TW for violence, blood, and character death.


Darnassian:

Dorei: Shortened for Kaldorei. May refer to a person (regardless of gender), a youngster and also can be used in plural.

Quel / Quel'dorei: Children of noble birth, also slang for Highborne.

Sar'thera: A pejorative, meant for someone who's considered irritating or exasperating. Slang: Sart(e).

Arane: A curse or expletive. Figurative translation for "nightmare/s".


Stormrage

"Please welcome Lord Commander Desdel of House Stareye and his daughter, Lady Mylenne, joined by her suitor, Lieutenant-Commander Jarod of House Shadowsong…"

A muscle under Illidan's right eye twitches involuntarily, mouth curling into the nastiest of sneers, time freezing for a split second as he tries taking on the scene unfolding before him. His nostrils flare as Lord Desdel saunters past where Illidan stands, yet his sights are utterly fixed on the couple behind; their linked arms, ceremonial gowns over them both, a sight nearly made to mock at him. Blood begins to boil like hot molten lava coursing through him, a pure, all-consuming rage overtaking his senses.

When Mylenne spots him among the crowd on her way through, at least she pretends to look mortified, shying away in a mere instant and subtly clutching her friend—her suitor!?—harder, having Jarod hushing something apparently comforting close to her ear.

Oh, the bastard. And to even think he'd started to have an ounce of respect for that boy…

Mylenne's last words cling to his mind and as of then, Illidan couldn't agree more with her assumptions. She can't possibly expect him to forgive her for this; anyone with a tiny piece of grey matter between their eyes knows there's no way that could happen. Yet regardless, how could she?

All their years together, their close friendship, every single precious moment they shared, has that ever meant something to her? Or was it all—as it blatantly seems so—one of the biggest lies he's ever fallen for?

Just as how Lady Ravencrest did moments ago, she kneels before her Duchess, a more than pleased Lord Desdel watching from the sidelines with a wicked grin plastered all over his face. "Lady Stareye, with your union to the next-in-line Commander of the Black Rook Order, do you pledge to represent and commit to the best interests of your Great House among Suramar's Court and the city's denizens, above all else?"

Her suitor…? A union with a future Commander…? Every single second of that scene as it unfolds feels like a slap in Illidan's face, his jaw beginning to hurt with the hard clenching of his teeth against each other. Yes, he's finally seeing everything clearer then, and the reality of it all bolsters his sheer anger even further, not yet willing to fully admit how he's apparently turned into the biggest idiot Suramar ever had. A sense of an unadulterated hatred flows through his veins, hands clenching into fists, nearly craving to have something in his hands to snap as the real motives of that event are disclosed for everyone to see—and the truth finally is revealed to him.

"M-may Elune be my witness…"

Something shatters inside him, but when he internally braces for the pain to come over, it doesn't precisely hurt; a greater sense of loathing pulsing within and shielding him from any harm. I can't believe her guts! She even has the audacity of trying to look mortified! The twisted voice within him makes their return, and in a quite appropriate timing.

He notices Syrana making her way through to him, yet Illidan doesn't bother to even spare a glance her way as she brushes his forearm in a concerning manner. "You knew about this." He mutters, eyes glued on Shadowsong—or would he rather say, the next Stareye—placing the Jai'sural over Mylenne's neck with all the heaviness in the world, the two of them still pretending to look unhappy with the situation. "You knew, and lied to my face…"

"I, I—Lid, I re-really thought it wasn't going to be like this, I swear I did—!" But Illidan just snaps his arm away from her grasp, turning on his heels and once again, making his way through the crowd and to the nearest exit, uncaring of whoever may follow him.

They're just pathetic, the lot of them, calling themselves his friends and then throwing their shit to his very face, and then there's Mylenne, the worst of them all.

How could she, really? For how long has she planned this? After everything he's done for her and the sick bastard of her uncle, she didn't only dare lie to him, of all people—because for the Stareye's secrecies, Illidan's grown sadly accustomed to already. And he could forgive another of her lies, but going through something as big as an engagement and keep it hidden; that's something bigger, something worse.

It's betrayal.

Hastening his steps—just in case those ones so shamelessly calling themselves his 'friends' may follow him—it's nice to notice quite a lesser presence of guards around the insides of the Estate, taking it as a good omen to make himself a way out the hell he's fallen into. That is, until the unmistakable feeling of a piercing stare falls over him, body stiffening near the small stairs of the ballroom as a voice assaults his mind for the third time on that evening.

Quickly, come upstairs…

Illidan's eyes scan his considerably empty surroundings, stopping short at the sight of a lone figure on the first floor, a cobalt strand of hair flashing under a dark cowl from what could pass as robes of one of the kitchen's servants—and yet, Illidan can only take as a target. For the matter, the man doesn't seem taken aback by his death glare, tilting his head just slightly.

Don't drop your act just yet, two Rooksguards are glancing your way at this very moment. Now try keeping it casual and come over, please.

It's not like he's about to do otherwise, but after supposing his thoughts can't be heard somehow, Illidan pivots on his heels, heading for a shadowy corner under the stairs to the first floor and throwing another Invisibility spell on himself in a moment's notice. Once the coast looks clear he heads for the man's location, mindful of not step too close to any source of light, sneaking through a door he's previously seen his companion walk into.

