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Oct. 13th, 2018 06:01 pmThe man'ari, as he'd remembered, were massive creatures. He'd clashed with them upon the shores of the Broken Isles, he'd sniped them from afar in the hills of Suramar, and stalked them deep into fel infested caverns. He'd more than once spent hours recovering from their spells, heaving and shaking inside an inn or curled up in a makeshift camp, wracked with sweats and nightmares.
He'd remembered them from Draenor, before it was ripped apart by them and their ilk, and the draenei still had difficulty coming to terms with the fact that, on some basic level, they were still of the same people. Similar only in shape though, the man'ari usually stood a full head and shoulders over him, if not more, were they particularly powerful. He'd had to dodge their hooves before, barely avoiding being crushed several, several times in what was now Outland. Terrifying things, made doubly so by how similar they looked to him, and every clash now with them saw the hunter trying to sift through the mess of emotions, the pain and horror caused by them, in an effort to forge forward.
Something told him, however, that this particular encounter was going to be somewhat... less traumatic.
Now, Dailanar, in comparison to most draenei, could be considered 'a bit on the tall side', pushing at nine feet when the hunter stood up straight, not burdened under packs or crouched in bushes. Frankly, how the massive brute managed to even hide in the underbrush was a mystery, one that he was often asked by befuddled and enraged targets or miserable, sulking captive criminals. This normally didn't matter, faced up against a man'ari, which was why, when he began to come to, he wasn't entirely sure what the hell he was looking at.
How he'd come to pass out was beyond him, he certainly couldn't recall it, but perched upon a precipice here, it seemed as if he'd lost consciousness somewhere in Suramar. He'd then expected the figure before him, the figure now hopping back a few feet as he shakily moved to stand (why on earth they merely bound his arms and not his legs was a question for the ages), to be a nightborne, or perhaps a felborne, heavens knew anyone loyal to Elisande or the Legion wouldn't necessarily be Dailanar's biggest fan. But standing here, swaying gently as the spell used to render him unconscious faded away, his eyes focused on the smaller figure and realized-
“... A man'ari?” His tone was definitely more bemused than outraged or disgusted, if only because he could never recall having to look down at a man'ari before. Barely taller than a female draenei, the features of the fel tainted eredar before him were twisted in a sneer, demonic magic blazing at his clawed fingertips as he glared up at the giant of a draenai. It was now starting to occur to the hunter, at this point, that all of his gear was, in fact, still here. His bow lay not terribly far away, his chain mail clinking gently with every small motion as it obviously still sat on him, not one single belt or clasp loosened. He even still had his hunting dagger, as useless as it was with his arms still tied behind him.
“Not another step, draenei,” the man'ari warlock hissed, teeth bared like a hungry wolf, “There's nowhere for you to go. It's the cliff, or my spells, pick your end.” Dailanar stared. This, he'd decided, was a bit unprecedented. So he didn't move at all, not quite sure if this was a goad to get him to attempt something, or an order for him to not actually try. In fact,
“Is this an order? Or are you threatening me?” The hunter sounded almost demure, cordial and pleasant, his shoulders dropping and his posture slackening just a touch. The warlock scoffed, but didn't answer, so it seemed it bore some clarification. Dailanar continued, pressing “I am not sure what you want me to do. Should I stay? Or would you like me to move?”
“I said NOT ANOTHER STEP-” Dailanar winced. Oh, oh dear that was high pitched wasn't it? Almost instinctively, he dropped his own voice a pitch or two, attempting to patiently shush the smaller male.
“Alright, I understand, not another step, I won't, I won't.” The reaction did, however, prompt him to wonder if his... captor, here, was a bit young, for a man'ari. He didn't really want to think about them breeding, but then, well. They weren't exactly undead, now were they? … The less intensive thought he put into this, the better. The warlock, noting that his captive was making no effort to escape or attack, closed the distance between them again, reaching for the bigger male's cloak clasp in an effort to yank him down towards him. Dailanar, to his credit, only refused to bend at the waist for two tugs, the third one given so sharply and angrily, with such a great deal of grunting from the warlock, that he was just... rather compelled to oblige him, stooping a little to meet the man'ari's poison green eyes head on.
Perhaps it was only at this point, with the massive draenei's curved horns just barely brushing against his own head plates, long and course platinum colored hair like a lions mane around a scruffy, bearded and scarred face, the scent of dirt, dry wood and the sharp copper tang of old blood hanging on the hunter like an unsettling potpourri, that the warlock actually began to notice just what this situation might devolve into, should his captive suddenly decide he was done being so goddamn polite. A glance down at iron shod hooves was another uncomfortable wake up call.
