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blackhooftrading · 5 years

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The Hunted (part 2)

Zeno entered the tavern, clearly agitated at the recent turn of events and the fact that is was a busy night with plenty of opportunity for eavesdroppers. She spotted Dizarak near the back bar and marched up to him, smiling briefly at the greeting she received from the various workers near the door. Diz looked at her with concern. For her to be away from Olathia's side meant something must have happened. “What brings you out tonight?” Zeno frowned, noticeably different from her usual scowl. “I have more information about our 'friend'.” Diz's eyes widened as he nodded. “Come with me.” He excused himself from the small group he'd been speaking with and lead her upstairs to speak with one of his mates, another member of the Raven Guard. The large paladin eyed both of them as they walked up to the landing, still keeping a close eye on the door and the patrons below. “Ash, this is Olathia's Left Hand.” Ashraen squinted as he leaned on the railing, the wood creaking in protest under his weight and that of his armor. “I know who she is, love. More curious as to why she's here.” Zeno shifted her gaze between the two giants, relaxing slightly. If these two were responsible for keeping an eye out for undesirables, it would make her job much easier. She still wasn't sure what Diz might have shared and who he shared with. “I have reason to believe a very dangerous person has been here recently.” Ash arched a brow. “Mm, really? Who? When?” At least he doesn't waste time getting to the point. Zeno looked sideways toward Diz before answering the paladin's rapid-fire questions, and the void male visibly stiffened at her words. “I heard him.” Then she turned to Ash. “I'm not sure when exactly. I am not sure exactly how much you have been told, but someone is hunting my boss. I believe it is one of us.” Ash narrowed his gaze at the undead woman before him. “I've gotten the gist of that. A source tipped me off before you. What does 'one of us' mean?”

Zeno shifted on her feet, still unwilling to divulge information about the less-than-secret society the former servants of the Lich King had formed. “A death knight, to be specific. Normally we have ways of tracking each other, and this one in particular has been missing. He's considerably more bloodthirsty than others, and if my hunch is correct he's out to finish a job.” Ash bared his fangs and muttered a curse. “That's what that meant... Godsdamnit.”

Diz looked at the other male while pointing a thumb at Zeno. “Besides what I relayed from her, who told you about this?” Zeno broke in, shifting again. “Wait, someone else knows about this?”

Ash flicked a look toward his mate. “Moira.”

“This was supposed to be kept quiet,” Zeno hissed through clenched teeth.

Ash glanced down at Zeno. “Moira gives me most of my tips and trade offs. She's not a gossip, trust on that.”

“She's a high-ranking courtesan in Silvermoon,” Diz added. “Call her an intel broker, if you will.”

Zeno nodded, but was clearly unsettled by that news. “I believe the one who attacked Olathia and left her for dead while still under Arthas' control is still stalking her. It would explain his disappearance.”

“I still don't understand why now,” Diz wondered aloud. “It's been so long.” “I've already spoken with Diz and Perchedon here about it, but I didn't have much information other than he uses an axe,” Zeno continued. “I heard his voice in my head the other night. Only one word, but it was enough.” She shuddered at the recent memory, hoping she was wrong and fearing she wasn't. “If he was here, you'd be able to tell me.”

Another Illidari, a very shy male with a large spider on his shoulders, had come up the stairs, hesitant to interrupt. Both of the giants turned to him. “What's wrong Behail?” Diz asked.

The Illidari instinctively reached up to cuddle the spider. “I, umm... Perchedon wanted me – for some reason – to... tell you, he will help with... whatever it is... you are speaking of.” Zeno smiled and nodded at Behail, while Diz thanked him. “We will brief him later. Thank you, Behail.” The Illidari turned and shuffled back down the stairs with a sigh, seemingly trying to not run from the tense conversation. Ash stared at the spider as he made his way back to the main part of the tavern. Zeno turned back to the two large men and let her voice carry slightly, knowing Perch would hear her but making sure he caught her words over the din of the busy room below. “He is a troll, and not a Darkspear. I would know that accent anywhere.”

