A carefully wrapped present addressed to Grogkor with a bloody note. by Anaie

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Acherontia

Acherontia was watching Ishiki carefully, commiting his instruction to memory as she and twenty-four of her comrades stood deep within Hellfire Citadel, dwarfed by Magtheridon's draconic bulk. She shifted uncomfortably as the wash of feeling continued to crawl over her skin - every time Pugg used that damn wand on her, it transformed her decaying corpse into the body and garb of a human woman...and humans, with their perfect, supple flesh and undeadened senses, could feel so much more than Acherontia ever would again.

And always at these inappropriate times, she thought with a glance at the mischevious priest.

Skumm's voice interrupted her concentration as it broke the silence that had fallen over the hearthstone. Ishiki did not falter in his instruction, and before Grogkor could respond, she had fished her stone from the pocket of her robes and spoke, her normally ragged voice sounding fair and alien while under the guise of the costume.

"Not now, Skumm." Or ever, if I could have my way. This bickering has to stop.

The rogue either misunderstood or ignored her words. "Not now. But soon." Skumm did not speak again, though, and the warlock crammed her stone back into her pocket and gripped her staff tightly, preparing for battle.

[Keeper Of Lore]

Skumm purposely twisted Acherontia's words back into the stone, to emphasize the threat. "Aye, not now. But soon."

He then volunteered his services in the battle for Arathi Basin. Wherever there was a hunter, there also was Skumm - his daggers prying apart their spines, one vertebre at a time. He left their pets a few paces behind them, gutted and skinless.

During a lull in the battle, his gory fingers reached for the stone. "Lascivious, I hope ye don't mind if I cut off Grogkor's face."

"I do mind," she answered.

"Ye ask a lot of yer Hand. Te tell him not to go after one who's harmed Grim."

"Did I say there would be no retribution?"

"Nay, ye didn't. Then I leave me trust in ye then, te make sure it be swift, and it be cruel. All I ask is ye have me do the dirty work when the time comes."

"You have my word, Skumm." she answered.

Skumm grinned, then threw a dagger into the throat of an approaching dwarf.

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Mogok

"What's all the fuss?" Mogok thought to himself.

"What the hell is going on back on Kalimdor?" This time he spoke, softly.

Many thoughts raced through Mogok's thick skull. He tried not to let it distract him. He fought bravely to defend Grom'gol as a band of Night Elves attacked. So many thoughts. After the battle had subsided, Mogok took a wyvern to Stonard. Once arriving in Stonard, he began pacing back and forth. He could hear Cessily's cries of terror.

"I guess someone finally got tired of all her talking." He said slowly.

Mogok made his way to the inn.

"Heh."

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Grokor

[ -Time: Morning after first attack.]

The Orc slowly moved free of his resting place within Nagrand - lifting Legacy
free of the tomb while his neck twisted to the side, releaving a few cracks with a
grunt. The Orcs eyes shifted over the ground, snorting to clear his nose before a
deep breath was taken in of the air. A shift of his gaze, morning sun glinting down
upon his brow, then a click of his tongue called his mount down from the skys.
Moments would pass from the ride of his 'home' to the city of Shattrath, and quickly
still would be the walk into the bank. A few humans were shoved to the side
before Grogkor heared the twisted voice call his name. The Orcs attention moved
to the goblin and the package in his hands; this sight caused a small grin to pull
over his cracked lips before reaching out to take it into his grasp. There was no
need to open it, a quick smell allowed him to know what was within.


The scent, was not what he expected and would bring a quick snarl free of his
throat. Quickly the box was given to the Aldor banker, to be locked within the vault
under Grogkor's name. The Orc would push himself free of the bank, holding no
regard for those that sat in his path, to the ground they would be shoved if they
dared not move... in the case of a Tauren however, the Orc would change his path
out of respect for the race. His mind was working over the conversation he had
spoken with Anaie, and what was instead brought to him. "....wait..... Grog...." A
small roll of laughter moved from behind the words. "....Dat good, luv... Dat,
good." It had finally dawned on him, what the Elf had lost with the removal of the
ears. Such a punishment, was one that Grog wished to see, in person.


[All good Drinn - no worries.]]

[Keeper Of Lore]

"I have other business to attend to though I do wish to meet with you again, with Cessily. Now I must speak with Skumm." Lascivious was ended their meeting. "In private."

