Shadows Within

Fawnheart: Geez, don't praise me so much... it makes me more critical of my work than normal. Still, much like your constant abuse of man-folk, I suppose witty one-liners are much my trademark, eh? =P

Horde FTW: Nice to see the work still entertains! And don't worry, the little twit is going to have some comeuppance here soon.

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

The tavern was noisy, filthy, and smelt of stale ale and old sweat; all in all, it reminded Shyla of Ogrimmar in an odd manner. The table shook as Rive sat back down, another full tankard clutched in his bony hands.
"Jeez, mon," the shaman whistled, "choo tryin' not ta rememba tonig't a sometin'?"
The forsaken gave a silent chuckle, which was still a little disturbing with his empty eye sockets, and took a long drought.
Cha'Dani shook his head with good-natured humor, "Ah don' try an' get it anymo', me'self. He does what'ee does, mon," he told the trolless.

Shyla laughed. "So, what'cha'two out'eah for?" she asked, sipping from her own mug of steaming tea.
"Trade, mon," the pale half-violet replied. "Rive 'eah's a blacksmit', does freelance work. We 'ad a persona' ordah come in, s'posta be tomorro'."
The troll kicked back the remnants of his own liquor, exhaled, and caught her eye again. "An' whattabou' cha boy? If'n 'ee ain' workin', den wha's 'ee doin'?"
"Restin', Ah tink, mon," she replied, which was the most honest answer she could think of. "Pro'lly need ta check in wit'im inna bit, yeah?"
Cha'Dani made an odd face, but Rive laid a hand on his shoulder and gave an understanding nod. A silent message seemed to be passed between them, and the troll relaxed once more.

"A'ight, feah's feah, Shyla. Jus' don' get inta any moah trouble, now, okeh?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied, draining the last of her drink. "Sorry 'bout bailin' on 'choo two like dis, mon, but... Ah'm worreh'd 'bout 'im."
Rive smiled and waived as she rose, his void and empty eyes shutting in the most pleasant of manners, the ghost of a laugh coming from his lips in the first sound she had heard him utter the whole day.
Cha'Dani watched her intently as she left, then looked into his empty glass. "Wha'choo tink, mon?" he asked in a hushed tone. "Dat friend 'o hers soun's like moah den' jus' a friend, huh?"
Rive's face contorted, the unspoken words passing between them with ease.
"Mebbe, yeah. Still, why'd'cha stop me, mon? Ah might'a 'ad a chance!" the troll sighed.
He turned to see a cautious, almost scathing look shroud the forsaken's features for the barest of moments before settling into one of worry.
"Yeah, choo right," Cha'Dani admitted. "Not wit' mah luck, anyway."
His friend gave an apologetic shrug, patted him on the shoulder, and took the glass for a refill.

Kalderin stared at the ceiling, as blank and passive as he was feeling at the moment, seeing, and yet not quite paying attention. His mind had drifted, almost like the mockery of sleep he would endure nightly, but without twisting into horrid nightmares quite as often. Still, the memories hurt... instead of emotionally clawing him asunder.
Why? he asked himself. Why her? Why now? Does she have to be so... so damned...
The rogue squeezed his eyes shut, trying his hardest to deny the tears. ... familiar?
He took several deep breaths, calming himself, then opened his eyes. The lump in his throat hadn't left yet, but he thought it a small price to pay.
Willful, frustrating, stubborn... He began to check off the traits in his mind. Worrisome, caring, protective... and, Light, she's actually kinda cute when she gets pissed at me...
The corner of the human's mouth jerked up in a laugh, but his face quickly melted into sadness when he caught up with his speeding train of thought.
Just like her... like...
Those damned eyes again. Some days he wished he could burn his tear ducts shut, so he wouldn't be afraid to think any longer... but then again, sometimes the pain was good. "Pain lets you know you're still alive," he had been told, several times, by a fellow rogue.

Just say it. Let it out.
One of those voices. This one sounded like the child again, or so he guessed.
I can't. It won't do me any good.
And why not? It's just like walking around with an open wound, and, let's face it, she'd hate for you to do that, too.
He clamped the lid shut, tight as he was able, a pained expression crossing his face. Because I can't! What would she think of me now?! I won't spoil what few GOOD thoughts I can still conjure up on my own!
Only because you're afraid of them, the voice stated in its child-like manner. They won't hurt so much when you can let go. Trust me.

A word tried, desperately, to form in Kalderin's throat. He sucked in a shuddering, short breath, standing on the precarious edge of his mental barrier, trying to force his mind to cross, one letter at a time.
"N... N..."
The pain spiked in his chest. He never thought he could feel his heart trying to break again over this, but here it was, halting him.
"N..."
He exhaled, defeated, once again and as always, by a simple name, and wiped the faint tears from his closed eyes with bare hands.
You have to keep trying. That misery you hold so close will kill you one of these days, unless you slay it first.
And as usual, Kalderin hated when his voices were right. The human opened his eyes and let his head roll to the left, looking at the door, wondering if he could ever stop tormenting himself like-
He bolted upright, dagger in hand. Something was amiss.
No, not something. Someone.

