Marital Status: Dating Brent Sunborn ( @brent-sunborn )
Proper, quiet and kind, Phaith lives two separate lives. One is that of a simple tailor attempting to regain her status in Gilneas. The other is a Fel user that spends her time studying and investigating occult activities. She avoids using her Worgen form, only shifting as a last resort or when she becomes angry.
[[ Co-written with @thefugitivemango player of @brent-sunborn . @phaithkingston belongs to me. @kaiekasunwhisper , @cebinaruavin and @kynlea for character mention.]]
~*~*~
~ Gilneas, year 42 ~
Birds were chirping in the trees just outside the window at the Kingston residence. Phaith moved about the kitchen as she did every morning. She was an early riser, and often awoke before her partner. She’d gotten into the habit of making a late breakfast for herself and Brent. Today was a bit different, however. They had a guest!
The redhead smiled at the blue haired elven woman as she placed the food down on the table. A friend of Brent’s, she’d said… Phaith had been suspicious at first, worried that the woman might have been associated with Brent's past as a cultist, or perhaps an ex-girlfriend he’d neglected to mention… Thankfully, a brief conversation had put those worries to rest. One of the few friends Brent still had left in Quel’Thalas, it seemed.
“There we are. He should be joining us at any moment.”
As if on cue, the kettle whistled. Syrielle’s ears flickered happily as she watched the Gilnean woman head back over to the kitchen to remove it from the burner. There was an obvious noble upbringing in how she moved about, effortlessly and perfectly pouring three cups of tea and carrying the tray over without spilling a drop, as though she’d rehearsed the movements her entire life. Her posture was perfect, her hair and makeup done up nicely and she wore fine clothing that accentuated an amazing pair of breasts. Brent certainly had taste!
“Thank you,” she accepted the cup, suddenly happy that the same proper style and etiquette had been drilled into her as a Magistrix in Silvermoon City.
Part of her was excited to finally meet the woman Brent had been talking about over the past few years, but at the same time, she wasn’t here to deliver the best of news. She held back a sigh, still uncertain on what to say.
The silence between the two women broke as Brent descended from the upstairs bedroom. He wasn’t expecting guests, so he lazily pulled up some comfortable lounge pants over his naked form. He neglected a shirt. The residence was kept plenty warm, even amidst the cold perpetual rain that rinsed the Gilnean countryside. He yawned, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he reached the final step and turned the corner into the kitchen.
“Mm, put your tea down, sexy. Despite how hard we went at it last night, I’m still plenty ready for another round if you–”
He froze.
Was he seeing things? No, this wasn’t a hallucination. Was it a bad dream? Please, Gods, it was a bad dream! He rubbed his eyes again slowly, before blinking, as if to clear any hindrance from his vision. There was none.
“S-Syrielle?” he managed to sputter, as his brain started to catch up to what he was witnessing.
Syrielle’s worries completely washed away as Brent came into the room only partially clothed. Her ears perked up fully and her mouth hung open, the corners of her mouth pulled up in a smile. She sat back in her chair comfortably, cup of tea in her hands.
“DO go on! Don’t mind me!” she encouraged, eyes locked to Brent’s waist, “You certainly look ready to go.”
Phaith, on the other hand, looked absolutely mortified. With a gasp, her face quickly turned the same shade of red as her hair. Properly embarrassed, she brought a hand up over her eyes and turned to face the counter, away from the two.
Brent reached for the first thing he could find to drape over himself, suddenly VERY aware of how dressed-down he was! The closest thing was, unfortunately, a nearby table cloth. He didn’t care; he wrapped it around himself to cover not just his bare chest, but the slight “morning” rise poking through his pants which, for Gods only knew why, hadn’t subsided yet!
“Phaith, uh… this is Syrielle! She’s ah, erm… a friend of a friend. And we used to, uh… work together. Just work. In the military. She was an officer!”
The words just dribbled from his mouth, almost incoherently, as his brain rushed to catch up. Syrielle Starfrost was in his HOUSE!? How did she even find him? Why was she here!?
“You’re uh… a long way from Quel’Thalas, aren’t you?” he cleared his throat. “What, uh… what brings you by?”
Gods, why was he talking so much? Why was he talking like THAT? He glanced between Syrielle and Phaith nervously, ears perked upright warily!
“Ah, I’m sorry,” Phaith answered, “I should have let you know we had unexpected company.”