Drinn nodded as she stood and wiped her dirty, bloody hands on her legs.

Skumm gave her a look. It was comforting. The two had grown close enough that sometimes they didn't even need to share words. She smiled lightly and replaced her mask before heading back to Camp Mojache. She spent the rest of the evening in the frozen wilds of Winterspring. Training would take her mind off everything and allow her something she needed, numbness.

---

The sun broke over the trees of the forest and cast it's self violently against the snow. Drinn squinted her eyes, tired. It was time to head back to town. Resupply. Perhaps rest.

Upon returning to the shabby inn at Everlook there was a folded piece of paper left on the cot she had begrudgingly paid for, marked by goblin postage.
It read in sloppy, scrawled lettering:

Il--- Drinn,

Grog wish know dat ok. Nub mean fer wut happen, just dat... Grog proud of Wut Grog be. Grog proud da race Grog be, an hurt Grog deeply, wen otha's speak like Grog an Ork nub worth nubtin. Much did Ork go wit in da past years. Da words of Hate... Make Grog feel da same, Grog feel in camps, thrall'd ta da Shara..Again. Grog nub mean fer Drinn get in way an hurt. Grog hope, oks.

Grogkor
Sun of Kor

Her brow furrowed as she reread the letter, this time a little slower. Apparently the orc's penmanship wasn't much better then his speech. He was apologizing that much was clear, though that didn't explain why he had sought out Cessily in Feralas on purpose. Why he said the things he said about not wishing to call the Grim his brother in battle. Those were in fact things she could not simply dismiss even if he was sorry. Still she always had such a respect for orc's and their proud ways, even if she did tease them on occasion.
She folded the paper and slide it into of her pockets without writing a response. She wasn't sure how to react, and wasn't sure if she even wanted to.

[Keeper Of Lore]

((woo hoo great rp and not annoying bickering and the same crap over and over! Mission accomplished Drinn that last bit with Grog's penmanship was wonderful heheh))

Kiaransalius rested next to Cessily after the rogue had finally fallen asleep. She did not know how long she had slept, but when she awoke, Cessily had already gotten up and gone somewhere else. Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, she looked about the Inn where the two had retired and wondered how much of what had happened was real and how much may have been a dream.

Picking up her stone, Kiara whispered into it, "Cessily, you should not be moving about already. You still need care..."

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Cessily

(The night she was attacked and the morning after)

Everything happened too fast. The past weeks had been a living hell to Cessily Suntouch, a hell some would say she brought unto herself. After her fight with Drinn, and her own lack of tact as how to approach her friend, the young sin'dorei found herself longing to be once again with the one she loved the most. She met new people and discared them. She was turning into a bitter, lonely person. A few days past she would give anything to have Drinn to hold her in her arms and take care of her, as she always did. She would give anything, even her ears, for that, but right now, she didn't even have those.

She did sleep, even if not for long. The horrible nightmares caught up with her, as fast as that shadow did that night, quickly fisting her hair, that cold, steady breath caressing her neck. The Skull that was it's face was visiting Cessily even in her dreams, and there, too, it would make the young elf suffer. Much unlike the real event, however, the Cessily was quick to give in, tears running down her cheeks as she was once again robbed of her sense of self.

Violated. Robbed of her proud heritage. Robbed of her independence and dignity. And even after the tearing of flesh and cartilage ended, the sobbing mess that was the girl left on the dirty floor, even if only in her mind now, Cessily couldn't wake up. She didn't wanted to. "How could I ever face Lascivious?!". She had failed her. "And that damn orc!?" She would flinch if she did so. "And Drinn?" And that was the worse. How could she even bear to look at her friend now? She was nothing more than a mockery of her old self. Not even a sin'dorei anymore, rageless, impotent Cessily. Poor, beaten up Cessily. It was Stormwind all over again... and Drinn could never love that pathetic girl.

As her eyes open, ever so slightly, they show no light to be seen. No arcane magic. No rage. No life. Waking up slowly, Cessily, raises her hands so she can take a good look on them. Abuse was something she was familiar with. Respect, however, was not. People respected power, and she had none of it. These hands, scarred and marked for life. Her ears, thorn and shredded, gone. Signs of her weakness. Weakness she always let people take advantage of. How could someone love her, if she didn't love herself?.

