Little Breaks (closed)

Shay

"Are you sure you're comfortable?" The young anchorite repeated the question she had asked at least twice already. They had become used to the strange travelers from the 'other world' by now, and it was hard to judge them too much when even their most traditionally tainted members were willing to stand against The Iron Horde and their Fel corruption. Still, these newest ones were especially odd. Not many of them came through, they weren't with the armies when they first came. These elves with twisted forms and burning eyes, they reeked of Fel, it scared the anchorite to be too near them.

"I'm fine," her guest repeated the answer she always gave, her hand twitching a few times and clenching into a tight fist. The Light hurt her. Not like a true demon, but enough. She was uncomfortable clearly, her muscles were straining, but she didn't seem to want to leave.

"Would you like some tea, at least? To steady your nerves?" The anchorite offered. Her guest nodded, slowly moving to a seat in the reception area of the temple. Karabor, the great temple-city of Draenor, was an inviting place, but only the outmost areas of the temple proper were open to guests. It didn't seem to bother the elf, though. She merely sat there as the anchorite brewed a quick tea.

"You said you lived here, in your world?" She asks as the water heats. "I did not think outsiders would be allowed to live here even there..."

The elf furrowed her brow in response, the glowing green of her eyes reducing to fainter orbs as she did so. "It was...complex. The wars and fighting and...everything. Your people did not hold it in my world."

"Oh," is all the anchorite said, nodding softly. "I hope it was a comfortable home regardless."

"Yea, it actually was, though now that I see how it used to be I understand how much of a shadow it is in my world..."

The anchorite chuckled softly at that. "We are taught that shadows and light are the same thing, viewed differently. I guess that's true even with places."

"Do you believe that? That there's no difference between shadows and light?"

"Oh we believe there are differences. Still, those differences don't make things different. If you shine a light on something you don't change it, right?"

"I suppose," the elf responded, still frowning softly. "But what if it does? I mean, am I not proof that things can be changed if they reject the light?"

"Rejection is...different I suppose," the anchorite said in a soft tone, taking a seat next to the elf and pouring the tea for them. "Rejection requires you to cut the light off. It can change you, yes. Still, it will only change what you allow it to. It can change your body, but it doesn't have to change you. Is that why you're here?"

The elf nodded, slowly taking her tea. "I think so. I just...I wanted to see this world, what the real Draenor could have been. We took so much from it, even after the legion ruined it..."

"I can't forgive you in proxy of the people of your world," the anchorite said as she raised the cup to her lips. "I can't absolve you of sins you yourself can't forgive."

"I didn't come for forgiveness."

"What did you come for?"

"Atonement?"

"I can't offer you that either."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" The elf's voice raised a bit, her cup came down rather harshly to the table again. "What am I supposed to do about this pit in my stomach? How do I fix it? Why do your people not hate us for what we did? How can you just sit and drink tea with a demon?"

"Are you a demon?"

"I'm...I don't even know any more. I'm not Kaldorei."

"But are you a demon?"

The elf paused at that, seeming to genuinely consider that.

"No," she finally answered. "I'm not. There's...cruelty the demons have...a joy in inflicting that pain on others. I don't have that."

"Then why should I not drink tea with you?"

"Because I slaughtered your people! My people, we took your most holy place, we abused your kind, we defiled this world in our quest for revenge! You were acceptable losses, we decided that without even asking!"

"Are you ashamed of that? Do you regret it? If you could change the past, would you?"

"Of course! We have to...we have to be better than the Legion. We can't just treat the world as being full of disposable pawns who get no say in their fate. We are NOT demons."

