Chapter 0 - Sleeping near the fishes (non-NSFW)

Greetings, and welcome to my first slow burn fic! I'm hoping to update this every week or so, so please, leave a comment to fuel my creative desires! 

This chapter features no smut, but have no fear, there will be in the next chapter. 

Tags this chapter: None
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Bill sighed, pushing his circular glasses back up his nose, careful not to get dirt on them. After digging through dirt, and the occasional barnacle, he’d uncovered a seemingly ancient treasure box in the ruins of Zin’Azshari. Violet gems were encased in silver around the purple box. Large enough that he needed both hands to carry it, but incredibly light. The Quel'Dorei certainly knew how to pack. 


He carefully raised it out of the ground, and placed it next to him. He quickly noted a small keyhole at its side. He grinned, and rummaged through his backpack, standard for all adventurers. It was limited by space, but not in the traditional sense. Gnomish technology and magic let him shrink down any item, and decrease its weight substantially. He unclipped one of the many pocket slots, and retrieved a key from his previous survey.

The ground shook. He quickly, but not too roughly, held the box in place. 


“Careful, Miss Darkflight!” He called out, the ground continued to shake from his hired help spells.


“This is careful!” She yelled back, waving her shadow soaked hand angrily. That particular hand, and the forearm that preceded it, was burnt to a near crisp. It wasn’t a recent development, it was like that when he’d first met her. He assumed it was a sort of fel alteration, as sickly green energy glowed through the burnt cracks. Her magic fired outwards like a shadowy bolt, cracking into a Naga spellcaster in the chest; a gaping, bloody hole left in its wake. Her demon, a Felguard, rushed towards another nage at a blinding speed, wedging its war axe between another Naga’s shoulders and collarbone. 


Bill grimaced and went back to work, not too keen to watch the entire battle. Adventurers were great to have around in his line of work. But warlocks weren’t the best company to have. The recent events of the Legion didn’t help with how people viewed warlocks, but Serina was somewhat better than most. If only because she was in it for the money and didn’t threaten him every time he spoke up. Still, if he had a choice in the matter, he’d probably pick a rogue. Nazjatar was full of naga and other unfriendly creatures. Having a rogue around would most definitely reduce the amount of attention he’d received. Bill thought a warlock wouldn’t seek conflict, but he was proven wrong after the thirtieth corpse.


“Hack her arms off and bring them to me, I wish to beat her comrades with them!” She laughed maniacally, proceeding to command her imps to explode on another naga.

Definitely no subtlety. He quickly got back to his archaeological find of the day. Supposedly, the contents of the box were owned by one of Azshara’s handmaidens ten thousands years ago. Though her name was lost, there were plenty of night elven documents detailing what a handmaiden of Azshara had to live up to. Some adventurers had even gone into the Caverns of Time, and even seen one of these handmaidens up close, bringing back stories of what they’d looked like.
And how they had to brutally murder them. In self-defense, of course, but still. They did not spare details on how they killed people.


“Miss Darkflight, I’m-” Bill sighed. Speaking of brutality, his warlock companion was being true to her word and beating another Naga with a thin scaly arm. He waited a couple of minutes, the stench of burnt fish hung in the air. It didn’t bother him much, he’d spent some time in the Un’goro Crater, and the amount of Dinosaur dung he had to sift through was not something he wanted to reveal. 


“I’ve found it, Miss Darkflight.” He announced in a deadpan tone.


“Ah?” she turned around, her immaculate elven features somewhat diminished by the naga blood stained on her cheek, nose and forehead, “Oh, good.”


Serina coughed into her hand, waving the other to command her Felguard back to her. She brought her hand from her face, now covered in blood. She hacked out another cough and visibly shivered in disgust. A clean handkerchief was shakily pulled from her robes, wiping her hands and face of the offending substance . This wasn’t the first time she’d reacted this way to blood. In the moment, she seemed like a bloodthirsty harpie, tearing off limbs and annihilating a creature's very existence. Or, at least, through summoning hordes of imps and felhounds at a time. 

The burning skull of Thal’kiel flew down, flanking Darkflight’s side,  “We need to work on your aversion to blood. It is embarrassing to be associated with a Warlock that can’t stand it.”


