archived

      ❝ so you’re the one who brought euanthe back the day she got shot, right ? ❞

     sharp blue eyes narrow in the sin’dorei’s direction as artan stares him down. it takes only one quick glance, from head to toe, for him to have a RUSHED opinion of beloris. clearly unimpressed and without remorse thereof, a disappointed expression twists into a crooked smirk. of all the things going through his mind, not a single one of them could be GOOD. the krokul shrugs nonchalantly as he turns away with a shake of his head .

      ❝ i see why your bird had to do all the heavy lifting . ❞

     it went without saying that everyone else was outwardly GRATEFUL their leader had returned to them after the incident. he, while also silently glad, was far more focused on the fact it happened at all. the defensive, mocking nature he had with just about everybody the shaman aided and ended up wounded for was UNMATCHED. it was always worse when she happily spoke of them later. whether out of disdain or jealousy, artan rarely acted upon anything outside of petty mockery when it came to those people . / @beloris - boys starter call

    “Indeed I am,” Beloris replied cordially, a collected smile on his lips. He was used to such comments enough to keep his voice saccharine but that didn’t mean a faint twinge of annoyance didn’t still flare inside of him. The broken, on the other hand, was making his feelings all too clear in his movements and expressions. “And you must be...” He looked at Artan for a moment, making a show of looking the other up and down and tapping his finger thoughtfully against his chin. 

     “Ah...” He paused for effect.

whats wrong with pauldrons? :o

|| @beloris ||

    “Hah!” He waved his hand flippantly. “If we were talking about a human lifetime, perhaps ‘some skill’ is acceptable. With your years, I expected better.” His tone was a touch less biting than his words warranted; it did feel a little bad directing an insult to a smiling face.

“Because you are such an expert swordsman. Your criticism certainly stings. If you haven’t noticed, these are the demons lying in a pile of corpses, not us.” He was clearly not offended by the biting tongue of the other elf.

When Beloris lunged forward and grabbed the other Elfs collar, Glorfindal squeaked highpitched like a little child.

Not wasting a second Mar stepped forward, past Glorfindal and behind Beloris to grab the back of the Elfs neck with one firm grasp as unmoveable as a vice  , like she would grab a raging cat and pull him back brutally with his back against her chest. In the same movement she reached around the haggered man and hammered her free Arm down at the crocks of his arms to break the hold he had around Glorfindals collar.

“Step back!”, the Halforc commanded harshly the Merchant and she wanted- wanted so , so much!- to add a ´idiot´, for it was idiotic to irritate someone who was clearly out of their mind. Glorfindal stumbled hasty backwards away from Beloris as ungainly as if he was a startled toddler: “..he..he attacked me! Have you seen that? The Wretched attacked me!”

     He let out a short, choked off cry as his arms fell to his sides. The faint glow of fel flared and faded in his hand as struggled meekly against Mar’s hold, his energy already draining from him. The only thing keeping his rage stuck firmly in place instead of draining away too was the insult Glorfindal continued to tack on. Beloris kicked feebly in the other elf’s direction.

     By this point, his weight was being supported more by the halforc holding him in place than his own legs and he allowed himself to still, tired but seething. Though far from his usual clarity of thought, the scuffle at least set him on the path to thinking again. Beloris breathed slowly, heavily, trying to regain himself enough to plot a way to put Glorfindal in his place or to escape the situation he was barely realizing he was in; he hadn’t decided yet.

     Beloris frowned, clearly offended at the notion that he could look anything less than flawless. “If you’re just going to be rude, maybe I won’t even bother to show up next time,” He murmured, pretending that he hadn’t, in fact, narrowly escaped a battle barely an hour prior. Faction-grey areas were always troublesome to navigate, but that was why he had hired Mar to do it for him. “But I suppose it would be impolite of me to leave a job uncompensated for.”

“I’m begging you, please do not try void magic.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ { @beloris sparked a thunderstorm ||  🌩  }

     a part of her wondered if he had forgotten. the memory seemed a distant one now with all the quiet time left in between. euanthe never seemed to hold anything against anyone, regardless of what it might’ve been. everything happened for a reason. instinct brought a hand to the visible skin of her shoulder, one that now appeared nearly unscathed. being a child of light, she recovered far quicker from injuries that were not severe or did not involve the taint of fel . 

     but such an action is one done without thought. her hands soon return to the thick tresses of hair spread across her back. it’s difficult to recognize the shaman from behind beneath the mass of hair she normally tied up in a braid. very rarely does one find her with it so loose and undone. she had taken only a glimpse over her shoulder, but the face she’d seen was unmistakable. the shaman carefully lifts herself from her spot and pulls the bulk of her hair over a shoulder to her front. it’s difficult to imagine how one is meant to approach another after such circumstances, but there’s a strange sense of relief that comes with his sudden appearance. she finds herself nearly embarrassed by the fact her hair is down and not quite presentable. yet still, it is well tended to. surely it would not keep the sin’dorei from speaking with her, whatever peace he may have had in returning to her. there is much left to be discussed between them, and the thought of it has her a bit curious. a small smile crosses her face as she properly turns to address him, a spark of hopefulness hiding behind her usually cheerful nature . 

     ❝ it has been a little while, has it not ? ❞

     Beloris blinked - once, twice - as he looked down at her, feigning the impression that he did not recognize the draenei who turned to him. Yet, that was far from it. There were few faces that he tried to remember anymore. Most of them tended to be too fleeting for him to bother, but Euanthe, through oh so few meetings, had already made herself all too memorable. “Has it?” he hummed in response. “I had not noticed.” Though, now that it had been mentioned, his memory reeled. It had been...several months? Almost a year, perhaps. Was that a long time?

