westwhere | unkharil

unkharil | event

UNKHARIL

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Leaving the House of Manouk through waypoints, the party arrives back to the present time of Akhuras, in the jungle swathes of Unkharil. Those undergoing a canon update fleetingly detour into their home worlds. Old or new, you wake with a start, on high alert — body ablaze with static electricity. Some characters might struggle with vertigo, misted memories and dimmed powers for up to 48 hours, while their bodies readjust to no longer being lost in time.

You are in the care of a highly disciplined, if largely nomadic caravan — the refugees of most holy Alem, the kingdom built upon hell that succumbed to the undead. Karsa informs new recruits that the party assisted Alem’s king Deimar with evacuation efforts and with sealing the gates of hell, months prior. Their kingdom lost, Deimar has now taken his people to his mother’s ancestral grounds of Unkharil — a temple-fortress in a valley bordered by four tall mountains that serve as its protective walls.

Legend says the four mountains pillared the heavens, while snake god Kharil-asuk nested in the valley below to recover after birthing the world. So long was his sleep that cloud gods sent down the first bursts of lightning and thunder — frightening awake Kharil-asuk, who slithered into the jungle, never to be seen again. Since, sacred Unkharil has served as site of worship and coronations.

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King Deimar — whimsical, breezy, but cuttingly sharp — welcomes you in Unkharil, until the Merchant finalises your travel arrangements east. His people are weary, battle-worn and starved for kindness. Where applicable, some might optionally remember you under the false identity you wore in Arc V.

Seek out accommodations in the stone huts of the temple-fortress or the humble, often single-person cells that were dug bluntly into the mountain walls for hermit monks. Unkharil was deserted over the years as Kharil-asuk’s cult lost worship — but superstitious bandits have kept their looting away from temple grounds. You may still find furniture, pieces of clothing and worship, while refugees can spare clothes and food supplies.

TASKS

■ Assist with cleaning and reconstructing the destitute grounds of Unkharil, raising new stone columns and cleansing altars. Those with a connection to nature or the animals sense this is a quiet, revered territory.

■ Many survivors of Alem’s siege suffer from burns, cuts or trauma you can allay. The orphaned, widowed and wounded appreciate a kind word, company or help settling in.

■ Find a thin golden stream in the jungle, whose tepid waters may accelerate healing, improve your spirits or give you a day of staggering good luck. Bring back waters for recovering refugees.

■ Learn to use mountain scaling gear (rope-bound pairs encouraged) — or tame a 3-meter Kalioperus flier (useful for scouting and the Wailing below). Refugees and the few remaining temple monks may assist, but it’s learning by doing on the slippery mountain sides and with the thin-tempered fliers.

■ Largely warriors, Deimar’s people lost numerous troops defending Alem and now replenish their forces by teaching their youth weapons combat and light magic. Come dawns, join them in the courtyard to learn a skill or offer your own lessons. Alem instructors are strict, disciplined and martial — but fair. Characters who lack natural magic can learn to operate gem-triggered spheres that generate shields or a burst of fire/lightning. You may keep the gems after, but your character will need a few weeks of study to achieve mastery.

■ (Learn to) fish, hunt and forage to renew supplies. Beware flesh-eating fish in some jungle rivers. Ride an okapi?

■ Yet wary of traders, Deimar (grudgingly) invites merchants to revive their routes to Unkharil, with many caravans, errant scholars, priests, necromancers and sorcerers arriving to study his proposition. Some arrive all the way from magical jewel city Taravast — including an exuberant acolyte of old master Wrath! — and may offer exotic food and drink, or unique items. You may trade or earn coin by selling services or performances. Musical, art and thespian instruments can be found on the grounds.

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QUESTS

THE HEART(H) OF IT

”Rise and shine, lads! Heat of a jungle’s sun won’t be waning, no use waiting it out. The iron here’s rung cold too long. What little’s left of it. Shows the place was run by monks. They abandoned the smithy, once the fires guttered, and the mines, soon as the mouths collapsed only a little! Ha. Spoiled devils. Even left behind the ore already dug out. You go right in and fetch some iron… some copper, some silver… whatever yo find. We’ll get the blaze going. Time to forge. Don’t worry. We’ll make it worth your while.”