Inside what seems like a small study room, Hargo'then awaits next to the window, shifting a little after naturally noticing Illidan's presence and taking down his hood in an apparent show of good faith. However, Illidan doesn't care in the slightest about any friendly demeanor, dropping his spell at the same time his free hand begins glowing in a menacing purplish-blue, catching his acquaintance off-guard as arcane magic pulses and throws him to the nearest wall.

Hargo's head takes a hard hit but doesn't resist as much as Illidan would have thought at first, trapped into a corner as he is. "You knew Mylenne's father was setting her up with Shadowsong, isn't it?" Illidan shuts the door close, ensnaring his companion with the sheer force of his eyes only, "That's why you interrupted Silgryn, back at the bar…" He recalls, golden gaze flaring with magic and dark intentions. "Was that worth it? All of you leaving me out of such a thing?"

His hood falls completely as the man attempts to catch his breath, only to make him grunt as an arcane whiplash strikes him on his gut, feet dangling as he's lifted in the air. "It wasn't our place to tell—" Hargo croaks, golden eyes faintly brimming with tears.

Utterly sick of everybody's games, Illidan brings the man down merely to hold him by the front of his robes, "Then tell me, and think about your next words very carefully," Hargo's hairs stand on end at the sound of his growl, yet he's still able to hold his heated gaze, "Why should I even help the lot of you? What's stopping me from fucking leaving right now?"

Hargo blinks twice, holding onto his wrist in an unconscious manner. "You think she went on with it willingly? You can't possibly believe—"

Groaning loud, Illidan pushes him away before losing his mind—unable to grasp how he still can speak in her defense after all that's been said and done. "For all that sick mind trick of yours, you just can't open your eyes," He throws an arm in direction of the door and the massive gardens below, quite close to trembling with how irate he is. "You idiot, she was the one who tipped you off! She betrayed Silgryn, and you… and ME!"

Even in his soft panting, Hargo goes frozen still, the features in his face relaxing and gaze dropping elsewhere, a soft 'Oh' leaving his mouth. As the man falls on the carpet floor and stays silent for a full minute—probably contemplating their current situation—a sudden pang of sympathy strikes Illidan at the sight of him.

And honestly, how wouldn't he? Even with the differences they share, in truth, Hargo didn't do anything wrong; he's but another pawn who had the tragic chance of getting himself involved in a twisted scheme of tricks, manipulations and even murders from the Highborne nobility on their never-ending road to power.

Don't get caught on that pathetic sense of compassion just now, Stormrage. He made a choice, and so did you.

With the reminder and just like that, the sudden feeling dissipates and Illidan straightens, turning his back on Hargo while he stands and saunters to the window beside them. "At this point, she can rot for all I care…" Illidan growls, sheer hatred adorning his voice, but he speaks more to himself than to his companion. For the voice within him may be his ruin in the long run, yet at least—and depressingly so—is also the only one that doesn't lie to his face.

Besides, doubting or questioning himself never has been Illidan's regular way to face trouble; if anything, it's the opposite—he goes all in or all out, grey spots aren't suitable nor acceptable. He can't give himself the luxury of hesitating or turning back on his choices just now.

However, almost as if he's read Illidan's mind, a concerned hum leaves Hargo's lips, cobalt brows knitting hard and leaning further on the window glass. "You said you were leaving? Because I'm afraid that has just gotten a little more complicated for you…" He murmurs, gaze raptured on something outside.

Out of mere curiosity—and absolutely done with bad omens from every single dorei close to him for a decade, at least—Illidan follows Hargo's eyes across the small window, blinking thrice afterwards, unable to believe what he's seeing.

At the entrance of the Estate, surrounded from all sides by Rooksguards, with hands behind his back in a sign of submission stands no one else than… Lord Silgryn Stareye.


If it's the Mother Moon testing his will or just his mere fucking luck, Illidan can't possibly tell at that point, frustratingly biting his lower lip hard enough to almost draw blood. "He must have found his invitation," It's the only conclusion he can come up with, nostrils flaring as he and his companion watch Silgryn saunter inside—cocky as ever, even with a troop of Warriors breathing over his neck. A faint purplish glow on his periphery draws his attention away, if momentarily. "What are you doing?"

Hargo doesn't glance his way or blinks, looking like also holding his breath. "I'm trying to reach him, but he's too far from me,"

Illidan's brow quirks up at the comment, curious and skeptical altogether. "How's that mind trick really works, anyway?" He can't help to wonder, gaze darting to Hargo and the elder Stareye at the entrance, his smugness noticeable even from afar.

"Not how you really believe so, that's for sure. I can't hear anyone's thoughts," Hargo gives him a grave glare before turning away from the window. "I can only tap into the first barrier of someone else's mind, allowing me to be heard, but nothing further. And only can do with one at the time, needless to say from a certain distance,"

"Where did you learn that? It is certainly useful, all things considering," A natural thirst for knowledge prompts Illidan to keep asking, his eyes following his companion as he appears to recheck his stockings.

Hargo snorts softly, "It is, yes, as it's equally dangerous if you get carried away, invasive as it is. Listening to someone's thoughts, in fact, requires a deeper barrier to be breached, and believe me when I say how painful and even fatal that can be if done wrong." The man takes special care in remarking, flicking a long index finger in the air. "That's Arcanist Valtrois' field, by the way."

