Hmm…
-Statyck
/*\
Veralia had all her things packed.
She couldn't believe that she'd managed to pull it all off in less than a week. She just couldn't take it anymore. She'd taken down the mirrors first, because she knew that she'd hate what she saw when she looked in them. She had to look positively awful. She hadn't slept at all in that time. She's finally sprung on a room at the inn when she couldn't take it anymore, only to have to travel the twenty kilometers back home to continue her packing. Her friend in the tavern had seemed concerned.
"Where is your orc friend?" Dahlia asked, her head tilting ever so slightly. Veralia had just left the room, the plain bed and its little bookcase entirely immaculate and as she found it. The bar had been dark, and because it was morning she was entirely alone with her friend.
"He's not here." Veralia said, shoveling rations into the small pack she'd brought with her. "I just needed a place to stay for the night. I have most of my stuff in boxes and realized I accidentally packed up all my bedding. I couldn't find which crate I'd stuffed it all in." She lied smoothly, faking an embarrassed smile.
It was clear that Dahlia didn't believe her. She wasn't one who took kindly to lies either, but Veralia couldn't afford to tell the truth. Redoran had been a difficult man in many ways. If he found out that she had told someone of his return, she had no idea what he would do. Three years ago, he'd have never presumed to enter her house uninvited. He'd have never rifled through her things and then left threatening letters. Though he'd been on that path, he hadn't been completely maddened by the void.
As far as she was concerned, telling Dahlia would be nothing short of killing her. She couldn't afford to hope for the best. Redoran had, it seemed, gone insane. There was no telling what he'd do if she tried to acquire allies. That was fine. She hadn't needed allies the first time around.
Her return home was not momentous in any shape of the word. The place was completely disorganized. She was, for a moment, glad there was only one room on the second level. She sighed. She'd rented a small wagon from the city to help her move into her new house. She'd gotten lucky. She'd managed to get a significantly bigger place in Silvermoon, and to make it better she'd found someone to rent out this house to.
As she decided what order to do the rooms in, she thought about her new tenants. There had been a young couple from the city looking for a decent honeymoon retreat. Apparently, their plan to go to Kalimdor for a year had fallen through. She didn't know the details, but they needed a new spot. They had been especially intrigued by the notion of being completely alone in the country. She wasn't especially worried that Redoran would go after them. Once he realized she'd vacated the space, he'd completely lose interest and pursue her elsewhere. She didn't think he'd go after them. At the very least, that's what she hoped for.
They were set to arrive tomorrow, and as Veralia glared at the sea of boxes in the tiny little house, she couldn't help but grumble to herself. She downed a mana potion and levitated as many as she could into the cart. It didn't take long, but she was entirely spent. She could feel the soreness in her muscles as the mana drained from her body. She could feel herself growing short of breath, the walls almost seeming to close in around her as she collapsed to the floor exhausted. She almost felt dizzy.
This would be a perfect time for Redoran to attack, but it was the middle of the day. Though the trees cast many shadows around the small courtyard, they weren't big enough for a newly transformed void elf to hide in. With any luck, she'd be entirely moved out by the time they grew. But then, since that night she hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. It was like he'd simply vanished. Maybe it really had been a prank. Maybe he was finished, but those letters. They had been nothing short of volatile. She sat up and glared at the cart. Now she had to get behind the reigns and drive all the way back to Silvermoon, only to unload all her crap and cycle back to the house. She appraised the number of boxes left.
She wasn't sure she could make three more round trips before dark, but damn it she needed out. Besides, the new house in Silvermoon was rather nice. She had been wanting a bigger bed for a while.
/*\
Dar'thul wasn't sure if it had worked. Thrakka had been quiet for the last four days. In fact, she'd slept for almost an entire day, at twenty hours. When she'd woken, she said she felt well-rested and assured him that no nightmares had plagued her. Yet still there was a troubled guise to her face, dark circles beneath her eyes.
But then, he thought, she might just need time to recover.
Thrakka's behavior was less troubling. She was hanging around less, going off to do her own thing. After he performed the spell with the crystal, it was like a switch had flipped. It was something of a relief. He was glad to see the change. She was taking better care of herself in the last few days than she had in the past two months. She had started putting effort into her appearance again. She had returned to filing the points on her tusks to perfect sharpness, even interchanging the rings on them to match her outfits. She had polished an old set of armor she hadn't touched in almost a month. Instead of balling it up into a ratty braid, she had started to brush her long brown hair again. She had even asked Dar'thul's help with that. She'd been worried she'd ruined it beyond repair. Her dark skin had regained some luster, and her stress had dropped significantly. It made Dar'thul feel better to see that she was returning to normal.