— Eitam, master forger

Deimar’s ironmongers revive the smithy of Unkharil but require precious ore and materials for manufacturing. Scale the steep mountain of Masida that walls in Unkharil to the east and infiltrate its abandoned mine to recover some previously discovered, but abandoned goods. Beware crumbling paths, rotten wood stairs and moulding ropes, as parts of the mines threaten collapse. Refugees supply golden fireworks that can shoot out to alert anyone within the mine you are in danger. Blacksmith rewards await.

PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS

Visiting merchants are willing to resume trade, but have ongoing safety concerns.

■ Meet a first set of incoming grain-bearing caravans in the jungle and escort them on the last six-hour leg of their voyage to Unkharil. These are hefty and slow wagons, frequently targeted by bandits who dam their paths or pretend they are wounded, while their brothers attack from tree outposts.

■ Destroy the encampments of the vicious jungle-based Red Claws bandits. These outlaws typically attack in groups, share nightly meals and drink to strengthen their ties, providing excellent ambush opportunities. They cover their faces with a cinnabar or blood print of their leader’s palm.

■ Hold talks to appease the merchants Balthazar (easily impressed by shows and the arts) and Anathula (who wants a clear business pitch). Give diplomacy your best!

THE WAILING

”… they were so happy, so holy, then why do they shame themselves with tears now? You must be wondering. The truth does not honour us: first, Unkharil’s priesthood only accepted brothers from among those who survived snake’s poison. But the chosen were few, and the lands needed tending. Then, Unkharil accepted brothers from men of great skill, literacy and wisdom. But the learned were few, and the lands needed tending. Then, Unkharil accepted orphans, survivors of the jungle, men of the snake’s vision. But wanderers were few, and the lands needed tending. And soon, what recruits Kharil-asuk did not provide, in his mercy — his priesthood took… from the breasts of widows, from pillaged homes, from bandits. They kept even the most unwilling.”

— groundsmaster Kayik

Unkharil’s new residents soon find their beauty sleep disrupted by nightly wails, projected from several of the monk cells dug into Mount Nathadi, which walls in Unkharil from the south. These are the ghosts of former monks, whom you can appease by scaling the mountain and cleaning their cell, recovering their bones for burial (where applicable) or providing a minor service for the ghost (your choice of what the monk might desire: perhaps the recitation of a poem, an update on the weather outside, a good deed, etc.) Many of the monks were especially devoted to Kharil-asuk and to theories of reincarnation — for the lives of men are to the soul like a snake shedding its skin — and may impart you their wisdom.

WATER MY CROPS

Help Deimar’s people to revitalise local soil, seed gardens and crops, build dams and redirect jungle rivers. Water or lunar tide sorcery also work. Alem refugees were primarily warriors and will need you to illustrate the basics of gardening and land care.

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TO DAYS GONE BY

To welcome the start of their new lives, the refugees hold two nights of celebrations. During the day, you prepare tall bonfires or purify the lands with incense and sage-infused water, finding you are readily welcome in every home.

■ The first banquet night (OOCly on 25 August) pays homage to the lost: the survivors of Alem remember the siege and encourage you to speak of your own dead. Letters of penance, love or remembrance are written to the dead, read by the witness of your choosing and burned in bonfires. Heavy, syrupy and thick drink abounds.

■ The second banquet night (OOCly on 5 September) honours the living: everyone must show and express gratitude to someone alive, for any reason. Grit your teeth and offer thanks.

SERVANTS OF AFIRU (warning: snakes)

”There was no strength left in the bones of Kharil-asuk, after birthing the ground and the sky and the moon, and man and his mountains. And the first son of his likeness paid the price: brave white Afiru, small and feeble, but how proud he was! And the dozen men who caught him, not knowing his right divine, thought they did him a kindness to cull his pain young: to set him on a slate of stone and cut him in small parts, and eat of him for their dinner. Fools! Each bite of Afiru took root within them! Come morning, a dozen men woke in the image of Afiru: half snake, half human, beastly and cunning, their roiling bellies only quenched when they ate of their brothers. So, Afiru seeded his curse, and that same stone plate is now his altar: and just as he washed it with his life’s blood for men, so too must men now pay the price of bleeding.”

