TW for violence, blood, swearing, character death and smoking. Oh, and plot thickening (?)
Darnassian:
Eldarath: Elven city, located far west of the Kaldorei capital, Elun'dris, southeast of Mount Hyjal. Partially famous for housing one of the first academies across the Empire dedicated to studying the arcane arts, such as the Mennar Academy.
Dorei: Shortened for Kaldorei. May refer to a person (regardless of gender), a youngster and also can be used in plural.
Sar'thera: A pejorative, meant for someone who's considered irritating or exasperating. Slang: Sart(e).
Jai'sural: "The betrothed's pledge". A jai'sural is a golden metallic necklace, worn by a betrothed female and bound onto the female's neck with magic. Once set, a silver-white precious stone in the form of a tear is shown in the middle of the necklace, representing the favor of Elune. It can be only taken out after marriage.
Vashj'ir: One of the most important Highborne cities of the Empire, homeland of the current Queen of the kaldorei, Lestharia of House Vashj. At Embrace 30:1, Vashj'ir is ruled by Queen Lestharia's eldest daughter, Princess Azshara Vashj.
Quel / Quel'dorei: Children of noble birth, also slang for Highborne.
Stormrage
The mere sight makes his blood boil, poisonous bile climbing up his throat, feeling quite close to nauseated all of a sudden. "Mylenne, tell me who did this so I can slaughter them," He doesn't hesitate to growl, eyes flashing with certainty, the nuisance of his past unexpected meeting feeling like weeks away by then.
Her lips purse as if hurt, not quite meeting his face, even looking like… ashamed. He wants to prompt her to look at him—and why shouldn't she? She knows she can trust him with anything—and he's aware he's being kind of demanding, but Mylenne more than most people knows best in how, sometimes, he also needs the reminder of having someone they really trust like one another as they have. However, it's as his hand attempts to cradle her face when she flinches instantly.
"Don't." She mutters, shying away.
With apparent decision on her feet, Mylenne turns her back to him, definitely resolute with keeping her distance and resuming her walk, almost acting as if she'd been alone all the time. A half-offended sneer narrows Illidan's face, but he doesn't snap right away, his suspicions clouding the rest of his rational thoughts as he falls beside her—taking precious care in not touching her again.
Walking down the hill together, the bar Illidan regularly visits with his friends isn't yet on sight before he comes with the most obvious conclusion, taking a brief glance at the road leading to the noble districts of Suramar City. "You've been with your father," He doesn't wonder about it, neither needs to when his gut assures him so—even less so when Mylenne merely nods ever so slightly, the gesture almost going unnoticed.
Unlike everything, he can't really believe it, not by an inch, how anyone could treat their own child, their only child, just as disgustingly as that. "Elune… How can he do that to you!?" Illidan snarls through clenched teeth, hot, near blinding outrage coursing through him, even growing more upset with how Mylenne still allows this for herself. "To his own daughter… how—"
How dare he lay a single finger on his daughter? How dare he and still get on with it? Illidan had known him for having questionable motives on his way to gain a better position for his Household, but everything seems so clear now, bared before his very eyes. Silgryn had been right all along—his quarrels with Lord Desdel have always been very well founded, and he feels like a sart for once doubting Silgryn's motives.
With her father's actions, Illidan then believes he can grasp some of Lord Desdel's twisted intentions for the past years; his secrecy, his letters and constant connections with the Great Houses of Suramar, his—not so subtle as of then—attempt of controlling his only daughter, all of it has a certain meaning. If his daughter obeys him blindly and faithfully, Lord Desdel can keep his place as patriarch and first head of his Household, not needing to submit to the only rightful ruler left within House Stareye, which is actually… Mylenne.
Illidan can't help but wonder when did that obsession for power really began. Has it been when Conjurer Stareye decided to take him as her husband? Or perhaps when their daughter was born, unconsciously threatening to take over the leadership of the House he worked hard to get into? Regardless, his teeth clench at the mere thought of Lord Desdel walking down the streets with his chin held high, living up the noble life and still being acclaimed for his past great deeds.
What he only deserves is a broken neck.
"Because he hates me," He nearly startles when Mylenne comes to a stop all in a sudden, still not looking like wanting to talk about it although appearing to make an effort in doing so. "He hates my stupid face and everything that relates to me," The fact of her stating the point in such an obvious tone doesn't help with Illidan's palpable indignation in the slightest, his lips pursing repulsively. He's about to add something back but her dejected glance cuts him off, their eyes finally meeting for the first time in the evening. "Because I'm merely a pawn to him, a worthless piece of meat to use on his road to power. That's how..."
