Straydog Saga
Flea 33: Don't be a drag, it's the Dragon Queen!
Shandori, for the first time in her young life, felt the blanket of humility draped over her hunched shoulders in the majesty of the Wyrmrest Temple. The pillars that held up the walls seemed to endlessly stretch to the grey skies above. The ghosts of the slain seemed to whisper among the clacking feet of the living on the polished marble floor.
Passersby ignored the warrior's presence as they went about their business. While Kat, Trenton, and a recovering Lumi conversed with the dragons at the top of the temple, the criminal-warrior was escorted about the lower part of the temple by two hulking red dragonkin. They said nothing as they led her to her room, where she would wait whatever fate the Wyrmrest dragons had in store.
The room was hardly a prison, though the decorated walls and soft, plush seats confined her. Her bars were finely crafted doors of metal and fine wood. Her prisoner's swill was fresh fruit and honey-wine. Her shambling bed was a crimson-draped four-poster with clouds for pillows and an ocean of velvet for sheets. Shandori noticed neatly folded linen robes, took off her grime-drenched clothes, and began to wash the battle from her form with a soft cloth and pure water within a fancy pot.
"Damn…they can put me away for life!" Shandori remarked to herself as dried herself off with a fresh cloth and changed into her prisoner's robe of soft linen before sinking into her velvety fate. Just as she was about to fully drift off into much a much-needed rest, Shandori heard the golden doorknob turn, and the door itself click open. Shandori slowly sat up and stretched as a humbly-robed figure walked in with a small basket. The figure, female by Shandori's measure, had her grey hood pulled well over her golden-eyed face, but the tall horns atop her head denoted a true draconic nature.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you dear?" the woman asked as she began picking up Shandori's battle-garb and placing it in the basket.
"N-no, you're-um, what are you doing?"
"Don't mind me, I'm just tidying up. How are you feeling?"
"Well enough, miss?" Shandori asked. The figure smiled beneath her hood for a moment.
"I have not been called 'miss' in quite a while! Such a delightful girl you are. I'm glad you seem well," the figure smiled with a humming laugh as she placed the basket beside the door.
"Ah Miss, why exactly am I…I mean? I appreciate the room and all but…"
"I know all about you, Shandori Sagesmoke. Everyone here has been talking about your acts. I must say, I had my own doubts about you, but the Dragon Queen is very pleased with your efforts, if what the others say is true. Did you truly strike down the twilight dragon with a single shield-strike?" Miss spoke with an airy awe in her voice. Shandori felt the glowing golden gaze bore into her like a gentle gimlet. A rare, bashful blush came to her cheeks.
"Err, well, that is to say I helped. The black dragon and Lumi did most of the work. It was pretty much a lucky shot. H-How is Lumi anyway? Didn't think we were going to make it here," Shandori nervously laughed.
"Lumigosa is mostly recovered. Arcane migraines are common in young, female blue dragons. And as far as your actions, such a thing is no small act, especially for a mortal. Although I have heard some…negative things as well. I'm sure it's nothing…" Miss smirked, trying to hold her ignorant masquerade beneath an opaque hood.
"L-Like what?" Shandori felt her heart sink to her feet as the mysterious Miss began telling a criminal tale of twilight cultists, mercenaries for hire, a renegade warrior and her strange collection of friends and hired help. When Miss stopped speaking the tense air nearly knocked Shandori back onto the bed.
"Is that accurate?" Miss smiled, resisting the urge to chuckle and the horror-stricken night elf.
"How do you know all that?"
"I am well read, lady Shandori. The charges against you are written on wanted posters all over Azeroth. I must say, your face doesn't seem as angry and malformed as depicted in them," Miss tilted her head as if trying to examine the night elf at another angle.
"S-So knowing what you do…what does your Dragon Queen want to do with me?" Shandori felt her knees begin to quiver.
