The Feud Ch. 02

"Let him go," Anadia said as clearly as she could in the brutish language.

With a heated grunt, the orc clenched his teeth and undid the elf's bindings and neck-shackle, nearly breaking them in his frustration. The high elf did not take the time to second-guess his place in Eversong—he rose to his feet and dashed south at full speed. Anadia quickly addressed the leftovers.

"Take this one and leash him outside of my quarters. Be sure that he is fed and clothed, but nothing more."

Errog laughed condescendingly, "People will talk, Anadia, getting down and dirty with elf—err, high elf scum. And your sister—"

Anadia shot him a look of pointed appall. Though there was a hint of color on her cheeks, her eyes told him not to further breach the subject. Errog took up the chain again and yanked it to reestablish a doubtlessly satisfying sense of power over the prisoner, who quickly awakened from his post-orgasmic haze.

"I have no intent of sleeping with him. I found this pair to be most... disappointing."

With a single handed gesture, Anadia waved the two off and out of sight. Errog dragged his half-empty, chained contraption along the ground in a sulky manner, pulling Zerik along as if he were already dead. She thought to the disinterested blonde, no doubt racing through Eversong, with tiring lungs, a parched mount, and on an empty stomach. She grimaced. The blood elf had had her fill of meditation for the day, but was beginning to grow hungry.

"And that reminds me."

Anadia whistled sharply into the treetops, and the shrill sound echoed into the woods, deflecting and reverberating from every bough and branch as if they were stone. Immediately, a pair of pointed, gleaming, yellow eyes opened within pinkish-violet leaves just above her. Its shape was lost within the foliage, but its presence was indisputable. Even with the asinine allegiances of the Quel'dorei and the protests from Anadia's trusted friend, she upheld her half of the bargain. It was only honorable to keep her word.

"And it's only fair that his friend be given a head start."

She pointed in the direction in which he ran, and with a furious but brief rustling from above, the beast was gone.

Errog embraced her, and Anadia was forced to succumb to the suffocating sensation of death wrapping around her lithe, but athletic frame and squeezing her mercilessly. As her body was yanked through the air by unholy energy, Errog readied his glowing runesword, preparing to bat her like a leather ball to be knocked out of Falcon Wing Square. Shopkeepers and bystanders stood and watched as the hunter was forced into flight, and though she was poised to land feet-first on the pavement, Anadia bent her legs in mid-air and rolled under his swing, leaving a few severed strands of hair and a trap beneath the orc's feet.

The metallic ring detonated immediately at his heavy footsteps, and a thick cloud of ice exploded from its center, locking Errog in place and coating the ground in a viscous layer of cool, unnatural snow. Though it appeared thin, the muscle-bound death knight was having as much difficulty trudging out of it as one would expect from trying to escape from three feet of the real thing. Anadia saw it necessary to put even more distance between the two of them, leaping backward through the air and readying her bow. Focusing upon her opponent, she volleyed arrow after arrow at him, and though a few were deflected by his plate, not all of her arrows were so easily ignored.

An explosive shot connected with Errog's shoulder with a bright, fiery crash, followed by lingering smoke and another explosion at the opposite side of his stomach. He did not billow in pain, guard himself, or lose footing—only pounded his chest with rage as he willed himself through the pain and stepped out of the false ice. Anadia continued to volley arrows at the death knight, but with a thrust of his arm into the air, bones emerged from his armor and began spiraling around him in mid air, held aloft by some dark force. While the effect was indisputably flashy, it did more than put on a show.

Clink! – Whether by happenstance or magical autonomy, a bone deflected an arrow. Clunk! – Another shot knocked away.

The hunter was irritated, but far from deterred—her tricks were limited, but she would have to brute force her way through his defenses while she could afford the opportunity. Another explosive arrow was launched through the air at Errog's thigh, bursting instantly and leaving the scent of smoldering orc flesh, but he did not care. His veins pulsed and pumped with blood; hardly visible at her distance, but the blood elf's sharpened eyes detected the subtler movements of his body—the sight disgusted her, like a series of large clots breaking loose and traveling through his bloodstream. Though any other victim would be crippled at this point, his powers of self-healing were as effective as they were unsettling.