Yet that left him with another problem. Though Thrakka was free of the nightmares, that didn't solve everything. She had made the strangest request of him.
He had been standing in her house shortly after he helped her fix her hair. She had returned to wearing the colorful robes she favored, a vibrant shade of blue. She'd exchanged her gold tusk rings for silver ones and had set silver clips in her hair. It was very nice to see her look normal again.
"Brother," her voice had been soft, "I cannot tell you the details of my vision, but I would like to ask that you stay in town for the next several days." She said. "It would give me peace of mind."
"Of course," he said, "I will stay for as much of that time as I am able. It's possible that I could get called back to Uldum or Pandaria soon, but I want to make sure you're alright."
She had given him a satisfied smile and retreated into her home. She had a small scrying fountain in the corner that made an unrelenting amount of noise, and he realized the extent of the promise he just made. He could feel the change in the air, the shift that seemed to make him almost dizzy. He swore he could almost see a spark in that fountain, and his eyes widened in realization. Thrakka had every intention of holding him to his promise. Her magic could hold him all the way up until he got sent back out into war, and unless Veralia decided to pay a visit, he wasn't going to see her again. Not until Thrakka saw fit to release her spell.
He'd managed to fix Thrakka's problem, but there was still something going on with the elf. If he got sent back away to fight before his promise to Thrakka ended, he wasn't going to see Veralia again for a good long while. Her carelessness the other night had been distressing. If it persisted, she would get hurt. Even in Silvermoon where virtually all the elves had fed on the fel to stay alive, there were still people who did not like the warlocks.
It would be far too easy for someone to get her if she remained in that distracted state, and he couldn't let that happen. Yet now that he had made that promise to Thrakka, he was bound to Razor Hill for the next several days at least. The magic wouldn't allow him to leave. As he returned to his home and settled down on the bearskin rug in front of his fire, he wondered at what to do.
Maybe he could send a friend to check up on her?
/*\
Thrakka was pleased with her progress. Dar'thul had agreed to her request much easier than she had anticipated. Though he had long since left, she still found herself mulling over it.
She sat in the plush chair in front of her fire, the smoke wafting softly through the little chimney. Her brother liked to tease her for enjoying soft things. Plush furs, elven silks, and the enchanted wool blanket she now pulled over her lap. Though the desert was relentlessly hot during the day, it got so very cold at night. She enjoyed her comfort items.
Thrakka had gotten some news. Though the horrific visions had ceased for the time being, she was still concerned. Her nightmares were still viscerally imprinted in her mind. When she looked at Dar'thul now she no longer saw her kind, strong, and arrogant brother. She saw a man who had her friends' blood on his hands, his chest, his tusks. She supposed the paranoia might fade with time, the further away the visions got from the present. All the same, she still felt it best to maintain distance between them.
It was fortuitous then, that she'd gotten this letter. As she bundled herself up and plucked the parchment from the small table beside her, she looked over it once more just to be sure. Indeed, Kivona was returning home. Kivona had something of a difficult history with the Shatterdark family. She had been smitten with Dar'thul for a while, and for a while Dar'thul had been interested in her. All that had ended when the war broke out in Draenor, when they both had to go to fight the draenei at opposite ends of the continent. They simply grew apart. Technically, it hadn't ended badly between them and Thrakka knew that Kivona was still unmated.
It was right then that a brief splash of color caught her eye. A red embroidered signature on her blanket. It had been sewn with the utmost care. The magic emanating from it was warm, comforting, and kind. If Thrakka's plan worked, Veralia would be entirely heartbroken. It wasn't her wish to cause the elf pain, but it also wasn't her wish to watch Veralia die. A broken heart was better than a broken spine. A broken heart could heal, could love again. If the forsaken were to be believed, a corpse could do neither of those things.
Veralia was so fragile, both physically and emotionally. This would wreck her. While Dar'thul rekindled his lost love, Thrakka would have to retreat behind the scenes to pick up the pieces. It had taken Veralia almost a year to let Dar'thul court her. Though it had been months she was still leery of letting him into her house. Even Thrakka was sometimes not allowed in. She had such immense trust issues, likely borne of her profession, and Thrakka knew that this would only make it worse. Veralia might not court again for a very long time after this betrayal, when Thrakka had turned grey at the earliest. Elves were awfully long-lived after all. Thrakka clutched the blanket just a bit closer, the ever-present scent of wildflowers emanating off the enchanted cloth.
