The Legion - Lyelleth & Orannis
folder
+S through Z › World of Warcraft
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
6,453
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+S through Z › World of Warcraft
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
6,453
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own World of Warcraft, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Shadows in Orgrimmar
Author’s Notes: *squee* Two reviews! *bounces* Thank you for posting Aside. Lyelleth is a deeply personal character, and a strong-minded one at that. Orannis… is based on an in-game friend I miss dearly.
My internet died! Argh! And hey, I’m I’m in the middle of trying to buy a house… sorta. And I have health problems and… aaaargh lemme alone *sticks tongue out*
Oh, and! Previews of the next two “Legion” fics will be added to the end of the next chapter *g*
--
~Orgrimmar~
The clothes she had been given turned out to be a simple shift dress in emerald green and a soft pair of moccasins, and little else. Her hands had been bound behind her back, but almost half-heartedly in soft wool rope rather than any serious chain, and the Night Elf was unsure what to make of this. She *did* know, however, that she would not simply be slipped in the back door of the living quarters and installed in Orannis’ suite; this had been made clear by the vast crowd of Horde that had met the ship upon docking at Ratchet. The small Goblin city was familiar to Lyelleth, she had passed this way many times, despite it being within Horde territory it remained neutral, and running into its bounds had saved her life more than once.
Now… Now it did not seem so safe.
--
Orannis eyed the gates of Orgrimmar from his seat atop his riding wolf, the creature shifting as he observed the crowds in front of him, and wondered exactly whom had decided that this was a good idea. He could not see Thrall approving of such a… parade.
“Vol’Jin,” The Shaman thought to himself, shaking his head. The Shadow Hunter was known to hold a grudge, and the way Orannis had staked his claim to the Night Elf he brought with him had blatantly perturbed the Troll. Inwardly he sighed, Vol’Jin was not an enemy he could afford, but there would be time later to dwell on the fact.
“Proceed,” He ordered, resisting the urge to turn and look at his “prize”. Lyelleth was atop another wolf, boxed in by an assortment of his Shaman brothers, but he knew she would not run. The rode through the gates to an assortment of cheers and jeers, and the occasional piece of thrown debris which gave rise to the thought of re-arming the Night Elf and letting her loose on those who liked to assault people weaker than themselves. Shaking off the thought, he led the procession to the Valley of Wisdom, dismounting at its gates and halting the crowd.
“Resh’kan and Splithoof with me, the rest of you wait here, and keep those who should not be here at bay. Recruit the Grunts to help you if you must, I do *not* want an incident.” He dared steal a glance at the Rogue, but her gaze was glassy, eyes unfocussed even as she stood tall amongst the Shaman. “Let us get this over with.”
--
Thrall’s chamber was crowded – it seemed as if anyone who could find an excuse was there, including representatives from most – if not all – the Horde Guilds on Azeroth. Orannis was nodding in acknowledgement to a few of these Masters; Clenhoof, Warrior of the Legion and brother of his Shaman Lieutenant Splithoof, the legendary Mog’Thal; commander of Sanctum, vanquishers of Nefarian, and the Druid Nahdeer of the Claw Tribe. Nahdeer was a good friend of Orannis, and he was grateful to see her within the assembled throng; she quirked an eyebrow at him before rolling her eyes and almost-imperceptibly shaking her head in bemusement. Mog’Thal was surrounded by his guild-members, many of them displaying signs of the sheer arrogance for which they were famed, and Orannis tensed, not wanting an incident.
Thrall himself was flanked on the left by Vol’Jin; who was joined on the dais by his sister; the Shadow Priest Shasta, and on the right by Dashka Bloodhoof; niece of Cairne and emissary of the Tauren, who was accompanied by an Undead Warlock, who the Shaman did not recognise, but who stared at the Orc intently, as if waiting for something. Shasta was wrapped in Shadow, the soft, whispering chitters on the edge of hearing that came with this cloaking effect made Orannis’ ears itch. He dropped to one knee respectfully in front of his Warcheif.
“I have returned, and the debt is paid.” He said quietly, eyes on the floor, not trusting himself to look at any of those on the dais just yet.
“Make the whore kneel!” Vol’Jin sneered, and Shasta started forward as if to do it herself, but Thrall raised a hand and she fell back, lips twisted into a half-snarl.
“Hold, Shasta.” The Warcheif ordered, looking the Night Elf over with interest. “She came willingly, Orannis?”
“Aye,” The Shaman replied, rising again slowly. “And alone.”
During this exchange, Shasta had again left her brother’s side, slowly this time, stepping down to closely examine Lyelleth. She had not moved since the group had arrived in the chamber, her gaze still fixed ahead and glassy, almost vacant. Even the whispering dark that enshrouded the Troll woman garnered no reaction, despite being less than a foot away.
