One of the few weird little OC stories I actually think about enough to write- set in and around Silvermoon during Wrath. Sort of a filler for anytime I need a break from slowly working on Worn Leather and Dulled Steel. Hopefully it isn't too bad. :)

Strell cocked his head to the side and peered just around the corner, covertly surveying the elves milling about the bank.

The steady heat of the mid-afternoon sun made his collar stick uncomfortably to his neck. He sighed and tugged at the fabric before straightening up and smoothing back his long, dark locks. Appearances meant everything, of course, and his outfit had been carefully chosen- it conveyed his status perfectly without being too flashy or memorable.

Still, that didn't make it comfy. He'd grown accustomed to worn leather- simple and form-fitting, practical and sleek. Completely unlike the layers upon layers of flouncy crimson and black fabric he was now swamped in.

But, yes… appearances.

He rounded the corner with his head held high and his chest puffed out the slightest bit, quickly falling into step with a pack of mages-in-training following after their instructor. They passed vendors hawking their wares, beggars pleading for coppers, and a number of listless guards.

Strell clicked his tongue against his teeth and wished he was wearing his mask- it was hard work not to smile at how easy they were making this. Half the city guardians stared vacantly across the Royal Exchange, while the other half shifted sluggishly in place, rolling their shoulders and letting their massive shields rest on the ground.

It appeared the steady beating of the sun's rays was affecting even the upstanding guards.

As they neared the bank, Strell slipped away from the rest of the group and hugged the wall as he strode inside. The typically long lines had dwindled to just a few elves waiting on the bankers, the afternoon lull leaving the bank blissfully empty.

The two guardians posted by the entrance were busy conversing with a magister, and it looked that one might have been offering to assist the well-dressed mage in carrying the chest of scrolls he had taken from the vault out to his palanquin.

Oh, this was good. Strell casually took his place in line and waited impatiently.

It was seconds before he heard someone stop behind him. He turned slightly, smiling just the faintest bit at the young girl that was blushing and trying very hard not to meet his eyes.

Larilla was petite and fair-skinned, her hair long and blonde and her cheeks dotted with just enough freckles to be adorable. She also had a twin, and her brother Mistren was more of the same, with short, fluffy locks that reminded Strell of a farstrider's feathers. The pair was simply too enticing to ignore, and apparently they both found something alluring in him as well, or else they wouldn't be so eager to take part in his schemes.

Mistren chose that moment to stumble into the bank, doing his best to appear lost and vulnerable- which probably wasn't hard, Strell mused. They were a naïve pair, and often so obtusely innocent that it made him groan, but both were keen to make themselves useful. He liked that.

The rogue had to bite back a soft smile as he saw the lone guard glance around nervously, looking torn between manning the post and helping the tousled young elf that was pleading with him.

"Next?"

Strell slid up to the counter and gave the banker a charming smile. Or, at least the hoped it was charming. It seemed to work most of the time.

But not this time.

"Yes?" she asked impatiently, completely ignoring his smile as she tap-tap-tapped her long nails against the counter.

He recovered with a soft frown. "Yes, I need to withdraw a hundred and fifty gold from my vault. Jahrel Lightbreeze."

"Identification?"

He pulled a length of chain from within his robe and offered up the crest that dangled from it as proof. "And my papers as well," he added, pulling forth a slip of paper and unfolding it. "Bit worn out, though."

The banker sneered slightly at the faded identification papers, squinting to make out the smeared writing.

Strell knew it was a good forgery. He knew more about nobles' crests and identification papers than your average rogue did, having access to his own documents for examples.

The banker brusquely shoved his items back into his hands and then went to retrieve the gold from the back of the vault.

"Thank you, miss," he said with a quick wink, which earned him a huff and an eyeroll as she counted up the coins and bagged them for him.

As soon as he turned, he carefully slipped the hefty pouch to Larilla. Always better to be safe than sorry, after all, and the girl was about a thousand times less suspicious than he was.

It wasn't like he needed the gold anyway- it was better that it end up with Mistren and Larilla. Their little apartment was woefully underfurnished. After losing their parents to the Scourge, they'd had to quickly learn to provide for themselves; they did honest work, and got an honest but meager pay in return. A little supplement to their income would go a long way, both for their welfare and for his chance with them.

Strell jaunted out of the bank with an unabashed grin, feeling thoroughly pleased with himself.

They'd meet up later at a tavern- somewhere with some clean rooms available, hopefully- and have a few drinks before tumbling off somewhere. The rogue hummed thoughtfully, already thinking of what words to use on the twins. Having them both at the same time would require some artful manipulation on his part, but it would certainly be a worthwhile experience.

He had nearly made it back to Murder Row before a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

"And what do you think you're doing, Dayborne?" an authoritative voice bellowed from behind him.

He turned in place, straightening up smartly before the head of the guard. "Hello, Captain Niandra." He gave her a half-bow. "As… pleasant as it is to-"

"You aren't going anywhere," she interrupted, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him close. "You're one pathetic excuse for a rogue," she huffed as she tugged him along.

People were staring. Strell frowned apologetically as he caught Mistren and Larilla's faces in the crowd. At least they seemed to be in the clear- it was why he'd chosen to involve them, after all. He might have too much of a reputation, but those two were wonderfully inconspicuous. No, they'd be fine, and a hundred-fifty gold richer besides.

Now, his own predicament was a bit more complicated.

No threesome tonight, he supposed, as another guardian came to seize his other arm and escort him away.

"Niandra," he tried pleadingly as they approached the guard's quarters. "Please, I'm not even sure what you're bringing me in for this time."

The elf snorted and tightened her grip on his arm, her gauntlets digging painfully into the flesh. "Oh, really? You have no idea what you might have done, Ser Lightbreeze?"

He winced slightly. "The banker-"

"Is my sister," the captain growled, "and has been entertained by dozens of my retellings of your laughable schemes. She knows you quite well, Dayborne. I do believe she had identified you the moment you gave her that smile."

"What smile?" he asked with a flirtatious tone, that very smile creeping onto his lips.

"The same one that I fear too many of my guards are falling victim to," she hissed, jostling the rogue for good measure.

"It was only two of them, I thought. Unless I came across one off-duty and didn't realize it…" He thought back over the last few weeks' worth of conquests.

The captain's grumbling at least gave the rogue a certain satisfaction.

"Dayborne, I haven't the time nor the patience to ponder your reasons for committing such criminal acts," Guard Captain Niandra said with a long-suffering sigh. She led him by the arm through the halls of a justice building that he knew well by now. "I imagine your father is at quite a loss at accounting for your atrocious behavior as well."

"You needn't mention him," the young elf said with a sullen pout. He suddenly spied a familiar face and nodded in the direction of one of the city guardians, flashing the shield-baring blonde a quick smile as he passed. The guard coughed and ducked behind his massive shield, pointedly avoiding meeting the rogue's eyes.

