👀 Spare a crumb of Hravmmon and Shionne for a starving shipper?
👫 Hravart x Ammon
- Ammon has a small collection of carved tusks because Hravart won’t stop giving Ammon his tusks every time they fall out.
- There is a specific place in Dalaran that they will run into each other without fail, at the most inopportune moments; eventually, they figure out how to turn these random encounters into something more planned.
- Hravart has a “bad habit” of tying himself into compromising positions, then asking Ammon to help him out of it, and not letting the poor rogue actually do anything to him during the untying, which leaves Ammon horribly flustered and perfectly susceptible to any and all teasing from the priest.
- Ammon unintentionally figured out exactly what to say that would turn Hravart into a flustered, blushing mess, and he takes advantage of this at any point whenever Hravart teases him. Sometimes, Hravart gets himself worked up on anticipation about it alone.
👫 Shion x Jeanne
- Shion is fully capable of calming Jeanne down with uncanny ease, regardless of whether she is in her worgen form or not. Humorously, he has a tendency to just pick her up and hold her off the ground if she’s in her human form when someone sparks her temper.
- Jeanne discovered, during colder nights, that Shion had a tendency to curl up with his wolves. This resulted in her going into her worgen form and cuddling up with him at night, and waking up with his face buried in her neck fur.
- After a few choice encounters, Shion has little to no concern with showing affection toward Jeanne when she is in her worgen form. She is definitely appreciative of this, because it’s one thing for him to accept her in her human form, and another thing entirely for him to accept her in both.
- They work so flawlessly as a team when Jeanne is in her druid forms that many people mistake her for being one of his pets. In less than favourable territory for members of the Alliance, Shion and Jeanne play into this assumption for her safety; Jeanne is attempting to teach Shion how to shapeshift into either a wolf, or a bird of prey, so that she can do the same for him when they are in territory that is not favourable to the Horde.
“And I know exactly what I’m for, to hurt and destroy and nothing more.” and/or “Does it ever get lonely?” for Shionne ^^
Shion x Jeanne“And I know exactly what I’m for, to hurt and destroy and nothing more.”“Does it ever get lonely?”
UMM I SUFFERED.
@druidickats
The room was entirely trashed: desk broken in half, chairs laying in pieces, and the bed slumped to one side. Covers had been shredded, and curtains had been torn down from their rack.
Jeanne stood in the doorway, stunned - and a yelp escaped her when she heard the mirror in the bathroom shatter, followed by an animalistic snarl.
A vase that had been in the bathroom came flying out next, where it broke against the wall. The pieces tinkled down to the floor, and the noble thought that perhaps it would be in her best interest to leave Shion be.
After all, he stalked out of the bathroom, eyes red with rage, mouth twisted in a snarl. He wore his dark armor, accented by bright blues, and his hands shook with undiluted anger.
But something kept Jeanne tethered there, at the door, and when Shion noticed that someone was there and snapped his furious gaze to her, she wondered if it wasn’t perhaps because of the tears streaming down his face.
It had been a long while since Jeanne had seen Shion snap like this, ever since the war of the thorns occurred. He’d fallen off, and though she’d done what she could to track him, even enlisting her brother’s help, Shion had proven to be a difficult person to pin down.
Until Ammon had narrowed down his location to this run down, clearly abandoned inn, right in the heart of Drustvar.
“What do you want,” Shion snapped, tone flat despite his choice of language.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she replied, digging her fingers into the doorframe, “what happened?”
“None of your fucking business,” he spat, stalking over to the bed, “leave.”
“After I just found you again? I don’t think so,” Jeanne hissed, stepping into the room, and closing the door behind her. Ammon had insisted he stay downstairs, just in case. He had first hand experience with how dangerous Shion could be, and he’d be damned if he let anything happen to his sister.
A pillow smacked against the wall next to her head. She froze.
Sure, pillows were soft, and mostly harmless, but Shion had thrown it with enough force that if he had intended to hit her with it, it surely would have made her lose her balance.
“Leave, Jeanne.”
“Make me, Shion.”
Some taunts were truly meant to be reserved for other situations. Shion’s foot slammed against the door, splintering the wood, and his hand wrapped around Jeanne’s throat. His eyes were wide, and feral, and reminded her too much of a worgen gone utterly mad.
“How does your brother like spiders?”
Jeanne shook, wrapping both hands around Shion’s wrist.
“How ‘bout ones that are on fire?”
“Shion,” she managed, fighting tooth and nail against shifting into a worgen, because that would get her nowhere, “please. This isn’t you.”
“This is me,” he snarled, and his grip around her neck fluctuated between being tight and loose.
“Berserking like this isn’t healthy for you, and you know it,” Jeanne countered. She moved her hands from his wrist to cup his face, and apparently, his tears weren’t stopping either, “you’re going to get sick.”
Shion’s expression was twisted between rage and despair. Jeanne wished she’d known what had caused this shift in him. She wished there was something she could have done to stop whatever had happened.
She didn’t like seeing him like this.
Jeanne’s sensitive ears picked up on a racket downstairs, and Shion’s eyes only shimmered more brightly with that sick red. The despair in his expression was entirely quashed by the rage.
He shifted his hand from her neck to her collar, and threw her roughly away from the door.
Shion proceeded to draw his leg back and kick it open, and Erasmus came charging through along the ceiling, hissing and spitting. The massive lava spider dragged someone along with him.
“Ammon!” Jeanne cried, and Shion snapped various commands so rapidly in Zandali that she didn’t catch what he was saying.
Erasmas, however, deposited Ammon on the bed. He ‘oomphed’, and promptly rolled off the bed and onto the floor.
“Ammon,” Jeanne hurried over to the bed while Erasmus scurried over to Shion. He climbed up onto Shion’s back, where he perched on the hunter’s shoulder.
Jeanne helped Ammon to his feet, “I’m ‘aight! Didn’ bite me or nothin’, jus’ didn’t seem ta like me tryna’ get away from ‘im.”
“This is why I told you, you shouldn’t stay,” Jeanne hissed. Ammon raised a brow at her, obviously confused that she was speaking in Darnassian. Shion was muttering under his breath, and when Jeanne looked back at him, he had his hand up to Erasmus’ mouth. The spider was gnawing on said hand.
“Shion– hey!”
The hunter had turned on his heel and started down the stairs, muttering furiously in demonic now. Ammon grabbed Jeanne’s shoulder.
“Jeanne, maybe you should–”
“NO!” she cut him off, and stormed in the direction Shion had gone, “after how long it took us ta find ‘im? No. No, I’m not leaving him, no’ again.”
Ammon frowned, but he followed her - and then both moved more quickly when the sounds of scuffling reached their ears. Erasmus was skittering about on the ceiling while Shion was grappling with a forsaken assassin.
Jeanne would have gone to help, but Ammon pulled her back. Frustrated, she yelled, “what do you think you’re for, Shion!?”
“I know exactly what I’m for!” he snarled. He pulled out his gun while the assassin struggled to get out of his grip.
“To hurt, and destroy, and nothing, MORE!”
He shoved his gun down the Forsaken’s throat and - to Jeanne’s horror - pulled the trigger. He threw both gun and body away from himself, and the assassin hit the wall with a sickening thud before dropping to the floor, lifeless.
Shion turned his attention to the twins next, and Ammon clutched Jeanne to his person as the troll stalked over–
And shoved both of them to the side roughly, before another assassin charged into them. Jeanne couldn’t stop the cry of fear that escaped her when she saw the woman’s blade go right through Shion.
In turn, Shion grabbed the woman’s face - he’d kept his stance firmly, and hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d stopped after shoving the twins to the side - and dug his fingers into her eyes, and mouth.
Jeanne could only watch, mortified, as Shion tore the assassin’s jaw clean off. It dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter, and Shion slammed what remained of her face against the nearest table.
Again, and again, and again, until Jeanne’s shift into a worgen allowed her to tear free of her brother’s grip.
She grabbed Shion’s wrist tightly, and the bicep of his other arm.
“BY THE LIGHT SHION STOP!” she howled in his face. He didn’t falter. The only thing between them for a moment was ragged breathing, and still, that sickening red hue in his eyes refused to go away.