Bill stifled a laugh at the glare Serina gave her weapon/companion. When he first met her, he could barely form a coherent sentence. While he could attribute this to her station being the First of the Black Harvest. A notorious council of Azeroth’s most powerful warlocks. He quickly got over it from observing her quirks. She presented herself in an icy and regal manner, only wanting the barest details of his ‘quest’, as she called it. He assumed she commanded fear and respect, reinforced by her regal tone and the way she regarded his quest, “You should be lucky that I even decided to humour this endeavor of yours.”


His observations of her relationship with Thal’kiel had quickly changed this ‘force of nature’ opinion of her. She was often sassed by the aforementioned weapon. She hardly ever had a good retort for him either. Bill didn’t dare make his entertainment known openly. He’d rather Sarina throw her demons at the Naga, instead of him.


“Quit your impertinent staring and inform me of your findings.” She glowered at him, crossing her arms over her bare stomach. He gulped, forcing his eyes up to her own fel fire green. Why she decided to wear something that revealed all of her toned stomach, and a significant portion of underboob, he’d never understand. The purple robe left both her arms exposed, and the portion that should have covered her legs, only reached about mid thigh. There were a few glowing orange jewels on the chest and shoulders, adding to the threatening aura she had. Her legs were covered by jet black leggings. He was thankful that she at least had the sense to wear boots, but the amount of straps that covered them were, frankly, ridiculous. One did not require six belt straps for boots that covered up to their shins.


Bill remembered he wasn’t supposed to be staring. The frown of Serina’s purple lips was a tell-tale sign she was losing patience. He picked up the box, still unharmed, and presented it to her. She studied it with idle fascination and impatience, her fiery green eyes scanning the delicate box.


“You brought me, a Warlock of the highest regard, deep into enemy territory,” She gestured toward his, now shaking, hands, “For a box. I thought you said it was an artifact.”


‘No, you agreed to come with me. I didn’t seek you out.’ He fought down that retort. It surely wouldn’t fly well with her.


“It’s in the box, Bill started, “If my studies are correct, inside should be a fully intact Soul Mirror.”


“Which is?” Serina moved closer, her interest now piqued. Though, if he had to guess, it was only for the fact that he said ‘Soul’. Still, he’d take mild curiosity rather than indignant fury. She wouldn’t have to ask these questions if she held some patience earlier. He barely started explaining the quest, but she said she’d do it as long as she got paid and started wondering off ahead of him! 


“Soul Mirrors were used by the Highborne to inspect their bodies on a far more personal level,” he used the key, a satisfying click signified that it was the correct key. He didn’t want to find out what would happen if it wasn’t, “instead of reflecting light, it reflects the users Soul, and presents it like a Titan Projection.”


Inside was a still pristine mirror, sat upon a velvet cushion.


“Looks like I was right.” He said triumphantly. He made to close the box, but was quickly stopped by Serina, placing her hand on his wrist.


“I wish to see if your word is true, how does one use this mirror?” Serina asked roughly, holding the box open. 


“W-well, I don’t know for certain. I’ll have to take it back to camp to study further-”


“I want to know now. I refuse to allow someone of your standing to walk away with a potentially priceless artifact, and for myself to be cheated of any money you earn from it.”


Bill sighed, obviously unable to get through to her. He relented, pulling the mirror out entirely. Serina’s thick, purple painted lips curled to a smug smile. Obviously treating this like some sort of victory. 


He turned the mirror away from himself, moving the reflective glass toward the Blood Elf. A moment of quiet passed between them. He looked past the border of the mirror, concerned for her sudden silence.

“Is this some sort of sick joke..?”


“What?”


“This reflection is not mine,” She gritted out, “I am changed by the fel, so why do I look so-?”


Confused, Bill turned the mirror to himself, the light of the sun blinded him through his glasses for a moment, before he saw his reflection. Completed unchanged.


“What do you see within?” She asked, a dangerous edge to her voice.


“It’s just me,” he answered honestly. Just plain old Bill with his shoulder length brown hair, a scruffy beard, red eyes covered by thick, round glasses. Quite average amongst other Stromgarde men.  He looked up, finding the agitated face of a warlock staring back at him with-


Bill did a double take at the tears that stung the corners of her fel lit eyes. 