"I do," she said sternly. "He has vouched for you up to this point, and paid your debts, and I have been unduly lax with you because of his reputation and kindness; however, I'm afraid I cannot continue to coddle you. Your youth will not protect you from the full force of the law for much longer, Dayborne," Niandra warned. "Get your act together now."

The elf pursed his lips and slouched in place.

The Guard Captain huffed. "Please take him to Ser Dayborne," she said to one of the guards posted outside the door. "I have quite enough trouble to deal with already," she said tiredly, laying her hand on a thick stack of papers and fanning them out across her desk.

"Well, thank you for this lovely visit," the rogue said pleasantly. He turned to leave.

"I mean it, Dayborne," she added sharply, putting a hand on his collar to stop him leaving just yet. "I will not tolerate your misdeeds in my city. Your family's protection and my generosity have expired, and I am plagued by greater concerns than your poor behavior."

The young elf's faint smile faded into a frown as he caught the guard captain's troubled look.

"Go on now," Niandra said stiffly, turning back to her desk.

One of the guards placed a hand on Strell's shoulder and led him out of her office and down another crimson-draped hall. They passed a dozen portraits of past captains of the guard, each gleaming in their golden plate and red finery, until they reached the public entrance at last- a room of moderate size with enough benches to host two dozen visitors.

And seated on one of them was a very familiar form.

Strell gave his father the most charming, innocent grin he could manage.

"- caught stealing again," his father said exasperatedly, one hand buried in his grey-streaked hair as he paced the room of the study. "And from Ser Lightbreeze of all people!"

Strell studied the floor carefully, his head bowed in a show of contriteness. The plush rug beneath his feet was a deep scarlet, its bold color occasionally punctuated by a swirling golden vine that wove its way around the carpeting.

"Light only knows why you do it," Lyrent Dayborne continued, shrugging hopelessly at his wayward son. "What do you need that we do not provide you with? What on Azeroth drives you to pilfer when we have enough gold to afford you every manner of necessity? And then there's your- your… cavorting with the absolute worst sort of people," he sighed as he pinched the bridge of his narrow nose.

'Cavorting' is a rather mild way of putting it, Strell thought, scratching at his chin as he recalled the events that transpired during his most recent visit to one of the bloodthistle dens in Murder Row. He did feel more than a touch of remorse at his father's plight- no dignified family of Silvermoon would ever wish to be graced with a son like himself, and his father made an admirable attempt at setting him straight without being too overbearing about it.

"Really, Strell, I have gone to such great lengths to keep you in good company-"

"Boring company," the young elf corrected, though he gave his father an apologetic look.

His father groaned and slumped into one of the plush armchairs in front of the fireplace. "I am truly sorry that your definition of 'exciting company' is strictly limited to addicts, whores, and drunken assassins," he said with a shake of his head. "Forgive me if I care enough for my youngest son that I do not happily deliver him to scoundrels that would just as soon rob him and slit his throat," Lyrent growled.

"I'm careful," Strell argued, pacing to his father's side and kneeling down to look up at him over the arm of the chair. "I'm always careful-"

"One cannot be 'careful' when they are inebriated, Strell," the older elf said in frustration. "And more often than not, you are found in such a state that you could not possibly protect yourself!"

"But I am careful of where I do that and whom I do it with," the young rogue said pleadingly. "And the tavern owners know I pay well. They look after me. I have not turned up dead yet, have I?"

"I will not continue to let your welfare rest on the appreciation of barkeeps and brothel owners, my son," he said with a heavy sigh. "Or on the willingness of the good captain to return you to us. She is quickly growing impatient, Strell, and your next misbehavior may end with you in a jail cell."

The rogue snorted softly.

"Which should concern you, if only because you would be forcibly deprived of your vices," Lyrent admonished. "I hear it's rather difficult to get bloodthistle while in the guardians' custody."

Strell frowned and fiddled with the tip of one of his long ears.

"In that vein, your mother… your mother and I have decided that we simply cannot let you keep up this sort of lifestyle."

"You and mother? Or just mother?" Strell asked in an irate hiss.

"Both of us," his father said with a stern edge to his voice. "We cannot convince the guards to overlook your indiscretions indefinitely, nor can we protect you whilst you skulk around with murderers and indulge in such… unsavory interests. And, of course, these things reflect poorly on the rest of us," he added with a gentle pat on the young elf's shoulder.

"Mother must be absolutely mortified," he said with a snort. "Can't have me making Torril look bad, can we?"

"It is as much for your wellbeing as it is for your brother's, and for us as a family," Lyrant said with a soft, slightly sad smile.

Strell grunted and crossed his arms. But he couldn't say that he was shocked. His family had tolerated his taste for adventure and debauchery and the low class lifestyle longer than he had imagined they would, and even now he could at least be certain that he would not meet an "accidental" death or find himself disowned and homeless as some other errant nobles might. His father would look out for him.

Strell fidgeted slightly, his expression changing to one of curiosity and concern. "And… and how will you and mother be doing this?" he asked warily. "Keeping me from trouble, that is."

Lyrant simply stood and strode across the room. He opened the door and gestured for Strell to go ahead.

"You're not shipping me off, are you?" he asked with a hint of desperation as he trailed his father down the circular staircase. He swore under his breath. "Father, please. I can't endure more than a week in the country, you know that."

No bloodthistle out there. No cheap booze. No people to pickpocket, no taverns to carouse, no strangers to flirt with, no trainers to learn from. Nothing but quiet, solitary life with the sheep and the big, empty house.

"No, your mo- we considered that," Lyrant said quickly, glancing back over his shoulder. "But... I would rather you learn self-control, Strell," he said softly. "Locking someone away from all temptation does not teach patience or self-denial."

"Ah," he groaned. "A teachable moment."

"Correct," his father said with a slow chuckle. "I… I believe you can do better than this, Strell." His expression was serious and concerned, and his gaze lingered on the young elf before he continued down the last few steps.

The rogue frowned and for a moment, he really did pity his father for winding up with spawn like himself. "So I'll be staying here… does that mean you will be tethering me to a rock somewhere?" he inquired.

Lyrant ignored his question, instead catching a servant's eye and nodding to her. "Niela, please bring him in."

The servant bowed and slid to the side to allow their guest entrance.

The tall, lanky form had to stoop to fit through the door, and it was only thanks to their estate's impressively high ceilings that he could fully straighten up without his mohawk- a shock of red-orange hair that was peppered by streaks of white- knocking into the chandelier.

The troll was armored to the teeth, complete with two massive broadswords strapped to his back. It took Strell a moment to distinguish the troll's tusks from the rest of the spikes jutting out from his body.

