The Curse, the Magister, and the Nightingale

Part 2: Across the Seas to a Land That Pleas

Nightingale gagged, willing himself not to retch with all his might. The elixir Umbric had him drink tasted beyond revolting, and the burning sensation that it left in the pit of his stomach crawled up his throat along with bile that threatened to make him vomit. He leaned against the backside of the house they hid behind in Silvermoon City, nearly coughing his guts out.

Umbric watched with amusement twinkling in his emerald-colored eyes. His smile of triumph nearly reached his ears as he leaned his weight onto one leg, positioning himself into a casual stance. He asked, brushing himself off with nonchalance, "Are you done there?"

"No," Nightingale croaked, clutching his stomach and leaning forward. Of course, any spell Umbric put on him to change his appearance would've been easily perceived by the elves. So he had to take a potion that would momentarily change his appearance completely, but Umbric hadn't mentioned that the process would feel incredibly uncomfortable. As the bitter feeling began to ebb in his body, Nightingale schemed through his mind for ways to get back at the Magister.

Umbric looked over his shoulder with a hint of anxiety, making sure any elf who sauntered past wouldn't stare at them suspiciously. Silvermoon was bathed in the glory of the Light as usual, bright and sometimes even blinding. They hid, sheltered by the shadows of this specific alleyway, for Nightingale's sake. The Sun and its Light didn't necessarily harm the Ren'dorei unless being wielded incarnate, but that didn't mean its glaring gaze over his Void-touched skin didn't make him feel exposed or uncomfortable.

Nightingale finally straightened when his stomach didn't feel as weak. He noticed the way Umbric stared at him with a look of. . . pity? Immediately, he didn't want to look down at himself. He looked away from Umbric's sad stare, suffocating the growing hate and anger from causing him to do something he never dared to inflict upon the Magister. He tried to calm himself, his ghastly eyes wandering down to his hands. Even if he had himself prepared for the sight, the tan skin of his hand had him at a loss for words.

He was familiar with the sight from spells and enchantments Umbric occasionally placed on him when they worked together to infiltrate other areas for supplies, but it always seemed to catch him unawares. He tore his gaze away from the change in his appearance, pulling his hood over his head to hide the mane of fiery red hair. If they were caught out of skepticism, they planned that Nightingale would play as the son and Umbric the father. He looked up at Umbric, nodding, "I'm ready."

"Alright, Son," Umbric drawled, tossing his cowl over his own head. He looked left and right to ensure their safest route was clear, before gesturing for Nightingale to follow as he scurried forward.

Nightingale rolled his eyes at Umbric, muttering as he strode abreast of the Magister, "If only I had the role of father, then I would have a right to spank you in public without the rest of the Sin'dorei caring."

"You would enjoy that, wouldn't you?" Umbric asked as his keen eyes observed their surroundings carefully. They remained out of sight as frequently as they could afford without it seeming apprehensive enough to attract attention.

Elves, treants, and other elven critters roamed the marble streets of Silvermoon, but not as many as there once had been. Some spires around them still remained crumbled, others destroyed beyond repair even for elvish magic. Although this city once held eternal tranquility and joy, there was an aura of despair that lingered and never seemed to dissipate after what the Lich King did.

"Absolutely. After nearly choking to death on one of your potions, I would like to get back at you," the Ren'dorei hummed, subtly inhaling the scent of the sea as the ocean breeze wafted to his nostrils. He knew they were closer to the harbor with the scent of salt so close. Anticipation nagged at the back of his mind, his whispers responding to his excitement with their overwhelming negativity. He ignored it - something he had grown accustomed to - as he followed the Magister.