Her tired silver gaze, duller than regular, speaks quite more than her words, prompting him to take a tentative step closer, somehow still not coming to understand the whole picture. Very much less so when all he can think of is in the sheer pleasure of snapping Lord Desdel Stareye's neck in half with his bare hands.
However—and almost ironically, even—it's as his gaze darts below her lavender face when a previous pondering crosses his mind. "And why you still allow this, Mylie?" He asks genuinely, his voice surprisingly soft given his outraged state.
Apparently, it's Mylenne's turn to grow offended, a hard frown creasing her forehead. "How is it that you believe I do?" Illidan can't really tell if her upsetting actually comes from his questioning or something else entirely, yet he doesn't feel like conceding either way—arms crossing and gaze not faltering. She snorts and rolls her eyes in reply, "We talked about this, Illidan. You know how many years I've spent trying to figure out a way to…" She gestures vaguely around them, "There isn't anything I can do against it. In the end, he's my father, and I should—"
In the end, he's also tired of hearing the same speech over and over. "But you can! You can leave this city for good! I can even go with you!" Illidan grabs her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly in a way to make her snap out of it, "We can settle on Eldarath, just think about it for a minute! You have the forests to go hunting with Rak and keep working on your archery, I can even manage to apply for a post on Mennar Academy," His face softens for a moment, savoring his own clever idea as he gets on her eye level, "How does that sound?"
A sheepish smile crosses her lilac lips for a fleeting moment, a warming spark of hope coursing through him as she lays a hand atop his tenderly. "It sounds lovely, Lid. It really does," He feels a retort coming, yet in that case he allows it so out of their comfortable closeness rather than anything else. "And I'm sure we'd be fine… or that could be until father comes with his troops to drag me again," It merely takes that for a tang of disappointment to show on Illidan's face, but she's quick in grabbing his hands as he drops them, "Listen, I really appreciate the gesture, but believe me when I tell you it's not as easy as you put it…"
She's not right and the fact that, in some way, they both know that annoys Illidan to no avail. "It is that easy," He can't help but insist, closing his fingers over hers—her hands, her figure appearing smaller than usual, irking him even more so. "I'd kill anyone who dares to lay a single finger on you, Mylie. I wouldn't care if it's the fucking consort of the Queen, I wouldn't be thinking twice about it," Their eyes fix on the other once again and he doesn't even blink, unrelenting, resolute in not taking anything back, wanting to let his words sink in as one of the truths he hasn't said in a long time.
In a—if ironically awful—perfect timing, there's another voice countering him; not the one he currently wants to hear and dangerously similar to his own, yet at the same time it's not.
Is that so? Even if that one is yourself, Stormrage?
Mylenne rolls her eyes in dismissal, a slight blush similar to the color of her bruises creeping to her cheeks, although it's not after a blink when Illidan notices she's not at his side but crossing the road, once more leaving him behind. When did that happen?
Shaking his head and snapping out of his own reverie, he catches her in a moment's notice, already unlatching his new purple cloak to provide her some subtle cover—half-consciously taking the gesture as an odd way to ground himself as well. "Look, if I haven't done so, is merely out of respect for your decisions," Illidan continues, trying his best to keep up with her in… all possible ways.
"It's not that," She grunts, bending her neck and allowing him to tie the cloak over her figure, sending a grateful smile his way, if briefly, "You don't deserve to become a murderer for my stupid sake, Illidan." She doesn't meet his face again as the colorful rooftop from Vanthir's bar starts to show some meters ahead, head hanging low, looking close to engrossed in her own thoughts, "Nobody does... not even me,"
A tiresome sigh leaves him, partially knowing that of all things, she may be somewhat right with that one, although not precisely helping with toning down his indignation. It's unfair, it's near sickening, it's unjust, and Illidan just can't stand injustice—very much less so when Mylenne has all the power to change her own fate for good. While she adjusts the hems of his cloak to cover herself a little, the rest of their walk isn't that rushed as before but silence clings heavily around them. It feels like having her right beside him, yet miles away at the same time, inevitably itching him some more.
Eventually, he can't handle it anymore, sliding a careful arm across her shoulders. "Look, just know whatever you decide to do, you'll have my unending support. But if you really wish to turn the tides in your favor… then maybe you should stop struggling with the nobility," His comment makes Mylenne glance at him through the corner of her silver eyes, a soft yet brief gleam on them prompting him to continue, "You know what they say, about having your friends close and your enemies closer?"
