AN: A couple more characters, and a teensy bit of background on Triadae and Tiroth. Not much, you'll probably have to put the puzzle together on your own. It gets clarified down the road, but not for a bit. Lots of fun stuff to play with in this chapter. And before it is mentioned; yes, I know Vryn wouldn't be allowed near any city no matter how good her intentions were. I know she would be KoS, no matter what favors she's done. But I need her, at least for a little bit. So please endure my minor lore-fudgery there. At least she doesn't sparkle, and she's not a vampire.
Silvermoon was a place of wonder, normally. Right now, it was a place of ridicule. Tiroth grunted a greeting to the initiates that swarmed the Hall of Blood, trying desperately to ignore their sly smirks when they realized he had, once again, returned empty-handed. Over the course of two years, they had begun a near ritual when it came to Tiroth and Triadae, but the bets weren't on his side. No one thought he would have a chance, anymore.
He didn't blame them.
"I see your romancing has fallen flat yet again, my friend." Tiroth's shoulders only moved slightly in an affirmative, his lips pulled in a frown that was filled with more sadness than actual anger. Hana'rae knew the look, and her own mirrored the sadness she felt for him. The blonde was a tiny thing, surprisingly strong for her frail build, but where most of the Knights wore encompassing plate that deflected the blows they were expected to take, hers was a decorative chain-mail dress of red and gold. Beneath it was a form-fitting bodysuit of enchanted blackweave. The man had broken flimsy weapons on that deceptively thin cloth, and had stopped warning her of the dangers of such light armor since then.
Her talent was not in the defensive skills that the Light granted her, nor even the mass damage capable of a Knight. No, hers was the gentle touch of a mending heart, and she was one of the better skilled at it. The Light never failed to answer her, perhaps because she never had the will to force it to. The woman was a stalwart soldier and friend, especially when it came to matters of the heart. Only she knew the full depths of his pain in the altercation with the red-headed Tria, and only she kept the perfect balance of understanding both sides perfectly.
"You aren't going to cry again, are you?" Hana'rae fell into step behind him, her metal-laced tome and the chains around her slim waist clinking lightly against her armor. The short-cropped hair that framed her oval face was fine, almost like down, and there was a near permanent crimp in it near the edges where she had once been forced to bind it behind her head at the nape of her neck. It gave her an almost celestial look, when paired with her eyes. How she kept the innocent air was beyond him, but he didn't question that, either.
Tiroth shook his head, a half-hearted chuckle parting his lips. "No. Not this time." She never let him forget how they met, even if it was a gentle tease spoken beneath her breath so the others wouldn't laugh. The ones who had seen combat and lost loved ones would never dare to give him grief for his mourning, no matter how different their reasons were. The younger, more inexperienced? Well... they would learn one day. Everyone learned.
'It's okay to cry, you know. No one will laugh, not here.' His mind echoed her words from that day, when he had found himself far below the main floor of the Hall. A room akin to the one that once held the trapped Naaru, but was meant for personal meditation. Back then, there weren't many who used it, and it had become a sanctum for him. A place of solitude where he could be alone with his pain. Until Hana'rae had seen him there. Her bright eyes had watched him with such care, as if afraid if she moved from the cushion she was reading on, he would flee from her friendly presence. 'I won't tell... if you need to cry.'
So he had. The man who had sealed the fates of countless men and women in the wrong, had drawn blood of those who attacked his beloved home, and had lost more comrades in battle than he cared to admit, dropped to his hands and knees, and cried. Only moments passed until he felt her touch, delicate fingers weaving through his hair before she tucked herself against him, drawing his head to her breast and laying her own atop his. She judged nothing, listening to the agony of his words as he sobbed. Every last truth was laid bare before her, and when at last his sobs had stopped...
'If we never felt pain in loss, how would we know what the value is in what has left us? If there was no punishment for what we had done wrong, where would we learn to never treat those we loved in such ways? You made a mistake, such a grievous error... now your burden will be the wedge that was dropped between you, placed there by your own hands. You wronged her, and now she wrongs you by holding such a hate in her heart for you. You are both in the right, and in the wrong. But it's okay now...' Her smile was kind, her tone like a mother to child as she tilted his head up so his eyes could meet hers, 'because if you ever need it, you can cry here. With me.'