The anchorite nodded at that softly, running her finger gently around the rim of her cup as she listened. "Then what good would my hate do? What good would there be in declaring you my enemy, in driving you out of a place you come to in respect seeking answers and knowledge? My people, in my world and yours, have suffered greatly. There are foes we cannot forgive. The Orcs, the Legion, their allies. They did...horrible things to us, and they felt no shame, they feel no guilt, they have no desire to respect us now. We cannot dilute our righteous cause, water down our divine fury, by adding anyone who wronged us to that list. Yes I'm sure many in my people can't forgive yours, and that is their right, but if you come here asking if I personally hate you, or wish you harm, for the actions you did years ago in another world that you regret? No, I don't. The light and shadow must exist in equality, or the world will suffer for it. Just as in us we are made of both triumphs of goodness and sins. We cannot wipe one away for another, or we..." she paused at that, as if searching for words.

"We would not be mortals if we could do that," she finally settled on. "Mortals must be...complex. We are not the Titans, we are not the Naaru, we are not the Legion. We draw power from this depth. I call upon the Light well. I call it because I have seen darkness, I have FELT darkness, and that darkness has forged my light. Without that darkness I would not be the anchorite I am. I'm sure to a perfect being like a Naaru I am a flawed anchorite, but in those flaws I have strength. Is that not why your kind make such a great sacrifice? Why you choose to no longer be Kaldorei? Do you draw power from...this?"

The elf nodded along to that, breathing in a deep breath as if to steady herself. "We do, I do. Without this demon in me I couldn't fight the Legion as well as I do, I couldn't break their souls to keep them from returning."

"But the demon threatens to corrupt, yes? You must be stronger than it."

"Yes, we have to constantly do battle with our demons."

"You are forged in a great flame. A flame that scares many, but still, it is your flame. My darkness is my flame. We all must find a flame, that's the only way the Army of the Light can forge itself into a proper weapon against the infernal. A life without the flame would be easier, of course, but we would lack that strength."

"I've been dreaming a lot lately. About the life I left behind. The life I lost. If not for the legion I could have been happy I think. I could have settled down with my wife, just enjoyed life. I don't know if I can ever find that happiness I left behind in that war."

"I've felt the same way, many of us here have. Your people and mine share a history of blood and felfire."

"I think that's why I'm here, not just this temple but this Draenor. It feels like if anyone can understand this feeling it'd be your people."

The anchorite nodded to that. "You may not like our answers, though. We believe all things have a purpose in the Light. That happiness we lost...we believe it was a needed sacrifice, so that we could come to a higher purpose. That pain and hate fuel us to be greater warriors. I know it's hollow comfort, to tell you that your loss may mean something in the grand cosmic sense, but..."

She was cut off at that, whatever last bit she was planning simply fading away as the elf hugged her. Despite her guest's demonic form the hug was shockingly gentle, almost childish. The anchorite lightly patted her guest's back as she let her cling as long as she needed. "I can't promise you the best accommodations, but we keep a small cluster of huts and such near the temple grounds for pilgrims. I'm sure the elders would allow you to have one for your stay here. We may have different faiths but you are clearly as much a 'pilgrim' as any of us."

The elf nodded, breaking her hug. "I think that would work well. I need to do a lot of thinking and this seems to be a good place to stay."

Sprizi

The vast frozen north stretched out far beyond the small gnome's eyeline. Northrend, the great wild winter. It was an awe inspiring sight in many ways. Despite the Scourge's evil there was still a great primal power there. Winter, ice, snow, it all endured even the rot and cancer of plague. She admired it in many ways.

She was also incredibly cold.

"Shit, I thought this was summer," she grumbled as she pulled her heavy moose fur cloak around her frame.

"This is summer, little friend," the massive Tuskarr guide she brought with her said, a jovial smile on his tusked face. "You should see it in winter, that's when it really gets cold."

If her guide could feel the cold he certainly didn't show, dressed in a simple white cloth tunic and seal hide pants and boots he strode along the snowy path happily with her. Sprizi always liked the Tuskarr, friendly sort of folks, a welcome treat in such a heartless land. They had spent the morning drinking and laughing and swapping hunting stories, comparing weapons and traps and such, but now it was time to actually work, and they abandoned their warm fire and tent for the flurry around them.