"I'm so selfish... I'm sorry, Drinn... I really am..." - She whispers to herself, standing up slowly, forcing herself on her feet. Even if the leaving woman hisses in pain, her head spinning, Kia doesn't wake up, and for that Cessily is grateful, for the Blood Knight would surely be against her going to Feralas. But she would go. She couldn't just lay there crying for herself, she couldn't just let herself quit. She had to try. She couldn't be afraid. But she was. And she was close to breaking.

Stumbling her way out, Cessily is quick to mount her Hawkstrider, it's feathers as red as her hair. Feralas was a quiet place, a place to think and regain strength, both physical and mental. What was the worst that could happen?

(I'll pose more in the future. Sorry for grammar errors! XD)

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Mahakali

*A note tacked to the wall*

If any of you ever touch Drinn again, do not expect me to soothe your wounds. Drinn is under my protection. Now if you think you can make it through Karazhan or delve deep into somewhere and you wish my words to keep you from harm remember them. If you are to be alone and lonely then do as you wish. Striking her again, chasing her, cutting her, choking her and well test me, please test me. I will never raise my voice or my hand to help you ever again.



**hastily scribbled below

Aside from The Mistress, Abric, The High Inquisitor and My Dreadweaver of course.

[Keeper Of Lore]

"So what did you need, boss?" the rogue whispered even though no-one was around. After all, they were seated on a roof in Booty Bay, there wasn't a listening ear for yards.

Aquizit relayed the story and of his conversation with Jabiba the night of the attack, pointing out all the names brought up by the troll shaman.

"Do not, however, check the rogue's story just yet. She is surrounded by too many Grim right now. If it is an inside job, there are too many ears. Go see the troll. I will let him know you are coming. I will inform those who need to know as to not bar your investigation. But I'm trusting you with this, Xion. Don't let me down."


"Trusting me with what, sir? Aren't we having a picnic in Booty Bay?" The blood elf's eyes lifted while his smirk was hidden behind his mask.

"Exactly, my old friend.. so pass me that cheese.."

[Keeper Of Lore]

Drinn sat alone, perched on one of the wooden foundations of Garadar. The Grim meeting had ended, the Mistresses points made clear, yet she still had little resolve.

".... I need to know my assumptions are right.", her patience wearing thin.

"What does this have to do with you?", Cessily's voice rose from her hearthsone.

"Nothing. It has all to do with you." The elf inwardly frowned.

"Forget it Drinn."

"Would you forget it if the tables were turned?"

"We are so different you can't even imagine." Cessily was becoming more terse.

"I never said we weren't. Still..", Drinn sounded stubborn. "You are avoiding the question." The elf paused, so much on her mind. The distance growing in her friend's voice made her tighten her jaw angrily. She was tired of the games. Before Cessily had a chance to respond she changed her mind and she fed that growing distance to make it something of her own. "You tell me to forget about it and to simply walk away and I will. Just say it."

"Walk away. Forget we ever met, Drinn.. Forget all about it."

"Done." The elf shifted on her seat and returned the stone to her pocket.

[Keeper Of Lore]

((Im an idiot and forgot to chatlog so this is an extremely abridged version of what I remember))

Anaie seethed with rage when she had heard about what was done to Grogkor... vowing to slaughter everyone involved in the matter. The damned orc would not tell her what had truely happened, and all involved, but she knew it was due to the elf girl.

I should have cut out her tongue.... she growled as she thought the words.

Grogkor told her to let it go, but it was much too late, the darkest reaches of her soul has already boiled up. She was still in control however, and she turned away from Grogkor, vanishing into the night. Before she departed, she pulled her stone from her pocket and held it close. Focusing on the elf girl she spoke, her voice a deep rumbling evil, her rage clear...

"Can you hear me you elven whore? Or do your injuries prevent you from being able too?" the girl responded back, but Anaie did not even seem to hear her. "You will be the first to pay this eve... I will cut out your tongue and then your vile little heart. They will find your body parts throughout Azeroth.... I hope you scream longer this time before you pass out, perhaps long enough to see me devour your heart." Anaie laughed as the girl howled into the stone inquiring about her ears, "They were probably consumed by a bear in that very forest that you lost them my dear... you should have been more careful."