It took her a moment to regain her composure, fanning herself a bit because the room suddenly felt very hot. At least she hadn’t been drinking tea when he walked in. Still, she made her way over to kiss Brent on the cheek before heading up the stairs to the bedroom to find him at least a shirt to cover up with.
Syrielle was completely unbothered. Sipping her tea and waggling her eyebrows at Brent as his girlfriend disappeared up the stairs.
“You’d be surprised how easy it is to find an elf in Gilneas. People here LOVE to talk,” she said, “I didn’t have to ask around very long. Which is good. I’m not too sure how long I can stay before they notice I stepped away from my duties.” She cleared her throat, “So I see things are going well! Just curious, are you two attached to staying in Gilneas in any way?”
“Get out.”
When Phaith vanished, so too did Brent’s manners. He scowled at Syrielle, eyes narrowing dangerously. His voice became far more throaty than conversational. And the light in the sitting room seemed to dim considerably around him…
“I gave you ways to contact me. Barging into my home wasn’t one of them. Leave. Now.”
“Yeah, not like you ever barged into MY home, huh?” she shot back, seeming unbothered by his foul mood.
“That was different. I was a cultist, and I was trying to assassinate you.” Brent glowered. “This is way different now, and you know it!”
She sighed as she placed her teacup back down on its saucer, ears lowering slightly as the conversation shifted to a more serious matter.
“The regular methods of contact are risky right now. It’s very VERY important that you not return to Quel’Thalas. At least… not anytime soon. Brent, Sunwhisper’s been compromised. She was captured while crossing the Thalassian Pass and is being held and interrogated.”
Brent frowned deeper at the news, scoffing and shaking his head.
“That idiot…” he huffed. “Alright. I’ll make something up to set Phaith’s mind at ease, and meet you at the pass tonight. Show me where she’s being held, and I can get her out. I shouldn’t have let her go alone in the first place…”
Syrielle shook her head, “No. You need to stay away. The Kingdom is on high alert, especially for her old cultist friends. There’s nothing we can do for her. Not now. Don’t try to reach her or Kynlea. He’s being watched too. The good news is, she’s agreed to atone for her crimes against Quel’Thalas, which was enough to keep her head on her shoulders. As long as she continues to cooperate, I believe she and Kyn will be fine. “
She took a breath before continuing.
“What I’m worried about is, how much does Sunwhisper know about you? Does she know you live here? Understand that she IS cooperating fully. Cebina Ruavin is their main target at the moment, because she’s out causing trouble in Khaz Algar. From what I was able to find out, they know you’re alive, but they aren’t currently looking for you. Which is why I was asking… how attached are the two of you to Gilneas?”
“--Slow down, slow down!” Brent stepped closer to Syrielle, grabbing her shoulder to stop her rambling!
He huffed again, fixing the table cloth that was wrapped around him. His ears flickered, brow furrowed as he quantified as much of what Syrielle had hastily blurted out as he could. Thankfully, he was well awake by now, and managed to catch all of it.
“Kai is a fucking idiot. She’s gonna kill tens– if not hundreds– of people trying to bullheadedly escape custody. Then she’ll get killed anyway. Cebina’s always been trouble, I don’t know what she’s up to, and Kai doesn’t either. But your people aren’t going to accept that answer, right? If you’re telling me she’s been caught, I’m getting her out. Plain and simple. It’s what’s best for everyone.” he stated, firmly. “I’m not just going to turn a blind eye to it. I don’t think you expected me to, either– or you wouldn’t have come all the way here to tell me about it. You know I’m right. You want me to extract her, and you wanna help me do it. It’s in everyone’s best interest.”
“No, it isn’t!”
Syrielle’s hand came up to grab Brent's wrist. A reflex from him grabbing her shoulder. She frowned as he completely missed what she was telling him to do.
“My boss is the one holding her and I'm not risking my career to save her. I came here because I wanted to give you the chance to run before they start trying to sniff you out.”
Her other hand reached out to his shoulder squeezing it tightly to drive the point home.
“Brent, you don’t understand. If Sunwhisper escapes, then Kynlea dies.”
“Then I’ll pull him out, too.” Brent shot back, scowling. “I’m not leaving Kai again. I did that once before, and…”
He trailed off, frowning silently. He pulled his hand from Syrielle’s shoulder, and let it fall to his side as he turned his face from hers. Ears wilted; he felt more guilt about that than he’d realized, it seemed.
