AN: Wait, this isn't Brin-Brin at all! Hey!
Oh, I do love the fun that comes with being an author. Don't worry, we'll get back to Brinella and her newfound friends here soon, but right now we're gonna go play with a couple other new characters on the other side of the fence. I should warn you, there are references to nudity in this chapter. Not enough to turn this into a mature reading by a long shot, because I'm sure we've seen worse looking in the mirror. Hee.
I'm also working on a small (right now) character list to help me (and most likely you) keep track as the list expands. You'll find it on my account page thing. I should mention here that we're going to see at least one of every race, every class, and possibly quite a few of the various hero classes available in the RPG books in the course of this story, so if you have a favorite race, feel free to drop me a line and tell me why you like them!
I'm a sucker for elves, myself. There's just always been something about that particular fantasy race that catches my attention and keeps it pinned there. In WoW, I hold a special love for the Tauren. The native american feel of the race really brings me closer to my own Cherokee bloodline, and I'm not gonna lie... the thought of hugging one of them makes me turn a bit into Agnes from Despicable Me. I find trolls and gnomes to be the races I shy away from the most. The trolls because the accent is part of the play, and I get a headache trying to read them (even though plotting out Winnie's speech does the same thing, erk) and even speak like them. Gnomes are just... I guess I've never found a good gnome player I like. Chromie doesn't really count, since she's a dragon anyway, and not a player.
What about you?
"Out!"
That single word tore through the air, scattering birds and other flighty creatures just before the crashing tinkle of shattered glass rang out in the golden woods. Eversong was bathed in reds and golds, the light catching the fall-colored foliage and lending an unearthly beauty to the trees. Lynxes and dragonhawks prowled the woods, careless glances cast towards the source of the noise only to find little of interest, and so their day continued, most padding off to dens for a well-deserved rest.
The sound of broken glass was followed quickly by that of metal on metal, and twice more before it stilled, and all that there was that lingered was the sounds of heaving breaths. "One of these days, Tria... you're going to come around." The raven-haired male shifted, jumping back and bringing his blade forward once more to parry the woman's assault. The entire time, his grin was a maddening tease, the lust evident and complete in his eyes.
It angered her. No, anger was not even close to what Tiroth could bring her to, and she showed it with every lethal and calculated swing, her rage growing as he easily deflected each swipe. Even in full armor she was quick, the plate modified to allow her a true range of motion instead of the careful protection that would keep her tanned flesh from bearing a mark. One that appeared on her side, leaving a lash of red against her skin as her guard fell. The hiss of pain was not missed by her companion, his grin only growing when she dropped to her knee, one gloved hand pressing to the wound.
"Heal yourself, Triadae." His voice was a taunt, and he braved her wrath to step close enough to meet her eyes on his own knee, his hand reaching to stroke through the fire-red bangs that framed her pretty face. He loved the look of hate brimming in those emerald eyes, knowing that she was capable of a passion to match it. "You can't, can you. So it's true... you've given up the Light, given up our ways. For what? What could be so important to a little lost sheep that she'd – ah!"
The 'lost sheep' grinned as her palm met his nose, more than satisfied with the crunch she not only heard but felt. He stumbled away from her, landing on his seat while one hand moved to staunch the flow of blood from his nose, his eyes watering with unshed tears. She leapt upon her advantage, standing and ignoring the pain that shot up her side to brandish the claymore she so easily wielded. It came down beside him once, struck where he had been sitting and was now cringing from on the second blow, and the third met the golden aura of protection he was forced to throw up.
"This is my home, Tria! You can't keep me from it, or you, forever. Isn't it time you let the past go?" The strong voice had lost some of the teasing edge, had taken on a near plea. The shield held, keeping him safe as he stood, meeting the red-head's eyes with a sigh. He saw her answer there, and it was that alone that made him back away, throwing his own broadsword over his shoulder while the other hand was raised in a request for a truce.
She watched him, that amused grin that she assumed at his pain gone when the rush of adrenaline left as well. She knew, just as much as he did, that his retreat was a farce. He would be back, as he had always been over the course of the last few years. When it became apparent that he would not attack again, she relaxed, dragging the sharp edge of her blade along the ground in an idle threat before it was easily flipped up and onto her shoulder. "I did let it go. It's time you did as well."
For a long moment, only the wind seemed to speak between them, emerald eyes watching those of the other before Tiroth sighed, his gloved hand lifted to whistle for his stallion. The beast came, brushing by Triadae in an almost familiar way, a soft whicker offered just beside her ear. When Tiroth mounted, it pranced in place for a second, then turned as if to leave. "How many times must I say that I am sorry before you believe me? How many times before you accept it was a mistake, and we go back to the way things were? We need you, all of us do. I need you."
"You waste your breath. We used to be of one mind, like a stream that raced through an endless wilderness. I was not the one who drove the rock into our midst, and forced us to crash around and be forever separated." She turned on her heel, her metal-encased boot crunching over broken glass. "Remember that, when you speak of peace. Remember that, when you mock me for letting go."