Indeed, Illidan recalls that past mention from him. However, it doesn't precisely explain Hargo's expertise—or maybe his records are based on lies, for there are no connections between him and the aforementioned Arcanist at all. "I know Conjurer Stareye could do that. Even in her passing, she could communicate with her daughter, somehow." Illidan says nonchalantly, deep down hoping to find that puzzle piece that seems to be missing and could explain the mystery behind Hargo's very particular ability.

A sudden thought crosses Illidan's mind as of then. Could that skill of his be the reason behind Silgryn's evident favoritism with Hargo? So far, he hasn't found a more solid answer than that and—insufferable feelings towards the two men aside—Illidan never fully believed the elder Stareye's past statements of liking the Officer merely for having proper decorum, so to say. After all, if there's a need to compare, Illidan too knows his way among the aristocracy and quite too well.

For the matter, his companion doesn't seem willing to give him the answers he wants. "But you know you don't need magic for that, Illidan," Hargo throws a skeptical look his way, not particularly looking like believing his indirect, "That requires just a deep, meaningful bond between the two parties. Like mother and child, lifemates… twin siblings, perhaps?"

Left without a proper retort, Illidan just grumbles in admission, out of ideas to keep nosing on the man. Hargo nods sharply as if putting an end to that topic—at least for the further moment—and tucks a poisoned dagger under his belt, heading to the door. "Now, I don't know what Silgryn's plans are, but on my end I must still find a way to get Lord Desdel alone, or at least away from Mylenne, if briefly," Covering his features with his dark hood, only his golden eyes are left on sight, prompting Illidan to follow on his way out the room, "Has she told you anything else?"

"What?" Illidan's steps falter, not getting Hargo's apparent stubbornness in the matter, casting an incredulous look his way, "After all they've done, you're still willing to risk your life for any of them?"

His companion doesn't seem to be taken aback by his words, "Of course I am," He says as if it's obvious, walking away and not waiting for him, "I'm positive you'd do the same for the ones you love. Isn't that why you're here in the first place?"

Figuring out Hargo would leave him behind, he reluctantly follows, silently closing the door behind him. "I was. I'm very much done with that now…" Illidan growls, lowering his voice after reaching the hallway, "She made her choice and sided with her father, remember?" He takes care of remarking, a snarl in his face.

Hargo merely quirks up a cobalt eyebrow, his eyes scanning the main hall below, "And you really believe she had one in the first place?"

"She chose to hide her engagement from me. So yes, I rather think so," Illidan insists through clenched teeth, anger beginning to pump under his skin once again.

The two of them fall silent after catching the eye of a small woman—apparently a waitress, judging by her plain robes—making her way down the stairs, yet goes on her way as if nothing happened after Hargo subtly tilts his head to the right. One of Arluin's sparrows, seems like. The voice of his conscience leaves Illidan to wonder; how many of them could be around, really? Not counting that waitress and Mylenne's maids, that is.

"Speaking of choosing, you seem to be missing something crucial," Hargo continues, his gaze glued on the girl sauntering past two Rooksguards guarding the same lobby leading to the back of the Lunastre's gardens. "Among the two of us, or three if you add up Jarod, she chose you."

The same doors from which Illidan previously walked in on his way back from the gardens then open, Lords and Ladies from many Houses coming and going, but the fair majority heading the same way Hargo's accomplice went on moments ago.

For the matter, Illidan's attention is prompted to his companion, a serious glint on the man's eyes, almost as if daring him to come up with a proper retort. "Is that so? Because from what I've seen, she's going to marry another man," A fake smirk crosses Illidan's face, his low voice clearly tinted with sheer disgust.

He's partially aware he's starting to act a tad bit childish, yet it's not like he can help it when Hargo's nostrils flare as he takes an intake breath, looking fairly close to reaching the end of his patience. "A man whose life is about to be ruined, if it hasn't already…"

Almost as if to prove his point, Hargo then subtly points out at a familiar Lady hurriedly striding across the Main Hall, not really succeeding in hiding the torrent of tears streaming down her face. Illidan's lips purse at the sight—he's completely forgotten about Shalasyr Starweave, then recalling the fact she was actually being courted by Jarod and, not only for the looks of it but also for Syrana's passing comments, was quite interested in him as well.

"But have it your way," Hargo continues, disappointment in his voice, "You won't get it until you realize not everything's about you, Illidan."

His remark, intentional or not, turns Illidan livid as fast as the blink of an eye. "What did you just say?"

But his companion pays no mind to the enraged glare he sends his way, turning his back on him, about to go on his business. "That Silgryn was sadly right about you, and you won't ever be ready for anything until you change your selfish ways and look at the bigger picture." Even when looking clearly frustrated, Hargo's voice is as plain and calm as so very usual, succeeding in making Illidan more irate, "Even Mylenne's choices are pretty obvious to my eyes. She's acting on what she thinks it's best for all of us. Silgryn does too, and Jarod, and me…"

A menacing growl reverberates inside Illidan's mind, like a beast just about to snap and overtake his rational senses. "And you really believe risking your life for a cause that's not yours is… what? Honorable? An 'act of love', as you so like to put it?"