Ny’alotha was… chaotic. Kai’eka was devoted to the cause until the bitter end, but Brent couldn’t bring himself to stay. He left her there to defend Ny’alotha alone. And when it was all over, he was quick to put it all behind him after leaving the Cult. He even tried making amends for all the misguided harm he’d done, in his own way, hunting down remnant practitioners.
But he never made it up to Kai’eka.
His brow knit tighter, as he slowly exhaled through his nose. His eyes darted back to Syrielle, resolve only compounding as he looked at her again.
“Who’s your boss?”
“My boss is much older and much more powerful than I am and you are not to mess with him under any circumstances. He's highly intelligent, cold and calculating. Most importantly, he's the one keeping the barrier that protects Kynlea active.”
She kept her gaze level with his, her expression void of any pleasantries it had shown earlier.
“Do you understand what I'm telling you? Even if you successfully manage to extract Sunwhisper and Kynlea both, that barrier comes down and Kyn is lost to the void. Kyn doesn't want that. I don't want that. Sunwhisper doesn't want that. There is no scenario here where you can get involved without making the situation worse. The only thing you can do is keep yourself and Phaith safe.”
Her eyes looked past him now, to the Gilnean woman standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Keep your family safe.”
Brent glowered, clearly not content with all the restrictions Syrielle was placing on him. How could she come here and tell him all this, then expect him not to do something about it? His fists clenched– but his ear flickered as he heard Phaith come down the stairs. He relaxed, sighing.
“... You really shouldn’t have come here.” he whispered softly so only Syrielle could hear.
Then he turned– and his demeanor turned with him. The deep glower vanished, brow smoothed, eyes wide and bright again as he beheld Phaith at the bottom of the stairs, holding a shirt for him.
“Thanks.” he smiled to her as he approached for the shirt. “I’ll go slip this on real quick. Syrielle can’t stay much longer, sadly. But you two feel free to keep talking while I get dressed properly, yeah?”
He gave Phaith a kiss on the cheek, before disappearing into the next room– shooting Syrielle a look before he vanished completely.
“No disappearing to go kill any high ranking government officials allowed!” Syrielle called after him.
Clearly, she didn’t hold the same reservations as he did with Phaith present. While the redhead looked a bit confused and worried, she was strangely calm, collected, and mostly, unshocked. Which indicated to the Magistrix that she knew enough about Brent's past. That was good, at least.
Phaith was no fool, and rather skilled at keeping her ears open to listen to conversations she wasn’t part of. She'd collected Brent's shirt quickly enough, but had stood at the top of the stairs to eavesdrop for some time before coming down.
Still, she acted the part and gave Brent an encouraging smile as he left the room. Before addressing Syrielle.
“This Sunwhisper woman, she's…?”
“An ex-cultist, like him. They worked closely together. Sunwhisper died defending Ny’alotha, and was raised by the Ebon Blade.”
Phaith nodded, hands folded politely in front of her, her eyes returning to where Brent had vanished.
“We aren't tied to Gilneas. I've uprooted my tailoring business a few times already. What's one more move, aye?”
“I'm sorry,” Syrielle sighed, ears wilting, “I doubt they'll come hunting for him for no reason. But if he gets involved in any way and they see him as an active threat…”
“No, I appreciate the warning. We'll be cautious, no matter what happens.”
The Magistrix relaxed at that. While she couldn't account for what Brent would do, Phaith had a good head on her shoulders. If anyone could talk him out of doing something stupid, she could. She got up from the table and began to make her way out.
“I should head back before they notice I'm missing. You two stay safe, and good luck.”
“Of course,” Phaith tore her attention away from where her partner had vanished and escorted their guest to the door, “Safe travels.”
Syrielle reached over to take the Gilnean woman's hand, slipping her a communication gem.
“In case something happens. I'll help where I can. But I can't go against Quel’Thalas.” She whispered.
Phaith nodded, quickly pocketing the gem. With that, Syrielle took a few steps away from the door, threading the arcane strands around her with her fingers before teleporting away in a puff of magic.
A few seconds following that, Brent returned, now properly shirted. He looked around for signs of Syrielle, before exhaling a relieved sigh. He smiled at Phaith, and approached her.
