It wasn't a profound ache. Merely a dull one. It happened every now and again, when the Ranger was alone with her thoughts. Thoughts that plagued her, much like the plague she'd choked on as she lay dying.
Piercing claret hues pulsed with the memory. Her head had been propped up against the warm stones of the hearth, hood drawn. Her body chased the warmth out of instinct, and she felt the inklings of comfort and familiarity ebb and flow in the back of her mind, buried deep within her chest.
It was supposed to feel nice. Like a hug from a family member or loved one.
Falithel squeezed her eyes shut, dark lips twisting to one side. She didn't force herself to chase that feeling, and simply tucked it away for later. Her knees were tucked up to her chest, cloak pooled around her to trap the heat of the flames within. The warmth continued to seep into her skin, her bones, but the sensation was gone in an instant.
Duskwood had become somewhat of a quiet haven for her. It had been bustling for weeks, some musings about Stormwind being on lock down because of some... Treasure-Goblin wreaking havoc. There was a group of people, Knights, that served a House Sunshield. Knights and noblewomen. People that would sooner see her arrested or her head on a pike rather than deal with her.
It was as it always was in the human kingdoms. Ignorance, fear, and hatred. Though two of them... their eyes had a kind twinkle behind them. A glimmer that made Falithel think they understood the nature of monsters and weren't afraid of them unless they had to be. It made her curious at times, but not curious enough to venture out and hold a conversation with them.
The distrust ran thick in some of their bones, and were particularly protective of the Ladies that wandered the Darkwood supervised. Or, sometimes unsupervised. Though it wasn't her place to tattle. But it had been some time since she'd seen them and their banner, so Falithel escaped from the confines of her cold, shadowy prison and was left to her own devices.
Hunting horrors that threatened these people. Monsters. It didn't matter if the monsters came out of a child's playbook or wore the face of a neighbor. Either way, they made good food for the spiders. She even befriended a Widow deep within the rotting orchard. A large creature, but simply wished to be left alone.
"Oi, Miss?" A gruff voice had caught her attention, jerking her out of her daydream. Falithel's eyes blinked blearily, dry from staring within the fire unblinking for some time. It was a wrapped parcel in his hands, and Falithel had turned on her backside on the hearth's stones, standing. She brushed the soot off of her leathers and drifted over to the tavern keep with her chin angled close to her chest.
"There y'are. Don't go attractin' those damn ferals closer to the Square, y'hear?" A stare accented by crow's feet squinted curiously at the Elf as pale digits reached out from her sides to collect the parcel; it reeked of raw meat, haphazardly wrapped. Bear and direwolf shanks and slabs of meat.
"None to worry. Where this is going, the ferals shouldn't be much of an issue due north." Falithel said softly, dipping her head politely as coin was exchanged for the parcel. Turning, a dark cloak swirled around her ankles and a free hand's index and middle finger hooked under the string of a bow and the strap of a quiver, hoisting it over her shoulder. Exiting the Scarlet Raven, Falithel dipped into the Shadows and out of sight.
The journey through the shadows and to the rotten orchard that was nestled in a cliffside was... quiet. Per usual. Though there were some wet noses upturned in the air as the scent of fresh meat was too alluring to pass up. She didn't have much time, but that was alright. The orchard had been mostly cleared out, a wasteland of corpses and picked-clean bones... and outrageously large spider webs. A new development, and perhaps she was to blame.
Glancing over her shoulder, half-gloved digits curled into her hood to pull it back. With a little shake of her head, onyx hair fell free around her face and long, pale ears were detached from her hood. The blackened tips twitched with their freedom and the bulk of her thick hair was caught at the base of her neck with her hood and cloak.
The dead boughs and canopies of the trees above her shifted, but not due to the wind. There wasn't a breeze to shift the heavy, dank air around her. Sets of beady black eyes glimmered above her, and a thin trail of venomous saliva dropped down in front of her. Falithel sighed softly, but not without a familiar little quirk of her lips.
"I'm sorry I'm late." She remarked quietly, flatly, shedding her shadowy guise to showcase herself completely. If any passersby weren't careful, they'd think she was a ghost in the middle of the woods. The parcel was produced and unwrapped, and with a flick of her wrist hunks of fresh meat and bone were gently tossed in front of her. The cloth, bloodied as it were, was tossed unceremoniously behind her for the worgen hot on her trail to sniff out.
Falithel hadn't a second more to blink before long, spindly legs had shot down from their webbed home; sharp as daggers and just as long as any broadsword the best of Knights could wield, snatched up hunks of meat via a surprisingly careful spearing. Bits of web fluttered about her before the meat was gone, leaving a bloodied imprint on the ground in front of her.
Sounds of snapping could be heard, bones crunched between mandibles hungrily. Shortly after, a quiet trill of happiness rustled the dead branches and leaves overhead, and Falithel smiled softly, fondly.
"The rest of your dinner shouldn't be far behind." Falithel remarked with a curious stare being flicked above her head. The Widow's shadow moved this way and that without so much as another rustle of a branch; impressive and frightening. The Ranger wiped her hands on the discarded cloth before giving an underhanded toss back to the ground. Scaling an abandoned building was child's play, and Falithel had dropped unceremoniously into a sit atop a wilting roof, leaning back against a broken chimney chute and crossing her ankles before her. Long and lithe legs stretched languidly in front of her, and her hands folded into her lap.
Content to watch for now, her face never moved once from it's forward facing direction, but her eyes had slanted down and to her right. A worgen with eyes just as bright and red as hers skulked out from behind a dead trunk, giving a wet snuffle into the air. Drawn immediately to the bloodied cloth in the center of the orchard, it's nose nudged the cloth with a little growl, a splotched tongue swiping out to taste the fresh blood. Frustrated with the lack of food where the promise was in it's paws, the air grew cold and quiet.
Falithel's eyes had followed the beast until it stopped, waiting patiently. A spindly shadow darted between the webbed canopies, easing into a crouch above her target. She smiled again, though it was always a gesture that never met her eyes, the pads of her thumbs brushing against another in an idle twirl.
Daggerlike legs had snapped down from the shadows at once, piercing the worgen to the ground by the shoulder and hip. A pained and strangled yelp left the beast before the bulk of the Widow's body emerged from the canopies. Hulking and lithe all in the same breath, fangs pierced into the neck of the worgen. A series of strangled and pained whimpers and snarls left it as it struggled in the spider's grip, but eventually, the venom ran its course and the worgen stilled.
Falithel's eyes flicked up as the body was sprang back into the trees, listening to the sounds of various gore chorusing through the Orchard. Snaps, hisses, and tears. The blood attracted more unsuspecting worgen, and the feast continued like clockwork.
It was her dose of entertainment these days. Dinner with a friend.