Diz snapped his attention to Zeno before peering at Ash. “I haven't been around to keep as watchful of an eye, so I haven't personally seen anyone like that...” Perch had indeed caught her words and headed up, crossing his arms behind his back when he reached the landing, and Zeno tipped her head in greeting at him. Ash grunted and nodded. “Shouldn't be too damn hard to spot a Tr-...” His head tilted as Perch approached. “Though I really don't remember one. Taoln was flirting a troll, but I don't think he was a death knight.” Perch nodded back at Zeno before adding, “Trolls are rare in this area, though we do get them from time to time.” He avoided meeting Diz and Ash's gaze for some reason, but Zeno cared not about whatever interpersonal issues the men had as long as it didn't get in the way of keeping her boss safe. “I don't recall a death knight troll, though I can have a few of my Illidari scout the island for traces.” “How long ago was the troll here?” Zeno asked, immediately back to business. She turned to Perch. “That would be good.” Yet another bar employee made her way up to the small but growing group. Zeno looked at her blankly. “Are you Raven Guard also?” The void female regarded all of them with a sly grin. “Oh- ha. No, not that. My ears were just tinglin' with all this chatter.” She blinked a few times, looking at Zeno as if trying to place her. “Ya said something about a troll, not a Darkspear, and a death knight. Friend of yours?” She chuckled as if making a joke to herself.

Zeno narrowed her eyes. “Who isn't a friend of mine?”

Diz regarded the newcomer with widened eyes. “Wait. Have you seen one, Iri?”

Iri shrugged. “See all sorts with a friendly enough smile.” She gestured toward the back bar. “Had one here Monday. Asked me to keep an eye out for for-...” She turned her gaze back toward Zeno. “A blood elf death knight. And now you're here. Not named Hilde-somethin', are ya?” Zeno stiffened at the mention of that name and cursed under her breath. Ash snarled and bared his fangs, cursing colorfully in about three different languages. Iri clicked her tongue, noting the various reactions. “Aye. So it is you he was lookin' fer then.” Diz abruptly turned and slipped past the group, heading downstairs. “I have to ask Azryl something.”

This just got increasingly more difficult. “Then he knows I am looking for him.”

Perch had been silent for most of the conversation. He shot Zeno a pointed look. “I take it this isn't good. What should we do?”

“No, it is not.” Zeno's scowl was far more pronounced than usual. “For now, just stay alert. If he causes any trouble, kill him. I would rather be the one to take his head myself, but I cannot be everywhere at once.”

Ash crossed his arms. “You have to keep her away from here, Zeno.”

“I will be glued to her side no matter what.” Zeno's promises carried a little more weight than most.

Perch sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I'll see if Feng would be willing to help. She can sniff out a death knight from a mile away it seems.”

“If I had more information the last time I was here, he might not have slipped past.” Zeno looked at Iri again. “Did you happen to catch his name?” Iri lifted a brow. “Might have done. What's it worth?” She motioned toward Perch and Ash, shrugging. “Seeing as he walked right past these two, seems ya might be wantin' someone who pays attention.”

Ash snarled violently at Iri while Zeno stared her down. “Name your price.”

Perch forcefully shushed Ash and added, “I'll see to it that you're rewarded for any information you give us.” Ash just crossed his arms, eye twitching.

Iri looked between the two promising riches for a simple name. “Called 'imself Gerrozak. Leather armor covered in blood, his and others.”

Zeno cursed loudly this time. “He's a cannibal. He eats his victims. That blood was probably his last meal.” She scowled even more, if that were possible. “Makes sense he'd be looking for me, even if he doesn't know I'm guarding Olathia. He doesn't like to leave jobs undone.” Her hand wandered up the scar covering her right eye, a ruined mess of blue flame. “He did this too.”

Iri scrunched her face. “Lovely, that.” She took this as her cue to leave and headed back down to the bar and more pleasant conversations.

Perch's ears perked up and he looked at Iri as she went downstairs. “Yes. I saw him too now that you reminded me.”

Diz had returned just in time to catch that last bit of information. “If he's anything like you say he will go for the kill the same way.”

Perch crossed his arms over his stomach and dipped his head. “I should go pay Iri.” He turned and headed down the stairs, glancing up at Diz as he passed.

