Shadows Within

Recommended Listening: During the dance scene (you'll know it when you see it), I had "Covenant Dance" from the Halo soundtrack looping in my head. Listen to it; it might help fill in the gaps my descriptions will probably lack.

Fawnheart: One of these days when I'm not working, I need to sitr down, read the rest of your ginourmous epic, and pen down a glowing review or five, just for the sake of fairness.
The sad part is, I don't really develop my characters much past a few basic traits; I just think about how those traits would react to a situation. I dunno if that's organic or not, but I guess it works.
And... if anybody has a problem with you, OR your work, tell 'em to shove it up their arse, ok?
Damn them all.

Horde FTW: Yeah, Darkshire sucks. My pally's stuck on the last leg of "Bride of the Embalmer" anyway.
Hope this chapter is more for your tastes, if words on the intertrons actually have one. I think they might...

~~~~~~~~~~

In many ways, Crossroads had never changed. It was still the same bustling hodge-podge of activity, with the same vendor stalls, which caused the same happenstance meetings, and usually led to the same drinking contests, duels, and odd inebriated shows of who was better, which were almost always decided by the same theory of "drop trou and let the crowd choose..." which, inevitably, would lead to the same tauren hauling two or three women into the same inn with the same boisterous laughter, time after ever so reliable time.
And yet, in the expanse of the scant months when he had first arrived, bound and caged up like some wild animal (perhaps rightly so), Kalderin felt a single, fundamental change growing in the place. He really couldn't lay his finger on what it was, but he knew in his head, his heart, his gut, and all the other various parts of the body that he never bothered to waste time stabbing on others, that it was there.

Now, though, there was something different here, as well; the midday sun beat down with all of its usual fury, but there was now a sense of lightheartedness woven into the fabric of the dry air. Shyla had informed him that the planned revelry was to honor the spirits, and even he could feel the laughter of the intangible things around him as they watched with palpable anticipation. Truth be told, the human didn't think the town could hold this many people.
And it was thinking as such that always prompted Raxis to do the auctioning for the both of them.

He bumped into several people just looking for the rest of his group, finally tracking them down in the crowded heart of the woefully over packed inn. Getting to them was a challenge in itself; the rogue grunted, squeezing through any gap he could in the shifting maze, until he at last managed to find a bit of room to stand next to them.
"You didn't say it was gonna be this big," he said over the trolless' shoulder.
Shyla shrugged at him. "Big is big, mon. Choo nevah asked 'ow big."
Kalderin glanced down the table to her brother, whose eyes were glued to a sheet of parchment in his hand. The mage's tusked mouth muttered under the din of drink and games, unheard by all but his own ears.
And, against his better wisdom, the human struggled over the surly bastard.

"Might I pry?" he said in a voice that bordered on inaudible in the room's noise.
Rajas turned his head enough to see the human, lowering the sheet slightly with a contemplative look. He thought for the better part of a minute, then shrugged, passing the sheet into the human's hands.
Kalderin looked it over; it was full of scribbles and arcane equations that had been jotted down, crossed out, re-written, crossed again, and finally torn away onto the floor. He handed it back, hoping for an explanation.
"Dat day in de Craig," Rajas told him in a low, quiet voice. "Ah'm tryin to figure out 'ow we did de tings we did."
The human dug in his brain for a moment. You should know this, Kal, he thought, what with all the shit you've been through.

The troll was still studying when Kalderin's voice snapped him out of the reverie.
"An arcane overflow, most likely."
Rajas now turned himself in the stool, looking at the boy's face. "Say what?"
"An overflow," he repeated. "Those... whateverthehells they were, must have been putting off more energy than their bodies could handle."
"So... de was jus' pourin'it back out?" The mage arced a skeptical eyebrow. "'ow'dchoo figga dat?"
The rogue shrugged. "Well, call it a wlid guess, but having three arcane vortexes in a wellspring of free mana may have something to do with it."