He exhaled sharply, wondering what had possessed his father to go along with this madness. The troll was clad in ridiculously heavy looking plate with spikes and ridges in every direction and long, well-muscled limbs were paired with odd three-fingered hands that appeared more suited to crushing necks and curling into substantial fists rather than to tending to a noble's errant son.

"Strell, this is your new keeper," Lyrant explained, gesturing to the massive troll darkening their entry hall. "I believe his name is…" He glanced to the troll quizzically, apparently having trouble recalling the blade-for-hire's name.

Promising, Stell groaned internally.

"Kinzal," the warrior supplied, his voice low and gravelly. He raised his hand into a fist and drew it across his chest, and Strell took it to be the manner in which trolls saluted.

"Yes, yes," his father said with a nod. "We've hired Kinzal to serve as a sort of… protector for you, Strell."

"Protector?" Strell had to bite his tongue. The troll looked more likely to break him in half than to protect him, not that he needed any protecting to begin with.

"Yes, to keep you from physical harm as well as your more insalubrious indulgences." At Strell's audible swallow, he added, "He is not to harm you, I've made that clear. Of course… he is permitted to use more, hm… strenuous methods of restraining you, should the need arise."

Kinzal nodded and rolled his shoulders, the armor groaning and clinking at the movement.

"My apologies," Lyrant said at once. "You must be terribly uncomfortable in all of that plate. Let Niela show you to your room while I finish here with Strell."

"Ain't nuttin'," the troll said with a wave of his hand, but he lumbered after the small elf anyway.

Lyrant frowned at the two-toed footprints left behind on the white marble of the floor, but otherwise seemed fairly pleased and unconcerned with their blue-skinned guest.

"Is mother aware that my keeper is a troll?" Strell asked as soon as the two were out of earshot. "An absolutely massive troll?"

"Oh, no, I picked Kinzal myself," his father said with a nod. "The only parameter your mother laid down was that it could not be another sin'dorei," he added in a hushed whisper.

His tone was not condescending, not even disappointed, really, but Strell quailed nonetheless. No matter how old he got, it was always terribly embarrassing to be reminded that his father- his whole family, really- was quite privy to his affairs, romantic and otherwise. Perhaps he would be better served by a little more discretion…

"Wouldn't do to have me falling into bed with the one supposed to be keeping me on the straight and narrow," he said with a grimace.

His father looked away, his discomfort clear. "No, rather… unhelpful, that. I daresay that will not be a worry with Kinzal," he added with a wry sort of smile.

Strell just moaned and sagged slightly, leaning against one of the ornately carved pillars in the antechamber for support. No, it certainly will not be, he wanted to say. You've picked a fine time to chain me to a great cockblock of a troll, too.

Certainly, it seemed as though his pursuit of the twins was on hiatus. As was all other fun. Even if he could convince the troll to let him visit his favorite joints, it would be social suicide to do so with such a creature in tow.

"And what am I to do with this keeper of mine? Charades?" he asked sardonically.

"That sounds like a rousing way to spend the evening," his father agreed, either oblivious to or intentionally ignorant of his sarcasm. "And there is a deck of cards in my desk in the library, or chess-"

"I highly doubt that big oaf knows how to play chess," the rogue said sullenly. It didn't matter- he hated chess anyway.

"Strell," Lyrant sighed. "Please, be kind." He looked tired as he said it.

"I will try," Strell relented, peeling himself off of the pillar and standing up straight. "I will make the best of this very unfortunate situation."

"A very valuable life skill, I assure you," his father said with a smile. He tucked a lock of dark hair- the same ebony shade that he had- behind Strell's ear. "I would not have agreed if I did not truly think you would benefit from this arrangement," he added in a whisper. "Please give it a chance."

The young elf nodded reluctantly. "I will."

"Good. Now why don't you make sure he is settled in?" his father said brightly. "Show him the rooms and the grounds. He must be famished- take him to the kitchen first."

While not exactly eager to begin this new chapter in his life- the one in which he was, again, a child so inept that he required a nanny to tend to him- he did find he was growing rather interested in his new 'companion'.

He strode through the entry hall and bounded up the grand staircase. At the end of another hall and up a winding staircase was the spare room left after he and his brother had outgrown their governess. The door was still shut.

He edged up the flight of stairs and knocked loudly. "When you are settled, I would take you to the kitchen and then show you the house and grounds."

There was a muffled acknowledgement from within, and with a sigh, the blood elf retreated back down the steps.

Strell clicked his teeth against his tongue and shifted impatiently, quickly growing tired of waiting for his bodyguard-nanny to come down and commence his indefinite sentence.

"Sorry bout da wait," the warrior said once he opened the door. Strell noted that he only wore chainmail and a few accents of plate. And rather than his two massive swords strapped to his back, he now carried two smaller weapons sheathed at his sides. "Name's Kinzal," he said with a half bow.

"Strell," the rogue said flatly. "Let's get to the kitchen then, shall we?" he said at once, turning his back on the troll.

They walked the grounds briskly, with Strell pointing out a handful of buildings and areas to the troll as he munched on a chunk of ham from last night's meal and a hard block of cheese.

"That is the servants' housing," he said, gesturing to a long, low building behind the main house. "And there is the laundry- if you need yours done, simply take it to them. There is a small stables-"

"Ya, I saw dat. My raptor will be safe dere, ya?"

"You've a raptor?" the elf said, stopping in his tracks. He turned, an eager grin already in place. "Can I see it?"

Kinzal shrugged and took another bite. "Sure, mon. He a raptor like any otha', though."

"I've never seen one up close," Strell explained, almost doubling his pace as they headed to the stables. "Hopefully it won't eat the hawkstriders," he said with a laugh.

The troll made a face. "Doubt it. Too scrawny fo' his tastes," he grinned, his lips curling around the thick tusks that jutted out from his jaw. "I will be needin' ta take him huntin'. Birdfeed ain' gonna keep him full."

The elf's eyes went wide at the thought. Hunting would be an excellent diversion, and a possible opportunity to test his combat training. Perhaps it wouldn't be quite so bad, being chained to this troll.

"Loktak," he called as they approached the stable. A sharp whistle cut the air, the two notes immediately startling the hawkstriders.

Amidst the flurry of flapping and squawking, there was an undulating screech. Strell shivered with excitement.

"Loktak," the troll greeted as a crimson raptor flecked with orange and striped with a smoky russet lumbered in from the paddock. The raptor opened its jaws wide and made the screech again. "Dis is Loktak," he told Strell.

As the elf came closer, Kinzal took hold of Loktak's bridle and led him up to the gate on the stall.

Strell swallowed down his fear at those large, serrated teeth and the keen intelligence in those eyes and boldly offered his hand for the raptor to sniff. Hot air misted his palm, and then yellow eyes turned expectantly on him.

"Go ahead," the troll said with a nod.