Mylenne hums, leaning slightly closer to him—if because of the chill morning breeze rising up north or a sudden need for some comfort, Illidan can't tell. "I may have heard that once or twice. Not from anyone I trust, though," She admits with a shrug, her nonchalant tone appearing to leave him to take that in any way he likes.
For the matter, the small remark makes Illidan smirk proudly, bringing her a little closer. "Then take it from me, and consider learning your way on the Game of the Court. You even have important friends among the nobility that could be of real help." He arches a sly cobalt brow her way, fully aware she knows who he's precisely talking about, "Your father wants you to be a proper Lady? Then be so, be the most dashing Lady around, until the time comes when you'll be even more influential and powerful than him, and he wouldn't have the chance to keep a single leash on you. Wrap them around your fingers, have them eating from your palm and not even daring to look at you in the eye, and you'll be the only winner. What do you really have to lose anyway?"
Even when he starts realizing he's getting carried away once again, something wicked then flashes on Mylenne's eyes as she stares back at him, this time appearing to be thoroughly considering the idea. Or at least that's what it looked like for a moment, for in the next she chortles, a sudden fit of laughter visibly coming from the bottom of her throat, making it bobble. "Why do I get the feeling you're already picturing me in Syrana's fancy gowns and fully enjoying it?" Mylenne cackles, amusement narrowing her lavender face.
Illidan can't help with grinning back mischievously, feeling delighted with the sight of her gorgeous face as it brightens with her mirth, the morning Sun painting her cheeks in pretty shades of violet as it spreads across her delicate markings. As her magical aura gleams ever so slightly, she looks like a beautiful dusk lily in the precise moment when it blooms with the first rays of moonlight, and it's no wonder why he'd grown to favor that flower so fondly these late years.
On another level, it also fills him with a deep yearning to kiss her breathless, so to get a glimpse of how real beauty tastes like.
His lips part to say something back—not feeling like breaking the moment, yet also somewhat motivated to make another subtle move and brighten both their moods some more—although it's when Mylenne stirs, something else catching her eye, when Illidan notices they're not alone. Out of sheer instinct, he tucks her closer to his chest before following her gaze, swallowing an annoyed groan as he finds a dorei striding their way.
He's sure his displeasure to see him won't ever change, but as Mylenne frowns in evident concern at her lover, Illidan can't help but obliging and meeting the man halfway, if reluctantly. However, as Hargo'then's eyes first lay on him, a sense of uneasiness pools around his gut. "Thank the Goddess, it's very good to see you, Stormrage," Hargo pants softly, merely nodding at Mylenne below—probably because they've seen each other on that night, Illidan can't really say for sure—making him tilt his head in sheer confusion. "I need you to come with me at once,"
Illidan blinks twice, taken aback by the sudden order, but doesn't feel like letting Mylenne interfere as she looks like wanting to ask. "You're not my boss and even if you were, I'm off duty," He objects, brushing off all possible courtesies between them. For the matter, he also grows curious about Hargo's odd approach. "What do you want?"
He doesn't need an answer, however, for in the next second Mylenne gasps in surprise, forgetting about him and her lover as fast as the blink of an eye and running past them both. On the backyard of Vanthir's bar, he's greeted with the sight of Silgryn trying his best to console a young woman, the latter throwing her arms at Mylenne and bursting into tears the mere moment she sees her.
Silgryn's silver eyes flash with growing outrage after appearing to catch a glimpse at his niece, but Illidan's faster in throwing him a serious look, silently promising to talk about the previous event in a better time. After a grunt, the elder Stareye obliges, leaving Mylenne to comfort their acquaintance and turning to him. "There's been an… incident at Scarleth's brothel," Silgryn says gravely, his voice low and only for Illidan to hear, "Please be a good lad and follow Pretty, here. I'll catch up with you as soon as I can,"
His nasty frown deepens, sending Silgryn a hard glare. He must be mad to be thinking he'd ever follow that insufferable sart willingly. However, it appears the elder Stareye is actually as insane as he believes so, not even letting him complain. "It's important, Illidan," Silgryn's tone doesn't leave a way for a negative, very much less so when he gets on calling him by his name.
He notices Hargo staying at a considerable distance from the group, but it's Mylenne who catches Illidan's attention—as she always does—glancing at him past the woman's shoulder, still sobbing uncontrollably. "It's okay, Lid, I'll catch you up later too," She assures with a solemn nod, "Leave Verene to me,"
Not appearing to have a way out, Illidan sighs heavily afterwards, acquiescing with Mylenne's silent plea and turning to follow Hargo, summoning all the tolerance he can muster, grumbling under his breath. "This better be really serious, or else..."