"You know, my people lived UNDER the mountains," Sprizi replied, 'helpfully'. "Much more comfy down there near the magma."

"Mhm, for you perhaps, you are small, and just a bit plump," he teased in response, slapping his great belly at that. "I'd sweat myself to death there I do believe. Besides, if we were surrounded by magma, where would we fish?"

"Pretty sure there's some breed of magma fish I've seen..." Sprizi mused, smirking slightly.

"Mm, I actually would enjoy that," her companion admitted.

Their chatting came to an end when they reached their target, though. A massive trench dragged through the snow, followed by a small group of smaller ones...

"Jormungar," the Tuskarr with her said, nodding as if to confirm to himself. "Looks like a mother and a few babies, no bull. If you wanna catch one this is the group to follow. The mama will fight, probably have to take her down...I hope you're not gonna kill her..."

Sprizi shook her head, holding up her mechanical bow...well, more a cannon in the shape of a bow..."Loaded it up with tranq shells. I'm no poacher, ethics of snatchin babies aside I'm not here to kill a clutch of worms that did nothin to me."

He nodded approvingly at that. "'s why I like you, lil gal, respectful of the world around you. No offence but a rare trait in your folks."

She shrugged a bit. "Fair play. Most of my kin back home put progress above all. They're not CRUEL but yea, I imagine most would consider some worms a fair cost to expand their research. I don't judge, we all have different scientific methods."

"What are ya hopin to learn anyway?"

"Anything, really. Worms like these are so unique here, and there's been so little real study what with the undead and all. I'd like to see how they differ from other worms. Plus, not gonna lie, a bit selfish reasons too. They seem cool, I'd like a cool pet like that."

He smirks, nodding simply. "Fair, nothin wrong with wanting something nice for yourself."

The two walked along the trails for a good while, Sprizi eventually pulling out a small flask of a bright green berry juice, offering a pull to her companion as they moved. "Family recipe, drink up." She encouraged, though he needed very little goading to happily drink.

"Brewers aye? Interestin line of work."

"Distillers technically, liquors and spirits rather than beers and wine, different scientific properties. You'd be surprised how many take an interest in it, even a casual one. It's applied sciences in multiple ways, and the results are, hopefully, a tasty drink to enjoy."

"My village has a specialty of our own. Fermented seal blubber and some local spices."

"Is that what I was drinkin last night?"

"Mhm."

"That why I offered your sister a roll in the snow before we departed?"

"Well I like to think she's quite fetching by our people's standards, but yea probably why she caught the eye of a more traditionally minded visitor."

"She take me up on that?"

"I think she said to ask again when you get back. The women of my tribe like successful hunters."

"Careful buddy, I may just pursue that further when we catch one of these."

They made camp after a bit more hiking, the flurries getting too strong to safely travel. Sprizi was able to provide an expanding makeshift wall from one of her devices to shield their fire from the blowing wind and provide some cover for the tent.

"You're a rather libertine gnome, aren't ya?" The Tuskarr offers as Sprizi sets up her cooking gear to heat some of the rations up.

"I like to think so."

"Is that unique among your people?"

"Eh, most of us aren't prudes. Illogical and all that. Silly to pretend to be some chaste nun if you're not one, right? Still I guess I'm more vocal than many."

"Any reason why?" He asked as he dropped some fish into the heated pan.

Sprizi simply shrugged in her answer. "I suppose I always was that way. At first I guess it was a bit of rebellion. Like I said my people don't tend to the prudish but still, revealing you're a gal who fancies gals is a little surprising. Guess it started as a self-defense thing, you know? Anyone who took issue with me was just too uptight."

He just chuckled, nodding along. "My people are similar. Bigotry is something to scorn, of course, but when I told my parents I had no issue in a bride it raised a brow or two.