Anaie let her intentions be known to the members of The Bulwark, hoping that there would be a Grim there to hear it, or that someone would alert them. Anaie was still filled with rage and while she heard the Mistress, she did not truely care what was said. The girl would suffer like none have suffered before.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anaie reached Kargath and set out immediately to find the girl. It seemed the Tauren Mogok was hunting Cessily as well, and Anaie would not be denied. She had managed to learn a bit more of the events that transpired earlier that evening from him as well over the stone, that Grogkor had not been punished once, but twice by Skumm and Muatah at Lascivious' command, and his scalp was taken by the rogue for the Mistress. All involved would pay... but now was a special bit of retribution...

Cessily was in the hills near Kargath, looking outward into the barren wastes. Anaie crept up the hill, the faceplate on her mask in an up position, until the elf was within earshot.

"Cessily..." The girl turned toward the sound of her voice, and Anaie stepped from the shadows. "Do not run... and do not back up, I would hate to see you slip and hurt yourself." Anaie said sarcasticaly.

"I am done running" the girl stated, bringing a smile to Anaie's face.

Ah there is a bit of fight in you yet. This will be most fulfilling, she thought to herself as she lowered the faceplate of her mask, the grinning skull face that Cessily had seen the night of the attack that took her ears.

"I am not going to run, but I will not go down without fighting... " the girl remarked. She was to the point of yelling and Anaie could not tell if it was fear or anxiousness that drove the power in her words. Anaie stalked forward, cornering the girl to a small boulder.

"You are going to suffer more pain than you or anyone has ever known whelp." Anaie growled, her voice deep, the mask giving it a menacing echo. Pausing briefly, Anaie realized the girl was no longer a member of the Grim. "Where is your tabard? Have you been exiled from them? Did they finally see you as the troublesome little wench you are, not worth thier time?" she asked with a bit of amusement in her voice.

"I left by my own chosing you vile bitch! Where are my damn ears!?!" she screamed. Anaie was shocked by the bravado, false or not, that the girl showed. Death would not be enough for this one, she must suffer.

"You will... " the sound of an incoming rider stopped Anaie from finishing the sentence. Anaie turned slightly to see who was coming up the hill, expecting Mogok, but she was mistaken. "Lascivious..." she growled. Ignoring the girl, Anaie walked up to the Mistress of the Grim, standing inches from her. "You should not have harmed him Mistress. Give me the scalp..." she hissed.

(to be cont)

[Keeper Of Lore]

"Forget it Drinn." - It was all Cessily could say. The past days were confusing, but she didn't know what she felt for anyone at this point. Seeing Grogkor being treated like that didn't really make her feel all that good. Suddenly, all that happened was not that important anymore.

"Would you forget it if the tables were turned?", Drinn replied, her voice as clinical as usual. A brave soldier as she always were.

"We are so different you can't even imagine." - If Cessily could just let go of all she felt, she would have been completely honest with her friend right there. But she couldn't. She had grown bitter not from losing her ears, but because of things she noticed because of that. Things she would not share. Not through a Hearthstone.

"I never said we weren't. Still.." - there was a pause - "You are avoiding the question."

The young rogue looked down at her Stone, her eyes slowly showing how this behavior in Drinn had made her furious. Asking who did it wouldn't change anything. Asking who did it wouldn't make any of them feel good about it. Maybe the Mistress as right. They had grown appart. When Drinn talked to her, now, it rarely sounded as if they were still friends, when they were still young. Still not Grim. And then, Drinn added - "You tell me to forget about it and to simply walk away and I will. Just say it."

That did it. Having people harass her all the day was enerving, but having Drinn speak to her as if she was somekind of police-woman trying to get some clues was enough. How could Drinn say she would walk away with just a mere permission from her?! Her dear friend was gone, that's for sure... or maybe she had imagined someone that never existed all along... and while everyone around her warned about it, she had always refused to believe in that. Bitter and broken, she could only whisper back her answer. Her words firm, for her heart was not.

"Walk away. Forget we ever met, Drinn.. Forget all about it."

As the reply came, Cessily only closed her eyes, hearing that plain voice, that same cold voice she heard so many times in the Grim. She took her Stone to whisper to her Mistress. "I cannot be part of your Grim anymore.". Now she had nothing. "A good way to start over, at least...".

"I guess I'll be needing that job in Badlands, after all..." - she half-smiled, her eyes showing the sorrow for what she had just done. "Always the sharp sword, heh, Cessily?", she thinks to herself before mounting her loyal hawkstrider and moving towards the deserted lands.

[Keeper Of Lore]

"Are you angry at me, Syreena?" Cessily's whispered to her over the hearthstone. Syreena scowled.