All he needs is to take a step inside the familiar brothel for his gut to twist in apprehension, the warm candlelights decorating the place turned off, a grim ambiance surrounding the main hall. Spotting a lone figure close to the way up to the attendance rooms, Hargo approaches them with evident carefulness, Illidan turning to follow.
"We are not attending this evening." A female voice grumbles when they get too close, shrouding herself among the shadows. "I would appreciate if you leave,"
"Matron Scarleth?" Hargo says softly, appearing to not wanting to startle the woman or warn her in any way. Illidan stays still when he doesn't get a reply, considering their options—even when he has been a regular customer some decades back, it's clear right then they're not welcomed this evening. However, his companion doesn't look like just leaving it be, "We got word from a sparrow,"
Sharp golden eyes who appear to have seen too much lay on the two of them like a dim light in the darkness. "A sparrow, you say?" After Hargo's solemn nod, the woman takes a tentative step closer to the sunlight coming from a high window, revealing a portion of her figure, "And why two owls stand before me instead?" A gleam of suspicion flashes across the woman's eyes, pacing slowly, subtly not letting them more room to get further in.
Illidan ponders about interjecting, although his gut says otherwise, still trying to figure out why he's been sent here, of all dorei—and with that insufferable man as the one joining him, nonetheless. "The Wanderer sends his condolences, milady," Hargo's tone is slightly more insistent, keeping a very polite and peaceful approach, "Is of his utmost relevance, however, to catch a glimpse at the events from the last evening before the scene gets… compromised," He remarks, crossing his hands behind his back and briefly glancing at Illidan past his shoulder as to prompt him to do the same, "We have been sent in his stead, given the dire situation,"
The matron narrows at the two of them through crinkled slits, thoroughly studying them from head to toe, a heavy silence falling on the room which irks Illidan more than he'd like. A long moment goes by, yet right when Illidan makes his mind and decides to push Hargo into leaving the woman be, she takes another step further, fully revealing herself. "Where is she? Is she safe?" Scarleth's face is hard like stone, but a very subtle trembling in her voice gives her away, golden eyes flashing briefly with sheer concern.
Hargo appears to try to come up with a reply—surely doing his best to not give any names or irrelevant information as they both have been insisted on not to—but hesitates when the matron's eyes lay on Illidan instead, looking like wanting an answer from him. Should it be wise to just cut off with the annoying secrecy?
Bah, what could possibly go wrong with that? It's clear she's not letting you meddle around either way…
Dipping his chin straight, Illidan meets the matron's eyes, his resolve set. "We can assure she is in very good hands," He replies, holding Scarleth's scrutiny with all the easiness in the world, very much unlike his companion who glares at him warningly—not like he cares that much about it, however. "She has been left accompanied and cared of by Lady Stareye herself,"
Hargo's eyes widen, his breath hitching slightly, but Illidan remains stoic and determined; trying to keep a smug smirk to show on his face when Scarleth's sharp eyes glint in an evident sense of recognition. Another tense moment goes by, yet he already knows who has given in way before the matron dips her head. "Last door on the right," She sighs, a set of delicate silver bracelets glinting with the sunlight's reflection as she moves aside to let them pass and reach the stairs, "Please, do not… bother my sparrows that much. They deserve the embrace of the Goddess more than most in this blasted place,"
Hargo says nothing while Illidan tilts his head in a courteous manner at the woman and leads the way up, not really hiding how pleased he is with himself as they move forward without a word between them. Without any pretty courtesan swaying and leading the way along the hallway, the place feels to have lost that particular opulence and typical obliviousness he got used to as for the last time he'd visited it, the icy feeling of absence falling on him like a heavy cloak, sending his shoulders slumping down.
Even with being full of fake praises and faker smiles, this was a quite cheery place before, happy even. What could possibly have happened to make a brothel look more like a graveyard?
"I'm not cut off for mindless secrecies. All of you should know that by now," Illidan remarks when he notices Hargo shaking his head in apparent disappointment through his periphery, "Why haven't you brought Thaedris instead? He might have been more discreet than me, if that's what you really wanted," He can't help with wondering.
"Because we trust you, of course," Hargo says without hesitation, leaving him with more ponderings than he'd like. Illidan's conscious he's always been distant and even—if impolitely—hostile with Mylenne's lover, and his natural kindness and friendly statements always work with getting him on his nerves more often than not.
More like making you feel like being in someone else's shadow once again, isn't it? The familiar voice within him takes precious care of making a reminder, a dark chuckle following. Competing for a female's attention as you've been doing for so long with your twin brother. Ah, Stormrage, your stupidity never ceases to amaze me. When did you think you'd learned anything?