“Lies, I demand to know what you saw!” She growled through grit teeth. Shadow and flame gathered in her fel-burnt hand, threatening to do the same to his face. 


“This was created before my kind, it might just not work for me!” he quickly reasoned, leaning away from the threatening spell coalescing in her fel cursed hand. Her face shook with rage he didn’t understand. But her tear stung eyes had turned to an angry river of emotion. She dropped her hand, and her shoulders followed. 


“Don’t you ever, ever face that mirror my way again,” Serina turned away, gesturing in the air, commanding her felguard to follow her, “We return to the neutral camp. I want my reward.”


Bill didn’t argue.


***


Of course, while neither of them planned to take a detour from the preferred route, sometimes fate didn’t give a damn. 


The Warlock encouraged a pathway that led between Kal’Methir and the Drowned Market, to avoid most of the void-infected Makrura, and the crazed spirits. He didn’t like the sound of either, and followed her along. Though, while he didn’t like conflict, that didn’t stop her from finding her own occasional amusement in murdering the unfriendly flora and fauna. Maybe even a way for her to destress from her outburst of emotion.


Serina had snapped around, quickly grabbing his mouth in her perfectly manicured hand, and pulled him around the stone wall. Her felguard quickly vanished, assumedly returning to the Twisting Nether. The skull had also dematerialised. Bill held his breath, trusting Serina’s judgement. If she was hiding, he should be scared.


“Hundreds of Naga. Marching back to the Eternal Palace. Azshara must be getting nervous,” Serina muttered, “We have to turn back east. Find shelter with the spirits.”


Bill nodded in her hand. Taking in light breaths, noting the smell of ash from her earlier spell casting. Strangely, there was another odour. Something sweet? He couldn’t place it. He must be panicking. 


“Calm down.”


Still panicking.


“Calm down, now.” She shook his head lightly towards hers, forcing him to stare deep into those green eyes. He certainly considered People of the Alliance often spoke of Elven beauty, but that was mostly in reference to the Kaldorei. The Sin’dorei were a beauty in their own right. 

Sarina’s hair was a black mess of a pixie cut, but her nature as a Warlock obviously didn’t let her take care of it. Her cheeks were impossibly smooth, her nose was pointed and thin, all these were common traits for an elf. Her skin was a deeper shade of red, compared to most of her kindred, but he could attribute that, alongside the small horns atop her head, to the fel energy she was constantly exposed to. Unlike her, most Blood Elves had thin lips, and their jaws weren’t as square-like. 


What was he panicking about?


Serina looked away with a click of her tongue. Her hand left his mouth, gripping his arm instead. Bill winced, unsurprised that she was so strong, as most adventurers were.


“Back the way we came. Now.” She released his arm, heading back toward Kal’Methir. He nodded trailing behind her. 


Serina didn’t resummon her demons. Bill wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing. Warlocks, demonology ones especially, relied on their demons to keep the enemies attention, while they cast shadow and flame from afar. 


Still, he was in no position to argue. For all he knew, she was just preserving energy in case of a fight. He looked over his shoulder, glad that nothing else was following them. He adjusted the straps of his backpack, and carried on. Following the scary elf.


***


“In here.” Serina didn’t bother to look at him, just announcing her command to the air. It’d been like that the entire time. While he was annoyed by her treatment, he can’t say he blamed her. She was hoping for an easy reward with little conflict before the day was done. Instead there was an army of Naga in the way, and it was almost nightfall. 


The place she’d chosen was a worn down Quel’Dorei home. Most of the other ones they’d passed were filled with Snapdragons, which bore a resemblance to an Alligator, if it decided it wanted longer legs.


Bill followed his warlock companion inside, the darkness of the house did little to comfort him. He was told by his fellow explorers, and archaeologists, that Nazjatar was near the top of the list of dangerous locations. Despite their warnings, he ventured onwards, taking the portal from Boralus to Mezzamere.


Light stole him from his thoughts. Purple flames danced in the air, illuminating the broken house. Serina held up her hands, letting more of those flames outward. Her eyes closed and lips strained, she was humming softly and bouncing slightly on the spot. No doubt the spell required her to move as such, but he couldn’t help but stare. The skin showing her small breasts swayed up and down, not enough force for them to spill under, but it certainly made his mouth feel dry and cheeks feel hot. He turned away, mentally cursing himself for being so perverted.