Anadia growled in frustration and steeled herself as Errog began to escape the ice slick. It was going to take everything in her arsenal to bring him down, but with grit teeth and a nose beginning to bleed, she was prepared to do just that. She planned each attack, expending her focus on one final assault.

"A poison arrow, a black arrow, another explosive arrow, arcane, arcane!"

Errog only seemed to embolden as he deflected more of the arrows, both magically and with his runeblade—and finally he was free of his impairment. He roared with triumph and blood rage as he rushed the elf without hesitation.

"Firemane, now!"

A red and gold figure leapt from a nearby rooftop and down onto the orc's back. The giant lynx latched onto his neck and shoulder, gnawing at Errog's right ear. It was beyond Anadia's imagination, but she watched as he both boiled and froze at once—his body turning firmly rigid but his face contorting with rage. Before she could knock another arrow upon her bow, the end of his hilt connected with the lynx's face, followed by a single armed heave of the beast directly at Anadia. The pet collided with her at full force, knocking and pinning her to the ground with the creature atop her.

It began to stir for a moment, but a smoking skull of purple and green smashed into its chest, telling it to yield—the hunter felt the force of the attack through Firemane's body, feeling an ounce of sympathy for the cat.

A steely clamor rang out in front of her as Errog threw down his sword. "This duel is over!"

He spat blood and mucus upon the pavement and kept his fists balled and apart from his sides. "We had an agreement not to call for minions! Of all people I—"

Anadia forced herself up from beneath her lynx, rolling the heavy animal off of her chest. It kept its head and tail low in verbal shame as it skulked over to her side. "What's the point of this, anyway?! In the arena, Firemane will be there! Our opponents will—"

"Our opponents will dispatch him quickly, and you'll be forced to fend for yourself with arrow and dagger—unless you intend to make yourself and myself vulnerable by reviving the mangy beast!"

Anadia's eyes widened with a gasp. She readied another arrow and fired it at the orc's shoulder—which he received without hesitation, but as the dark blood leaked out of his wound, he relinquished all control, charging at her. In a split moment, she realized that she had overreacted to a petty insult, but before she could muster a semblance of an apology, the blood elf was pinned high against the wall by her neck.

"YOU FORGET YOURSELF, ELF!"

"Let go of me!" she squirmed and wheezed, feeling her throat close. She clawed at his hands and kicked his chest in futility.

"You must FEED, Anadia! This game has gone on long enough—your skills are beginning to suffer, your discipline is all but forgotten! You dare strike ME outside of a duel!?"

"I must—I must—see into the minds of my..."

"You are becoming more of a high elf every day, woman!" Errog roared at her, saliva spattered against her face and armor. "And I will not stand and watch as you starve yourself any longer!"

With that, he reached up just beneath the other hand, and though it would appear to any other that he would tear at her shirt, he ripped another garment from her instead—the neck shackle the high elves were forcefully adorned with earlier. The sudden snapping force sent her head downward, but shame kept it there. Anadia had worn it to prevent any accidental relapse, and in spite of her best efforts to conceal it from its creator, it was as visible beneath her scarf as the effects of her withdrawal were upon her face. Her skin was growing paler, her cheeks more pallid, and her eyes brighter, but with bags beneath them.

"I told you to give this pursuit up a week ago, and you did not listen! Tell me, what have the prisoners," Errog spat, "what have their teachings yielded you!?"

Anadia gave him nothing but a slightly pouted lip and an angry look. She had learned nothing.

"Zerik is dead; turned wretched—attacked two civilians and smashed by an arcane guardian. Don't think that just because it's Silvermoon that I don't care to follow word-of-mouth, and an attack like that within city limits?! Hah, word spread FAST!"

He dropped her finally, Anadia's face having turned from red to near purple. She had always thought that Errog wasn't entirely aware of his own strength; or at least of the lack-thereof in others. She gasped desperately, rubbing her neck to ease the pain as Errog continued to shadow her unsympathetically.

"I'm taking this shackle from you—meditate, feed, fuck: I don't care what you do to relieve yourself but get the old Anadia Springfire back. I may not value "life" as I did once, but I accept my unlife, and I would see my debts repaid, and others repaid to me. You will NOT jeopardize that, wench."

