amarthiel: (♞ in between)
She had avoided this as long as possible, but there was no one left in Orgrimmar who could teach her. Nor was there anyone on the high, sunny reaches of the Tauren city. By all reports, if she wanted to further study the art of Alchemy her only recourse was the Royal Apothecary Society of the Forsaken.
The city of Lordaeron.
Amarthiel managed to kill the shudder that strove to creep down her spine, and pulled her hood a little closer to her face as she climbed down the zeppelin tower. It's just a place. You were so young when you left, why should it matter? Trying to calm herself lest she draw unwanted attention, she headed for the crumbling gates of the city.
With downturned eyes she walked towards the old seat of power, having been told that the way down to the Forsaken 'Undercity' was past king Terenas' throne room. Amarthiel kept to the shadows, half from training, and half because the ruined city scared her, in a way. Her feet guided her without her will; she found herself standing, in spite of her wishes, in front of a crumbling home. She didn't look at the coat of arms; didn't read the name inscribed upon the lintel. Just stared at the yawning, broken door, glad that the darkness inside obscured whatever was left. Her own family had not been here when the city fell; just a distant branch she didn't know and didn't much care to. It was a mystery to her what had become of them.
Amarthiel found herself wondering what had happened to the man who might have been her father, the paladin Ilfirin. She had never thought of him growing up; her father forbade reference to him, and though her mother had told her the story-- assuring her that the paladin was no relation-- it had never made a difference to her. If anything she felt a slight distaste for him because of the path he'd chosen; her mother's devotion had always left Amarthiel biased against champions of the Light.
Something stirred inside, a hazy, sulfurous glow rising in the depths of the cavernous building. It resolved itself into two points; one of the dead. Thankful for the mask that kept her face stiff, Amarthiel tried to smother her disgust.
"You like my home, orc?" rasped the corpse in heavily accented orcish. The weak sunlight spilled over a skull, bald of hair and sparse of flesh. What remained, shrunken and shriveled, of his lips was twisted into a sneering grin. She did not recognize his voice, or his ravaged face.
"I was admiring the coat of arms," she lied, glancing at it for the first time. Most of the gilt surface had been destroyed, the precious metal scraped away, leaving gouges in the marble. The fineness of detail was gone, but one could see the traces of its old shape; the hawk's wings that traced and mingled with the rays of a dawning sun.
"Aurefion," muttered the dead man darkly, his burning eyes narrowing. "Nothing of mine. They were long gone by the time I moved in," he chuckled, turning his gaze back to her. "For some of us, dying meant moving up in the world. All these were ancestral homes," he said, one sharp-fingered hand emerging from the darkness and waving down the row of marmoreal relics, "Households I could never have afforded, even if my birth entitled me to a place in one. Which it didn't," he added with another toothy leer.
Amarthiel tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. It was comforting to know this corpse was none of hers; and she doubted it was Snowsong. The dead man seemed more like a low-born scavenger, pleased to scrape at the ruins of a great house, pleased at his chance to dominate in death what he could not have touched in life.
"I am glad you find some pleasure in your current state," she muttered, and bowed her head. The Forsaken snorted; she could not tell whether it was amusement or disgust. He cast another glance at the crumbling coat of arms, and stalked back into his "home."
The 'orc' took a shuddering breath to center herself, and continued onwards towards the Undercity, trying not to think about where she was or where she was going. "Nothing of mine," the corpse had said. The warrior had no desire to contend his claim. She'd sooner take the house in Lakeshire. Amarthiel did not look back, as she headed for the so-called Undercity; behind her, the doorway yawned open, dark and empty. The house was nothing of hers, either.. Not anymore.