“Shion please,” Jeanne begged, unintentionally shifting back to her human form, “please, you aren’t meant for causing pain a-and hurt ‘n’ destruction, this isn’t you.”
He yanked himself out of her grip, and Erasmus reared up threateningly. Black ichor dripped from his mouth, and Jeanne could only assume that the spider had been dealing with some forsaken outside the building.
‘Did they follow us? Did we lead them to Shion? Oh gods,’ Jeanne wiped shakily at her eyes. She had started crying, ‘oh gods, oh gods.’
Shion merely stormed out of the building, and half-way past the threshold of the building he deposited the assassin’s dagger on the ground. Ammon was by the weapon in an instant, and Jeanne collected herself as best she could. She hurried after Shion, and her heart sunk when she saw Erasmus nowhere to be seen.
“Jeanne.”
She stopped mid-stride at her brother’s voice, watching as Shion rapidly disappeared into the dense thicket of Drustvar.
“Yes?” she asked shakily.
“Just wait a minute.”
“Ammon, we can’t–”
“I need ya ta wait,” he interrupted, face red with frustration. He held the dagger out for her to see, and between smears of Shion’s blood, she saw the swirling poison that made the red bubble and rot, “so tha’ I c’n make an antidote for this, real quick. With your help. He’s poisoned.”
Jeanne sunk to her knees, face pale - but with her expertise, and her brother’s infinite knowledge of rogue poisons, they formed an antidote within minutes. Jeanne was grateful for all that she had spent so much time under the tutelage of Boralus’ most talented potion master.
Following Shion’s trail was easier than it should have been. His blood made a bright red trail against the dreary background of Drustvar’s forest floor.
They found him lying on his back a good distance away from the inn.
“Shion!” Jeanne sprinted toward him; Ammon sighed, but he followed faithfully after his sister.
The troll didn’t make a sound when Jeanne dropped down next to him. She immediately pulled down the collar of cloth on his armor and pressed her fingers to his pulse, ‘please, oh gods, please–’
A shaky breath of relief left her. His heart was still beating, and with that worry out of the way, Jeanne watched his chest intently. It rose and fell with a shallow breath.
She brushed her fingers along Shion’s cheek; his eyes flicked to her. Jeanne gave him the best smile she could manage, and he closed his eyes tightly before looking away.
“Don’t you get lonely?” she asked, wiping away a spec of blood from the corner of Shion’s mouth. She didn’t know if she should be happy, or sad, that her question made his lips quirk up at one side.
“Yeah.”
“Come back t’ Gilneas with me,” Jeanne said; she didn’t miss how Ammon’s brow furrowed at this, “I c’n hide ya in th’ old mansion.”
Shion inhaled raggedly, and Ammon reached into his pouch for the antidote.
“Jus’ drop a fuckin’ rock on my head and let it be done,” Shion sputtered. The red had finally faded from his kind brown eyes, “‘m tired.”
Jeanne accepted the vial when Ammon handed it to her, and she attempted to bring the object to Shion’s lips, “here.”
He turned his head away, and she supposed she should have expected that. Her hand shook.
“Shion, please,” she begged softly, tears gathering in her eyes. She fumbled for the words to say, while her brother clenched both hands into fists.
Before Jeanne could try once more to put the antidote to Shion’s lips, he wrapped his large hand around hers entirely.
And, to her comfort, Shion pulled her hand and the vial to his lips. He downed the whole thing, and sat up, coughing. She realized that some of her tears had dripped onto his face, ‘I wonder if that’s what spurred him.’
“I feel like I’mma cough up half m’ lung,” Shion wheezed. Ammon snorted out a chuckle, and Jeanne couldn’t stop a smile from crossing her lips.
The brief happiness was short lived.
As Ammon helped Shion to his feet, the hunter fixed his eyes on Jeanne. For whatever reason, he chose to speak Darnassian again, “I can’t come with you.”
Jeanne frowned, “why not?”
“Because this isn’t about keeping me safe. This is about keeping everyone I care about safe. I’m not safe. Sylvanas’ assassins follow me everywhere, and the S1:7 agents are no better,” he shook his head when Jeanne made to argue, “don’t argue with me, Jeanne. Being around me puts a target on your back too. I already had to have this conversation with someone else.”
“Shion, just let your friends help you!” she snapped, “because we care about your safety too!”
“Oh yeah? So you’re going to fight Nathanos when he finds me again? You’re going to fight Shaw?”
That made Jeanne falter, and Shion continued, “because Shaw is after my head too. If it’s any consolation to you, I’m safest in Anyport. I’m out here because there were too many assassins lurking around there for me to be comfortable.”
“But the guards–”
“Yeah, sure, woulda’ helped, but it’s my problem. I care ‘bout the people in Anyport. I don’t want them to suffer because of my presence.”
Jeanne was determined, “can we compromise? There’s a place where I can take you, they don’t mind who’s there,” she held up her hand when Ammon made to protest, “and they’re not weak people either. They can handle themselves. Stay with me for two weeks, until you’re well, and then you can leave.”
Shion sighed, and Jeanne continued, “you’re in no position to continue, Shion. And your fatigue is going to catch up with you eventually. You can’t berserk that long and face no backlash. You of all people should know that.”
He sighed again, but thankfully, stopped trying to argue with her.
But for Hravart, it was just a reminder that a new day had come, and that new day meant he had to go.
With a sigh the troll priest sat up. A light headache throbbed between his eyes, and he rid himself of it with a light pulse of magic - and then, he looked down at his right side.
Ammon lay curled up in the blankets. The top of his flaming head, and his closed eyes were visible past the light fabric. Hravart reached over to comb his fingers through Ammon’s hair, and frustration brought a deep frown to Hravart’s face.
‘I’m sorry.’
With another sigh, Hravart got up from the bed. Light infused fingers lingered on Ammon’s forehead, because he had no doubt that the rogue would wake up with a headache as well, if the empty bottles on the bedside table, and the floor, were anything to go by.
‘I wish I were braver.’
Hravart swept his long hair up into a hightail; a braid would take too long, and he shouldn’t keep Hydrangea waiting. He washed the sleep from his eyes, staring at his reflection. His tusks had dropped barely two weeks ago, and already they were beginning to poke past his lips; small, sharp points that left small slivers in peach skin.
The priest leaned against the counter, blinking rapidly.
‘I wish I could say yes.’
He shook his head, pressing his palm to his forehead. It hurt for different reasons than when he woke up.
It didn’t take him long to don his robes. Hravart stood in the doorway of the bathroom, staring at the wall. The sunlight continued to creep; long fingers of light crawled along the floor. His vision, for a moment, distorted; tendrils lashed in the shadows, before they were burned away by the light.
Hravart closed his eyes tightly. A yawn reached his ears, and he stepped out of the bathroom, watching Ammon for a moment. The human rubbed at his eyes, then set his hand down on the bed where Hravart had been.
Ammon was immediately awake, green eyes staring at the empty spot next to him.
“Don’ panic, freckles,” Hravart said softly, walking back into the main room, “I still be here.”
“Still?” Ammon repeated, narrowing his eyes. Hravart’s laugh was short lived.
“I wish I could be staying,” Hravart muttered, sitting down on the bed, next to Ammon, “bu’ I be having promises ta keep.”
Ammon frowned, looking away. Hravart’s lips pulled tight over his teeth in a pained smile. He moved to heal the few marks he’d left on Ammon’s neck, only to have Ammon grap his hand in a tight grip.
“No. I want ta keep ‘em.”
Hravart’s ears flicked up, “why?”
“A reminder.”
The priest couldn’t stop a string of chuckles, letting his free hand drop to the mattress. His gaze followed, “oh.”
Ammon maintained his vice grip on Hravart’s left hand, “why?”
“A reminder tha’ I must be doin’ something right.”
“Pff,” Hravart shook his head, refusing to raise his eyes, “I guess you be having a point.”
“Do you have ta go?”
“I’m not de only one who has to, Ammon,” Hravart replied. He could feel the sun’s fingers creeping along his back, “we both be having promises ta keep. Mebbe we’ll stumble across each othah again, hm?”
Ammon gripped Hravart’s hand more tightly, “can you… call me…”
The rest of his words were mumbled. Hravart tilted his head, then smiled fondly, and leaned his forehead against Ammon’s.