Triadae ignored his sputtered response, a quick snap of her fingers making his stallion rear and bolt off into the dense woods. That malicious grin appeared again, but vanished once more as the woods became silent. They did not remain that way for long, and she had no need to turn and view the newcomer without knowing who it was.
"You could give him some credit for being so stubborn, you know." The husky voice was laced with a mirthless chuckle. She expected nothing less. "To think. You once bent beneath his hand for even the slightest scrap of attention. Now you scorn him like he has developed leprosy or become a trogg."
The red-head snorted. "By any standard, he is a trogg. Albeit one in shiny armor, with well-kept hair." She knelt, picking up shards of glass to turn them between her fingers, a sigh leaving her. "Seventh window this month. Perhaps I should take out all the glass and deal with the drafts."
"Or, you could accept him again and deal with no drafts but the ones between your dusty legs." Kalthor smirked when her angry gaze turned on him, and the fel-caster offered an innocent shrug of his shoulders as his imp screeched with laughter. "I'm only offering my opinion, oh most forbidden of fruit." His long blonde hair fell over his eyes as he dropped into a regal bow, looking up at her in time to catch the shard of glass headed at him. He deflected it easily, grabbing up his demon as a shield and smirking cruelly as the shard sunk into the little thing's leg. "Now, now..."
"Shut up and fix my window, fel-sucker." Tria growled beneath her breath, turning and making her way into the home once more, her boots forcing creaks from the stairs beneath her frustrated stomping. Kalthor reached down, tearing the bloody shard from his servant's leg and musing at the ichor covered glass. "You heard the woman, Piznap. What the Lady Virtue wants, she gets."
The door clicked shut behind her, muffling the sound of glass being tossed into a pile, and the few loud yelps of pain from the wounded demon. The woman frowned slightly, or perhaps just a bit more than her lips were usually set. It was hard, these days, to know exactly how she felt by reading her expression. Anyone who tried would think she had two emotions; annoyed, and severely pissed off. They wouldn't be too far off, usually. Tria sighed, settling her back against the wooden door.
In this secluded neck of the woods, most just passed by the strangely out of place home. Far from the walls of Silvermoon, the two story building was a combination of elven marble and human architecture, built to withstand time, weather, and thieves. The last had become a more common occurrence of late, and while most of the elven homes were well warded, Tria kept her own home firmly under lock and key. Somehow, it had kept the little home safe where the wards of others had been fried, and the quarters looted. It was a home meant for a family, with an open and welcoming living room, spacious kitchen, and three bedrooms on the second floor.
Tria enjoyed her family time, with her armor taking up the second bedroom, her collection of swords the third, leaving her the master bedroom all to herself. The simple four poster bed and vanity were the only furniture in the room, and the bed was soon accompanied by her armor. Despite the distraction of Kalthor's visit, her attention was quickly brought back to her immediate annoyance; the lovely cut along her side. She was happy, if only internally, to find that it was shallow. It bled again only because she had moved and reopened it.
With her hand pressed lightly over the wound, the blood elf made her way into the bathing room. The dresser had been brought into the room, pushed up against one wall. Directly across, a frosted glass window allowed light to filter into the room, while adding a comforting amount of privacy. It hadn't originally been frosted, but Kalthor was becoming quite creative with his methods of repairing broken glass. Wood was another thing entirely, but with the sheer curtains, no one really saw the gouges or the bloodstain.
The bath was nothing special. A simple marble tub against a wall, with a somewhat magical tap for water. Magical in that it was connected to nothing, and somehow still managed to not only fill the bath, but was perfectly capable of producing either clear and fresh water, or water laced with sudsy bubbles that piled around the bather in such a way that would make snow jealous. It was that very thing she wanted now, opening the tap and striding to the dresser, her fingers tugging at the bandages that held her breasts down.
Her other hand reached, pulling open one drawer and then another, stopping only when the muffled tinkle of glass was heard amongst the pour of water. She withdrew a small box only to set it atop the dresser, opening it and lightly dancing fingertips over the vials that lay within. The last was less of a vial and more of a small pot, and it was this one that she chose, with much the same delight as a child picking out a sweet.
Her hand left her bindings, dropping the flimsy linen down as she sat on the edge of the bath. The pot was soon opened, and her deft fingers scooped out a gelatinous paste, her breath hitching briefly and then releasing through gritted teeth as the balm was smeared over the wound. The skin stitched itself closed beneath her fingers, leaving only a thin line to mark where it once had been. She remained still for a few moments, smoothing the last of the balm into her skin while she thought.
Two years ago, she'd have been able to take care of such a simple wound without the need for balms and ointments. Things changed over time, and she was just another example amidst a sea of them. She knew that even the thin line would be gone within a few days; a papercut rarely stuck around for too long. Still, her dependency on the small things bothered her in a way she wouldn't admit aloud.