Rajas was taken aback for a brief moment. 'ow does dis lil' punk know about all'o dat?
Oblivious, Kalderin kept going. "And all three of us were burning mana at the same time. You were blinking, she was disguised, which is a major strain, and I..." He stopped and shrugged again. "I was just there. That's more than enough."
"But 'ow'ere dey doin it?" Rajas challenged.
"I haven't the foggiest clue," the boy admitted. "Maybe they were improperly made."

The mage considered for a moment. "Or mebbe... de was made to find choo."
Kalderin frowned. "That's a very definite possibility," he muttered, half to himself. "He does know I'm vulnerable to that already. Hell, he's the one who found that out..."
The troll was about to ask him something else when the burly form of a drunken, dancing orc sent the rogue crashing to the floor.

He heard the mage give a snort, which was probably the closest thing to a laugh he could muster, and pulled himself to his feet, along with two or three other patrons.
"Watch where you're goin, dipshit!
"What da fook ah'choo tinkin?!
"Are you TRYING to kill somebody, jackass?!"
"Take it the fuck outside, damnit!"
Shouts and laughter erupted all around, and the human couldn't help but chuckle.
This was going to be a good night.

----------

"Is everything ready?"
The warrior nodded, looking around. "Aye, sir. Permission to speak freely?"
Bedecked in plate, the paladin gave his lieutenant a weary eye. "Granted."
"I don't think this is the best idea, sir."
The human turned to his fellow, arcing an eyebrow. "And why would that be, Dumar?"
"Sir, we both know that we're sending our troops into the single most accessible town for the enemy." Worry creased the warrior's face. "We'll get swamped, Kross."

The paladin, Kross, scoffed. "Bah! Those fools will be to drunk or exhausted to fight. It'll be an easy run."
Dumar stayed silent, donning his helmet to hide the skeptical look on his face under its steel visor. He knew well enough that once the holy knight's mind was set, it would be impossible to change the course. The warrior pondered idly, trying to think how it was Kross managed not to fall into the hands of the Scarlet Crusade... he was certainly mad enough to qualify for their ranks.
The warrior strode along the pockets of soldiers, eying them over one last time for the sake of readiness. The last thing he wanted was all of them getting killed in this madcap scheme.

"It never ends, does it?"
Dumar sighed, slowing to a halt. "Never. It'll be a massacre, Reinholt... but there's little chance he would listen to me, in any case."
The new figure shook his head, a wild mane of flaxen hair swaying in the breeze. "Then let him die. He's too much of a damned fool to keep himself alive," he said with a deep, smooth voice.
"I can't. Not when he starts to drag everyone else near him down as well," the warrior retorted with mild irritation as he turned to face the half-elf.
Reinholt Dawnfall gave an apologetic shrug. "If that's what you have to do," he told his friend, "then don't let me stop you. Just don't get killed out there, Dumar."
They both reached out and shook the other's shoulder as a gesture of farewell. "I wish I could call it a promise," the warrior told him.

----------

Kalderin could barely hear a thing. Between the huge, roaring bonfire, the laughter, the shouts and chants and song, it was a chore just to pinpoint his own heartbeat. His own reflexes were being constantly tested, swerving around dances and game, dodging the drunk and dueling, and weaving though groups of children that would tear through the crowd.
He chose a spot near a house to lean up against for a moment, brushing the dust from his shirt with a smirk. He had left his arms and armor in the relative safety of his room, with a few extra locks and a trap or two for security's sake, carrying only his daggers for protection. He still felt oddly displaced, but when the sun went down and the mood went up, he decided to try and feel at ease. So far, it was working.
Well, only a bit.

Most of the people avoided him, but not out of spite or distrust. He just seemed to place himself in shaded corners by force of habit, and a measure of unease in such a large group of people he didn't know. The rogue knew that there were people he knew there, and people who wouldn't mind him being there, but it was an old, old habit that he just couldn't break.
"KALDERIN!"