“How long do we need to stay here for?” Bill figured it would be for the night, but the silence between them was getting uncomfortable. He didn’t need her staring him down while he tried to sleep. Or lure in Snapdragons to chase him around for her amusement.


“The night. Obviously.” She bit back. Bill nodded, happy he at least got a reply. The light illuminated the house in purple splotches, not entirely lit up like a house in Stormwind. But if it was akin to a Stormwind home, that would only attract unwanted attention. 


The house was barely like the standard human home. It was a large circular room, and a large flight of stairs protruded from the wall toward a balcony that overlooked the room. A broken desk overrun with moss and barnacles lay on the side, partially sunk into the water. There were no beds, nor any other furniture that could be associated with a home. 


Bill hummed loudly, scratching his chin. He knelt down before the desk, inspecting the integrity of the wood. He prodded one of the legs, only somewhat covered in moss and seaweed. As he’d assumed, a small amount of pressure and it fell onto the floor. No doubt if he tried to pull one of the drawers, the handle would be ripped from the wood. 


‘But if that’s the case.’ 


He slung his backpack off, finding his Archaeology tools. He pulled out a small pick, and got to work tearing off layers of wood. He didn’t need to open the drawer, just break it open.


A few solid hits, and he was through. He rummaged around, finding destroyed papers and rotted feather quills. What caught his attention was a small box. He pulled it out into the light, taking closer inspection. It was in pristine condition, unaffected by water and the severe weight of the ocean. Magically altered, then.


He stood up, holding the box above his head and inspected each side. There was no way to open it, none that he could see anyway. Magically locked too. Why was everything magical in some way when it came to the Quel’Dorei?

“What is it you have there?”


‘Speaking of elves.’

“Not sure,” Bill answered, “I found it inside a desk.”


Bill felt a presence behind him. Obviously, Serina wanted to look at it, but didn’t openly ask. He withheld a sigh, relinquishing it to the warlock. Before it was in her hands, she gasped excitedly.


“One of Mardivas’ Leylocked chests!” Serina giddily stole it from him, and turned away  roaming around the room with it. Clearly, she knew how to open it.


“You’ve found one before then, Miss Darkflight?” He asked, watching her walk up the stairs. He followed on, happy that they weren’t going to be awkwardly silent the entire night.


“A few, yes. They require a magical focus unique to Mardivas. His spirit will leap from this focus, taunt the user, then it’s a simple puzzle to solve from there,” She reached the top, out of his sight for a moment, “Usually there’s a bit of gold and a Benthic Arconocrystal.”


“A what?”


Bill turned the corner, and stopped just past the last step Serina was knelt over, rummaging through some broken pieces of wood and stone, until-


A spirit, or maybe an echo, of a male night elf sprung forth from the rubble. He was glowing a faint violet, and the only hair he had was a moustache. Two long clumps of hair that fell down either side of his mouth past his chin.


“Aha! Another thief dares to steal from the Great Mardivas! Then dare to challenge your own intellect with this.” The echo flung his arms around dramatically, and several tiny arcane balls appeared with different lines attached to each. Some of these lines crossed over one another, turning red, while others that didn’t cross over remained their arcane colour.


“Either the Quel’Dorie of the past were incredibly stupid to not be able to uncross some lines, or Mardivas had a bit too much ego and not enough intelligence.” Serina laughed, moving the balls around. In only three movements, they were all uncrossed.


“Curses! Your cunning must be equal to mine…” The echo of Mardivas faded, and the small box in her hand unlocked with a shower of purple smoke. Serina threw the lid to the floor and tipped the small chest upside down. In her fel cracked hand, fell a few gold coins and a strange red rock. He assumed that was the ‘arcanocrystal’. It was spherical, and seemed to radiate heat from its core. He wondered if it was hot enough to burn skin, and that's why she’s holding it in the fel burnt one.


“What does that one do?” Bill asked.


“Take a step back, and maybe I’ll inform you.”


Take a-? 


There was barely half a foot between them. He must have been looking over her shoulder the whole time, and not registered his proximity.


“Sorry I’ll-” There was supposed to be a floor behind him, so why was he falling?


A hand shot out and grabbed his linen shirt. He was at a perfect forty-five angle backwards. The stairwell directly behind him.