A small creak of light coming from below a door helps with cutting off the dark whispers clouding Illidan's mind, blinking twice to so focus his attention in the current moment. His companion doesn't seem to notice his small slip, for the matter—not like he'd ever expected him to—taking a tentative step further to grab the door handle. "Besides, now that you mention Thaedris more precisely, he'd be the last I'd pick for investigating this," Hargo's grim voice sounds distant for a time, but the near blinding flare of an arcane shield coming from his free hand grounds him in a definite way, carefully slipping the door open with a foot.
The scene within makes Illidan's heart drop to the floor, eyes widening and a croaked gasp escaping his mouth, his feet unresponding. It might be for standing right before it, but no matter how much he tries to, he just can't stop staring at the only bed in the room, the… remains of two naked courtesans and a noble Lady so very still over a bloody mattress.
"I've been informed this was Lady Silverleaf, Thaedris' betrothed…" Hargo adds gloomily, being the first to step inside, dropping his preventive shield after not finding any life signs around. It doesn't take too long for his face to contort in evident shock, his composure crumbling down just like the state of the room.
With his heart racing in apprehension, Illidan opts to walk around as carefully as he can, the stench of magic making his nose wrinkle, the smell quite acidic and distasteful, even to his own standards. "These women were… drained? How is this even possible?" Drops of dark blood stain a nice portion of a wall, drapes and clothes ripped to shreds all around the bedroom, the floor carpet clearly without repair.
The sight of the deceased women, lifeless eyes staring at nowhere, brings some certain memories Illidan doesn't look forward to reliving—at least not when he's awake. "Husks, that's what they are," He'd seen this in his nightmares, but the fact of witnessing such a monstrosity and not being a product of his twisted imagination makes his stomach clench, almost wanting to puke. "By the Goddess, is this—? Oh, no, Jill..."
The petite courtesan looks even smaller as Illidan drops on his knees on the side of the bed, her almond-shaped silver eyes still soft and cute as always, her features not as horrified as the other women—considerably peaceful, not looking like having a painful demise. However, even if slightly relieved, his heart clenches at the mere idea of facing Mylenne and tell her the dire news.
Then don't do it. You know you'll break her heart, and she's already going through a lot.
Not really caring about contaminating the scene, Illidan takes mind of closing Jill's lifeless eyes, drawing the sign of Elune on her forehead. "Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess, dear…" He whispers to her face, laying a soft kiss on the back of her bony hand before moving to stand. Yet it's as he looks for some purchase when a soft gleam of a metallic object—definitely not Lady Silverleaf's golden Jai'sural, still wrapped around her neck—catches his eye, making him take a curious look under the bed.
With two careful fingers, he finds a very elegant ring, glinting in delicate shades of blue and cerulean when Illidan brings it to the soft sunlight coming from a near window. A thoughtful frown crosses his face as he examines it, trying to figure out the signet on the upper portion, knowing it doesn't belong to any noble House from Suramar. That is until the sound of the door slamming close takes him out of his reverie, Hargo's face showing before him, wide-eyed. "Hand it to me," He demands, a severe warning flashing across his golden eyes.
Illidan doesn't oblige right away, half stunned and half annoyed at his companion's unexpected command, blinking in skepticism when Hargo snatches the ring from his hand in a moment's notice. All in a sudden and before he can come up with a protest, Hargo's palms begin glowing with magic, throwing the object to the wall as if a bomb, breaking the ring into pieces.
Illidan's breath hitches, shocked to the core, "What the—"
In the course of a second, Hargo pulls him up by his vest, his stone serious face mere inches from his. "Did you ever know what that was, Illidan?" Only a warning growl escapes Illidan's mouth, grabbing Hargo's wrist to forcefully pull him away, although only getting him to clutch his clothes harder. "Listen carefully: That carried the signet of House Vashj, meaning one of the Vashj sisters was here," Something close to sheer apprehension crosses his golden gaze as he stares Illidan down, if briefly, "The daughters of the Queen..."
Princess or not, that doesn't take away the fact they're standing on what evidently looks like a crime scene. How could that really matter? Or even worse, how Hargo dares warning him when having three magic drained bodies laying right beside them? "We still should report this," Illidan says matter-of-factly, batting his hands away and getting on his feet properly.
"Are you out of your fucking mind!?" Illidan never took Mylenne's lover as one for having a dirty mouth, but many things regarding Hargo'then have been surprising him on that morning, not really startling him as of then. "Not if you don't want both our heads chopped off and put up on a spike, we won't," His tone doesn't seem to allow a retort from Illidan's part, not even expecting him to as he returns to pace around and about, eyes flaring in purplish blue shades as he takes care of removing any sign of his own magic tracks, casting a fleeting glance Illidan's way to prompt him to take their leave.
