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| - [Follows on from] Sweltering heat was the first thing she remembered as she roused; still laying upon the course flaxen rugs that adorned the floor of this particular structure. Well aware of the fact that she was not welcome here, nor was she supposed to be here. Dendera pushed herself onto her elbows and looked to Kruss, her stalwart companion. The Orc was still sleeping peacefully, as could be indicated by her lolling tongue and by her deep (and very audible) breathing. Peering at the painted leather walls, and strong wooden support struts, Dendera couldn’t help but think of this structure as a slightly more permanent tent. It certainly retained heat well, as the sweat dripping from her fair-skinned forehead was testament to, but then it would have to when the temperature of the Barrens dropped to welcome in darkest night. Still, it was shelter and she didn’t have much room to complain. Last night the shadows held a strange threat, creeping and crawling in ways that caused a shiver to run down the Sin’dorei’s spine. It wasn’t just a physical threat, though. She’d been up on that hillside just like the rest of them. She’d seen that… thing. Images passed through her mind of a black sphere, forged of solid shadow. It wasn’t a proper memory, instead seeming more like a fragment. Fragments… that made her suddenly see the shards of the sphere after its destruction. Kruss had loosed an arrow at it, her muscles becoming as taught as her bowstring. Ripples of black gave way to splintering pain. It was all so fuzzy though as If her mind had been stuffed with wool, and Dendera was painfully aware of the fact that she could neither remember where she’d encountered this abhorrent creature or even what it had looked like after emerging from its nightmarish cocoon. The only imprints left on her mind were that of inky blackness and a brilliant white garment. She could not remember what this creature had done, but it had somehow driven them off from his temporary hillside domain and it was this which bothered Dendera most of all. If the creature could rob all possible learning experience of its ways, then you were almost certainly doomed to attempt to tackle it in the wrong way every time. A frown creased her pallid face, her thin lower lip enveloped by her mouth as she gently pressed her teeth into it. The Orc stirred, as Dendera knew she would before long. Dismissing her thoughts and steeling her expression, the Sin’dorei instead carefully crafted a smile upon her face. Kruss’ affections were quite amusing and, at the same time, not entirely unpleasant to the predatory Sin’dorei. As far as Orcish women went, she wasn’t the worst looking specimen Dendera had ever seen either. Well hardened, broad and strong muscles, though with unkempt hair – often having something leafy stuck through it either by accident or deliberately. At times she smelt slightly musky, but Dendera was starting to find that less and less of a distraction. It was no worse than most of the savages she’d bedded. “Mornin’, sleepyhead.” Cheerful words chirped from the Sin’dorei’s mouth as the sleepy Orc roused herself, blinking in the slight confusion that waking up brings. It seemed that for a couple of seconds, Kruss had no idea where she was. It slowly dawned upon the huntress, and Dendera snickered lightly as uncertainly shimmered across her companion’s eyes if only for a moment. They were in Gremkarc and Guak’s own private little slice of Kalimdor, a place that Dendera had been practically begged not to reveal that she’d been here to any other soul alive –or even dead. Apparently that would put the Den mother of Dagger and Totem in the kind of mood that folk don’t tend to wake up from. Dendera let out a hearty chuckle with this thought. After all… “She’d have to catch me first”. “Morn’n Den.” Kruss grunted back at Dendera after a couple of seconds had passed. They set off not long after, Dendera insisting that she urgently needed to speak to someone in Orgimmar. When pressed for details, she simply smiled sweetly and changed the subject. To all outside observers, Dendera was mainly being a dizzy blonde with ideas above her station. The harsh reality was much more brutal. The unlikely pairing crossed the threshold of Orgimmar’s mostly disused Western gate. Wrinkling her nose with disdain, as she did whenever she entered this pungent environment of testosterone and wolves, the Sin’dorei scanned the area carefully with an emphasised negligent glance around. Kruss was saying