“Wassa.”
Ammon wrapped his arm tightly around Hravart’s neck, squeezing the priest’s hand with the other. Hravart sighed - and he humored Ammon for a few more minutes. He let his face nestle between Ammon’s neck and shoulder, a little miffed the rogue wouldn’t let him heal the love bites.
‘… love bites, huh?’ hravart pulled away. Ammon’s fingers trailed through his long black hair, but he let Hravart go.
And Ammon x Hravi in flavour 12 please and thank ^ω^
12. “a hoarse whisper “kiss me””Hravart x Ammon
Ammon tapped his fingers along his thigh. He’d been tasked with attending this… formal event. He highly doubted that, however, because firstly? The party was being thrown at Freehold, of all places, and secondly? That meant pirates.
Lots, and lots, of pirates.
Of course the rogue didn’t have much against pirates personally - but they were decidedly neutral. They didn’t care about factions, didn’t care about this war, and certainly wouldn’t be against instigating - or participating in - an all out brawl.
Sighing, he looked at his invitation, rubbing the page between his fingers. Anduin had been very specific. Don’t get distracted, don’t make your presence obvious, don’t get too close to anyone. Find the troll hunter with the scars, give him the proposition, and then get out. For whatever reason, Anduin had refused to tell Ammon the name of this troll hunter, and Ammon wasn’t sure if it was because the high king didn’t know his name, or if the name would simply give away too much. Other Alliance leaders had been present when Anduin spoke to him about it, ‘so I’ll hafta’ assume that’s why… Genn looked mighty suspicious. I wonder if this hunter’s the vigilante that’s givin’ everyone - Horde and Alliance alike - so much trouble…’
He scuffed his boot against the floor, and took one last look at himself. Smart casual. Black slacks, dark gray and red striped shirt, red-threaded vest, and a black hat. Gloves on his hands. Invitation in his pocket.
Satisfied, Ammon strode to the door. His faithful prowler rested on the ground, ears flicking as he approached. He gave the beast a few gentle strokes, whispering compliments to it.
Freehold was soon within Ammon’s sights. Along the way, the rogue had gotten swept up with a group of rowdy Alliance. A party with pirates sounded like the best place for them.
And those pirates certainly outdid themselves on the decorations. Lights were strung from every inch of the place, and there was a massive corral set up for all the mounts. Soon, Ammon was clutching a number in his hand, with a matching tag attached to his prowler’s saddle. He tucked the number inside his breast pocket, patting dust off the front of his vest. He’d since flashed his invitation to the woman at the corral, and kept it stuffed in his breast pocket as well.
He stood still for several minutes, observing the crowd that had already gathered. Horde and Alliance mingled, and while tensions were obvious, everyone seemed more keen on having a good time than getting into fist fights. Drinks were being passed around, and most were making small talk.
Good. That would make Ammon’s job easier.
It made perfect sense why Anduin had become so hopeful upon hearing that Ammon had received an invitation to the party - the majority of the faction leaders hadn’t, and for good reason. If Ammon was invited, then that meant that the vigilante hunter had to have been invited as well. This troll had all but made a name for himself as a neutral party, and one that killed Alliance and Horde at the drop of a hat if they weren’t careful - especially the latter.
Ammon had to get tabs on the man; had to see if he would show his face in a place where he was actually welcome.
Ammon shook his head, sighing, ‘better I don’t think about it. Right now, I should focus on gettin’ m’ bearings, learn the lay of the place.’
As he walked forward, pushing away from the corral, a long, pink feathered neck snapped out. Startled, Ammon stumbled to the side, where a draenei moved to steady him.
“Vou alvight?” the woman ask, concerned. Ammon held up a hand to her, offering a smile.
“Yes, thank you, luv.”
She beamed at him, eyed the beast that was dancing by the side of the corral, and moved away. Ammon gave the beast his attention, scowling–
Then staring.
“… Hydrangea…” he muttered, walking forward. The hawkstrider fluffed up her feathers. Her eyes narrowed. Ammon pouted.
“One of these days, you are going to like me,” he informed her.
She pawed at the ground with one of her legs, clucking. Ammon sucked his lower lip into his mouth.
“Buuut it looks like tha’ day won’ be t’day!” Ammon laughed nervously. He might be an incredibly skilled rogue, but the last creature he ever wanted to fight was Hydrangea.
Especially since she seemed so intent on disliking him.
He quickly turned on his heel and strode toward the ebbing crowd. Freehold was massive. Ammon doubted that the party was only being held in one section.
But now he was giddy. If Hydrangea was here, then that only meant one thing: Hravart was here. If he could, Ammon would like to find the priest as soon as possible, before getting swept up in the drinks and the dancing - but he shook his head, ‘focus, Ammon, focus.’
Freehold was made up of three separate sections, connected by bridges. The party extended to all three, and on each area, there were buildings on the ground, and buildings built upon both stilts, and the other buildings. The upper portions were packed, especially around the banisters as people sat on them, leaned against them, used them as tables, and chatted amongst themselves. Ammon was quick to note, however, that one section was bleak, and devoid of light and chatter. The place left him feeling uneasy, and he avoided it, wandering instead toward one of the many, many bars that Freehold had set up along the ground.
All too soon he had a beer in hand. He took a sip, wrinkling his nose. Bitter, of course. A pleasant aftertaste, though; Ammon would nurse it, and for now, he posted himself at the corner. He engaged in light conversation with those around him, the usual ‘hello, how are you, I’m here to have a good time, what brings you around.’ Boring, normal conversation. He longed for something more… engaged.
‘Well, I’ll get there,’ he sighed, setting his empty mug to the side. An hour had already passed. Time to let his feet, and eyes, wander. Two hours passed; he’d had a lovely conversation with a group of pirates, but they had yet to see a troll hunter with blue hair, and obvious facial scarring. A third hour passed, and Ammon was still yet to get any sort of lead, especially since the Horde aligned races seemed rather unwilling to talk in depth with him. One orc in particular seemed to know more, but the moment Ammon tried to get more out of the man, he clammed up.
In the fourth hour, a startling sight caught Ammon’s attention. Sitting at one of the bars that had no cover was a rather imposing troll. One that had horns coming out of his head, and the telltale, sick green eyes of a demon hunter.
Ammon couldn’t help but stare. Apart from being attractive, the rogue swore he’d heard of the man - U’thel was his name, with his platinum blond hair, sharp features, and strong build. He wore some semblance of a suit, but had what looked to be a kilt on over top of pants. Ammon couldn’t tell from this distance. He could see small specs of color on the troll, indicating beads, or jewellery.
Those fel green eyes were boring holes into him seconds later.
Startled, Ammon perhaps looked away too hurriedly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the troll get up. U’thel was huge. His stride was confident, and Ammon vanished. It was incredibly off putting to have someone stalk toward him so openly, and the rogue peered down at the crowd from one of the upper gangways. The demon hunter stood exactly where Ammon had been, the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders indicating he had just released an agitated breath.
‘Shouldn’ve stared at ‘im for so long,’ Ammon chided himself, being careful not to let his gaze fall on U’thel again. Someone came up alongside Ammon, and he simply inclined his head to acknowledge their presence.
A champagne flute was offered to him. Ammon hesitated before accepting, still looking over the crowd. He never knew a hunter could be so hard to find. A rogue he could understand, but a hunter? Ammon sighed, shaking his head. U’thel still hadn’t moved from his spot, and other party goers maneuvered around him.
The rogue scowled, looking down at the rail. The person who had come up next to him was drumming their fingers along the wood, and with hearing as good as his, it got to Ammon.
He opened his mouth to speak but… the hand was obviously scarred. They looked like small bite marks, some long, some short, and peppered everywhere. Ammon’s chest tightened at the sight.
The drumming was loud, drowning out everything around it. It slowed, but never ceased.
When Ammon finally looked up, he found himself staring into sweet brown eyes - but they were deceiving in their kindness. The smirk was knowing.
The facial scars matched the description Ammon had been given.
Without a word, the troll jumped onto, then off of the banister. Ammon only got out a half gasp. His grip on the flute was tight as he leaned forward.
