Blackfathom Deeps
Amarthiel crept through the dripping caverns beneath the Ashenvale beach, concentrating on each step. It wasn't enough to be quiet, she reminded herself; you had to move slowly but surely, one step after the other, avoiding the drifting gazes of the naga and satyr that wandered so close, from time to time, that she feared alerting them to her presence by brushing against them. She reminded herself to exhale, keeping the rythm of her breath even, letting it fade into quiet background noise... Holding your breath wasn't helpful, but it was the natural nervous response.
Part of her wanted to take the quick way out- she was well-trained and strong; she could, in her normal guise, take them all down without stopping for breath. And the world'd be better off for it, she thought, pausing as one of the demons' eyes passed over her.
But... well... She needed the practice in subtlety.. and who knew if these cheap daggers would hold, if she tried them against the monstrous creatures here. Besides, she'd come down here with a number of Horde women; two of the Blood Elves, two of the dead, and she didn't know where they'd gotten to. Her disguise had served her well, in their company, and there was no reason to jeopardize that because of impatience.
Their battle with the manifestation of the Old God summoned by the Twilight's Hammer had gone, all in all, quite well. Amarthiel doubted they'd made a real difference- the Adept they'd slain might have been the head of this chapter of the cult, but those who sold their souls to such primal forces were rarely that easy to exterminate. And the enormous hydra they'd slain had been but the barest sliver of the goddess' power; just an avatar.
As she slid along a wall, keeping her eyes on the nearby serpent priestess, the "rogue" mused on just how lucky they'd been that she was more than they'd seemed. As they crept through the cavern towards the great hydra, the five had been carefully dispatching huge, angry turtles. However, they ventured too close, and suddenly the goddess was upon them. The sin'dorei Paladin fell quickly, and the hydra's heads whipped around to face the dead priestess.
Training took over; Amarthiel surrendered to instinct and changed her stance, bracing herself to withstand the blows. Throwing her head back she roared defiantly at the beast, challenging it to take its attention from the priestess. Yelling, to keep its attention on her, the woman did her best to cut the beast down quickly, oblivious to the uncomfortable sensation of the Light being channeled, made all the more unusual by the fact that one of the plague-dead wielded it. Slowly but surely it weakened, bleeding freely from knife-wounds and arcane burns. Amarthiel renewed her efforts, and the beast soon fell. The mage and warlock sat down to recover from their mental exertions; the other Forsaken knelt beside the paladin's fallen form to pray for her soul's return. The "orc" walked off a ways, concerned that letting her training show might raise questions she couldn't answer.
She feigned a worse reaction to the hydra's venom than she felt, sitting on a moss-slick stone while the others recovered. At length the priestess wandered over; Amarthiel glanced up.
"Good work, Amar," she said, with a pale-lipped grin. The mercenary returned the expression, though her red mask concealed the curl of lips around carved-bone fangs.
A satyr stirred as she crept by, and Amarthiel froze, abandoning her reminiscence. The demon shook its head, and she crept off quickly, attention firmly planted in the moment. Still, she couldn't help but smile... it was fortunate, how her dual training worked out.
Part of her wanted to take the quick way out- she was well-trained and strong; she could, in her normal guise, take them all down without stopping for breath. And the world'd be better off for it, she thought, pausing as one of the demons' eyes passed over her.
But... well... She needed the practice in subtlety.. and who knew if these cheap daggers would hold, if she tried them against the monstrous creatures here. Besides, she'd come down here with a number of Horde women; two of the Blood Elves, two of the dead, and she didn't know where they'd gotten to. Her disguise had served her well, in their company, and there was no reason to jeopardize that because of impatience.
Their battle with the manifestation of the Old God summoned by the Twilight's Hammer had gone, all in all, quite well. Amarthiel doubted they'd made a real difference- the Adept they'd slain might have been the head of this chapter of the cult, but those who sold their souls to such primal forces were rarely that easy to exterminate. And the enormous hydra they'd slain had been but the barest sliver of the goddess' power; just an avatar.
As she slid along a wall, keeping her eyes on the nearby serpent priestess, the "rogue" mused on just how lucky they'd been that she was more than they'd seemed. As they crept through the cavern towards the great hydra, the five had been carefully dispatching huge, angry turtles. However, they ventured too close, and suddenly the goddess was upon them. The sin'dorei Paladin fell quickly, and the hydra's heads whipped around to face the dead priestess.
Training took over; Amarthiel surrendered to instinct and changed her stance, bracing herself to withstand the blows. Throwing her head back she roared defiantly at the beast, challenging it to take its attention from the priestess. Yelling, to keep its attention on her, the woman did her best to cut the beast down quickly, oblivious to the uncomfortable sensation of the Light being channeled, made all the more unusual by the fact that one of the plague-dead wielded it. Slowly but surely it weakened, bleeding freely from knife-wounds and arcane burns. Amarthiel renewed her efforts, and the beast soon fell. The mage and warlock sat down to recover from their mental exertions; the other Forsaken knelt beside the paladin's fallen form to pray for her soul's return. The "orc" walked off a ways, concerned that letting her training show might raise questions she couldn't answer.
She feigned a worse reaction to the hydra's venom than she felt, sitting on a moss-slick stone while the others recovered. At length the priestess wandered over; Amarthiel glanced up.
"Good work, Amar," she said, with a pale-lipped grin. The mercenary returned the expression, though her red mask concealed the curl of lips around carved-bone fangs.
A satyr stirred as she crept by, and Amarthiel froze, abandoning her reminiscence. The demon shook its head, and she crept off quickly, attention firmly planted in the moment. Still, she couldn't help but smile... it was fortunate, how her dual training worked out.