Xel and Vyn

So. Old, again. But. This is about Xelena and Vynstaedis. Obviously.

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His eyes gleamed in the flickering half-light. He passed a ball of flame back and forth in his palms, reclining on the plush couch of Silvermoon’s Royal Exchange Hall.

Vynstaedis casually leaned back, aware of his rough jerkin and cotton shirt, his patched breeches and rugged boots. The clothes were dusty, travel-worn--threadbare, but they served their purpose. His russet locks, however, gleamed and shimmered like gossamer silk. It was the only hint of finery about his person; it did not stop the whispers and stares. A peasant in the Hall! Outrageous.

He grinned wolfishly and extinguished the flame, kicking off his boots as he relaxed, placing his hands behind his head. He was waiting. Sooner or later an official would come sniffing, hounding him out, red as a cherry and puffing as they tried to shoo him away. And when he did not leave, they would bring her.

Xelena.

His grin grew wider as he closed his eyes, appearing to relax further. Inside, arcane energy built up, shimmering, flashing a blue-silver. The colors were different for every person, but the outcome the same.

The energy, for now, was hidden, but if an Arch-Mage stepped into the room… it was a chance, a dicey one, but hadn’t his whole life been a gamble before this? Betting higher as the stakes grew larger?

Vynstaedis chuckled, hearing footsteps. Then she was there, in full plate armor, cloak thrown over one should, tabard exposed as she gripped her sword-hilt. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, then narrowed almost immediately as she clasped her hilt tighter, almost reflexively. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously as she spoke, words hanging in the air. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, swinging himself off the couch. Her eyes glowed purple briefly—something he could detect, being a Mage—and he knew a message had been sent. More were coming. Good. She feared him.

The wolfish grin was back. Standing, he rose to his full height, a towering 5’9”, jade eyes glowing. “This and that,” he said casually, flicking his cloak back.

“I know you’ve been following me. Across this world, and others.” He knew she was speaking of Draenor. “Why?”

He shrugged again, beginning to circle her, eye flicking up and down her form, taking in her armor. She sent another message, and he laughed as he shook his head. “Why indeed?” he asked, continuing to circle her. Stalk her.

She shifted her stance, loosing her sword in its sheath. She said nothing, just watched him coolly, her ice-blue eyes following his every movement.

He stopped in front of her. “I loved her,” he said simply, and then struck. He feinted with a burst of fire in her face and then loosing an icy bolt at her exposed side. She parried with an anti-magic barrier, drawing her sword and sweeping towards him in the same move. He dodged the blow neatly, waiting impatiently for her shield to falter, tossing a ball of fire around carelessly.

Elves scattered from the scene, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste. Vynstaedis shook his head as regarded them, muttering “fools” under his breath.

It was the chance she needed. Xelena raised her sword, flipping it expertly and catching him with a paralyzing blow in the shoulder with the haft, then flicking the blade up towards his face. He turned, the sword cutting across his cheek. Blood formed a thing line across the wound, trickling down his cheek, and he cursed, casting a frost nova. With a shout, Xelena stumbled an fell, cursing her own stupidity as her sword clattered to the floor.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Xelena turned to look at them, the glanced back, searching for her quarry. He was gone, stealthily as a Rouge. She groaned, falling back. “Damn it all.”

The ice shattered loudly, and Xelena gratefully took the hand that was offered to her. As if that day hadn’t haunted her enough… And now this Rouge-like Mage was after her. Damnation, she had enough on her plate with Northreand and Arthas, bringing down the citadel.

She groaned again, folding an arm underneath her breasts and cupping her head in her palm. “Blood and ashes.”

And elf curtsied beside her, ignoring her foul language. “Milady,” she said, offering a bowl of rosewater and warm towels. Xelena took them with a nod of thanks, wiping the blood and sweat off of her face, enjoying the warmth. She handed the bloodied towel back to the attendant with another nod of thanks before turning to regard the city throught he gauzy hanging. Ruibarra, Sayedrian, and Luike needed to be informed, the guard put on alert.

This Mage would do anything for her blood.