A strange meeting

He was just passing through the snowy ravine, hoping the blizzard would not start until he was able to make it to some shelter.

The land was covered in ice and frozen snow, so he had dismounted his felsteed and contented himself with walking. The imp was trudging behind him, muttering curses under his breath, for being made to wander on such a terrible weather.

The little demon was the first to spot the cloaked figure perched over a stone. Picking up herbs, Eriennan thought, instantly remembering that southern Alterac Mountains were the only place in the world where Wintersbite grew.

The woman rose. She was taller than the average elf, he realized, yet very slender and agile. Her skin a light blue, her hair only slightly darker and delicate horn-like protuberances prodding from her head.

Draenei, he remembered.He had met some of her race before, mostly Vindicators coming to fight in the Plaguelands, alongside paladins of the Alliance.

Then the woman looked up and she jumped a bit, startled.She met his gaze, not scared, just determined, even if the fight would have been unequal and she knew it as well.
She stepped back, cautiously, and surrounded herself with a glowing magic shield, while still waiting for his actions.

She was one of the Alliance, Erieannan thought. Enough reason to hunt her down.

Yet, in his entire not-really-honorable career, Erieannan Saralonde had never killed an innocent.
True, there were times when the rage he felt deep within the confines of his soul was so strong that he would have slaughtered everyone that got in his way, friend or foe alike.
But he always managed to control that, knowing, at the back at his mind, that succumbing to such an urge would have been the beginning of the end for his own sanity.

The imp was now jumping, trying to catch his attention, to obtain permission to attack, yet Erieannan did not move. And neither did the younger draenei mage.She just looked fascinated at the warlock, probably to scared to retreat and as such leave her back vulnerable.

Not that she really stood a chance if he decided to strike at her.

“Master” the imp pleaded, tugging at his cloak. Curse her, master. Let’s kill her, let’s kill her!”
He brushed away the little demon, annoyed. The gesture made the mage startle. He could distinguish well her nicely carved features, in the glowing light spread by her own shield…
And then, without knowing why, he just extended his arm and called out the words...