Back into business

Days were all the same.

The void inside. Pain.

By now he'd became so used to it it didn't even bother him anymore. He went through the constant routine of waking up after nights with too little sleep, eating scarcely in Light forgotten inns, traveling on side roads across the land and burning down the minions of the Scourge.

At least that still made him feel something.

Two weeks of hiding from this own thoughts had passed until he managed to convince himself it was high time to go back.

As he'd expected, he found his people gathered at one of the small inns in Tirisfal Glades, where he had descended after an almost adventurous journey through Hillsbrad Foothills.

It snowed again when he arrived. Shaking away the snow from his cloak, Eireannan entered the cramped place, to find himself surrounded almost instantly by at least dozen frustrated faces.

The inn was warm and it smelled pleasantly of freshly roasted meat. Apart from his own men, there were little other travelers, mostly Forsaken that kept the distance, as usually.

Brushing away the people around, a short, fragile looking human woman made her way towards Erienannan, throwing him defiant looks.

"Demons take you, Ei'an, where the hell have you been?!"

He acknowledged her with a faint smile, while untying his cloak and trying to find a spot for himself to sit down. He suddenly felt he lacked air.

"Daria."

"No, now don't give me that look, we all thought u're layin' dead somewhere. Two weeks, no news...curse you, Ei'an..."

Everybody else fell silent, while she voiced out her indignation at his "childish behavior". No one else would have dared to talk to him like this. Only Daria, who had been with him from the very beginning, when the both of them were only lost, suffering, emptied shells of living beings, after the Scourge had trampled down everything they used to love, care for, trust in...

She'd been one of the many orphans plague left around northern Lordaeron. A human girl, barely fifteen at that time. So young still now, Eireannan thought, bitterly, yet the sight of so much death and the anger that burned inside had marked her face too. She looked older, harsher, her hand nearly all the time on the dagger she wore, as if the touch of the weapon would offer some sort of strange reassurance. No one could match her skills in scouting and organizing ambushes all around the Plaguelands. Sneaking and striking from the back, if necessary. There were no rules in that war. No honor. Only revenge.

" Now, now", she said, pushing everyone away, "the man needs food and breathing space...". She sat down near him, on the corner of the bench and gazed in his eyes. Eireannan avoided her look.

" Not asking anything", Daria said after a while. The innkeeper had brought them some steak and wine, and freshly baked bread. The smell of the food was inviting, yet Eireannan felt sick, his body longing after a different kind of sustenance. Something even after all these years, Daria found hard to understand, so he forced himself eat, to avoid further comments.

Truth was, if any other person had dared talk to him like she did it sometimes, the poor wretch would have ended up in ribbons or writhing in agony for hours, depending on his mood at the time.

" We're planning to go on to Stratholme next week", she said, quietly. "Then u went missin'. Good to see ya in one piece though...Listen, Ei'an", Daria added, after a short pause " the Dark Lady wants to see ya..."

The idea definitely did wonders for his already thin appetite, Erieannan meekly thought.

Confused

Leaving Azuremyst this time, Laandra did not look back.

After two not so restful nights spent at Azure Watch inn, she had packed back neatly her belongings in less than an hour.

Not that she had much things to worry about...a couple of clean shirts, some food and drink and a rich assortment of bandages, potions and herbs. All tugged in her weathered backpack, along with some other rubbish and some spare mageweave.

She had managed, in the last two days to get a good grip of herself. Oh, it hadn't been easy. But once the first outburst of anger gone, she had composed herself enough to face Vaalatu's inquiries concerning her troubled state. She had, upon arrival considered sharing her feelings and worries with the elder Draenei...her best friend and almost like a mother. Yet, Laandra discovered she couldn't.

Not because she were ashamed.

What she felt was a mixture of loneliness and sadness and burning desire to see him again, all multiplied by the guiltiness of sliding even a footstep away from the path she had chosen. They had met by accident, yet she let things escape out of control. And now she felt angry at herself for not being able to forget it. A one night adventure only. In Light's name, it happened all over Azeroth! Well,not so often with one's sworn enemies, though...

She couldn't tell Vaalatu because the elder woman would have probably frowned upon her choice, no matter how tolerant she was.

She would have suspected corruption in herself, and Laandra knew it would have been only fair. How to even try to explain what it had felt like to be there, with him...and all the pain, all the tremendous suffering she'd shared with Erieannan Saralonde that night, the connection between them going far beyond the bodies, to the very roots of her being...as she had opened herself allowing him to drain on her magic.