“Surprised to see her. We worked together for a while, but we weren’t all that close.” Brent explained. “She just came to deliver some news from Quel’Thalas. I haven’t considered it home for a long time, but I still have some ties there. I’m gonna have to go back and take care of something.”
Phaith couldn’t help but frown at his words. Still she leaned in as he approached her, sliding her hands into his and placing a quick kiss on his lips.
“That doesn't sound like a very good idea,” she admitted, “You don’t even know where to start looking for Sunwhisper, do you? Is this really what you think she wants?”
His ears wilted slightly as he looked at Phaith, lips pressing to a thin line. Another sigh.
“Your hearing is dangerously good, you know that?” he smirked slightly, making a light joke before he shook his head. “I don’t know where she is. But that’s never stopped me before. Is it what she wants? I don’t know that either. There’s a lot I don’t know… and that’s why I have to go.”
He brought Phaith’s hands up between the two of them, and gently kissed her knuckles as he went on, elaborating further. Clearly, she’d heard plenty already! But he had his side to explain.
“What I do know is that she can only be a criminal and a terrorist in their eyes. Whether she’s cooperating or not, they’re not going to let her live. Not for long. She represents everything that that ass-backwards kingdom despises; a traitor, a Death Knight, a cultist– former or not, they don’t care.” he told her, brow furrowing deeper again as he spoke more about it. “She’s always had my back, though. Even when I didn’t. I… I left her, Phaith. I left her to die there in Ny’alotha. I can’t leave her to die in Quel’Thalas, too.”
Phaith nodded, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his.
“I love you, Brent. Whatever you decide to do, I'll support and stand by you. I know you'll be careful, just don't do anything rash, alright?” She placed a kiss on his forehead, before moving back and looking over the home they'd created. It wasn’t the manor she'd grown up in, but she was proud of what they’d built.
“There's a small town near the sea, not far from the dark portal, called Surwich. It was built by Gilneans that survived a ship wreck. Do you want me to start looking? –ah, it might not be a good place to raise kids, though. The woods there are dangerous.”
She sighed, returning her gaze back to him. It was obvious, she was doing her best to stay calm, but stress was evident in her face, “Can you think of a place? Just in case?”
“We won’t have to go anywhere, Phaith.” Brent assured her, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “It’d be a lot safer here– for all of us– than to run off to hide somewhere so derelict as Surwich. The Armistice notwithstanding, it’s better for us here close to a proper city. Quel’Thalas isn’t looking for me. And even if they do decide I’m worth dredging up, they’ll have an impossible time doing so. Even after this.”
He pulled Phaith into an embrace, holding her close as he gently rubbed her back. He hated to see her worry– another reason he felt rather cross at Syrielle for coming by unannounced and dropping this in his lap. She meant well, he knew. But the last thing he wanted was for Phaith to have any reason to panic about things. They’d both had enough of that through their lives.
“... I’ll think of a place though, just in case.” he added, reassuringly. “I’ve got some contacts I can reach out to. New names, identities, whatever we may need. I really don’t think it’ll get to that point, but I’ll prime them just in case. Alright?”
“Alright,” Phaith nodded, leaning into the embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug and resting her face between his neck and shoulder, “I trust you. Just remember, there might be more than just the two of us soon, hm?” She couldn’t help but smile a bit at the possibility.
Brent smiled too, pulling back from the hug to look at Phaith’s face. He chuckled a bit, giving her hips a playful squeeze as he pressed his forehead to hers.
“Very soon. Be ready when I get back– we’ll get right back to it, I promise.”
She nodded, already eager for his return, but worry still evident on her features.
“How long? You need to give me a timeline or I'll worry the whole time you're away, and neither one of us wants that, aye?”
“Four days, tops. I’ll contact you somehow if it’ll take more than that. But operations like these happen quickly. The real time sink at the beginning will be gathering information and planning things. But that’s also the lowest risk time, so if I think it’ll take longer I can still reach out easily”
Another nod, before she pressed her lips to his. A deeper, more passionate embrace this time pressing her body against his. She wanted to make certain her touch would linger long after he left.
Brent pulled Phaith in close, returning the passion of the deep kiss. It was over too soon, as he pulled away to get ready for the impromptu operation to save Kai’eka. His hand lingered in hers as he stepped back, not wanting to let go. But after a reassuring nod, he pulled it away and went upstairs.