something again, speaking excitedly and loudly as was her want to do. To maintain politeness, Dendera giggled and nodded, but Kruss would probably begin learning soon that when Dendera’s mouth wasn’t working a mile a minute she was concentrating on something. Usually that something was important. “Honey, I’m going to just slip off for a moment, okay? Why don’t you go and fetch us something to eat and we can enjoy it in the shade of the Valley of Spirits. Hmm?” Kruss was never hard to convince of most linear tasks, all too pleased to do the bidding of the lithe little Elf. Giving Kruss an enthusiastic hug and kiss right on the corner of the mouth next to her tusk only moments before, Dendera set her sights upon the Drag through narrowed eyes. Firstly, she had a quick meeting to attend with a certain Forsaken Warlock. The only trouble was, the Forsaken didn’t realise her presence would be imminently required by the cold blooded Sin’dorei. Sitting by an opening in the wall, commonly referred to as a window, Sefiya stared down into the Drag and watched the many races of the Horde scurry past like small mammals going about their business. Her bony fingers caressed a strange book that lay in her hands, a sickly green glow emanating from the slightly damp pages. The book was closed against her chest as she stroked it lovingly like a child in her arms, all but cooing to the filthy fel-tainted thing. Her still breath stuck in her rotting larynx as a blonde figure slipped in through the window almost atop her. A knife tip was pressed to her rotting chin an unbeating heart quiver later, indicating that on this occasion Dendera meant business. “Hello sweetheart, I want a word with you.” Panic rose like so much putrefied bile as Sefiya was pushed into the far wall, an Elven forearm thrust into the remnants of her throat. The tome slipped from her grasp even as she squirmed to hold on to it. A slight cracking noise could be heard as Dendera increased the pressure on the Forsaken’s torso. The book bounced once before flopping open somewhere in the middle, an ill wind snatched at the pages turning them one at a time. “Look here, darling heart, you let me trail that thing half way across the Barens without so much as a snippet of information about its mind affecting powers. You little bitch. You did that on purpose!” The last words were hissed through clenched teeth, a kitten baring her fangs. The blade glimmered in the dim candlelight of the room, the point of which was now hovering dangerously close to the layers of peeling, green-tinged skin. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself!?” “I… I’m sorry?” Sefiya spoke empty and distracted words lacking conviction, as her eyes were fixated on a point behind Dendera. The book, its pages lay bare for the world to see. Tendons twanged tensely as Sefiya attempted to start towards her precious possession, before she was slammed back into the wall. “You’re sorry!? Oh! Well that makes it all okay again, then! I don’t suppose the…” Trailing off, Dendera looked to the spot where the Forsaken was desperately fixating on. The book of course! Rotating her body through ninety degrees, the Sin’dorei effortlessly tossed the Undead woman to the ground and strode across the room to retrieve the inherently evil object. “No!” The words came out as an ethereal screech, resonating within the walls of the psyche just as they did within the room itself. Sefiya skittered forward on all fours, until Dendera scooped the book up and turned it over. She kneeled before the Elf, the stretched muscles of her face tensing and twitching to express anguish in a vastly limited way. “Hmm, that’s interesting. This whole book is completely Fel tainted. This would make a tasty little snack for me, wouldn’t it?” “Take your hands off that.” “Eh?” Turning her head slowly, Dendera was well aware that the voice that had just spoken was not Sefiya’s alone. The Undead’s ethereal whining voice had mixed with something that sounded much much older, and more intimidating. The voice was deep and lingered within the senses overlong. Now the object of Forsaken desire hung limply in Dendera’s hands as she ran her eyes up and down Sefiya. The Undead stood with her head hung and shoulders hunched, hands balled into fists. She was shaking uncontrollably, though more through rage than through fear. A dark shadow loomed menacingly behind her, not quite piercing the veil between the two worlds. It sat and it waited, and Dendera could immediately feel that she wanted no part of this game. The Sin’dorei