She raised her flask to that as if to toast the air. "Exactly, so you get it. You spend so long bottlin it up you just kinda wanna grab someone by the collar and shout "YOU'RE SO PRETTY YOU WANNA GO TO MY PLACE?" I like to think I'm a bit more charming than that though," she teased.

"Certainly a fine hunting companion at least," he responded, flipping the fish over in the pan.

"I do try. We're gonna be on this hunt at least a few days, might as well be buddies, right?"

He smiled, nodding happily. "Exactly, hunting is as social an activity as it is a needed one. Speaking of, got a girl back home waiting on you to get back?"

Sprizi frowned a little at the sudden change, shaking her head softly. "Nah. Had one but...nah."

"Oh?" He asked. "Well not to pry but what happened?"

"She's...gone. Plane crash, very sudden."

"I'm sorry," he said, genuinely sounding like it too as he rested a hand on Sprizi's. 

"Yea, it was...rough. Work helps, though. Nice to get out in the wild and have  some time with your thoughts."

"My people believe it's only in the tundra or on the icy water that you can find your true self. The spirits of nature will guide you to the truth, even if it's a truth you don't want."

Sprizi smirked. "Mhm, nature can be an asshole like that. Still, rather an honest asshole..."

She looked out at that past the wall, the great white wilds waiting for her. In the distance she could see mountains, and there were shapes in the flurry, trees and beasts and such. She was a guest here, this was their home, but she was determined to handle that obstacle like she had handled every other one. Stubbornly, with friends, and hopefully a little drunk...

Cyriette

The large house had been cleaned from floor to roof, and decorated with brightly colored streamers and designs, clearly all meant to impress its guests. Gilneas may be fallen at the moment, but its people refused to allow it to fade to obscurity. The best way for a nation to survive, even in exile, is if its people keep its traditions. One such tradition, at least in one part of the nation, was the tradition of throwing a ball to celebrate Midsummer. In time these celebrations became important, remnants of home to cling to. One such important celebration is this one, held at the temporary estate of Lady Mistford, one of the many nobles in exile of the fallen nation. The guest list was as one would expect for a ball thrown by a lady, other minor nobility, influential people, a few higher lords and ladies slumming it to add some prestige to the affair. There was one guest that tradition dictated had to be there, regardless of opinions of the host, though...

Cyriette was a bit younger than many of the guests, a bit shorter too even compared to the few around her age. Still, she carried herself with confidence despite her only semi-welcome status. Tradition said that a Midsummer ball would surely result in woe and loss if it lacked a proper Harvest Witch, and with the great scattering of Gilneas' children those are harder and harder to find. Luckily for Lady Mistford she knew one from before the wall broke. To call her the 'black sheep' of the Ashfort family would be a very generous thing. Cyriette was, until recently, an unknown member of the house. There were rumors, sure, but no one actually confirmed them until after the invasion, when she was the last of the line left. The child of her father and an affair with a Harvest Witch, she spent most of her life as a maid in the family estate rather than a proper daughter. Still, desperate times called for desperate matters, and while some things were embarrassing, nothing was more shameful than turning your back on the traditions of home.

"Lady Ashfort, so glad you could make it," Lady Mistford greeted her guest happily, moving to give the girl a far too friendly hug to be genuine.

"It'd be a shame to miss a nice party, wouldn't it?" Cyriette responded, pretending not to notice how insincere her host was, just as the older noble didn't let her eyes linger on the dirt caked under her guest's ruby painted fingernails. There was a time and place for such observations, typically behind the others' back.

"Well it wouldn't be a Midsummer festival without you, would it? Some friends of mine were hoping you'd be so kind as to bless the refreshments actually? The cooks have been hard at work using only the freshest materials of course." She guided Cyriette though the ballroom as she spoke, making sure to pass as many guests as she could to not subtly display her authentic guest to her friends...

