Over the Horizon
Elodine could barely sleep, even with what important work she knew she had to do tomorrow. She awaited the signs of Cathiir asleep for sure. She had been staring at his face, both intoxicated with emotions and with intent. He caressed her face and played with her hair, and she blushed all the while. Inevitably, his eyes closed, and his breathing became slow and relaxed.
He was asleep. So she started to sneak out of the bed, moving covers and sheets in the process. Cathiir stirred, but did not wake. She scrambled to look for the satchel he had on him. In the heat of the moments that happened a while ago, she had forgotten where it was left. So she moved his clothes aside, as well as her own -- she was stark naked, searching in the dark. Though her eyes adjusted quickly, and to a shal'dorei, the dark was no problem.
She found it finally. A tattered blue satchel, ripped at the bottom, but it had been sewed up by Cathiir himself when he was younger. One time, during their thieving youth, that rip lost them quite a bit of funds. It ensured they were late on paying their tribute to Sildor. Ever since that time, Cathiir was blamed by Sildor for being the more ineffective of the pair. Yet for some reason, Cathiir kept it. He was not ashamed. She suspected it was because of the memories such a simple thing kept.
She sat on the ground and placed the satchel in her lap. Paranoia struck her and she looked back at Cathiir. He turned slightly, sighed, but soon returned to his idle raising and falling of his chest that meant he was concerned only with inevitable dreaming.
Elodine considered if it was necessary to invade his privacy. Doubt had often crossed her mind when thinking if it was possible that Cathiir would betray her, and all of their people. If he even considered the demons as a master was never a thought she believed to be possible. Though she could not help but hear Sildor's voice, so dryly and so nonchalantly stating that even Cathiir was susceptible to the pitiful fate of submitting to demons.
She had to be sure. But what would she do if the worst happened? She could not hurt Cathiir, but if he turned out to be on the wrong side, it made him an enemy. Would he admit that knowledge to him? Or would she pretend she was none the wiser, treating him as if he was one of the noblemen who would often plot and gossip whilst she entertained -- they thought her to be deaf and dim, incapable of truly listening and understanding what vile things they would say.
This was different, though. It was war that was happening in Suramar, and around it. She inhaled deeply and opened up the satchel. The first thing her fingers found was quite strange. It was smooth, feeling polished. When she pulled it out, she gasped in a bit of confusion, then glanced back to see if her quiet, yet sudden action disturbed Cathiir. He was still asleep, so she decided to look more closely.
It was a mask. It only covered half of one's face, leaving the mouth exposed. The longer she focused, the more she realized it radiated with magic she was familiar with Cathiir using.
A disguise. But why? What could he possibly be doing that would require a disguise? Her heart sank, and she started to believe the worst. She laid the mask to the side, then dug through the satchel again. Papers were within, folded and slightly crumpled, though they did not interest her. There was one more hard object within.
It was slightly jagged, feeling like something of a rock, though it too radiated with a hint of magic. She traced it from within, only feeling along the edges of it she found. At first, she concluded it was simply a rock, until she felt the front of it. She traced a carving on it, and her eyes widened. Her heart went from in her gut right back to her chest, and started working overtime, pumping rapidly.
She threw the satchel off her and had taken the 'rock' with her. It was not a rock, but a sigil to prove loyalty. Loyalty to the dusk lily -- to the Nightfallen. She ran her hands over the carving of the purple flower in both disbelief and relief.
She mouthed the words, "I knew it," even with disbelief in her system. Stray tears left her eyes, and she regulated her breathing to try and calm her panicking heart. She glanced back at Cathiir, he was still fast asleep, eyes shut tight.
She placed the sigil to the side and breathed out deeply. She then wiped her tears away. He did not betray -- he was fighting, just like she was. She then remembered there was papers inside of his satchel. This time, it was less a dire situation that motivated her to be nosy, but more so, well... just simple nosiness.
She suspected the papers would give insight into what he had to do for the rebellion. Lie to the Duskwatch, perhaps? She knew that Captain Nelaris was slain escorting Cathiir through the wilds, but she did not think it was Cathiir -- she believed entirely the story that was presented. Nelaris fell by Saber's hand. In knowing he had the sigil of the dusk lily, she now suspected, too, that Nelaris was actually killed by Cathiir. He was good at lying, she would give him that. Which means, of course, she would be sure to make it clear to him that he would not lie to her again.
She removed the gathered papers. Upon looking over them for a couple of minutes, she knew immediately they were orders detailing the aftermath of Captain Nelaris' demise, and information concerning the leak that exposed Lady Aslyssa. Elodine tensed up reading that -- Sildor was right.