— old village tale

Within the jungle depths sleeps the minor, ruined temple of serpent god Afiru — malicious son of Kharil-asuk — whose mind-thralled servants abduct hapless innocents as sacrifices to the deity’s naga emissaries. Infiltrate the decayed temple to ruin Afiru’s altar — releasing his servants from their thrall and ending his worship. The naga priests are half beasts, half men, but deathly silent and possessed of fiercely sharp and venomous claws and fangs. If poisoned, your wounded limb swells, then numbs, then darkens as the toxin spreads through your body. You have 12 hours to get back to Unkharil, increasingly groggy and stiff, and drink a cure — or may pre-emptively carry a few doses, going in.

A HUNDRED MOUTHS (newcomers only)

Large stone gates carved into the northern mountain that walls in Unkharil hide an ancient granary whose wares could allay starvation… and interest visiting merchants. To open the doors, you must fit missing ruby beads back into the gate’s carvings. The gems, you learn, were picked out and dragged away by feral Kalioperus fliers — larger and more vicious than the ones you ride — and taken back to their nests at the very tip of Unkharil’s walling mountains. Report your ruby finds — rewards await.

ANOINTED (warning: snake)

”I saw him! With my mind clear, and my eyes shut, and my heart open. And he was beautiful! I ran in high grass, and my feet tore, and my dress ragged, and do not listen! I was not as the others are, greedy. I wanted nothing, nothing! He asked, ‘Daughter, what do you wish of me?’ And I said to him, ‘Only to see you.’ And he said, ‘So be it.’ And after mother Moon rose, and the good rain downed, and it was silence in this world he gave us, but for this breath, that was the murmur of the skies! No vastness greater than the drums of his heartbeat, and his sundered gaze: one eye, it was blood, and the other gold. And together, they saw me. He saw me. And he loved me! So he gave me the silk of his shed skin, to remember him by. In the morning, old women say, hunters found me in the jungle, stroking a piece of old, mouldy rope. But I know, it was him, it was the Father. And he saw me, as they do not see him”

— Laila, weaver

Deimar inherited his mother’s lands, but his uncles are likely to contest the claim of a pauper king with a feeble army. To legitimise his rule, Deimar wants the blessing of snake deity Kharil-asuk. The few remaining locals of Unkharil say the great serpent may be seen on stormy nights with lightning and thunder by those who wait at night in the jungle, after purifying themselves with meditation or partaking of ‘mind-cleansing’ asuk — a strong drug that triggers hallucinations and prophecy. The enormously large serpent body of Kharil-asuk — two-kilometres long, 100 meters wide — slithers before his chosen and must be chased into the depths of the jungles, no matter the animal and bandit dangers, before it disappears.

Inquisitive and untamed, but not necessarily malicious, Kharil-asuk often seeks to shrug off his pursuers, camouflaging in the landscape. He speaks as a voice in the heads of his pursuers, assessing them with questions about true worth and what entitles men to land, wisdom and nobility. He may attempt to drive those he deems unworthy for their past sins (betrayal, murder) in the path of mortal danger (cliffs, bandits, traps). Anyone can chase Kharil-asuk and speak with him. You can still sign up for a RNG to receive his blessing.

NOTES

■ Newcomers may be introduced to the large undead dragon, now bound to the party since Arc V. Formerly a tormentor of Alem, she keeps her distance and flies outside of Unkharil for now.

■ This downtime event lasts until 15 September and is followed by Arc VII. Pace yourselves and engage in as much or as little as you want, quests-wise!

QUESTIONS

NPC INBOX

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Alem itself was a fortress protecting a portal to a netherworld full of demons and so on. They were trying to hold it and prevent the undead breaching and unleashing unpleasantness. The siege had lasted the better part of a year when we arrived, and had all the usual siege issues. Low mood among the troops, infighting, supply issues, sickness."

