Arkail departed the zeppelin and headed down the tower. Thunder and lightning crashed and broke upon the sky illuminating the ruins of Lordaeron briefly. The rain poured down increasing the stretch of decay and rot in the ruined husks of trees and fields surrounding the dead city.
Arkail let out a hacking cough one that shook his very core and made him gasp for breath. His lungs were not what they were used to be he thought to himself a small smile appearing on his lips. He passed the old throne room of Lordaeron giving as always the slightest of salutes; a single finger to his brow and embarked the elevator. The stench made his stomach churn as he descended and he dabbed some smelling salts under each nostril. Arkail closed his eyes briefly, Home, he thought. It is good to be home. He begin his way to his quarters though the twisting halls and corridors of the Undercity and at once felt eyes upon him in the dark, the very shadows on the walls seemed to follow him, the hairs stood up on the back of his neck and that small primal part of his brain that feared the dark raced though his mind increasing his heart rate and breathing. Arkail smiled to himself, he had missed Undercity, he felt safe.
He turned the latch on the door to his quarters and as always the the latch came away in his hand and the door creaked and then slammed to the ground sending a thick dust cloud to envelop his room, all many of spiders and insects inside scattering for cover. Arkail gave out an annoyed but amused chuckle as he trampled inside over the door picking it up with one hand and slamming it back into place, jamming the latch back into place with a click. He surveyed the room, fanning the dust away clearing his vision a rough hewn wooden desk and chair sat as he left it a shoddily repaired bookcase in the corner and simple half broken bare bed frame in the other. With a click on his finger the small candle sparked up, first a purple flame which then became a more natural orange red hue upon the desk illuminated the room. Arkail sat down a produced a book from his satchel. A dossier of tribe member, he flicked though a few pages making small amendments here and there. The Legion's return had cost several tribe members their lives and many more were missing presumed dead or worse. He had pondered briefly what had become of them, lost in his own thoughts, it was then the door to his quarter flew open and then towards him, followed the familiar sound and green glow and smell of fel magic.
Arkail reacted nearly without thinking he blinked across the room out the way the door and the bolt following it, the door skidding into his chair and desk and the fel bolt striking the wall igniting the cobwebs and ruined tapestry sticking to it, burning slowly now illuminating his room a sickly green. Arkail's translocation magic had become more and more competent, to point now he considered it to be second nature and of an Arcanist level, the only area of magic his magic he considered to be so. Arkail stood frozen and ready one hand outstretched a purple glow pulsing in his hand ready to fire his other grasping about his side for his blade which as always he had misplaced. Arkail smirked, one day that is going to be the death of me he thought. Arkail waited what felt like an eternity staring at the doorway. Before saying firmly and loudly
“I suggest you show yourself and follow though with your aggressive convictions or bugger off and bother someone else, you'll find no sport in here.”
There was silence followed by a familiar echoing disembodied laugh and then a few claps.
“My dear boy, i thought you were dead and some fool and was rifling though your possessions, thought i'd give him what for and damn good thrashing”
It was Pembroke the bony figure appeared in the doorway glowing eyes the only thing visible and not in silhouette.
Pembroke? I though you were dead? Grrm much apriated Arkail chuckled.
Sorry about the door, You've gotten better i see at your translocation magic, your offensive capability's still need work, that spell in your hand could barely damage anything..
Arkail snorted and grumbled to himself in an odd language to which Pembroke replied
“dont count on it, Cant speak gutterspeak to me boy and not expect me not to understand you are not around your orcs now”
A wide toothy grin appeared on Pembroke as he entered the room to which Arkail returned in kind with his own.
They began to speak of current events the avenues of research, legions return, The dark lady's 'promotion' and Undercitys defences and naval capabilities for several hours.
Until Pembroke interrupted Arkail and handed him an envelope marked with the sigil of the Kirin Tor.
My boy i think it is time for you to go to Dalaran.
** ooc Will return to rp when i feel the urge again, have lost my desire to rp as of late sorry**