well," she stammered, stopping short of what she was going to say because of a perfect smile.
"Please, Priestess, Call me Azshara. There is no need for formalities when we are working towards the same goal."
Benaira wanted to run away. She prayed for strength from Elune and a swift, painless death to follow. To think of Azshara as an equal felt like a sin. A crime against the Kal'dorei. To act towards Azshara as an equal was humbling, humiliating, and painful. It was also wrong, as Azshara was nowhere near as lowly as the High Priestess of the Moon.
"My dear friend," Azshara cooed, "I think it is time that you show me to my daughter."
The priestess's strength fluttered away on wings of something warm. Her loyalty to Elune melted into a bubbly goop that settled in the center of her abdomen. The pain, however, was unnoticed as Azshara and her aura nullified anything that wasn't pleasant.
They walked quietly down the corridor—really a paved area in the wild with columns along the sides—until they came to a room that rivaled the decoration of Elune's altar. Azshara smiled, pleased that her daughter was getting the royal treatment even in the fanatical priestesses' humble temple. Upon reaching the archway, Benaira seemed to fall out of her stupor. Her wrinkled face went solemn and she stood slightly in front of Xavius and Azshara.
"I think it important for me to tell the two of you, or at least, offer a warning to you," she stated, afraid of being cut off again. Azshara motioned for her to continue, still smiling gently. "Only one of our priestesses has managed to go in and come out. The rest have been turned into living stone."
"And who is the priestess that got out alive?" Xavius asked, almost genuinely curious. Benaira looked at him, trying to read his expression before revealing any names. Her efforts were in vain; his obsidian orbs for eyes and solid, cold face gave no hint of compassion or revulsion.
"Her name is Skylari Whisperwind, Lord Counselor."
"Whisperwind…" Xavius muttered to no one in particular. A moment of his mumbling passed before Azshara interrupted by gently placing her hand on his shoulder. He nodded to her then turned and left the temple through a portal—a strictly forbidden practice for any of the priestesses.
"Elune must truly favor her, then," Azshara said. Benaira nodded and turned towards the room, fear flickering over her face as she saw several of her closest friends frozen in place. Her own sister stood holding a cloth and water bowl, leaning over with her eyes half-closed and a sweet smile on her face. She looked like she was still serving the Princess and at any time would straighten her back and continue with her duties. Though Benaira prayed she would, the fact that her sister had been standing in the same position for sixteen hours dimmed her hope.
"Do lead the way, High Priestess," Azshara demanded with a soft, strong tone. With one final prayer for safety or swift death, Benaira entered the room followed closely by the Queen. Releasing a gentle sigh that she had survived walking in, her fingers began to grow stiff.
"Now, now, Azshiri, the priestess has been begging for swift disposal, not some arthritic overdose. Do not dishonor her wishes, as it is not polite to your hostess," Azshara cooed, brushing Azhi's hair from her face.
Benaira's eyes went wide in terror and her hand clasped over her mouth. Her feet had begun to move back towards the door and partially pivoted to flee. Azshara watched her with an amused face and then clicked her tongue. "Such a horrible way to be preserved…forever a statue carved in cowardice. A pity, really."
Benaira Shadowleaf, High Priestess of the Moon, never moved again.
Fristel sipped the last of his rum and waited for Varo'then to finish his fifth pint of lager. He'd already shared the news of who Princess Azshiri's father was. Varo'then had laughed coldly and given the Lord Counselor names more fitting of a half-elf, half-horse than Azshara had shared. Bastard-mule was the Moon Guard's favorite during this drunken gathering.
"An' you come to tell me Queen Azshara, glorious Light of Lights, leader of Zin'Azshari, 'as a kid with 'at bastard mule an' kept it? Damned mutt 'ad to 'ave raped 'er, possessed 'er, beaten 'er in a game an' taken advantage, eh?"
"I do. And from what I gathered, he plans to do it again, or was doing it again," Fristel replied calmly. He slammed his mug onto the bar and waved the barmaid over to fill it up again. He was one of the best casters the Moon Guard had to offer and, not coincidentally, one of the youngest, most attractive men in the entire kingdom. His hair was short and dark blond, the tips died cherry and black. He was a tall elf with his ears more upright than the Kal'dorei, but less than the Quel'dorei. Fristel's skin was a mix of the commoner purple and the Highborne peach.
Varo'then, Captain of the guard, threw his head back and cackled. "Well boys, we 'ave one choice. Spread the word, get the message out, and then we'll take the 'dearest Lord Counselor' out of the picture."
Several cheers turned into excited and fanatical shouting as the Moon Guard began to plot thousands of ways to get Xavius out of their way. One particularly excited young man lifted up his mug to toast to Varo'then's good health but as he opened his mouth it spewed worms, not words. The gurgling horror and flailing caused him to crash into the barmaid, who shrieked upon the sight. Still in a drunken stupor, Varo'then laughed and pointed at the choking boy.
"And that, boys, is why you should watch what you drink and order what you can hold!"
By this time another of the Guard was coughing up maggots, another locusts, and another gagging on a rat that had clawed its way up from his gut.
"Cap'n…I think somethin' a bit fishy is goin' on…"
"Don't say fish!" the hostess yelled before running to her office and burying her head in her pillow. A soft, amused chuckle came from the shadows just behind Fristel, who smiled and sipped his third mug quietly as the panic overtook the rest of the bar.
"I had thought there would be a bit of unrest if the information spread about. I had no idea it would be fueled by jealousy opposed to curiosity, Lord Xavius. I should have analyzed to whom I spoke and their lower brain functions before I mentioned simple truths."
"Captain Varo'then is a man that thinks with his stomach, penis, or emotions, never his brain. I do believe I owe you a favor for finding those who would go against Queen Azshara's personal will."
"A favor with punishment, no doubt," Fristel replied, chugging the remainder of his booze before turning to face the Lord Counselor.
Xavius nodded slowly as the creatures he had cursed into the Moon Guard began to turn and eat their hosts. "Had the situation been different, I am sure you would have consulted me before acting."
"Of course. Had it not been for you, my rank as Lieutenant of the Moon Guard would have never come to be. Where you saw talent, he saw threat. My only true interests in life are living for the Queen and attaining the greatest power I can while doing so."
Xavius chuckled quietly and motioned to the door. "If you will do anything to live for the Queen, and anything to attain power, Fristel Windsong, you will meet me by the Well an hour after dawn."
"Consider me there already, Lord Counselor."
Noting the barmaid's terror, Xavius had the keg pour him a glass of lager and settled into a chair just out of Varo'then's gasping, gagging reach. The Captain began to spit up tiny chunks of flesh that could only be identified as his internal organs. With a sudden, desperate lunge, Varo'then's landed just next to Xavius' left hoof.
"Now, now, Captain, don't cry, it's beneath you. Azshara forbid you degrade yourself in your final moments."
"…monster…" Varo'then chortled, his coughing becoming more frantic. Xavius did not reply for a moment, chugging his drink and having another glass poured. As Captain Varo'then began to wheeze and his consciousness fade, Xavius lifted his glass in a toast, almost as an afterthought to the horror he had unleashed.
"Three cheers to those who think they deserve power but have no will or ability to take it."