The table was, rather annoyingly, expertly crafted. Tiered serving trays of sweets, fresh vegetable salads, roasted venison, a wide choice of fruit juices and liquors. It was pretty much the perfect traditional spread...For a moment as she raised her hand Cy went through the hexes she knew. Nothing lethal, or that disgusting, but she could turn the food quick enough, or summon insects to be drawn to the fresh greens, even warp and rot the wood of the table itself...It would feel good, satisfying to embarrass the noble that was parading her around like a fresh caught fish, who made a point to never speak to her unless she needed a favor like this...Still, it wouldn't actually DO anything. Everyone here already expected her to be some mad, foul, witch fresh from a hovel in the woods. As she chanted in the old tongue to deliver a generic blessing to keep the food from spoiling she remembered her mother's words when she was small and first was sent to live with her father.

"They won't much like you," the old woman had told her rather bluntly as she tied the bear fur cloak around her shoulders. "You represent a lot they don't like. Not your fault, but it's how it is. A wild thing from the woods, a reminder of their father's weakness, it'll be hard for you to fit in, if ya ever do at all. Still, you can't let em change ya. You can't bend and break to accommodate folks who don't like you. You're you, they're them, we're all us. I promise ya one day you'll find yourself among friends though. You just need to trust in nature, and trust in your mother."

Cy smirked a bit as she finished, looking down at the table of undisturbed food. She was right. If she had decided to give in to what they expected she'd be betraying herself, and her family, too much. Her hand went up to fondle the shiny gold signet ring on her hand. The symbol of the Ashfort family was a rose flanked by two diamonds, the diamonds represented the twin founders of the house, brother and sister who rose up from peasantry together. The brother was a farmer who was able to turn a simple plot of dirt and some luck into a powerful name, the sister was a witch herself, always said to be key in her brother's success from the shadows. That was the Ashfort legacy, the bright and shiny story, the plucky and inspiring heroes, and the witches and other undesirable types in the shadows, simply smiling and looking pretty as their work supported the family in silence.

By the time Cy turned around her host had already left, no doubt to go tell all her friends that they simply HAD to get the food now that it had been blessed. She decided to make herself scarce before that, sticking around in that situation was how a witch could get roped into blessing planter's warts and predicting the genders of babies and all manner of other absolute wastes of time...She ducked away from the table, gliding through the crowd to put some distance before a hand stopped her, resting on her shoulder lightly.

"Care for a drink, Lady?" A feminine voice asked with an audible smile, a much more genuine one than Cy had been experiencing lately.

"Oh I'm fine," she answered, turning to face a girl about her age, of sleight build like her, with rather round, mousy, features accented with a rather loose head of bright red hair. "Zenny!" She quickly corrected herself, pulling the girl into a happy hug.

"Took ya long enough to find me," she teased, sticking her tongue out as the hug broke, reaching up the bottom of her dress quickly to pull a flask from a hidden holster. Zenevieva, like Cyriette, was a traditional name, but much like her friend she liked a much shorter and easier to say version of it.

"Didn't expect ya to be here," Cy responded, snatching the flask and taking a happy swig before handing it back. "Your dad get an invite?"

Zen nodded simply as she took her own drink. "Mhm. Desperate times, back before the war dad couldn't get invited to these shindigs to save his life, no one cares about a little baron with a little fishing town I guess. "Now, hey, can't have an empty ballroom can ya?"

Cy just chuckled, nodding to that. "Glad the destruction of our people at least had some social benefits for the wretches like us, hm?" She smirked a bit as their host clacked a fork against her wine glass to draw the crowd's attention.

"I hope you're all enjoying the ball," she said with her best faux-welcoming smile on her lips, raising her glass over her head. "I just wanted to be sure that the disposed from our homeland could still enjoy the festivities of home. Charity to our kin, after all, is what makes our people great."

Cy rolled her eyes, her friend simply giggling faintly. "That why the guest list doesn't have anyone who didn't have at least a few servants to wipe their ass on it?" She mumbled under her breath, Zen lightly prodding her to keep that thought from carrying on.

