By the scowling look on her face alone, any naga could sense that Lady Vesh'ari was not in a charitable mood. As she strode down the cavern's long, winding pathway by herself, her mind could only focus on that fight she now regretted seeing in the arena. It was embarrassing enough that her younger brother had come to a draw to a damnable night elf, but to be bludgeoned into unconsciousness with his own weapon? 'Utterly disgraceful' were the only two words that came to her ever-scheming mind with that.
The Depthweaver tribe she led was a clan of hardy pit fighters and powerful spellcasters, and was but one of many held in thrall to the sea witch and tidemistress Athissa of the Hatecoil, who in turn was a prized servant to Azshara, queen of all naga. When she finally arrived at her brother's chamber and slipped into the spacious room after pushing back the concealing curtain of kelp, she found a pair of naga handmaidens were tending to his bulky shape over his bed of smooth stone and soft objects taken from the sea; mending his ailment with their water-based magics focused over his head.
Upon noticing their lady's presence, the two ceased their activity and looked to her. "Leave us," she spoke to them in an emotionless voice, raising one of her lower hands and pointing to the entryway. Heeding her without even so much as a hint of dissent, the two maidens respectfully bowed to their mistress and quietly left the room, slithering past the slightly taller Vesh'ari and through the seaweed drapes. One they were gone, Vesh'ari cast a baleful glare at her brother, who was now sitting up from his bed, revealing the large and darkened welt he bore over the leftmost part of his crown.
"That was a shameful display you performed today, Se'jash," she snapped at him. "You are lucky that I have decided not to exile you for your disappointment."
"And a sincere hello to you as well, dear Sister," Se'jash sneered back with a small chuckle, fully leaving his bedding with an overly happy look painted over his predatory face. Vesh'ari couldn't help but raise a brow at how he responded.
"And why do you look so euphoric, Brother?" she asked, sounding quite offset by his cheerfulness and truly wondering if that blow to his head had driven him mad.
He flashed another grin of sharpened teeth at his older sibling. "Because, dear sister, I have finally found one opponent worthy of my gaze," he told her. "To submit to one's bloodlust in their last waking, agonizing moments of awareness and alertness. To take up one's enemy's own arms and use them against them to marvelous efficiency! To best me fairly!"
Vesh'ari lowered her brow and tapped her webbed fingers across her staff's grip. "You were humiliated by a night elf, and you find this to be a... good thing?"
"Yes," he hissed, his tone lowering into one of dull seriousness as he slithered to a corner of the room that held his true, dark-colored armor attached to the jagged wall. "She is a foe worthy of defeating. No one else has come even close to besting me in that pit in all these years. You should know that best."
"And I do. You gave up wearing your battle armor and usage of a decent weapon in the arena long ago for that trivial reason," Vesh'ari grunted, tapping her staff to the ground and leaning on it slightly.
"But that elf has become the one to surpass all others in sheer prowess. And judging from the gossip those handmaidens whispered over my aware ears, she lives to fight me again. Oh, what luck!"
"You do not wish for her immediate death?" the lady of the Dephthweaver asked the lord.
"No. Let her live. Let her heal. Let her regain her strength, so that I may face her properly."
Lady Vesh'ari looked shocked at first by what he had spoken, but then again, this was how she always knew her brother for acting. His stubbornness and lust for an opponent worthy of his time in the gladiatorial arena was practically legendary among the tribe. "You may have a love for battle, but by Azshara, your bullheadedness will lead to your death one day, Brother," she muttered. "And when that day shall inevitably come, do not expect me to grieve for your passing."
Se'jash laughed aloud at his sister's scorn, as he began to head for the opening of his room, picking up his true, trusty trident on the way out. "I will not expect it then, nor will I beg for it, my Lady."
As he was about to depart, Vesh'ari quickly noticed and once more thumped the butt of her staff to the ground in annoyance at his actions. "Where are you off to now?"
"To check over the elf. To see if she is faring well," he responded, continuing on his path unhindered. "I wish to face her again as soon as possible. If that is to pass, leaving her in the care of the myrmidons is... most inopportune."
Vesh'ari could care less for the hated night elf's health, but in the end, after humoring Se'jash's wish and giving it some thought, she let out a sigh and lowered her head in defeat over her sibling's demands. "Very well. You may tend to her needs," she said with a flick of one of her wrists. "But the moment she seems fit for battle, you must fight her to the death, and not a moment sooner."
"And that is where our interests intertwine," Se'jash smirked as he left.
Caelwen awoke with a start as she sat up from the damp and cold, smooth-rock ground, gasping. Clasping her side in pain with both hands, a fiery agony ripped through her entire body, and once she had gotten as used to the pain as she could manage many minutes later, she looked around and saw she was in a prisoner's cage, not unlike the last one she had been trapped in. But this time she was alone, and the coral bars were of a much thicker and dense variety.
Looking herself over, much of her armor had been removed from her body, save for the more basic clothing needs, and an array of bandages that wrapped around from her chest to her side. Where they rested over her wound was the part that was stained red with her dried blood. She could still feel the barbed tip of the old trident as it cut through her, and it made her wince slightly in painful memory.
Crawling to the only place she could really see out of, which to say was the door, she looked out through the bone-carved bars that made it up. Banner-like fetishes, adorned with various pieces of sea life and brightly-colored cloth with strange symbols on them were stuck on either side of the front of her prison's entrance like a pair of flags denominating something important, which Caelwen immediately drew to the conclusion was her, for whatever reason.