The rogue laid his hand on Loktak's nose, feeling the pebbly bumps of his scales. Then he slowly stroked higher, over ridges and the feathers that decorated his bridle and across the stubby spikes that lined the beast's neck.

Loktak made a soft clicking noise in the back of his throat and leaned into the touch.

"How gentle for such a frightening appearance," Strell commented, smiling gleefully as the creature shut its eyes when he scratched under its jaw.

"He a big baby underneath all dem teeth an' claws," Kinzal agreed, leaning against the gate. "An' he definitely likes it here…"

"So where did you find employ before this?" the elf asked as he trailed his fingers over the warm scales on the reptile's nose.

"Here n' dere. Whereva' da Scourge needed ta be fought. I liked workin' wit da Argen' Crusade mostly," he shrugged. "Good pay, good people."

"You went to Northrend?" the rogue asked, his face alight with interest. "What's it like? How long were you there? What's happening up there? How much longer until Arthas is slain?"

"Cold, abou' six months, a whole lotta shit goin' down, an' I dunno," Kinzal said tonelessly.

The elf pursed his lips. He had been hoping for some excitement from the troll, but even with a wealth of experiences that would be sure to enthrall, it seemed he would need to have the details pried from him. No matter, the rogue decided. Teasing the secrets out of him would help pass the time in the coming days.

"Well," Strell said with a sigh. "Perhaps I could come with you when you hunt for Loktak? I am decent with a bow," he said quickly. "And I know-"

"Master Dayborne," a voice called then. One of the kitchen servants. "Oh, Master Dayborne!" she said in shock as she drew near. "Dinner is about to be served and here you are handling such a dreadful creature!" she cried, wiping her hands on her apron as if it had been her that had touched the raptor.

Kinzal's mouth settled into a subtle frown, and Strell noticed. "He is quite docile," he told her as he smoothed back the reptile's feathered armbands.

"Don't let your mother know of this, Master Dayborne," the older elf said sternly, her brow furrowed in consternation. "And for Light's sake, hurry and wash up before dinner, lest you catch something from one of them," she said, eyeing the troll warily before admonishing Strell one last time and scurrying back toward the kitchen.

The rogue turned and gave Kinzal an apologetic look. "She is older," he tried to explain. "The Amani- the forest trolls have caused much grief over the years, and some people make little distinction between the Darkspear and the rest-"

"S'all right," the troll said uncomfortably. He stepped closer to Loktak and patted the raptor's cheek. "Let's get ya back now. I'd hate ta see ya madda get mad."

In that, Strell enthusiastically agreed; they bade Loktak farewell and he led his keeper quickly back to the house.

Despite the promising nature of the evening prior, the first day in the troll's company was a terrible bore.

He simply trudged behind Strell wherever he went, silent and imposing and utterly dull. And Strell had behaved himself, whiling away the hours with reading and crafting and cleaning his room. Like a good son.

By the time they ate their dinner in silence- alone, as his parents and brother had a pressing social engagement to attend to- Strell had exhausted wholesome options of entertainment. He picked disinterestedly at the delicately braised poultry while the warrior enthusiastically cleaned his substantially larger plate. It looked to be one of the serving platters normally reserved for Pilgrim's Bounty.

Thankfully, Strell had several well-hidden stashes of bloodthistle and alcohol in his room, and once alone he would be able to indulge in them for a few hours before falling asleep. How he would manage to get through the next day, well… that was a battle for tomorrow.

"I'll be retiring for the night," he informed the troll as they stood on the stairs leading up to his room. "Um. Good night."

The warrior grunted and gave him a brief nod.

Strell shrugged and began climbing the stairs. The sound of heavy footfalls behind him gave him pause.

"You do have your own room, do you not?" the elf asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

"I'm ta lock ya in," the troll explained as he fished a chain necklace out of his shirt. A bronze key dangled from it.

"Oh." Strell's mouth tightened as he continued up the stairs. His mother's orders, no doubt- as if a rogue couldn't simply pick the lock or sneak out the window. Lock him in his room? The very lock he had practiced on for months? It was insulting.

It wasn't enough that he now had a troll nanny, or that he was being watched like a mouse would be by a hawk, or that he was being deprived of nearly every fun diversion imaginable. He was to be locked in like a common prisoner, as well.

He fumed as he slammed the door shut, his anger flaring as he heard the clicking of the key turning the mechanism.

"Well, that tears it," he grumbled to himself once he had heard the troll stomp away.

He was silent as he slipped into his leather breeches and vest, the dark material cool and soft against his skin. He selected a few daggers that could be easily hidden on his person and took a small pouch with enough gold to buy enough alcohol and company to entertain him until dawn.

Or perhaps he'd go find the twins first. He weighed his options as he slid the window open and carefully climbed down the wall, using window ledges and the occasional crack as footholds. It helped that his room was the farthest in the eastern wing, closest to the nearby forest, situated well away from any areas where servants would usually be up and about.

Yes, the twins. They did owe him, after all, he could easily convince them to put him up in their apartment for a while. With a bit of wine, he could probably persuade them to let him share a bed with at least one of them, too.

Strell hummed appreciatively at that thought and the mental images that accompanied it. He darted up an abandoned building and leapt from one of the windows, rolling as he landed on a roof, his impact making little noise at all. It was ease itself to avoid the guardians by running across the rooftops of the city like this.

The lights and noise of the taverns bordering Murder Row were so comforting, so homelike. As soon as he shimmied down from the roof and landed on the dirty street, den owners and brothel mistresses were already calling to him and beckoning him closer. It was nice to feel wanted. Urchins, orphans and bastard children of the prostitutes alike darted around his feet and tugged at his clothing eagerly, offering to run his errands and clean his shoes and to sell him trinkets and steaming cups of bloodthistle spiked tea.

He pulled out a pouch stuffed full of silvers and let each take a turn reaching inside and withdrawing a handful of coins. He couldn't say that he really liked children, but it was always nice to see their faces light up like this- and the little imps were far more likely to helpfully tip him off about any guards making their rounds if they knew a bit of silver was in it for them.

He shooed them off before they could start annoying him and then slinked up to one of his favorite taverns. He hovered at the door, feeling… something. He thought of his father and that put a damper on his spirits.

"Ah, there he is. One of my best customers, that one," a boisterous voice called. "What are you standing there for? Come in, come in! First drink is free, darling," the buxom barkeep said with a wink.

Strell sauntered in slowly. "Won't be here long, I'm afraid. I've got people to see after this," he said with a grin, his thoughts wandering away from the friendly redhead and back to Mistren and Larilla, or perhaps even one of his old lovers.

"The night's young, love. Plenty of time to enjoy yourself," she said, running her fingers down his arm as she pressed a large stein of ale into his hand.

His grin widened. Things were looking up.

Strell wasn't sure where he was. Only that the whole world was swaying, and it hurt, and he felt sick. Something was digging into his stomach painfully, and each jolt and lurch made him want to vomit.