Nagrand

Feb. 11th, 2009 08:20 pm
amarthiel: (Default)
The warrior sat at the side of the lake, muttering under her breath and scrubbing at her hands, occasionally casting an irate glance at the distant pillars and triliths of the Throne of the Elements. Beside her stood a proud black steed, covered by shining pieces of equine armor- recently acquired by his mistress, in order to better protect the beast from the Outlands' dangers. The horse was restless; from time to time great wolf-riders passed along the roads to and from Garador, the nearby outpost of the Mag'har orcs. The stallion, well-trained by his human companion, feared little... But these wolves were fierce, and more than once had chased the human til sweat soaked the steed's mane and his mistress' hair alike.
It'd almost be ironic if they caught me.
With a final grimace, Amarthiel finished scrubbing her hands clean of the last traces of.. Well, better to leave it forgotten. She moved to stand, but thought the better of it; it was a lovely day, and Nagrand was breathtakingly beautiful... None of her obligations were too pressing, and the opportunity to sit on the grass beside a lake was far too tempting. She made a small sound to signal her steed to relax, and pulled off her heavy plate boots. The horse, ignoring its new armor, loosened its stance and moved to nose the grass, as the warrior let her heavy pauldrons fall from her shoulders with a sigh of relief. Stripping the padding from her feet, she shifted over a little and edged her feet into the cold water, carefully avoiding the area she'd just washed her hands in. Trusting the dark stallion to alert her if anyone approached, she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the warmth of the day.
Some moments later a voice rang out from the nearby Horde town; the warhorse was instantly alert, tossing his head, scenting the air. The warrior, too, broke from her reverie, though more from curiousity than fear. The distance wwas too great to catch the exact words-- I am home, or something like that, she thought-- but she recognize the booming shout of the Warchief. Thrall's voice was hard to mistake; it rang familiar to the human, because of the trace of a Common accent to it. She'd taken to emulating his style of speech whenever possible- quoting him when she could, borrowing his expressions- hoping to pass off her own accent as an affectation. The Warchief was not unique in his Common fluency, though no one in Orgrimmar exercised command of that tongue frequently... But for most, the human language had been a second language. Amarthiel was quiet when she could be- her chosen profession didn't hurt- but when she did speak, she was careful about her words, acutely aware of herself, afraid that her tongue would betray her. It could be a projection of her hopes, but she did seem to be more convincing, now that she'd chosen to portray herself as copying Thrall's mode of speech... It was much more comfortable than trying to feign a speech impediment.
Frowning slightly, the warrior whistled to get the horse's attention. The beast calmed itself quickly and wandered back to its rider. Amarthiel dried her feet with a rag from her full pack, and pulled back on her armor, regretting the necessity of burdening herself with such weight on such a warm day. Stretching once to test the fit of her pauldrons, she mounted and took one last, longing look at the lake. Turning back, she settled in her saddle, preparing herself for a long ride.. Back to the Portal, to Azeroth...
Enough, for now, of furthering her mercenary career... The Kurenai could wait. She wanted to know what brought the Warchief to Garadar.
amarthiel: (Default)
Amarthiel crept through the dripping caverns beneath the Ashenvale beach, concentrating on each step. It wasn't enough to be quiet, she reminded herself; you had to move slowly but surely, one step after the other, avoiding the drifting gazes of the naga and satyr that wandered so close, from time to time, that she feared alerting them to her presence by brushing against them. She reminded herself to exhale, keeping the rythm of her breath even, letting it fade into quiet background noise... Holding your breath wasn't helpful, but it was the natural nervous response.
Part of her wanted to take the quick way out- she was well-trained and strong; she could, in her normal guise, take them all down without stopping for breath. And the world'd be better off for it, she thought, pausing as one of the demons' eyes passed over her.
But... well... She needed the practice in subtlety.. and who knew if these cheap daggers would hold, if she tried them against the monstrous creatures here. Besides, she'd come down here with a number of Horde women; two of the Blood Elves, two of the dead, and she didn't know where they'd gotten to. Her disguise had served her well, in their company, and there was no reason to jeopardize that because of impatience.
Their battle with the manifestation of the Old God summoned by the Twilight's Hammer had gone, all in all, quite well. Amarthiel doubted they'd made a real difference- the Adept they'd slain might have been the head of this chapter of the cult, but those who sold their souls to such primal forces were rarely that easy to exterminate. And the enormous hydra they'd slain had been but the barest sliver of the goddess' power; just an avatar.
As she slid along a wall, keeping her eyes on the nearby serpent priestess, the "rogue" mused on just how lucky they'd been that she was more than they'd seemed. As they crept through the cavern towards the great hydra, the five had been carefully dispatching huge, angry turtles. However, they ventured too close, and suddenly the goddess was upon them. The sin'dorei Paladin fell quickly, and the hydra's heads whipped around to face the dead priestess.
Training took over; Amarthiel surrendered to instinct and changed her stance, bracing herself to withstand the blows. Throwing her head back she roared defiantly at the beast, challenging it to take its attention from the priestess. Yelling, to keep its attention on her, the woman did her best to cut the beast down quickly, oblivious to the uncomfortable sensation of the Light being channeled, made all the more unusual by the fact that one of the plague-dead wielded it. Slowly but surely it weakened, bleeding freely from knife-wounds and arcane burns. Amarthiel renewed her efforts, and the beast soon fell. The mage and warlock sat down to recover from their mental exertions; the other Forsaken knelt beside the paladin's fallen form to pray for her soul's return. The "orc" walked off a ways, concerned that letting her training show might raise questions she couldn't answer.
She feigned a worse reaction to the hydra's venom than she felt, sitting on a moss-slick stone while the others recovered. At length the priestess wandered over; Amarthiel glanced up.
"Good work, Amar," she said, with a pale-lipped grin. The mercenary returned the expression, though her red mask concealed the curl of lips around carved-bone fangs.