“Not that far back.” She smirked, a glint of humour in her eyes. Bill was pulled forward, his feet firmly on the floor. He couldn’t get upset. Serina tossed the arcanocrystal to him. Without thinking, Bill caught it with both hands. He thought it’d burn, or at least feel hot, but it was strangely cold.


“Strange, isn’t it,” she chuckled, “A volcanic arcanocrystal is cold, instead of hot. I always thought it was odd.”


Bill inspected it at eye level. There weren’t any cracks or chips on its surface. The inside held a dull orange light. Either it was naturally formed or it was created by magical means. If it was created, then it should follow that there’d be some tomes or techniques passed down to mass produce them. He turned away from Serina and walked down the stairs, wanting his bag to further investigate.


“Excuse me, where do you think you’re going with my reward?” Serina’s voice clipped through him like ice. A shiver went through his spine as he shakily turned back.


“I wanted to know more about them?” 


“Then ask me, I think you’ll find I’m quite knowledgeable.” She placed her fingers on her chest, a cocky smile on her face that screamed ‘I know more than you’. He pushed down the rising agitation.


“Do you know how they were made?”


Serina blinked, the smile vanished off her face and her arms dropped to her side.


“Made?”


“This looks like it was either materialised through magic, or cut by a jewelcrafter,” He started, “I have a few copies on Quel'Dorei history. I admit it’s not everything, but, I was wondering if they could be mass produced, or at least understand their strange properties.”


“Oh, I don’t know anything about that.”


Bill’s eyebrow twitched. He put on a kind and patient smile, “What do you know about them?”


“There’s a place in the Azshari Terrace, it’s Mardivas’ old laboratory.”


“He made them?” Bill asked incredulously. From what he just witnessed of that echo, a madman creating an endothermic orb seemed unlikely.


“No,” Bill was relieved at her answer, “He told me to place them in repository. Then a giant fire elemental appeared, I ordered Grundaris to take care of it.”


Bill was no longer relieved. He let the information sit in his mind for a moment. He wanted to ask if she regularly did what spirits and ghosts told her to do. He figured that would go unappreciated. He shook his head.


“And what happened to the arcanocrystal?”


“Destroyed.”


A purple flame slowly passed between the two of them.


“I would assume these things aren’t unlimited. And you destroyed one because the ghost of a madman told you to?” He really tried to tone down the incredulity in his voice. He really did. A shame that the warlock picked up on it.


“I wasn’t the only one.” She muttered with her cheeks puffed up. The blood elf’s already partially red skin darkened. She looked to the side and crossed her arms.


‘Like that makes it better.’ he bit down the retort. Taking a deep breath.


“Could I at least keep this one for study? If I can find out how they’re made, or at least crafted, you don’t have to rely on these sporadically placed boxes.”


Her eyes lit up, a spark of an idea hiding in her green eyes.


“Of course, of course,” Serina smiled coyly, a finger came up and tapped her chin in faux thought, “If you manage to find how they’re created, I’d like to at least have a major discount when you sell them to other adventurers.”


Bill did a double take, “Pardon?”


Her smile turned devious, finger curled under her chin, “You could make quite a bit of gold, selling these crystals. They’re quite fetching, wouldn’t you say? Strange properties that can be applied to various sciences, perhaps?”


“What are you implying?”


“Think about it. Adventurers need these to collect rewards from Mardivas. Tailors could use them to make grand works. Jewelcrafters could find ways to enhance people through these gems. There’s an entire business plan for you to venture.” 


Bill nodded along, “Ah, I see.”


“Yes! And I could have discounts to-”


He shook his head, “I won’t be doing that.”


He half expected her to get angry, instead her cheeks got all puffy.


“Why nooooot?” She whined. Actually whined. And stomped her foot? His eyes widened in disbelief. How old was this elf to be acting like this? To think, he may have actually preferred her when she was quiet, scary and an actual leader of a feared warlock council. Granted, she was still one of those things.


“I know next to nothing about business practices. I’ll just find out the history behind them, and someone else can turn a profit on it. So long as it’s my name in the history books, I’ll be happy.”


Serina wore a deadpan expression, then grunted derisively, walking past him downstairs. Bill shook his head, following her down.