[[ Co-written with @thefugitivemango player of @brent-sunborn . @nepenthea / @pariker for character mention.]]
~*~*~
~ Duskwood, Year 36 ~
Wheels creaking, hoofsteps along cobbled paver stones, and hushed whispers. The wagon crept slowly and quietly through the Duskwood's roads. The paths were precious; the unforgiving woods around them devoured anything and anyone that strayed from them. Good and evil alike.
Creach Irestone was most assuredly the latter; a heartless murderer, a remorseless thief, and a devout Twilight Adherent to this day. Too many zealots like him took the fall of Ny'alotha as prophecy. A greater sacrifice would bear greater power and rewards to those who stayed the path. His clandestine criminal operations were but one more cog keeping the Twilight machine moving. And through his efforts, that machine went from limping to running. He had to be eliminated.
The bulk of Phaith and Brent's investigation had led to this. Working their way through underlings, piecing together clues, finally finding where and when the elusive Creach would be. This was their chance!
The wagon wheels skidded as the mule stopped short, spooked by movement along the treeline.
"Bah, relax– jus' shadows." the Dwarf reassured the beast. "Dark as these woods are, we'll be jus' fine long as we keep t' th–"
Before he could finish the sentiment, he, too, saw shadows move. More than just wolves or worgen lurking in the underbrush. Something encroached. He stood, drew his rifle up from his side, and peered down the sights as he surveyed the area. Irises in his eyes shifted, elongating into slits as his cornea turned a sinister glowing yellow. The braids of his beard melded together into tentacles, thirty to forty of them hanging from his chin and cheeks. His "gift" from N'Zoth.
"C'mon out, then!" Creach shouted, voice echoing darkly. "I know yer out there! I can see yeh! Cannae hide from me!"
Nothing. Silence.
–then, the Dwarf whipped around in a flash, and set his sights on… a lone woman, coming down the road ahead.
"--Oi! Hold it!"
The woman stopped in her tracks, brown eyes wide with fear. Her long red hair had started to come undone from what had been a lovely stylized ponytail. A noble woman, from the looks of it. The golden hair clip and pendant signified wealth, along with the lovely robes she was wearing. Her cloak opened at the front as her arms went up to show she was unarmed, along with what appeared to be a rather full pouch of coins.
“P-please,” her voice shook, “I lost my way and… and…” She shook her head, “I need to get to a town or… or something…. I…” She gasped as she got a better look at the dwarf, first the glowing yellow eyes and then the tentacles. “Light! W-what are you?!”
With the Dwarf’s focus drawn away, Brent slinked through the shadows into the wagon, silent as a tomb. Inside, the remnants of an obelisk. Barely half of one, but a single pebble was already too much. Skilled Twilight Ritualists and stonemasons could reconstruct the pylons, and anchor the Black Empire back to this world. Brent frowned.
The obelisk would have to wait. He stepped around it, mindful not to touch it even with his shadow, for fear of re-awakening it prematurely. Darkness had a habit of feeding off energies. Nothing would give away his advantageous position quite like the runes thrumming to life!
This plan was necessary, sadly. Brent didn’t want Phaith in harm’s way if he could help it, but in this case he didn’t have much choice. While Brent had attained a unique blend of power and skills to go undetected, Creach was granted a boon that well countered it. His “gift” was one of sight. He’d see Brent coming– in fact, he very nearly did! Only with a suitable diversion could Brent get close enough to get the jump on the Dwarf.
“Hrrmm…” Creach spit, mumbling.
His rifle kept pointed at Phaith, though it relaxed loose in his grip. His face returned to its natural form, tentacles blending back into a beard, as his eyes shifted and turned.
“S’pose it were a trick o’ th’ low light ‘round here, aye lass?” he suggested, firmly. “Folks see all sorts of shite in these woods. ‘Course, if yeh reckon it were yer mind playin’ tricks, won’t be a need fer me t’ convince yeh otherwise. If yeh understand my meanin’.”
He gave his rifle a gentle pat, to emphasize his ‘subtle’ threat. Somehow, he looked creepier in his regular form. Eyes unashamedly peering at Phaith, admiring and assessing her body as if she were some manner of exotic dancer. Or worse; a tasty piece of meat. He licked his lips, before winking at her.