Lord Manabloom. He who approached Elodine with such intent to comfort her in the hard times. He made Aslyssa think she had an ally, then exposed her to be thrown into the wilds, and suffer. If Aslyssa died, the demons were surely to blame, but also this scum. Elodine looked back at Cathiir again. That was why he was so tense, he likely vaguely threatened the Lord. Cathiir could never keep his words to himself.
She continued to look through the papers, not missing, but barely caring that she was at risk, too. She suspected it herself the moment she heard Manabloom was the cause -- he suspected the daughter of Aslyssa would undoubtedly defect, just like her.
His mission was to transport the Lord away with the help of disguised outlanders, so that he could exiled as Aslyssa had been. Though she glanced, again, at Cathiir -- she could not stop glancing at him. He was not going to do that.
Was it such a bad idea to do what she knew Cathiir would resolve to do? He exposed her mentor, her teacher, her mother. Cathiir loved Aslyssa just like her. Upon looking over the mask a second time, taking the time to soak in the details, she noted other aspects; there were purple flowers all along the edges of the mask. As well as an engraving on the inside.
I. L.
"Ilyris Luntheta," she mouthed. The late husband of Lady Aslyssa Luntheta. She could not help but give a breathless laugh. He intended to assassinate a noble lord wearing the mask of the husband of the woman the man possibly doomed. Lord Luntheta was a master of illusionary magic, too. Lady Aslyssa had taught Elodine a couple of tricks that had taken her time to learn -- all tricks to enhance the impressive nature of her dancing ability. Cathiir had often helped Elodine refine the tricks -- illusionary magic was always an easy learn for Cathiir.
She found it ironic how similar they were. Aslyssa told stories of how headstrong Ilyris was, how dedicated he could truly be. Though also how easily he lost hope. Aslyssa said that, at some point, she blamed herself for her love being lost behind the barrier, all because she restored his faith, and that encouraged him to fight harder.
She dismissed it, though. For even though she missed him dearly, she had taken happiness in the fact she loved a man willing to give so much to protect the world, protect their people.
And now, thousands of years later, here they are. Elodine Luntheta, Cathiir Starsunder. At the first hours of the sun being up, she would carry arcwine long distances to safe points, rebels would gather the arcwine and distribute it to those who needed it most. Cathiir dealt with those who sold their souls to demons, and worked to make himself a message for those who lived in fear. They were not along, and Elodine and Cathiir would be sure of that. Though who would look out for them?
Elodine stood up, mask and dusk lily in her hand. She strutted her hips ever so slightly, all to climb onto the bed, and on top of Cathiir. She ensured to be under the covers, touching her skin with his. He stirred from his slumber, looking up at her with eyes appearing sleep.
The first thing he saw as he had awakened was Elodine, naked, holding his sigil of the dusk lily, and the mask of Ilyris. She grinned down at him.
At first, he was worried. But her expression showed she was not at all displeased or mad with him. Her eyes were lidded, and she straddled his hips.
"Today?" She asked with a heavy tone.
"Today," Cathiir replied.
"You'll be safe?"
"It'll be nothing," Cathiir ran his hands up her thighs, which caused her to shiver. She placed both the sigil and mask on a table at his bedside. She laughed, and repositioned her hips.
"Me, too, today. I'll be outside of the city." Elodine gasped quietly as Cathiir repositioned his own hips.
"You'll be safe," he asked, grunting quietly.
"Probably not," Elodine said, leaning over Cathiir. "But I'll run fast if I get into trouble."
Cathiir laughed quietly, sitting up to get closer to Elodine. His lips brushed over hers. "If that's the case, you'll be doing what you do best."
She laughed, but her laughing was interrupted by further repositioning. She swallowed hard, and pressed her lips against his.
They spent the rest of the night enjoying eachother's company, resting, and speaking.
All before they had awakened to the dreaded son that revealed itself, and ruined their fun. As it had the past recent weeks. The two lovers wondered if life was better with or without the barrier as they got dressed, and prepared themselves to fight their pieces in a war.
Cathiir did not often dress up. Though he did today. Even when he did dress up, it was often in garbs that were not often all that unique. The house he belonged to may have dictated he was able to have his own, distinguishable style, but his style was always to blend in. It was likely his poor childhood that influenced that.
He wore a purple vest over a white shirt. Below, simple blue pants, buckled with a grey belt. It barely mattered what he wore, though. An agent of the dusk lily came to ask what to look for, and he explained it clearly: look for a man with a mask on, wearing the aforementioned garb, on the way to the party. Travel with him, and look as though they have been traveling together the whole way there.
He did not know what to expect. There would be five of them, and the agent explained they would be adept in emulating shal'dorei manners, but they were not experts. Hearing that made Cathiir sigh. If they were exposed, it would be by their design. He knew this to be true.
