#lionslight

“My, my, now isn’t this a treat.  The young King has chosen to see me without his precious dog following behind him.” a soft smile formed though it quickly disappeared.

Ask Box Trick or Treat!

@lionslight  gets a TREAT!!!

Standing among the crowd of people at Lions Rest, Jaina’s eyes were transfixed on Varian’s tomb, her mind far away from the ceremony about to begin. The wind picked up and she absentmindedly brushed away a strand of brown hair from her eyes. Not wanting to be recognized, she’d chosen to cloak herself in an illusion for the occasion.

The sudden sound of clapping and cheers brought her back to the present and she stood on the tip of her toes to see the young king approach the podium. Anduin. She gasped at the sight of him, his shoulders broader than she remembered, his posture more regal. He smiled at the crowd though it didn’t reach his eyes. Jaina let out a long breath, releasing something from deep within she didn’t realize she’d been holding on to for over a year. Her eyes swelled with tears and she grinned, cupping her hand over her mouth to hide a rare smile. Seeing him now, she could no longer shove aside her grief in having missed him so. And she was proud of him.

After all the hard work, suffering, and heartache that had tested the limits of the world’s resolve to maintain hope, the war with the Legion was over and the children of Azeroth had won. She watched the king pay tribute to this, a young man whose heart had never once faltered. To her, he was the last of the world’s greatest treasures. 

Pulling the hood of her cloak further over her head, she wiped the tears away quickly and quietly sniffled, though she was far from the only one crying. The celebration of life was blended within a memorial of death, for the world had not won without sacrifice. The Alliance had lost much, both in lives and resources. She didn’t have to be close to Anduin to know he struggled. 

Even from a distance she could see how tired he was. Some of his youthfulness was already drained and for a moment her resolve faltered. As he walked away from the podium, she gently pushed through the crowd to go to him, stopping as she reached the steps.

She had nothing to offer.

Her discernment had faltered and she  was no longer an asset but a liability. Even the warmth of her affection was spoiled after abandoning him in the throne room, when he needed her most. She had selfishly left for selfless reasons, though a stronger person would have stayed.

He did not respond to quip; not immediately. Anduin neared closer to the barrier, retrieving from his side a small set of keys, then proceeded to insert one of them into the locked door before him. In a moment, it was unlocked, and he gently swung the door open before entering the cell, closing said door behind him without bothering to lock it once more. Still, he gazed upon the orc, a resolute stare seeming to carry with it the judgement of the kings which came before Anduin; even those who had not viewed characters like Saurfang for their individuality, but rather the actions of their race. Nevertheless, he was unarmed, and quite possibly defenseless against whatever action Varok had to take; and still, he did not fear. 

 "I could chain you to a pole in Old Town, and I would perhaps still be granting you more decency than the Dark Lady." The words spoken sought to encompass a biting and caustic nature, but only due to the truth of them. Gloved hands moved to remove the hood which sheathed youthful features, and light blond locks cascaded about them thereafter. "And believe me... Under any other king of the Alliance, your execution would have already occurred; though I have reason to suspect you'd find that gratifying right about now." He spoke coldly, and it was especially noticeable coming from a voice which seldom sought to weave anything but, hope, compassion, and inspiration. "...Tell me, Varok Saurfang... At this moment in time, who is your enemy?"

at first, all the boy-king earns himself is a snort. saurfang can’t deny that he’s RIGHT, they both know that. anduin is certainly not varian, of this he is painfully aware; if it were VARIAN taking him prisoner, varok would not be alive to make the observation. strangely enough, he does not feel as he perhaps should, imprisoned behind enemy lines after having been left there for dead. there is SPITE growing in his heart, a familiar feeling — but on this occasion, it is not reserved for the alliance.

❛ my ENEMY?   ❜ he asks, his voice a growl on tusked lips. saurfang’s enemies are not few. but at this point, it is a HARD question to answer. his enemy does not lie with the horde — they are his people. he has fought in the name of the horde and its core beliefs for a very long time. his son DIED for the horde, even when it was ruled by an orc not worth dying for. to renounce it all, as he suspects anduin will expect him to do, is almost CERTAINLY out of the question... isn’t it?

his hands, mighty and strong and able to crush any human’s head like a melon, twitch from where they reside in his lap. his voice is a spit of VENOM when he speaks again, as though the words are bitter and harsh in his mouth like ACID.

          ❝I don’t think you’re here to just               TALK. So what do you want?❞

“Woah, so this is Stormwind...”

The prince quietly mused to himself, stepping of the ship and into the harbor, taking in the immediate sight in front of him. The architecture reminded him so much of Nohr, but everything from sky to stone had this brightness to it.

The archmage he had met advised him to head for the human capital if he wished to explore the world further and he took said advice to heart. Even before heading up further into the city he could see the variety of inhabitants the city held. While many of them were human, he saw many unique appearances he had never seen in his life: short bulky, men with massive beards accompanied by even shorter beings, tall dark-skinned figures with pointed ears and a surreal sight of a race of blue humanoids with hooves instead of feet! There was one race that resembled the Wolfskin of Nohr, but appeared far more feral and... was that a talking panda?

To be fair, Corrin himself was was still quite an eyesore himself, even in a city like this, his rather unique armor and lack of boots was enough to raise a few eyebrows. He acknowledged this, tugging up his white hood over his head as he moved up through the canal passages and into an area the signs simply called Lion’s Rest.

“Aah...”

    Now that’s a face he can’t pin a name to.  There’s a niggling familiarity, small alarms going off in his head but not quite connected to the rest of his mind thanks to a good deal of alcohol - and some foul tasting smoke he’d acquired from a shifty looking fellow in the city before one of his night-time wanderings. And now.. now he was staring at a man - a boy? his face looked far too fresh and unmarred to be that accustomed to this world - who he was certain he knew.   -- one he knew of, at least. And that fact was enough to give Calhoun all the confidence in the world. Whether he’d regret that or not, he’d decide the next morning.     “--You, kid!” There’s a drunk leer on the mans features as he stumbles through the undergrowth of the forest, breaking into a short jog to catch up to the solitary stranger. A hand waves to signal a small break as he catches his breath (-the seconds are used to examine on the sly as he bent over double, a wheeze covering a deft glance to his belt; searching for any signs of a full pouch of gold), before Calhoun straightens his back and slots his grin back into place. Even up close, he only had the feeling he should know who this person was; surely not someone important, if he didn’t remember. There was only one way to find out more anyway.