The warlock went to her own devices, sending some floating eyeball outside, and went into a trance. Bill didn’t question it, putting away the arcanocrystal in his backpack, and struggled to pull out his bedroll. 


The wonders of having a magic bag.


He got to work laying it out in the driest spot in the damp room, figuring the further he was away from the entrance, the better.


He laid in relative silence, the cold air of Nazjatar no longer bothering him in his bedroll. He had thought of rummaging through his other books about Quel’Dorei discoveries of the Arcane. 


But he needed to finish another book, and further research on arcanocrystals would have to wait. Another book in his hands, he was only half-heartedly reading the passages. A rather mature story shared by the Eredar on Argus he’d found in his brief travels on Mac’Aree. Dangerous as it was, going to Argus was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and there was hardly any history on the Draenei. Not because they were reluctant to pass it on, but so much of their history was lost during their exile from Argus and Draenor.


From what little Eredun he understood, it was a tale of lovers, and a tragedy. Two Eredar, both female, held romantic feelings for one another. The Legion soon came to Argus, and one of them chose to side with the demons; becoming Man’ari. The other, horrified that the person they loved had become a demon, chose to run away with the Draenei.


The Draenei woman was chased down by the Man’ari, and when she was finally caught, the Man’ari took away all of her fear, thinking she would be able to love her once more. She succeeded, but took away her happiness, sorrow and even love. She became a husk, no longer capable of thought.


Distraught by this, the Man’ari killed the Draenei- then herself.


He closed the book, holding it against his chest. There was certainly far more to the story, pages more, likely detailed what both women were feeling and doing. But he didn’t understand the language properly, and trying to translate it for more than a few hours at a time physically hurt his eyes. There was something incredibly unfriendly about the language of demons. 


“The Snapdragons have gone to rest,” Sarina announced. He jolted, turning over to face her, “No Naga activity. We will be safe for the-” she trailed off. Staring at him with a twitch of irritation.


“Where am I to sleep?” She had a very forced smile. He assumed that was not good.


“You, uh, don’t have your own bedroll?”


“I was not expecting to sleep in a forgotten building, so,” her face twisted, eyes flashed in anger, “Of course I did not.”


“Then where do you sleep when you aren’t at an inn?”
 
“I call upon my Wrathsteed and order it to fly me to the nearest innkeeper.”


“Then why don’t we just-?”


“Do you think I am a fool?” She asked coldly.


“N-no, I just want to know why-”


“You must be an accomplished warlock to ride it. It cannot carry you without setting you aflame.”


“What about a Hearthstone? All adventurers have one”


“I-” She looked away, scowling. Her hands clenched into fists. Shaking. Bill gulped, assuming he’d hit a nerve.


“I will not explain to you why I will not use it.” She spoke through gritted teeth, approaching him with a thinly veiled aura of anger. He felt sweat drip down his forehead as she stared him down, “I require somewhere to sleep. I will not trouble you to sleep without that bedspread, instead I will ask you to make some room.”


Bill’s brain momentarily shut down. Then restarted. He processed the words. Numbly, without wanting to make an already upset warlock even more upset, he shuffled as much as he could to the side. As it was, he’d taken up nearly two thirds of space in his portable bed. 


Serina smiled, “Good. I like it when you don’t argue.”


Bill resisted the urge to scoff, looking away as she tucked herself in beside him.


“You’d best be keeping yourself under control. Human’s and their inhibitions are sorely lacking.”


The human in question didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Out of all the races, Humans tended to be the ones that wanted to sleep with anyone they could. Hence why the ‘Common’ language is so easy for all races to learn. A human can’t flirt if the person they’re flirting with doesn’t understand.


Still, he was flattered that she thought he had any desires for her. Sure, she acted adorable at times, and was stunningly beautiful. But he hadn’t had any experience in the matters of courting. Even if he felt anything like that toward her, there’s no way it’d work. Unless the Horde and Alliance agreed to not fight again.


Bill grunted a laugh, letting the drifting purple flames carry him to sleep.


***


Serina laid next to the human, acutely aware of his warm, bulky shoulder pressing into hers. Still, she was careful not to touch him with her fel burnt arm. While she was annoyed that she had to share a bed with a human, the large scale force of naga between them and neutral ground was far more agitating.


She lightly shook her head, ‘It does me no good to fret about something I cannot control.’