The human's ears twitched, and he looked to his left. Shyla was making her way towards the edge of a large crowd, fighting to get to him. She had to squeeze and shove a bit, but the trolless forced herself away and made a beeline to his hiding spot.
"Wha'choo doin' all de way out'eah, mon? De' be some folks roun' asking for ya," she said.
Kalderin saw her back in the silken outfit she wore aside from her armor, her hair once again pulled down and fluttering in the air behind her. He gave her a confused look to quash some other, much more uncomfortable feeling that began to creep up his spine.

"Really? Who'd be crazy enough?" he asked.
The shaman shrugged. "Ah dunno, mon, but de was hopin'choo'd be up for somaa de dancin'."
"Dancing?" he asked, arcing an eyebrow. "Are you sure it's not a bunch of..." he trailed off, thinking, "weird... I dunno, nymphomaniac man-eating hellhounds?"
Shyla chortled. covering her face with a three-fingered hand. "Nah, mon," she said through her giggles, "notin' like dat. De jus' heard choo was supple."
The human gave a comical roll of his eys. "Yes, I can see how that sounds so much better," he sighed, causing the trolless to stop, think, then double over laughing.

Still fighting for breath, she lead him to the ring that had formed around the bonfire. He saw several individuals gathering instruments together and setting up and area that was dedicated to the collection of mostly percussive devices. Some people were clearing their throats as they gathered near.
Then, without any warning, an orc began to pound on a set of nearby drums with his palms, striking up a steady rhythm that quickly silenced everyone standing in the ring. After about a minute, a troll joined in on another set, turning the sound into a pulsing, living thing that rose from the ground and seeped into the bodies of all present.

The crowd began to move as its parts were slowly being picked up by the beat. Feet and hooves, armored or not, began stamping the dirt with light presses, serving to further enhance the feel. A few brave individuals moved into the center of the ring and began to dance with smooth, sweeping motions.
The human began to bob his legs in small increments, keeping pace with the drums as more musicians joined in. A melody began to play on a xylophone, lifting them all further into the music.
Several more of the Horde's people joined in the dancing, the others moving as needed to keep enough space for them all. The pace began to quicken measure my measure, and a tauren struck up a haunting harmony on a bone flute, sending chills down many a spine.

After what felt like an hour passed, with the music becoming more and more engulfing, a call rang out from the ring.
"Hey, somebody get the pinkskin in there!"
A murmur ran through the crowd, cutting off the music with a sudden and harsh abruptness.
"Come on, kid! Do it!"
Several others began to shout, voicing their opinion.
"Do it! Do it! Do it!"
"Yeah, show us what'cha got!"
"C'mon, mon! It won' hurt nobody!"
Kalderin looked around him in surprise as the crowd began to chant as a single, living entity.
"Pinkskin! Pinkskin! Pinkskin!"

Someone jostled the human towards the center; he turned to see Shyla pulling her arm back to her body.
"Don' be shy, mon," she told him with a smile.
"Okay, okay, I'm goin'!" he finally shouted back, walking into the now empty inner circle. Cheers erupted from everywhere at once as he fought down his anxiety, trying not to blush in the firelight.
He glanced at the musicians' circle and saw Elarien taking a seat at the main drum set with a soft smirk. She inclined her head to Kalderin, letting him know she would go easy on him.
Then, like the orc before her, she began to play with now warning.

The warrior's strong hands beat out a steady, three-feel rhythm on the skins, ebbing between hard slaps and gentle thumps. The human took the measures to center himself on the beat, tapping his foot with closed eyes to gain a feel. After a moment, he began to slide a leg across the dirt with every solid downbeat, and found his body anticipating the next move.
When another drummer added herself in, providing a pair of hollow counter-beats to even the song, Kalderin's body responded by dropping into a mock combat stance, performing a quick strike on each of the new drum's beats and letting his body slide into the next with what he hoped was liquid grace. Closed punches gave way to open, claw-like movements, then flowed into strange stances where he imitated the two-fingered hand of a troll, before letting his rolling mind chose another pose.