She shrugged, folding the last of the shirts and tugging it away into the backpack.

No, not an innocent lamb at all, she'd done it perfectly aware, nearly forcing it on him, as he struggled to refrain.

Now try to explain that to your righteous friends, Laandra dear.

Well, she could live with that. Worse was only the fact that now she was the one chosen to go and spy on him, hunt him down all over the Plaguelands, as requested by their allies.

"Damn me if there's not the hand of the Scarlet Crusade behind this", she muttered.

It didn't matter. At least she felt content that she had never been to the Plaguelands before. A dangerous place that was. Months could easily pass until she reached Erieannan or even had any news of him. Time in which, Laandra dearly hoped, she would be able to figure out a way to avoid betraying him, or the Hand.

This time leaving was easy. To return was going to be hard.

Aftermath

Eireannan did not sleep.

He lay awake by her side, long after Laandra had drifted away in a quiet and peaceful sleep.

It felt as if being washed on the edge of the world by a storming sea, Erieannan thought.
She had snuggled to him, her breathing calm and steady and he could even feel her heartbeats, as she had laid a hand across his chest.

“You are alone and you will die alone…”

All the things he did not want to remember coming back in his mind with such acute clarity, crushing him like an avalanche.

“Only to lose again…”

He could not stand that.

Raising slowly, so as not to disturb her sleep, and bending over her, Erieannan studied her features, so delicate under the alabaster skin. He wasn't wrong, he thought. She was truly beautiful.

“You corrupt all that you touch. And you cannot stop death from taking what it rightfully belongs to it.”

“Not this time, no.”

He softly placed a hand upon her chest, praying that Laandra would not wake up…What he was about to do came against all holy precepts and she was a follower of the light.
“It’s stupid” Erieannan muttered to himself, as he closed his eyes, letting the stream of her magic invade him once more, this time with a precise purpose, nonetheless. Sinking deep inside Laandra’s sleeping consciousness to extract her very essence.

He focused on the light. Sensed it through all his pores. Better than anything else he had ever tasted. He was falling. Falling endlessly through her. Ecstasy and pain and guilt, all together. Flashbacks of what his life had been, so long ago.

The grasy woodland of Quel’Thalas. Blue sky hanging upon oaks and evergreen trees. The murmur of flowing waters. His face, reflected in the wave less pool, hidden deep in the forest and Niniel next to him, watching him sleepily, after all the passion they had unleashed at each other.

The relentless march of the Scourge, burning everything in their wake, the awful smell of rotten bodies carried by the wind well ahead their arrival under the walls of Silvermoon.

“We swore it will not fall…” he remembered. How the Rangers stood, Niniel amongst them, under the command of Sylvanas Windrunner, prepared to defend their homeland against the terror that crept through the woods.

And yet, Silvermoon fell, to utter ruin and destruction. The Sunwell was gone, and with it, the only source of the magic they so desperately needed. The land was scarred by the passing of the Scourge. Yet, the land would heal. Survivor souls did not.

He had seen both of them die in the last attempt to hold back Arthas’ forces. His beloved Niniel, and then the Ranger General herself. Stabbed by Frostmourne and brought back as a mindless banshee. Made to serve the enemy she’d given her life to stop.

He could feel his heart, beating so strongly now, as it had not for long. And the pain, oh, the pain was there, the same as it had been ten years before, so utter he thought he could not bear it anymore. He wanted to forget. Buried the memories within himself and sealed them so that they will never torment him again…

Suddenly, there were other images as well, that did not belong to him. A broken, shattered land, torn apart by powers beyond thought. Sounds of war and destruction. Caravans scattered across the plains, fear clenching his stomach. A band of orcs wielding blood stained weapons while assaulting a small, peacefully looking village…

Then Erieannan heard Laandra gasp and whimper under his touch. With a desperate effort he closed the stream of memories flooding his mind and regained control.

The words he whispered this time weren’t in demonic, but something else, a promise, a binding and he kept her close, feeling the disparate threads weaving together, in a tissue stronger than nether itself.

When it was done, he nearly collapsed by her side, exhausted.
The effort of performing the ritual on an unwilling, unaware subject left him drained of all power.

Laandra would hate him for this.

Yet, it would keep her safe.

And if something happened, at least he will knew it.