"So raise a toast, to our home, our history," Mistford continued, unaware of the commentary, "and to our king! Long may the wolf stand vigil over his lands!"

That time Cy couldn't be contained, a loud snort of laughter coming from her as Zen desperately tried to quiet her...

Thankfully, aside from some dirty looks, the interruption ended quick enough without issue, mainly thanks to Zen dragging her laughing friend away from the main crowd to linger along a far wall...

"Is that a thing we say now?" Cy finally asked, still smirking faintly. "The wolf thing, we say that now, or was that just her trying to be poetic?"

"I don't know," Zen said, shaking her head. "Ever since the fall folks have pretty much flocked to the loyalists, it's very gauche to remain opposed to the royal family these days," she said as she handed the flask to her friend again.

"Mhm," was all Cy said before she downed some more of the drink. "I forgot we're to just forget that his damn wall is what got most of us infected to begin with...Now he's 'the wolf' who looks after all of us. Must be nice to be powerful enough to rewrite history..."

"I imagine it is," is all the redhead said, taking the flask back. "Regardless, neither of us are that powerful, so maybe don't actively cackle like a madwoman when someone toasts the man who, regardless, IS the ruler in exile of our home."

Cy clearly had more to add, but she remained quiet for friendship's sake. Some people were worth obeying rules of decorum for. "How's your dad, don't see him in the crowd."

"He's fine," Zen said with a soft smile, glad to talk about other things. "I'm here with his well wishes for the host, pissed her right off but couldn't be helped. He's up in the wetlands making some deal with locals there to try to rebuild his fishing business. Can't live off the little savings we could pull with us forever after all."

Cy nodded to that. "Good on him, that's what we should all be up to, rebuilding."

"What about you? Speaking of not expecting someone to be here, shocked you accepted Misty's invite..."

"Eh, someone had to. As fun as it'd be to drive her nuts by ditching last minute or something this IS part of what a Harvest Witch should do. Oh, speaking," Cy reached down to the small handbag she had slung over her shoulder, opening it and removing a pair of small glass bottles with a shiny black tar like liquid inside. "Heat these up over the stove for thirty minutes to loosen em up, then you and your dad drink up. This should help keep the...urges...calmer."

Zen blushed softly as she took the bottles, but smiled. "Thank you. I don't know how you do it. I can go...months even without ever shifting but still wind up with these overwhelming desires to just...run outside and bite a rabbit's neck open or something..." She shook her head, clearly disguised by the image.

"Secret is to give into those urges every so often," Cy winks playfully. "Feed the wolf from time to time and she's a lot calmer overall."

Zen frowned, shaking her head. "Not all of us are as...comfortable with that, Cy."

"I know, I know," she assured her friend, resting a hand on the girl's arm. "That's why Harvest Witches exist, dear," she says with a soft smile. "You'll need another dose at winter, round yuletime."

"Oh, will it be a bother to deliver it then?"

"Nah," Cy smirked faintly, looking out at the small gathering that was milling around, happily gossiping and chatting. The world outside was at war, their homes burned, their families fell to plague or worse, they fell to the very people in the room who couldn't control themselves in time...As much as Cy hated these parts of nobility she did respect the need for them. It was nice to get away from those thoughts, the growling of the wolf in the back of your mind. As frivolous as these were, they did have SOME purpose..."I'm sure we'll run into each other at plenty of parties and such anyway..."

Zen laughed softly, nodding. "Want me to go pass around that you're the witch? Most of these folks don't know your face well enough...Course you'll be swarmed probably, I know you hate that stuff but..."

Cy just held her hand up, motioning for the flask one more time. "Yea, we all have jobs, can't ignore mine just because it's annoying. Go on and drop that you're best friends with the witch, sure they'll get a kick out of that," she teases, nudging Zen faintly.

"Hey, we all have to do our jobs, oh wise crone..." She shuffled quickly into the crowd at that, giggling, making sure to get deep enough that Cy couldn't throw her own flask at her at that...