29 for the ask game ! (you may not remember me, hi, im a kaellidan fic writer)
[send me a number 1-100 and i will try to write a short drabble based off whatever song that corresponds to in my spotify wrapped]
29: SPIRITS by NOTHING MORE
Weeds in the garden, snakes in the soul
Every day passin', they grow, they grow
And they grow
The smoke in my lungs, the fire on my tongue
Spirits make me warm when my heart is not enough
Some of his soldiers had started referring to it as the den of mortal delights, which Kael'thas found so inaccurate as to verge on pathetic. The handful of singed and mouldering cushions scattered around this cavernous room, their meagre rations artfully arranged on tarnished platters... One would have to use quite a bit of imagination to find 'all the joy and pleasures on earth' in the sorry sight.
Had Arthas' rotten hand burned Silvermoon down to the very memory of its oppulence? Or was it simply their fearless leader's ascetism that was catching? The latter was an easier thought to bear than that of his proud, glorious people learning to settle, but neither left Kael'thas overflowing with hope regarding their situation.
Few things did these days. Perhaps it was Illidan's pessimism that was infectious.
Kael'thas tilted his head back against the dusty throw pillow and exhaled a plume of rust-colored bloodthistle smoke. It rose through the air in heavy, sedate curls, all but disappearing in the gloom above--but not quite, so that he was able to see the moment when it broke apart against the black stone of the ceiling.
He had been watching it do so for some time. Long enough to notice the faint, greenish sheen of the smoke, undoubtedly from the fel that permeated the environment. He had not noticed any difference in the taste, but then again he had little to compare it to: he had never been one for bloodthistle in the past. He misliked how it muddled his brain.
Not that his razor-sharp wit had much to whet itself on in this place. Better to blunt it, let his thoughts run as thick and slow as syrup--it wasn't any more fun, but certainly less dangerous.
"I see you you overcame your distaste for this place, Prince Kael'thas."
The baritone of Illidan's voice came through the fog like a hand in a flowing river, fingers carding through hair; a gentle disturbance. Bloodthistle blunted his edges as well as Kael'thas, for all that the prince was the only one currently partaking.
"Hardly," he scoffed, red-and-green seeping from the corners of his mouth. "It is my distaste for every other room in this accursed stronghold that has grown."
Though Illidan offered no response, his silence had a distinctly amused edge to it.
Kael'thas had gotten quite good at reading the man--his lengthy silences in particular--over the course of their acquaintance. And indeed, when he pulled his gaze from the ceiling to settle heavy-lidded eyes on the newcomer, he found that Illidan's grim face had softened, ever so slightly, to permit the faintest uptick of his lips. He doubted anyone would have noticed it. Few spent as many hours of the day looking at Illidan's face, or thinking about it, as Kael'thas did.
Biting down on a sigh, Kael'thas pushed himself upright, folding his legs so he could rest one arm--the one holding the pipe--over his bent knee.
"How may I be of service, my lord?"
"What makes you think I have use of you?" Illidan drawled, his mouth tilting one single degree higher. "Perhaps I, too, have come to sample the 'delights' I've heard so much about."
He seemed in fine humor today. A shame that the same could not be said for Kael'thas. "Do make yourself comfortable, then." He gestured blithely at their surroundings, knowing Illidan could track it from the small amount of fel still smoldering in the pipe. "There is plenty of place, though you may be disappointed to hear that we have run out of wine. Now, if that is all--"
A hoarse chuckle--a huff, really--interrupted his tirade. "Peace, Kael'thas: I did come with a purpose. Come."
No explanation before he turned on his heels--hooves?--and strode out of the room. Typical. Kael'thas stared at his back, the verdant glow of his tattoos half-obscured by the tattered outlines of wings, heaved a tremendous sigh, and went to follow Illidan.