Yet Illidan's rant falls on deaf ears as a newcomer catches the attention of nearly the whole Estate, the few passing guests on the Main Hall stopping short as one of the big doors cracks open. The room, immense as it is, then shrouds in silence at the presence of Silgryn Stareye sauntering in, all curious eyes set on him and the Rooksguards flanking him, wary of his very shadow.

There's a sound of robes fluttering, but when Illidan glances sideways, Hargo's already nowhere in sight, adding up to his frustration. Not many people are left hanging out at the gardens as of then, the majority of Lunastre's court and the Duchess herself already elsewhere, leaving Illidan to wonder what's really up on Silgryn's mind.

And how you possibly believe he's on his right mind, at all? It's already insane of him to have come all along, that man clearly has a death wish!

To most of the small audience's surprise, Lord Starweave is the one breaking the tense silence. "Silgryn…? Is that really you?" Nyellus tilts his head in near disbelief, a hopeful smile lighting up his face.

The portion of Silgryn's face Illidan can see grins back, a lighthearted chuckle filling up the Main Hall. However, Syrana doesn't seem to be looking up to join what could pass as a merry reunion between two old friends; dragging her sobbing sister along and hushing something clearly upsetting to her father's ear, Nyellus features changing drastically.

"It's really joyful to see your ugly face again after so long, Nye," Silgryn says dearly, a gleam on his silver eyes proving how much he means that. Sadly, it doesn't last much after a quick glance past his shoulders, "I only wish it could have been under more… pleasant circumstances," He glares at one of the warriors nearby, nearly daring him to come closer, "At least not surrounded by a bunch of rookies treating me as if a criminal. And with a bottle of Nightwine in hand, of course,"

Even with the elder Stareye seemingly attempting to lift the moods, tension falls over the room once again as Syrana steps in the way of him and her father, outstretching an arm towards Nyellus in a protective manner. "You made a big mistake with coming here, Silgryn…" Her grim tone is a clear warning for the man not to come any closer, surely more than aware what his intentions truly are.

A muffled cry coming from one of the rooms on the first floor makes one of Illidan's ears twitch, a gut feeling telling him it must be Hargo's doing, prompting him to search for another vantage point on the opposite way of the floor, preferably close to another exit.

He doesn't get much farther, though, as the sound of steps reverberates across the Main Hall, a dark, mocking chuckle announcing quite an undesirable arrival. His breath catches, sticking to the closest shadowed corner within a moment.

"Now, now, Lady Starweave, there is no need to be hasty," There's not much Illidan can glance at from his vantage point as of then, yet Lord Desdel Stareye's sheer presence is all that's needed for his hairs to stand on end—his dark cloak casting a larger shadow behind his steps, making him more imposing as well as menacing. "He was invited, after all…"

Illidan wasn't then born to acknowledge the comments regarding the Nightsaber, although it's fairly easy to hold them true as for witnessing his entrance as of then—near larger than life, capturing everyone's attention within a second, capable of silencing an entire room by his mere will. A deadly prowler in and out, able to make anyone cower before him, terrified.

And that's exactly how Mylenne and Jarod Shadowsong seem to be, a shocked look in both their faces as they walk inside behind Lord Stareye, procuring not to stand as close to him as absolutely necessary.

However, Silgryn's the only one not seeming to be as frightened as the rest of the witnesses. "Yet you started the party without me. What was even the point?" He scoffs, leaning on his other hip, throwing his arms in an offended manner.

Syrana—ever the careful—doesn't dare to cross the noble Lord, subtly prompting her family elsewhere and far from Illidan's sights. Lord Desdel's wicked grin, for the matter, never falters, almost as if savoring the distance everyone places between him. "Time is at the essence, Silgryn. It would have been rude to keep the guests waiting further," He says nonchalantly, fixing his former brother-in-law with a glare.

A flash of crimson catches Illidan's eye, forcing him to move further into the shadows as a pair of soldiers stealthily reach the first floor, armed and apparently ready for anything. Figuring out incapacitating them would probably give him away, Illidan just stays so very still until they walk past him, seizing the moment afterwards and taking another set of stairs down as silently as he can.

"See, that's why you don't get invited anywhere," True to his usual demeanor, Silgryn keeps his mocking—their tense conversation all that's heard as Illidan crouches on a safe corner, "You have to be more flexible! Plan on the moment, let things flow their course…"

Without catching anyone's attention, he succeeds in reaching the closest spot to Mylenne and Jarod. But it's just as he's about to make a dangerous move and try making the couple notice him, when Mylenne lets go of his friend—his suitor, as Illidan can't ever stop recalling by then—and walks forward to grab her father by the arm.

Not like Lord Desdel takes mind of his daughter, for the matter, not bothering to acknowledge her and crossing his arms in a cocky manner. "Just as how you came with a makeshift plan and ended up throwing my soldiers down the bridge, back at Black Rook?" Lord Stareye wonders, his tone more than challenging.

Silgryn looks taken aback for a brief moment, confusion crossing his face, yet he's quick in concealing it. "Ah, I get it now…" A knowing smile clings to his lips, imitating Lord Desdel's stance and crossing his arms as well. "Look, if you were looking forward to making a show and accuse me in front of your guests, I'm afraid that's kind of a rude manner," He points out with a tilt of his head, "Maybe you should leave future parties up to me? I'm clearly a better host than you. No offense…" He's quick to add that last part.