Forgive me Veralia, she thought, I promise it's for your own good. I'll help you find someone else; I won't let you be alone. I'm sorry you ever met Dar'thul.
/*\
Veralia flopped down onto her new bed. She had made amazing time. It had still been daylight by the time she'd finished moving all her things over. She'd done it all in one day, before the dusk would allow her stalker to see where she was going. Though she still had immense amounts of unpacking to do, she felt just that much safer. The relief was such that she was able to muster the energy to leave and get herself the new bed she wanted; a full two sizes bigger. It had been nothing to translocate it, and now all she had to do was put on the new covers.
This new house was nice. The bedroom was three times the size of that of her little house out in the country. She had so much more room for her books. She would need to purchase more shelves, but she wouldn't have to store any of them in crates any longer. The walls gave way to large windows, the red curtains wafting in the evening breeze. The house was on the upper level of the city, so the moon and stars glittered through, appearing so much closer than they really were.
She had space for all her interesting trinkets and knick-knacks. The living space was large enough to have both rugs and tables. She might even be able to fit in a harp. There was space in her kitchen for more elaborate cooking. Her bathroom had an enormous tub, much better than the tiny little bucket of a thing in her old home.
There were plenty of silver linings to be had in this new arrangement. That was what she told herself as she placed the final touches on her bed, flattening out the sheets and arranging the pillows, she remembered at the last second. Though she didn't think Redoran knew where she was, she still wanted the imps to keep watch. Just to be sure.
The noise by the road wasn't as bad as she'd feared it would be. That said it was growing dark and all the citizens were returning home. Soon enough, there would be no one on the streets. Just her, the windows, and the moon.
As she settled down to sleep, Veralia glared at the box on the night table. She hadn't wanted to take the risk that Redoran could be tracking her through the letters with void magic. She also couldn't just leave them in the old house either. If something happened, she needed evidence. She wasn't sure how well the charm on the box would hold up, but she hoped. She needed to know they were there, just to be sure she wasn't driving herself crazy.
Still she couldn't rest. She lay there beneath the covers wide awake. She'd thought that all the physical work of moving her entire household would have tired her enough to get some rest, but that didn't seem to be the case. As the moonlight shone in her through the window, her mind raced. Though she was physically comfortable in the cushion of her mattress, she couldn't seem to find a decent position. These last few days had been terrifying.
She wished that Dar'thul was with her. There had been a small handful of nights when he'd stayed with her. When he'd let her snuggle into his side and kiss her to sleep. She always woke in the morning feeling warm and entirely too comfortable. Those were the mornings that she didn't want the sun to come up or hear the birds sing. She just wanted the night to last forever, so she could sleep in what she knew to be absolute safety.
Now she was cold. No matter how far she pulled the covers up, she was cold. No matter how many times she got up to get another blanket, she felt frozen. No matter how much she tried to escape the light of the moon by burying herself beneath cloth and fur, all she felt was weight. No warmth.
She squeezed her eyes shut, commanding rest to come. The imps stood guard at each window. Nothing was working. Her mind drifted, and though Redoran haunted the back of her mind a pleasant memory suddenly came to the forefront.
She had known Dar'thul for about a week.
She liked him well enough. He seemed nice, and Thrakka was her friend. If her brother was even half as honorable as she was, then Veralia figured they'd get along just fine. It helped that he wasn't exactly ugly. Each time she saw him, he smiled at her. It made for a very nice feeling.
Finally, after that one week had ended, he had asked if he could accompany her on an outing. Just the two of them. She had smiled for him but politely refused. She remembered that her heart had not completely healed from Redoran's betrayal just yet, but that wasn't something she was willing to explain to someone she'd only known for seven days.
Fel, it wasn't something she'd even explained to Thrakka and they'd survived Northrend together.
He had taken the rejection well, but still he persisted. Once each month she could expect him to pay her a visit at her house and try again, all the way up until the war returned. Those visits had become so consistent, so reliable, that she'd come to look forward to them. She wasn't sure when exactly it was that she could think about love again without Redoran coming to mind, but it was sometime around the final three visits Dar'thul paid her. She knew that much, and ever since their first outing together she could feel her affection for him grow more each time she saw him.
It was with this train of thought that Veralia drifted off.