Zeno nodded at no one in particular, staring at the floor. “I will do my best to keep her away, unless I am with her, but she is far more stubborn than she lets on.”

“At least we know if she's here with either you or Wayland we should be fine?” Diz turned toward his mate. “Ash, if she shows up alone what do we do?”

Ash growled. “Ya pick her up, stuff her in a cave, and sit on her.” He flicked his ears and bared his teeth in frustration. Zeno snorted, the closest thing to a laugh anyone would get from her tonight.

Diz sighed. “I'd say at this rate, he's kill on sight. No questions asked.” Ash made a face and licked a fang. “Thinking back on Monday, I believe I know the troll. And if anyone sees him again... No questions asked. No playing with food. No hesitation. We end him.”

Having seen the paladin in action before, Zeno believed this to be true. “Monday... That's when I heard him. At least that bit is accurate. I can hear him if he's been someplace I have recently.” Diz had a thoughful look on his face. “If Zara is at the manor, and you are here, who's with Olathia now?”

Zeno cast a wry smile at Diz. “Wayland.” “And he doesn't have a description.” Diz turned his mismatched gaze from Zeno toward the door. “Get moving.”

Don't get used to giving me orders, little one. “I suppose I could interrupt.” “I don't give a shit if the boy is balls deep, Olathia is to be kept safe and that is the end of it,” Ash muttered. Diz grimaced as Zeno waved to the others and headed for the door, slipping between the crowds of people who still kept the tavern hopping even at this late hour.

mentions: @dizaraksanar, @ashraenv, @olathiawindgrave, @dreamfoiled (Behail), @perchedon, @irielle-firine

https://chardiary.com/c/Zenobya-197/diary/entries/1171

#heart of the raven #collab #Wow Rp #Wyrmrest Accord #Zenobya Amberblaze #chardiary

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aranyaphoenix · 5 years

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Come Raise the Dead

A Discord RP with @rhovinthorne.

Timeframe: Before embarking to Zandalar and Kul Tiras, immediately after the Siege of Lordaeron. Subsequent to Unborn and Try Again.

Silvermoon remained a terribly ironic name for the city of the elves, as the golden sun gleamed on its gilded walls and streets of white and red stone, making it radiant with warm light. A vibrant contrast to the desolation that was now Tirisfal.

Aranya strolled with purpose through the streets from her personal sanctum in the capital city, to the end of Farstrider Square that was partially shaded from the heat of the sun by large red tented banners, some steps above the open training area, which was lined with dummies. The smiths needed such shade - partial as it was, and not entirely effective - to keep from completely succumbing to the heat of both the sun and the forges. One had his back to her as she turned up the steps and approached, banging on some armor.

"Excuse me," said Aranya, just loud enough to make herself heard over the banging, and as soon as he stopped she continued. "How much for a good sharpening to a set of boot knives?" The arcanist asked. "I can pay you now and pick them up at the end of day if it's more convenient for your time and earlier customers," she added. "I won't wait on a rush if that's no good for you."

Moments before had Rhovin arrived at Farstrider to do the same, in a sense. Sharpening of his blades, oiling the separated plates of armor and greasing the leather patches that held each piece in its place. He didn't ask for service, however, only trusting himself to get the job done. The smiths didn't mind, as his common visits allowed him the leisure of using their equipment with free reign.

It wasn't long before he was practically covered in layers of black grime and sweat. Fortunately, the rags of clothing given to him spared him the trouble of having to ruin any of his good clothing. It wasn't anything special but a sleeveless shirt and pants with sturdy boots, but one can barely tell what he wore, or who he even was as his hair tied in a tight ponytail was covered in grease. And it didn't seem to bother him.

Midst the pounding of his hammer while shaping a newly made sword came, to no surprise, her familiar tone of voice that almost immediately put a halt to his work. Slowly, he set the hammer down. His palms, covered in protective cloth all the way up to his forearms, pressed at the edge of the forge as he thought for a moment. If it was her indeed, he won't let her run off. Not again.

The warrior turned while he lifted the engineered goggles at his eyes. His face, strained and riddled with various minor cuts and burns, turned to face the mage. "I don't work for free," came his gritted voice, fully facing her with broad shoulders high and a deep and breathy sigh to follow. "Though I'm willing to make an exception."