"None taken," Lord Stareye shrugs it off, and then finally turns to a nervous Mylenne at his side, "Yet these guests and your delay were not of my doing. In fact, it was all my daughter's…"

Her father's arm slithers across Mylenne's shoulders—thankfully out of those offensive ceremonial robes by then—pulling her close. However, what really captures Illidan's eye is the faint glint of Lord Desdel's broadsword as his long cloak reveals it with the movement, sensing danger all along. No weapons were allowed tonight but, somehow, Lord Stareye and his troops are all armed. I'd bet he was expecting Silgryn all along…

"An'da, this is not—" Mylenne tries to protest, only to be squeezed briefly in return.

"Now, my dear, you know I can't always act and speak on your behalf," Lord Desdel excuses himself, not hiding the hint of mockery in his voice, "And I told you not inviting your uncle to your engagement would upset him. He is a Stareye, whether we like it or not…"

"And yet, I wasn't either invited to discuss this engagement…" Silgryn's eyes gleam heatedly, but for some reason he manages to contain himself, drawing a long sigh afterwards. "No matter, that's already in the past. And I'm sure you know such formal meetings bore me to death anyway,"

Mylenne squirms beside her father, and he lets her go without apparent thinking, clearly more aware of Silgryn than anyone else in the room. "Yet here you are. Makes me wonder why, given your reluctance…"

"For starters, I found your intercepted invitation. And yeah, that was pretty rude of you, Mylie," The elder Stareye shifts in his stance, unconsciously startling the warriors surrounding him, a couple of them even going for their swords yet stopping midway. "But in truth, it was pretty impolite to not have expected the true Lord of House Stareye to show up on such a tremendous event for our Household, isn't it?" His arms spread wide, a wicked grin plastered all over his face, pulling up a show pretty much like his usual demeanor, "Now, who should I talk to for annulling this nonsense right away?"

Through the corner of his eye, Illidan notices movement at the first floor once again, yet any sound that may come from either Hargo or a possible target of his is muffled by Lord Desdel's dark chuckle, reverberating across the hall. "Everything has to be so straightforward with you, isn't it, Silgryn?" Despite his snickering, the noble Lord doesn't sound amused in the slightest, taking a challenging step forward. "Have you forgotten you're not in any position to negotiate?"

Close to Illidan's hiding spot, Jarod surges forward and in attempts to grab Mylenne as another half dozen warriors make their appearance at Lord Stareye's casual signal. All doors leading to the Hall abruptly shut close with a loud thump—the Starweaves apparently elsewhere, much to Illidan's relief—clearly trapping the remaining presents. Adrenaline courses through Illidan's veins, heart pumping just as hard it's all he can hear for a moment.

Inwardly, he curses his stupidity, but most of all, he's briefly overcome with a sheer regret of agreeing to attend that blasted event. He should have left the room behind Mylenne, back at the bar when the group first discussed their course of action. He shouldn't have agreed so willingly on such insanity, should have listened to his friends and their insistence otherwise instead. He shouldn't have taken Mylenne and her lies to heart as he did for so long.

But his biggest mistake of them all was following his curiosity, more than a decade ago, and get to know her in the first place…

Before anyone can come up with a protest, two warriors standing at Silgryn's side draw their broadswords, crossing them before him, the noise of the blades clashing together more than ominous for Illidan's liking. "For your actions at Black Rook Hold, conspiring against your Household and consequently, your Great House, you have been deemed a traitor, a menace to the Court. An arrest warrant has already been placed on you." Lord Desdel declares, hands clasped on his back, and there's no need for Illidan to take a look at his face to notice how much he seems to be savoring the moment.

Apparently desperate, Mylenne shoves away a concerned Jarod, clinging to her father's robes with both hands. "No! Father, you promised—!"

"For the sake of my daughter, you can kneel before me and submit peacefully, and you may be spared," Lord Desdel continues over Mylenne's pleas, his evident pleasure with the situation somewhat faltering, brushing her off as politely as it can be. "Exile is always an option and one that, I dare say, suits you better than your head adorning my room. Besides, I'm sure our relatives at Then'Ralore will be glad to take you in…"

Silgryn, for the matter, doesn't look taken aback in the slightest, his face showing nothing at all, looking as if he'd expected that outcome to happen—knowing him, probably even hoping for it. "Aaw, that's actually very flattering of you," For a moment, Illidan finds it admiring he doesn't even seem intimidated by the number of soldiers pinning him, his insufferable grin still plastered all over his face. "However, and beforehand, know I am truly sorry, but I must refuse your offer,"

The unmistakable feeling of a pair of eyes set on him brings Illidan's attention to the first floor once again; a familiar figure partially shrouded in shadows, his glowing gaze what most stands out as he prepares to cast a spell. After a slight nod of mutual agreement, Illidan's hands begin glowing with magic as well, yet he's in a more difficult position to reach their target without hurting Jarod or Mylenne in the process—something he wouldn't mind as much given the special situation, although he's positive it'd bring more trouble than he's up to handle already.

"My only offer was to make this easier for both of us. You don't really have a say in the matter," Lord Desdel scoffs, apparently oblivious of what's about to come over him. "You're surrounded and there's nowhere you can go. So, what about just—"

Surprisingly so, Mylenne's the one hyper-aware of the menace looming over. "Watch out!" She cries, throwing herself at her father and shoving them away a mere moment before an arcane blast reaches their previous spot, cracking the tile floor with its force.