"As you wish, Master Everdawn. Shall I run through the daily happenings with you so that you are caught up?" Her gaze broke from his back, a brief nod given to an initiate who happened to cross their path as they made their way to his own quarters.
Tiroth nodded, pushing aside the filmy curtains that lined his alcove, gesturing for her to step in before himself. When he followed her in, it was with the mental thought and pang of sadness as he thought of how much more he preferred the wooden door of that home in the woods. He settled behind the wooden desk, toying briefly with a floating candle as she spoke.
"Emetrine and Lazler wounded each other again in practice. We've taken their weapons and fitted them with padded wood until they can learn that their sparring is not supposed to leave them near death." Her lips quirked in an amused grin, "They were spotted 'tending each others wounds' in one of the alcoves just before you got back." A moment passed, and her head tilted thoughtfully. "There were no reports of trouble on the outer borders, though some of the magelings have spoken of an outbreak of trolls in the east."
"Let them deal with them then," was his only reply. Tiroth leaned upon the desk, his hands folded in thought. "Anything else?"
Hana'rae could barely suppress her grin when a small form tumbled out of the corner of the room, the discarded cloak rumpled around the chair that the little girl had been so patiently waiting in. "Oh, and your daughter is here to see you." The woman watched the tiny child clamber up into her father's lap, his expression of sadness gone before the smiling visage of his flesh and blood.
"Ann'da!"
"Miralai. How long were you hiding there, my little Light?" Tiroth smiled, brushing raven hair out of the eyes of the little girl as she situated herself properly.
"Rae told me if I was very quiet, you would be surprised!" Miralai smiled brightly, reaching out to play with the pens scattered along her father's desk while the adults talked. This was how it was for the little one, having been raised with a caretaker instead of her parents. Rare moments like this were snuck in between assignments and wars. She was a quiet girl, but knew her father without a doubt. When he came home from combat, she was there waiting for him.
"Since you left this morning. You missed Yri by mere moments, so Mira waited here with me. She was a very good girl." The woman waved her fingers, a delicate sphere of golden light forming and hovering above the tips that she lightly tossed to the eager child, who caught it only to have it pop like a fragile bubble, glittering sparks sent out harmlessly around her. "Shall I leave you two alone for a ti – hm?"
Miralai's eyes had gone to the door, the elders following to alight on the woman who stood there, a hand on the frame while the other clutched at her breast. Behind her, others were appearing and vanishing, the clang of armor and blade echoing down the hall in a familiar crescendo of sound that made the hairs on the back of their necks rise. Yri gasped for a few moments, her eyes holding an apologetic sort of look until she finally spoke.
"Wretched..." The woman's eyes flared with a mix of fear, pity, and anger. "On the Row." When Tiroth looked as if to shrug off the warning, the lithe woman stalked forward, grabbing Miralai from his lap and gesturing to a map that hung from the wall, seemingly capable of only that as she shifted the young girl in her arms.
Tiroth had only to look at the parchment for a moment, his eyes widening. "Keep Mira here. Both of you, stay. Hana'rae, with me." The man stood, nearly barreling into a group of others who were headed in his same direction. "Kratos, Nola, Anandor! With me!" His voice echoed down the hall, the chirrups of the initiates he called filtering back. Hana'rae cast a single look to the parchment map, her head shaking before she also left, leaving Yri to deal with a squirming and upset young girl.
"Once. Just once, I would like to leave you alone long enough to get things I need without you drawing attention to yourself." Tria's eyes darted sideways, glancing only briefly at Kalthor. Long enough to catch that same cocky grin, and the flash of fire in his eyes. "I wish you didn't look like you enjoyed this so much."
"Oh, but I love it so very much." The warlock's fingers twitched, only just enough to make certain that Tria would catch the gesture and move as shadow coalesced around his hand and jumped to the stumbling, muttering figure in front of them. It screamed, sounding more like a drowning rat than anything as threatening as it was. "Vryn, if you would kindly make sure the things I asked for are ready?"
"Oh, yes. I will get right on that. Would you like them with or without Wretched?" The sarcastic voice was familiar to anyone who roamed the Row long enough. Vryn'dell was the proprietor of a small shop tucked away in the darkest of alleys, where one who was up to no good could find anything they needed to make their mission possible. Assuming, of course, that she had found the needed items. The elven woman was not looked upon kindly, and not at all with any amount of pity. Stepping out of her shop was grounds for slaughter, and so she paid others to gather the priceless items she so desperately required.