She'd already twice delayed to meet with Cessily that evening. She thought of ignoring the question, pretending not to hear it in the clashings and roaring of the battle in the Arathi Basin. She finished killing a dwarf, directing her anger and confusion through her swords until the dwarf fell to the ground in a twitching, bloody heap. She had been in the battle all evening after the meeting, and this dwarf wasn't the first Alliance to pay for what she had witnessed and could not act upon. She felt helpless at the meeting tonight, but here on the battlefield, she had the power to choose who lived and died, and the freedom to act on those choices.

"Tonight, I watched my friend get filled with arrows by a Grim I have nothing but the utmost respect for, all over trouble that you started," the little rogue finally answered, her voice thin and tight. "Do you think I'm angry at you?"

Of course, the other rogue claimed it wasn't her fault, and everything was even now. Maybe it was even now. Syreena had stood by and watched it become even. She would not stand by again though. Instead, she was determined to make sure it stayed even.

She was rooted in place by sheer surprise when Skumm emerged from the shadows to attack Grogkor. Grog was wounded badly, but the hunter's axe met the rogue's face, and snakes covered his body as he stumbled to the ground. Syreena couldn't see it all from where she was standing; the view was blocked partially by other Grims that were crowded all around. But, as Skumm fell, she saw arrows flying to Grog from somewhere to her left, and she frowned as Grog's body became a pincushion for Muatah's arrows. It all happened so fast.

After Grog was raised and healed, Lascivious questioned him, but she didn't like his answers. Her voice carried the order a second time, "Kill him again."

Syreena almost shouted out, but it would do no good. This was the Mistress' will, and Grims would see it done. Instead, she frowned at Muatah as he shot arrow after arrow with perfect aim, and received a disapproving look from him in return as Grog fell for the second time.

"Skumm, cut me a present from his flesh," Lascivious ordered. Syreena couldn't watch helplessly. She worked her way through the crowd of her guildmates and sat in a corner against the wall of the arena, out of hearing range of the group, her view blocked by the wall of Grims that stood in a semi-circle around the commotion.

Grogkor was her friend, and Anaie's mate. What would her twin think of her for not trying to do anything to keep her mate from being mutilated? Would would Grog think of her? He called her sister. Ashamed, Syreena had sat and stared at the arena's dirt floor until she saw other Grims calling their mounts and flying away.

The score might be settled now, but the little rogue didn't believe for a minute that Cessily would leave well enough alone. Stupid elves! Syreena knew from the beginning it was a bad idea to accept them into the Grim. Too bad Lascivious wouldn't allow them to all be eaten instead. Crouched in some bushes near the Lumber Mill, Syreena spoke to Cessily through the stone one last time.

"One more insult against a Horde race, once more calling a Grim a slave, once more one of my friends gets hurt because of you, and it will be me next getting shot full of arrows in front of the guild," she hissed. "Only this time, you won't be there to see it."

[Keeper Of Lore]

The forsaken rogue known as Skumm left his hearthstone in the Undercity bank while he sought some peace and solitude in Tirisifal. He walked along the moonlit roads, his steps narrated by the low, steady, pulse of crickets in song. Though he could no longer feel pain as a living person might, his usual limp seemed worse than usual tonight. Having exhausted his anger, he found in its place a kind of emptiness. Though he firmly believed what had happened this night was necessary, he began to regret that any of it happened.

He found a place where the earth jutted skyward. He lamely climbed the small hill and there he laid on his back, staring into the stars. Many thoughts traversed his mind. As a fighter, he couldn't help but feel disappointment at how the battle had went. It was some comfort to say that he only fell because of the other's interference - though, even of that he wasn't sure. Grogkor had reacted so quickly. He had cast the trap at Skumm as if he had known for certain the attack was coming. Skumm had panicked when he saw holy light wash over the Orc, and that was his own failing. He should have been prepared for all possibilities.

There were other thoughts. The moment that Skumm saw Drinn before him, days ago, her armor torn and stained by her own blood, his thoughts had turned to vengeance. Murder. In a world of violence and hatred, she was one of the few who could bring some warmth to his cynical, weary heart. In fact, she was the only one who could see through this character he played, "Skumm," to the man he had been before. Atticus. So to know that anyone, especially a fellow Grim, raised a fist against her blinded the rogue with fury.