Her mind felt blurry and distorted surrounding the last moments of being conscious. She tried to think back to it, but all her mind came up with was a flash of red. She was so caught up with trying to remember what exactly had transpired and why she wasn't dead, that she only realized a bulky figure had approached her cell after the sound of the door creaking open with a cracking noise went out. The large form of a male naga came inside, stretched a clawed hand out, and carefully placed something in front of the elf before retreating and locking the door behind himself. Her focus taken off of her thoughts, Caelwen looked to what it was.
It was a plate made from the shell of a large mollusk of some sort. Upon it were some clams that had been steamed, given the warmth and smell surrounding them. There was also an abalone that was served raw, some fish that had been cooked, albeit rather poorly, and fresh water sitting inside of a cup that had been carved out of a bone-white coral. After taking a long sip from the drink to quench her thirst and then picking one of the clams up, Caelwen pulled it open with her dirty fingers and took a small bite of the fleshy meat resting inside. It tasted salty and was very chewy, but other than that it didn't have any taste at all, much to her ire.
As she placed it back down, a deep, masculine voice spoke up from the cell's door. "That was a good fight out there," it said. Looking up, she could see the naga that had presented the meal was looking down at her with one of his ruby-red eyes from the other side of the closed entryway; a large trident of impressive making and detailed design clutched in one of his hands. "One of the best in a great many seasons."
"You saw it?" Caelwen decided to ask, against her better judgement when it came to starting conversation with an accursed naga. Her lips curled into a frown. "I would not be surprised. There appeared to be a whole clan of your kind out there."
"'Saw' is not the choice of words I would personally use..." the naga enigmatically mumbled, turning his full head to her for the elf to see. When Caelwen used the chance to look him over, she saw him subtly motioning to the upper left side of his skull, which had a dark purple bruise covering it. Through the blurriness of her memories, the elf suddenly remembered striking that naga in her last waking moments of alertness, before darkness overcame her addled sight.
"It's you... isn't it?" she inquired. He nodded back, allowing his facial tendrils to sway with his green head.
"Yes. I am the one who wounded you, and in turn was struck down. The blow I received was mighty enough to knock me unconscious. Surprising, considering your kind's lack of physical strength."
Her visage turned to once of annoyance. "Mind telling me why you've decided to give me such repugnant food?"
"We naga have not had to cook our meals for eons," he explained. "It is an adaptation we have gained from the Old Gods themselves, so we do not have as much experience with 'cooking'. A thousand pardons for the inconvenience."
Caelwen noted the sarcasm in his last sentence with a hint of disdain, and replied in kind. "Oh it's nothing, really. I've had worse..."
"Come now," the creature said in a spirited way. "One so low as yourself should not address a lord in such an impolite tone." These words alone provoked a feeling of both surprise and curiosity within the elf.
"A Lord, eh?" she inquired, shifting herself closer to the bars of the cell in an intrigued manner. "You certainly didn't dress like one in the arena."
"I prefer to give my prey a sporting chance to defeat me, but what you have set in motion provides an excellent opportunity," the naga proudly replied. "I wish to face you again, as we did earlier, but I want our confrontation to be much more fair and grand. I want to face you with both of us in much more proper equipment than what had been used today."
"Another fight? Between just the two of us?" Caelwen spoke, her fingers raking their nails across the coarse ground. "As flattered as I am, I do not see the reasoning in that. I was trained at a young age to use certain weapons. If something like you wishes for a fair fight, then you'll have to accommodate those needs."
"Do not fret your weary mind over matters such as that. When the Stormscale tribe that I have heard captured you in the first place traded you to us, they handed over your weapons and full armor set as well. When the time comes where you are as fit to fight as I am, you shall be given them. I want a fight that gives you as much of a chance at tasting the sweet blood of victory as I. I want a clash that I can remember, whether I take it to my grave or otherwise. And if you do win, elf, then you will have earned your freedom, and my tribe will let you go. That I promise you."
The night elf didn't look too comforted by his words. As she brushed her long, and somewhat tangled teal hair back and turned her face away from the front of the prison, and Se'jash saw that she did not appear to be in the mood for any more of this kind of discussion.
"I see you do not wish to talk further," he spoke again. "But before I leave, There one last thing on my mind. If we are to soon face each other in a final confrontation, then you must tell me something... What is your name?"
Caelwen thought about not responding to the creature for the next several seconds, but eventually relented with a sigh. "Caelwen," she quietly revealed.
"A name appropriate for a warrior such as you," replied the naga, almost civilly. "I am Se'jash of the Depthweaver. I look forward to our future fight, my newest acquaintance."
She shifted him an unfriendly glare before lowering her head again and folding her arms together. Se'jash knew she did not wish to discuss anything an inch further, and habitually stroked one of his fleshy facial tendrils thoughtfully. "Farewell for now, Caelwen. I will return eventually, to check on your condition."
Caelwen uttered a huff as she watched him slowly depart from her prison and approach a lone and small, but dark pool of water that must have lead to elsewhere, if one were to submerge themselves in it and travel under the salty water. Looking to her a final time before focusing forward, he slipped into the drink and away from sight; the ripples he left behind soon settling. Her stomach rumbling, asking for something to fill it, Caelwen walked back to where the food lied and began to eat some of the tasteless appetizers at her leisure.
