The voice had a strange and echoing quality, an ominous growl heard through a tunnel as it sounded within her mind, but Bronva’s only reaction was a sigh.
She sat curled in the plushly upholstered chair, long legs tucked up and leaning against one arm, peering at the open book she held. That was where the resemblance to a studious young woman ended; very few ladies did their studying naked, for starters.
Any adventurer of Azeroth would recognize a succubus, though most would be startled to see one lounging and reading. Her purple-tinted ebony wings were folded against her back, and the whip-like tail draped over the arm of the chair, the tip twitching against the floor like that of an anxious feline.
Bronva lifted her glowing gaze from the manuscripts she’d been poring through toward the source of the voice in her mind. Tension jolted her to straighter posture as she snapped the book shut, eyes widening at the sight of the Felhound. “Grym.. how much did you siphon?” Her purring voice was soft with surprise.
Jhuugrym was a massive beast; his kind usually were. Heavily-muscled with wide bony heads that seemed mostly teeth, the Burning Legion took advantage of his species not for the sheer brutality their canine-like bodies were capable of, but for their hunger. Arcane energies fueled them, making them a perfect weapon against enemy casters. The more magic they devoured from their targets, the larger they got, and Jhuugrym’s already considerable bulk barely fit through the doorway.
Too much.
Not enough.
It is worse.
It is endless.
Bronva’s brow furrowed and her long tail lashed against the floor as she set the book aside, sliding with liquid grace from the chair. Hooves clicked against the stone floor of the basement Library as she approached the Felhound, reaching out to touch one of the curving bone-spikes that arced forward from behind his shoulders. “Once she has the Breaker blood I can work on the warding talisman. Will she be alright to travel?”
She must be.
She has left.
She is strong.
But she hurts.
A pause came as the over-fed Felhound tilted his bony head up as though to sightlessly look at the Succubus who trailed her hand along the vicious spike, the end of one siphoning tendril lightly grazing at her arm with the petal-like ends spread to taste the magic inherent to Bronva.
Bronva froze at the implication conveyed through the simplistic thought-communication, wings partly spreading with a shiver. “So do we. Time is running short.”