He ducks under a branch, swatting aside some insects.

"Deimar is a fairly young ruler. There was strife between him and his brother over who should rule. Deimar is in his early twenties, his brother Haiva was older but sickly and... troubled."

A mild way of putting it. Haiva had seemed sympathetic at first, a sick young man, trying to help but betrayed by his body, concerned about the conflict. How things had changed once the mask had fallen away.

"Troubled?"

There's something in the way he says it that gives Anduin pause, brows lifting as he looks back towards Wrathion.

It's so hard not to stare...

"Beyond the troubles plaguing their kingdom, I take it," he continues, warily.

Wrathion hums agreement, climbing over a fallen branch.

"He gave all the appearance of a tragic, pitiable figure. A young prince, sick since birth, supposedly no desire for the throne. He helped evacuation convoys and healing efforts, visited the wounded often. The truth, it seemed, was different. He had a darker edge to his personality that all of that was hiding."

Obsessive, violent, manipulative, smart enough certainly to know all of that -- although likely entirely out of his mind too. Perhaps that makes him pitiable to some degree, but Wrathion ran out of pity.

"Bitterness will poison a person, over time. Though perhaps it was more than that." He only knows scraps, what pieces of information Wrathion can offer, but it still comes as little surprise. When people are denied what they believe to be rightfully theirs, the effects can be...monstrous.

His attention flickers back to the path, which appeared to be sloping downwards for a time, towards a small trickle of water that could barely be counted as a stream. "Watch your step," he murmurs, before attempting to dig his heels into the softer, looser soil and easing downward.

Funny, Anduin telling him to watch his step. As if Wrathion may be the one less steady on his feet, as if Anduin isn't prone to a bad knee. He feels his mind latch onto that concern, redirect from his storytelling to study Anduin as he eases himself down the slope.

"We'll need to get you better shoes," he says in answer, and eases down the slope -- keeping himself warily in step with Anduin before beginning to pick his way over the trickle of water. "But, I'm told there are at least places we can rest at our destination. They may not be up to your usual standard, but there should be stone huts. Hopefully cool and structurally sound."

Which is good enough, he thinks, for now. He has some bedding for them. As long as they have shelter in case of stormy weather, and some food, then they can last.

"It wouldn't be my first time roughing it," he replies dryly, waiting for Wrathion to descend and making sure the other was steady on his feet before climbing the other side of the bank. Erosion had clearly been at work here, tree roots poking through the loose soil, but there did appear to be a smoother, more dense patch of dirt where animals or people may have made a trail before now.

He climbs up, using a few of the rocks embedded there for more steady footing, before once again turning to wait on the dragon.

"And these boots aren't the worst. At least they're meant for traveling, if not mountain-climbing."

"I suppose you've seen plenty of experience travelling through the wilderness in less than ideal clothing, usually while SI:7 trailed behind pleading with you to see reason."

Wrathion pulls himself up the bank, inspecting the trail ahead then turning to Anduin.

"Does that leave me to be your voice of reason now?"

There's something teasing in the tone, because Wrathion is quite aware he's not usually cast in that role -- but then again... Well, the priest is quite the stubborn creature. Wrathion has strong self-preservation instincts, and he wouldn't be surprised if he had to talk Anduin into considering his own safety before doing something impulse.

Anduin huffs softly at the notion.

"If that's the case, we truly are doomed," he intones in reply, though there's a curve to his lips as he does so. He doesn't truly mean it, after all, but poking holes in Wrathion's ego has always been the reflex.

An eyebrow arches. "I suppose it's up to us to take turns, then. We might actually get through this in one piece."

Wrathion's grin is sharp at that, all teeth, dull red eyes skimming over Anduin.

Taking it in turns. He'd said that, once, to Anduin as a joke. Funny that, even now, even unwittingly they have the same sense of humour. If only it were that easy. His memories swim, Anduin here. Standing on the coast in Ellethia, voice raised over the wind. Anduin, in the hold of a ship with him, recovering after being unconscious for several days. Turalyon, in Stormwind, in Anduin's place.

