#* thread 001: redeemingsun / KELANTIR & ARATOR.

[warwaged-archive]

@redeeming-sun // ARATOR.

So lost in his worries was Arator that he did not notice her waking at first. With one ear on her and the other on the entrance of the cave, he was supposed to be on lookout. But here he was with his mind on Theramore and completely distracted. Theramore, where his family was. His friends.

It wasn’t until she spoke that he was pulled from his fears and (thankfully, perhaps) given something else to think about for the time being.

“Name’s Arator.” He said it in Thalassian, albeit with an accent other elves might find unseemly. Though it was his first language, common was so prevalent among the Alliance that he rarely had a chance to use it. Arator moved closer, bringing with him some water. Like her eyes, his also glowed golden from the restored Sunwell, albeit with less luminosity. Not as though it mattered in this cave.

“Oh, please, don’t try to move. I did what I could to keep you from bleeding out but, admittedly, it wasn’t a lot. You should try to stay still, lay down.”

His concern for her reopening her injury was well founded. When he had found her, Kelantir had been a mess of injuries. Her ribs cracked and bruised from blunt force, numerous shrapnel entry points, and even some burns.

Arator did not have the skills or abilities to fix it all, and instead had to play at triage to keep her alive. The most severe injuries tended to first, including a large opening in her abdomen. He did not have the tools to stitch her up, but he could pray. They were answered which resulted in a thin layer of skin over a renewed abdominal wall. The amount of blood he had found her laying in suggested something vital had been nicked, but her being awake was proof enough to him that that, too, was now mended. Even if thin.

“I’m sorry. What you really need is a priest. Someone with proper experience.”

Arator passed her the water skin and wondered Why did he help?

“They would have killed you.” It seemed pretty simple to him. He saw a death he could prevent. “And I figured…I had more in common with an injured elf than a laughing orc.” It really had been stupid of him to act impulsively on instinct and bias but his only other option had been to abandon her. His mind was already a mass of conflicted and confused emotions. Deciding to help her had just been…his need to help his family yet being unable to get to Theramore. He could get to her, though. And she was someones family.

“I don’t…there’s nothing I want from you other than maybe knowing why they were trying to kill you.” It was confusing to him that many had gathered to celebrate their victory in Orgrimmar but during all of the fireworks, down the road, there were soldiers assassinating their own people.

For a moment all she does is listening, watching, judging what she deems to be truth; but he seems to not be lying, and that he questions why were they trying to kill her is enough indication he knows very little of situation he had stumbled on, as is his description being merely injured elf and laughing orc, as is odd accent she can’t quite place but knows not to be one of her homeland. Anyone with the Horde would have known Malkorok to not only be one of Garrosh’s Kor’kron but their leader. Alliance so close to Orgrimmar seemed odd a thing, specially after Theramore, and she has to wonder if he is Alliance in truth, to care so for Horde blood.

She takes the water, then, only then realizing how thirsty she had been. Perhaps she trusts own judgment too much, not to suspect poison of any sort, yet Kelantir is certain there would be very little point in going through such great lengths to save her life only to kill her. 

What she needed was Silvermoon, where Liadrin would have taken care of her injuries, where Halduron would be able to perhaps rightfully say an I told you so; what she needed was home. That, of course, could not be; home was far away across the sea, and if she was lucky enough to reach it alive, she may as well damn they all should the Warchief learn they had aided a traitor. Heart aches further at that, at being kept from those she loves so, from having failed her duty, too, for it was her place as commander to endure and keep her forces from suffering at Garrosh’s hands, and now there is naught she can do about any of it. Breaks further still as realization dawns on her that neither Liadrin nor Halduron expected her to go home ever again. They would believe her dead. 

For now, the best she could do was let them.

The sin’dorei does as suggested and lays down again, another generalized round of pain as she does, but laying still alleviates some of it. Convinced he was not Horde, there should be no harm in speaking the truth, either. Besides, he had rescued her.  “I owe you much. My life, in fact. So thank you, Arator --- answering that is the least I can do.”

She does not try to look at Arator then, content to watch the uneven stone ceiling. “To put a complicated situation simply, they tried to murder us because we are traitors.” No shame in claiming to be so, for once; she would rather death a thousand times over than to be supportive of that monster. Frandis had seldom spoken so bluntly, but she thinks he would not have minded that she named him so as much as she did herself; in some form, it was the smallest of ways to honor his memory, and the only one Kelantir was able to. For now, she thought; but justice will be his yet. “--- There was someone else with me. A friend. He... didn’t make it. I would not, if not for the Light.”

“And your intervention afterwards, that is.” When she faced Arator again, she did so frowning. “We spoke against Garrosh, so his dogs were sicked on us.”