#* verse 003: illidan stormrage / THE LORD AND MASTER OF OUTLAND.

[diguerra-moved]

Kael'thas was afraid other wasn't aware of such special day existing but... Blood elf decided to risk. It was so hard to pick a gift for someone like Illidan, someone who wanted nothing and appreciated little. He approached demon hunter when he was sitting&sneaked behind him to put his hands on other's arms. 'You should rest from time to time, My Lord.' his palms, infused by warm magic started to massage other's muscles. 'I tied up your chambers, do you wish to see?'

LOVE IS IN THE AIR // what do you mean valentine’s day was two days ago I’m not late at all.

Not uncommon a thing, for the Lord of Outland to be found leaning over plans, studying information old and new in trying to unveil the path to the Legion’s most important world; and not for the first time Kael’thas found him so. The quiet approach does not startle him, and neither does touch (when had it become common enough occurrence that it felt so natural?). Distracting is his first thought; but distracting in a pleasant manner, enough so that Illidan does not reject it. When had physical contact of any sort become welcome thing once more, the demon hunter did not know either (part of him wished to shun Kael’thas for this very reason; he got too close, was allowed too much, and Illidan hardly needed yet another betrayal from yet another person he permitted delving too deeply within his heart).

Sense of dread thought causes is pushed back, willfully forgotten under the prince’s warm touch. He had been devoted to his work for too long, and now that complete concentration had been broken it was easy enough to feel the stiffness that took hold of his body. A sigh; perhaps Kael’thas had reason in this, too, and it was due time for him to rest.

And yet… something in offer sounds different, different even from mere attempt on the sin’dorei’s part to have Illidan’s attention turned to him. Were any other to suggest they had been within his chambers without their Lord’s express permission might have received grim admonishment and sharp punishment; Kael’thas is not one such, special privilege made manifest in answer given. “…I suppose I have done enough for now.”

“Let us go, then.” Gently breaks away from the prince’s touch and stands, gaze finally meeting the other, hint of suspicion in how he stares at the blonde.  “… Though I have to wonder what is the special occasion that would have you do so yourself.”

[warwaged-archive]

TAG DROP: ILLIDAN MISC. 

[diguerra-moved]

'I am forever in debt, Lord Illidan. You are first to accept my kind with all of their flaws&somehow... I feel less desperate finally. You offered me more than I ever asked for.' Kael @Illidan (I live for parallers today shhhh)

KAEL ! // always accepting.

Gratitude still feels so foreign a thing, when he had been denied of it time and again regardless of how much he sacrificed. He stares at the Prince with piercing felfire sight, finds nothing but honesty in bearing and words alike. Tastes like a victory, if a small one, like retribution; to finally be acknowledged for his deeds, instead of being regarded as a monster, shunned as a betrayer. Tastes bitter that one who was to him a complete stranger until not long ago would think of him so highly while those who had always known him (one who had unknowingly laid claim to his heart) thought of him so low.

Gaze softens, still upon Kael’thas. Illidan cannot name exactly what it is the unprompted expression of gratitude causes him to feel, but he feels, and it most certainly lowers walls he has surrounded himself with in thankless time he spent forgotten in his sunless prison. “I could not have done anything less, young prince.”

“I understand your people’s plight, as well as I understand what it is like to be shunned.” Had felt the hunger, had been judged for it; time after time after time all he had received were accusing eyes. They were mistaken about him, of course, and he would not have cared (did not care) except for the two exceptions he had not expected to find judgement from. 

And if Tyrande had at first offered him support to overcome his thirst for arcane magic, had it not made her look at him as lesser, when she had chosen his brother in the end? None of them understood, then. None of them understood as he sought Sargeras to turn his power against him, none understood when he did whatever it took for his people to survive. “You will find no judgement from me.”

“And in time, your people will rise again, I am certain. We will prove wrong all who have wronged us, Kael.”

[diguerra-moved]

'My Lord... I know you have much more important matters than this to attend yet I can't stop myself from trying. Would you like to drink a bit of wine with me this evening and simply relax?'

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Relax. When had been the last time he had even allowed himself to do something as mundane? Not since before his imprisonment, likely. Surely enough, even in this twisted land there had been moments of celebration at times, following particularly relevant victories; and yet it was not at all the same, not when he never let himself enjoy it fully, not when there was no true rest nor entertainment to be found in such festivities. Had they not paled in comparison to what true celebration ought to be like (and if others would question what he, more demonic in nature than any elf had a right to be, would know of finesse, Illidan had always had a taste for finer things, if not one he indulged in any longer), the Lord of Outland would still have been reluctant to give himself any rest, to find any joy in trivialities. 

He had a goal. A purpose. 

Everything else paled in comparison to it.

For as long as the Legion still stood, there would be no rest for him. For as long as Sargeras threatened the universe, there would be no enjoyment. Illidan had one goal alone, and nothing should stand in the way of reaching it, much less frivolous things such as wasting time for his own enjoyment alone. Kil’jaeden would have to be dealt with much before his master, personal threat that he was to the demon hunter even beyond his high stand within the Burning Legion. The first of his demon hunters seemed to be yet another failure, he had just learned, most dead before there could even be results to measure. 

There was so much to be planned, to be done — and he was nowhere near achieving his intended objectives as was. 

Immense discontentment wasn’t caused by the young prince, though one might take it to be so with frown that lingered on Illidan’s face (grimace that had been there even before the prince approached, but that was not lessened by his presence). Indeed, he had more important matters to attend to, as Kael’thas himself pointed out, as he felt compelled to bite in reply. What causes him to soften an otherwise too sharp answer, he is uncertain of. Perhaps some foolish sense he has yet to appease the golden prince to earn his loyalty, as if Kael’thas had not given it so willing… perhaps it is simply admittance that as is, he cannot quite voice his displeasure with the prince’s lack of action when he himself does not move to fulfill plans or perform duties, perched up in the terrace’s edge, brooding near the small garden of luminescent flowers that are a constant reminder of her. 

Perhaps it is that Kael, as much as Vashj, had gotten under his skin deeper  than the Lord of Outland would acknowledge even to himself.

“How can I relax when there is so much to do?” So much falling apart, so much he’s falling behind in achieving? Words, accompanied by a scoff, taste sour, feel bitter, and he knows it won’t have escaped his companion, and he loathes that he would let himself be so easily read. It is no lie, though; even in this apparent moment of contemplation he cannot be at ease, instead indulging the hurt old wounds, the frustration of new failures and the familiar taste of solitude. “Our progress is much too slow as is.”

Face turns away from the prince (crimson and gold that stand out so against the somber colors of the Temple, that clash so with felfire green that has already tainted Kael’thas’ eyes, delicate features of a beauty that did not quite fit with Outland or its master, both scars and pieces and demonic taint), turning again to the orange-white petals of the one flower he had plucked before unceremoniously letting it fall from his grasp to the distant ground beneath, easily discarded. He does not want Kael’thas’ pity, nor to allow himself be regarded as vulnerable. Wings flex in sign of his irritation, and in a single elegant movement that some may find unsuitable to his figure, Illidan stands, walking towards his companion to stop only at distance perhaps too close for comfort, green flames gazing down to meet Kael’thas’ eyes. There is no amusement nor kindness in his features, impassible. “Alas,” Suavity that did not before color his tone now present, he addresses the offer at last; it does not match his gaze, intensely burning into Kael’thas’ own. “That only makes the wine seem all the more appealing.”

“I might indulge your request this once, dear prince. Do not get used to it.”

[diguerra-moved]

tag drop: illidan stormrage