"Well that is entirely up to you. She has not quite made up her mind yet, and I think she might be swayed. She sent me to examine you and, on my word, she may find mercy for you," Miss offered, taking a seat on the foot of the bed. Shandori felt her heart begin to thunder in her chest as the room slowly began to spin.
"I-I don't know what to tell you, then. Is she expecting me to have an awakening or something? See the error of my ways all of a sudden? Become a shining beacon of the righteous? If that's it, then she's going to be disappointed. Why would she spare me knowing what she does over any other criminal?" Shandori felt her voice give out as she breathed deep, trying to keep herself steady and awake. The injuries, smoke, and taxing events of the early morning were finally breaking down her defenses. Shandori's condition did not escape Miss's perceptive gaze.
"I cannot answer that," Miss shrugged, "All I can do is observe."
"So, what exactly are you seeing?" Shandori did her best to keep the bitterness from her voice. The indignant bile in her throat mixed with sheer exhaustion made it nearly impossible to stay conscious. Miss gave a soft laugh before replying.
"I see a young, scared woman who would sooner drape her own insecurity in layers of plate armor and curse words rather than be honest with herself. Are you a good person? I certainly cannot tell. But insecurity and denial do not a villain make. Not at this point, anyway." Miss stood and cast a significant look to the ailing elf that seemed to weakly teeter as if struck by a fatal arrow. "Sh-Shandori?" Miss moved towards the night elf that looked ready to pass out from sheer fatigue.
"Wh-What do you want with me? Who ARE you?"
"Shhhhh…enough for now. You can rest here until someone comes to fetch you," Miss softly spoke as she helped Shandori into bed. The motherly Miss tucked the night elf into bed as her heavy eyelids finally sunk in the tide of sleep. Miss left the room and looked to the red dragonkin as they clapped their talon-feet together in salute as their backs straightened. "At ease…"
In a beam of golden light, Miss was back in her usual place at the top of the Wyrmrest temple. She shed her humble garb and casual persona to reveal her royal attire and aspect's aura. The Dragon Queen Alextrasza bowed her head in recognition of her mortal-disguised guests, who bowed low save for one. Both Lumi and Kat grabbed Trenton's arms and forced the young dragon to his knees.
"Bow, stupid!" Kat growled.
"There is no need for that, ladies. I thank you all for waiting so patiently." Alex sighed as the trio rose to their feet.
"My queen, what is your decision?" Kat asked as Alex tilted her head in thought for a moment before answering.
"The mortal will be of use to us. She is not…too far gone. She will return to Mydrassil as a member of our efforts."
"And if she refuses?" Trenton interrupted, earning him a stern look from Kat. His words caused a small chuckle to escape the Dragon Queen's crimson lips.
"Shandori Sagesmoke, if my agents speak true, is a girl who has accumulated a great deal of 'trouble' in her life. Though I have only spoken with her briefly, I can tell that the absolution of said trouble will be more than enough of a payment for her services."
"Why do we even need such a person? We have great heroes of the mortal world all over this effort. Why would we let some criminal miscreant in our ranks?" Lumi forcefully, though tamed by fear of the aspect, asked.
"We all gotta start somewhere," Trenton mused, "I was privy to a lot of the intelligence gathered by my father and Lord Redmane. Shandori might be a criminal, but she's managed to not only collect a powerful group of allies, but earned their loyalty as well despite faction and race bias. If the great Thrall could start as a humble slave and end up as Warchief of the Horde, if Malfurion Stormrage could start as a fringe weirdo with strange magic and go on to become the leader of the druids, who's to say this one can't become something too."
"Well put, young one," Alex smiled.
"Suck-up." Kat playfully muttered.
"In any event, Kat and Lumi, you two are to return to Mydrassil with Shandori and bring word of the gem's whereabouts. I will provide documentation of her actions in retrieving the gem, so you need not explain her presence. The red flight will cut the gem here; and here is where it will remain. I have prepared a letter summons for your mother, Terronian, and I expect her in my presence in one week's time. The White Branch Dragon Council will ensure that all her duties are taken care of. I assume her mortal champions are able to care for the tree as needed?"