Cathiir stepped down a pathway that was mostly clear. It was a scenic route to the party, near the canals. Lord Manabloom's house was often prized for being on the canals itself, anyways. Boat rides to the party, and trips around the city, representing the party, were popular. And, as it happens, in style for the past decade. They only became more popular now that one could sneak out into open waters. Though recently, it was forbidden; the Duskwatch closed off canals that left the city. Both to stop rebel activity, and to also discourage the common people seeing the Duskwatch's expanded operations across more of the city.
He continued walking until the expected happened all around him. One, then two, then three, four, and five individuals all around Cathiir, lining up behind him and followed.
Two looked stiff. One of them was looking around far too much, looking like a tourist. Another kept picking at their armor underneath the illusion, which caused the illusion itself to waver here and there. The last often walked too slowly and had to lightly jog to catch up.
Cathiir suddenly stopped, then spoke as a commander might to soldiers.
"This is who the Nightfallen send me?"
They were all silent, looking among one another. Cathiir tried not to be too expressive, for even with the mask, expressions could be read.
"Has a manasaber got your tongue, outlanders? Speak, explain why you all seem as though you're about to go to a party in disguise."
"Well," a man started, sounding as though his accent was not even concealed. It was thick, and came from his throat. "Lad, listen, we're in disguise, about to head to a fuckin' party."
"Is that an excuse that it worth taking in," Cathiir asked. He turned around to face his face allies. "You are in my city now, outlanders. You will act accordingly, and not draw any attention, or I will dismiss you here and now."
"That was not a part of the plan," said a woman this time, her voice less plagued by accents, though still seeming too... base. It was not at all near what Cathiir would have wanted.
"Plan?" Cathiir asked her. "The plan is that you assist me in dealing with someone who is getting saviors of the innocent in harm's way. Not that you walk around like you've got something in your rear, hm?"
The woman straightened up when she heard that, assuming a far more believable posture. Cathiir gestured to the woman who could not seem to keep up with the group.
"Get some pep in your step. You're going to a party, not a funeral. Shal'dorei love them."
The woman nodded, and her first attempt to speak was interrupted with a crack in her voice. When she finally did speak, she sounded almost childish. "How... are you an expert?"
"I would know," Cathiir said firmly. "I'm a damn shal'dorei."
All of their eyes widened in unison. They looked amongst one another again. Cathiir sighed again.
"You thought I was disguised like you?"
"We just thought," a different man, this one with a deep voice, dry and apathetic, "you were a damn good actor and got into the character."
"No," Cathiir replied. "I am-- well, my true name means little. You will know me as my fake name. Ilyris." He crossed his arms.
"We are performers, and will be doing a short routine to entertain guests. In the aftermath, we will be given the right to mingle and drink. You will not drink, you may mingle briefly, but after a short time, you will be on lookout as I slay Lord Manabloom. We will then leave the estate as if we are spent, and let the people figure out their esteemed host has died."
"Lord Manabloom will die?" Said the final outlander who had not yet spoken. He was the one who was picking at his armor, "We were told he was to be kidnapped. Death would be, somethin' like, 'extreme'?"
"Perhaps," Cathiir replied. "But Lord Manabloom intends to do something very personal to me, and if he even drips with what he plans, I could regret not handling him as effectively as this." He then narrowed his gaze.
"Enough questions," Cathiir said. "Names."
The first to speak, the man who walked stiffly with a thick accent had said, "My name's Hargoth." Cathiir nodded.
The next, the woman who walked stiffly, meekly said, "A-And I'm Fitsy."
The last woman spoke next, "Catherine."
The who had not spoken yet, a man with a respectful tone, and voice that seemed to originate from the chest -- whose tone alone could make him seem a shal'dorei -- said, "Wrathdor."
Finally, the man with a deep, dry voice, said his name to finish it all off. "Samuel."
Cathiir then recited, "H, F, C, W, and S. Only by initials, though you can call me by initial or by my full name. Your names will not do and we have no time to craft intricate identities."
Cathiir then looked up to the sky. The sun was starting to set. He grunted, and gestured. "Practice moving with grace, precision, and confidence. The more forced it seems, the better. Such is the way of the shal'dorei."
He then led his ragtag band to the party. All the while, the further they walked, the more convincing they seemed. Cathiir muttered a quiet prayer under his breath to any deity that may had been passing, attempting to get some sort of aid on his most risky endeavor.
Elodine peeked from behind a corner. She was not far from the city limits. Truth be told, this was the easy part. She ensured as she peeked, the satchel of ten total bottle of arcwine would not show. They were heavy, but she easily handled it. It was only made easier that the satchel was enchanted to make any contents within it lighter. The bottles were sturdy, and the satchel was padded to account for any rough-handling it would suffer, the bottles inside would not break or crack.