"I'm not sure where I am," he admitted to the spinning world. His hair was everywhere. It was in his face. It got caught in his mouth when he spoke.

There was an audible snort from somewhere behind and above him. "Ya be on ya way home, troublemaker."

"Oh."

Silence for a few long minutes.

"How'd you fin' me?" He hiccupped and pressed a hand over his mouth.

"I be hearin' some whores talk bout a 'dashing rogue' dat was buyin' drinks for da whole bar," the troll explained. "It coulda only been you," he sighed.

"Dashing, hm?" Strell chuckled. "Are you carryin' me?"

"Ya, mon."

Strell realized that he was dangling over the troll's broad shoulder and that the area directly in front of his face was the warrior's lower back. His breath misted against the shiny plate.

"Your pauldronsh hurt."

"Consider dat ya punishment."

"Suppose that'sh fair," the rogue said with a yawn. "Mm, could probly walk now."

There were a few seconds of utter silence. "I don' trust ya, mon."

"W-what?" Strell asked through the haze.

"Ya ran," Kinzal said simply.

The elf snarled. "So… so what? You were watchin' me, weren' you?" He swore several times over in Thalassian. "Th' whole time, huh? Shpying on me for mother? Jusht waitin' for me to break one of their rulesh."

"If I was, I'd only be doin' ma job," the troll said roughly. "But no, I wasn'. Ya fadda mentioned dat ya workin' at bein' a rogue. I could see ya crackin'. I be tinkin' of givin' ya some lockboxes I had ta keep ya busy. Brought dem up, an' you was gone."

Strell groaned inwardly. It was probably just the effects of the alcohol wearing off, but he felt bad. Just… in general. Certainly not for disappointing some practically-nameless blade-for-hire.

It made him uneasy. And he felt slightly sick. Well, a lot sick, now. "Gonna, ahh, gonna-"

Apparently his fumbling and flailing conveyed his body's intentions well enough, for he quickly found himself tossed onto the grass some feet away from the warrior.

He pulled himself up onto his knees and retched. And retched. His whole body shook and quivered, and by the time he was finished he felt utterly exhausted.

And he felt hands slowly loosening themselves from his hair, carefully letting the long strands fall back around his face.

Strell sat up on his knees awkwardly. It was embarrassing enough to be caught as he had been- yanked from some den while in a drunken, blissfully drugged out stupor- and then to have an audience as his stomach violently revolted like that, but to have some battle-scarred warrior hold back his hair as he vomited?

"I… thank you," he said quietly.

Kinzal only shrugged. "Let's go," he said impatiently, taking hold of the elf's arm and supporting him as he shambled along.

More than once Strell felt the troll jerk him forward and shove him ahead, but in his stupor he could not rouse any protest at such rough handling.

The dawn broke just as they reached the back patio, where Kinzal propped the drunken elf up against a wall while he unlocked the servants' entry. Strell let his eyes drift shut as he was more or less carried through the house to- he assumed- his room.

The last thing he registered before he slipped away into a sound sleep was a mess of brilliant vermillion hair that clashed terribly against cool blue skin.

He awoke at noon and rolled unceremoniously out of bed. He sat up on the floor, somehow knowing that things were… different.

Strell credited his sense of observation, which had been honed over the course of his training. He got to his feet, ignoring the dull ache in his temples as he examined the room.

There- the windows had been nailed shut. And dangling down outside them were dozens of threads laced with tiny bells.

Strell frowned, deeply unenthused by this modification to his room. He was even less pleased when he noticed his hiding places for rum and bloodthistle had all been cleared out.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he went for the door. His brow furrowed when it wouldn't open.

"Still locked in," he muttered, snatching up his lockpicks and setting to work on the familiar lock. He jimmied it open in a matter of seconds, but when he tried to open the door again, it still wouldn't give.

He threw his bag of lockpicks across the room in agitation; for the next five minutes, he paced furiously, hot anger at his entire family- and his new guardian as well- coursing through him. He was a prisoner in his own home. What had been true in spirit was now true in fact, and with each second that he dwelled on it, it seemed the room grew smaller and hotter.

At last he gave in and began banging on the door, shouting at the top of his lungs for someone, anyone, to let him out. He knew he was being irrational, that his desperation was most unbecoming, but he could not shake the sensation that he was entombed like a trollish lord, sealed away with all the finery and trimmings of a lavish life but imprisoned nonetheless.

Suddenly the door gave way and Strell was startled as his fist met with flesh.

Kinzal blinked at him in surprise. "Good aftanoon, Ser Dayborne," he greeted, glancing down briefly at where the elf had hit against his chest.

And for a moment, Strell did not know whether to hug the troll or push him down the stairs.

He settled for slipping back into his sullen mask as he crossed his arms. "What do you think you're doing, locking me up like a common prisoner? Did you-" he peered at his door, "did you put a bolt and a padlock on the outside of my bedroom door?! Where in Light's name do you get off thinking you can-"

"Ya parents gave me da okay," the troll interrupted, exhaling tiredly. "Even suggested usin' two fo' insurance."

Strell quailed slightly. He leaned against the frame of the door dejectedly. "Of course they did. Did they also suggest nailing my windows shut?"

"Nah, dat was my idea. Ya fadda thought it be too much, but ya madda insisted," Kinzal explained, peering past the elf into the room. "And da bells. Dat was me."

"You really don't want me getting loose, do you?" the rogue scoffed.

"Dis is how I be makin' ma livelihood for now," the troll explained with a lazy shrug. "I gotta eat, and ya madda made it clear dat if I let ya get away again, I can kindly escort myself off da premises."

"Ah." Strell bit his lip and fidgeted guiltily. "She's quite the harpy. I apologize," he added after a second's hesitation. "For getting you into trouble."

Strell couldn't be entirely certain, but he thought the troll might have smiled around his tusks. "You a real handful. I kin see why dey hired me. But I… underestimated ya," he sighed. "It won' be happenin' again, though," he added more sternly.

"You have no idea how boring it is to be here," the elf complained, dragging himself after the troll as he turned to descend the stairs. There was no way he would return to that room any time soon. "I'll go mad."

"No ya won'," the troll said dismissively.

"I will!" Strell insisted. He smiled to himself as he thought of an angle. "Alright, if I can't go anywhere that's actually fun, can I at least make the best of it here?" he asked brightly. "I'm sure Loktak is eager to be fed. Can we go hunting now?"

Kinzal turned and gave him a pained grimace. "I'm sorry, Ser Dayborne," he said reluctantly. "I mentioned it ta ya madda… an' she said 'no'. Unequivocally. So I took Loktak out while ya slept."

The troll sighed as he rolled his broad shoulders, looking genuinely regretful- not that that soothed the rogue's injured pride or diminished his disappointment and anger.