"Yes, queen. The High Mystics are more than ready to care for the tree. One of them even helped in the battle, and you should have seen her in action! She downed dragons with her bare hands! It was really cool actually," Trenton remarked as he made a chopping motion with his tightly-closed hand. Alexstrasza dismissed the two females in her sight with her summons in their capable claws, but called for Trenton to remain.
"Yes, queen?" Trenton asked as the smile on the gorgeous queen's glorious face made his heart skip a beat. She walked close to him and studied his features intently.
"Marvelous…you are truly a rare creature, if you don't mind me saying so."
"Me, mind a scantily clad queen of the dragons giving me a compliment? Hardly!" Trenton laughed, trying to keep his voice from cracking.
"Will you do me one favor?" Alex asked, with a slightly pleading look in her glowing golden orbs. Trenton swallowed and quickly nodded.
"The written summons calls for your mother only, as not to arise further suspicion among mortals. I assume your father will not allow her to travel here alone…and perhaps you would do well to stay here for the time being," Alex gave a friendly smile tinged with a hint of sadness Terronian couldn't place.
"Y-Yes, queen," Terronian's eyes went wide for a moment, "is it time?"
"Yes, it is." Alextrasza did her best to wear a genuine smile as the energy around the young dragon grew lighter than the gloomy air around them. Terronian obeyed her request, and made his way to the temple inn to acquire accommodations.
Alexstrasza was alone in the uppermost part of the temple save for her constant pack of guards that circled around the upper reaches. She walked towards one of the great open windows as all cheer escaped her expression with a long sigh. The chill wind ran through her long crimson tresses, as the shining snow seemed to overtake her vision.
The weight of what was to come began to strain the shoulders that had carried the burdens of the world time after time before. But such tasks as the one she was currently charged, though small in her monumental troubles, caused her heart to ache within her un-aging chest.
"By all that lives…I hope you know what you're doing," she softly muttered as she turned to address a faint shadow that quickly dissipated in the chill winds of Dragonblight.
Maiev silently watched as those around her descended into sorrow. Imajin could not stop the tears that were running down her warm, sob-blush cheeks. The memorial service had been quite beautiful. The mortal members of the White Branch Initiative slowly left the sheltering shore to the grim task of caring for the dead and rebuilding what they had come to know as home.
The bodies of the honored dead were treated in accordance of the cultures the produced them. Those who had alliance sympathies assisted in building the funeral pyres for their orc, troll, goblin, undead, and tauren comrades. Members of the horde helped build and prepare fine coffins for their human, draenei, worgen, dwarf, gnome, and elvin kin.
Maiev watched Imajin knelt beside the coffin of her elder friend Meryld, as F-bomb offered words of comfort to the young troll. Imajin could feel the energy of the tree surround them as small, wisp-like lights slowly danced about the coffins and magically- contained pyres.
It was then a great, antlered shadow fell upon the group. While Imajin and F-bomb continued to mourn their loss, Maiev felt a familiar set of eyes fixate on her back. A surprised and questioning voice called her name, and she turned with haunted eyes to see Malfurion Stormrage standing there, mouth agape with shock.
"I-Is that you?" His eyes scrambled to assess the shattered and faded armor. The figure's hair was white and hastily cut short, as if cropped with a Watcher's circular glaive. Her face seemed to age beyond what their mortal condition would allow, and a familiar darkness seemed to snicker behind her empty gaze. She gave him a bitter smile.
"Furion," she softly spoke as a mixed look of horror and pity came to his eyes.
"You-You're alive? What are you doing here? I thought you perished at the…"
"Obviously I did not," Maiev hissed, straining to keep from shouting beneath a calm tone, "but that is of no concern to you."
