Rimath

He could get lost out here, looking up hypnotized and seduced. Expanse and deep, the whispers were more cogent here for him. You could feel the promises coil. This was his sister's world, really, but he had followed her. He came back now and then, through the rifts and always felt better being covered. It wasn't precisely cold, but it wasn't really warm either.

The rift made his stomach turn in a way that Outlands and portals never did. It was beautiful but terrifying, too. He hadn't been born for this. He'd chosen this otherworldly place and power, for the sake of family and love.

Estira wasn't here today; wasn't seeking fellowship. He'd find her elsewhere. It was time to leave.

He had, naively, thought the hunger would vanish somehow. He'd never been one good at meditating, so the high elven ways were lost to him. He'd learned to siphon mana and fel, just like all of them. There was always that soul scratching gnaw for more. More. And even more.

But he'd followed her. Farther and farther. To keep an eye on her. To stay with that family that lived. She was desperate to learn to control it. To learn from it. And she found others.

So he remained there, on the periphery of the void's chosen  children. And he hungered. For connection and for the sustenance of life. So he kept himself tethered to darkness.

He was silent, eyes hard. It would be worse for her if he didn't keep quiet. She didn't need to be here. They didn't need to be here. But the whispers... She'd been cursed with them since she'd been small. Shadows. Void. Whatever you wanted to name it.

Wicked. Wild. Witch.

The names had been whispered in the same way she heard the voices. Their parents hadn't known what to do and had refused to believe it couldn't be trained out of her. They barely acknowledged their youngest's idiosyncrasies. Her wide, dilated eyes at noon. The way her head would cock, as if listening to the wind. Wandering through the Eversong woods.

She wasn't dangerous.

Not yet. Why couldn't they see?

Rimath continued to shadow her. He would be there, even if the rest...

"Pick your poison, sir: we can do this the Easy way," Rimath smiled winningly, leaning onto the table, "or we can use some hard Maths. You choose. But choose soon." His finger tapped on the rough tabletop, nail clicking quietly. It was almost lost in the din of the busy bar they sat in.

"We've already done our part. Now it's your turn to make good on this little pact we set up. We got the goods--none too easy a feat, which is why you hired us. I got gilbins ready to bite my pretty little fingertips to get these damn pearls back. Vash'jir has a lot of pointy teeth and a lot of problematic people in it. ... I'd prefer not to think Boralus has been taking lessons from naga. You're not a problematic man, are you?" Again the winning smile...