/*\
Dar'thul considered his predicament carefully. He knew that if he told Thrakka why he wanted to break his promise, she most certainly would not acquiesce. If anything, she'd watch him even more closely, and that was the last thing he wanted. It also didn't help that he wasn't sure if his other friends in Razor Hill could be trusted. They had been rather vocal about their opinions on his relationship with Veralia. He knew that almost all of his friends heavily questioned his romantic decisions as of late, and it certainly wouldn't help for them to see Veralia as even weaker than they already perceived her.
But then there was one person he could send word to. He loathed to contact Tarellis for any reason. Was it worth the trouble?
Veralia was so distracted that she couldn't even steer Dar'thul, he said to himself, and she'd only had a few sips of wine. She can be spacey but not to such an extent.
Even Kro'gash had noticed. The wolf had whined for just a moment, concerned for his master's friend it seemed. Dar'thul had agreed. Her distraction had almost led to a nasty accident the other night. The bird had squawked in alarm as it stepped forward and off the side of the road. Had Dar'thul been any slower in his intervention, Veralia would have taken a tumble down the side of the small hill. She had been staring straight ahead.
Yes. Dealing with Tarellis would be worth it. Infuriating, but worth it. He grumbled as he sat down in his bedroom, pulling parchment from the small cabinet next to his bed. He had to fight with the drawer for a moment. It was an old, rickety cabinet. In fact, everything in his bedroom was. Thrakka had told him on more than one occasion that his garbage bed frame was likely the reason his back hurt so much every morning.
It was a menial issue.
He chose his words carefully. He knew that Tarellis Suntrail didn't have much love for orcs, Dar'thul particularly. The orc couldn't say he liked the elf either, but he'd bet anything that Tarellis would be more than happy to check up on Veralia. He might not give Dar'thul updates, but he'd feel better knowing that someone – even that piece of kodo shit – was checking in on her. For some reason, he didn't think Thrakka herself would be up to the task.
As he finished up the letter and sealed it into an envelope Dar'thul sighed. He leaned back in his chair as his quill dripped ink onto the rickety desk that barely fit into the corner across from his bed. He glared out the window, watching the moon rise higher and higher into the sky. He wondered what Veralia was doing right then. Sleeping, he hoped. She clearly wasn't in a good enough state of mind to be doing any research.
With that thought in his head, he left the house. Virtually no one was out on the streets that night, but the magic mailboxes were accessible at all hours of the day. It took him approximately ten minutes to get the letter delivered, and at least half of that time was spent glaring at the envelope and questioning if he really wanted to send it.
Tarellis was going to love this, and that made him hate it even more.
As he stomped back towards his house, he spied a familiar face. Zelani looked drunk. At the very least she seemed to be stumbling through the street and grasping at nothing with her three-fingered hand. Her blue skin looked ashen in the moonlight, and her hair was a mess. She looked like she'd been in a fight. There was a nasty gash in her cheek, and she was moaning in what he presumed to be pain.
Immediately Dar'thul went to help. He got the woman to her feet, and he could feel concern muddling his brow. What the fel had happened to her? As soon as he touched her, her glare shot up at him. She looked ready to throw her fist when she realized it was him. She smiled.
"Oh Dar'thul!" she slurred ever so slightly, "What brings ya out here ta'night?"
"I was just putting something in the mailbox," he said, "What happened to you? Did you get into a fight?"
"Oh, it was jus' a tussle with an old flame. Xaliri needs to learn her place!" she growled. Her gaze grew more focused. "Ya know, speaking of old flames, I heard an orc lady named Kivona was coming to town. I feel like you mentioned that name before."
Dar'thul's heart stopped. Judging by Zelani's smug and delighted face, she knew it too. Immediately she demanded Dar'thul start talking. She wanted to know all about Kivona. She asked what Kivona looked like, what clan she was from, what color her hair was. Finally, as Dar'thul got the drunken troll to her house and banged on the door for her sister to come retrieve her, she asked the question that would have gotten anyone else beaten to a pulp.
"Why did you deem her unworthy?"
Dar'thul had to remind himself that Zelani was drunk multiple times. It helped that her sister was timely in answering the door. Dar'thul had mentally checked out by that point. He wasn't interested in Zelani's uncontrollable giggling or her sister's adamant apologies. He could hear the scathing tone in Timara's voice as she scolded Zelani, but he didn't hear the words themselves.
Kivona wasn't unworthy. Never had been, never would be. Yet the simple fact of the matter was that he wasn't sure he wanted to see her. He wasn't prepared. There had been too much left unsaid between them, and now that he had moved on, he wasn't sure it should come back to light.