The hall room falls void of any noise for a time-stopping second, leaving the attendants to watch in shock as Lord Desdel and his daughter fall onto the floor unceremoniously, not a breath passing by.

… And then, there's chaos.

Silgryn, smart as he is, ends up being the first in seizing the moment, an artifact falling down one of his many pockets and encasing his surroundings in thick black smoke. Illidan finds it pointless to stay hidden for much longer, making a sprint for the stairs and a better vantage position, accidentally clashing onto a random soldier in the process. The Rooksguard chokes, then gasps after taking a peeking glance at him, most likely mistaking Illidan for the attacker.

"Intrud—agh!" He doesn't get to finish his cry for help as Illidan's survival instincts kick in and his elbow connects with his nose, throwing him off the stairs, disappearing into the sea of smoke below.

The elder Stareye reappears at the first floor in the same exact moment a horde of unknown people—Arluin's, without a doubt—come out of nowhere, launching themselves onto the thick smoke as apparently planned beforehand. Among all the chaos, Lord Desdel's roar resounds louder than the rest of the cries, "SEIZE HIM! NOW!"

Soon enough, it all comes down to a brawl so to see who's the last one standing, prompting Illidan to blindly attack every flash of crimson and black that may come near him. Quite effortlessly, he sends soldiers flying down with the strength of his blasts, yet keeps somewhat careful of Silgryn standing his ground not so far away, dodging the flurry of daggers the man insists on throwing to and fro in his recklessness.

Luckily so, Illidan's not out of targets in his reach, tackling a particularly tall warrior after he swings his sword at him, then disarming the next one who attempts to assist his fellow with a sharp flick of his wrist—deliberately taking some advantage and using the stunned man as a shield, a dagger piercing the warrior's shoulder when a split second before was Illidan's face.

"Watch it!" Illidan barks in protest, kicking his previous opponent's weapon before giving him the chance to recover, hoping for Silgryn to recognize him among the swarm of people.

For what it feels like an eternity later, a glance and sharp frown sent Illidan's way makes him know he does so, brushing some dark-violet strands off his sweaty forehead before fully taking in the situation around him, once he has a moment of respite. Illidan can't help with doing the same, breath slightly hitching at the sight of many wounded and fallen men all over the place, his anger somewhat bolstering as well.

The thick fog still leaves them unable to see what's happening below, although the constant grunts and cries and clash of blades are enough for anyone to figure it out. A soft sigh prompts Illidan's attention, staring at a then pale Silgryn; a dread realization dawning on his silver eyes, nearly shocked to the core.

Illidan can almost read his mind and, if angrily, agrees with Silgryn's sentiment. It clearly wasn't supposed to be like this, the goal never was to slain but to maim or incapacitate. Only one man was supposed to die that evening, not his troops, not Arluin's people—some of them even barely adult dorei, judging by their small figures and plain faces then lying on the cold tile, lifeless eyes printed with their last moments before their breath was taken away.

Rebel, determined, some of them almost proud… yet all sacrificing their lives for a cause that was never theirs.

"The gates… head to the main gates…" It's all Silgryn breathes, demoralized and crushed as he seems to be, gripping his blades harder in an apparent attempt to stop his hands from shaking. "Get your friends and run."

Both men share a hard look, but Illidan obliges nonetheless, making another sprint for the stairs—determined to not look back, or else he'd lose his resolve. Two warriors get on his way, but they're easily dealt with as he tackles the closest one; the second groaning and falling on his knees as a dagger from above pierces his forearm.

Right after reaching the main gates, however, Illidan's reflexes aren't too fast, scarcely dodging a broadsword coming from nowhere and swinging at him, his cheek earning a cut nonetheless. A soft groan escapes him as it begins to sting, scrambling for some purchase and facing his attacker, managing to parry another swirl of his blade barely with an armored bracelet. But when he's just about to kick his attacker and procure himself some distance to even the score, the warrior stays his hand and raises the other in the universal sign of asking for a pause—taking a hesitant step into the light, the more than baffled face of Jarod Shadowsong showing before him.

Jarod's head tilts to the side, jaw slightly dropping and a glint of recognition flashing across his silver eyes. However, the man doesn't get the chance to speak as, among the clash of blades and battle cries, a familiar voice cuts them all off.

Near the middle of the Main Hall, Lord Desdel trips and falls on one knee, although is far from defeated. "… You?" His growl reverberates across the room, sharp canines showing, "Of all scoundrels in this Empire, he had to send my daughter's petty man whore," Lord Desdel spits at Hargo's feet, clutching his massive sword harder and getting on his feet with practiced ease, almost in an elegant way. "No matter, though. I'll enjoy bringing your traitorous head to Duchess Astravar…"

Even when staring at his back, Hargo doesn't seem as affected by the thick smoke swirling around them, pointing the tip of his sharp blade at Lord Desdel's face. "Drop your blade and surrender, Milord, and no one else will come to harm," He warns, determined as ever.