The lack of response caused Shasta to turn away, seemingly satisfied with the Rogue, but within a split second she wheeled about, striking Lyelleth sharply across the cheek, nails raking twin tracks less than an inch from her eye, directly across the lightning tattoo, drawing blood.
“Not so fast now are you, bitch?” She cried, pulling her hand back for another blow, “And this is for the others you tried to kill…”
“SHASTA! HOLD!” Thrall roared, and two of the Grunts lunged forward to grasp her, but she loosed a high pitched cry and vanished. “Vol’Jin, if your sister cannot control herself she is barred from this chamber!” Furious eyes fell on the Shadow Hunter. “Go after her, and make her see sense. NOW!”
Orannis had turned to tend to Lyelleth, but she was still stood, rigid and unmoving. He dared glance back at Thrall who gestured dismissal, and the Shaman nodded gratefully. “Let’s get out of here before she comes back to finish…” He muttered quietly, inwardly disturbed by Shasta’s complete loss of control.
--
Orannis’s suite was not a great distance away, but the journey was made longer by the guard who accompanied them. A mixture of his Shaman and the Orgrimmar Grunts, the pace was slowed by their sheer number. It was also frustrating for Orannis; he had wanted the chance to speak to Lyelleth, to warn her of what was to come, but the Grunts he did not know enough to trust that the words would be kept away from prying ears, and so he held his tongue.
Their lack of privacy was not the only thing concerning the Shaman. Lyelleth’s behaviour since joining them aboard ship was a far cry from the spirited woman he had met in the forests of Ashenvale. It was as if someone had reached in and doused the fire within her, and her behaviour was shockingly similar to that of…
Orannis stopped his thoughts. The only time he had seen disassociation this strongly and this quickly, was in those used to abuse. Vol’Jin’s leavings had the same dead look in their eyes, and usually a network of scars across their body and a broken mind. Anger rose within the Orc. Who had done this to her? And his thoughts stopped again. Why was he so angry? She was a Night Elf, albeit now his charge, why should he worry what had brought this about in her? But the simple truth was, he *was* worried. Concerned. Something.
Sunk into his musings, the Shaman did not notice they had arrived until someone coughed politely, and his attention snapped back to the here and now. Dismissing the collected escort, he ushered Lyelleth into his suite, closing the door quickly. As soon as he was certain the door was locked and warded, he turned his gaze back to the Night Elf, and looked her in the eyes.
"Do not ask questions, but trust me Night Elf," He said softly. "Strip."
No emotion crossed her face as she obeyed, and the sight that met Orannis' gaze made his blood boil...
My internet died! Argh! And hey, I’m I’m in the middle of trying to buy a house… sorta. And I have health problems and… aaaargh lemme alone *sticks tongue out*
Oh, and! Previews of the next two “Legion” fics will be added to the end of the next chapter *g*
--
~Orgrimmar~
The clothes she had been given turned out to be a simple shift dress in emerald green and a soft pair of moccasins, and little else. Her hands had been bound behind her back, but almost half-heartedly in soft wool rope rather than any serious chain, and the Night Elf was unsure what to make of this. She *did* know, however, that she would not simply be slipped in the back door of the living quarters and installed in Orannis’ suite; this had been made clear by the vast crowd of Horde that had met the ship upon docking at Ratchet. The small Goblin city was familiar to Lyelleth, she had passed this way many times, despite it being within Horde territory it remained neutral, and running into its bounds had saved her life more than once.
Now… Now it did not seem so safe.
--
Orannis eyed the gates of Orgrimmar from his seat atop his riding wolf, the creature shifting as he observed the crowds in front of him, and wondered exactly whom had decided that this was a good idea. He could not see Thrall approving of such a… parade.
“Vol’Jin,” The Shaman thought to himself, shaking his head. The Shadow Hunter was known to hold a grudge, and the way Orannis had staked his claim to the Night Elf he brought with him had blatantly perturbed the Troll. Inwardly he sighed, Vol’Jin was not an enemy he could afford, but there would be time later to dwell on the fact.
“Proceed,” He ordered, resisting the urge to turn and look at his “prize”. Lyelleth was atop another wolf, boxed in by an assortment of his Shaman brothers, but he knew she would not run. The rode through the gates to an assortment of cheers and jeers, and the occasional piece of thrown debris which gave rise to the thought of re-arming the Night Elf and letting her loose on those who liked to assault people weaker than themselves. Shaking off the thought, he led the procession to the Valley of Wisdom, dismounting at its gates and halting the crowd.
“Resh’kan and Splithoof with me, the rest of you wait here, and keep those who should not be here at bay. Recruit the Grunts to help you if you must, I do *not* want an incident.” He dared steal a glance at the Rogue, but her gaze was glassy, eyes unfocussed even as she stood tall amongst the Shaman. “Let us get this over with.”