The corner's of the Thalassian woman's mouth immediately started softly pulling into that characteristic lopsided smile of hers, full of warmth as she took in his face. "I was hoping I would see you soon," she said sincerely. Having already temporarily uninstalled her boot knives in their sheathes from their home inside her well-worn but sturdy footwear, Aranya produced the pair of them from her bag for Rhovin to accept.

"I should still pay you in some way... Shall I stay instead of go?" Aranya didn't wait for his answer before sitting down. "I don't know if my letter reached you or not, but there are things we need to talk about, you and I. I'm hoping trying to work and converse at the same time isn't out of the question for you?"

Setting his work aside, Rhovin sat by a table near the arcanist. A set of various tools and an oiled stone was at the center. "I was hoping to avoid such a meeting," he admitted. He began to sharpen the blade in a careful curving from the base to the pointed tip, eyes focused on each grind to avoid any potential damage from a simple mistake. "I've too much in front of me to worry about the inevitable." It was then that he paused and looked over to where Aranya sat, though no smile came. "I'll see to the details when I get to Kalimdor. Away from this war, away from the Alliance. Away from everything."

"Rhovin... you're dying," said Aranya, her tone almost pleading, reaching out to him with her voice in ways that her hand would not, lest she tread over some line between them that would reach up and choke her if she trespassed it. "At least let me... Before you go... I believe I know how to restore you," she said. "Or if not restore you, at least help me find some closure with something," the arcanist continued. "When Argus' soul was killed by the combined forces of Azeroth, it destroyed the ability of all demons everywhere to renew themselves after death. Once dead they stay dead, unless they have a life-pact with a warlock, which means Tezzakel is dead." She waited for the warrior to glance up and catch her gaze before she went on, "But his two sayaad that he tried to toss me to are not. They're still out there..." Her voice went low and her green eyes burned savagely as she leaned forward and said, "And I would very much like to break them."

"Your father new the arts of a warlock better than many, he knew what it takes to hurt a demon, not just kill them," pointed out Aranya. "And also among those arts, he knew how to convert lifeforce into magic, and magic into life. I..." she hesitated here. How would he react? "I need to look at his work, have access to his studies and sanctums again. I could learn what he knew," she said. Ironic, given how she had staunchly made known that her emotions were in the negative when it came to any implication the warlock lord had ever made about the possibility of her ever being his apprentice.

"I could save you," said Aranya, and here she couldn't help it that no matter how strong she sounded, he knew what to listen for when she was pleading, in her own way.

Suddenly, the sharp end of her blade found itself slammed and buried halfway deep into the wooden table from the brute strength of his arm. Clearly, Rhovin was agitated. At the mention of his father, the twistedness of his work, and the consequences the came with it. "I don't need saving," he raised his voice, turning his chair to her direction. "His magic has done more harm than good, he even prepped to sacrifice me in order to save his own life! How is anything he has ever done going to make a beneficial difference?!" He paused and looked away to catch his breath.

Rhovin’s fel-tainted eyes wandered, collecting thought. "Even if you had access to everything he did, it wouldn't matter. It's all locked away in that cursed home of his. There is nothing there that would help in the matter." Finally, his gaze turned to her. It was not of anger, but of pain. "Nothing but misery and regret within those walls. It's haunted by the worst of his doing, and you stepping in there only risks you getting lost in everything he's done... and I can't allow myself for that to happen."

Aranya startled a bit at his forcefully abrupt actions, but remained still as Rhovin spoke. It seemed that no matter what history lay between them or how bad things had ever been, he still cared, still did not want to see her fall to darkness - and not for the pragmatic reasons of her becoming more dangerous, no, he had never minded that she was deadly in her ways. She could only imagine how it would affect him, if he watched her become an echo of what his father had been. It was a thought fit to make one shudder.

Aranya got up from her seat and knelt in front of Rhovin, looking him full in the face, serious. "Do you still have any faith in me?" she asked quietly. It was a far more important question than do you trust me. Trust was not even the issue at hand. "Do you believe that saying 'no' to your father so many times was something I did for nothing?" She had to know if he could believe in her, believe that she could resist what his father had always desired.