But the boy gets a mocking snort in reply. "Well, now I am surprised. You really couldn't have thought you would be warming my daughter's bed for much longer. Or is it… oh!" A sort of realization dawns on Lord Stareye's face, adding a curious tilt of his head. "You have grown fond of your mistress? She certainly has some ways with the likes of you after all…"

The room gets a tad bit clearer and brighter as Illidan kicks the gates open, yet somehow not many people seem to care as much as the scene unfolding in the Hall. And admittedly so, however, as Lord Desdel's near insane laugh captures most of the attention.

"You think you love her? You think you know anything about love, lowborn?" The noble Lord mocks at Hargo, fixing him with a heated glare and seeming to study his opponent as he paces around, "Love is nothing but a weapon, meant to conceal our most dark desires." The tip of his massive blade grazes against the tile floor ominously, nearly craving for a battle. "It feeds at you from the inside out, leaving only rage and despair once it's got enough from you…"

A flash of dark-violet reveals the presence of Silgryn Stareye, his robes fluttering gracefully, "Very curious to hear that from such a devotee to our Goddess…" He snarls back, probably attempting to catch Lord Desdel's attention as he saunters across the Hall, cocky as ever.

Lord Stareye stops his pacing, a pleased smirk showing on his face. "Is it? Your adoring sister taught me that," Nobody but Illidan seems to acknowledge Mylenne standing her ground not so far away, knocking out one of Silgryn's envoys with a swift elbow to their nose. "And I must give it to her: From all of us, she was the best at it…"

The taunt appears to do its charm. "You won't speak ill of Aedriel anymore!" Silgryn roars, clutching his daggers and launching himself at the noble Lord in a moment's notice.

Overcome with a greater sense of danger, Illidan seizes the chaotic moment and heads the opposite way, swallowing down the twisted voice within him, all but shouting Coward, coward, COWARD!. His ears ring with a rekindled clash of swords and metal against metal, but he doesn't reach the first set of stairs before being abruptly stopped by Jarod Shadowsong, a silent plea crossing his silver eyes.

"I am only speaking the truth!" In an unconscious manner, both of them turn at Lord Desdel's enraged yell, finding his daughter fighting at his back with her bare hands. However, Lord Stareye seems to have a more suitable idea—swiftly grabbing Mylenne by the arm and pressing the flat of his sword on her chest. "… Don't I, my dear?"

Near the entire Hall falls frozen still at Lord Stareye's action, Illidan's heart missing a beat, not even the blowing wind from outside daring to make a single noise.

"Father, you can't—" Mylenne snarls, not appearing as afraid as she should be, only to prompt her father's sword to raise close to her face. "All I did was helping you! Let go of me!"

Quite a few of Silgryn's envoys are left standing, yet all of them reluctantly comply and slowly drop their weapons at the Rooksguards signal. Everyone but the most important among them, clutching his blades for dear life, knuckles going pale. "You really overdo yourself every single time…" Silgryn can't seem to help with pointing out, his voice somehow weak, "That is quite a way to honor your Duchess in her home,"

"And all this show you've made only to get to me, isn't that the same?" Lord Stareye scoffs, not appearing moved in the slightest. "Now, if I may take your… lackey's words: Drop your blade and surrender, and no one will come to harm,"

Begrudgingly so—but also to add to everyone's panic, Jarod and Illidan included—Silgryn throws his daggers at the noble Lord's feet, quickly and as if trying not to give it a second thought. "Nice to know you can still listen to some reason, Silgryn. It seems my dear daughter was right with giving you a little faith." Lord Desdel grins as if it's the best night of his life, an overjoyed look in his dull silver eyes. "Now, for everyone's sakes, kneel and put an end to this pathetic crusade of yours,"

A gauntleted hand pulling at Illidan's robes subtly calls for his attention. "I have an idea. You may not like it but it's all I can think of right now…" Jarod says low, barely mouthing the words, handling him a blade. A silent command crosses Jarod's eyes, glancing at the weapon he'd just given Illidan before returning to his face, the meaning more than evident.

"Oh, it'll rather be my pleasure…" Illidan rumbles, a smirk hinted with malice plastered over his helmeted face as he very willingly grabs Jarod by his shoulder, turning him harshly and pressing the blade over his throat—yet not hard enough to not let him send a choked cry for help.

That seems to be enough to turn the Stareye's attention on them, even Silgryn looking quite surprised to watch such outcome—just this once, not thought nor made by his own doing. Illidan doesn't give either of them a chance to reconsider their actions, shielding himself with Jarod and walking backwards to the nearest exit.

"Arane… Jarod!" Without seeming to give it a second to ponder about, the last they both get to see is Silgryn instantly turning on his heels, chasing Illidan and his fake captive as they slip off the Estate.

Reaching a shadowed corner and with no witnesses about, Illidan finally lets Jarod go, if with some reluctance. As pleasing as it'd felt to have the boy writhing under his grasp, he's aware it's of no good to hold on that deep desire of choking him to death for the current moment—after all, he may have another chance to do so in the future, but as of then, there are worst threats to care about.

Catching his breath and rubbing his sore windpipe, Jarod glances his way. "You think he bought it?" He doesn't wait for a reply either way, peeking through the corner as the sound of footsteps reaches their ears, what seems like a fair bunch of Rooksguards coming their way. "I really hope he knows what he's doing, though. Now hide!"

