Niviene glared at the bruisers on either side of her while they, with an air of familiar boredom, sat sharpening their blades. She rubbed the sore spot on her arm gingerly, certain a bruise was forming where one of the men had grabbed her to drag her away from the portal.
At the sound of approaching footsteps her guards scrambled to their feet, snapping to attention. Bishop Lancaster sneered down at the priestess, “Of course it would be you Sister Larethian.” the title he’d used dripping with sarcasm and malice. “You have ever been a problem for the cathedral, from the first day you came to Stormwind.”
Niviene’s eyes widened slightly, making the bishop give a mirthless chuckle, “Oh yes. I know all about you. You married a warlock who later deserted you. What kind of a person must you be that even a warlock would wish to be far from you?” he tisked, “Then you married that troublemaker Larethian. I must say, the two of you are well matched.” he nodded and one of the guards grabbed her by the arm again, hauling her roughly to her feet.
“Tell me madam, what could possibly be more important to you than the rescue of our king and Lady Jaina Proudmore?”
She raised her head, looking directly into the eyes of the bishop, a sweet smile dancing on her lips, “A great many things actually. My husband and children for starters. Friends, family, people who rely on me. I don’t suppose you can relate to that though, can you, your grace?”
His eyes narrowed, he kept his gaze locked to hers though he spoke to the guards, “See that Mrs. Larethian is comfortable in whatever it is these… people… call a cell. She’ll be staying there for the duration of our foray into the Shadowlands. We’ll deal with this little traitor when we return to Stormwind.”
He turned to walk away when a voice came, seemingly out of nowhere. “Angel? You there?”
Lancaster looked her over, nodding once more at the guard who held her, grasping hold of her other arm, holding her tightly against his chest as the other guard patted her down, stopping at the pocket of her robes. He thrust his hand in, then removed it, her communication stone clutched in his fist.
The bishop sniggered as he took the stone, depositing it in his own pocket, “She won’t be needing this. She will be too busy contemplating the error of her ways and how better she can serve the Light.”
As Lancaster walked away he called back to the guards over his shoulder, “Do whatever you think necessary to keep our little deserter subdued. We don’t want our hosts to worry about her after all,”