‘Was that him?!’ he clenched his teeth, frustrated. The troll had clearly done his fair share of jumping off things, and he rolled right up to his feet.
And then he was slinging his arm around the demon hunter of all people - worse, U’thel wrapped his tattooed arm around the smaller troll’s shoulders. It was a protective gesture that Ammon was familiar with.
Ammon slunk away, discarding the flute on an empty table. He glared at the ground. The scars matched, but the hair was wrong. The eyes were correct, but the behavior was off. He brought a hand to his chin, lost in his thoughts.
Only five hours had passed. He intended to stay as long as he could, and the sun had only just begun to kiss the horizon.
“I need another drink,” Ammon grumbled, eyes scanning the area. There was a nice little secluded spot, closer to where the main portion of dancing was taking place. Ammon made his way there immediately, intent on the bartender. Within seconds he was seated, hand wrapped around a mug.
Boisterous laughter caught his attention. With mug to his lips, Ammon turned his head to look in the direction of the sound.
And nearly spat his beer everywhere. The bartender made a face of disgust, but handed Ammon a napkin anyway, and the rogue hastily wiped it over his face. His cheeks were burning with blush, and his green eyes were still focused on the man that had been the source of the laugh.
Gods, he was hot - and what was it about trolls that seemed to draw Ammon’s attention? This troll had flawless skin, a minty blue, stomach paler than his back. His attire was fully appreciated by the rogue, dark chains hanging between both shoulders, resting against his chest. Ammon could make out the different colors of a tattoo, and the jacket he wore could hardly be considered that. It was cropped, barely coming down to the troll’s waist, and it was what the chains were attached to. His pants were tight, silver embroidery decorating the seams, belt cinched on his hips. Ammon swallowed thickly, eyes trailing up to the troll’s face.
Gods.
His hair was dark, tipped in fuschia, and styled up in a drooping mohawk. He had a tail, and one earring hanging down from his ear. The tusks, though, Ammon found he recognized. Thin by the lips, thicker around the middle, and tapered out to a sharp point at the end.
As any person would, the troll realized he was being stared at. Ammon flushed deeply, quickly looking away. The troll’s eyes were brilliant, and Ammon could just barely make out the color. Orange, with a hint of fuchsia and pink swirling in them.
‘Shit,’ Ammon slammed back the rest of his beer. He’d heard the troll say a farewell to who he was speaking with, and before he could properly compose himself, the troll’s hand came to rest on the bartop.
‘Fuck,’ the rogue breathed in, and looked up, giving the troll his most charming smile.
“Caught me starin’, I see,” Ammon began, earning himself a low chuckle, and a delicious smile.
“You,” the troll poked Ammon in the chest, and the rogue was distracted by the swinging chains, and how they teased him with snapshots of the tattoo on the taller man’s chest, “you be Ammon, right?”
Startled, Ammon’s eyes snapped back to his face. At first, he was panicked - he was so sure he had been careful, not made himself obvious, mingled with the crowd, and hung back enough.
His panic eased when he saw that there was a twinkle in the troll’s eyes, as if he were hopeful he were right.
“Yes, luv. Ammon Delory,” he chose to take the risk.
Immediately the troll’s face lit up with a brilliant grin, and he pushed away from the bar to look across from them and call out:
“Rosebud! I be findin’ ya secret!”
‘… rosebud? Does he–’ and he could do nothing to stop the eager smile that spread across his lips. Coming toward the two was none other than Hravart - though Ammon certainly preferred his hair long, he wasn’t about to complain about how it was short. That, and Hravart had long bangs. Ammon could still toy with those.
“Ammon!” the priest’s ears flicked up, then back down.
And he looked up at the other troll with such adoration in his eyes that Ammon felt his heart sink, just a little. He knew that Hravart wouldn’t let just anyone touch him, and here he was, cuddling right up to this other troll. Ammon had hardly been given the chance to appreciate Hravart’s attire.
‘… hang on. Hravart mentioned ‘ee had a sibling,’ his eyes widened at the realization. Yes, this was a hug he had often shared with Cedric: tight and warm; all encompassing, like a shield.
“Your brother?” Ammon asked, hopeful. Hravart laughed - a sound Ammon loved, and cherished, because it was so uncommon - and nodded his head.
“Gulzar. He finally be findin’ me, wit’ a lil’ help from… uh…” Hravart frowned, pulling back from his brother to look up at him, “where she be goin’?”
“Hmm,” Gulzar hummed, glancing at Ammon. The human tilted his head, brows furrowed.
“She be aroun’,” he poked Ammon in the forehead, then laughed when Ammon made a face, “apparently her cousin be here! So she be goin’ ta look fah her.”
“Mm,” Hravart leaned against his brother, and this time, Ammon was given a moment to appreciate the priest’s suit. The jacket was tailored, with the lower portion of it cut away to show the stomach area. He wore a shirt underneath - of course - and golden swirls decorated the edges of the jacket. Hravart’s cuffs were much the same, decorated with those golden cutouts. His pants were a bit looser than Gulzar’s, but no less form fitting.
The rogue sighed through his nose. He spotted rose cufflinks too, and as per usual, Hravart was wearing his floral themed earrings. The collar of the jacket came up onto Hravart’s neck. It would be fun to pull that away–
“Wat you be doin’ here, Ammon?” Hravart’s voice interrupted the rogue’s thoughts. He wasn’t sure how much he should say, and Hravart added, “I mean, aside from bein’ invited.”
“Hum,” Ammon turned on his seat to face Hravart, pursing his lips, “though’ it might be fun! Didn’ think I’d see you here though, luv. I was beginnin’ to lose hope after the first few hours, even though Hydrangea tried to peck me when I was passing by the corral.”
Hravart chuckled, shaking his head, muttering under his breath about how protective his hawkstrider was. He looked up at his brother affectionately, then turned his dark eyes back to Ammon, “mah brothah’s confidant be a rogue, like you.”
Gulzar turned positively red at what Hravart had said, and sputtered something in Orcish. Ammon furrowed his brow - he was still unfamiliar with the language, but from what he could gather, it seemed like Gulzar was trying to refute the fact that this female friend of his was his confidant.
Hravart was unconvinced by it, if him rolling his eyes was any indication to go by. He moved away from Gulzar’s side, which, ultimately, put him closer to Ammon.
“I be knowin’ love when I be seein’ it,” the priest quipped in Common. Gulzar’s blush only deepened.
“I see that runs in th’ fam’ly?” Ammon asked, and Hravart burst into surprised laughter. Gulzar frowned comedically at the rogue, and Ammon beamed, “I’ll take tha’ as a yes?”
Gulzar made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, which only encouraged Ammon to laugh.
“She’s not… I don’… I… she’s not my confidant, rosebud…” he tried to argue.
“Mm mm mm!” Hravart purred, batting his eyes, “right, right, m’bad. I be meanin’ ya flame.”
“Hravart–”
“Oooh no, no,” the priest waved his hand, and Gulzar’s blush spread along his ears, “no’ flame! I’m sorreh! I meant, steady.”
Ammon choked on a laugh at Gulzar’s expense. He grappled with his brother, trying so hard to scowl - but the hunter’s smile pulled incessantly at his lips.
“Hravart behave!” he said. Hravart shook his head wildly, twisting out of Gulzar’s grip to get behind him. Ammon couldn’t help staring really, a blissful smile on his lips. This truly reminded him of all the time he spent with Cedric.
‘Hell, it’s making me miss ‘im.’
“Your d a t e~” Hravart emphasized. All Gulzar did was release a disgruntled groan - and then he said something in Orcish that made Hravart light up like a winter veil’s light. And scurry away.
“Yeah dat’s right,” Gulzar cooed, glancing at Ammon, “git embarrassed. Two can play at dat game, rosebud.”
“I don’ be playin’ no games…” Hravart mumbled, pointedly not looking in Ammon’s direction.
“Care to explain?” the rogue asked, looking suspiciously between the two. The people around them laughed and joked amongst themselves. That reminded Ammon of how much he loved parties, ‘especially since we rogues prefer to keep as low a profile as possible.’
“Bu’ hey, since ya gonna’ tease me ‘bout her so much, I’ll be leavin’ ya wit’ ya swain~”
Ammon lifted his hand from his fist. Swain?