"It does concern me. Maiev, what it would mean to your brother…"
"I'm better off dead to him. DO NOT involve him in all of this." Maiev could no longer contain her contempt as several mourners turned to cast angry gazes at the night elves. Malfurion attempted to guide her away form the memorial service, but she forcefully wrenched herself from his grip. She swiftly, as only a warden of her former standing could do, glided from the area with the archdruid not far behind. Malfurion stopped short, as Maiev abruptly halted her gliding. They were alone in the corridor leading to the memorial when Maiev unleashed her wrath.
"Leave me! You do not know what it is you're interfering with. Besides, if I recall, I'm not exactly you're favorite elf in the world-"
"I have learned much in the ways of forgiveness since that time, Maiev. Whatever ill blood lies between us does not matter. It would do your brother well to have you back in his life."
"Not like this," Maiev shook her head, "My fate is of my own doing. I do not need your charity."
"I am not doing this for you," Malfurion flatly spoke. It was Maiev who made him feel the greatest sorrow he'd ever known in his life. When her lies, which led him to believe his beloved Tyrande was dead for weeks, were finally revealed by Kael'thas, Malfurion flew into a rage. But that was long ago, and time slowly turned that wound into a faded scar in his heart. "And I do not care about your pride."
There was a silence between the two ancients for a moment before Maiev's snarling face began to fade into a neutral mask once more.
"How is he? I heard whispers in the forest of his bravery against the Twilight Cult."
"Every whisper was true. He still resides at Hyjal if you would make the journey," Malfurion informed as Maiev quickly shook her head.
"He will not see me like this. The Maiev Shadowsong he knew died with your br-brother," Maiev's voice began to quiver as a sharp pain from behind her eyes caused her to grasp her face. It was then Malfurion felt a surge of darkness come from the former warden as the shadows around them seemed to cackle. He felt the touch of something far more sinister than a dreadlord could muster. He cast a healing spell on the trembling Maiev as she sank to one knee from the pain. As the druid spell grew in strength, the darkness waned.
When the spell ended and the darkness fully receded in the glowing space, Maiev wiped the pain-caused tears from her cheeks and gave a grateful nod.
"I think…I'm beginning to see what you mean," Malfurion sighed.
Hanariel did his best not to cough as he nearly choked on a bug. The majority of the flight decks in Mydrassil were still in a state of disrepair; most of the glorious mounts that dwelled there met a messy end at the bottom of the bay of storms or were too tired to fly after a long day of evacuation-travel.
But where there was pioneering spirit among mortals, there was a way. Though branch-beaten and dusty, Roth's engineering project still survived the horrible battle without suffering major damage. The engineer did not hesitate in his offer, eyes alight with desire to test out his new breed of engine with a back-up already in place. Roth's Outstanding Free-Lift or "R.O.F.L" copter lifted off for the first time that day in a glorious flurry of smoke, sputtering, and clanging might.
"Are you alright?" McGowan shouted over the sound of furiously chopping blades above as he steered their vehicle in the direction of Theramore. Hanariel nodded and cleared his throat.
"I am, thanks again for the use of your copter, you two. It's a miracle it didn't get damaged in the fray," Hanariel coughed as the taste of arid smoke came billowing into his mouth.
"No problem, Lord Dawnblade. It's a pleasure! But I gotta ask: you have mages to port you and dragons to fly you to Theramore. Why'd you ask us to tune up this awful flyer?"
"The mages were too busy fixing the tree to be bothered with such a troublesome task, and let's just say that we mortals are going to need to get used to fending for ourselves soon," Hanariel asserted with a smile.
McGowan returned the gesture with a knowing nod to the High Mystic as the copter lurched, but remained airborne. Roth, who accompanied Christoffel at the rear of the copter, constantly checked the rotor mechanism for any signs of imbalance or off-rhythms.
"She's looking solid still. What's our time?" Roth shouted. McGowan could barely hear him over the booming chops and occasional rattling noise from within. "Old bastard can't hear me," Roth sighed as he looked to the brooding elf beside him, "What's eating you?"