Hargo brings a finger to his mouth in the universal cue of keep silent before opening the door very carefully, striding out when he doesn't seem to see anyone else around. However, he didn't give the impression of doing that good of a job, the unmistakable figure of Silgryn Stareye facing the two of them after the door opens fully—a very sharp look on his lilac face.
Silgryn remains still, not moving from the opposite wall of the hallway he's leaning against, arms crossed over his bare chest and humming in apparent thought. "Looks awfully grim as it is… but not surprising," The elder Stareye cuts off the tense silence washing over them, silver gaze glancing past Illidan's shoulder although dropping elsewhere a moment later. "I've seen this before,"
"You mean this happened before?" Illidan doesn't particularly voice it as a question, yet he can't peg down his growing curiosity at that point. "Where?"
Silgryn rolls his eyes in annoyance. "Ugh. Must I say it out loud for you to get it?" Illidan doesn't bother with replying, merely imitating his stance and holding his gaze in a slight challenging manner, "At Vashj'ir, lad. Where else?" Silgryn says matter-of-factly as he straightens a little, true to his nature and not looking intimidated in the slightest, "And Pretty's damn right; this mustn't leave this place. You can't mess with someone like Princess Azshara."
He'd seen that at Vashj'ir? It's been a while since Illidan last recalls him traveling to that city, unless he's missing something out again. What does he really know about it to be undoubtedly naming such a powerful dorei as Queen Lestharia's eldest daughter as the responsible?
For the matter, he can't help but wonder about Silgryn's apparent ability to hearing behind walls and that odd fact of being informed of many events suspiciously earlier than most guards, or even the most influential Highborne around the city. it may be an advantage to have allies such as the Whisperer and his network of birds, that's for sure, but still that doesn't get to explain the whole picture for him—at least, it makes it somewhat more difficult when Arluin's 'sparrows' have been caught and slaughtered for the past few years, with the Whisperer himself escaping death by a mere inch.
So, how does he really do it? How can a regular noble Lord such as him be prepared and even predict every possible event? How many tricks does Silgryn have under his cloak and multiple belts? And most importantly, where does Silgryn really places him and his niece in these games he plays?
If Illidan had learned anything about the elder Stareye, is that in his eyes, everyone has an important part to play in this big Game of the Court. Thing is, he's— sadly still—anything but a lowborn, and so are half of Silgryn's acquaintances.
"Why did the Princesses stay in Suramar? The Grand Magistrix' last ceremony had been months ago…" Hargo wonders as he closes the door they've come out from, his dark forehead creasing in thought. "Mother Moon, this is it, isn't it?" A flash of realization crosses his soft golden eyes, casting a distressed look at Silgryn, "The pieces are already on the move,"
"The Game's already on," The elder Stareye agrees in a grim tone, "Never thought I'd say this, but you're so very right, Hargo…" Dark violet brows knit together, his face scrunching, visibly looking like contemplating many outcomes at once, eyes darting nowhere in particular before returning to Hargo once again. "You know what we must do, then,"
Both share a solemn nod and a knowing look before getting on the move, the three of them knowing there's no use to keep hanging around such grim scene as the one they're leaving behind as of then. However, Illidan's irritation grows along Silgryn and Hargo's accomplice demeanors towards one another, "Silgryn," He recalls his attention with a warning growl, "We've already discussed this,"
Silgryn merely acknowledges him with a fleeting glance behind his shoulder, "It's nothing, lad. This only means I'd need to get my ass on the move for the sake of my family," Reaching the end of the hallway, he stops at the balcony close to the stairs leading down to the main floor, arms leaning against the railing, "This scene only proves that… preparations are in order,"
The cryptic tone in Silgryn's voice only works for Illidan to grow as irked as like the beginning of the morning, summoning whatever's left of his patience to avoid having to make another reminder of how offensive it is to leave him out of the picture. "In order for what?" Illidan merely asks, prompting him to keep talking as he leans his back against the railing and beside the elder Stareye.
He regards Illidan for a moment, sighing in defeat afterwards. "For having new fresh blood among the Courts. You see, our Household can't turn a blind eye on this," Silgryn explains, unconsciously making Illidan suddenly come to the realization of what he'd just missed out regarding the horrific scene they'd just left behind. "Duchess Lunastre certainly won't once she finds out,"
A thoughtful hum leaves Illidan's mouth, lips pursing briefly as he contemplates the situation more thoroughly. Regardless of who really made it—and still having some doubts about the real responsible for such a disaster being one of the most powerful Sorceresses on the Empire like Princess Azshara of House Vashj, no less—Silgryn is unequivocally right in his statement; for not only two random courtesans have been assassinated that morning, but also, and particularly so, a Highborne Lady and head of House Silverleaf, another vassal House of the Lunastres.