And when a rolling drum sounded beneath it all, he felt himself crouch and take in a large lungfull of air, then spring into a flip at the chorus' first note. He let the peal of voices guide him into a fluid string of spins and lashing "attacks," using the only way he truly knew to move fuel his dance.
Nothing was out of bounds; from low, sweeping kicks that lifted grit into the air, to abrupt, hard strikes, even a few back flips so stylized he needed a hand on the ground to roll out of them safely, he ruffled the folds of his brain for anything that could be thrown in, in any way he could manage.

Then, the drum beats came to a head, and everything fell away with the exception of the xylophone, which plunked out a moving, yet mysterious loop. Kalderin's mind slowed himself down, giving him time to both think and breathe, even after Elarien's drums returned. He went back to the easy pace he began the dance with, keeping the smooth motions but bringing them closer to his body. Soon, a pair of bone flutes provided a ghostly harmony to the sound, and the human once again found his booted feet sliding along the earth with calm, patient ease, stopping only to re-center his balance when needed.
When the loud, hollow drums returned, he shifted back to the pointed strikes and jutting motions of before, now throwing them in slow pairs, one after another. Then the singing returned, slowly building all of the song into a solid wall that entwined with the human, deeper than his own demons could ever hope to follow.

And as the voices pulled together for a final chord, the drums began to beat more forcefully than ever, bringing the hint of closure. Each pound drew the rogue closer to the end, and his body burned all the enrgy it had been saving for quock, sweeping motions that kept with the rhythm. Even after the voices died off, the drums continued to ring, propelling him into an acrobatic fury of sorts, encompassing anything he could get away with with the restrictions of gravity, such as full horizontal spins that dropped into cartwheels and rolls. When he felt everything ending, Kalderin threw himself into the air, twisted his body a few times, and landed in a half-kneel, easing himself to a crouch with the tips of his fingers.

Everything was silent for a moment as the blood stopped beating in his ears. The empty air was filled with the crackle of flame, the silence of the crowd, and his own labored breathing.
Then, as suddenly as everything had stopped, it started again.
"Holy shit, did you see that?"
"Where in the hell did he learn that?
"'Ey, choo sure choo don' got no Darkspear in ya, mon?"
Cheers and a few catcalls burst forth into the emptiness at once, and at random. Kalderin allowed himself a sheepish smile as he pulled himself to his feet, a tad shaky, but no worse for the wear. He wobbled back to where Shyla had been watching, getting a few slaps on the back as he passed.

Shyla herself was beaming, and shook the human throughly. "Choo did good, mon," she all but laughed, letting him go to catch his breath.
"Thanks," he puffed. "I felt something... out there..."
The shaman leaned closer to hear him. "Like?" she coaxed.
"Like... something wild. Primal, even," he told her, straightening back up. "And it's not the first time, either."

The trolless considered the news for a moment. "Mebbe it's a connection to de spirits," she offered, remembering what she had been told the night she found his corruption.
He scoffed and tugged at his shirt. "In my condition? Keep dreaming. Besides, I'm a human, remember?"
"Don' be so quick ta coun' dem agains'choo, Kalderin," she retorted with a serious voice.

The human remained silent, turning to the north with his face screwed up like a he was smelling an unwashed ogre. The look slowly- very, very slowly- melted into a wide-eyed gape.
"Whassamatta?" the shaman asked.
He continued to stare into the distance, his body slowly pulling back for his daggers.
"Raid," he whispered.
Shyla wasn't sure she had heard him right. She cocked an eyebrow at the human, who glanced at her long enough to see she wasn't moving.
"Raid," he emphasized, pulling his knives from their sheathes. This caught the attention of many people around him, causing a murmur of panic as Shyla sent out her farsight into the distance.
Her astral eyes caught sight of an immense cloud of dust within seconds, followed by the thunder of innumerable hooves.
"RAID!!!" she shouted, breaking the spell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~