Errog stomped off, leaving Anadia to catch her breath and collect her thoughts, but she could only listen as he departed. Her mind was blank aside from the clinking and clanging of his armor, though the vaguely cheerful rhythm was broken by the sound of a logy hitting the cobblestone path.

She wanted to enjoy the sensation of magic filling her body again, but she had come so far now and frankly, she was frightened to do it. Anadia had never gone this long without a fix and was beginning to doubt that if she allowed herself even a taste that she would stop at that. That was how all wretched were formed—abstinence and overindulgence. Her mind was beginning to slip as well. How could she ignore the rules of the duel, how could she hurt her only friend like that?

"I can't relapse now... but... I need help. I can't discover the proper meditations on my own."

She did not realize she was crying, but Firemane nuzzled into her jawline and licked a tear from the top of her cheek. Anadia pet the cat's head, his bright yellow eyes only distracting her momentarily as she returned his affection. Without Errog to assist her, there was only one other she could turn to now—and she was standing just feet away. Her appearance was as ghostly as it was timely, but the black and gold robes that bade ill for many, bore great hope for Anadia. She could only utter one word:

"Sister."

Staci Springfire was a name much too bright and bubbly for a woman so solemn and grim. A twin sister to Anadia, they were close rivals for many years of their life until the fateful morning, almost thirty years ago, when news had arrived of their parent's death. The trauma was the catalyst that turned the fractures and splinters of their sisterly bond to fissures and faults as they placed blame on one-another for their shared loss. While Anadia found a means of coping by pursuing her interest in archery and strengthening her bond with nature, Staci took a much darker path. In her youth, she was pious to an irritating degree, but in her grief and loss, the twin steered into the shadow. "It was as if she never left the funeral," Anadia thought time and time again. Staci draped herself in black even to this day, though her hair was dyed a light blonde to set herself apart further from her sister.

While they were estranged from one another in every sense of the word, Staci clearly thought Anadia pathetic enough to approach her. It hadn't been the first time in thirty years they had reconnected, and like before, Anadia assumed it would be to mock her, but the priestess merely extended a hand—and she took it. Though the sudden act of pity aroused suspicion, Anadia was in greater need of a friend than ever before, and her day took a pleasant turn from that moment on. A stroll through Eversong Woods elicited a great release of emotions from the hunter, who poured her woes and worries onto her twin. Staci was not unaware of her plight, as the signs of her efforts were apparent on Anadia's face, but hers remained a porcelain mask. The two women made their way toward the city.

The pearly walls and gold & crimson spires of Silvermoon ascended over the forest and cast a shadow upon the sisters. The sight of lush gardens and masterfully crafted statues of dancing maidens greeted them as they approached the entrance. Fresh flowers gave off a scent that reminded Anadia of simpler times—of friendships, of first experiences, summer love, and the tenuous bond she once shared with Staci. She took her hand almost reflexively, and though they exchanged a furtive glance, Staci somehow allowed it.

Aside from a few words and some gestures of understanding, Staci had done little but listen until this point, but as they sidestepped the overbearing and outdated statue of their fallen prince, Kael'thas, the priestess broke the rising tension by offering her a drink. "A few glasses will serve you well," she said in her usual reserved and polite tone. From within her robes, she withdrew a small, heavily jeweled purse (that Anadia thought was a tad gaudy) and unclasped the gold hooks. "My treat," she said with a gentle wink.

Anadia took a step back and folded her arms, becoming even more suspicious.

Staci tilted her head in response, playing dumb. Her blonde locks did not fool her sister in the least; Anadia knew she always had an ulterior motive to her actions.

"What's the occasion?" she asked with a hint of aggression. Anadia was aware she was inviting an argument, but was similarly aware that Staci enjoyed playing politics. Her sister wouldn't dare risk a conflict in public, and her sudden arrival was likely provoked by Anadia's antics and experiments with the high elves—not to mention the blood Zerik had shed in his rampage across Silvermoon.

Staci hesitated, clearly uncertain of how to handle the situation.

Anadia began tapping her foot against the dusty red sidewalk, knowing it would irritate her all the more. It didn't matter to her if the entire Walk of Elders would hear them fight—she demanded an answer.