His head hurts, and his fingers slowly curl tight into his palm -- grin tilting up a fraction to compensate.

"I'm afraid it isn't always as organised as all that," he admits. The path slops down again, and as it does the treeline begins to thin out until the looming spectre of Unkharil is visible. Overgrown as it may be, he can admit it is still impressive.

Edited (forgot to pick an icon oops) 2023-09-01 18:04 (UTC)

His mouth twists. "No. Nothing's ever that neat and tidy, I'm afraid. But nothing stays the same forever, either."

Eventually, the pendulum would swing. It wasn't as if they were complete opposites, forever opposed to one another. Months upon months discussing what they wanted of the world had proven that. No, they were far more alike than they were different.

It wouldn't be so frustrating, otherwise.

As the ground starts to slope more steeply, he finds himself putting a hand out to Wrathion's shoulder over a particularly rocky part of the path.

Wrathion stops instinctively, waiting as Anduin uses him to steady himself and moving slowly so he can continue to do so.

"Nothing does," he admits, "all we can do is adapt."

Which is what he's doing, or trying to do. He waits until Anduin is steady before moving ahead again, footsteps light on the uneven path.

"Not far now," he murmurs, "then we can find somewhere to rest. I do have some tea left in my pack, along with all the fish jerky. A jihui set too, as it happens."

Not that he's sure Anduin would want to play in this heat, but it is a topic of conversation. Perhaps something to look forward to, at some point, if he decides he would be in the mood.

That does bring back memories, but he's a little surprised at Wrathion carrying around something so...sentimental?

Will wonders never cease?

Still, a faint smile warms his already flushed face as he treks just behind the dragon, gently pushing the overreaching foliage from his path.

"Perhaps once we've arrived somewhere with enough space and time to play, you'll have to show me. I don't think I've had the chance to play in years, so I might be a little rusty."

"Of course," Wrathion assures him. "I don't doubt you'll pick it back up quickly enough."

Anduin taught him to begin with, after all, and was always better at keeping to the spirit of the game. Wrathion's competitive streak sometimes struggled to stay in check.

The path continues downward, then begins to open up as the walls of Unkharil draw closer. There's more commotion here, voices as people direct caravans and travellers both into and around the structure. Wrathion catches the attention of one of them, leans into a whispered conversation then looks up as the woman turns and points. He nods, turns to Anduin and inclines his head away in the direction she gestured.

"There are some stone huts this way, or some single occupancy cells the monks used cut into the mountain. 'Cell' doesn't sound particularly cosy, if you ask me."

So, on balance, he'd vote in favour of stone huts.

"Probably not. Acetic living has its virtues, I'm sure..."

But not the preference, certainly.

Wrathion seems to have a better handle on the locals, and so Anduin contents himself to follow along at his side. The hike has definitely developed a bit of an ache in him, but it's easily ignored when there's so much to take in.

"We should see what we can do to offer aid, in the meanwhile. After we've had a moment to rest."

"Your talents will see good work, I'm certain. These people had plenty of sick and injured, even before they began this long journey to a new home."

Now? No doubt some of those didn't make it, and those that have may be worse off.

He picks his way carefully through crumbling streets, past collapsed structures overgrown with plant life. It's quite certainly seen better days, but there is potential here. If they can get repairs underway, then it does seems a viable option. Better than a collapsing, sieged ruin over an entrance to hell surely?

The stone huts come into view, and Wrathion walks past a few occupied structures before spotting one that appears empty.

"Here," he prompts, and moves inside to begin inspecting the structural integrity. Better to make sure it isn't being passed over for good reason, after all! He squints at the ceiling, begins examining the walls and windows curiously. "Well, it won't win any awards but I don't think it will collapse on you."

"Good. I think I've had my fill of that for one lifetime."

Ducking into the hut, he finds a nice patch of dirt to ease himself down to sit. 'Nice' being relative, of course, but this isn't the first time he's been out living rough, king or no. For now, the shade and the security of it is enough.