“Cold night. Dangerous one, too. All manner o’ monsters roamin’ these woods. Woman like you, all alone an’ on foot? Amazed y’ lasted this long on yer own!” Creach guffawed, shaking his head. “Could give yeh a lift back t’ town, save yeh on th’ legwork. An’ keep yeh safe, t’ boot. ‘Course… one ride deserves another.”
He chuckled, leering at the noblewoman with unsavory intent.
“I-I beg your PARDON?!”
Phaith’s face nearly matched her hair as the dwarf’s words sunk in. Her arms immediately came down to pull the cloak closed over her large bosom. The Gilnean woman was used to men staring; her long legs and hourglass figure had always drawn the eye. It wasn’t that she was unused to advances, but this… this vulgar figure! She knew evil when she saw it, and this was it!
She had to push down the primal urge to defend herself… to transform. But Brent still needed time to work, and, so far, she’d managed to avoid going into her worgen form in front of him. She wasn’t ready to show him that side of her yet.
She’d continue the act, for now…
“A-Absolutely NOT!” she practically squeaked, “I’m not that kind of woman, sir! I have gold and I can pay! No need for such lewd suggestions!”
Creach only laughed, eyes glowing a sickly yellow again. He shook his head, bringing his rifle up at the ready to point loosely at the flustered woman.
"Dun make the mistake o' thinkin' it were jus' a suggestion, missy." He grinned, sinisterly. "You jus' come on over here, aye? I'll get us both where we wanna go. An' if you dun try to fight it too much, you might jus' make it to town alive, huh?"
He chuckled more, motioning for Phaith to come around to the back of the wagon and climb aboard.
Thankfully, it didn't get that far. As Creach turned, he saw another figure in the wagon with him already! Before he could react, Brent grabbed hold of the barrel of his rifle and kicked, hard and square, at the dwarf's misfigured face! A grunt, then a thud, as Creach hit the ground. He hissed, body transforming further into that of some cryptic shadow creature! Tentacles spawning across his face again, eyes aglow and locked on Brent now. His hands, too, morphed into long, nondescript appendages. He scrambled to his feet, and snarled.
"Sunborn…" his voice growled. "The rumors're true, aye?"
Brent didn't respond. Instead, he flipped the rifle around and trained it on its owner, eyes narrowing. A silent, tense moment passed as the two glowered at one another. Then… Creach leapt!
And Brent fired.
The silence of Duskwood was broken by the gunshot, echoes of it fading into the darkness. Creach moaned, falling back into the dirt for the second time--this time, with a hole blown through his knee.
"Arghhh… fuckin' traitor!" He shouted, in pain and anger!
"Shut it, or the next one's through your neck!" Brent threatened, hopping down off the wagon. He nodded to Phaith, motioning for her to move in on the wagon to secure the goods, as they had discussed. Hopefully, she wouldn't read too much into the "traitor" comment…
If she did, she chose not to react to it. At least for now. The Gilnean woman
made her way into the wagon as she fixed up her hair. She was thankful that Brent had acted long before the dwarf managed to put his filthy hands anywhere on her. She shuddered at the thought.
Disgusting.
All thoughts of Creach’s intentions vanished as her eyes fell on the obelisk remnants. She’d never seen a full one in person, but they must have been quite large if this was simply a part of one. She shook her head, thankful that she and Brent had managed to intercept it. Her eyes closed as she gathered her concentration. When she opened them again, they glowed of a bright green. A deep breath in. She hated how good it felt to channel the Fel energy, but there were very few ways to transport the large pieces of obelisk securely. With a wave of her hands, a portal opened up and several imps scurried out to get to work. The entire area was alight with a green glow as they quickly grabbed the pieces and ran off into the portal to deposit them in a warded safe she and Brent had prepared.
The job was done in minutes. Half an obelisk safely stored away and the imps returned to the nether. Portals closed and the Fel glow faded away as Phaith ceased channeling and her eyes returned to normal. A hand came up to play with a strand of hair as she returned to the front of the wagon.
“It’s done,” she informed her partner, “Finish the job.”
“He… hehe…” Creach laughed, weakly. “Who’s tuggin’ yer leash these days, Sunborn? Zan’rina? Kole? Y’know as well as I do they ain’t fit t’ ascend. He is, though.”
Brent pressed the barrel of the rifle to Creach’s forehead, and cocked it once.
“Glad you’re feeling chatty on that subject; who are you working for?”