Even if he's still somewhat skeptical about the whole thing, Illidan is inclined to admit it clearly looks like a severe attempt against a rising Great House. A clever move, let's face it. Crippling the Lunastres from below instead of cutting off the head as everyone would expect. Whoever wants to get to Duchess Ly'leth or her family is doing a very good job.
However, that line of thought only helps with making Illidan's blood turn into ice, his face paling. For if the dark voice of his conscience is right, that would also mean House Stareye may be in great danger as well—or even next in line.
"What are you planning out to do, then?" Illidan's eyes fix on Silgryn, a demanding tone in his voice, doing his best with focusing on his face instead of summoning a very perturbing mental image of a woman with a similar mane, perfect and delicate lavender face sucked up dry, big silver eyes looking without seeing.
Something worrisome flashes across Silgryn's eyes—for a brief moment, looking as if knowing exactly what's crossing Illidan's mind. "I only know we may be just right in the eye of the storm, but nothing further than that, lad," Silgryn's lips curl in a grimace, Hargo humming in deep thought beside the man, also leaning against the railing and close to the stairs leading to the main floor, "I need to make a move before my House is targeted next, and fast,"
Disappointment narrows Illidan's face right then—he hadn't been expecting Silgryn to not have at least a half made up plan after all—blinking thrice before following the elder Stareye's eyes to the floor below, then empty of people. "What about Lord Desdel?" Illidan wonders out loud, resting his elbows on the railing. "Crossing him again wouldn't be a good idea right now, if you're somewhat right about your Household being in danger. Even less so if you're being targeted by such a source as you're claiming so,"
Silgryn only sighs heavily, shoulders slumping down. "In all the possible outcomes that would turn out fair for Mylie and me… her father isn't there." He says somberly, somehow like a confession, something close to sadness narrowing his lilac face for a fleeting moment, making Illidan's brows knit in sheer confusion. Where did that come from?
For the matter, Hargo doesn't appear to have come up with the same pondering as him, sharing another particular look with Silgryn. "You're talking about a Commander of the Rooksguard, Silgryn," His companion remarks with a frown, looking partially unconvinced, "Such a figure needs to have a proper… replacement, so to say,"
Silgryn doesn't look like being taken aback with that observation, however—mouth curling up in a mischievous smirk, apparently holding back one of his natural cackles. "Then it's fortunate we have Jarod, isn't it?"
With some surprise, it's Hargo who throws a low chuckle at that comment, slightly shaking his head in disbelief yet not speaking further of the subject, turning to take his leave from the building. Some minutes go by with Illidan and Silgryn sharing a companionable silence, the elder Stareye bringing up a pipe from one of his multiple pockets, lighting it up with a snap of his glowing fingers. As tendrils of smoke swirl around, the two dorei idly watch Hargo sliding the front door open and meeting Matron Scarleth outside, appearing to have been left to keep a watchful eye on the streets.
Illidan accepts Silgryn's pipe as he offers it, taking a good and long drag, relaxing furthermore on the railing he's leaning against. "You know, if you plan out to remove Lord Desdel off the picture for good, then count me in," He declares, not bothering to keep his voice down while they're the only ones around the building as of then, "I've been wanting to get my hands on him for a very long time, and after what we've both seen today, I'm taking you're already coming up with something," The look on Silgryn's face oddly says otherwise as he hands the pipe back, making Illidan tilt his head in question, "... Are you?"
"Craving for some quel blood, now?" His only companion left snorts disdainfully, taking a last drag from his pipe before shamelessly dropping the ashes to the floor—not looking dirtier than it already was, for the matter—with three taps of his index finger. "You may want to think like me, but don't act like me, Illidan," Silgryn says in a reproachful tone while he returns his pipe to another of his pockets, "That goes on another level of flattering and, sadly, I'm positive it'd only come out to separating that pretty head of yours from your body." His heavy fur cloak waves elegantly as he leans away from the railing, intent on leaving, "You only need to stick with Mylie and we'll be all good,"
Silgryn's dismissal stuns him for a second, leaving him staring at his back while he walks away and to the stairs, indignation coursing through him once again. "Hargo isn't even asking for it and you still try to keep me out?" Illidan blurts out the words before thinking about them, a nasty sneer tugging at his lips. "What is wrong with you?"