The hardest part was getting out of the city. Sneaking around people without giving away the fact she was carrying cargo that would get her in dire trouble was simple, but upon nearing the city limits, Duskwatch became more dense. Elodine came across a simple straight-shot to leave the city, only to find that dozens of guards gathered to stand watch -- after she observed them a couple of minutes, she found it was because the withered were swarming this border of the city.
Every other spot she thought of nearby had similar situations. One was covered due to a demonstration by the demons -- orders being handed out, training being done. Elodine witnessed some of the first among the Duskwatch who accepted the gift of the demons: fel magic.
They commanded small demons, and their skin glowed a sickly green color. They often showed off their powers to their fellow Duskwatch. Notably, they were quite rare. She had only seen two so far. Regardless, it made her sick to her stomach seeing such things.
She felt as though she would need to improvise with a risky alternative. Knowing Cathiir and his family had its benefits.
She knew of a tower that overlooked parts of the city. It was often used for one or two guards to keep watch over some noble estates, though with a refocused effort of the Duskwatch, the tower was often left derelict. Elodine started to work her way through the city. The path was clearer and clearer, people tried staying away from enclosed places and alleyways. As a result, Elodine had a safe pathing to get to her destination.
She weaved around, coming in contact with little others. At some point, some Duskwatch patrolling with demons went down the street nearby, barking harsh orders to passerbys. Elodine hugged a wall with her back, and waited for them to pass. When they did, she worked her way further.
She finally ended up making it to the tower, and no one was readily in sight. It was quiet, and to either side of her was simply a wall, and a back entrance to a store that was boarded up. In front of her was the tower itself, though no entrance to it. Instead, Elodine started to scale up the plain wall to her left, using the doorframe to inch herself up. From here, she stood on the edges, jumped, and caught a grip of the roof. She pulled herself up, then turned around to face the tower again.
She judged the distance from here to the tower -- she quickly concluded that a running jump would be plenty to reach the watching point of the tower. So she had taken a couple of steps back, ran, then leaped to catch the edge of the tower. She hung for no longer than a second before she pulled herself up, grunting from the strain of it all. She then knelt as she caught her breath.
"Elodine?" She locked up, and stopped her breathing. The voice was familiar but she could not precisely place it. It was a woman, and she sounded strong, commanding, and serious.
"That is you-- why are you here, Elodine?" The voice quieted. That was when Elodine finally replaced the voice, making it unneeded to turn around. It was Cathiir's sister, Milaes.
Elodine then heard the sound of a sword returning to its sheath. Then the sounds, happening lower, of swords leaving their sheathes. "Captain! What's happening up there? Do you need our help?"
Elodine turned around, her hand on her own sword. She looked nervously at Milaes.
Milaes had taken a moment to look Elodine over. She was dressed in a tunic with exposed sleeves, and shorts. She was dressed as if she was leaving the city and did not want to dirty her garbs. Furthermore, she had a satchel that was brimming with something at her side. Elodine tried to pull it back and behind her. Milaes saw enough from the distortion of the satchel -- it was bottles of something, likely arcwine.
Milaes had her hand on her own sword, but she slowly removed it, then shouted back down, "There's nothing up here, men. The withered're confined to the front parts of the city, it seems."
"That sound, though? Were you out of breath?"
Milaes looked over at Elodine with a piercing gaze, responding as she looked at her. "No, no, it was just a rat hopped up on mana. Big bastard, but he got away. I'll give a full bottle of arcwine to whoever finds it, though."
There were three men downstairs, and they all laughed. "We'll get right on it right after we report that, Captain. We'll meet at the barracks, then."
"Sounds good," Milaes responded. "You are dismissed."
The men all clattered out, and even when they were all gone, Milaes was quiet. She gestured a head at Elodine for her to leave, and Elodine did not need to be told a second time. She started to climb down the tower, the side that led to the outside world.
Milaes called out as she started to work down the stairs.
"For future reference, we barely patrol the vineyards, but that could change. Even if it becomes necessary, our eyes are usually forward, and not backwards. It's how Aslyssa met with people according to the report I keep forgetting to send." Her voice was smug, though well-intentioned.
"Keep Cathiir safe, will you? Our father's... getting more distressed. I fear what will come of that."
Elodine nodded in response, seeming still to recover from a bit of shock. Milaes turned, and worked her way down the stairs, the echo of her voice singing out, getting quieter and quieter as she went further.
"Elodine and Cathiir sitting in a tree... k-i-s-s-i-n-g." She repeated it twice before stopping altogether, ending up at the bottom of the tower.
Elodine could not help but laugh, which relaxed her just a bit. Just enough to work her way down, and off the tower. Her feet landed on dirt.
When she looked to the sky, the sun was just starting to set.