“Or mebbe I should be callin’ him ya beau?”
Oh.
Oh.
‘You’re talking about me,’ Ammon realized, and Gulzar made it more obvious by looking at Ammon, bouncing his brows. Ammon quirked one of his own brows.
And watched - with a sinking heart - as Hravart gave adamant chase to his brother. He would have liked to spend more time with the priest, but the smaller troll was clearly determined to run his brother down.
So he spent the next hour making idle conversation. It was getting late, and music flowed through the air. Ammon watched the dancing couples from his spot leaning against a fence.
If he weren’t so damn dedicated to what Anduin had asked of him, he would have been looking for Hravart the moment Hydrangea had gone out of her way to try and peck him.
He settled for watching the crowd of bodies dancing to the piano instead– and where did the pirates get a piano from anyway?
Ammon scoffed at his own thought, ‘from one of their many raids, probably. But damn, tha’ girl sure plays well.’
All he could really tell was that she was a void elf, wearing a beautiful starlit dress, and she was so into what she was playing she was hardly aware of her surroundings. For the briefest moment, Ammon thought he saw Gulzar leaning against the stage, watching her, but when he blinked, any visage he had seen of Hravart’s older brother was gone.
Ammon sighed. A shadow fell over him.
He looked up to find Hravart offering him a hand.
“Dance wit’ me.”
It wasn’t a question, yet Ammon couldn’t say no. He accepted Hravart’s hand. The tango wasn’t a dance that he was familiar with, nor was it one that was foreign to him. He’d always known that Hravart boasted more strength than his lithe build implied, but the troll was such a powerful, almost overbearing lead that Ammon found himself seduced by the confidence with which Hravart held him close.
The music reached a fever pitch. Ammon tangled his fingers in what he could of Hravart’s jacket, if only to have something to desperately grasp onto. He had to have some way to keep his balance. Ammon’s face was red, body hot, and he clenched his teeth together.
“Do you like what you see?” Hravart purred. His hand slowly slid up Ammon’s back, holding him closer, and Ammon was trapped between those smooth, porcelain tusks and that dark, luscious gaze.
“Yes,” he could barely breathe.
Hravart smiled.
And let him go, spinning him away. He bowed politely, keeping one hand raise, and Ammon could see the teasing smirk that chased the adoring smile away.
Gods, Ammon was kicking himself for forgetting what a tease Hravart could be. He could only stare as the priest strode away, and the song came to a cacophonous end. The roar that rose up from the crowd at least stopped Ammon from thinking that everyone was staring at him stare after Hravart like a fool.
Hydrangea tried to peck Ammon again the next day.
The rogue jumped away from her beak of course, scowling at her, still incredibly frustrated from the previous evening. He’d arrived later than he had last night, too.
‘Gods damn it,’ he grumbled, weaving his way through the crowd and immediately heading to the upper platforms. He’d thought about it as much as his mind would let him last night: the troll hunter he had seen - the one that fearlessly latched himself to U’thel’s side - was definitely the man he was looking for.
As such, Ammon deduced that he’d have an easier time finding this hunter on the upper parts of Freehold, given that’s where he’d run into the other man. Ammon was less careful this time; he walked with a purpose, and people stayed out of his way. If he could find U’thel, the hunter might be close, and soon the human was looking down at the area below, eyes scanning over the crowd.
He cursed under his breath and pushed roughly away from the banister, ‘’course when I’m actually lookin’ for ‘im, I can’t find ‘im!’
And just like last night, Ammon’s mind wandered. It wanted to focus on other things; it wanted to focus on those dark eyes, and that two-toned hair, and those soft looking lips–
A high-pitched, quiet screech escaped Ammon before he could stop it. Some other party-goers gave him looks, while one particularly drunk patron burst into laughter, and Ammon hurried away from the spot, flustered.
He did not need to think about Hravart any more than he already was!
‘Stupid sexy suit, and stupid cute smile, and stupid sexy eyes,’ Ammon rubbed at his forehead, agitated, ‘GODS why did he have to tease me like that?!’
“Excuse me.”
Warily, Ammon looked in the direction of the voice. It wasn’t one he recognized, and clearly belonged to a female.
A void elf stood not too far from him. Her bangs were styled in the usual curls that Ammon saw so frequently on blood elves, but the back was clearly short. Her void tendrils coiled tightly around each other to form braids, and she wore a perfectly tailored suit, no shirt underneath, jacket unbuttoned enough to show the slightest hint to her cleavage.
Ammon narrowed his eyes at her. He could see hints of shimmer in her suit, much like how her void tendrils shimmered, and he recalled that the pianist from the other evening had worn a dress very similar in material.
“You are Ammon, correct?” she spoke again, her voice warm, but eyes cold. Ammon curtly nodded his head. A friendly smile brightened her features.
“Faian Summerscribe. Gulzar’s escort.”
“Ahh,” Ammon returned her warm smile, “you were the pianist from yesterday.”
“I was. The boys didn’t introduce me to you, so I must say I was a bit miffed at them.”
Ammon chuckled, “you wanted to meet me?”
“Of course,” Faian gestured to a nearby table, and Ammon followed her to it, “I’ve only known Hravart for a day, but if anything were to happen to him, I would kill everyone in this place, and then myself.”
A snort of laughter escaped Ammon before he could reign it in. Faian’s eyes glimmered.
“I doubt you’ve known ‘im for only a day, hun,” Ammon said, and Faian laughed, short and soft.
“You doubts are correct. I’ve known him for little over three weeks. I was there when Gulzar found him,” and she smiled so fondly that Ammon understood why Hravart had said he knew love when he saw it, “at that point I’d known Gulzar for little over a year. I’d only seen him so happy once before.”
“When was th’ first time?”
“When I took him to a garden of wildflowers.”
“Oh?” Ammon was intrigued. Her pale skin flushed.
“That’s what his name means - or, um, more accurately, ‘field of flowers’.”
“And how did you find me?”
Her expression was knowing; he was agitated, and he wasn’t trying his hardest to hide it.
“Hravart explained your looks in great detail - before you stumbled across him and Gulzar the other day. As he’s a priest, that photographic memory comes in handy,” she sighed through her nose, leaning back against her chair, “that, and I was looking for you. We’re both rogues. We find who we seek sooner or later.”
“Mm,” Ammon folded his hands together over the table. He saw the look in her eyes.
“Who are you looking for?”
“A troll, Ms. Summercribe,” Ammon began quietly, and in Zandali. Her tendrils coiled more tightly, and she slowly nodded her hand.
“I understand, it must be a difficult situation to be in,” Faian informed him, making a hand gesture for him to continue. Ammon wet his lips, and glanced around. Most of the trolls in the area were out of earshot.
“Make that two trolls. One is a demon hunter named U’thel, the other is a hunter whose name I don’t know - my client either didn’t want to tell me, or couldn’t.”
“Oh? And why has she been giving you so much trouble?” Faian asked nonchalantly. Ammon’s lips quirked up at one side. This was why he liked talking to other rogues: it was so easy for them to throw off eavesdroppers, and it helped that he was speaking a different language from her.
“He’s good at hiding, and worse, I’m positive he knows I’m lookin’ for ‘im. I thought I was bein’ subtle but…”
Abruptly, Faian stood. She gestured over Ammon’s shoulder, toward a more secluded alcove. He followed her as she walked there, and when he leaned against the wall, Faian braced a hand above his shoulder. She leaned in.
Ammon could definitely see why Gulzar was taken with her. She was intelligent, and sly, and definitely a rogue for all the right reasons.
“You’re looking for the vigilante, then.”
“You know?”
“Yes. Shion. He’s been the subject of much gossip, and causing the Horde as many problems as he’s been causing the Alliance.”
Despite knowing this already, Ammon asked, “where’d you get that information.”
Faian’s expression was schooled to indifference, “I have connections - specifically, Gulzar. He’s a Darkspear ambassador, and with me playing bodyguard, I get to go with him into Horde territory. I’ve overheard whispers of Shion going around Orgrimmar, and saw him once.”
Ammon nodded, glancing to the side. Good, no one was paying them any mind. Faian leaned closer, and Ammon played the part, nudging her cheek with his lips.
