He watched the dark green blood slowly drop off of the end of the blade, sizzling once it hit the snow on the ground. The skies are quiet for the moment. Yet, it's only been a few minutes since the last failed invasion of the Legion. Errias dipped the blood-covered blade into the snow, watching as it hissed in response and turned into vapor. There was no grass under the snow for the fel to corrupt. If there had been, he would have watched as it poisoned every living thing in the fel's path, and eventually thoroughly killing it. He looked up. The dead of both Alliance and Horde were being removed with care. The demons however, where being removed in masses to be burned in a discrete location, away from prying eyes. Onlookers would watch in disgust. Others would be thankful that it's the demons and not them. Many of the faces that surround him have seen battle before; both against and not against the legion. Errias's eyes lands on a short night elf who seems to be steaming with anger. She limps as she paces and gestures wildly as she speaks. Something has her quite rilled up. If he didn't know the girl that was going off on an even shorter Orc, he would have guessed they were having an allegiance fight. Belysa turns on her toe again, stopping this time only out of the sheer pain that rockets through her leg. She winces and bites back a whimper that tries in vain to escape. She must have opened the wound again due to the amount of blood soaking through it's bandages. Az may have her head for that. Well, she might if the two weren't in a heated discussion already. Errias smirks to himself as Belysa launches herself into another fit, causing the Orc to frown disapprovingly. There's a blood elf that stands near them,more one Errias hasn't seen before. He wouldn't rule out that she isn't part of Belysa's crew just yet, but the apparel the blood elf wears isn't quite that of a sailor's. Plus, he hasn't seen her around any of Belysa's ships. Odd footsteps crunching in the snow tear his attention away from his angered relative, causing his ear to flick dramatically and his head to swivel towards the noise. Errias realizes why the noise of this person was walking was odd at that moment: the man walked with a limp in heavy plate armor that clattered gently as he moved. The man's eyes were trained on Errias as he stiffly moved through the busy crowds of Kharanos, politely excusing himself when healers tried to come to his aid. Errias smiles faintly. This was one of the men he saved during the Legion invasion. This man had been severally wounded to the side and thigh, cornered by an Eredar in the freezing cold. This man had valiantly fought, despite his situation. Even after Errias had slain the demon and helped the warrior up, he had still insisted that he grab his sword and fight alongside Errias. It would have been foolish for Errias to agree. Instead, he granted the man an easy ride back to Kharanos, where he was rushed inside one of the warm, central buildings which had all recently been cleared out and replaced with medical herbs and gurneys. Makeshift beds were lied out in orderly rows and campfires were built in convenient locations. Errias had seen the man rushed inside and left without hesitation after that. The priests inside would take care of him. And now, the man walks towards Errias, back straight and chin held high despite the obvious weariness in his eyes. The infected fel wounds were covered in bandages-- ones that appeared to be netherweave. The properties of netherweave were specifically created for pulling fel out of wounds and healing damages made by demonic weapons. Errias only cared for them because they were pink. "How do you fair?" Errias asks, stabbing the sword into the ground. His ear flicks toward the sizzling noise out of habit but he keeps his eyes glued to the man in front of him. The man shrugs. Errias notices he is in sheep-skin cloak, one that must be made from the abundant and lively herds from Loch Modan nearby. The neck is fluffy, as is the trimming around it. However, the bottom portion is left without the abundant fluff, most likely due to the probability that it would drag and collect snow, making it damp and cold. Under the cloak, Errias notices a loose, long-sleeved shirt that has been tucked in as much as it can be to dark brown pants, both clothing items which have been severely torn into. It's a shame the man doesn't have any other clothes. "I will survive." The man sighs. He crosses a short distance and sits a respectable length away from Errias on the log the hunter had claimed. "Is that good enough for you?" Errias asks, raising an eyebrow. The man licks his lips. The long ear closest to Errias flicks in only what Errias can assume is nervousness. "Nothing is good enough for me until I see the Legion's end." He mutters. "I have protected this world for many centuries; I will not stop until I am either killed or holding Sargeris's severed head in my hands." The man brings a steaming cup to his lips, keeping his eyes on the contents long after he brings it away again. Errias blinks. That wasn't the answer he was looking for but it does help remind him that people have different views and different ideals to be passionate about. Errias is only fighting in this war because he would be branded a coward if he left to live in the wilds of Northrend again. "Be that as it may," Errias starts slowly, leaning his forearms on his knees. "You cannot push yourself to the point that you are useless, friend. I urge you to sit out of the next few battles-- at least until the fel has fled your body." The man sighs. "I suppose you are right. I am no use to anyone dead." He runs a hand through his hair and his ear flicks again. "I suppose this is the time I should thank you for saving me." Errias' smile returns, warmly this time. He clasps a hand gently to the man's shoulder and squeezes firmly. "There is no need to thank me; I have a feeling would have done the same." The man looks up at Errias and smiles in return. "Errias Shadowdancer," Errias greats himself, giving a gentle pat to the man's shoulder and holding out his hand for a shake. "Telyrian Autumnmoon," the man responds, shaking Errias's hand firmly. "Telyrian...what a handsome name." Errias mumbles idly, turning his attention back to the fel-dripping sword. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Telyrian blush a dark crimson, a sight he almost missed by Telyrian raising the cup to his lips again. He's glad he didn't miss it. Errias thinks Telyrian looks most adorable when he's flustered.