"Well… what can we do?" he asked, again following at the troll's heel.

"We'll find sometin'. Don' ya have some books ta be studyin' anyway?" Kinzal muttered.

"They're all so dull," the elf sighed. "I know! You can tell me about Northrend," he said breathlessly, a hopeful smile blossoming.

The warrior stopped abruptly. "Nah… I tink ya need ta get on ya studies. Do well enough an' maybe ya parents'll send ya ta Dalaran. Den ya could see Northrend for yaself," he added darkly.

"Highly unlikely," Strell muttered, his gaze dropping as he considered both his dismal academic performance and his parents' reluctance to let him venture anywhere outside of Eversong. "I don't get it," he continued as he followed the troll out to the back yard.

"What?" Kinzal asked as he grabbed a burlap sack filled with sand from the groundskeeping storehouse.

"What are you doing here when you could be out there?" the elf asked with a snort. "It's utterly baffling."

The warrior paused in the middle of drawing a circle onto the bag with an ink-sopped rag. "S'not dat hard to undastand," he said slowly. "Da world outside Silvermoon is not dis grand adventure ya make believe it is."

Strell's brow furrowed with disbelief. "How can you even say that? Live here for more than a few days and I'm sure you'll agree that it is a felhole in its own right," he said with a sneer. "I'd have given anything to have been in your place," he added wistfully. "Why would you ever stop?"

Kinzal huffed. "Dere are a lotta reasons. An' none of 'em are any of ya business," he said tersely.

The elf rolled his eyes and pursed his lips at the troll. "If you're going to keep me isolated out here like some lepergnome, the least you could do is supplement what little entertainment there is to be had with some good stories," he said with a shrug.

"I ain' here as ya entertainment," the warrior spat, lifting his chin and giving the elf a look that dared him to say otherwise.

"I know," Strell said flippantly, his dark brows drawing tight. "You're here to trudge after me like some golem that wards off fun and good company. A 'keeper'. Right. At least now I know why my father chose a troll- your great ugly mug could keep any whore worth her salt away," he hissed, a triumphant gleam in his eye.

"Ya spoilt rotten," the troll growled, slapping his curled fist against the sandbag, which he now let fall to the ground, the target he had been painting only half finished. "Ungrateful. Ignoran' and naïve witout even realizin' it. An' it's almost not worth da pay ta watch ya make a fool outta yaself and run ya whole life into da ground." His nostrils flared wide as he exhaled, now towering above the rogue in barely restrained rage.

The elf swallowed, knowing that the sound was audible even to Kinzal. His thoughts were muddled with anger- at this troll that had the audacity to say such things to him, at his family, at himself, in small part- and thrown into disorder by fear. Kinzal was intimidating when drawn up to his full height, his mowhawk even adding another foot to his towering form. His parents had apparently given him permission to physically restrain him if he tried to disobey, and looking at the troll now, he did not doubt that excessive force would be used.

Slowly, reluctantly, Strell let his gaze slip to the side, knowing that by looking away first he had surrendered something to the warrior. The thought made him deflate inside.

"Go on. We goin' back inside," Kinzal said sharply, gesturing to the house. "Da last ting I'm gonna do now is put a bow in ya hands," he muttered, picking up the sandbag and heaving it back toward the storehouse. "Ya can entertain yaself, ya ingrate," he added, gripping the rogue's upper arm with viselike strength as he passed, tugging him back to the house with him.

Strell glowered as he was pulled along by the powerful troll, already contemplating a way to escape this oppressive house permanently.

The next two days were thick with tension. He did not desire to speak with the troll, and neither did the troll seem to want to speak with him. They tolerated each other's company as two beasts forced to weather a snowstorm in the same cave, with stiffened shoulders and much wary glancing.

They spent the daylight hours together as if bound by a heavy chain and chaffing cuffs, always so close that Strell began to grow accustomed to the sound of the troll's deep breaths and the smell of his skin and hair- like sea salt and iron and maybe some sort of fruit- and he hated it. They may have been only feet apart physically, but they were oceans apart in terms of mind and spirit.

Kinzal seemed content to thumb through the books in the library for hours, though Strell couldn't fathom why; nearly all of them were in Thalassian or Common, and he doubted some brutish warrior had any real grasp of Principia Arcana or interest in The Sunwell: a History. How the troll could tolerate being cooped up for so long mystified the young elf.

For his own part, the rogue tried to pass the time in the same vein, though he found himself repeatedly stuck on the same sentence or passage, the words never quite sinking in. When he had slammed the book shut in disgust, the troll had made a quiet clucking noise with his tongue. Condescending, as usual- disappointed again.

He had crossed his arms and simmered until his keeper at last saw fit to lead him to another area of the stuffy house to while the hours away.

It wasn't until the morning of the third day that their mutual silence broke.

"Ser Dayborne," the warrior greeted with a nod as he unlocked the bedroom door, interrupting the rogue in the middle of sharpening his vast array of knives.

The elf sat up on his bed, watching Kinzal tuck the key back into his shirt with raised eyebrows. He hadn't expected the troll to be the one to give in and speak. "Good morning," he said flatly, his voice scratchy from lack of use.

The troll nodded and shuffled in, awkwardly folding his long arms behind his back. "So… I seen ya early dis mornin', tryin' to sneak off da property. Ya was wearin' a wig, or had dyed ya hair blond, I thought. Went ta hunt ya down and ya attacked me. Wit' a hammer." The troll's eyes were uncharacteristically wide and his mouth was set into a curious line.

"I see you met my brother," the rogue said with a slowly growing smile. The more he imagined the scene, the less he could resist laughing. "We don't even look much alike," he commented, an eyebrow arched.

The troll waved him off. "Ya all look pretty similar ta me, mon. Ya hair was even da same, just a differen' color."

Strell groaned and tossed his head back. "Don't get me started. I had it cut this way first, you know. Torril copied me."

They both chuckled quietly, and then the awkwardness returned. The elf was quietly surprised by how easy it was to talk to the warrior again; it seemed the days of silence had left him more starved for contact than he had realized. He picked up a blade and a sharpening stone and set to filling the silence with something.

"Didn' realize ya had a brother," Kinzal said after a few moments. He gave Strell a curious look as he crouched down next to the bed.

"Yes, well… Mother never did like my being with him. And his orders to avoid me obviously extend to include you, so it's no surprise you've gone so long without seeing one lick of him. Although even if I weren't in the picture, you'd probably be off-limits, being a great troll and all. No offense," the rogue added quickly, his dark eyebrows shooting up apologetically. "It's just that Torril can't risk being seen with the wrong sorts."

The warrior let out a rumbling hum as he considered this. "I be used ta blood elves tinkin' I be… foul. Stupid. Dat stuff," the troll explained as he picked up a small sharpening stone from the edge of the bed and began tossing it up into the air. "But… why are you da wrong sort?"