The human shot sideways to the window side of the bed in the fraction of a second gap he was allowed before a green-tinted blade buried itself into the matress, right where his neck had been. Kicking from the wall, he dove at the now-visible assailant, knocking the both of them to the floor, both taking complete headers and landing in their own seperate heaps of jumbled limbs.
They swept to their feet in the same breath, the same motion, and sized each other up in one look. Kalderin knew, on some instinctual level, that he was at an even match - if he was in his gear. As it stood, he'd be nailed to the wall in a few minutes... unless his unwanted tenant decided to argue the fact.
Which he most certainly would. Vehemently.
The rogue's eyes raked his opponent, then ground to a halt with the rest of his brain when he saw something attached to his opponent's leg; a small white cloth tied around one ankle, with a bit of red lint poking out from it...
No, wait... not lint. String that looked like lint.
"Aw, fuck me running," was all Kalderin had time to mutter before he was rushed.

The first three strikes he turned away with ease, the fourth was a bit sloppy, and the fifth was just a lucky chance, but he hadn't expected the quick knee in the gut. Doubling over in shock and mild pain, Kalderin used the momentum to tuck and roll just enough to dodge the overhead thrust that would have ended him. He gave a fruitless lash at the assassin's leg, which was parried with ease, and halted the roll, turning quick enough to push a powerful face-bound boot off target with his free left hand.
He shoved hard, trying to throw the other man's balance, but only checked his assault for a second or two, regaining his feet and warding another poisoned dagger away from his shoulder. He finally landed a hit, elbowing the assassin in the ribs with the scant opening he created, but it had little visible effect other than pissing the black leathered human off.
One of the blades clipped Kalderin's cheek, and a burst of undiluted pain wracked his body. Poisons, of course, and quick ones; all in for the kill, it seemed. The younger human managed to claw his hand across the other's face, then slipped around to strike, but the blade only bit into the lower, meaty portion of the back, instead of the upper area near the lungs, when his target twisted to follow him.
Godsfuckingdamnit! He had to think, to act, and fast, lest his free will be trampled under the thing he held back.

Shyla hurried along the planks at a near run, a shudder racing along her spine as the spirits called her, telling her to move right the fuck now because something is very VERY WRONG HERE!
Still dressed in her leather armor, she clenched a hand on her axe and sprinted to the inn, barely tossing hurried apologies to anyone she rushed past, tearing a beeline for the stairwell, leaping the steps four at a time without a backwards glance, and halted at Kalderin's door.
All the spirits she knew screamed and chanted and wailed as one writhing mass of doom-filled portents, wrongwrongWRONGWRONGDON'TJUSTSTANDTHEREWONMANGOFORFUCKSSAKE!
The shaman pulled her axe free and placed her hand on the door, which opened slightly. He always kept the damn thing locked, and that worried her... but not anywhere near as much as the sounds of a body slamming to the floor.

Eyes wide with shock, Shyla flung the door open, a fighting instinct she wasn't quite aware of kicking in full-force. She was Kalderin splayed out on the floor and lacking armor or weapon, struggling with another dark-garbed figure that straddled his body over a dagger that was less than an inch away from one of the crystal blue eyes in the rogue's skull. Worse still, thick, heavy waves of demon taint spewed from the boy's form, the threat to his life spurring the demon to just under the surface of his mind.
The trolless reacted instantly, hurling a flame shock from her open palm at the assassin with enough fury and spite that it threw him to the side, then swooped in with her axe. She slashed his arm as he staggered to his feet, but the swing gave him enough time to lodge his dagger in the shaman's extended elbow. Shyla screamed, reeling back in pain, and the assassin bolted for the door.
Kalderin's hand shot up from the floor, grasping a fistful of the other man's leather pants, and wrenched the leg at an unnatural angle. The pull came when the masked killer was switching feet to run, leaving him without a foot to stand on, and quickly crashed to the floor. The rogue wasted no time at all, pulling his ashen-pale and bleeding form to a sit on his assailant's back as slamming his face quite savagely into the floor several times.

In a rage, Shyla tossed her companion her axe, before realizing that a rogue wasn't able to use one. Kalderin, however, seemed rather oblivious of the fact, and proceeded to hack away with gusto, tearing bloody chunks of meat and spinal column away with each swing and depositing them all over the floor.
More heavy, armored footsteps raced up the stairs, and a pair of goblin watchmen, the same two that had been shadowing the rogue all day, appeared in the open door frame.
"Got a problem?" one sneered.
The human's eyes flared an angry green when he looked up at them. "Nothing we couldn't handle, thank you very much," he growled back.
The goblins considered the situation for a moment, shrugged, and left without bothering for an explanation.
The trolless closed the door, locked it, and pulled the human's weak and shuddering frame to the bed, laying him down on it as green motes of healing energy wreathed her hands.
"'Choo okeh, mon?" she asked in a quiet, worried whisper.
I will be, thanks to you, he thought, but his mouth decided not to follow through with that particular sentence. Instead, it settled for a pained smirk. "I'll have to get back to you on that."