Christoffel turned to glare at the blue-eyed high elf before uttering a grunt and turned to continue staring into space.
"Ah, the dark silent type. Got it," Roth smirked, "Don't like being Lord Dawnblade's little bitch much, do ya blood elf?" The words stung in Christoffel's agitated mind, but Roth's voice gave the exhausted blood elf the sensation of having ants in his ears.
"Shut the fuck up before I throw you," Christoffel growled as the little red lights on his neck-guard began on blink. He clinched his eyes shut in an attempt to calm himself, but the smiling face of the orange-haired high elf made him want to kill something.
"Ohhh touchy. I see your grasp on human slang is of the highest caliber. I can get into that." Roth wiped his grimy nose with a dirty glove as he continued to wear his instigative smirk. "I hear you and your little friends helped that twilight scum break into the tree. I'm not surprised: I know I shouldn't expect a fel-junkie to have any kind of decency. Lord Dawnblade is certainly a man of his priestly principles to let you live…"
"Just. Stop. Talking," Christoffel's jaw began to ache from grinding his teeth.
"Why, don't like what I got to say?"
"No, the sound of your voice makes me want to choke the shit out you. Now SHUT UP!" Christoffel shouted, causing Hanariel to cast a worried glance behind him. Despite Roth's constant jabs, the four men managed to make it to Theramore without significant injury. Despite the constant threat of decapitation, Christoffel managed to visit a sizable bruise on Roth's wrenching arm.
The group disembarked after parking their questionable machine in the designated landing area, and awaited the retainer that Lady Jaina Proudmoore mentioned in her reply to the urgently scribed letter Hanariel had sent before his departure.
"Thank you again for your assistance, you two. Please take this as a token of my gratitude. But don't spend it on too many vices. We'll be heading back to Mydrassil in a few days' time, and I'll need you sober and in good health." Hanariel smiled as he handed McGowan what would have been two weeks' salary. The pair's eyes glittered in the warm glow of the well-earned gold, and gave hasty but sincere thanks to their newly appointed employer. Hanariel waved them off as he and Christoffel continued to wait in their designated area. As Roth and McGowan left in the direction of the nearest pub, the high elf snorted.
"I don't get it. How does such a virtuous man like him stand being around one of THEM? That Stingblade guy is a first class noose-bag." Roth winced, bringing a worn hand to rub his blackening arm. McGowan shook his head.
"I asked the same thing. You know that 'noose-bag' is Lord Dawnblade's brother?" McGowan spoke as Roth nearly tripped on a cobblestone.
"No, you're joking!"
"Nay, lad. Lord Dawnblade was really open about it. Explained the whole thing…" McGowan continued as he told Roth Christoffel's sad tale, at least the parts Hanariel was able to tell. Roth whistled as a small pang of guilt pricked in the center of his chest.
"Wow…that's made of fail. And after all that, he takes him back?"
"You're an only child right?"
"Yeah, so?
"So, I had four brothers. Two died to the Lich King, the other two I rarely hear from, and we were never close to begin with. But once a year, on our dad's birthday, we get together, remember how much better off we are alone, then go our separate ways. But that one day a year, we get together anyway," McGowan spoke as he looked up to his elf-friend with a slight shine of nostalgia in his old eyes. The young-seeming Roth shook his head.
"Seems like a waste of time to me, if you all hate each other. But what do I know? I never really knew my parents. Speaking of which…you hear about Jimmy?" Roth asked. McGowan shook his head with a flash of worry in his old eyes.
"That worgen that messed me up? Yeah, that was his dad."
"Stop spoutin' lies, boy."
"It's true. I visited them at one of the evacuation islands. They were both pretty shook up about it," Roth sighed, "but, when things get settled, it looks like we're going to have to find us a new wood worker. The pair of them are going to head to Nightaven soon to see his mom."
"W-Why the hell did you wait so long to tell me!" McGowan sputtered.