The rumors of her existence abounded. They whispered that she was not Sin'dorei, not anymore. Too long had she drained the fel-energies of demons in Outland, and now her body and mind had taken the toll. What faced them now was far worse. Where Vryn was one aspect of a very real fear for Kalthor himself, the Wretched were a real reminder just how real their addiction was, and how badly it could change them in an instant.
What was now a large pack of insatiable Wretched was, just moments ago, friends and family to those who lingered in the walls. Mages, warlocks, even haughty priests. Now, they were nothing. Ragged breaths followed the silence from the harmed one as it fell, shadow consuming the painfully thin form until nothing was left but a ragged pile of fel-touched cloth. No one moved, or even dared to breath louder than was necessary, until someone moved.
At the edge of the alley, three young elves wandered, unknowingly in more danger than they could possibly understand even if they had been paying attention. Triadae felt them approach with the keen sense that battle had gouged into her, and she barely had time to shout a warning before the first scream started. As one, the pack of Wretched turned and fell upon the group, and without thought, Tria followed. A pale hand shot up from the group as they were set upon, and the warrior grasped it and pulled, the sobbing form of one of the young scholars falling against her, still screaming.
She knew, with a gut wrenching pain that she could not explain, that the other two were already dead. It was more merciful than what she would have had to do to them, drained of all magic and essence. They would be nothing more than what had attacked them, what was now turning wanting gazes on the still screaming woman in her arms. "Kal!" Tria's eyes dared to look back over her shoulder, "Something! Now!"
"Allow me, Kalthor." Vryn's voice was thick with something that Kalthor knew all too well, and he stepped aside while shooting a glance up the other side of the alley. Beneath the elven woman, lines of green etched deep into the stone, winding into intricate patterns and runes. They flared with sickly green light, drawing the attention of the Wretched off of Triadae and onto the power she so easily wielded. Vryn's eyes closed, her dark lips pulling back into a sinister smile. The scrollwork continued, breaking lines into floors and up into walls, the light melding and seeming to grow, and Tria let out a slew of curses that would have made sailors turn pale.
"Move. Move now!" The girl was all but thrown behind the warrior, who turned and quickly grabbed her arm. The screaming had at last stopped, turning into a rambling babble that wasn't going to do anyone much good. Triadae sighed, almost sprinting past Vryn to dash into the woman's shop as Vryn's spell completed. She did not want to be out there when they arrived.
They did. The green glow along the walls spiraled and formed into three fel-green swirling portals, and Tria was forced to clap a hand over the mouth of the girl as they watched what emerged. Cloven feet stepped lightly from the portals, the preliminary to a rarely seen event. A trio of incubi watched the glowing portals cease behind them, sharing a cruel grin with Vryn before combat began once more.
When it came to Vryn, the rumors were almost true. Her once pale skin had darkened to a jet, golden hair to a snow white, and the lines of fel green that formed demonic runes on her slender body were there, no matter how dim they may have been. She did not have the characteristic horns or small, almost feathered wings that the other Fel Blood elves had, but she had enough to be ostracized from her kin. The only reason she had not been killed and banished were the numerous enchantments from friendly arcanists, those who never would be alive without the items she sold.
Never before had she summoned demons into the midst of the city. She knew, even if the others did not, that this would be the last day she would spend within the walls of the city she loved and adored so much. What a way to make an exit. The incubi charged into the crowd of Wretched, half in defense of their caller, and half... because they could. Triadae heard the final gurgles of enemies, motioning for the whimpering woman to remain in the shop just before darting out and into the fray herself.
One incubus was already dead, drained of his magic and blood, but it was having a poor effect on the ones who had sucked him dry. They had changed in those seconds, the blue growths on their back popping like cysts and spraying their comrades with a sickly ichor that made even the warrior stop in disgust. Their blue eyes turned green, and seemed ready to burst from their sockets, and their mouths had dessicated, drooling black liquid that she had no care to wonder exactly what it was. Of all of them, one towered over the others, his chest sunken in deeply, markings around his eyes, and the growths that had once been blue were now green, and double their size. He didn't even look elven anymore.