Oh. Yes. That's right. Warlocks shouldn't... ever be this close to something that hates them, should they? The brief moment of disquieting realization wasn't lost on Dailanar, who refused to straighten back up again, still ever quietly and patiently staring directly into the man'ari's face.
Much to the hunter's surprise and now growing amusement, the warlock refused to let go of his cloak clasp. Well then, this should be interesting.
“My master has plans,” this word punctuated with a jab of one clawed finger towards Dailanar's face, “For you, huntmaster. Your fate is in your hands, either you come with me, and be presented before the Legion as my prisoner, or you die here at my hands, or upon the rocks below.” Fel fire flashed at the warlocks fingertips again, threatening to drag them across the bigger male's face. “Choose quickly-”
“So you are capturing me?” Dailanar interrupted. The warlock sputtered, caught mid threat, before shaking the cloak clasp a bit, the fire in his hand flickering as his concentration wavered.
“Yes, you gigantic, stupid exile, I'm capturing you. Now choose your fa-”
“This seems very ill planned, my friend.” Interrupted again, the fire flickered, faded, and blazed back as the warlock stammered and then bared his teeth, trying to drag the massive hunter down a bit more. He succeeded in accomplishing what looked to be a very awkward pull up, before giving up on that intimidation tactic.
“I am NOT HERE to discuss my plan, you are CAPTURED-”
“I can move my legs.”
“I need you to be able to walk!”
“The other man'ari knew how to levitate me.”
“WELL I'M NOT OTHER MAN'ARI!”
There was a thoughtful pause, bright blue eyes sweeping down over the smaller male.
“.... Yes I can see that.” If the warlock wasn't already naturally bright red, well he would be now, screeching as the fire sputtered out in his hand in favor of grabbing both sides of the clasp.
“You are my captive! I won, you lost, stop arguing with me and get in the blasted portal, you bullheaded piece of elek-”
“Mind your language.” It was the polite, but chiding tone of this that caused the warlock to scream, just for a moment, in absolute outrage, before letting go of the clasp to gesture sharply at Dailanar.
“Do you want to die?! You are at the edge of a cliff, I could push you off right now! I should push you off right now, on principle!” As the warlock shrieked, the hunter glanced idly off the side of the cliff he stood upon, as if gauging the distance between himself and the ground.
“... I agree, you should.” He answered thoughtfully, his head cocked as he looked back around at the warlock, his expression quite serious and straight, despite the look of absolute confusion and rage on the warlock's face.
“... What? N- Wh- Is-” There was a pause, and the warlock tried to peer past Dailanar. Unfortunately for him, the narrow edge of the cliff he'd decided to balance his captive on didn't allow for two to stand upon it. “... Is there someone down there? Did you have a companion?” The hunter just rolled his shoulders.
“Ah, you see, if this was better planned, you would know if I had a companion or not, yes? I believe this is a teachable moment.” The gagging sound from the warlock almost got Dailanar to smile. Almost. It was very close.
“Why would you even suggest-” For perhaps the tenth time today, the draenei interrupted, rolling his head towards the edge of the cliff to indicate the bottom.
“It looks quiet down there, no warlocks or villain speeches to listen to. You cannot hear so well, after all, when you are dead, correct?” Okay, no he couldn't help it now. As the warlock glared at him, his face twisted in the most ridiculous scowl, Dailanar's own face broke into a massive grin. He thought he was funny.
“Get out of my way, hunter. I know for a fact now, that you have a companion at the bottom. Who is it?! That old human archmage, Khadgar? Some other draenei priest I missed?” Dailanar refused to move, shrugging once more.
“I cannot get out of your way, you're in my way. It's a narrow cliff, friend.” The warlock replied in a hiss,
“Don't call me friend. Come here, towards me. If you try anything, I'll roast you alive.” The warlock reached for him again, snagging the clasp once more and trying to drag him forward. Dailanar, after a moment of digging his hooves into the rock, relented, carefully treading past him to allow the warlock full access to the narrow precipice. The smaller male darted for the edge, glaring down into the jagged pit below.
“... I see nobody down here, huntmaster... What absolute garbage are you going on abou-” And that was about as far as the warlock got. After checking to see if the man'ari had summoned any helper demons, Dailanar had simply trotted back up while the warlock was bent over the ledge... And kicked him right the hell off.
As the screams of the warlock dimmed first, and then were rather savagely cut off, the hunter turned his back on the cliff, already feeling the fel infused ropes starting to loosen with the death of his captor.