Prior to all this business, the rogue had no quarrel with the Orc, Grogkor. In fact, he somewhat liked him. He regretted that the Orc had disappointed him so. In truth, Skumm was aware that Grogkor was almost like a child. A proud, honorable, orc - but idiotic nonetheless. Drinn had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Grogkor, thoughtless and infuriated by Cessily, struck Drinn down. How much blame could be placed on someone blind to their own actions?

Skumm sat up to begin picking out fangs that had snapped off in his legs. Each hole they left was blackened by the poison they carried. He almost thought himself lucky that he had no pulse to carry the venom to the rest of his body.

No. He couldn't be soft. He was the Hand of the Mistress, and, as was his request, Lascivious appointed him to dole out justice tonight . The patch of skin he had carved from the Orc's skull was more than mere punishment for the Orc. It was an example. A show of force, to put fear into anyone who ever considered raising arms against Grim again. More importantly, for Skumm, they had made an example for anyone who would ever think to harm his best friend.

As for Cessily, Skumm afforded her the same respect he gave to anyone who wore the tabard. He would defend her with his life, if only to honor the mandate. Would he have been as eager to shove his blades into the Orc, had Drinn not been involved? No. But she was Grim, and he would do his duties for her unquestioningly.

The fight kept coming back to his mind. Why did his cloak fail to turn away the snakes? How did his vanishing powder spark when he didn't mean for it to? How had he missed that punch to Grog's kidneys? His fighter's instincts slowly overcame the other thoughts in his mind. Questions of tactics and skill weighing down the questions of right and wrong. After some time he decided to revisit the arena in Nagrand. To look over the footprints in the sand, to see where he had gone wrong.

When he arrived in Garadar though, he was surprised to see Grokgor and Drinn sitting together on the edge of the rise outside of the inn. They were talking lowly between themselves. As he approached he heard he heard the end of what Drinn was saying. "If anything should happen to Skumm over this..."

She stopped speaking as she noticed the rogue approaching. Grogkor glanced over his shoulder at Skumm, huffed, then went back to looking forward. "What is this?" Skumm asked.

Drinn responded, "Oh, just brushing up on my Orcish."

Skumm couldn't help but crack a smile beneath his mask. Whatever it was that they had been talking about, Drinn would explain to him later. He picked up the subtle queues in her tone, and let it be. Skumm spoke to Grogkor, saying, "Grog, I consider this be settled now. Just ye don't lay a finger on Drinn again, Aye?"

Grogkor pointedly made no response, leaving Skumm to stare at the old blood that dried over the edges of the wound that the Rogue had given him. An uncomfortable silence hung heavily above them. Skumm had nothing more to say, and the Orc didn't seem to want to say anything to him. After a short time, Grogkor grunted, "Grogkor leave you two, be alone."

As the Orc left, Skumm sat down next to his friend. She told him, "He...was apologetic."

Skumm nodded. The sense of regret seemed common between all of them.

Drinn went on to explain how Cessily had reacted after the whole ordeal. She warned him to expect some sort of retaliation from Anaie. She spoke of how the events that had transpired seemed to sicken half of the guild, and to satisfy the others.

In the end she said simply, "Atticus, this has been an awful week."

Atticus, as he often did around Drinn, dropped his act. He let go of the character "Skumm" and acted as himself. "Yeah Drinn," he sighed, "it has been. It really has been awful."

In a rare act of of physical intimacy, the rogue slid his arm around her shoulders. She leaned, putting the weight of her body into his chest as she sighed softly into his neck.

"Have the nightmares gotten any better?" He asked her.

"No," she answered.

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Eternalnight

Eternalnight had watched and heard the events from the shadowy distance....she has been relishing in the feelings of being the shunned outcast since her reprimand from the Mistress. She still believed that the little one, Cessily was to blame. After the events though, Eternalnight knew that the little elf had won the attention and respect of the Mistress...she was not one to cross in the near future. She had paid forth in blood for her respect (Ears....Eternalnight took minor humor in that....Eternal's ears had decayed off years ago, so they vain love of the flesh by the warm bloods was still amusing.)

Eternalnight nodded to herself in realization....
"Rather than go deeper to the shadows...I should use this...to my advantage...perhaps I can draw closer to the little one.....enjoy the strength and power that can come from favour...yes..."

A cold shudder ran through Eternalnight. For this to work, she would have to be nice - to a warm blood.