Too Alike Each Other
Raoul folded shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped away from the grave. It was taller than he was, but it was a complete lie.
He spat at the ground and shivered in the cold of the night as a wind swept through Stormwind's graveyard. Or maybe he was shivering with rage. He didn't know. It wasn't something he was going to spend too much time thinking about.
Honestly, he didn't want to be thinking at all.
He came to the city to talk to his father. He needed guidance and he needed it fast. But there really was no way his pride would let him get all the way down to the Harbor where is father was probably sleeping. Before Raoul had even seen the Tidecutter, let alone her captain or his father, he'd turned right back around.
There was no pleasant way to explain his fiancee was sleeping with another man. Nor was there was a proud way to proclaim how he had given her permission to as long as she didn't leave. That was just pathetic. He couldn't tell his father that. And hey- he didn't want to think about this anyway, remember? Just imagine how much he'd have to think about it if he told somebody! Out of the question.
Before he could change his mind or retrace his footsteps, he got the tingling sensation that there was someone behind him.
Well. He was right.
His unfortunate decision to turn around merely left him face to face with the person he hated more than anything right now. A monstrous worgen- weren't they all monstrous?- with tan fur and glowing eyes. Raoul didn't recognize the white and gold paint on the beast's muzzle, nor did he recognize the leather armor, but he knew that predatory smirk. It was the one that showed too many teeth and had a lip tic which made it look more like a snarl.
Before their eyes actually met, Raoul had freed his right hand from its pocket and launched a blast of arcane energy from his palm. He wasn't going to waste any time with this one.
Sangrey.
The very person that was supposed to buried there. The very man that had resurfaced months later to help the woman, Raoul's woman, recover from the torture Sangrey himself had subjected her to. And now she and Sangrey were sleeping together. Luck was not on Raoul's side.
Sadly, tonight was no different.
Though his arcane barrage had struck home, it did little more than sizzle on the worgen's heavy armor. Even more unfortunately, Sangrey lifted a crossbow and fired before Raoul could do anything else. Perhaps his saving grace was that it was not a bolt fired, but rather a clever choking wire device. It wrapped around the mage's throat and brought him to his knees.
He could barely breathe let alone cast another spell.
And what was he without his magic? Nothing, Sherry Whitefeather would have said. You are nothing without your magic. Never surrender it.
One palm was braced against the ground and the other hand dug fingers beneath the tight wire. He struggled to pry it down, rip it off, even unwind it, all while he coughed and choked. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic-
"Pathetic." Sangrey crouched down and snorted in the mage's face. His voice was gravelly and deep, a characteristic of his kind, but it held an air of mockery that surely few others could match. "I spent my entire life trying to be a mage- you really think I would wouldn't be prepared to fight one? You really think I couldn't disarm one?"
Raoul lifted his eyes at the taunting. Rather than just supporting him, his fingers in the ground began to curl inward to make a fist. He didn't need his bloody magic. He got into fights all the time. Sure, Sangrey was a worgen now, but could that really make up for years of experience? Quickly Raoul shifted his weight from his hand to his knees and sent his fist flying right at the smug snout.
It met a clawed hand instead. One with a strength beyond him and talons long enough and sharp enough to tear into Raoul's arm just from closing around his hand. Sangrey took hold of the fist easily and forced it back with seeming ease. His toothy grin widened as much as Raoul felt like his own throat was tightening closed.
Apparently years of experience didn't mean that much when the Curse was involved. No wonder Gilneas had been overrun.
Sangrey didn't stop at bending the mage's fist and arm back painfully though. Once he'd heard the satisfying sprain of bones and muscles, he leaned in close and licked Raoul's face with a forked tongue.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. She really likes you, and a gentleman never deprives his lady of her pleasures. I am a gentleman, you know."
Unable to even spit in the worgen's face, Raoul was doing all he could not to look pathetic as he was choking. He certainly didn't stay quiet for lack of opinions. Sangrey lifted him up by the vest and pinned him to the tall grave marker. Sandwiched between a marble lie and fleshy truth, Raoul almost registered the humor there, but it didn't quite sink. He was too busy drawing up his leg and trying to kick the worgen in the chest.
Not very effective.
In fact, it only made Sangrey laugh that guttural laugh, that infuriating guffaw that made Raoul's blood boil whenever he heard it.
