#wow character: varius silverstorm

[lamesorrow]

Just another day in hell

Varius woke up in a rotten mood which only became worse when he dragged his ass out of the cot and realized that the soft tapping noise was the sound of raindrops hitting the canvas roof of his tent. The elf scowled and clumsily grabbed his boots. He had to sit down in order to put them on, or the splitting headache threatened to rob him of his consciousness.

He hated it. He hated everything.

Lady Liadrin was sent to Tiragarde Sound, and that meant Varius didn't even have enough time to recover from his wound before he and the other Blood Knights, along with several regiments of orcs and trolls and goblins, were crammed onto an airship and shipped across the sea like cargo.

And now he had to put on his armour, grab his sword and go kill some Kul Tirans again.

For the Horde, apparently.

Varius clenched his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his temples.

Yesterday three men from his regiment had broken into a cellar where some Pandaren girl was treating the wounded. When Varius caught up with them, the makeshift infirmary was drowning in blood and—

What the fuck have you done? She's a healer, she wasn't fighting!

She was healing the enemy. That's enough.

Varius bared his teeth. Darkshore. Brennadam. Now this. He was a Blood Knight, he swore to protect his people. What the fuck was he doing here? What the fuck were they all doing?

Numb hands made the process of putting the armour on even more annoying than usual. Varius knew that at this rate he was going to be the last soldier to make it to the assembly area, but somehow he just couldn't make himself care despite the promise of venomous glares from champion Dawnlance.

When he lifted his arms to put on the tabard, a surge of white-hot pain struck him right between the ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs. He clenched his teeth, took a few shallow breaths and slowly finished the motion.

Should probably go see the healers, he thought idly as he carefully tied the black strings. He tried to have someone look at his chest, shortly after the first battle, but one glance at the overcrowded tent and the bloodstained hands of the healers told Varius that there was no point in waiting, so he dragged his bleeding hide to the tent and patched himself up to the best of his ability.

The champion's horn bellowed in the distance. Two short signals, one long... Time to go.

Varius sighed and picked up his sword. It felt so heavy nowadays, so heavy that he could barely lift it.

[lamesorrow]

The wrong thing

“Makes you wonder when they're going to crawl out of their pristine little keep, doesn't it?”

Varius frowned and looked over his shoulder. He clenched his teeth, trying to control the sudden surge of nausea when he saw rancid fat poking through a torn membrane—skin. It was skin.

The Forsaken scout had no lips and it made him look he was grinning maniacally the whole time. Between his dismissive nature, gleeful approach to cruelty and a rather unpleasant sense of humour, he was starting to really get on Varius' nerves.

The elf sighed and looked north again. Hearthglen, the stocky and Lightblessed jewel of these once-plagued lands, was hiding behind the trees and hills. It was not their objective. Not yet, at least.

Not ever, Varius quietly hoped.

He was no fan of the Argent Crusade—their ideals were nice in theory, but the naivete displayed by many of the paladins who donned the white tabards made him grind his teeth in frustration. It rubbed him the wrong way, seeing elves who decided to abandon their home and their people. For whatever reason he still vividly remembered the conversation he had with crusader Malagus, who impassively admitted that, should war come to Silvermoon, he would simply stand by and not do anything to help.

But the thing that pissed Varius off the most was how freaking self-righteous Malagus and his fellow crusaders were about it all, as if abandoning their people somehow gave them a moral high ground. As if somehow it made them better. Varius hated how they painted it as sacrifice when in reality it was nothing but cowardice. They acted like it was so easy: just cast your allegiance away and put on your most sanctimonious face as you proclaim the death of your own people a necessary evil in the name of a greater cause. And then they had the gall to preach about how evil soldiers were for fighting in the war to actually protect those 'acceptable sacrifices.'

Fuck. Just thinking about it made him so angry.

Granted, Varius didn't consider himself to be a particularly violent or cruel man. He was, however, completely loyal to his people and to his city. In his eyes the war—this war—was not righteous or just, but it was justified and, more importantly, necessary. His view was not dictated by blind hatred or bloodlust. Quite the opposite, really—he bitterly considered it to be something dreadful and heartbreaking... but unavoidable.

The Alliance had to be destroyed to secure the future for the Horde.

It was a pessimistic thing to believe, but at this point Varius was completely convinced that peace was unobtainable. There was simply too much bloodshed, too much spite and too much thirst for revenge on both sides of the conflict. The Alliance had to be exterminated not because Varius' people were better, but because they were his. That was the only difference and the knight firmly believed any attempt to paint either faction as somehow having any kind of moral high ground to be disingenuous at best.

Only a complete fool would argue that the Alliance was completely good or completely bad. The Horde and the Alliance were surprisingly equal in this aspect; they both had their monsters and saints, as well as a sizeable population that just wanted to live undisturbed and focus on their small daily matters. Normal people who only wanted to enjoy their normal lives.

And for that reason he's been in a sour mood ever since he heard the news of what happened to Teldrassil. They spoke of cruelty and mercilessness, of burning villages, of civilians being rounded up and killed. A necessary evil, but evil nonetheless.