Not really sure of who he's talking about, Illidan doesn't have the chance to ask, obliging and sticking his back to the wall instead. Turns out it's Silgryn himself who shows first, running to Jarod at first sight of his recognizable silver mane; only to grunt in surprise when the boy grabs him by the front of his robes—with a strength Illidan hasn't ever seen in him—and pushes Silgryn against the wall, next to Illidan.

"I'll cover you two, but you…" Jarod's perky nose nearly rubs Silgryn's as he leans close to his face, a threatening look crossing his eyes, "You've done enough for an Embrace. Now get out of here in this instant or I swear I'll kill you myself."

Silgryn shoves him off with an offended flick of his wrist; the two of them going into a fierce staring match for a full minute, cutting it off just once the noise of more guards seem to come closer to their location. Appearing not to have hard feelings for Illidan—but quite sure he's aware it's not likewise either—Jarod gives him a curt nod before turning on his tracks and storming out their hiding corner, recalling the attention of, most likely so, his subordinates.

For the matter, Silgryn's confident façade drops the second after he and Illidan are left alone, going pale and near traumatized once again. "Oh, Drie, I think I fucked it up real bad this time," Silgryn sighs heavily, sparing himself a moment of respite, eyes drooping closed. "I couldn't have known she'd do that, Illidan. I couldn't…"

As Jarod effectively sends the Rooksguards inside, Silgryn gives Illidan a pleading gaze, leaving him more than concerned at his so unlikely attitude. Don't pity him! The voice of Illidan's conscience protests, crawling their way into his mind, This is the same man who always took you for granted. He deserves this more than most!

His cobalt brows knit into a frown, pondering the situation. Indeed, this is but the mere result of Silgryn's arrogance, and Illidan wouldn't question that, yet it's not fair that everyone should pay for his mistakes.

A long moment goes by before Illidan makes up his mind, taking a deep breath, more than aware how likely it is to regret it. "My saber should be next to the Astravar's cart. Take him and meet me when we previously agreed on," Illidan's jaw clenches, but forces himself to continue, "I'll fetch who I can, but nothing more… and then I'm done with you Stareyes."

Silgryn's lilac lips purse, but ends up nodding in admission, if near miserably. "So be it."

Without further ado, Illidan pivots on his heels, keeping a tight grip on the blade he's been given and turning on his own tracks, noticing how the Rooksguard hasn't spared a moment and already resumed their onslaught against the intruders at the Estate. Hargo appears to be at the head of the assault, giving Lord Stareye and whoever may come near him a little piece of their own hell; swinging his daggers to and fro and just as fast it becomes a blur of silver and purplish-blue to the eye. If to give most of his unarmed fellows some time to scatter away or just out of spite, Illidan may never know nor mind at the current moment.

The place is just as messy as how he'd left it minutes ago, fallen warriors and rogues sprawled all over the Main Hall, and it's a wonder how no other enforcers have yet arrived to take control of the chaotic scene unfolded under Duchess Lunastre's roof. However, it's not like it'd have improved Illidan's situation, forced to elbow, kick and even stab his way inside.

After finding his target and scrambling his way to them, Illidan nearly staggers as he's left to watch firsthand how Hargo's resilience begins faltering and Lord Desdel brings a mortal blow of his sword downwards, slicing Hargo's calf—the howl of pain that comes afterwards, almost feeling it as his own. A greater sense of urgency kicks in, a roar rumbling from the bottom of Illidan's throat, magic surging off his body, knocking down everyone on his path as if mere flies.

The rest comes as a blur and Illidan has no idea how he manages to do it, yet he couldn't care less as, in the next second, he finds himself behind a stunned Mylenne, grabbing her firmly from behind. "Don't—Lid, please!" She begs desperately, trying to close the distance between them and Hargo with an outstretching hand. "I must help him! PLEASE!"

Hargo falls to his knees unceremoniously and Mylenne writhes frantically, nails digging into the back of his hand, prompting Illidan to summon all his resolve and not let her go. A pair of golden eyes meets the two of them and, for the briefest of moments, Illidan waits for his familiar voice to slide into his mind—a sudden rant, a thank you, his last words, anything he's willing to give.

But all they get is a weak smile in return.

"No, no… HARGO!"

Mylenne's strength is no match to Illidan as he pulls her close to his chest, time slowing its motion before his glowing eyes, heart pounding wildly. The last thing he sees past Mylenne's disgruntled hair and wailing cries is the final swing of her father's massive broadsword and Hargo's eyes drooping close, blade piercing through flesh and bone.

His spell cracks the air and floor with its force and as they vanish into the nether. Next is the all too brief peace of nothingness and Mylenne's howling scream, rippling through the void, inevitably splitting Illidan's heart in two.


A-N: I AM SO SORRY!
This took longer than expected due to the passing of my beloved cat, Kael'thas, who was like a son to me - and here I still am with a character death, I'm the worst person ever - and some art commissions I got along the way.

And with this concludes the first half of this book! As much as it pains me to post this part, I'll admit I can't be any more relieved I got this far. Expect these guys to be breaking all kinds of havoc from now on :D
As usual, thank you so much for those still sticking with these dorks, and for the new ones, welcome to Mylidan hell! Starsurge is turning 2 years very soon and I can't be any happier to have you hopping into this mess of a 'verse. All my love goes to you *hearts*