Terrible Influences

*Silvermoon City, early evening*

Andithiel was beyond pissed off. Raging probably was the correct word to use as he stalked through the streets of Silvermoon and then took a quick left into the darkened opening of a building along Murder Row. Gauzy silken curtains parted to allow him entry into one of the seediest taverns in the city, the place filled with an array of shady looking characters that fit his mood just perfectly. Still wearing his practice armor, the tight leather vest and studded leather pants that hugged his muscular form let him blend in well with the patrons.

How dare she? How dare she send her little minions to issue orders to any member of his household? 

It was bad enough that they had remained allied with Kyliska and her sister for all these months. After all, they'd built them a light-damned spire in repayment for their assistance in battle at former House Felo'melorn's garrison on Draenor. How much longer did they need to repay that debt and curry favor with the unpredictable sisters and scrape and bow as if the two were of any benefit to Andithiel, his sisters, or the city in general?

And now this. In the middle of practice he'd received a missive from Braeth'el ordering him to assign spots to several new rangers and to ensure proper equipment was provided. Andithiel had had enough of Kyliska's latest bed-warmer, and to think of the arrogance of ordering him to take time and effort for her personal soldiers was the last straw.

He'd brought it up with his sisters several times over the past month, but to no avail. Selenthiel, ever the diplomat, had urged patience and expressed sympathy over his frustrations. Tyavel had merely huffed as if his irritations were less important than whatever plans she kept shuttered behind her fel green eyes. He loved his sisters dearly, but he couldn't understand why they didn't see how bad this continued alliance was for their family. Especially with Biara's 'mysterious' disappearance that was, to him, no mystery and another political implosion waiting to happen. He slid into a seat at the bar, practically barking at the bartender for some hard liquor. As an entire bottle was placed in front of him, he felt a pair of eyes on him, and glanced to his left.

She was beautiful. No, that word wasn't even enough, stunning maybe. Fel green eyes studied him from a distance, artfully styled strawberry hair framing her heart shaped face, with the light of the tavern striking her just so, as if she'd planned it. A long cigarette rested between her fingers, acrid smoke rising around her in a stream that left her seemingly shrouded in mystery, the scent clearly laced with bloodthistle. And her outfit... well, to say that Selenthiel would be horrified was putting it mildly. It the purple and blue material glittered with fel green runes, the sheer fabric tight and not nearly present in enough quantity to conceal soft curves and delightfully tanned flesh. And atop her head rested what he first mistook for a demon hunter's horns, only to realize a second later that it was in fact a tiara made of shorn off demonic horns resting atop that mass of hair like a crown.

She met his gaze, blood red lips parting in a smile as she glanced at the bottle, "Having a rough day?" Her voice was like a purr, and Andithiel was not foolish or inexperienced enough to know that everything, from her voice to her appearance to the way she crossed her legs towards him while talking, was all planned and calculated carefully.

He grunted at her, taking a drink directly from the bottle, "A frustrating one, if it's any of your business that is."

Her smile widened, the look almost predatory as she replied, "Sometimes frustrations can be cured more easily than one might first imagine."

He glanced over at her, a brow raised. Was she trying to seduce him after he'd just told her how annoyed he was? Despite himself, his gaze swept over her rather deliciously revealed body before returning to her eyes. For a moment there was amusement there, as if she knew everything he was thinking. He coughed and then gruffly replied, "I don't need your advice or help."

She shrugged, taking a long pull on her cigarette, the smoke trailing from her mouth in a sensuous, snaking trail as she replied, her eyes traveling over him now before meeting his gaze again, "You don't look like someone who needs 'help' or anything else. You look capable enough to handle your frustrations directly. But, your hands are tied, aren't they?"

He studied her for a moment; it was clear she was a deadly little thing with a razor sharp mind. The fel runes dancing on the fabric of her dress made him shudder, recalling every one of Tyavel's lectures about such things. And yet, for a brief moment he imagined that little slip of fabric on the floor of an inn room. Sighing, he took another sip of his drink and grudgingly nodded, "Yes, I would say that is accurate. I'm sure you wouldn't understand."