Still, she could not sleep, far too concerned about whatever could find their way into their temporary place of rest. No doubt Bill was in the same state of unrest. 


“How are you faring?” Her brows creased, unsure as to why she cared. As far as she knew, he was still Alliance. Even if he was a member of the Explorer’s League.


He didn’t reply. A slight amount of concern welled within her. She turned over, hoping to get a better look.


He was breathing at an even pace, and his eyelids were relaxed and closed. She frowned, somewhat disappointed, and even envious, of how fast he’d fallen to sleep. She could go without sleeping for a few days at a time, thanks to her elven heritage, but humans need to sleep every night, or else they perform poorly with daily tasks. She knew she needed to rest this night in particular. There were only a few days until the raid on the Eternal Palace would begin. The temporary armistice between Lor’themar Theron and Jaina Proudmoore permitted that Alliance and Horde members work together, but at the least not openly fight.


Some adventurers didn’t pay this much heed. Kaldorei and Sylvanas loyalists in particular actively sought out conflict with their opposing factions. Personally, she wasn’t interested in the Fourth War. But the sudden burst of a new resource- the planets very lifeblood ‘Azerite’- promised her more power. 

Serina blinked, remembering that she was staring at the slumbering human. Bill. she recalled him greeting her with his first name. And maybe his last name- she wasn’t really paying attention. 


He had a lot of hair. That was the first thing she took note of. All over his lower face, even some growing on his neck. Most male blood elves hardly grew facial hair, in some sort of way, it was vanity that drove them to look as clean as possible. They styled it on their chins, sure, and grew plenty atop their heads, but that was it. They didn’t really have hair anywhere else. She knew from intimate experience.


Bill had long, flowing brown hair straight down to his shoulders. Her eyes trailed lower, noting the strands of hair poking out the opening of his shirt. Did humans have hair everywhere?


Unthinking, she brushed her fingers along his chest, curious at the thick amount of hair that was exposed. It was soft. Not unlike fur, but certainly not as thick and clumped together. She idly brushed it some more, not against the feeling. He was rather warm to the touch too. Despite their appearance, blood elves were cool to the touch. Exposed to sunlight so often, their bodies compensated by making them cooler than most. Elven adaptation, while slower than humans, is perfected. It takes humans generations of breeding to collect traits that are suitable for an environment. Whereas an elf can be exposed to a plethora of different environments, and their bodies will change over the course of decades to accommodate. 


Hence why there are so many species of elf in the span of ten thousand years, despite all being Quel’Dorei. Practice druidism and worship the moon; kaldorei. Rely on arcane infused food for thousands of years; shal’dorei. Be exposed to the void and not go crazy? Ren’dorei.


She curled her fingers through his hair, careful not to pull at it. She enjoyed the feeling of his soft chest hair on her fingers. If he were awake, he would most certainly thank her for touching him in such a manner. He was certainly a broad human, like many of his kin. Tall, muscly and brutish. If they looked past the cultural differences, humans and orcs would find many similarities between one another. Both reminded her of barbarians from her younger years.

Serina absentmindedly scooted closer to him. His body heat called her. She pushed her, admittedly, small chest against his arm. He smelled of sweat. Like many of his kind, they didn’t keep themselves clean like many blood elves did. Their sense of smell mustn’t have been as sharp as hers. She didn’t shy away from his scent. It was salty, sure, but not grossly so. In a way, she found it refreshing.


She leaned in, pressing her nose in the crook of his neck, becoming more familiar with that scent. Her features softened. Serina could understand why he was tired. A trek from Mezzamere to Zin’Azshari would have been exhausting for a human like him. He wasn’t built like one of his warrior brethren, wielding two greatswords like they weighed nothing. She could spot some fat on him, but not enough to call him so. He was rather comfortable to hold on to- 


Serina blinked, noticing her hand had dwelled under his shirt, feeling his chest up entirely. She slowly pulled herself off him, careful not to disturb his rest. She rested it on her bare stomach. Her face deepened in colour, taking on a crimson red. She felt hot. 


If it were him doing perverted deeds, then she would’ve blasted him into oblivion. Instead, she was the pervert! Serina clenched her eyes together and hoped sleep would come easily soon enough.


Even if she felt colder.