knew the shadows well, but there were creatures that knew them better still. “Alright. Whatever.” With a negligent exclamation the book was tossed onto a nearby table with the flick of a wrist, causing an audible thud as it landed. Sefiya winced in reaction to the noise. The Forsaken scuttled quickly to the table and snatched up the book, cradling it to her chest and caressing it as a mother might with its lost child. That half glimpsed presence that had only moments ago felt so domineering was lost in the flicker of candlelight. Fel Magic was beginning to taint this whole area, Dendera noted as she spoke once more. “I’ll never understand your fixation with that thing.” “It… It is all I have left, now.” Rolling her eyes was one trait that she couldn’t really manage to get over, but Dendera always endeavoured to do it outside of her victim’s line of sight. Slipping up beside Sefiya now, Dendera placed her hands on the greying tattered shoulders of the Forsaken’s once brilliant red robe. “Look, sweetie, all I’m saying is that I could have done with a little bit more information. No harm, no foul, alright?” A hissing noise, something akin to a carelessly gleeful expression, slipped from between the Forsaken’s dried and withered lips. It almost sounded as if she was laughing, or giggling at the very least. It was always difficult to work out just what these things were trying to insinuate with their actions. “Alright… but really. I know no more. Do not want to… hurt you.” That almost brought on another eye-roll, as Dendera listened to the Forsaken’s broken emotions acting out of order again. In truth, the Sin’dorei loathed dealing with these abhorrent things, they never made much sense. Their thought patterns were all so often stuck like a broken record, and yet their emotions jumbled and manufactured. This one in particular seemed to develop something resembling an extremely good mood whenever anyone dared place their physical presence near to her. She probably had a lot of suitors in life, Dendera supposed with an uncaring shake of the head. “Just get on with your little mumbo jumbo, okay sweetie pie?” “C-Can’t.” “Why not?” The harsh voice, dripping with venom, had returned within the winking of an eye. Sefiya winced and tried to sink back, but Dendera held her shoulders firmly. “D-Doesn-” “You stu- INSOLENT-” “W-Wait! There’s a reason!” Pausing a moment, the Forsaken once more cowering under her grasp, Dendera shook her lightly. “…Go on.” “Th-Things have… changed.” “What do you mean?” “The beast’s God. It’s been defeated.” “Oh. Good. No need to worry then.” “N-No, that’s not it. We theorise that perhaps… perhaps… there is a chance that a small portion of the Loa’s spirit may have transferred into the body of its Champion.” “So he’s even more powerful now, and there’s no link to sever. Is that where you’re going with this?” “M-More or less.” “Is there anything you can do?” “N-Not really. His mind will be somewhat fractured, though!” “Oh what a relief. Our homicidal maniac just got one notch further along the crazy-scale. Fine, then I think I might be giving up on this chase after all. Let a proper Horde Clan sort it out, not a rag tag band of randoms.” “S-Sensible…” “Oh I know. Right. I’m off.” With that, Dendera slipped her hands off Sefiya’s shoulders. The Undead stared after the Sin’dorei with her mouth held slightly open, one hand lifted as if to grasp at the Elf, but an action like that would likely result in a swift kick to the head. Dendera could kick extremely quickly when she needed to, Sefiya knew this and so she did nothing but watch the slender form slip back through the window opening and drop out of sight. Alone in the dark once more, Sefiya turned to face the wall and rested her forehead there, staring down at the book in her hands. With a sudden screech of rage that spilled out into the street, Sefiya tossed the book across the room and sunk to her knees clawing at her face with sharpened fingers, pulling away clumps of rotting flesh as air whooshed through her cavernous chest cavity. A pair of soft-soled boots touched down on to the hard dirt of the Drag, Orgimmar’s quintessential back alley, and began padding through the dark street. It didn’t matter anymore, Dendera thought. She’d find Kruss and take her somewhere pleasant, then she’d probably want to have sex or at least snuggle again. Square enough, Dendera thought to herself as she picked her way to the Valley of Strength looking for her green skinned companion.
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