“And?” he asked softly, “the more information you can give me, luv, th’ better.”
“He’s not right in the head. Everyone avoided him, as if he were a death knight, and he stalked right into Grommash Hold with three Deathguards following him. Guards there have whispered about how Blightcaller tried to rip out his spine, but he obviously lived through that ordeal. Others gossip that the Dark Lady is more fond of him than she should be, which is why he hasn’t been outright killed upon entering Orgrimmar,” Faian shifted to rest her elbow on Ammon’s shoulder, and he easily slung an arm around her waist.
He was grateful she gave him the chance to digest that information before she continued, “Gulzar taught me Orcish, so when he’s in guard buildings, I can understand what’s being said. That’s how I got all my information. Shion is confident, and boasts incredible skill for someone so young, but there’s something off about him.”
Ammon did not expect the concern that crossed her features as she drew back, her hand lingering on his before dropping away, “I don’t know who sent you to find him, but be careful, Ammon. He’s turned his weapons on his own faction, and you definitely won’t be an exception to his violent nature since you’re a part of the Alliance, as it were. Shion is dangerous, and he’ll make sure you see that first hand.”
He nodded his head, pulling his arm away from her waist, “thank you, Faian. That bein’ said, since you’re an elf… got any tips?”
She hummed, tapping a finger to her lips, “if he knows you’re looking for him, then he’s laying low - so stop looking for him. He’s a hunter, after all, they can blend in with their surroundings, perhaps better than rogues can at times. That, and their tracking is greater than ours. He might be keeping a look out for you. And this U’thel you mentioned… he’s deadly,” she gave Ammon a wink, “and not just because his looks are sharp.”
There was nothing Ammon could do to stop his chuckle, “I’ll keep that in mind. My client really didn’t give me much to go off of.”
“Mm. I won’t ask why they have you looking for Shion, but I can only assume it’s not good. If you like, I can take you to Hravart, and Gulzar. They’ve been attached at the hip since Gulzar found him, so they’re never too far from one another.”
A wave of relief washed over Ammon, “ya know whot? I’d like that. Better’n trying to find someone who doesn’t wanna’ be found.”
Faian smiled, and soon Ammon was weaving through the crowd with her.
She was wrong, though. Ammon knew why Anduin wanted him to find Shion, and if what Faian said was true, that Shion had somehow gotten Sylvanas’ favor, then it made even more sense to Ammon why his brother-in-law had shown ‘concern’ for Shion’s well-being.
‘What better way to learn Sylvanas’ plans than to use someone that she favors? A spy who can pull the wool over her eyes, use her likin’ of him to ‘is advantage,’ Ammon thought, eyes honing in on Gulzar first. He was wearing something… unlike anything Ammon had seen a troll wear before.
Then, of course, there was Hravart.
Ammon had never seen the priest with more necklaces, and a small group had gathered around him. They weren’t touching, so Ammon assumed that was why Hravart was fine with the attention.
Still, he couldn’t help bristling at the sight. The necklaces Hravart wore covered most of his chest, and he had a deep green to lime sash tied around his waist. The fabric was held there by a black belt, and covered the lower half of Hravart’s stomach. His skirt - much like his brother’s - was rustic brown and a lighter tan, with gold thread shimmering throughout it.
Faian quickly attached herself to Gulzar’s side, shooting a look at anyone who came too close - and then she looked at Ammon. As if she expected him to sidle right up to Hravart.
So he did.
He placed his hand right against Hravart’s lower back, resisting glaring daggers at those in the group, and gazed up at Hravart instead.
There was relief on the priest’s features. Damn. Ammon should have done this sooner.
“‘Ello luv,” he purred, drawing circles on Hravart’s back with his thumb. The tenseness in Hravart’s shoulders released, and he offered Ammon a small smile.
“‘Ello, secret.”
Ammon pouted, “c’mon, Avi. Secret?”
“Ammon,” his smile was palpable.
“Hravart.”
“Freckles.”
“Freckles!?” Ammon exclaimed, a blush rising to his cheeks when a coy smirk crossed Hravart’s lips, and he lifted a hand to gently tap his fingers over several parts of Ammon’s cheek.
“Mmhm.”
“Darling,” Ammon countered. Triumph crossed his features when Hravart’s ears flicked up, and his cheeks reddened.
‘Hah!’ he wanted to say, oblivious to the people in the crowd giving the two eyes, ‘can’t top that can ya, Avi?’
Rather suddenly, Hravart cupped Ammon’s face in his hands, those dark eyes shimmering with flickers of holy magic.
“Wassa,” the priest murmured, brushing his thumb along Ammon’s cheekbone. The rogue stared at him wide-eyed. Ammon knew what it meant. He knew Zandali. He knew that word.
Before he could address it, of course, Hravart’s hands slipped away from Ammon’s face. That look of teasing was replaced by something more troubled, and Ammon knew that if Hravart had his long hair, he’d be wringing it out right now.
To Ammon’s surprised - and honestly, his relief - Hravart shook himself out of whatever negative thought he’d found himself in, and he leaned down toward Ammon.
“Wassa,” he repeated, as if needing to solidify it to himself, and cast away whatever worries came with saying it.
“Okay. Fine. You win,” Ammon whispered, intending to reach up but realizing that Hravart would withdraw if Ammon made it clear he was so desperately wanting a kiss.
He tangled his fingers in Hravart’s many necklaces instead, quirking a brow, “what’s alla’ this, anyhow?”
“Jewellery,” Hravart said, pointing at his brother, “dis be mo’ traditional troll garb. Could be callin’ it our version o’ a suit.”
“I like it,” Ammon chirped - then he tugged on Hravart’s many necklaces. The priest went where he was urged, and the red tint to his eyes became more obvious.
“Though, I must say, luv, you look ravishin’ in a suit.”
He hoped he was being obvious. He hoped it was so obvious. Hravart blushed, glancing off to the side. The priest raised his arms to Ammon’s shoulders, and stopped moving when Ammon tugged on his necklaces.
Hravart leaned down. Ammon’s heart thumped in anticipation.
“Do you be implyin’ dat you want ta undress me, Ammon?”
“What if I do?” Ammon whispered hoarsely. Hravart merely smiled, and untangled Ammon’s fingers from his necklaces.
“Keep knockin’, Ammon,” the priest purred. He turned back to his brother, and Ammon heaved a loud sigh. He shouldn’t have expected anything less of Hravart, not after the priest had finally regained much of his lost confidence.
Ammon rejoined the trio after a moment of staring at Hravart’s back. He was not familiar with the tattoo that Hravart had there, but considering how he ignored any questions others asked about it, Ammon opted not to press his luck on the issue.
He danced with Hravart again instead. This time, it was more of a polka - everyone else around them was doing it, so why not? Even Gulzar and Faian joined in. They were all laughing. Ammon loved Hravart’s smile.
Ammon truly didn’t want it to end, especially when Hravart grabbed his hands and pulled him into closed position. It was nice to forget about the war. It was nice to forget that their factions were butting heads, because here, in Freehold, Horde and Alliance partied together like it was the defeat of the Legion.
‘Maybe that’ll be th’ only way ta end this,’ Ammon thought, pressing one hand against what he could of Hravart’s bejewelled chest, ‘by deciding we all wanna’ be a part of a neutral faction.’
Once again, Hravart was holding Ammon close, a twinkle in his dark eyes. He leaned in, and Ammon immediately pouted deeply.
“Do you like what you see?”
“Always.”
Hravart laughed, poked him in the nose, and let him go. Ammon groaned, grabbing at Hravart’s necklaces in an attempt to pull the troll down to his level.
“Stop teasin’ me, luv,” Ammon grumbled.
“You be fun ta tease, Ammon,” Hravart admitted, glancing off to the side, “bu’ mebbe I be doin’ it too much.”
He leaned down to give Ammon a kiss on the forehead, before withdrawing shyly. Ammon accepted this, and released Hravart’s necklaces. The rogue watched as Hravart meandered away.
Two hours later, and Ammon found himself playing hide and seek with his elusive target.
He had first spotted Shion leaning against a bar-top, having a conversation with a couple of orcs. With the shirt he was wearing open until mid-way down his chest, Ammon could make out the clear details of a scar on his chest.
