Bare Bones and Sinew [WoW ArrPee]

[Kawamura]

It wasnâ??t so much that he hated the ruins, but that he hated the ghosts.

The elf waiting outside the broken gates to what used to be Lorderaon proper wasnâ??t exactly young: he had reached the age where the lines that appeared when he smiled stayed now, though that certainly didnâ??t worry him and send him running off to the Apothecary like many of his peers. In fact, he was almost fond of his developing wrinkles: heâ??d spent too much time around humans and the lot of them saw the effects of aging as a sign of wisdom, not death creeping up on a race that had never quite gotten over the bitterness of lost immortality.

After multiple millennia, heâ??d think theyâ??d stop whining but they never did. Of course, it was thoughts like these that got him in the mess he was in.

Something not quite there passed too close and the elf started, jerking his head to the side to try and catch it. Like always, the movement seemed too fast and he settled back against the column of what used to be a rather nice structure in a lovely garden. Now it was the epitome of decay: cracks in the now stained stone had widened where diseased plants had pushed their roots and stems between the rock over the years, straining to reach the dirty light that filtered through the ever present clouds. Bad magic, it was, to leave such a lasting curse on the environments, and the natural philosopher found himself both fascinated and horrified by the way flora and fauna trickled back. In any case, it hadnâ??t frightened the horse (who was doing her best to graze on what sparse grass there was poking its way through the cobblestones), which was as good a sign as any that it was simply the shade of a formally living thing.

Another movement caught his eye, but this was slow and organic. Demothes sat up, tanned hand moving instinctively for the knife at his side until he recognized the approaching figure. â??Theresites,â? he said softly, rising to his feet and matching his former studentâ??s open grin. â??Any luck?â?

Unlike the older elf, who hid his nervousness well (nothing save a few taps on the stone under his hand), Thersitesâ?? fingers plucked along his colorful robe with a frantic sort of energy. The student was much more classically attractive to elves than his teacher: where Demothes was almost dark (by Elfish standards, of course), his messy dark hair unbleached or colored, Thersites was tall and pale and completely out of place in these ruins. â??I donâ??t know if I would call it luck, Professor,â? he said with forced cheerfulness. â??Aâ?¦ ah, I found an escort. He might not be quite what you were hoping for, but he certainly wonâ??t ask questions.â?

Demothes cocked his head to the side. A Forsaken, then, if Thersites was that uncomfortable. The free Undead werenâ??t all bad, he knew in a sort of theoretical fashion, the same way you knew that nasty medicine your mother fed you would make you better, not worse; but they had a nasty habit of being mostly bad. If he was to be traveling with a Forsaken he had the feeling heâ??d only be replacing multiple, unknown threats with one very known threat.

Better odds, but not entirely reassuring.

â??Lovely,â? he remarked in a tone that hinted he thought it was anything but and rested a long-fingered hand on his hip, pulling the dark traveling cloak back to reveal sturdy clothing underneath. None of it hinted at a wealth that might lead a man to target him for mugging. â??Heâ??s on his way?â?

 

[Cataclysm]

Out from behind an old stone pillar stepped a new figure. His pale dead skin and yellowish glowing eyes matched the drab backdrop well. He was one of the few free undead, one of the Forsaken. And for an undead man he was in marvellous shape, which was to say terrifying shape to those living who were not used to looking upon his kind. The Forsaken male wore a dark greyish and purple travelling robe. It was ripped and frayed at the ends, but still clearly magical. His body was adorned with heavy chain and plate armor.

One could see his pale greyish skin, and small pieces of exposed bone. Across his back was a very large sword. He approached slowly, his movements strong and possessed, which was what really put the Forsaken apart from their brainwashed brethren. His name was Varath. He came closer to the two elves and they could see his glowing eyes as he looked them over, sizing them up.

He would certainly be able to kill one of them, but if they were both fighting, he had a good chance of losing his own life. If nothing else, the Forsaken were logical. They died once, and most of them did NOT want to go through it again. Varath decided to simply guard the two elves. He bowed slowly coming up and looking to the older elf. "Greetings. I am Varath. Your... Compatriot has convinced me to bring you safely to... He didn't really specify where. But so long as you pay me, I really don't care." The undead man said. His voice was rough and gravelly, and slightly muffled under his helmet.