He had developed an awkward taste for suffering, he told himself. Probably the only thing that, from time to time, remembered him he was still alive.

Dreamstate

"Shhh", Laandra whispered. Her finger against his lips demanded silence.

He had expected her to go away.

After all she was free.

But Laandra moved closer, so close now that he felt her warmth, sneaking through his own chilled body.

She had expected herself to go. Leave that damn place, get lost into the night and the blizzard...not that she was afraid of it. Run away from this man, from his suffering and his nightmares and forget it all.

Yet, for reasons unknown, she still stood there. No, she discovered with amazement, she was actually getting closer to him, as if her movements were dictated by another force than her own will.

Erieannan almost held his breath.

He raised his fingers and felt the softness of her cheek, knowing that the sight of his marred skin would have been enough to make any other woman flinch. Laandra did not. Her hands rose to meet his and she only pressed his palm firmer against her flesh. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. Erieannan could sense her magic through all his pores. He longed to sink into her, feed on that energy as his hunger grew stronger and stronger, drawing away all will, all sense.

The air was cold, yet none of them was aware of this as they dug to each other’s clothing, disposing of their magically enchanted robes on the cave’s floor. Despite the slight anatomic differences between them, her body was perfect, each curve, the blue tint of her skin as he had thought it would be.

And then, the initial embrassment gone, they melted together in one embrace, one being, sharing themselves and Laandra’s magic was so strong that Erieannan felt absorbed, falling into her, almost losing consciousness...

Of light and shadow

Demons don't go away that easy.

He had fought with the burning desire for her energy for hours, before managing to get uneasily asleep.

But there was no peace there either. Not for him.

In his dreams, Silvermoon fell again and again under the march of the Scourge. He could see himself desperately searching through the ashes, when the enemy had retreated and they came back to bury their dead.

But what they discovered was even worse. Death was a dreamless sleep, yet most of the defeated had been raised by necromancers to fuel the ranks of the Scourge…brothers and sisters, wives and husbands and children all together, trapped in the nightmarish twilight between existence and non-existence. All will and understanding forever gone, only the terrible hunger making them chew at their own rotting flesh. And the same as in Stratholme, the few still alive set to the grim task of delivering them forever. He carried corpses to the burial fires, no time for prayers now, no blessings in the name of Light, no ceremonial for the passing of the deceased…only the fires, raising higher and higher in the air, fueled with the bodies of those he once knew, cared for, even loved…

He vividly recalled stumbling upon the pyre, flames engulfing him until someone pulled him back. His own hands badly burned up to the elbow, the pain he felt nothing in comparison to the void inside.

He remembered trying to heal himself, trying to say the words to soothe the almost unbearable suffering, yet he couldn’t…they wouldn’t come, and then he suddenly knew why…he could no longer call upon the powers of Light, because there was no Light left…no hope, only death…What merciful God would have witnessed such atrocities and allow them to happen?

The wind brought with him the smell of burnt flesh and hair and clothes. That hideous smell that followed them for days, when all was over and Silvermoon lay in ruins…Pain made him clench his teeth not to scream. He laid there, unable to move, to feel, to speak, his will lost, his soul barren and filled with despair. Someone helped him clean his wounds and bandaged them as good as it could, under the circumstances. But it was not only his skin that had burnt. Faith had withered and without it there was nothing to make him want to raise and act again.

He woke up again, his forehead covered in cold sweat. Knowing from experience it would be unable to get back asleep, he just rose and went to the cave entrance, from where he could look outside.

The blizzard was still up and the wind howled across the vale. A burst of cold air hit him, shaking away the last vestiges of sleep He was now fully awake and aware of his heartache.

Eireannan Saralonde drew away his gloves and, in the dim light of morning reflected by snow gazed at his own badly scarred hands. The tissue had somehow regenerated over time, yet it still looked awful, even to his own eyes. A healer might have been able to help. Yet, in all these years, he had never gone to see one. A punishment it was for foreboding Light and all its teachings all together and treading the dark path of nether magic. He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but that was the truth. The sight of his disfigured hands was the constant reflection of the ugliness of his soul.

He heard steps behind him and jumped a bit.
He had woken her up.

He could feel her presence close, oh, so close and he started to rise and turn back, but it was too late. Before even having the time to utter a word, he felt the soft touch of her fingers on his shoulders, brushing away his dark hair, caressing the tensed muscles.