It looked nasty, but even from this distance, Ammon knew it wasn’t inflicted by a weapon.
Shion had realized he was being watched, of course, and casually excused himself from the conversation.
He’d disappeared from Ammon’s sight, and so Ammon disappeared from everyone else’s. At first, the rogue kept a watchful eye out for U’thel. He was convinced that the demon hunter wouldn’t be too far –
Yet, Ammon hadn’t seen the large troll for the entire evening.
He shook his head, ‘no, don’t get comfortable. A troll demon hunter is unheard of, and Faian told you that he was dangerous. That Shion was dangerous. Don’t forget that.’
Currently, Ammon scowled at the dark crevices between the buildings. This was the section of Freehold that made him uneasy the first day. Pirates who chose to turn in early meandered around the upper platforms. One or two waved to Ammon, and he returned the gesture with a smile.
The last thing he wanted to do, however, was to wander into the dark areas, despite being absolutely certain that Shion had come over this way.
Ammon took a step back. The noise of the party was a fair distance behind him. If Shion was as dangerous as Faian implied, then it would be unwise to confront him in such an empty space. He took another step back. Then another.
A figure in the shadows crossed their arms over their chest. Ammon swallowed, narrowing his eyes. The dim light offered Ammon no way of knowing if the figure was Shion, ‘even though if I make an educated guess, based on the height, and the ears… yeah, that’s him.’
Firelight wandered along the walls as a tired woman made her way toward Ammon from behind the figure - and when she passed him by, Ammon hummed.
Shion’s expression was blank. The rogue couldn’t guess anything from the hunter’s posture outside of the fact that Shion was waiting.
Once the woman was out of sight, Ammon steeled himself, and strode to the mouth of the alleyway.
How in the hell had U’thel hidden from him with tattoos that bright!?
The demon hunter dropped down in front of him, and before Ammon could pivot and sprint away, U’thel had him around the throat. Ammon sputtered, and for a brief moment, panicked. He kicked his legs uselessly as U’thel lifted him off the ground, eyes burning holes into the rogue’s skull.
“Why you be lookin’ fah him, eh?” U’thel demanded, voice low. Ammon gasped for breath, and from over U’thel’s shoulder, he watched as Shion pushed away from the wall and slowly made his way closer.
“I don’ fuckin’ like it,” the demon hunter continued, while Ammon did what he could to calm his panic. U’thel’s arm was too long for Ammon to be able to kick him effectively in the chest, or neck, but he could twist himself out of U’thel’s grasp.
“Don’ tink dat I didn’ notice ya be lookin’ fah him fo’ a reason.”
“Put ‘im down.”
U’thel didn’t spare Shion a glance - and to Ammon’s surprise, Shion delivered a sharp elbow to the center of U’thel’s chest. The demon hunter snarled. His grip on Ammon tightened.
Ammon grasped U’thel’s wrist tightly, and swung his legs back, before using the momentum to swing them up. He locked his legs around U’thel’s arm, and twisted his body, wrenching himself from U’thel’s grip.
Shion released a low whistle, then body blocked U’thel when the demon hunter moved to pin Ammon to the ground.
“‘Ey, ‘ey, ‘ey, calm down, big guy,” Shion mused, while Ammon flipped back up to his feet. He didn’t run, no, Ammon had a feeling that if he ran, U’thel would give relentless chase. Best not to make himself look like prey.
Shion had his hand clasped over the back of U’thel’s neck, and was obvious breathing against the side. U’thel, on the other hand, had his fierce gaze focused on Ammon.
Ammon took another step back. If he could just get Shion alone, then this wouldn’t be a problem. U’thel clearly didn’t trust him, but Shion seemed to be more conversational.
‘At least for now,’ Ammon shuffled back more. This caught U’thel’s attention, and the low growl that came from his throat was not friendly.
Ammon really wanted to know what the relationship between the two was, because Shion had just decided that his best course of action - while having his back pressed against the larger man’s chest - was to bite U’thel’s neck.
If it weren’t for the fact that U’thel was clearly angered by the action, Ammon would have thought their relationship teetered on being sexual in nature.
Shion’s defiant expression after U’thel had fisted a hand in his dark hair and jerked Shion’s head away from U’thel’s neck made it clear to Ammon that this was one of the more complicated friendships he’d come across.
And he didn’t miss the subtle gesture Shion made with his hand, while both he and U’thel were glaring daggers at each other.
Ammon vanished, sprinting away. He just barely caught a hint of the conversation
It was in demonic.
The knowledge that Shion could speak the harsh language sent an unwilling shiver up Ammon’s spine.
He took a moment to catch his breath once he reached the area where the main party was. After that, it didn’t take him too long to find Hravart again, though he watched in befuddlement as Hravart handed off necklace after necklace until he was left with three. Most of the people who received a necklace were pirates, and Ammon could have sworn he spotted a few specifically pointing to which one they wanted from the priest.
Ammon breathed deeply, then wrapped his arms around Hravart from behind. The priest stiffened, at first.
“–oh! Ammon, dat be you!”
“Mmmm do ya even have anything left for me, luv?”
Hravart laughed, turning around in Ammon’s arms. The rogue leaned back to avoid getting a facefull of bronze and gold necklaces.
“Oh Ammon,” that teasing look came back to Hravart’s face, and he leaned down, nose brushing against Ammon’s, “you wish.”
Once again, Ammon was left to stare after Hravart, looking like a damned fool - and blushing like one too.
The third, and final evening.
Ammon avoided Hydrangea easily this time, going with a crowd instead of on his own. The Hawkstrider glowered at him from her spot in the pens, and Ammon stuck his tongue out at her.
A minor victory; he’d take it.
He wandered to the upper platforms, seeking Faian this time. She was pleasant to talk to, and where she was, Hravart or Gulzar would certainly be.
Fate, it seemed, had other plans.
Ammon was grabbed by the back of his shirt, and jerked into a nearby building. He twisted his body around, eyes fierce, and latched onto the wrist of the person who’d grabbed him.
“Watch it, rogue.”
The voice gave Ammon reason to pause. Rough, and low, and definitely belonged to the glowing eyes in the corner.
“… well, tha’ was fast,” he mused, releasing Shion simultaneously to Shion releasing him. The hunter gave Ammon a crooked smirk, and sat himself down at a nearby table. He kicked his feet up onto the table, crossing them over each other, and tipped his head back enough to expose his throat.
“You be lookin’ fah me. I be assumin’ you wanna’ talk, so let’s talk.”
“Sounds good to me, luv,” Ammon replied, taking his place in the seat opposite to Shion. The troll sat comfortably - and perhaps, too relaxed. Ammon was no threat to him - and Ammon was glad. He would rather Shion not perceive him as a threat and be less wary, than see him as one and be on guard.
Anduin had given him some ideas for a proposition, and while the rogue was certainly more interested in trying to seduce Hravart right now, Shion was ready and willing to give him the chance to extend Anduin’s offer.
U’thel, on the other hand, seemed to be displeased with the entire situation.
“I’m surprised he’s lettin’ you talk to me.”
“I be knowin’ mah way around beasts,” Shion said smoothly, gesturing at U’thel with a thumb, “I got dat one under control.”
Ammon could have sworn that U’thel was blushing when the demon hunter looked off to the side, muttering under his breath.
“Back ta you. Wat you want, eh?”
“Not really what I want, but what the high king offers.”
Shion’s playful expression disappeared. Cold calculation took its place, and he leaned forward against his arms, clasping both hands together after setting his feet back on the wooden floor.
“Dat so.”
‘Treading on thin ice now. Can’t believe that ‘is look’s got me worried. Faian was right when she said he was dangerous,’ Ammon nodded his head, glancing at U’thel before focusing back on Shion, “yes. It’s been brought to the high king’s attention that you’re not wholly welcome by the Horde anymore, and of course, not so much by th’ Alliance.”
Shion was silent; Ammon continued, “but, you’re rather close to the warchief, no?”
“I don’ recall evah gettin’ ya name,” Shion said, voice low. Ammon was hesitant.
“… Ammon.”
