Al and Erevain
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Breathing deep, Alalla closes her eyes. After her breathing and heart rate are slowed, she takes inventory of her emotions. Concern for Zenithral, worry for the Cagebreakers, fear for Halla, the twins, and Kuldahar. None are constructive. Each are quickly dismissed.
With those gone Alalla can feel a slight buzz of adrenaline as her body readies itself for the battles to come. She examines it for a moment. It is a kind of anticipation, but it is a readiness to survive more than anything; not a craving to spill blood and inflict pain. That familiar ache is absent.
She spends some time exploring the space Gruumsh's influence left behind. There are other things filling that gap, she knows, suddenly aware of the itching of the scar where her tail once was, but there is also... peace. A heavy dose of unease at the newness and implications of it as well, but even so a weight has been lifted.
The graceful sound of Erevain's footsteps reach through her calm, and Alalla opens her eyes. She watches him begin his own preparations for rest for a moment before holding out a hand.
"Come here, sharuhk." The sound of her Orcish changes as she adjusts mid-phrase for her lack of tusks. "I think I can do a little bit for those wounds."
Erevain's dark mood is one that Alalla has rarely witnessed from him. The elf's travels and experiences have given him a broad mind and acceptance of cultures and races - even the orcs! But this loathing for his subterranean cousins must have deep roots.
Al steps behind Erevain to stay out of his still vigilant gaze. She takes in his mood for a moment while she finger-combs through his golden hair. "It's very strange to hear an elf speak in orcish with such hatred for other elves," she observes. "I wouldn't have guessed it from you." Her tone, she hopes, is not accusatory. Only curious.
He adjusts a strap of his armor - the armor gifted to Zenithral by Erestor. "It is not that all drow are evil and all surface elves are good. There are outliers. But dark elves do not compare to orcs. Orckind is enslaved to Gruumsh as far as we can tell. But the drow... they chose to follow Lolth, their Spider Goddess. They forsook Corellon and the Seldarine to follow a darker path."
The elf warrior clenches his fists. "They had a choice between good and evil and they chose evil. And countless people have suffered since."
A moment of silence hangs between them, then Alalla goes to speak up again. She hesitates, then steels herself and continues. "We will do what we must to protect and defend, and to damage Belhifet's plans here, but our mission is not to kill drow."
"I'm not sure you understand. The drow are capable of horrible things, I'm sure, but they aren't special." Her mind drifts to her mother's stories of the sickly or old 'left for Shargaas,' and of Guntor and his like given to the priests of Yurtrus by their own mothers. "Even if they were, they are not why we're here. I'm trusting you to stay on task and not let your emotions cloud your judgement. Is my trust well-placed?" Her tone makes it clear she is not asking as his wife.
Al sighs and leans against Erevain. "It isn't your most important task," she murmurs. "It's my least favourite of all your vows."