The dwarf raised a brow… then laughed again. Not nearly as weak, this time– a booming, boisterous laugh! He shook his head.
“Y’dunnae know? Oh Gods… that can only mean yer out!” he chortled– then coughed– then chortled again. “He’s makin’ his move soon. It’d be too late, e’en if y’ did know!”
“WHO!?” Brent barked, pressing down on the rifle. “If it’s too late anyway, enlighten me.”
“Go fuck yerself, Sunborn. Last thing I do fer ‘im ain’t gonna be rollin’ on ‘im!” the Dwarf cackled one more time. “Y'za noq mah... Y'za noq ormz…”
He looked to Phaith, and grinned.
“Y’cannae save ‘im. Cannae trust ‘im.” he sneered. “He’s bound t’ this life!”
Brent had heard enough. He pulled the trigger, sending a blast through the dwarf’s face to silence him. The shot was muffled by the dirt. Slowly, the elf exhaled, and tossed the rifle away. Then he turned to look at Phaith.
“... We shouldn’t linger.”
Phaith simply nodded, as she stared down at Creach’s lifeless body, brows knit. As unsettling as this monster was, his words about Brent had bothered her the most. She wanted to brush them off as Creach trying to unnerve her and have her turn against her partner. The way he and Brent spoke to each other, though. They KNEW each other. It also explained how Brent knew so much about the cultists.
Closing her eyes, she turned away from the body to follow Brent. They’d been working together for months now, and had so much in common. She rather fancied him, but that was never something she’d say out loud. There were many things about her partner that she didn’t know. He was the secretive type, and Phaith wasn’t one to pry. She had her own secrets, after all… But it was out in the open now.
She climbed up onto the wagon and took a seat next to him so that they could ride the wagon back to town.
“How long since you got out?” she asked.
Brent didn’t bother disposing of the body. The wolves in these woods would see to that. If not… the feral worgen. He settled into the wagon beside Phaith– and shrunk at the question. A part of him expected it. She wasn’t a fool. Creach made it rather obvious. He just… hoped she wouldn’t connect the dots, or put any stock into the dead dwarf’s jeers and snide remarks. But… he would’ve, were their roles reversed. It only made sense. And her question was more than fair.
“... After Naz’jatar. Before Ny’alotha.” he answered, tone low but sincere. “After Thea…”
He let the rest trail off, before spurring the mule onward down the road. He didn’t look at Phaith squarely. Couldn’t. Wilted ears did well enough without a guilty gaze alongside them to convey his shame.
Phaith observed the Void elf as he spoke. His body language told her everything she needed to know. Regret. Shame. It explained why he accepted her dealings with the Fel as well as he did. He understood how easily a person could get carried away with a darker power. She wondered if Thea had been a cultist as well… or had she been killed by them? The latter would explain the sudden switch from cultist to hunter.
Gently, she nudged closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. As much as she wished he’d been upfront with it, she also understood why it was something he kept to himself. So many people had suffered under the Twilights and their Dark Gods. He’d end up being hunted by law enforcement and cultists both.
“That must have been really hard to do,” she simply replied.
She could have said more. But Brent was a person of very few words, and she felt the silence filled with understanding and acceptance would be better appreciated.
It caught him off guard. He turned, staring at Phaith as she rested against him. He tensed… but relaxed bit by bit as he studied her reaction. It wasn’t… loaded, was it? Was she trying to guilt him further? It didn’t seem like it, otherwise she wouldn’t have leaned in. It felt… genuine. He wasn’t at all used to it. Not with anyone else, since…
“... I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“I know,” she kept her head resting on his shoulder, hands resting on her lap, a smile tugged at her lips, “I take it telling a cultist hunter that you were a cultist wouldn’t be the best way to start a partnership, aye? It does explain a lot though. Always wondered where you got all that information from. Was all from experience, wasn’t it?”
“Mm.” Brent hummed in affirmation.
He was quiet for a moment longer, eyes straight ahead as he guided the wagon towards Darkshire. He wanted to say more. Wanted to explain himself. He felt like he’d been caught, and yet also felt she was being too lenient about it. No one else would’ve given him a break. The Twilight’s Hammer, Deathwing, the Sha, all of it– everyone’s lives had been in some way altered and impacted by the Old Gods he had served. Even Phaith’s! Why was she giving him a pass on that?