With his mind already wandering back to what he'd set out to accomplish today, he couldn't help but let one more thought of the warlock drift past in his head.
Truly, this battle had been just a bit unorthodox.
He'd remembered them from Draenor, before it was ripped apart by them and their ilk, and the draenei still had difficulty coming to terms with the fact that, on some basic level, they were still of the same people. Similar only in shape though, the man'ari usually stood a full head and shoulders over him, if not more, were they particularly powerful. He'd had to dodge their hooves before, barely avoiding being crushed several, several times in what was now Outland. Terrifying things, made doubly so by how similar they looked to him, and every clash now with them saw the hunter trying to sift through the mess of emotions, the pain and horror caused by them, in an effort to forge forward.
Something told him, however, that this particular encounter was going to be somewhat... less traumatic.
Now, Dailanar, in comparison to most draenei, could be considered 'a bit on the tall side', pushing at nine feet when the hunter stood up straight, not burdened under packs or crouched in bushes. Frankly, how the massive brute managed to even hide in the underbrush was a mystery, one that he was often asked by befuddled and enraged targets or miserable, sulking captive criminals. This normally didn't matter, faced up against a man'ari, which was why, when he began to come to, he wasn't entirely sure what the hell he was looking at.
How he'd come to pass out was beyond him, he certainly couldn't recall it, but perched upon a precipice here, it seemed as if he'd lost consciousness somewhere in Suramar. He'd then expected the figure before him, the figure now hopping back a few feet as he shakily moved to stand (why on earth they merely bound his arms and not his legs was a question for the ages), to be a nightborne, or perhaps a felborne, heavens knew anyone loyal to Elisande or the Legion wouldn't necessarily be Dailanar's biggest fan. But standing here, swaying gently as the spell used to render him unconscious faded away, his eyes focused on the smaller figure and realized-
“... A man'ari?” His tone was definitely more bemused than outraged or disgusted, if only because he could never recall having to look down at a man'ari before. Barely taller than a female draenei, the features of the fel tainted eredar before him were twisted in a sneer, demonic magic blazing at his clawed fingertips as he glared up at the giant of a draenai. It was now starting to occur to the hunter, at this point, that all of his gear was, in fact, still here. His bow lay not terribly far away, his chain mail clinking gently with every small motion as it obviously still sat on him, not one single belt or clasp loosened. He even still had his hunting dagger, as useless as it was with his arms still tied behind him.
“Not another step, draenei,” the man'ari warlock hissed, teeth bared like a hungry wolf, “There's nowhere for you to go. It's the cliff, or my spells, pick your end.” Dailanar stared. This, he'd decided, was a bit unprecedented. So he didn't move at all, not quite sure if this was a goad to get him to attempt something, or an order for him to not actually try. In fact,
“Is this an order? Or are you threatening me?” The hunter sounded almost demure, cordial and pleasant, his shoulders dropping and his posture slackening just a touch. The warlock scoffed, but didn't answer, so it seemed it bore some clarification. Dailanar continued, pressing “I am not sure what you want me to do. Should I stay? Or would you like me to move?”
“I said NOT ANOTHER STEP-” Dailanar winced. Oh, oh dear that was high pitched wasn't it? Almost instinctively, he dropped his own voice a pitch or two, attempting to patiently shush the smaller male.
“Alright, I understand, not another step, I won't, I won't.” The reaction did, however, prompt him to wonder if his... captor, here, was a bit young, for a man'ari. He didn't really want to think about them breeding, but then, well. They weren't exactly undead, now were they? … The less intensive thought he put into this, the better. The warlock, noting that his captive was making no effort to escape or attack, closed the distance between them again, reaching for the bigger male's cloak clasp in an effort to yank him down towards him. Dailanar, to his credit, only refused to bend at the waist for two tugs, the third one given so sharply and angrily, with such a great deal of grunting from the warlock, that he was just... rather compelled to oblige him, stooping a little to meet the man'ari's poison green eyes head on.
Perhaps it was only at this point, with the massive draenei's curved horns just barely brushing against his own head plates, long and course platinum colored hair like a lions mane around a scruffy, bearded and scarred face, the scent of dirt, dry wood and the sharp copper tang of old blood hanging on the hunter like an unsettling potpourri, that the warlock actually began to notice just what this situation might devolve into, should his captive suddenly decide he was done being so goddamn polite. A glance down at iron shod hooves was another uncomfortable wake up call.