Perhaps she had someone too? He hoped so, and he hoped that she was coming back solely to visit Thrakka. He had nothing to say to her, and he figured it was the same on her part. A thought struck him. Maybe it was a good thing that she was visiting. She was one of Thrakka's few friends. Since an unforeseen visitor would be arriving, that might give him some leeway to break the magic she'd cast on his promise. After all, he'd made it under the impression that Thrakka would have no one to help her should the nightmares come back. Zelani was nice, but she wasn't exactly reliable. For all her faults, Kivona was loyal to those she cared about.
He could be assured of Thrakka's well-being in his absence. Suddenly, he found himself feeling good about this whole thing. It would be the perfect excuse to leave. Then he found himself swearing as he realized something else.
If only he'd known sooner. He wouldn't have sent that letter to Tarellis.
/*\
A strange man wandered the countryside.
He had long since become something else, something not of the world he'd been born into. He was a being of darkness, of the void. No longer did he get to be a part of the light.
He stared at the little house in the field with no small amount of frustration. He'd gone to check in on her, to see just how much his communications had affected her. He'd gone in only to find the place empty.
Empty. Just the night before everything had looked normal. She'd never been a tidy person in all the time he'd known her, and that was a trait that hadn't changed. There were books stacked in small piles on the floor. Her desk was drowned in paper, miscellaneous notes that didn't go together. Her clothes were often stuffed into drawers rather than folded neatly. Then always, always there was at least one imp she had sorting through the mess because she simply didn't want to deal with it herself.
Now all those things had simply vanished. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to punch a hole through the wall. He couldn't leave that kind of physical mark on the house. Though she was gone, there would undeniably be another showing up soon. If there was even the slightest fault in the house, then whatever new tenant she'd picked up would grow disinterested. He'd have to go through the trouble of finding her again, and the time that would take would be enough for her to bolster her defenses. He couldn't let that happen. He had to get her our of Quel'thalas.
His fingers nervously plucked at the chain around his neck. She had looked exactly as he remembered. Her hair had grown longer, and she had learned a few new tricks, but she was still very much herself. He let his eyes glance down at the ring he wore around his neck. It hadn't been the fanciest, but it had suited her quite well.
She'd never been a fan of diamonds, but she had always enjoyed gems. Specifically, green gems. He'd had to order the emerald from a jeweler in Stormwind, an especially difficult task as his people had joined the Horde by that point. He'd had to call in multiple favors, favors he could no longer use and had infinitely more need for now. He thought he'd been done. He'd thought that he would spend his youth happily, adventure through the world with his wife as they fought monsters together.
He stared into the marquise, the sadness welling up in his heart yet again. He still didn't understand the ending of it all. He hadn't understood her rage, her abhorrence, her complete and utter hypocrisy. He didn't understand why she'd thrown the ring back in his face. He'd thought about leaving it there with the dress and the book, but he was too scared of what she'd do to it. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if she threw it away.
He let the ring drop back under his tunic, safe against his skin. He glared around at the empty rooms, looking for anything she might have missed. Anything he might be able to use to track her. As always, she had been meticulous. He couldn't find a misplaced trinket or even a small piece of jewelry. It seemed that even the dust had been vanquished from the floor, the walls, the counters. There was absolutely no trace of her left in this house, and so it was worthless to him.
Thus, his current predicament.
He let his gaze flicker to the road, where even now a drunken couple stumbled along. They seemed to be having a nice time, the two women were fawning over each other. He watched for a moment, catching a glimpse of the insignias on their tunics. A pair of Silvermoon guards, wandering around after their shifts had ended. That was when a thought struck him.
It was unlikely that she'd have been allowed in any of the other major cities given her work. In addition, there was no way she would ever leave Quel'thalas. She loved her home country too much to go elsewhere. She had clearly decided she was unsafe in the more rural towns and so that left her with only one place to go.
He knew that getting into the city wasn't a possibility, not right now. He'd have to plan it meticulously. He'd need to figure out the routes the guards took, the blind spots where he'd be able to sneak in. Ever since the sacking of Silvermoon at Arthas's hands, the blood elves had very finely tuned the way their surveillance worked.
As the women made their way further into the wilderness found himself walking the opposite direction. It would be a challenge to get into the city, but he could do it. And when he did, he'd find her again.
/*\
I'm having fun with this.
-Statyck