"Forgot." Roth shrugged as the welcome sight of the Pride Pub killed all sensitive or stressful thoughts in favor of drunken, mind-blasting revelry.
The air in the small holding area seemed to grow cold with each progressive step. Christoffel could feel scornful human eyes on him as the head assistant to Lady Proudmoore and his usual entourage guided them into the depths.
As they passed through a small, hidden door within the main prison, a chill like no other seemed to exhale onto the group. With each empty, rot-covered cell they passed in the secret space, Christoffel felt his heart begin to pound. A small, crumpled figure grew more real. The nightmarish image of damaged lives and the burden of a broken family seemed to coalesce from the hooded figure that seemed to be mumbling incoherently to itself.
"…the light of a thousand years shines in the darkest fragment of a broken mirror. The skins, the skins they call to me… no! Stop the ascent or the ruins will never know their tomorrow's glory! Shades, shades, they come for us and our ruinous follies," the dark, grey-haired figure mumbled with the occasional shudder. Christoffel's eyes halted as the guards moved to allow Hanariel passage into the cell. Though a guard blocked the rogue's path, his feet were frozen, as was the rest of him.
There, in the filthy human jail, was the rapist-sower of Christoffel's seed. The former mage, known around old Silvermoon as "Hollus Fenweaver," had unknowingly bound himself to a rare artifact, and to a terrible demon. The first demon Hollus ever summoned had been a succubus known as Anomed. Anomed was so skilled in her craft that she wielded power over all men, including her would-be masters. While in the sensual grip of the powerful succubus, he did the unthinkable, and the result was the trembling rogue.
"You." Christoffel's hazy attention snapped into focus as the word escaped his brother's lips. Christoffel heard none of his brother's usual heavenly tone. Instead, the High Mystic with seemingly endless grace stood there, trembling with rage. Christoffel watched with shock as his brother reached with his one, purposeful hand, and pulled the crouching Fenweaver to his feet.
The guards shuffled about, ready to restrain their guest, but the underpaid and magic-fearing humans found it difficult to move against the gold-glowing mystic. Lady Proudmore's aid cleared his throat.
"Please do not accost our prisoner. He has not been well…"
"He's never been 'well'…but I shall obey," Hanariel spat, releasing the elder and allowing Hollus to sink back to his knees. Christoffel watched on as Hanariel's cold gaze rested on the clouded former mage. The runes on his body flared as golden threads shot from his chest and arm, seemingly sewing into the mage as the haze that beset Hollus's mind began to clear. Hollus looked up with tainted-green eyes and marveled at the being before him.
"Y-You…why are you here? It is not time yet," Hollus stated with genuine surprise in his dry voice. The Hollus Fenweaver of reality slowly stood, frail and trembling in Christoffel's sight, as the rogue felt the ice in his muscles begin to melt.
"That is no longer in your control, defiler. Do you have any idea what you've DONE?" Hanariel shouted in a voice Christoffel had no idea the elf was capable of.
"I know well the terrible things I've done to your kin. Know that I regret it all, Hanariel…"
"I'm not speaking about that. I know your opinions of yourself in that regard. I'm talking about the HOLES you created with your wanton time-bending. Why the bronze flight hasn't done something about you is beyond me, but I shall let it go on no longer. If you are seriously repentant for ALL you've done, then you shall do as I say without question," Hanariel quickly and forcefully commanded. Christoffel shook his head. His doubts about the mystic's identity were starting to falter as the two elves continued their conversation.
"Those are strong words, young one. What makes you believe you will be able to do anything to me? Lady Proudmoore will not allow any harm to befall me, and I certainly will not stop my endeavors. Azeroth depends on them," Hollus nodded.
"Or so you think…why don't you tell HIM what you've done if you are so righteous in your actions?" Hanariel motioned to the rogue behind him, and motioned for the guards to bring Christoffel forward. Hollus' eyes went wide with shock. In all his own abilities with time and foresight, the presence of his child went unseen.