"You know I didn't care too much for it when you were punching me repeatedly in the face last time. Do you remember that? It felt very similar to this." To emphasize his last few words, Sangrey jerked the mage forward and slammed him back so that his head struck the marble each time. After the fifth time or so, Raoul was too dizzy to feel the blood in his hair.
Sangrey wasn't done with him yet anyway.
"But I forgive you," the worgen hissed in mock-softness. "I forgive you because I know she'll be done with you one day. You'll turn the cold shoulder too often, eye one too many women, or simply cease to be a charming and novel thing in her bedroom." Thick worgen saliva was spit in Raoul's face, but really that was the least of his worries. Both hands now worked to free himself from the wire, to no avail.
"So let's put the past behind us, shall we? You serve her your way, I'll serve her mine. Save her the grief of having to make a choice while you still mean something to her." He let Raoul go then, chuckling a bit as the mage first crumpled and then struggled to get back on his knees. Raoul had pulled the wire far enough that he could actually say something if his breath would just return.
But Sangrey was already walking away, crossbow over shoulder and victory in his step.
"Oh! And Raoul-" Sangrey paused and half-twisted. He winked at the mage who couldn't even focus enough to look back. "Thanks for keeping her warm while I was gone. I could really tell."
"You son of a bitch!" At last that had forced a voice through Raoul's burning throat. He hastily scrambled to his feet with another another magic blast. It only met the same fate as the arcane barrage from before, sizzling out against Sangrey's back before he disappeared behind the dark rows of graves.
He left Raoul there to collapse back to the ground in frustration and lack of breath. After a few more minutes, the wire finally let go on its own accord. A timer, maybe.
But Raoul stayed there even once it was off. Shame mostly. He didn't lose fights often and Sangrey's words and implications cut a lot deeper than anything the worgen might have actually done. For hours he lay there trying to think and realizing he still didn't want to. He stayed until morning broke, when he decided this particular defeat didn't matter because no one would ever know.
Sangrey wasn't likely to tell, no one had seen, and Raoul certainly wasn't going to admit that any fight could be so one-sided. No one would know. No one could judge. So what did it matter, really?
He spat at the ground and shivered in the cold of the night as a wind swept through Stormwind's graveyard. Or maybe he was shivering with rage. He didn't know. It wasn't something he was going to spend too much time thinking about.
Honestly, he didn't want to be thinking at all.
He came to the city to talk to his father. He needed guidance and he needed it fast. But there really was no way his pride would let him get all the way down to the Harbor where is father was probably sleeping. Before Raoul had even seen the Tidecutter, let alone her captain or his father, he'd turned right back around.
There was no pleasant way to explain his fiancee was sleeping with another man. Nor was there was a proud way to proclaim how he had given her permission to as long as she didn't leave. That was just pathetic. He couldn't tell his father that. And hey- he didn't want to think about this anyway, remember? Just imagine how much he'd have to think about it if he told somebody! Out of the question.
Before he could change his mind or retrace his footsteps, he got the tingling sensation that there was someone behind him.
Well. He was right.
His unfortunate decision to turn around merely left him face to face with the person he hated more than anything right now. A monstrous worgen- weren't they all monstrous?- with tan fur and glowing eyes. Raoul didn't recognize the white and gold paint on the beast's muzzle, nor did he recognize the leather armor, but he knew that predatory smirk. It was the one that showed too many teeth and had a lip tic which made it look more like a snarl.
Before their eyes actually met, Raoul had freed his right hand from its pocket and launched a blast of arcane energy from his palm. He wasn't going to waste any time with this one.
Sangrey.
The very person that was supposed to buried there. The very man that had resurfaced months later to help the woman, Raoul's woman, recover from the torture Sangrey himself had subjected her to. And now she and Sangrey were sleeping together. Luck was not on Raoul's side.
Sadly, tonight was no different.
Though his arcane barrage had struck home, it did little more than sizzle on the worgen's heavy armor. Even more unfortunately, Sangrey lifted a crossbow and fired before Raoul could do anything else. Perhaps his saving grace was that it was not a bolt fired, but rather a clever choking wire device. It wrapped around the mage's throat and brought him to his knees.
He could barely breathe let alone cast another spell.