The sorceress stood up. "I have to finish this, Rhovin," she told him, speaking of the demons now. "I have to finish them. I only almost finished Tezzakel myself. I..."

'Fess up.

"I need this," she admitted. She needed closure. She was going to do it with or without his help, with or without his willingness to be saved, but could she succeed if she had lesser tools than what she knew to be the best? Would she survive it?

A quiet sigh soon followed. Not one of defeat, but more that he knew his disapproval would just further encourage her desire for this.

Rhovin stood, stepping away and far across to a bag that lay on the ground nearby his previous work station. He knelt and reached inside. There, he grabbed a small wooden box. The warrior stood and walked over to his former lover, sitting on his chair just across. He handed her the box. Inside, a simple key, though someone such as herself could sense the heavy aura of magic surrounding it.

"The walls, the foundation... it's all falling apart,”said Rhovin. “The spirits, the power? It all dwells and waits for the first to step in for them to take over. He's set up barriers, and has spells to negate the use of any power. Where he did this, I can't tell you. You'll go in there blind, and I don't know a thing that might help you get through it." He focused his gaze over her, already worried of what she would deal with, the haunting images of his past being put into light. He knew his father would use everything to try and turn her against him, and even possibly taking over her body. "In there, he's alive. His spirit still dwells. The afterlife isn't something he so easily accepts if it doesn't involve some form of immortality... and he won't let you go without the fight."

Aranya nodded grimly as her fingers brushed his, receiving the box. So, no magic would be effective against Kethron in his tomb. His power, his essence, was spread throughout it, saturated it. What to do then...?

An inspired thought came to her in answer, only the merest flicker of a chance with it, but it was still a chance, and the corner of Aranya's mouth twitched up for a split second.

The Thalassian woman looked at the man who had once been her captain, and so much more. A terrible impulse took her, and she went with it. "Thank you," she said, reaching out and laying her hand over his so that their fingertips brushed again. The art of drawing on mana which all blood elves had learned was easily done from a short distance, but the connection was strongest with closer proximity - especially as close as a touch. She reached into him - merely a lick of her essence on his - and immediately drew back, taking nothing with her.

That one brief taste was more than enough to send alarms going off all down her spine. His taste burned, like brightest fel, which wasn't unexpected in his current condition, but still far too acrid from what she remembered of him in their moments together. And underneath that - the taste of him - it very nearly made Aranya feel sick. What had once tasted like a bold, delicious spark, now.... felt dwindled. Felt wrong. He tasted like ash in rain, bitter, choking, the brightness gone. The tip of her tongue ran across the back of her teeth reflexively inside her mouth, as if wanting to rid herself somehow of just the memory of that taste on him, but it stayed. It fully hit her how far gone he was, how he was running out of time. Her heart sank.

Aranya's breath shook as she pulled it into her chest, not realizing she had stopped for that on disheartening moment. Her burning green eyes strayed to her boot knives, and then met with Rhovin's again. "I can go while you work on them," she said quietly. "Or stay if you like."

Rhovin only blinked, at first. He was perfectly still, despite the warring urges he found himself with in that moment.

She had just touched him in a way that meant something far deeper before. It recalled back... too many things.

He gritted his jaw. His fingers twitched only ever-so-slightly, fighting not to snatch her hand back. He held her gaze, his fel eyes seething.

"You should go," said Rhovin at last. "I'll get a courier to take them to your sanctum here in the city when they're done."

"You still know where it is?" Aranya asked.

Rhovin tucked his chin with a smirk, and with a slight shake of his head, said, "I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just ask me that."

Aranya shook her head slightly also. No, he wouldn't forget. Not him. With a slight bow of her head and a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes, she got up and left, focusing on one stride after the the other as she walked and not looking back.

There was much to prepare for now, she reminded herself. One foot after the other.

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#Aranya #Rhovin #Warcraft #Wyrmrest Accord #Aranya Ver'Sarn #Rhovin Thorne #rp #writing #canon #World of Warcraft #Aran + Rho

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