The second incubus fell, drawing Tria from her trance in time to dodge a line of fire that coursed along the ground, searing three of the lesser Wretched. Her angry gaze back at an innocent-looking Kalthor gave the largest of them the chance to grip her, claws curling around the long tail she kept so neatly tied back. With a growl, the woman's arm hooked around the hair, coiling it about her skin to brace for the tug as she wrenched it from his hands.
It grabbed for her again, and she danced out of it's grasp, her eyes on the target while fire seared the lesser beings around her. The third incubus fell, and the monster swelled to twice his height, towering over the warrior and threatening to drip that black ooze onto her head. There was a sound, a shout from behind her, and she felt her arm grabbed. Taken by surprise, she collapsed against the young woman she had rescued, who shot her a dazed and somewhat shy smile. She looked about to speak, and then the thing screamed, and there were more voices.
Vryn darted into the shop, vanishing behind the counter only a moment, three large bags placed up onto the surface. "This is what he asked for. The Knights are here. My time to flee." Her eyes went to the shop door, where the Wretched was visible just barely beneath a swarm of armor and swords. "Tell him... tell him he still owes me. Just do that, and these are free of cost. Promise!"
"I... I promise." Tria shot the woman a puzzled look, accepting the smile in return that the fel-caster gave, and... she disappeared. The warrior waited for the laugh that normally accompanied such tricks, but there was none. In the blink of an eye, Vryn had vanished, and she had nothing to tell Kalthor but that he still owed the woman. "Men are not worth the trouble." She muttered it beneath her breath, the scared young woman nodding eagerly along.
Her attention went outside as the shouts stopped, and one long scream was heard. The Wretched wasn't in sight, and upon leaving the shop, she realized they had dragged it out of the alley and into plain view, where more than just the Knights had brought the twisted being down. It lay in a burning heap, slowly dissolving in its own fluids. Motioning for the girl to follow her, she caught sight of Kalthor talking to a guard, and moved to go the other way.
"Triadae!"
'Oh for the love of...' Her fingers flexed, and she took a deep breath before turning on her heel, managing her falsest smile possible as she looked up at Tiroth's face. "Why, twice this week. To what do I owe the honor?" Behind her back, her hands moved in such a way that the young girl moved away quickly, only to be caught by another Knight and pulled into discussion with him.
"I should have known I would find you here. Causing trouble again?" His eyes narrowed. "Where is your sword? I've had company with it so often I'm astonished to find you without it."
"Some of us don't bear weapons when we go to buy a few things before we travel, Everdawn." A few of the Knights around them smothered snickers, only making her glare at the lot of them until they silenced. "And before you ask," her finger lifted, silencing the questions she knew he was going to ask, "I'm not telling you. It's none of your business, and you'd best keep out of mine or I'll add another mark to your shiny new armor." Her head dipped in a slight nod as Hana'rae appeared at Tiroth's side. "It's good to see you again, Hana. You are doing well for yourself."
The blonde smiled, dropping into a bow meant for those above her in station. Only when she straightened again did she speak, her tone amused when she caught the conflicted look of pain and annoyance on Triadae's features. "I was told to come and tend to any wounds. Have you suffered some that I may tend to?"
Triadae shook her head, fingers catching in her hair a brief moment as she pushed her bangs from her eyes. "No, Hana. Despite my proximity to the problem, I was not in any sort of trouble." She winked at the female, and both of them shared a silent thanks, though for different reasons. "If you'll excuse me, I have some unfinished business to attend to."
"Triadae. I expect a full report on my desk in the morning." The male's arms crossed over her chest, a hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
She seemed to consider this, tapping her lips briefly before shrugging. "Better than expecting a report in your bed." She waved a hand dismissively, turning on her heel. "Not that you were ever spec - ..."
"Ann'da!"
Triadae's eyes shot to the sound of the voice, centering on the little girl that dashed forward and wrapped her arms tightly about Tiroth's leg, refusing to let go. The silence around them was deafening, and it broke only with a sigh from Tiroth as he bent and scooped up the blood elven child. The warrior scoured the young features, feeling herself pushed almost immediately to the brink of tears, of yelling and shouting, and of sorrowful pleas to hold the child just for a moment. She settled herself by stepping close to the pair, her fingers reaching out to brush the raven hair that covered Mira's eyes in a messy cascade.
