Ill-Advised Rescue
The Worgen gave one last, long look at daylight before taking the stairs leading into Dalaran’s underbelly. “See you soon, kiddo.” He hadn’t informed Rekkis directly about this; a warm chuckle escaped his lips as he thought of the hypothetical reaction. No, that conversation would’ve been too…. painful? Furred brows creased. It wouldn’t of been painful, at least in a conventional sense, but Stahldrauf could not have the Arakkoa venture with him into the Dreadscar. Keeping himself and Izzial alive would be hard enough, let alone saving Callathum.
Rounding a corner into the hallway, a growl escaped his throat. It didn’t matter what it’d take, but he’d get the warlock home. Fear of death didn’t even occur to him; the icy tendrils of bone-chilling terror hadn’t graced the Death Knights thoughts since his original return to life. Instead, his worry lay on Callathum’s condition. He’s been over there fer a bit. …I hope he’s alright.
While no stranger to long, worried looks, the Worgen found himself folding his ears back just a bit. Normally, a two-handed sword suited his needs. Today, though, Stahldrauf came loaded for metaphorical bear. Another one-handed sword was strapped to his lower back, it’s handle in easy reach. Plates of armor clanked together as he walked through the underbelly—and for the first time in a *long* while, a helmet obscured his vision. Fitting the contours of his snout, only his luminous blue eyes shown from the eye sockets.
Beginning his final decent, the Worgen took a long breath of air. I’m comin’, Cal. Hang in there fer just a bit longer—your stubborn ass can do that, right?
…
Izzial stared at nothing, his thoughts swimming darkly within his head. The Arakkoa had forced himself to sleep prior to this; a prepared draught got him the sleep that the Worgen… insisted on him getting. Fel Green eyes focused on that single, random point. Not only would they need to get to the Dreadscar, they would need to find Callathum and get him back. Calydus had proved to be… strangely helpful. The situation demanded he trust the Wyrmtongue for the moment, but Izzial found himself more and more willing to entertain the arrangement after the rescue as well.
A soft, quiet chuckle passed through his beak. He looked forward to having more time to figure out what happened to him. At this point, he would’ve heard a voice telling him not to, advising him against it. But now… those thoughts were his. Still alien, but now a part of him. Different, but more same than before. The portal had done -something- to him, but with all the time he had going to figure out how to save Callathum, that wasn’t a priority.
Taking a deep breath, he stood up. Bright-red plumage had gone duller, no doubt to the weeks of exhaustion and effort. Looking almost gaunt, Izzial looked up as the Death knight stepped down the path. It’s time. Standing up, Izzial reached into his satchel, digits grasping one of several shards. Each one contained a fragment of a demon’s soul. Izzial hadn’t seen Callathum use such yet, but to get them there and back without draining all his own essence…
Well, Izzial prided himself on keeping his people safe. At any cost.
…
“Alrigh’. Anything we need ta take care of?” The Worgen stood tall and proudly, his gaze staring down at the Arakkoa. The canine’s eagerness to get the trek over and done with wasn’t exactly hidden; Izzial merely shook his head and prepared himself. As he stood, Calydus seemed to materialize in the shadows, beckoning the two over eagerly. “Quick! Calydus is ready!” Izzial took a deep breath, striding towards the shadows. Stahldrauf led the way, his gaze studying the Wyrmtongue. “Well, let’s get on with it.”
Even the demon seemed filled with trepidation as he and Izzial worked in tandem, a sickly green portal flickering to life. Without a single hint of hesitation, Stahldrauf drew his two-handed sword, stepping forward and back. “You better be alive, you stubborn ass.” It was then he reached the portal itself, disappearing into the twisting nether.
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