Oh. Yes. That's right. Warlocks shouldn't... ever be this close to something that hates them, should they? The brief moment of disquieting realization wasn't lost on Dailanar, who refused to straighten back up again, still ever quietly and patiently staring directly into the man'ari's face.
Much to the hunter's surprise and now growing amusement, the warlock refused to let go of his cloak clasp. Well then, this should be interesting.
“My master has plans,” this word punctuated with a jab of one clawed finger towards Dailanar's face, “For you, huntmaster. Your fate is in your hands, either you come with me, and be presented before the Legion as my prisoner, or you die here at my hands, or upon the rocks below.” Fel fire flashed at the warlocks fingertips again, threatening to drag them across the bigger male's face. “Choose quickly-”
“So you are capturing me?” Dailanar interrupted. The warlock sputtered, caught mid threat, before shaking the cloak clasp a bit, the fire in his hand flickering as his concentration wavered.
“Yes, you gigantic, stupid exile, I'm capturing you. Now choose your fa-”
“This seems very ill planned, my friend.” Interrupted again, the fire flickered, faded, and blazed back as the warlock stammered and then bared his teeth, trying to drag the massive hunter down a bit more. He succeeded in accomplishing what looked to be a very awkward pull up, before giving up on that intimidation tactic.
“I am NOT HERE to discuss my plan, you are CAPTURED-”
“I can move my legs.”
“I need you to be able to walk!”
“The other man'ari knew how to levitate me.”
“WELL I'M NOT OTHER MAN'ARI!”
There was a thoughtful pause, bright blue eyes sweeping down over the smaller male.
“.... Yes I can see that.” If the warlock wasn't already naturally bright red, well he would be now, screeching as the fire sputtered out in his hand in favor of grabbing both sides of the clasp.
“You are my captive! I won, you lost, stop arguing with me and get in the blasted portal, you bullheaded piece of elek-”
“Mind your language.” It was the polite, but chiding tone of this that caused the warlock to scream, just for a moment, in absolute outrage, before letting go of the clasp to gesture sharply at Dailanar.
“Do you want to die?! You are at the edge of a cliff, I could push you off right now! I should push you off right now, on principle!” As the warlock shrieked, the hunter glanced idly off the side of the cliff he stood upon, as if gauging the distance between himself and the ground.
“... I agree, you should.” He answered thoughtfully, his head cocked as he looked back around at the warlock, his expression quite serious and straight, despite the look of absolute confusion and rage on the warlock's face.
“... What? N- Wh- Is-” There was a pause, and the warlock tried to peer past Dailanar. Unfortunately for him, the narrow edge of the cliff he'd decided to balance his captive on didn't allow for two to stand upon it. “... Is there someone down there? Did you have a companion?” The hunter just rolled his shoulders.
“Ah, you see, if this was better planned, you would know if I had a companion or not, yes? I believe this is a teachable moment.” The gagging sound from the warlock almost got Dailanar to smile. Almost. It was very close.
“Why would you even suggest-” For perhaps the tenth time today, the draenei interrupted, rolling his head towards the edge of the cliff to indicate the bottom.
“It looks quiet down there, no warlocks or villain speeches to listen to. You cannot hear so well, after all, when you are dead, correct?” Okay, no he couldn't help it now. As the warlock glared at him, his face twisted in the most ridiculous scowl, Dailanar's own face broke into a massive grin. He thought he was funny.
“Get out of my way, hunter. I know for a fact now, that you have a companion at the bottom. Who is it?! That old human archmage, Khadgar? Some other draenei priest I missed?” Dailanar refused to move, shrugging once more.
“I cannot get out of your way, you're in my way. It's a narrow cliff, friend.” The warlock replied in a hiss,
“Don't call me friend. Come here, towards me. If you try anything, I'll roast you alive.” The warlock reached for him again, snagging the clasp once more and trying to drag him forward. Dailanar, after a moment of digging his hooves into the rock, relented, carefully treading past him to allow the warlock full access to the narrow precipice. The smaller male darted for the edge, glaring down into the jagged pit below.
“... I see nobody down here, huntmaster... What absolute garbage are you going on abou-” And that was about as far as the warlock got. After checking to see if the man'ari had summoned any helper demons, Dailanar had simply trotted back up while the warlock was bent over the ledge... And kicked him right the hell off.
As the screams of the warlock dimmed first, and then were rather savagely cut off, the hunter turned his back on the cliff, already feeling the fel infused ropes starting to loosen with the death of his captor.
With his mind already wandering back to what he'd set out to accomplish today, he couldn't help but let one more thought of the warlock drift past in his head.
Truly, this battle had been just a bit unorthodox.