Varius swallowed a nasty curse that threatened to escape his mouth. He grunted and grimly stared ahead, eyeing the treeline for signs of enemies.

The ground rumbled beneath his feet as an overburdened kodo sluggishly stomped behind him. Varius' ears twitched. The vibrations were getting on his nerves too. Distracting. How was he supposed to hear the enemies coming if he could barely hear his own thoughts?

They had to hurry. The commander really wanted to be in-and-out of Andorhal before the Alliance regrouped.

“Can't wait to sink my teeth in them.”

Varius shuddered and gave the scout a disbelieving look. The Forsaken was staring at the horizon with a disturbingly longing look in his eyes. It clashed with the stupid lip-less grin and made him look...

“What?” Varius asked incredulously. “Really?”

The scout's flappy eyelid rippled when he winked at the elf. “Dead men can't afford to be picky about their pleasures,” he drawled cheerfully.

The Blood Knight didn't answer. He clenched his teeth, trying to will the Forsaken to fuck off and go be disgusting somewhere else.

There is no such thing as the right thing, he grimly reminded himself.

The only thing he regretted was that his conscience apparently didn't get the memo.

[lamesorrow]

Dig, dig, dig

After seven hours spent shovelling sand in the searing heat of Uldum Varius was slowly starting to think that the Thalassian reverence of the sun was severely misplaced. Thick beads of sweat tickled mercilessly as they trailed down his stomach and back, pooling in the indents between each tired muscle. His shoulders on the other hand were starting to burn despite sun-protecting ointment he slathered all over his body in the morning, unsubtly implying that he will soon be shedding peeled skin all over the place like an oversized lizard.

Still, duty was duty and as such there was nothing Varius could do but pick the shovel up himself and dig. Unsurprisingly enough, while plenty of scholars were very excited about going to Uldum to uncover priceless Titan-made artifacts, the diggers were much less eager to work in the sweltering heat.

People often had a (very) inaccurate picture of archaeology as a gentle thing, one that was all about revered scholars using tiny brushes to lovingly sweep the dust away from half-unearthed relics. The much less romantic reality was that the main tool of an archaeologist was a shovel. The bulk of the work was done by the diggers.

And what to do in the absence of the diggers? Why, the Blood Knights were the next best thing.

Varius sighed deeply. He was being very unfair now, of course; he didn't have to dig. He was technically the coordinator of this expedition after all. It's just that he's always been the kind of person who preferred to have the work done rather than undone, so seeing the untouched excavation site rubbed him the wrong way. It was more of an internal imperative than an order to follow.

Lost in thought, he almost missed the red wooden pole that the archaeologists used to mark the end of the interesting perimeter.

Varius stabbed the shovel into the sand and placed his hands on his hips. He critically regarded his work. A swatch of land had been sectioned off with red string and dotted with marker flags to identify places that held a realistic promise of precious artifacts from a bygone era.

The knight grunted and reached for a small square of cloth that he had folded and tucked behind his belt to stop the sweat trailing down from his spine. The tissue was a little damp and became considerably damper when he used it to wipe his chest and neck.

He instinctively looked around, eyeing the nearby hills for enemies and friends alike. He saw several dark shapes of sentries posted where he wanted them to be and no sight of anything else, be it the locals or the Alliance. Good. The few diggers that let the gold cloud their judgement for long enough to make them agree to join this expedition were safe to, as Lei—as surveyor Brightcloud put it, “play around in the dirt.”

Brightcloud himself was nowhere to be seen. No doubt the sight of sweaty elves insulted his delicate sensibilities. Since the expedition started Varius hadn't seen him leave the main pavilion during the day even once, and even long after nightfall the best the world could see of Leinan was just a flash of his ornate robe as he quickly made his way to his own aircane-conditioned tent.

That thought made Varius exhale softly in relief. Their relationship was short-lived and happened to fizzle out right before the Reliquary was scheduled to embark on the expedition to Uldum. It was way too late to find a replacement for either of them, so Varius had to go through this awkward post-breakup period with no chances for even a bit of solitude and privacy. The memory of Leinan's words still stung painfully whenever he let his mind wander.

You don't care enough.

You don't spend enough time with me.

You would make time for me if you loved me.

You don't make me feel wanted.

You don't love me any more.

I don't love you any more.

Varius sighed.

He was a soldier and he loved like a soldier; in the free moments, when he could afford to think about his own matters. Warmly but quietly. Without much pomp or fanfare.

That was not enough for men like Leinan Brightcloud. He wanted to be courted, fawned over, constantly showered with gifts and attention. Varius understood that, he really did, and he tried, but whenever he came home after a long night spent escorting a convoy and fending off pirates, mercenaries and thieves, all he wanted to do was take a quick bath, collapse on the bed and sleep for a week... Not go to the opera, check out that cute little bakery that opened on the opposite side of the city, make a detour to visit the botanical garden and finally walk all the way back home just to be roped into making love for approximately three hours. Oh, he forgot about the wine. With Leinan Brightcloud one never forgot about the wine. There would've been wine. Plenty of wine.

And then a repeat of that the next day. And the next. And the next.

