Shadows Within

GODFUCKINGDAMNIT!

Okay, so I'm... uh... about a month late, so sue me. Life's been throwing curveballs at me once again, moving pains and what else have you (AGAIN), no, I'm not dead yet, but the booze away, no celebrations. Also, I might have to stall a little more until I can pick up a WoW account again for the first time in something like almost a year, because I need to see the geography of some areas for myself to know what's what, who's where and other miscellany somethingorothers.

Once again, I live! Well, kinda.

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

She almost made less sense than him, in his eyes; and why not? He was weird, and she was even weirder for putting up with him. Then again, birds of a feather and all...
Perhaps it was in spite of the oddity he was that she loved him, or maybe it was because of it, he didn't know. What he DID know was that she probably could have picked anyone else, if the look was all she was worried about. Apparently, though, the girl preferred people she knew at one time, and the quiet, self-contained boy was a memory she kept warm for those odd days.
Now, they sat here, leaning on one another's shoulders and watching the moonlight reflect from the surface of the river, content with being together.

She shifted her head, sweeping away the hair that hid his right ear, and brushed her hand along the plain cuff of mithril that shone with gentle brilliance in the night, the one simple bauble that he would allow himself to wear, and perhaps the best gift she had given him, aside from her affection. Though unadorned with trim or jewels, it meant more than a single object could ever hope to... unless there were rings for them both.
But that wouldn't be for a long time.
He smiled at her, the brightest light to his young eyes. He held her closer than his two bosom friends, but he reasoned that they were on a different level than her; they were friends... nay, they were family, and she was something else by all rights.

A kiss, a nibble on the sparsely decorated ear, and a happy sigh before she laid her head back down. Still beaming with content, he squeezed her around the waist, nuzzling his face into her hair, and their hands clasped tighter by fractions.
Here, together, they both hoped it would never end.

Kalderin's eyes bolted open as he woke, his body taut and brain spinning. Breath came in short, frightened pants through his nose, with eyes only half-focused so that they could register his return to reality. The human raised his head from the table, dawn starting to peek over the horizon, and on reflex, brushed the hair away from his right ear; halfway through the motion, his hand stopped dead.
Gone.
His mind almost exploded with the thought.
Gone.
It had been gone for years, of course, but every time he noticed, it threatened to tear him asunder, because once he noticed, he remembered. And he hated remembering more than anything.

He could almost see her, the few patches of creamy skin that felt so smooth under his half-calloused fingers, the ripple of her russet hair in the wind, just at the small of her back, and the hazy, pale shade of green her bespectacled eyes reflected back into his own...

"Stop it," he wispered, painfully aware he was not alone.

The way her face would brighten when they saw each other after days, even weeks of being apart...

"Stop it." It was hurting now, a pain he worked so hard to deny. He squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to block the images out.

Those looks she gave him when he interrupted her reading, exasperated and unsurprised to feel him wrapping his arms around her, while she made half-hearted attempts to push him back...

STOP IT!

Kalderin's body shook as his left hand grasped his shoulder, digging the fingertips into the cloth-covered flesh as hard as possible, just for something to avert his mind. These should be happy memories, things he should savor in his mind for all of time; instead, he feared them. He feared and hated them, because they made him crack, trying to flood the delicate balance of emotion he cultivated so carefully, and depended on so desperately to survive.
There was no other way. He had to recede, had to find something else more powerful.
Something to hate.

The memory flooded him, that damned elf bitch who was responsible, who not only admitted to it with glee, but mashed it into his face by wearing his one and only gift. The rose-hued lips she wore, that short, needle-straight hair in its odd, burnt shade of orange, that disgusting smirk of triumph she had...
Lirielen.
Gods above, he wanted little else than to rip her heart out of her chest with his bare hands.
The human pulled his mind from the mental reverie, feeling his muscles loosen by degrees as he forced memories away. Still, he needed something else to avert his mind from the past. A bath, yeah. That would help.
Kalderin ran his hand through his coal black locks, grimacing at the oily feel. Yup, a bath was most definitely in order.

Shyla rolled over, groggy and unfocused, and hauled herself to her feet. The dreamless sleep she had fallen into eased her mind, though it still ran in a harried circle within her head, attempting to sort varied memories, internal debates, and pressing needs. The troll's body ambled about the room, leafing through a few scattered pages and books, raking over the furniture, gazing out into the early hours of the morning, and not noticing a damned thing of it all.
The shaman shifted her weight off of the table that she didn't remember leaning against, twisted her upper body to turn, and two two and a half steps before loosing her balance from the last wisps of sleep that clung to her brain. Without shouting, she fell mostly to the floor, but her left arm and shoulder slammed into the wall next to her.
"SWEET MERCIFUL RAPTOR-STOMPING FUCKAMAWIDGET!"
Waittaminnit, mon... da'ss notta... do'ah? Fook.
Shyla glanced up just enough to see the human's startled face in the tub, one hand with a white-knuckled death grip on a throwing axe, then sank back down again in shame, trying to pull herself up from the heap she had literally landed in.

"S- sorry abou'dat, mon, Ah jus'..."
"Damn near gave me a heart attack, I know!" Kalderin huffed in Common, more out of exasperation than anger, as he lay down the hatchet and sank a little deeper into the basin, shielding as much of his body as he could with his limbs.
Just in case.
The trolless raised herself up to her knees, gave the young man an apologetic, bashful look, then scrambled out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
"Uh... yeah, well, ah... Ah don'... uhm..." Shyla was probably trying to stammer out some sort of apology, he figured. "Ch- choo know, well, a-an', dat... Ah wasn't-"
The rogue decided to throw her a lifeline. "-doing anything on purpose. Right?"
The door creaked as she slumped against it. "Yeah."
"S'aright," he replied, finally relaxing... again. "Just watch where you're headed next time, eh?"
She laughed, nervous but thankful. "Shuah t'ing, mon. Uhm... meet'cha downstai's, wait in mah room, wha?"
"Ten minutes, either way," he shot back through the wood. No rest for the weary...
In a breath, the room's door swung open and closed, and the human gave a small sigh of relief before returning to his wash.

Ten minutes later, the rogue tromped down the stairs, glancing around for the others. All he saw, however, was a pale-faced troll shaman talking to a stern and fuming undead warrior, the usually busy ground floor silent and still.
"Elarien? What's wrong?" Kalderin asked, his bare palms becoming clammy and anxious, balling into loose fists.
"Rajas and Fronai, that's what," the guildmistress growled back. "They got jumped by an Alliance patrol out of Ashenvale and taken prisoner, along with Dagor."
The rogue's mouth went dry. "How large?"
"Twenty-five or so, I've heard conflicting reports," came the answer.

The human looked over at Shyla, clutching her sides so tightly that it must have begun to hurt.
"I don't think I need to tell you what your job is, Kalderin," the forsaken said with a taut voice. "I need them back."
The rogue closed his eyes and held a shallow breath, pursing his lips. "Do you know where they were taken?" he asked with marked tension.
Elarien shook her head. "I only wish," she replied.

"Ah'm goin', too!" the shaman blurted out, bolting up from her chair.
There was a tense, eerie silence as Elarien considered her for a moment, then reached into a satchel at her belt and produced a silver choker, eying the trolless through the middle of it. "Good thing I planned for you silly impulses, girl," she told Shyla. "A souvenir from some of my earlier travels. This will let you mask your appearance as anything other creature you can think of... within reason."
The trolless took the choker, grim and pale-faced, with a nod as it was handed off.
Kalderin rose from his chair, striding without words to the stairs in long, smooth motions, his nerves frayed to their snapping point already.