Thread: Our own little Awakening. // Dream&Relix

Here in Orzimmar, Deacon's face was not known well as if it all. She was just another visitor a passerby who would come and go as many others had before her. Earlier on in their travels Deacon displayed her disfavor concerning Ozimmar and its politics, but that wasn't the only reason why she wasn't so fond of the underground city. The mage was ever so slightly claustrophobic, not enough to manifest into a genuine issue, but it was enough to cause her mild discomfort. The moment the group set foot through the dwarven city's grand doors she felt the heat waft against her bronze complexion and heighten her body temperature. No view of the sky, no sun, no moon, no stars ... just a clear view of cooking red clay that consumed the surface nearly one hundred meters above them. During their stay Deacon knew this would have to be a inequity she would need to overcome, especially if she were to venture into the Deep Roads with her caravan. Even then she began to think ... what if the darkspawn hadn't returned to Deep Roads? What if they had been somewhere else by now? Perhaps murdered? If they were, maybe some perverse warriors would have taken the girl? As horrifying as these thoughts were they, too, plagued Deacon. While she did not have a strong connection with Rage or her younger sister, she felt this was a mission she needed to see through. Amongst all of the calamity in Ferelden - the war, the genocide, the slavery and poverty - if a pair of siblings could be reunited only to die together, she would have felt that her existence meant something. While Rage and Zander seemed to have been enjoying their down time, the philosophical mage had launched herself deep in thought. Her mind was ailing, crying out for rest, but she was too selfish to allow it any. Left sore, with wounds and an empty stomach, she still could do nothing but think. Subjects of Rage's sister, the werewolves, dwarven politics, her home, the mercenaries sent to kill her, everything ... they plagued her. The music and merry cries resounding throughout the tavern were garbled to her. It took a sheer cry from Zander to snap her out of her thinking. He had slammed down a mug of ale right before Deacon, exclaiming, Drink up, girl! Deacon seen that there was no reason to celebrate. Their venture was not over, and a little girl was sick and dying. You're thinking about the little girl, aren't you? Zander's voice grew significantly smaller. He watch Deacon with rather sympathetic eyes. Over their journey, they all had grown quite close, and Zander particularly fond of Deacon. It's been days ... if she's still alive, Deacon, she knows her brother is coming for her. The best thing we can do is recuperate to be at our best - which means bathing, eating and resting - so we can venture on and save her. Deacon was quiet, but, she realized Zander made sense. She raised her head and silently nodded, her light, coal colored waves bounced with her movements. This had inspired her, and given her quite a brilliant idea that she cursed herself for not realizing earlier. She decided she would mention it to Rage later, but for now, she would do as Zander had suggested. Well, now, since I've cheered you up, can I ask you a favor? Deacon was taken aback, but decided to play along. That certainly depends. But do ask. She lifted her mug and took a sip of her ale - it was bitter, tart, but quite frothy and cold. It wasn't the most refined hops she had ever tasted but it was just what she needed to knock her on her ass and sleep like the dead that night. Will you ... share a bed with me tonight? I promise ... I can keep you nice and warm. It'll be a night you won't remember, doll. Deacon pressed her lips in a hard line, parted her them and said, ... you're a little too small for me. listulistulistu