     “It’s certainly been long enough for you to change your look. If I recall, you gave me a hairband for Winterveil. Perhaps you should’ve had one made for yourself instead,” He teased, tucking part of his bangs behind his ear so he could look at the shaman with both eyes. “It would be ill fit if you were to come into conflict again.” He circled his finger, gesturing vaguely at her shoulder without a hint of remorse to be seen in his eyes. “Though I would certainly hope you haven’t”

“Its a quite fitting way to ask. And I am not part of any type.”, the Halforc answered as solemn as a judge, attentive her eyes wandered over the mans face (the dark circled eyes, the gaunt cheeks), his thin shoulders ( Not a warrior, the arms were as thin as branches), the hand resting on the wall (his standing was unsteady, just a sideway kick in the knee to sprain or break the kneejoint and he would collpase like a cut down tree). Still there was something that was bothering the young woman: The thin lines of sweat on his forehead, the pale skin, the unsteady standing. Was he sick? Or was he poisoned? If it was the latter, then there must have been someone who had poisoned him and that would mean there would also be someone watching the effect of their poison. With all her muscles tensed, as if ready to react to a sudden attack, Mar let her eyes wander again leery over Beloris and then over the street behind him.

Looking over the short Halforcs shoulder Glorfindal screwed his nose as if only beeing near to the other Elf would make reek sneak around his nose: “Let this thing be, Muthand. Thats nothing but another soon to be Wretched, just ignore them.” Mar frowned warily, one hand still at the hilt of her sword, her eyes almost hidden under her thick eyebrows, but she said nothing. The merchant shoved himself past the young woman, waving his hand dismissively towards Beloris, like he wanted to wave away an annoying fly : “Now Wretched, be so kind and go away. This streets had been paved with tiles brought by my family and by all means, those tiles are too pretty to be walked over by someone like you.”

     Now that insinuation hit fast. An angry, lightning-strike kind of fast as the mere word ‘Wretched’ struck his ego. As if he could be! For a moment, his sluggishness was overwhelmed with indignity and Beloris lunged forward in a single jerk of motion, his lips pulled back in an uncharacteristic snarl that bared his teeth. Unnoticing, or perhaps uncaring, of the mercenary's hand upon her sword, Beloris snatched the other elf’s collar, crumpling the fabric in a white-knuckled grip.

     “Dare to call me that again and these streets will be paved with your ashes,” He hissed, voice low and livid even while his fist turned into nearly a death grip as his legs threatened to give out. Sheer force of anger kept him upright. His eyes narrowed dangerously - bright, pulsating green highlighted by his dark circles and furrowed brow.

The Goblinmerchant Liloz Shadowgrinder was always very courteous to her tradingpartners needs. Especially when they were the offspring of an bloodelfish noble family who were employing more than an quarter of the merchants on Silvermoons Bazaar, what made a good connection to them the gate to the commerce in Silvermoon. A gate Lady Shadowgrinder wanted to use freely, so she was not above to turn this connection to said noble Family offspring very good: A discount on the Jewels Lady Shadowgrinder had brought from the Draenei in the Exodar after months of exhausting negotiations? Always, between friends. Fawning another like passionated boot-licking dogs? That is a point of Honour. Sending over  from Lady Shadowsgrinders small tradingstation in Silvermoon one of her personal Bodyguards to said Elf, when he felt the utterly stupid urge for a sudden Nightwalk in Silvermoons streets that were flooded with outlaws and criminals as soon as the righteous citizen of the city were sleeping in their decadently beds of silk and velvet? Of course, meet Mar Muthand!

Accordingly the Halforc troted beside said bloodelfish Merchant with the (by Mar three times cursed name) Glorfindal Glorysinger, while she felt as if she was walking a dog. Mar never liked dogs. Glorfindal had decided to gift the young woman with a lecture about the unique bloodelfish architecture to educate his uncommunicative bodyguard and after an hour they have walked in the streets, Mar wanted to kick a dog. Very hard. It was when Mar was about to grab the merchant by the back of his velvet west to drag him back to his mansion, when she saw a movement before them on the streets. Another Elf, staggering, stumblind .  Glorfindal, enthustiactically talking about the beauty of the tiles paving the ground- tiles his family had brought and donated centuries ago to the city!- suddenly almost swallowed up on his words, when he ran into said Elf faltering on the street before them.

In the matter of a second Mar had grabbed rudely Glorfindals arm and had pulled the taller man behind herself, the other hand on the hilt of her sword. “Who are you?!”, she barked, her voice as tensed and strained as a with an deadly arrow  bend bowstring: “Tell me your name!”

     Something between a disinterested grunt and a pained wince escaped his lips at the sharp, terribly loud words that assailed him. Beloris looked up blearily, his brows slowly beginning to furrow and his lips curling in a very decidedly annoyed expression. With great effort (though he staunchly refused to let it show), Bleloris stood indignantly upright.     Only the hand still braced firmly against the wall stopped him from swaying. He was feeling light-headed and damn near nauseous already, he didn’t need some petty confrontation to aggravate things! And yet, he still refused to step down. It seemed that his pride was among the many things made more prominent by withdrawal.

     “That’s quite a rude way to ask, isn’t it?” He snapped defensively, though too belatedly to have any of the impact he had intended.      Curse his slowed senses. Any comeback he thought of would take a mule’s pace going from his brain to his mouth. And even then any of his usual fanciful phrases and sarcasm were apparently predestined to be dropped as dead weight.