Strell paused in his sharpening. "I… it's personal," he said uneasily. "Family business."

Kinzal nodded once. "I got ya. Tink no more of it. Unless… ya ever want ta. Y'know. Talk 'bout it." He coughed and rubbed at his large nose with the back of his knuckles. "Dese ears was made for listenin'. Dat's why da loa gave em' to us so big."

The elf smiled to himself and continued running the stone along the edge of the blade. "Well, I suppose the gist of it isn't so personal. You've seen how I am," he said with a shrug. "Incorrigible. Deviant. An utter disappointment. Torril, however, is quite the upstanding young lord, and it wouldn't do to have me tarnish his reputation by association."

The warrior sighed and nodded, chewing at his thumbnail as he listened. "Listen, Ser Dayborne," he said heavily, "I wanted ta apologize. For what I said ta ya a few days ago," he said, shifting uncomfortably.

Strell perked up and paid attention, his strokes against the blade slowing.

"I forget sometimes," Kinzal continued, "ya ain' had a chance ta see what I seen yet. Ya still green," he murmured, scratching at his chin. "Ya are too insistent and obnoxious for ya own good at times," he cautioned, "but ya ain' as bad as all dat."

The rogue poked his tongue in his cheek, mulling the words over.

"An' I know dese days holed up here been rough on ya. I know dat," he sighed. "So if ya can promise ta behave, I wanna let ya stretch out ya legs."

"Thank you," Strell said stiffly. "I… I also said some rather unkind things," he added with a touch of sheepishness. "I apologize. I may be a scoundrel, but even so- my words were quite inexcusable," he said.

"I heard worse den dat before, mon," the warrior grinned. "Now put on ya boots an' let's get outta here. I'm goin' stir crazy in dis place."

The elf beamed as he leapt off of his bed, still pulling his shoes on as he followed the troll out the door.

"Well then, where to?" the elf asked exuberantly.

"Ta somewhere ya won't be disgracin' ya family," Kinzal replied with a snort. He led the elf further along, past a copse of trees.

Strell pursed his lips at that. "A tavern?" he chanced to ask.

"Nah."

"I'll behave," he promised quickly, sidling closer to the troll.

"After da state I found ya in da last time? I don' tink ya can behave," he said with a laugh.

Strell's spine tingled at the sound, the feeling somewhere in between a shudder and the quickening that came before a heist. It was off-putting, to say the least.

"Ya be a crazy blood elf for sure, mon," Kinzal added quietly, shaking his head. The tall fan of his hair rippled from the action.

"I'll ignore that," the rogue said flatly. "So where am I permitted to go?" he asked in exasperation.

"I be tinkin' maybe we could go fishin'," the troll said with a shrug.

"Fishing? Fishing?" Strell staggered dramatically. "I didn't think it was possible, but you actually made me rather be at home. Was that your plan all along? Clever, clever."

Kinzal stopped and turned to face him, an incredulous expression in place. "You a real piece a work," he chuckled. "Come on, jus' try it. It ain' dat boring."

"I've never fished before," the elf complained as they drew close to the pond that lay on the fringe of their land. He noted two fishing poles had already been left against a nearby tree.

"It's easy," the warrior assured him. "If some squirt of a gnome can do it, I know ya can."

He showed Strell how to cast his line, and within fifteen minutes they were both sitting on the bank and waiting quietly for something to bite.

"So… did you do a lot of fishing in Northrend?" the elf asked after a few uneventful minutes. He glanced at the troll inquisitively.

"Ya don' give up, do ya?" Kinzal said with a hollow laugh. "Yeah, I done some fishin' up dere. In da beginnin'. Further north… most of da inland water was frozen solid. Or fouled. Too many corpses, not enough ground," he sighed, reeling in his line and recasting it.

Strell's eager expression gave way, just a little. "But it's exciting up there, corpses aside," he said as a matter of fact. "I'd go in a heartbeat," he added as he gave his fishing pole a littler swish, already feeling tingles of anticipation just from talking about it. "Take a dragonhawk to the Undercity, catch the first zeppelin to the Howling Fjord. And I'd never come back."

"You wouldn' wanna go ta Northrend," the troll said dismissively. "Full o' undead, colder 'n da coldest night in Wintersping."

"No, I do- it sounds amazing," Strell argued. He sat up on his knees, grinning widely. "I've heard the veterans talking about it in the taverns. Apparently Dalaran has an Underbelly? Sounds marvelous! And a whole continent that's just… lawless. Wild. You could do anything there. Be anyone," he said wistfully.

"It's overrated," Kinzal warned, furiously reeling in his line before throwing it back out.

The elf gave him a look of total disagreement. "If it's so awful, why did you go?" he asked scathingly.

The troll shrugged. "For da pay. Not all of us got money in da bank like you, mon," he said quietly. "Ain' no place for a warrior like me ta earn much here, til dis job turned up. We gotta go where da battle is. And it ain' dis life you tink it is, fightin' for every meal and makin' ya livin' on da frontlines. It's grunt work."

"But you got to choose it," Strell countered sharply.

"Ya hopeless," the warrior sighed, looking up to the skies for some benevolent aid. "Ancestors, gimme da strength ta handle dis little elf."

The rogue chuckled to himself and slowly pulled in his line, making a displeased noise when he found a waterlogged boot hooked on the end. "Well, it seems I have caught us our dinner! No need to thank me, my good keeper. If you would kindly gut it for me, I will prepare the fire," he teased as he dangled the slippery boot in front of the troll's long nose.

Kinzal spat and pushed the soggy thing away. "Dis place awful for fishin'," he said, looking miffed. "Sorry… I was tinkin' we'd have gotten a bit more outta it."

"No, it's fine," Strell said with a lengthy sigh. He tossed the old boot back, grinning as it hit the water with a loud plunk. "It's better than sitting in that damn library for hours."

The warrior shrugged in silent agreement, but he seemed troubled as he gathered up the fishing poles and set them back against the tree.

Suddenly, Strell tasted opportunity. He stifled a wicked grin as he crept closer to the troll, schooling his expression into a mix of disappointment and hope. "It does make the afternoon feel like a bit of a waste, I suppose," he said quietly.

"Yeah," Kinzal agreed, gesturing for the elf to follow him.

Strell stepped lightly after him, his hands behind his back as he continued, "If there's nothing better to do, and we already tried your diversion… perhaps we could try visiting a bar or tavern after all?" he asked, anxiously biting his lip.

"Ya madda said no," the troll grumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Kinzal, please," the rogue pleaded. "You have no idea how badly I need a drink right now. Or seven."

"If ya remember," the warrior said in a voice just above a whisper, stopping to face the elf, "I'm supposed ta be keepin' ya from lettin' spirits get da best of ya. An' I don' mean da ancestral kind," he added sharply.