She shook her head, her hands spread wide in gesture, "But I do. This place, this city, it is like a prison at times. The rules, the politics, the expectations. My hands were once tied too, once bound to duties and service that would have ground me to dust. I know exactly what you are experiencing. Do you want to know what to do about it?"

He looked back at her, staring into that gaze and seeing the wheels turning deep within. She knew how to manipulate, how to play the games, and yet it was clear she was no noble, no one with a title or looking for a title. No one who had to negotiate or stay in bloody deals that brought nothing but irritation. His answer expressed it all in so few words, "And what is that?"

She smiled again, nodding at him, "You do precisely what you want to do. This city, these people, they are only a prison if you allow them to jail you, to hold you back. While I love our people, I realized long ago that it was far more important to love myself first and foremost. To put my needs first. Station, political power, all of that is temporary when you hold the power within yourself to grant your own desires."

He stared at her, considering her words, his next question partially fueled by the alcohol and partly by his frustration with everything that had happened the past few months with his family, with his station in life, "And what is it that you desire?"

Her smile melted into a smirk that some men would have died on their own swords for, her eyes trailing over the exposed muscles of his arm, "Why, everything of course. But I settle for my freedom first and foremost."

Freedom. That illusion that haunted him. His duties to his family, to his house, to his men, and unfortunately to Kyliska and her house bound him, restrained him. When was the last time he ran through the forest and hunted for the fun of it? Between fighting the Legion's forces, worrying over his men, their training and equipment, it was a never ending struggle. When had he last been free?

He nodded at her, at the wild thoughts she inspired in him to simply run away and abandon it all and be done with it, "That sounds like a wonderful dream for those who don't have responsibilities."

She laughed, the sound like a tinkling bell within the darkness of the shady tavern, "Responsibilities can only weigh you down if you let them. You should give yourself that freedom, even if only now and then. Take what you want."

He grimaced and nodded, grateful that she hadn't done something aggressive like lean forward and expose her cleavage. Instead she had sat back, and was just considering him for a time. When she spoke again, it was in a low tone, and with less playfulness, "You will never find what truly sets you free living in chains of your own making, or in the bottom of that bottle. Think about it for a time. What do you really want? It can be yours, the freedom can be yours, if you dare to reach for it. Maybe not today, maybe today you need that bottle, and perhaps one of my cigarettes, but the morning will come and you will need to decide if you want to get up and go back to your prison cell, or walk out of the door and into whatever you desire."

He took another long drink from the bottle before nodding at her, her words making a bit of sense to his surprise, "I will think on it. Maybe it is time that a change was made. Maybe there's a way, who knows. But...thank you. I didn't expect to talk to anyone this evening."

She smiled, shifting and rising slowly, her steps cat like as she came nearer and leaned over him. The scent of her perfume and that tinge of bloodthistle filled the air around him, almost enough to make his head spin when combined with the alcohol. She leaned forward, her breath a whisper against his ear and making his skin heat, "Well, that is what friends are for, isn't it? My name is Mirithel Embersky. Should you need help winning your freedom, come and find me. I hate to see such a strong soldier of Silvermoon struggling in bonds he could so easily snap with his power. In the meantime, let the bottle remind you of those prison walls. Think on it."

Her hand ran up his arm, making his blood heat further, and then she had slipped around him, heading for the door, the swaying of her hips setting the delicate cloth she wore to revealing her upper thighs with each movement. He watched her until she was gone, and then turned back to his bottle, shaking his head. Before him sat her ashtray and the long bloodthistle cigarette, still trailing smoke up from its lit end.

Maybe it is time I talk to my sisters about the threat Kyliska poses to the stability of our house. Maybe it's time I make them listen, and if they won't listen, then maybe it's time I get away from this. I'm sick to death of watching her destroy our family as she and her sister take theirs down. There is more to life than this.

He glanced back at the empty door where the other Sin'dorei had left, smirking as he picked up her cigarette and took a long pull from it. He could taste her lipstick on it, a citrous flavor that mingled with the alcohol and the bloodthistle to relax him for a time.

Tomorrow. Things would change tomorrow. He was sick to death of Kyliska and her family's plots and schemes. He would take his freedom, as Mirithel had suggested.

One way or another.