A loud cackle from Silgryn's part echoes through the hallway. "Ha! Does that break your arcane-tainted heart so much?" He mocks, stopping midway to the stairs, "Spare me your jealousies, lad, I don't have time—"
Illidan's tolerance runs thin, storming in his direction and throwing a very incensed look his way. "And you can spare me your brushoffs, Stareye. What can possibly that sart have that I don't?" He all but demands to know, pulling at his cloak and forcing Silgryn to face him properly, "Are you that stupidly blind to not see you actually need me more than him?"
He couldn't have possibly seen that coming, but as faster than the blink of an eye Silgryn grabs Illidan by the vest with both hands, slamming him against the nearest wall. "You try to lecture or question my motives once again and I swear to Elune's tits I'll smash that arrogance out of your face until there won't be any need to call your brother a twin, Stormrage." A deep and near feral growl comes from the bottom of Silgryn's throat, his furious face mere inches from his.
But Silgryn's livid look doesn't even match Illidan's. "And how you expect me not to?" He snarls, his voice coming out weaker given he'd just been taken the air out of his lungs, "You keep talking shit about the future and sake of your family, but you still leave your niece and me out of your intended plans…" Golden eyes begin glowing menacingly, hands following as well as he prepares a spell to throw his way. "Threatens will get you nowhere,"
A stomping over his foot prevents him to cast it, however, grunting in pain. "It's not a threat if I keep up to my word," Silgryn snarls back, slamming him once again for good measure, "Now listen this, you big hot-headed shit, for you won't be hearing it twice," He keeps a tight hold on him with a lilac fist, a pissed off look that can almost be compared with one from a beast plastered all over his face, "There are dozens of reasons why, of all dorei, I'm not throwing you into the Nightsaber's den, and you don't even know a quarter of them. Unlike your sorry ass, Hargo'then clearly knows his place, so here's the deal: You won't be getting anything from me until you fucking fall in line. Even so, you won't be getting shit from anyone until you open your fucking blessed golden eyes and your fucking ears. Is that clear?"
With a heavy tension looking like cutting through the air, Illidan holds Silgryn's gaze intensely, showing his fangs and not hiding his palpable state of outrage, his mind already coming up with many violent ways to knock him senseless. However, the elder Stareye never looks intimidated in the slightest, patting his cheek twice in a mocking manner after apparently making sure Illidan got his words, fully letting him go.
He can't tell how he keeps himself from just throwing Silgryn down the stairs as he turns his back to him once again, his need of punching something nearly getting the best of him. For the matter, Illidan can't help with sending another taunt as the dorei saunters across the main floor. "What tells you I even want something?"
Silgryn doesn't even bother to face him again, merely glancing past his shoulder. "Because I know what you want, you fucking sart. We all know." He says through clenched teeth, readjusting one of his many belts before sliding the front door open, "You're the blind one who can't see you already have it from the very beginning."
A gust of wind comes across the main floor and a moment later, Illidan is left alone in the darkness; his golden eyes then glowing in fierce shades of purplish blue as the only light among the shadows, intensely fixed on the door and about to make a hole with his gaze only. Wild arcane magic courses through him, the sound of furniture and decoration alike snapping and breaking in a dozen pieces afterwards.
He will pay for his insolence. They will all pay...
A-N: Oof, this one was a pretty damn hard chapter to write, but to those who already knew a bit about where this part was going, yeah... wasn't lying with Edgelord Illy with this chapter, lol. It's fortunate I adore when he's reaaaaally pissed off, but must admit it can get quite tiresome when it comes to writing that T_T
And including this one, I'm beginning with what could be called a pretty intense set of chapters, with 23, 24 and 25 intended to build up a second sort of milestone (?) I have for this book, a pretty big plot twist coming up for ch26, in which I'd have to probably split up into two parts - yeah, it's a really big one. Don't say I haven't warned you, lol!
On another topic, I hope I could get to answer some questions regarding Azshara with this part. I don't really mind replying to each one of you, but overall, yeah, this is where I delve a little from canon - in this 'verse, Azshara and Lady Vashj are actually sisters, with Vashj's mother Lestharia as Queen in the current setting. Sure thing, this is merely an introduction, so don't worry, we'll be getting a whole lot more about Azshara and House Vashj in the future :D
As always, my heart goes out for all of you who still keep up in this crazy rollercoaster that are Illidan and Mylie. Thanks so so sooooo much for all your lovely comments and PMs and, as usual, don't ever hesitate to reach out! Even if all you have to say is a simple "Nice!" or "Your writing sucks!" or something, I always adore hearing from all of you *hearts*