"Fine, fine. I won't overindulge. You'll be right there to make sure I don't have too much, and we'll leave in like an hour. Less, even," he said quickly, darting in front of the troll. "There's a country one not too far from here. I have a few gold tucked in my boot. Enough for you to have a beer as well," he added cautiously.

"I can afford my own beer," Kinzal snorted, waving off the elf. "Fine. Just dis once, I'mma let ya do dis. But ya get one drink, an' when I say we're leavin' I don' wanna hear any whinin' from ya," he said, waving one large finger at the rogue. He grumbled under his breath as he gestured for Strell to take the lead.

And despite the troll's sullen demeanor, Strell felt like skipping all the way to the Summervale tavern. He walked as briskly as he thought he could without Kinzal admonishing him, only slowing to fix his hair and straighten his clothes when they reached the door of the tavern on the fringe of the sleepy little town.

The elf grinned from ear to ear as he stepped inside, the barmaiden greeting him with a welcoming smile… that quickly soured when Kinzal entered after him.

He immediately took a seat at the bar and flashed her his most winning smile, and a little of her pervious charm came back.

"What can I get for you, handsome?"

"Gin, please. Not Summersfield. White Hawkstrider, if you have it," he said as he pulled off his gloves.

"Of course," she replied with a fluttering of her eyelashes. She turned slightly dour as she addressed his troll companion. "I'm afraid we don't have any mugs that are… compatible with such large tusks," she said with a falsely charming smile. She looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to take the hint and leave.

"I'm used ta it," Kinzal said flatly. "Get me whateva ya got on tap dat's orcish. Or of tauren make. I ain' too picky." He slid a dozen silvers across the countertop, his dark amber eyes following the barmaid as she reluctantly gathered his money and set to filling their drinks.

She placed a tall, frothing mug in front of Kinzal and a small glass in front of Strell and then turned wordlessly to serve other customers.

The dark-haired elf chuckled to himself as he sipped his drink. "You sure shut her up."

The warrior shrugged. "Da Horde's been good ta us, but dere's still places we trolls ain' exactly made welcome," he muttered before tilting his head and positioning the crystal mug at an angle between his tusks while he drank. "Ain' nuttin', though. Ya kill a lich or two an' tellin' off a snarky shopkeep don' seem like such a big deal anymore, ya know?"

"A lich? You must tell me everything," Strell pleaded, his eyes shining as he wiped his mouth and set his glass down with a clink.

"Nah," the troll murmured, staring down into his drink. "I shouldn' have mentioned dat aroun' ya, huh?"

"No, not very wise of you," the rogue agreed, a wry smile at his lips. His eyebrows suddenly shot up as he glanced past Kinzal. "Oh! I know her!" He turned to the troll with imploring eyes and a borderline pout. "Can I please have some modicum of social interaction before we go home? Please? Please?"

"Two minutes, and I'mma be watchin' ya like a hawk," he told the elf sternly. "Ya even set one foot towards da door and I'll be makin' a scene that'll follow ya ta da grave."

"Oh?" Strell asked as he slipped from the barstool, undeniably intrigued.

"Ya, mon. So unless ya'd like me ta start screechin' about how da healer said ya sores still be contagious, ya better not get any smart ideas," he warned, a devious glint in his dark eyes.

"Point taken," the rogue said with a smile. He quickly crossed the room until he reached the table of the woman with the familiar face, a fashionable but somewhat vulgar lady by the name of Effira.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked in her long, tapered ear before grinning and pulling out the chair beside her.

"Strell?" she asked as she turned in her seat. "It is you! Darling, where have you been? The rumors in Murder Row have been spiraling out of control! Kidnapped by the Amani, recruited by that dastardly rogue Arcelia, run away to join the Darkmoon Faire-"

"No!" he said in surprise. In truth, his warmed his heart to know that people had noticed that he was missing from his usual haunts- another bit of evidence that his lifestyle wasn't quite as soulless as his family would have him believe.

"Yes! Everyone insists they know where you have gone, and here I find you in a simple country tavern. And- in the company of a troll, no less," she said with a scandalized look, her eyes darting toward the great figure by the door. "Ah! Someone said that you have been dragged out of Madame Springbloom's tavern by a troll! I had assumed it just a silly story! No wonder they fear you've been taken by some errant Amani," she said breathlessly.

"Yes, well, he is where I have been all these days," Strell said glumly.

"Oh," Effira said quickly, covering her mouth with a lace-gloved hand. "I didn't… oh my, a troll lover. What is it like?" she asked conspiratorially. "I mean, outstanding, obviously, if you've been holed away with him out here for this long-"

"Lover? No, don't be absurd," he scoffed, shaking his head. "He is my new nanny, courtesy of my family. I am forbidden to indulge in any of my favored pastimes, instead being forced to spend my time in his company. Only now was I able to convince him to let me out for a drink," he complained.

"Oh, you poor, poor thing," the female elf murmured, though her gaze seemed drawn back to Kinzal time and time again. "Well, why not… flee? You are light-footed and swift, and good with the shadows," she added in hushed tones. "I could house you for a time, as could others."

Strell smiled gratefully at that, affection surging within him. "Thank you. I may well take you up on that offer- but not just yet."

"Not yet?"

"Being a good rogue is as much about timing as anything else," he said with a smirk. "I intend to leave for good, but now is not the most opportune time," he sighed. "I will contact you when I do, though."

"Fabulous!" she said with a soft giggle. "And by then you'll have so many stories. I'll have to entertain nightly for as long as you are with me! A troll, really. How positively… barbaric," she whispered, biting her lip as she glanced once more at the warrior idly spinning his empty mug on the countertop.

"Effira," Strell said disapprovingly. "No."

"What?" the other elf asked innocently. "But… perhaps you could mention me to him? Just in passing. Gauge his interest," she said casually.

"I'm leaving," the rogue said, standing abruptly. He gave her a look of mock disappointment first.

"Ask him if he has a brother," she hissed after him, grinning to herself as she swatted Strell on the rear for good measure. "Goodbye, darling! I hope to see you and your friend soon!"

The elf was still laughing to himself by the time he reached a bored-looking Kinzal. "You didn't enjoy yourself at all here?" he asked with a quick arch of his brow. He was mystified at how someone could prefer sitting curled up with a dusty old tome over carousing and chatting with friends.

"Not as much as you did," the troll snorted, studying the still-smirking rogue. "Let's go, mon. I got da heebie-jeebies from all dese elves eyein' me," he said with a shudder.

"After you," Strell chuckled as he followed Kinzal out of the tavern and back toward the estate; he followed at the troll's heels, a decent and obedient ward… for now.

I'm not exactly the best with plot and stuff, but I'm going to be trying a little more with this one. We'll see how it goes I guess!