Al and Erevain

Alalla settles in a spot a bit apart from the group, but where she can still see everyone. As the person on watch becomes vigilant, Al leaves things in their hands and turns to meditating.

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 steps close to Alalla, but he shows no sign of relaxing. "I do not think we should be making camp so close to drow forces. We may have fought them off for now, but I cannot rest easy knowing that their kind are about."

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.

"Well, our choices are rest, retreat, or die." Since he does not sit, Al stands. She frowns slightly and places a hand close to his worst wound. Torm, help me ease his pain. The wound improves, but not immensely. (Al uses Lay on Hands to heal Erevain 8hp.) She examines the results, frown deepening, then steps back. "I thought I could help more, but I'm probably doing it wrong," she mumbles mostly to herself.

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.

Erevain shudders as the healing passes through him, and he lets out a sigh. "It is better relief than my meager magic can provide, most times."

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."

"How much choice do they have now, I wonder?" Alalla braids Erevain's hair loosely. "Gruumsh enslaves us through our blood, but also through orc culture. How do you escape when it's all you've ever known? When there's no alternative to turn to?" She takes his hand and tries to gently pull him to a seat beside her. "Perhaps their ancestors were different, but now the drow sound similar to orcs." She shrugs. "But you are more knowledgeable than I."

Erevain allows Alalla to pull him to a seat. "When I rode with the Greycloaks of Evereska, too often we heard of drow raids on surface communities and raced to give aid, only to find the people slaughtered or taken." He grimaces, and Alalla can tell that the memories pain him greatly. "Should a dark elf show any sign of remorse for such an act, I would grant him or her the chance for redemption. But these assassins and slavers are true monsters; they care only for themselves. We must kill as many of them as we can, before they do the same to us."

Al listens quietly, then touches the hilt of his broadsword. "It's times like these I miss the connection the sword gave us." She takes his pale hand in her dark one. "Maybe it was different, but the Targos militia was often called out to homesteads and outlying villages. I think I've seen that sort of bloodshed, though by orcs and barbarians, not by drow. I'm sorry."

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."

Erevain shakes his head. "I am not sure you understand. You saw how they treated the quaggoths? Everyone who is not drow is not only beneath them, but also deserving of utmost cruelty." He stares ahead, and Alalla feels that his eyes are not seeing the chamber, but something else. "Every dark elf we kill here will make the world a brighter place."

Alalla wilts inside, but straightens outwardly. Their situation is too dangerous to shirk her duty.

"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.

The elf grunts. "Perhaps their evil is not unique. But I beg you, sharuhk, do not show them any quarter. Given half a chance, they will leave you dead or worse." He puts a hand on hers. "My most important task shall always be to keep you safe. But just as important as that is my duty to trust your judgement." He meets her eyes. "I will stay on task."

"Good." She sheds her authoritative manner and leans in to kiss him on the forehead. "And I will respect your counsel, always."

Al sighs and leans against Erevain. "It isn't your most important task," she murmurs. "It's my least favourite of all your vows."

Erevain flashes a smile and pulls her close, his usual demeanor returning. "And that is why it is my most important duty. Since you do not care for your own safety, it must become a full-time task for someone. I am happy to be that someone."

"It's not that I don't care," Al grumbles, her words extra guttural. "There are just more important things. But I can see you're a lost cause, so I'll drop it." She buries her face in his shoulder.

Erevain sighs as she snuggles in. His voice is a faint whisper. "No. No, I was lost. And then you found me."