#decayshot

the prince of deceit has grown BORED in their plane of oblivion. their current champion: a waste. why do mortals get so comfortable? it would appear it is time for a new champion: a new mortal to be THEIRS. the prince opened the gate of their realm, and disappeared into the land of mortals.

the prince appeared in a new land, one they have been watching for some time. && boethiah has their eye on someone --- a new champion, perhaps. the prince disappeared and reappeared a few feet from the woman. banshee queen as they called her. the prince, uninvited, walked toward the queen without a fear in their step.

“How could I refuse the presence of my Queen?”

Valethra stated matter of factly. Gathering and straighten parchments ranging from research, correspondences, notes and other variety of subjects and tasks. Not even once did she glance up, far busy with her duties as around them beakers boiled of unknown contents along with plant matter in jars labeled in alphabetical order with a number of them marked with a rune for ‘dangerous’ Persevered body parts and organs upon higher shelves or around her tools for alchemy and otherwise shatter across the chamber. While she would have preferred her lab in the Undercity, there wasn’t much she could say on the matter. Only if she was a little upset and had chosen to retreat to her study in Orgrimmar she rarely used until now. There was much she lost, her years worth of research, other personal belongings, and her home. 

It was petty as she had all the time in the word to start again on her works. But a home was hard to replace. Even though she did not have to stare at the green goo anymore.   

Suddenly Valethra paused in her task, looking behind her to stare into crimson eyes. Brows furrowed for put a moment before she began to move to the side. Away from the bizarre closeness.

“I have some reports for you to sign, my queen. They are nothing of note or worry and my skills of necromancy are improving. I believed telling you in person would serve better than a letter. Forgive me if that has been an inconvenience. I lack the ability to raise more than three and they do not last long.” Always straight to business

“Ah, Lady Sylvanas. What a pleasure it that you decided to visit this humble pirate. What brings you here today? Ah...right eight. Not here.” Undeniable sarcasm is seen echoing through her voice. She is not the type to idolize people, not respect out of sheer position, but she uses that idolization that others feel for the sake of a laugh. It never got into a territory of disrespect, she would not want more enemies to pop up for her and her fleet, but she was rather notorious for not advocating personal freedom and so she would often interpret orders as she pleased. One cannot deny her the results it brought, however, this manner of speaking to the so-called leader of the Horde was completely normal. She let out a smirk and turned to head towards her quarters. If Sylvanas came here herself, then it means something big was about to happen. And the “Pirate Queen” Of Azeroth wanted a map before her eyes so she could picture whatever the elf will say in her head. She expected the other to follow behind. Those visits always ended up in a headache...but some of them were fun. After a minute of silent movement, the red-head closed the door behind the other. 

He cracks a smile.  Leans in, clinking his glass of wine against hers.  “Of course it is.  You’ve finally shown me where my allegiances should lie.  With the victor.”  He takes a sip of his wine, the crimson thing staining just above his upper lip--fitting, he thinks.  

“My queen.” An ethereal voice came from her lips.

Unnatural and tainted as the shadow turned towards and bowed to her queen. It was a bow of the fullest respects before she knelt. Holding aloft a burning blade. “I bring you Felo'melorn, my queen.” It was not often that she brought such artifacts to her mistress. But the fool who had held this blade before her had perished. The adventurer would not be missed. For many years Valethra desired to have this weapon. She could feel its power on her dead flesh. She could be powerful. Unlock all of its secrets. But it was not to be for Valethra presented the weapon for her queen and she alone.

Would she be please? Yes, Valethra had no doubt she would be. But most of all she missed being at her queen’s side. It was where she belonged. Her one shining light in death.

   Her newfound place drifted between a flower that bloomed when she danced for the patrons, to the sharp thorn of the same flower, protecting the matron and her interests. Bodyguard, companion, lover, slave - so many words, so many labels, all falling short of her true purpose. To bloom in the dark, as any lotus might. 

   Called to the matron's office on the second floor, as much a throne room to overlook subjects as it was a place of business, Elizabeth moved past the larger demon men who leered at her. Infernal desires, infernal wishes, projected from their gazes as if it were a theater performance to be watched. It required great composure to ignore them and not drive a psyblade through their skulls. Eventually, Psylocke reached the office, closing the door behind her.

   ❝ Am I to dance this evening? Or am I accompanying you? ❞