"N-Narlyn…how?" Hollus shook his head, as if the action would cause the rogue to disappear. In all his amazing forsight, the moment had come to him many times before, but Hanariel had always come alone. Hollus stumbled backwards, until his back was against the mossy-stone wall. Christoffel gave a look to the High Mystic who did not return the action. "Y-You vile snipe! How dare you involve him!"
"What is the matter Hollus? Don't want him knowing? Doesn't he deserve more than nightmares and suffering from you?" Hanariel sneered. "Do you wish to tell him or shall I?"
"I do not know what you're talking about…"
"Fine, have it your way," Hanariel turned to Christoffel, offering a steady but angry look to his fright-eyed brother.
"What the hell is going on here?" Christoffel choked back the confusion and fear as Hanariel began to tell the story despite knowing that Christoffel was privy to most of it already through the will of his father's dragon contact.
"Hollus here is tied to a demon of monumental power. If he dies, his bargain will be fulfilled and the demon will be granted access to this word. In one fleeting moment of decency, he cast several life-lengthening spells, but all the spells in the world won't keep him alive for eternity. So in his maddening state, he tapped into something greater than magic or the emerald dream.
He connected to the Ether of Time. Instead of using his abilities to simply stay alive, he spread his influence all over the Ether, changing timelines and ripping holes in the flows of fate. These holes are, in part, why the infinite dragonflight has such easy access to major events in time, and why something has slipped through to this time to awaken a long-dormant violet dragonflight. And, it seems, that our good friend here has no intention of stopping his endeavors," Hanariel glared, resisting a satisfied smile as he watched the dumb-struck Hollus tremble in denial.
"I-I've done no such thing. All I have done has been for Azeroth, I've helped keep it safe…"
"Enough of your lies, Fenweaver. Everything you have done, you have done for yourself and no one else!"
"YOU KNOW NOTHING OF WHAT I'VE DONE! What I've suffered through…and now you've come with him as leverage against me. Despicable wretch," Hollus shook with anger and fright as Christoffel's eyes turned to rest on him.
"Its true, isn't it? What he said…" Christoffel quietly spoke. All the anger seemed to be sucked from him and funneled into his golden brother. Hollus furiously shook his head.
"I have done many wicked things, Narlyn, I need not tell you this. But I cannot be stopped from my work, major shifts are about to occur that need my constant attention."
"You've caused enough harm for one long lifetime Fenweaver. And now your attention is no longer needed. My mate and I were given our abilities with the blessing of the dragonflights, and we both have the wisdom to know its limits. I shall see to it that you are made to truly give yourself for your world. And convincing Lady Proudmore to release you into my custody will not be as difficult as you think when she hears my proposal. I suggest you take this time to compose yourself and make peace with your follies." Hanariel nodded to Christoffel and left the cell. He turned to Lady Proudmoore's assistant and requested that his brother be given some time with the prisoner before being escorted to his less filthy accommodations.
Christoffel thought that his encounter would end in his loathsome father's demise at his own hands, but his body did not move to harm the decimated elder, who slowly sunk back into the haze of madness that served as his torture and comfort.
"You deserve whatever you get," Christoffel blankly spoke as he turned to leave the cell. He stopped as the sound of a shuddering sob escaped Hollus' lips.
"She's beautiful, you should know," Hollus whispered. Christoffel turned with his eyebrow raised.
"What was that?"
"She is credit to you and yours. Of all that I have done to alter the monstrous story of this ball of dirt, she was, is, and will be my finest achievement. I am proud for my part, and what that self-righteous fool does not know is that without my "foul tampering" she would have never come into being," Hollus gave a husky laugh as small tears sank below what his tattered hood could cover, "She is a more sincere apology for what I've done to you than any words I could conceive."
"I don't know what you're talking about, but stay the hell out of my life," Christoffel growled. The look Hollus cast his son made a ripple of ice coalesce in the rogue's veins.
"You will know exactly what I'm speaking of, when the time is right…"