“... I understand if you don’t trust me because of this.” he commented, nodding once. “I don’t expect you to. But I hope you’re still open to the idea of working together.”
“‘Course I am,” she replied with a friendly nudge, “Besides, you’re… more than just a partner now. Don’t get me wrong, the Twilights did some messed up stuff. But so did the Legion. And…”
She kept her head resting on his shoulder as her hands fiddled with the fabrics of her robes.
“I was in a bad state of mind back then. Angry… hurt. Lost everything I had in Gilneas, lost my husband, then the baby… I just… snapped. Got into the Fel, made some bad calls. I didn’t care about anything back then. I was hurt. And… I wanted everyone to hurt along with me.”
She was silent for a moment, before asking.
“How did you get into it?”
Brent shrugged– mindful not to shrug too much with the shoulder Phaith was resting on.
“... The whispers.” he said, softly. “I’m sure it sounds… cliche, but… I dug up an artifact of the Black Empire years and years ago. It started speaking to Thea and me, and we just… answered the call.”
He shook his head, continuing to guide the mule towards town. The first lights of Darkshire could be seen through the dense trees.
“I didn’t have anything when I left Quel’Thalas. My family all died to the Scourge, and everything seemed hopeless. Then I met Thea, and it felt like things were turning around. Like we could build a life together.” he explained a little more, feeling he could– and should– open up a bit. “We spent a lot of time digging up artifacts together in southern Kalimdor. That’s where we found the aqir relics. And… the rest, you can guess.”
“Aye,” Phaith nodded, “Well, I certainly understand feeling hopeless and where that can lead. I’m glad you’re here with me now, though. Not just hunting down what’s left of the Twilights and setting things right… but, as a friend.”
As they approached Darkshire, Phaith finally sat up fully, taking her head off of Brent’s shoulder. The proper Gilnean manners took over as people came into view. It wouldn’t do to have people assume things.
“And um… since we’re being honest with each other. I never did tell you this but… I’m a worgen.”
Brent nodded, casually– then his ears perked! He attempted to feign surprise, but the moment had passed too quickly.
“--Ah, uh… oh, I…” he sputtered, before finally shaking his head. “I… yeah. I mean, I figured.”
He shrugged his shoulders– both, now that the other was unencumbered– ears pinning sheepishly.
“I mean, I hope it’s not rude that I assumed, but I know a majority of Gilneans are.” he explained. “And in your shop, I noticed a lot of clothing you design uses some pretty malleable and adaptive fabrics. It seemed… sympathetic. Like you knew the plight well. Felt personal.”
Another shrug, as he pulled the cart into town, then turned to take it up towards the stables. He didn’t have intentions on keeping it, but the town could make better use of a mule and wagon than either he or Phaith could. Not when they had other ways of conveying things.
“--I don’t mind it, if that’s something you were worried about.” he added quickly. “I’m glad to be with you now, too. As a friend, like you said.”
And for a brief, brief moment… he smiled.
She couldn’t help but blush in embarrassment as he explained that he'd already guessed. Her glance remained focused on her folded hands on her lap, until he informed her that it didn't bother him.
She looked up just in time to see that smile. It was contagious, and she couldn’t help but return it, her gaze locked on his, getting lost in those glowing blue eyes. It was impossible not to feel attracted to him in times like this, with him looking so rugged and handsome after a mission.
"I've never been fond of the worgen form…" she sort of went on, "It’s just so… savage and unlady-like, you know?"
“Mm. Well, won’t bother me if you stay like this.” Brent nodded. “I think you look… you know… nice. Good.”
He cleared his throat, eyes forward again to let the meek compliment hang in the air.
It didn’t hang there for long. The cart rolled up to the stables, where the pair was met by a stablehand who aided in recovering the mule. Brent offered him little by way of explanation, seeming to frame it as something they’d found on the road. It seemed plausible and acceptable, allowing the two to leave it there without a fuss.
“Well… that’s that.” he nodded, turning his attention back to Phaith. “Stormwind’s not far, but we can get you a room at the inn if you’re tired. It’s getting kinda late.”
Phaith looked up at the sky through the trees. It was always dark in Duskwood, but the stars were already out.
"Aye, there's no rush in getting back to Stormwind just yet. I'm sure we could handle the journey, but I think we've earned ourselves a warm cup of tea and rest at the inn."
