They Won't Survive

The air is cold on the winds. Making it back proved difficult, but he knew how to hold his own against the harshness of the changing seasons. After all, he preferred to remain alone when taking care of himself. Selfishness he had no qualms of embracing in spite of how much he closes the walls in on himself. Regardless, it was always his weapon against those that meant him harm. A defense he could always rely on.

In his quarters, he had resumed a cleansing ritual he always made time for. To purge blemishes and old blood remaining on his knives. He had no interest in remaining exposed to bodily waste. Something he truly detested was a mess of red stains. The thought was nauseating to him. A pause in his movements as he looks to the side.

" ...You've come early. How soon were you told of my arrival? "

He asks in an indifferent tone, knowing the ranger had intent on seeing him this instant. Although, despite his callous nature he had a portion of his soul that remained soft regarding her. The assassin continues to clean his weapon, bringing back to a mirror sheen.

scouts had been expressly warned to report to her upon his return; it was not a difficult request, ordering that any human be sent to her upon arrival. her sisters' lovers were nauseating, and the ranger-general would be informed of any interlopers within their lands. the quel'dorei did not take kindly to those from the south. one benefit of her order, however, had been that a single man would be one of the first to alert the rangers positioned at the border.

" not long has passed, " she murmurs, stepping closer without asking for permission, " I told my rangers to stand down, that I would seek you out myself. I do believe they think I might gut you where you stand, unless you make a case for yourself. "

there is a coldness to her voice, a sharpness that cuts like steel to the unfortunate listener. something akin to rage -- but not quite -- aches in her chest, compelling her to step closer still. sylvanas reaches a gauntleted hand towards him, placing it firmly on his shoulder in the hopes to turn him to face her.

" you did not warn me of your coming. no letter, no sign. you left without saying goodbye. I thought you had abandoned this place, " in her eyes, a different tale: I thought you had abandoned me.

The reality was he was hurting on the inside.

" I never stay around for long. I told you this long ago. I have my reasons for leaving. "

He uses few words in such a cruel way. His directness lacking tact as always. One could argue his blades caused less mortal harm. He turns to the left as he approached the desk of the room. Golden hues looming over the tools he had left there, as he reaches for one. A whet stone for his blade. He placed the clean white rag down.

" Those reasons since then have been rectified and dealt with. "