The simple touch brought him on the verge of fainting, as her spiritual energy flooded his senses, coursing through his veins.

“Eireannan…”

“I’m sorry”, he suddenly said. “I have disturbed your sleep”…

No, Laandra thought, he had been trashing under his blanket, screaming and his pain filled her with sorrow and bitterness.

Here they were, two enemies chance had brought together for a brief time.
If she was waiting for a moment to escape, this was as good as any. He seemed so vulnerable, as he was sitting there, his back turned to her. Had she been to strike him, he wouldn’t have had enough time to call for his demons. Fire over frost, frost over fire. Her fingers seemed to itch, twisting almost as of their own accord to summon forth ice shards and rains of flame.

Her enemy. A blood elf. A warlock.

Laandra wondered if he felt her hesitation. If he knew her thoughts.

“So many of my people died because of the blood elves.”

A small gleam of blue, starting to spread from her hand. If she moved fast she could finish him off before he had the opportunity to react.

She would have done it. Revenge was not her way, not what Velen the Prophet has thought his people, yet it was so very hard to forgive and forget. If this man would have looked at her, fought against her, she would have been only glad to wipe him out of existence. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and your soul to the nether, where it belongs, foul summoner of demons!”

Her breath was ragged, air seeming to escape her lungs.

He must have guessed her intentions, yet he made no move, just stood there, gazing at his own hands whose skin, she only then noticed, was scarred and marred beyond recognition.

“So many of his people died to the Scourge…”

“ I must cleanse the world of this evil that walks it face, disturbing balance in all things”

But Erieannan Saralonde remained seated ,his back turned to her, his own breath harsh and fast as he felt the tension building in herself.

With a sigh, Laandra snapped her fingers into a fist, stopping the spell just in time. She was one of the Hand of Argus, not a betrayer, to sneak and kill from behind someone that had placed his trust in her. Even if that someone was a blood elf warlock that, Light only knew, probably deserved much worse!

Her hand went again through his hair, then brushed softly against his cheek, with a burst of affection whose source was still unknown to her, and Erieannan relaxed against her touch.

“Why did you not do it?” he asked quietly and Laandra blushed to the tip of her tail, if that were possible. “ I know some of my people committed atrocities against your kin, back there in the Outland.”

“You were not there”, she whispered.

“Some like me”, Erieannan insisted. “ Don’t you harbor hatred for us all the same?”

“No”, Laandra said. She moved quickly so that now she was in front of him. With another sigh she dropped to her knees, and then sat down near Erieannan…feeling awkward for still being taller than him even like this.

“ Then you’re a better person than many of this world”…His eyes were dark and full of anguish. “Even in the Plaguelands has been rumor of the teachings of Velen. If I were in your place…”

He dropped his head on his knees, looking now utterly defeated. It was not what she had expected, Laandra thought. Instead of becoming the prisoner of a mighty and sadistical warlock, there she was, unwilling witness to his own personal torment. How strong her hatred should have been to resist this sight?

Intermezzo

"So, what's your name?" Erieannan asked after some time, hoping his voice had sounded at least close to normal, without the trembling he could still feel deep in his core.

She gave him a circumspect look.

"Laandra. Laandra Seth'Aran."

He raised a brow and she saw it.

"Not my real name", Laandra explained, with a faint smile. "It was given to me by some Kaldorei friends, back in Ashenvale. I've lost everything in the crash of the Exodar. Including my own memories."

" How lucky of you", he murmured. His eyes had darkened and Laandra didn't miss it. A sudden wave of compassion brushed over her, as she realized the man looked unhappy. Haunted, to say the least. She noticed the marks sleep deprivation had left on his face, the slight shaking of his gloved hands. It felt not like another living being, but more like an empty shell, devoid of all emotion and caring and sense of purpose. To her own surprise, she didn't feel threatened anymore, Light help her.

" I'm Erieannan Sarálondë " he continued, with a small sigh. "Look, I owe you an apology for what happened earlier."

" Last time I checked we were enemies", Laandra interrupted, bluntly. She then blushed, at her own lack of tact. But it was the naked truth, they have been sworn enemies, ever since his kind had attacked Tempest Keep. Hell, she had joined the Hand to fight against Blood elf saboteurs on Bloodmyst Isle. Yet all felt utterly different now, after so many other fights and trials, she told herself and revenge was not very much a thing of the Light.

" Sorry" she whispered, avoiding his gaze, this time. " It was only pain and pain's gone now. You owe me nothing."