The fragile moment was broken by the touch of Kalthor on her arm, a touch she knew from the way it made her skin crawl. Her eyes flicked up to Tiroth's, her voice gentle for what seemed the first time in years. "She looks like her father," that gentle voice hardened, and something else choked her, but the rage and hate was plain even then, "except her eyes. Those are her mother's eyes." Before he could retort, she had spun away on her heel, and was away and gone.
Kalthor watched his friend go, looking to the Blood Knight and his child only when the rest of the area had seemed to go back to normal. "It'll be on your desk. The report, I mean. I promise nothing more than that."
"You're going with her?" Tiroth's voice was quiet, his grip shifting as his daughter curled up in his arms and nuzzled her face into his neck.
"Of course. I'd do the show of kicking and screaming the whole way, but we both know I'd rather be there with her than not. You want me to keep an eye on her?" The blonde offered a nod to Hana, his scorched hand held out. Her fingers caressed the charred skin. "Fire is still a little chaotic since I've dabbled in Fel. I'm more likely to burn myself than a target, but Tria needed help." His smile was grateful as the mender worked, restoring his hand to working order. "Lovely. Thank you for that. I don't suppose you'd like to take me up on that drink?" His eyes flicked up to Tiroth, his grin widening. "No? Alright. Another time, then."
Hana'rae chuckled, watching the blonde stroll off with an assured swagger. "She'll be fine, Master Everdawn. No matter where she goes, she'll be fine."
Tiroth sighed, his eyes dropping down to the blood elven woman beside him. "For how long?" He was not assured as Hana shrugged, and reached up to ruffle Miralai's hair, then turned to make her way back to the others to complete her duties. He watched her go, glancing briefly back to the way Triadae had left, then sighed. Defeated again, the man made his way back to the others, passing off Miralai to a very worried and frazzled Yri.
"I saw her the other day. She's a tiny little thing, and looks too much like her father. She has your eyes, though. I'd never forget those eyes, no matter how hard I want to, sometimes. I can tell he loves her, so that's at least one thing that has gone right out of all the mess." Triadae leaned back against the tree, her palms pressed to the grass beside her. "First time I've seen her in all these years. How old must she be now? I can't even recall. I try not to think about it.
I figure you've been keeping her from me. I don't blame you, after all. Everything that happened, makes it hard to look at anything without feeling seething anger and hate. There's days I just want to punch him so hard I know he won't wake up, and others I want to collapse against him and just cry until nothing is left. Sometimes I want to go back to the way it all was, but then I feel guilty.
I shouldn't feel guilty, but I do. Seeing her just made me remember everything all at once, and in that brief moment, I felt so powerless. Is that what you wanted me to feel when I finally saw her? I suppose you told Kalthor not to tell me about her, too. I about died laughing when I heard she was named after you. That was right before I cried until my throat was raw. I'm glad you didn't name her after me. Would have been a horrible idea. Wouldn't want someone else to go stumbling off in my footsteps, would I? No... I wouldn't.
I'm leaving now, Mira. I don't know when I'll be back, or even if I ever will be. I feel the same loyalty to our people that I always have, no matter if we've changed or not... but I'm done with this. Kalthor's right, but maybe not in the way he thinks. I need to get out, and away. Before I do something stupid..."
"Hey." Kalthor slid from his dreadsteed, patting the vicious black armor as if the beast were a pet dog. It didn't seem to mind, staying where it was despite the fact it was ruining the grass beneath it's flaming hooves. He stepped close, offering a hand that she took to ease herself up. There was a wary silence as he watched her move to her hawkstrider, the black bird chittering a soft welcome as she fixed the straps of her sword. Only when she pulled herself up into the saddle did he look away, and down at where she had been sitting. "Does it help you?"
Triadae sighed softly, glancing at the mound of earth she had been sitting beside. "It's an empty grave, Kalthor." Her voice softened, dropping the tone that made it seem like he had asked a stupid question. "The only thing it helps me with, is knowing that there's nothing here holding me back. Let's go." She turned away, leaving him to stare after her, and then he too followed, and all there was to mark that they had been there was the charred patches of grass.