 

[Kawamura]

Both elves tensed, though only Demothes had a weapon on him and neither were particularly seasoned fighters. But the movement wasnâ??t the slow jerk of a poorly controlled body: no this was one of the conscious ones, the men and women that had broken their mental bonds and fought, tooth and nail, to freedom.

Not that it really made him feel any better. Heâ??d met with a few of the Royal Apothecary, and they were no more than dressed up poison-brewers. Demothes couldnâ??t imagine that a hired sword would be much better in the morals department.

Thersites pulled away, covering his nose in what couldnâ??t be called a subtle manner by anyone but the most socially inept. Demothes instead flashed a tired, gentle smile to the new comer and returned the bow. â??Good day to you, Varath,â? he said in careful Orcish, trying his best to mimic the harsh sounds and not inject the smoother, more fluid tones of Thalassian. â??I am Demothes Sunelm. And this isâ?¦â? The older one trailed off, glancing to the younger. Thersites was doing this as a favour, a kindness to a former teacher who simply couldnâ??t brave Underworld. The less details about him, the better. â??My student,â? he finished weakly, and the rail thin blonde gave a quick, jerky bow. â??Or was, rather. Who will not be accompanying us.

â??I was hoping to make it to near Stormwind.â? The elf climbed down, putting himself at ground level. He was perhaps average height or just below it but he held himself well: limbs loose in comparison with his studentâ??s uncomfortable, drawn in posture, easily meeting the Forsaken's eyes even though half-ghosts swirled like smoke at the edges of his vision. â??Will that be too difficult?â?

 

[Cataclysm]

The Forsaken man watched the younger of the two elves with some minor interest. It might be fun to scare the boy once in a while. He had been the one to hire Varath, and he managed to keep his manners in check up until this point. The older elf began to speak and he looked up slowly. He introduced each of them and the undead nodded, and looked to the west, then the east. "All the way to Stormwind? I will gladly take you that far, so long as you have deep pockets. But do keep in mind, I am a mercenary. When you run out of coin, you run out of bodyguard." He said.

The undead man slowly straightened his back, letting the old bones crack and fall back into place. The man maintained an almost lavish lifestyle, for an undead, because of he coin he collected leading people through the lands. Especially the darker, more unhappy ones, like Tirasfal Glades, and the Plaguelands.

"If you wish me to lead you INTO Stormwind, I will have to double my fee for the time I am inside the walls. All of the races of Azeroth recognize the banner of a mercenary, but the humans of Stormwind like to give me a hard time." He said in his raspy dark voice.

 

[Kawamura]

Demothes smiled mirthlessly. â??I expected no different,â? he said, managing a soft tone even in that harsh language. He tried to ignore the popping of exposed spine: no, not really â??poppingâ?? like a living thing would have. More like grinding, naked bone sliding against naked bone and stringy remains of connective tissues. Undead bodies were fascinating, but even the curious part of him couldnâ??t over come that almost primal fear of dealing with things that should have been long buried.

It had seemed like such a healthy fear before all this switching of allies.

â??I think I should be fine in the walls,â? the elf said, waving a long hand dismissively. He hoped so, at least. Demothes wasnâ??t the sort to use magic for every little thing, he wasnâ??t a mage and he certainly didnâ??t go further and deal with demons, but he would have a whiff of fel about him. No one could help but to in the city. Tauren noticed it, he knew that from his time spent trying to ignore his peers and the sword hanging over their head, Kalâ??dorei would, too. The rest, hopefully, wouldnâ??t notice a defector and he could just simply disappear into the magic quarters.

The idea was much too simple and too easy. Something would have to go wrong: Demothes wasnâ??t used to things being easy the last few years. The elf moved to speak under his breath to his student, whose pale head turned down and nodded before he headed off to the Orb, then Demothes regarded the Undead. Shorter than him, of course, but thicker. â??Well, then,â? he said smoothly, fighting down the sudden wave of nervousness from being left alone with a reanimated corpse on top of a sewer system full of them as he pulled out a map from his pocket. â??I imagine weâ??ll want to get going. I, ah, I have a route sketched out.â? He turned back to the ruined centerpiece, smoothing the parchment out on the dusty stone. A slender, spidery line glittered there, tracing its way from Lordâ??the ruins to Stormwind. â??But, then, Iâ??ve never really gone this way by foot.â?