--
Thrall’s chamber was crowded – it seemed as if anyone who could find an excuse was there, including representatives from most – if not all – the Horde Guilds on Azeroth. Orannis was nodding in acknowledgement to a few of these Masters; Clenhoof, Warrior of the Legion and brother of his Shaman Lieutenant Splithoof, the legendary Mog’Thal; commander of Sanctum, vanquishers of Nefarian, and the Druid Nahdeer of the Claw Tribe. Nahdeer was a good friend of Orannis, and he was grateful to see her within the assembled throng; she quirked an eyebrow at him before rolling her eyes and almost-imperceptibly shaking her head in bemusement. Mog’Thal was surrounded by his guild-members, many of them displaying signs of the sheer arrogance for which they were famed, and Orannis tensed, not wanting an incident.
Thrall himself was flanked on the left by Vol’Jin; who was joined on the dais by his sister; the Shadow Priest Shasta, and on the right by Dashka Bloodhoof; niece of Cairne and emissary of the Tauren, who was accompanied by an Undead Warlock, who the Shaman did not recognise, but who stared at the Orc intently, as if waiting for something. Shasta was wrapped in Shadow, the soft, whispering chitters on the edge of hearing that came with this cloaking effect made Orannis’ ears itch. He dropped to one knee respectfully in front of his Warcheif.
“I have returned, and the debt is paid.” He said quietly, eyes on the floor, not trusting himself to look at any of those on the dais just yet.
“Make the whore kneel!” Vol’Jin sneered, and Shasta started forward as if to do it herself, but Thrall raised a hand and she fell back, lips twisted into a half-snarl.
“Hold, Shasta.” The Warcheif ordered, looking the Night Elf over with interest. “She came willingly, Orannis?”
“Aye,” The Shaman replied, rising again slowly. “And alone.”
During this exchange, Shasta had again left her brother’s side, slowly this time, stepping down to closely examine Lyelleth. She had not moved since the group had arrived in the chamber, her gaze still fixed ahead and glassy, almost vacant. Even the whispering dark that enshrouded the Troll woman garnered no reaction, despite being less than a foot away.
The lack of response caused Shasta to turn away, seemingly satisfied with the Rogue, but within a split second she wheeled about, striking Lyelleth sharply across the cheek, nails raking twin tracks less than an inch from her eye, directly across the lightning tattoo, drawing blood.
“Not so fast now are you, bitch?” She cried, pulling her hand back for another blow, “And this is for the others you tried to kill…”
“SHASTA! HOLD!” Thrall roared, and two of the Grunts lunged forward to grasp her, but she loosed a high pitched cry and vanished. “Vol’Jin, if your sister cannot control herself she is barred from this chamber!” Furious eyes fell on the Shadow Hunter. “Go after her, and make her see sense. NOW!”
Orannis had turned to tend to Lyelleth, but she was still stood, rigid and unmoving. He dared glance back at Thrall who gestured dismissal, and the Shaman nodded gratefully. “Let’s get out of here before she comes back to finish…” He muttered quietly, inwardly disturbed by Shasta’s complete loss of control.
--
Orannis’s suite was not a great distance away, but the journey was made longer by the guard who accompanied them. A mixture of his Shaman and the Orgrimmar Grunts, the pace was slowed by their sheer number. It was also frustrating for Orannis; he had wanted the chance to speak to Lyelleth, to warn her of what was to come, but the Grunts he did not know enough to trust that the words would be kept away from prying ears, and so he held his tongue.
Their lack of privacy was not the only thing concerning the Shaman. Lyelleth’s behaviour since joining them aboard ship was a far cry from the spirited woman he had met in the forests of Ashenvale. It was as if someone had reached in and doused the fire within her, and her behaviour was shockingly similar to that of…
Orannis stopped his thoughts. The only time he had seen disassociation this strongly and this quickly, was in those used to abuse. Vol’Jin’s leavings had the same dead look in their eyes, and usually a network of scars across their body and a broken mind. Anger rose within the Orc. Who had done this to her? And his thoughts stopped again. Why was he so angry? She was a Night Elf, albeit now his charge, why should he worry what had brought this about in her? But the simple truth was, he *was* worried. Concerned. Something.
Sunk into his musings, the Shaman did not notice they had arrived until someone coughed politely, and his attention snapped back to the here and now. Dismissing the collected escort, he ushered Lyelleth into his suite, closing the door quickly. As soon as he was certain the door was locked and warded, he turned his gaze back to the Night Elf, and looked her in the eyes.
"Do not ask questions, but trust me Night Elf," He said softly. "Strip."
No emotion crossed her face as she obeyed, and the sight that met Orannis' gaze made his blood boil...