"... We'll talk at the Wayfarer's Rest." Staci attempted to take her sister's hand, but she refused. "Please, Anadia, I wouldn't arrive out of the blue if it wasn't to your benefit as well."

"I see it in your eyes—you're keeping something from me! You... I can't believe I could be so foolish to have I told you everything that I did!" Anadia's voice dropped to a snake-like whisper. "What will the Sunreavers think of me when they discover I've been pursuing the teachings of the Quel'dorei?"

Staci folded her arms, a rare smile curling upon her lips. Anadia hated that smile. "You're right... What will they think?"

She froze. "... You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, for you? I would." Staci said, nodding softly. "But," she added before Anadia dare pounce at her, "... a drink or two might persuade me. The pleasure of your company and a few shared words is all I ask, sister."

The hunter narrowed her eyes further. She knew there was a greater agenda at hand, and reluctantly agreed, looking away. Staci concealed her purse again with a laugh.

"And you'll be paying."

Though it took a bottle of wine to loosen her tongue, Staci began to profess her intentions, but all Anadia heard were half-truths.

"The last thing I want to see is my own sister in shackles or in a prison cell," Staci said, "I've been searching for you since the rumors began; I want to help you." She placed a hand on her lap, and lifted the other into the air to call for another bottle. There were few other guests in the Silvermoon City Inn— and why would there be? Businesses in the city seemed to have things backwards. The Wayfarer's Rest had an excellent bar, but served no alcohol, while the Inn had a fair selection of spirits, but hardly any place to sit with a guest. The pinot noir arrived quickly none-the-less, and the twins were appreciative.

Anadia scoffed for a number of reasons, knowing that Staci cared more for her image and the credibility of her name than a relative's well-being, but was buzzed enough to play along.

"How can you help me? The duel is less than three-days-time, and... my thirst is beginning to overcome me. The changes were subtle at first; I'd be a little snippier than usual, a little less focused, but now... my hearing's begun to go, my sight is fading—"

"Don't be so melodramatic."

"I am NOT!" Anadia said, slamming her fist into the table. Staci's eyes were left wide and she hesitated to drink from her glass. The hunter breathed slowly and through her nose, exhaling with equal care. "You saw what happened today, didn't you?"

"... Yes," she replied, "But I also heard what he said before you shot him. You love Firemane; you would have fired upon anyone who dared talk about him that way."

"But it wasn't just anyone... it was Errog. He's my partner, my comrade, my friend!"

Staci pushed her nearly full glass away and rose from her chair. Placing her hands upon Anadia's shoulders, she administered a gentle massage to her sister, attempting to ease her through actions, rather than with words of little worth. It was working.

Another glass later, Anadia began to yield to her sister's opinions. "It's probably just the pressure—the stress. That's what's happening. It's deteriorating my body; I can't sleep more than five hours a night, my appetite is waning, I get cold sweats and..."

"It's just the pressure," Staci whispered down the slope of her ear, massaging deeper.

Another drink passed between the both of them, and they moved from the dinner table to a nearby couch, as the heady, flavorful smoke from a nearby hookah began to settle into Anadia's mind. The Inn was peacefully dim, with translucent purple drapes and crystalline blue lights that shimmered through them like stars amongst clouds. Her surroundings, in tandem with the wine in her system, put her in a state of ease she hadn't felt in weeks. She rested her head onto a pillow. Staci climbed up just behind her and settled into a half-spoon position, with an arm crossed over her sister's shoulder. Anadia began to question why the meditative practices she learned weren't working, and though an abundance of stress was the easy explanation to her problems, Staci offered a more compelling one to her sister.

"The Quel'dorei are our kin in shape and tongue only," she said. "Their methods are their own, and they will not work for us. We have been altered by our addiction, Anadia. We are anew."

Her words were well-reasoned and, deep down, Anadia knew them to be true, but it did not ease her disappointment any—or improve the situation. She was still woefully behind on training, and if relapse didn't end her, her opponents in the arena would. She reached down to the floor to pick up her drink and finished it sloppily; some of the wine trickling from her lips. She turned in annoyance, but before she could wipe it from her cheek, she felt another sensation upon the area. Staci was atop her—cleaning her. Small, rose-soft kisses dotted her skin, and Anadia felt her cheek flush.