“Careful wat ya say, Ammon. Mebbe ya high king didn’ tell ya,” the troll flexed one of his fingers, “I c’n be real triggah happy.”
Ammon chuckled out of nervousness. That was such an obvious threat.
“Well?” he continued confidently, regardless of how uneasy Shion made him.
“I won’ confirm nor deny dat obsahvation.”
“Understandable.”
“Wat I will tell you, is dat I be a loose cannon, Ammon,” Shion leaned forward, brown eyes harsh, “tell me, do ya tink dat Sylvanas controls me?”
‘So he’s familiar with her. Very familiar,’ Ammon reasoned, and shook his head in response to Shion’s question.
“Den do ya tink ya high king can control me?” his grin was toothy, like a wolf’s.
“No,” Ammon responded firmly, “I have a proposition for you. The high king wants someone on the inside, watching the warchief’s every move. Someone she won’t suspect; someone who has her trust, but isn’t devoted to her. Any and all forsaken are out of the question.”
Ammon paused, licking his lips nervously, and glancing at U’thel again before continuing, “from what you’ve mentioned, you don’t sound particularly devoted ta her. The high king wants information; wants to be able ta counter her when things get real bad.”
“Wat’s in it fah me?” Shion inquired. His eyes betrayed his interest, and he held out a hand before U’thel could even move. The demon hunter growled. Shion snarled something at him in demonic, and again, Ammon shuddered at the sound.
It sounded so wrong coming from the hunter.
“Sanctuary in Stormwind, and Boralus - other Alliance designated areas can be discussed should you accept,” Ammon said, remembering Anduin’s offer easily, “you can stay as long as you want, wherever you want, so long as ya don’t cause much trouble - as in, not gettin’ all trigger happy on us, Shion.”
Shion furrowed his brows, tapping his thumbs together. U’thel spoke up - but in demonic of course, and Ammon bit back the frustration at knowing that U’thel had chosen that language specifically because it was one that the rogue would definitely not understand. Shion scowled, draping his arm over the back of his chair, and though Ammon couldn’t see Shion’s full face from this angle, the gestures the troll was making with his arms and the tone of his voice indicated that he felt a similar frustration to Ammon.
“Don’ be so fuckin’ difficult,” U’thel suddenly spat, digging his claws into his arms. Ammon had to admit, he was impressed that Shion had such an iron grip on the demon hunter.
‘Guess he wasn’t lyin’ when he said he had U’thel under control,’ Ammon gave Shion a pointed look when the hunter turned back to him.
“… if ya king be wantin’ mah services, den I be needin’ ta make sometin’ clear,” Shion finally said after a long silence. Ammon nodded his head. His heart dropped into his stomach when Shion pointed at U’thel.
“We be a package deal.”
Ammon chewed on his lip. That would definitely throw a wrench in things. Shion could more easily hide his presence, but U’thel?
“I don’ be Horde aligned,” U’thel said flatly, interrupting Ammon’s thoughts, “Sylvanas don’ be havin’ shit on me. She figahed dat out de first time I almost be takin’ off her dog’s head.”
He moved now, pressing his hands against the table and leaning in close, green eyes blazing. Ammon leaned back, blushing despite himself.
“Ya king best be careful wat he be askin’ for,” U’thel growled, the tattoos on his body pulsating, “we don’ hold allegience ta no one.”
Shion pressed a hand to U’thel’s chest, pushing him back.
“I’m sure it can be worked out, then,” Ammon said, shifting his green eyes back to Shion, “so? I’ll be in the area for a few more days, specifically near the edges of Boralus. If you’re interested, luv, I’ll keep an eye out for ya.”
The hunter leaned back against his chair, eyes narrowed. U’thel returned to his spot on the dresser behind the table. His scowl made Ammon lick his lips again.
“There’s obviously a lotta’ risk that comes with this kind of offer. If the warchief gets wind of it, it could be the end of you.”
To Ammon’s shock, Shion scoffed. His gaze was amused, his eyes practically letting off a red glow.
“Did ya not hear me when I be sayin’ dat I be knowin’ mah way around beasts?”
‘So he’s not worried about Sylvanas catching on. At all. Gods, that makes me ten more levels of uneasy,’ Ammon swallowed, “I did hear tha’. Didn’ realize it extended to the Banshee Queen.”
Shion’s smirk could make even the most weathered warrior piss himself.
“That aside, it could still affect your freedoms in regard to Horde territories,” Ammon corrected. Shion’s smirk disappeared at this.
“That’s something that you need to consider - but, it’s on the table. As I mentioned, I’ll be in the area, and again, around the edges of Boralus. Here,” Ammon slipped the golden flare that Anduin had given him out of his jacket, and set it in the middle of the table, “use this when you want to give me your answer, Shion.”
The hunter eyed the flare, his nose twitching.
“… I’ll tink ‘bout it,” Shion said softly, reaching out to take the flare. Ammon breathed a sigh of relief. Good. He would report that back to Anduin as soon as possible, that at least Shion was thinking on it - and to, of course, mention that the hunter had a demon hunter friend that was reluctant to leave his side.
Which, gave Ammon a thought, “now, before we go our separate ways, on the topic of U’thel. Would you be willing ta compromise on that?”
“Depends,” Shion mused, leaning back against the chair. He ignored the displeased rumble that came from U’thel’s throat.
“For example, you can work with ‘im as a team, but when it comes ta the topic of sanctuary, only you have access to the cities I mentioned.”
“U’thel be half night elf,” Shion chirped, “so I don’ be tinkin’ it’ll be a problem - ‘less ya high king don’ be havin’ as much powah ovah de Alliance den I be assumin’, hm?”
Ammon had to clench a hand into a fist. Shion wasn’t… wrong in that assumption - but Ammon chose not to comment on it.
“Just in case.”
“I’ll tink ‘bout it, Ammon.”
“Glad ta hear it, luv,” the rogue beamed, rising from his seat. Shion stayed where he was, and simply watched Ammon leave.
Now, Ammon couldn’t resist choosing to vanish, if just to have a slight glimpse of what would take place afterward.
U’thel pushed forward aggressively, and grabbed Shion by the chin.
Of course, the door swung shut before Ammon could see anything else, and his keen interest in dissecting their relationship - whatever it was - had him rooted outside the door a moment longer. No sound apart from harsh demonic assaulted Ammon’s ears.
‘Damn it. Maybe if I can find out more about this relationship of theirs, Anduin c’n use it as leverage in some cases.’
Finding Hravart was a breeze. With Shion off his chest, Ammon discovered that locating who he wanted to locate was so easy it was like taking candy from a baby.
He wasted no time in grabbing Hravart’s hand in nothing less than a vice grip. The priest looked at him in shock, and Ammon hated his attire; hated the dark shirt, hated how it fit him so well despite how it hung loosely, hated that he’d gone and left it unbuttoned. Hated the dark black pants he wore that hugged his legs like a shameless lover. He hated how the golden rose and thorns necklace rested between Hravart’s collarbones, hated how it coiled up his neck.
“You dance with me,” Ammon said huskily. Hravart complied, blushing furiously. Ammon cursed his height. Wished he were taller, because leading Hravart in this waltz would be simpler.
He knew exactly where he was going. He pulled and directed until they were both shrouded in shadows, and the red tinge to Hravart’s eyes intensified once they were hidden from most curious gazes.
Hravart brushed his fingers along Ammon’s cheek, catching along his auburn hair. His lips were pulled up in a knowing smile, and he purred:
“Ammon, do you like what you see?”
“Kiss me,” Ammon whispered hoarsely in response, hoping against hope that just this once Hravart would release him from the endless cycle of teasing.
He never knew he would be so happy to be trapped between those porcelain tusks. Hravart’s lips were like silk, and the pressure was as perfect as a dream.
Ammon thrust his hands into Hravart’s dark hair, desperate to keep the weight there. Hravart had stiffened, and Ammon drew back for a quick breath.
“Let me have this,” he breathed, prodding at Hravart’s soft lips with his tongue. The troll was holding Ammon’s wrists loosely in his hands.
Ammon never expected Hravart to taste like the roses he often wore.
(( TAKE THIS AND ALL MY LOVE @druidickats FFS SODLHFADSUOHSDOAFSHUF ))