Wriggling free from the simple linen shorts she wore beneath her simple armor, the red-head dropped herself into the bath, using her foot to turn the tap off. While she settled back against the cool material, the small bubbles popping between her skin and the marble, her hands were wandering and sloughing off the dirt and grime of the day. It wasn't long before she felt herself drift, an arm slung over the edge of the tub while she let herself become drowsy.
"Your hand is shaking."
One eye opened to fall on the slender frame that leaned against the door, his lips quirked in the everlasting cocky set they seemed to take. Kalthor shrugged at her silence, making his way to the dresser to open a smaller drawer between the two, removing a small ring with a blue stone. "Here." He tossed it, his grin widening as he heard the distinctive plop of metal into the bath, and the groan from Tria herself. "Better get it, or I'll go in myself."
"Over my dead body." Triadae fetched the ring that had sunk to nestle between her breasts, idly twirling the wet metal ring between her fingers before deftly slipping it on, her eyes closing. The magics that lingered within seemed to fuel her, calming her mind and convincing her body that, while it certainly had not just consumed it's fair share of mana or fel, it didn't really need to know that. The feeling was near euphoric, but the woman had been using the ring for so long now that it was mostly just a buzz that left her feeling... better. "Thistle is in the bottom drawer. You know the rule."
"No one knows where I got it, and I don't use it anywhere near your comely abode." The fel-caster mimicked her own toneless voice, drawing the small packet out from where it had been hidden and stowing it away within his robes. A moment passed where it seemed he would leave, but instead he turned to the window and ran his fingers along the lightly fogged glass. "The Knights don't really need you, you know. No one does."
"If that's your way of cheering me up, you're doing a fantastic job of it."
He glanced back at her, a shrug of his shoulders offered before he sat himself on the edge of the bath, next to her head. His hands reached out, gathering the oddly cropped hair she sported in his hands, and raking fingers through the loose ends. It was an odd style, but he rather liked it on her. The entire things was a set of three or four layers meant to keep the rather thick hair manageable. The shortest 'layer' were really the loose fringe that made up her bangs and framed her heart-shaped face. The next was longer, settling around her shoulders. This was rarely tied back into the final two layers, one that reached to the bottom of her shoulders, and the last that ran the rest of the length to just above the swell of her rear.
It was always bound with a leather cord, the ends decorated with beads if the woman felt up to the effort. At one point, the hair had been one length, and immaculately kept, but he himself had burned it with earlier experiments, things she had tried to stop him from doing. He had fallen from arcanist to fel-caster, and she had gained a new hairstyle for it. She could always fix it now, if she wanted... but he knew she liked the style as well, and it could be bound up easily if she wanted it all out of her face.
"Tiroth won't stop until you simply accept. Not now, and maybe not ever. You're young yet, old enough to battle but not old enough to give up on all the rest of it. He does have a point, Triadae. How many times before you just give in?" He twirled the crimson strands around his fingertips, his head tilted. "There's other options, other -..."
"Like accepting you?" Her eyes opened, a soft sigh leaving her. "I didn't intend for that to seem to cruel. Our ways are different, Kalthor. I warned you, when you started playing with the fel-magic and ran off with Kael'thas through the portal. I warned you then that if you left, you wouldn't like what you came back to, if you even did."
"Your ways weren't much better. Or do you forget that for every moment I spent draining fel energy, you were aiding in the draining of that Naaru?" His voice was cold, but the chill was not directed at her. They had both been proud to be what they were, and it was sweet words that had convinced them otherwise. Once Quel'dorei, and now Sin'dorei, it was a change neither could ever turn back on. Hindsight was always clearer.
Triadae remained quiet for a long time, her fingers tapping out a rhythm all their own on the inside of the bath. When she at last spoke, it was as she sat up, the slowly dying foam clinging to her bare curves while she stood and let the water drain. There was no amount of shame when she reached past the warlock, smirking just slightly at his grunt when her breast lightly trailed along his ear. Towel fetched, she was wrapped securely. "You do have a point there. I'm not needed here, there, or anywhere. The Knights don't need me, and even if they did I would show them where they could shove their swords."
"Tactful, really." Kalthor's arms folded over his chest, practically glaring at the brazen woman. A few decades prior, she'd have thrown a tantrum for him being near her nude. Now it felt more like he was just another girl. Combat had changed his friend, even if he was loathe to admit it.
"I learn from the best." She bent, scooping up the length of linen used to bind her breasts, already heading back to her armor. It didn't take her long to redress, peering back around the corner at the blonde elf still sitting on the edge of her bath. "Well? Come on."
"Er..." For once, true confusion appeared on his features, an elegant brow cocked.
"If I'm going, you are too." She vanished, her steady footsteps echoing out the hall and back down the stairs. Kalthor blinked, then stood and made his way out after her.
"Where are you - … we going?"
"Anywhere but here, Kal. Anywhere but here."