A satyr stirred as she crept by, and Amarthiel froze, abandoning her reminiscence. The demon shook its head, and she crept off quickly, attention firmly planted in the moment. Still, she couldn't help but smile... it was fortunate, how her dual training worked out.

Outland

Feb. 11th, 2009 08:18 pm
amarthiel: (♘ on the run)
The warrior took a moment to rest, grimly wiping demonic ichor from her blade and digging through her pack for something to bandage a wounded arm with. Before her was spread the chaos of battle, the uncoordinated but sympathetic efforts of a hundred men and women; human and orc, tauren and elf, all trying to stem the flood of demons from the fel portal the Legion had constructed here. There were enough for now, she thought; it seemed unlikely that her temporary absence would help the demons much.
Pausing, Amarthiel peered over the edge of the cliff, contemplating the rooftops and half-seen streets of Thrallmar, the Horde's answer, she supposed, to Honor Hold. She really wasn't certain...
The woman sighed softly, faintly regretting the fact that she'd not gotten far enough in her rogue's training to come here in another guise. She could manage, in her usual way; but it would be incredibly suspicious for her alter-ego to suddenly abandon newfound training and profess herself a talented warrior. No, she’d have to spend some time in Kalimdor yet, before she came out here. Still… She was eager to explore Draenor from both perspectives.
Better perhaps to begin with the Alliance she’d been born to; Amarthiel had come to the realization, as she strode through the Dark Portal, that she knew almost nothing of the shattered “Outlands” that lay beyond… which might be a problem. Draenor, she was vaguely aware, was the homeland of the orcs, as well as of the strange, blue-skinned beings who’d recently joined the Alliance forces. The Draenei seemed to feel kinship with the Allies primarily because of their belief in the Light; this did little to endear them to Amarthiel, whose dislike for the practitioners of that faith had only been magnified by staying with the shamanistic and druidic healers of the Horde. Still, they seemed nice enough.
Her ignorance concerning the history of the Outlands, however, didn’t seem appropriate for the other Amarthiel… She would probably be more aware of the history of her own people. It was, the warrior reflected, something she’d have to research before even thinking about heading to the Outlands as a rogue. Sighing softly, she again hefted her heavy blade and prepared to enter the fray... Although her journeys in Draenor thus far had been profitable and, well, somewhat interesting, she regretted the fact that it kept her away from continuing her training as a rogue… Her rooms in Theramore had no doubt been rented out to someone else by now, and she was glad that she’d brought all her possessions from Orgrimmar to Stormwind… most of them packed securely into a small, locked trunk. Her pet snake was back in her room at Honor Hold… it wasn’t entirely unheard of for such beasties to be traded through the goblin Auction Houses, and she didn’t know anyone well enough to entrust him to their care.
Frowning faintly, the warrior turned to face a felguard who’d wandered too close for comfort… Much more of this and, hell, she’d be more than willing to take a break, go back to Kalimdor and her training. For now… Amarthiel leapt off the rock she’d been sitting on, and charged the felguard. After all, she’d a job out here… The faster she finished it, the sooner she could go back to her own world.

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Amarthiel Aurefion

February 2009

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