Normally she did not think about men, not even on her spare time. She had mostly led a lonesome and wandering existence, her favourite places in the world being Ashenvale and Menethil Harbour, and that said tons about her personality.

It was exactly the quietness of Menethil Harbour or Astranaar she appreciated so much, far from the rustle and the noise and the never ending rush that went on in the streets of Stormwind.

She was not made for the great capitals, she smiled to herself. People would go back and fro’ talking out loud, asking you for stuff and news and sellers would pass by inviting you to examine their goods.

Laandra felt more happy in the wilderness, where she could harness the magical energies of frost and fire and practice her art in peace. She would enthusiastically join the fight against evil and darkness and corruption in the remote and forgotten places where people had long lost hope.

In the streets of Stormwind, she was just another alien passer by. But in the shadowy corners of Ashenvale or on the barren slopes of Stonetalon mountains, her presence was always welcome, as she brought back light and hope.

Because she cared, she now thought. The will of the Naaru was better accomplished silently, among those in need. That was what Velen the Prophet had taught his people. And Laandra truly believed in his words…that they should devote themselves to the pursuit of light and atone for the sins of their fallen brethren, the Man’ari. The lessons of the past were never to be forgotten, nor the mistakes repeated…

Men simply did not fit into her life, unlike the permanent sense of approaching danger and the constant need of looking over her shoulder, to see if anyone was following.

This one felt different.

Oh, a blood elf and a warlock of all things! But there was a force driving her towards him, a power of whose strength she had just became aware and found it threatening.

She shifted out of her thoughts, disturbed the awkward silence that had fallen inside the cave.

Erieannan watched her intently, as she kept avoiding his gaze. Then he sighed.

"Time to sleep then", he said, without any conversational purpose. He gestured towards the improvised bed near the back of the cave, made up of her blankets he had taken from her own backpack and his cloak.

" You must be tired, no doubt, after what I've put you through."

Laandra started to protest, but he shushed her with a gesture.

" I've tested that curse myself a couple of times and didn't like it at all. Now go to sleep."

"What about you?" She looked at him, only then realizing he had nothing else on than his grey shirt, his armor laying abandoned somewhere in a corner. Laandra watched as he extracted yet another blanket and lay it against the opposite wall of the cave.

" You'll be cold. I'll be perfectly fine with my own..."

" I'm always cold", Erieannan shrugged with carelessness. " One more night won't make any difference. Now sleep."

His tone had suddenly grew commanding, almost knocking at the barriers of her mind. Laandra shook her had, to dismiss the annoying feeling he was actually interfering with her own will. However, she found it pointless to resist, so she headed to the back of the cave, snuggling under the blankets and cloaks, warmth soon returning to her limbs.

Fear was not something to keep her awake all night and she was decidedly tired. Raising a last Prayer, Laandra entrusted her soul to the Light and her passing life to the mercy of Erieannan Sarálondë and fell asleep.

To stand the temptation...

Laandra woke up in darkness.
She laid down by a wall of the cave, closely huddled in a thick, woolen, fur lined cloak. It felt warm and good and the searing pain was long gone.
A fire burnt a little further, in the middle of the confined space.
Her senses suddenly awaken, she got up, ready to fight. She saw staff lying by her improvised bed and placed a hand to it, as if the magic within the weapon could reassure her somehow…give her strength in the trial that, perhaps, was yet to come.

“So you’ve woken up”…

The words trailed in the warm air. Laandra heard a chuckling, then saw the little imp curiously studying her from the other edge of the small cave.

“She’s no good master, let’s kill her’, the creature whispered. But the tall, slender, inhumanly beautiful blood elf looked with despise at the imp and hushed it.
Laandra remembered vividly his face from the moments before losing her consciousness.

How did his features have not become tainted with the dark inside?
A warlock.

She could oh-so-easily recognize a Curse of Agony when she felt one.

He gave her a small, almost painful smile.
“I’m sorry”, he said apologetically. “I just…overreacted. In fact, he continued, with a shrug, I probably needed some company..."
“Oh, so a Curse of Agony was the logical choice then” she snapped…”What about “Hey, I wanna talk to you?” “ she added, ironically.

If she were to die in this forsaken place at the hands of a self sufficient blood elf, at least she could afford the luxury of defiance.

But he retorted with a sort of own mockery that almost amazed her.