It was a little cruel to admit, but—despite the sadness and disappointment—Varius' quality of life went up considerably since that breakup. For starters he was actually getting enough sleep to be at least remotely functional again.

He looked up again and froze when he saw the flap of the pavilion ripple and move away. For a second he fully expected to see Leinan's face—but no. It was just Melathara, armed with her white parasol. Varius felt his shoulders sag in relief and instantly felt bad about it.

Mel waved at him cheerfully and made her way across the dig site. Between a bright orange dress, an equally orange headband and kaldorei-style laced-up sandals she looked like she was on her way to attend a beach party rather than conduct important research. That unpretentious approach to life was easily Varius' favourite thing about her.

He watched her approach with a small smile that only grew wider when he noticed a large glass jug in her hand.

“I see you're being your usual overachieving self again,” Mel called out happily. “How's it going?”

“Hard to say. Difficult to make a proper test pit in these conditions, but... two more levels and I think we're going to know whether or not these are a waste of time,” Varius said, nodding towards the markers that dotted the site.

Mel handed him the jug and he almost dropped it when his tired, puffy fingers closed around icy glass. “Ice,” he whispered reverently. “Mel, I love you.”

She laughed loudly and affectionately slapped his shoulder. Then she groaned and wiped her hand on the expensive fabric of her dress. “Sunwell, you're sticky. I've changed my mind; give me that jug, you're going to drop it.”

Varius obediently let her take the jug back and took a few steps away from the dig site to avoid accidentally damaging any artifacts—there was no realistic way of that happening now, but at this point protecting the excavation was a deeply-ingrained instinct he didn't bother fighting.

He gasped loudly when Mel poured cold water over his hands. Soothing coolness breathed some life into his tense wrists and swollen fingers. Varius sighed gratefully and slowly rubbed his hands, trying to work the moisture into his dry skin.

“Bend over,” Mel said. “I'll cool down your neck.”

He obediently folded himself in half and reached for his ponytail to keep the hair out of the way. The splash of cold water over his sun-warmed skin could only be described as shocking, but in a good way. Cold droplets trailing down his shoulders made him shudder in intense relief.

“Thanks, Mel,” he sighed contentedly and straightened out his back. His friend smiled at him.

“Don't mention it. I was dying to get out of that tent anyway.”

Varius hesitated and cast a cautious look at the pavilion.

“How is...?”

“Leinan?” Mel rolled her eyes. “Drowning his grief in wine, swearing that he's never falling in love again and proclaiming that all Blood Knights are emotionless bastards. He's pretty insufferable, really, but that's his usual state of being. Once he reaps his share of condolences and consolation he's going to forget all about it. Trust me, I know him.”

Varius nodded. On one hand, that was comforting—he didn't want Leinan to suffer. On the other hand... it was a little hurtful to be made aware just how forgettable he apparently was.

Mel instantly picked up on his discomfort. She shook her head and gave him a lopsided smile. “No, Vari, don't you worry about that. I told you: I know Leinan. He's a vapid, shallow bimbo.”

Varius winced, prickled by the instinct to defend his (former) boyfriend's honour. As brutal as it was, Mel's statement was... not entirely wrong, but it was definitely not right either; those several months they had spent together had assured Varius that Leinan Brightcloud was a witty, quirky and inquisitive individual. Yes, he was a little prone to theatrics and drama, but which nobleman wasn't? Varius couldn't even blame him for being spoiled and attention-seeking, not after attending that one memorable family reunion and seeing how the nobleborn children were being treated. All shortcomings of Leinan's character were simply a product of his upbringing and to hold it against him would be cruel.

“You have a terrible taste in men,” Mel added, not at all helpfully. Varius grunted.

“Maybe I should stop trying,” he said dryly and reached for his shovel.

“Or maybe you should let me try to fix your bachelor status.”

Varius gave his friend a disbelieving look. “Aren't you the one who set me up with that Farstrider?” He asked incredulously. “The one who insisted on being called 'Wolf' and glared at everything? And smelled like damp leaves?”

Mel scoffed. “It was a trial run!”

“It was a disaster, Mel.”

The mage snorted. Even she couldn't argue that, from the looks of it.

“Okay, fine,” she agreed reluctantly. “But there are plenty more fish in the sea, you know. For example, I was thinking about introducing you to my cousin Elberan...”

Varius raised his eyebrow. “The one that spends extraordinary amounts of gold on vintage Magic: The Sundering trading card games?” he asked, feeling amusement pull at the corners of his lips.

Mel gave him a sour smile. “For a man whose love life consists of a string of awful relationships, you sure are picky,” she said dryly.

“If you want to send me on a blind date with one of your relatives then maybe don't make me listen to endless lists of things you don't like about them.”

Varius rolled his shoulders. Sunlight was already warming up the damp skin on his neck, but there was still work to be done. Cold water helped, but not nearly as much as Mel's presence did. The knight glanced at his friend and gave her a wide, shameless smirk.

“Besides,” he added, knowing full well that his next statement would be enough to make Elberan run away screaming if he ever heard it, “I've always liked Hearthstone better.”