The Promise

"I cannot believe that happened..."

The sultry Durotar sun enticed obliging droplets of sweat to emerge from the saturated wells of Vyse's pores, bedecking the Sin'dorei with a circlet of sticky, translucent beads. Had he not been in a maddened rage, he might have delicately dabbed at the perspiration dampening his flushed complexion, explaining that "Sin'dorei didn't sweat, they merely glistened" but this was not the case. It was more than the asphyxiating heat that moistened his skin.

"I cannot believe that happened," he repeated, almost incredulous in spite of his ire. "Right there, without warning… just relieved himself! Like an ill-trained mutt! And the smell! It still pervades my nostrils…"

He held his handkerchief closer to his nose, nearly smothering himself in the sweet aroma of peacebloom and mageroyal.

"And we still have to inform Rai'zen of this matter..." he muttered darkly, sniffing curtly in apprehension.

Cindral, walking at a pace that kept him a few feet behind Vyse, replied offhandedly, "Yeah..."

Hardly paying the comment any mind, Vyse continued in his heat-induced tirade. "If that bastard son of a Centaur whore Dahj were still alive, I'd take him out to the barn and do him in myself."

"... yeah..."

"I thought those orcs were going to hang us by our ears, gut us and defecate on our corpses..."

"... yeah..."

This time, Cindral's blasé response was not merely shrugged off. The anger harbored in his tone and expression smoldered, adopting a calmer, concerned countenance.

"You're not as talkative as you typically are. That's unlike you, Cin."

The rogue said nothing, his face unreadable, impassive.

Vyse persisted, shortening his strides to match Cindral's languished pace, his voice lowering so the conversation did not stray to unwanted listeners. "Hey, we managed to get enough mana crystals in you without over doing it. You're fine."

The other blood elf gave an odd sort of snort, his gaze drifting to Vyse for the first time since the conversation began.

"Yeah... Fine. Just like Emorell was fine."

Vyse's breath hitched sharply and his hands clenched into fists involuntarily. He suddenly found it hard to swallow the muggy, stagnant air, making it practically impossible to breath in a steady rhythm.

"We did all we could for Emorell," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It progressed too fast... we didn't catch it in time."

Here, he paused, meeting the rogue's fel-green eyes. "You will not suffer the same fate, Cindral."

Shaking his head slowly, Cindral's stoic mask split into a melancholic smile cradling the silent surrender on his lips.

"You're right, Vyserian. Given my condition now... I should most likely suffer a fate ten times as cruel."

It was this statement that made Vyse's soul quake and his chest compress into a Gordian knot. He could take no more. His hand shot out, grasping Cin by the shoulder and steered him into a side alley. The rogue didn't even flinch as the warlock slammed him into the wall, embedding his fingers into the flesh of his shoulder.

"I won't let what happened to brother happen to you!" Vyse hissed, desperate or angry, even he didn't know which. "Our brother--"

He choked, but composed himself, plowing forward.

"Our brother could not be helped in time. You, however, are fighting. We're fighting this together. As long as we stay on Rai'zen's good side, we'll always have enough money to make sure you get whatever you need."

Vyse loosened his grip, but gave Cin a rough shake, trying to snap some sense into him.

"Just... just believe in me for a little longer. You're going to be fine, I swear by the sun, Cindral. Just don't give up hope when I'm doing everything in my power to help you!"

Only Vyse's heavy panting pervaded the sanctity of the silence hovering between the two brothers. Finally, Cindral gently brushed Vyse's hand from his shoulder, but his eyes failed to meet the warlock's.

"When I become a Wretched... Don't let the Guardians get a hold of me. Make certain that it's your blade that ends my life, not theirs."

Trembling, Vyse felt his right hand form into a tight fist, and without his consent, launch itself at Cin. His fist smashed into the wall just an inch to the left of Cindral's face, sending a chain reaction of pain down the length of his arm. He began to grind his raw and bleeding knuckles into the brick, oblivious to the layers of skin he continued to scrape away.

"Damn you, Cindral," Vyse managed to seethe through gritted teeth. "Damn you to the Nether and beyond."

This is about the time Vyse realized they were being watched. Four orcs were leering at them, wearing mixed expressions. It took him only a moment to realize why they were staring so intently. Two male blood elves, loitering in a dark alley, in close proximity of each other. Sighing, the warlock retrieved his fist and stepped back from Cindral, who spotted the orcs as well. Vyse had already prepared a verbal assault to combat whatever idiocy the orcs decided to mock them for, but his words died on his lips, as he was beat to the punch.

"Grogmal, don't think you that those elfses look like two we find in Barrens?" one orc said, turning to another.

"Uhh, d'ose two tauren makin' bebies? Oh yeah, yeah! Dey do!"

Another orc chimed in, adding, "Dat big guy he have uhhh dem scars all over maybe from girl right, right?"

The orcs shared a laugh. Vyse rolled his eyes, not even bothering to interject. Peons were dreadfully dull-witted; it wasn't worth wasting time indulging their stupidity.

"Yeah, yeah, but why he was in da' Barrens wif' girl to make bebies? He and she gonna' get mighty big sand rash!"

Again, obnoxious laughter. Vyse had just been about to shove his way past the imbeciles, but without warning, balked and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Wait..." he said to no one in particular, eyebrows furrowed in thought. "A large tauren... heavily scarred... in the middle of the Barrens..."

For a breath's span, Vyse remained perfectly still, listening intently to the sound of his blood pressure steadily rising until all he could hear was the rush of blood pounding in his ears. He let his rage run through his veins like a strong liquor, allowing himself to become intoxicated off the heady sensation. And it was a wonderful feeling.

"DAHJ!" he bellowed, startling the orcs who exchanged uneasy glances and quickly scurried off, not at all certain of what to make of this (seemingly) homosexual, shouting elf.

"Oh, this is too good to be true! Not only is that know-it-all sirloin still alive, but Taja'ki blatantly defied Rai'zen's orders! This moment is so perfect, I wish I could bottle it, pour it in a washtub and bathe in it!"

A little less excitedly, Vyse added, sneering, "That jungle boar is going to pay for meddling in my affairs."

His attention shifted to Cindral, beckoning him to follow.

"Come on, Cin. By the end of this week, both Dahj's horns and Taja'ki's tusks will be adorning my mantle."

The rogue merely nodded, falling in step behind his older sibling. His brother would need his assistance in getting his revenge. Even if it were the last thing he did in this world, that would be just fine.