And what was he without his magic? Nothing, Sherry Whitefeather would have said. You are nothing without your magic. Never surrender it.
One palm was braced against the ground and the other hand dug fingers beneath the tight wire. He struggled to pry it down, rip it off, even unwind it, all while he coughed and choked. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic-
"Pathetic." Sangrey crouched down and snorted in the mage's face. His voice was gravelly and deep, a characteristic of his kind, but it held an air of mockery that surely few others could match. "I spent my entire life trying to be a mage- you really think I would wouldn't be prepared to fight one? You really think I couldn't disarm one?"
Raoul lifted his eyes at the taunting. Rather than just supporting him, his fingers in the ground began to curl inward to make a fist. He didn't need his bloody magic. He got into fights all the time. Sure, Sangrey was a worgen now, but could that really make up for years of experience? Quickly Raoul shifted his weight from his hand to his knees and sent his fist flying right at the smug snout.
It met a clawed hand instead. One with a strength beyond him and talons long enough and sharp enough to tear into Raoul's arm just from closing around his hand. Sangrey took hold of the fist easily and forced it back with seeming ease. His toothy grin widened as much as Raoul felt like his own throat was tightening closed.
Apparently years of experience didn't mean that much when the Curse was involved. No wonder Gilneas had been overrun.
Sangrey didn't stop at bending the mage's fist and arm back painfully though. Once he'd heard the satisfying sprain of bones and muscles, he leaned in close and licked Raoul's face with a forked tongue.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. She really likes you, and a gentleman never deprives his lady of her pleasures. I am a gentleman, you know."
Unable to even spit in the worgen's face, Raoul was doing all he could not to look pathetic as he was choking. He certainly didn't stay quiet for lack of opinions. Sangrey lifted him up by the vest and pinned him to the tall grave marker. Sandwiched between a marble lie and fleshy truth, Raoul almost registered the humor there, but it didn't quite sink. He was too busy drawing up his leg and trying to kick the worgen in the chest.
Not very effective.
In fact, it only made Sangrey laugh that guttural laugh, that infuriating guffaw that made Raoul's blood boil whenever he heard it.
"You know I didn't care too much for it when you were punching me repeatedly in the face last time. Do you remember that? It felt very similar to this." To emphasize his last few words, Sangrey jerked the mage forward and slammed him back so that his head struck the marble each time. After the fifth time or so, Raoul was too dizzy to feel the blood in his hair.
Sangrey wasn't done with him yet anyway.
"But I forgive you," the worgen hissed in mock-softness. "I forgive you because I know she'll be done with you one day. You'll turn the cold shoulder too often, eye one too many women, or simply cease to be a charming and novel thing in her bedroom." Thick worgen saliva was spit in Raoul's face, but really that was the least of his worries. Both hands now worked to free himself from the wire, to no avail.
"So let's put the past behind us, shall we? You serve her your way, I'll serve her mine. Save her the grief of having to make a choice while you still mean something to her." He let Raoul go then, chuckling a bit as the mage first crumpled and then struggled to get back on his knees. Raoul had pulled the wire far enough that he could actually say something if his breath would just return.
But Sangrey was already walking away, crossbow over shoulder and victory in his step.
"Oh! And Raoul-" Sangrey paused and half-twisted. He winked at the mage who couldn't even focus enough to look back. "Thanks for keeping her warm while I was gone. I could really tell."
"You son of a bitch!" At last that had forced a voice through Raoul's burning throat. He hastily scrambled to his feet with another another magic blast. It only met the same fate as the arcane barrage from before, sizzling out against Sangrey's back before he disappeared behind the dark rows of graves.
He left Raoul there to collapse back to the ground in frustration and lack of breath. After a few more minutes, the wire finally let go on its own accord. A timer, maybe.
But Raoul stayed there even once it was off. Shame mostly. He didn't lose fights often and Sangrey's words and implications cut a lot deeper than anything the worgen might have actually done. For hours he lay there trying to think and realizing he still didn't want to. He stayed until morning broke, when he decided this particular defeat didn't matter because no one would ever know.
Sangrey wasn't likely to tell, no one had seen, and Raoul certainly wasn't going to admit that any fight could be so one-sided. No one would know. No one could judge. So what did it matter, really?