“ I’m afraid my social skills are…a bit rusty…”
“No wonder…” Laandra muttered under her breath. The place, the elf, the continuous babbling of the imp, all felt a little eerie. Forcing herself into awareness, she sent towards him a small blast of fire, not actually harmful, but enough to give him a short taste of pain.

Erieannan jumped back, cursing, as the cloud of fire closed around him.

“ Suppose that was a “hello, nice to meet you too”, Laandra said, calmly, wondering if she had just signed her death sentence or not. Well, Light knew, she was ready, she thought, recalling the familiar words of the prayer.

Light is with me so I stand in harm's way and I do not fear..

He stared at her, disbelieving while the imp produced even more irritating noise than before, until Eireannan turned towards him, snapping his fingers and the creature vanished, with a loud "crack".

“ I could…kill you…so easily”, he said, his voice shaking.

“Well, that’s why you probably need to put Curses of Agony on people to make them keep you company”.

“ I could torture you until you beg to be let to die…”

The threat sent a chill down her spine, but she strove to keep up the courageous face.

“ What stops you then?”

Erieannan bit his lower lip, delaying the answer.

He did not know.

A part of him, the one filled with rage and hatred just wanted to see her knelt in front of him, sobbing, broken. The monster inside would have fed on her tears, on her suffering, renewing the dark flame that warmed his soul, kept him going.
But she had done him no harm.

And he was no killer.

He shook his head.

“Not tonight. Look, he added, I made some soup for the both of us. The blizzard started about an hour ago and is going to keep up for a while. Can you just eat, be grateful for the warm place and stop arguing?”

This nearly made her jaw drop as she stared at him almost in shock. She had mentally and spiritually strengthened herself for whatever dark plans the warlock had with her. Burning her alive, consuming her slowly with curses, feeding her to his demons, defiling her body in all possible ways...

None of these possibilities, however, included a cosy setting by the fire and hot soup.

Eireannan didn't give her the time to recover from the surprise. He handed her the bowl of almost boiling soup and took his own, while seating himself comfortably on the other side of the fire.

There was silence. Only the wind outside, howling with a thousand voices, some of them probably of wolves and other night beasts stirred from their shelter by the storm.

The soup was reasonably good, maybe a bit too lacking in spices, but in the middle of the wilderness ingredients usually came in short supply. It was still way better than her usual lunch made up of conjured bread and spring water, an occasional glass of milk or some moon berry juice in between. Conjured bread was enough to quench her hunger, but it felt tasteless most of the time.

Laandra ate quietly, her knees tightly crossed under her green robes, her back against the wall of the cavern. She had sat on her tail and now was striving to gently get off it, without the blood elf noticing. Funny enough, to stumble in her own body parts, she thought, as she managed to pull out the tail from under herself and reseated more carefully this time.

He didn't raise his eyes from his meal, even if the stir of her movement had probably drawn his attention. She felt grateful about it.

" So I'm a prisoner?" she inquired, setting the empty bowl aside and flexing her long, shapely fingers. The inquisitive look on her face made it all more beautiful, Erieannan thought, fighting to keep himself composed. Oh, and it wasn't only her shapely figures, he knew it damn well. It was her magic.

Her magic, so strong he could sense it from where he was seated, making him burn with the urge to touch her. His addiction had not been much of a problem lately, as he could draw enough mana from his demons to keep the torturing agony of withdrawal at bay. Never though, had he taken enough to feed his hunger entirely. A twisted being as he may have been, Erieannan shrugged to himself, he considered a little pain a healthy thing. It kept his attention focused on his purpose and made it easier to retain control over himself.

But the spiritual essence of this woman was pure, untainted by shadow, something thousand times better than what he could extract from a demon. And so was the temptation to lose himself if only for a short while, to break her down into submission, take that energy, take it all and relish in it.

"No, no, no" he muttered to himself, as he stood up to throw some more wood on the fire. Something to keep his hands busy. Looking down at them, he saw they were trembling.

Consider then it's a test of will, idiot. You will not do it.

The woman sat there, probably unaware of his struggle. All to the better, since the perspective would have scared the hell out of her. Eireannan forced his thoughts into submission, while sitting back again, as far from her as he could. Oh, she was in no real danger, he knew it well. You didn't get a powerful warlock without being a freak of control...control over everything, your body, your mind, the corrupted creatures of the Twisting Nether.

He would not break down. If he did, it would all be over.

Not yet, at least.