He tips his head back, watching Wrathion meticulously investigate the hut with a faint curl to the edge of his lips. Never one to simply trust, even now. But that's not always such a terrible thing.

He isn't always terrible.

A hand lifts to adjust the collar of his shirt to allow for a little more airflow, before swiping at his sweat-damp forehead with his sleeve. "We'll want to sit out the afternoon heat, I think. Once the sun starts to set, we can see who needs our aid."

Ah! Wrathion leans back out the hut, gives a low whistle and waits a moment before settling his gaze back on Anduin.

"I can give you some of the travelling gear, of course."

A pause, a hesitation as Wrathion weighs up his wording. Once upon a time, it would have been a given that Wrathion would have stayed with Anduin. To watch over him, keep him company, offer the warmth of his embrace in cold weather and to laugh as Anduin overheated in warmer climates. To let Anduin soothe him through nightmares and to offer late night conversation when the priest struggled with sleep himself.

It isn't... quite the same, now.

"... Equally, if you'd prefer privacy I can find myself another hut."

These ones are clearly designed for sharing, but Anduin may prefer not to do so -- or to have the company of... someone else. He turns as Vigilance appears beside him, folds his coat and sets it on the ground as he crouches down and begins unfastening the bag from the droid dog. From its depths he unpacks light blankets, books, his sewing kit, and a set of water flasks -- one of which he holds out to Anduin immediately.

The flask is taken gratefully, a small sip taken before he pours out a handful of water to splash across his face. The droplets trickle down his jaw and neck, soaking into the fabric of his shirt along with the dust and the sweat.

No warm, comfortable bathtubs in his future, he imagines.

"No, that's alright." He tips his head back against the wall, closing his eyes briefly against the discomfort. A few prayers and all will be right again, as right as it's likely to get.

"Stay."

He'd asked him that, once. Long ago. But it feels safer now, more certain. Neither of them are who they once were, and he's willing to offer that small bit of trust that when he opens his eyes again?

Wrathion will still be there, this time.

Wrathion feels his mouth go dry as he watches Anduin try to cool off, as the water runs down his neck and wets his shirt.

Even like this, sweating and dusty from the road, he's beautiful. His fingers twitch with the desire to reach out and touch him, to smooth limp blond hair back from his face and reassure him all will be well.

Anduin doesn't need his empty reassurances, what he needs is Wrathion to prove himself.

He swallows, drops his eyes and begins unpacking more from the bag.

"Very well," he allows. "There is, of course, strength in numbers. I don't know how secure this crumbling fortress is, but should any bandits make it in naturally the safest place would be with me."

Not quite as confident as he'd like it to be, but a solid attempt. Obviously, one of his main concerns is keeping Anduin safe.

"Naturally."

There's a wry tinge to his tone, lips curving faintly as he opens his eyes briefly and--

Maybe it's because the flare of his eyes doesn't hide emotion as well, but he doesn't think he's ever seen him quite this vulnerable. No. That's not the right word. Wistful? Closer, perhaps.

Dragon though he may be, that doesn't make him invulnerable. And worry creeps in before he can bid it back.

Anduin's sweat-damp brow furrows. "Are you alright?"

Is he?

Wrathion pauses in his unpacking, taking a moment to analyse himself. On balance, right now he'd say no. His powers are weakened to barely anything, his headache is coming back, and an unsettled feeling nags at him.

"It's a strange feeling," he allows, "to be pulled back through the timeways then deposited here again. I haven't seen you for quite some time, and yet equally I saw you only moments before."

He stares at the bag, thoughtful, then begins to draw out his jihui travel set. The wooden box is elegantly made, full of memories of the two of them playing together. He lets out a slow breath, allowing them to wash over him.

"It's good to see you," he admits, letting his fingers alight on the box. "I wasn't sure when I would have the pleasure of your company again. I must confess, I --"

His voice falters, uncertain. Heat suffuses Wrathion's face, and his stomach clenches with nausea. The wave of emotion feels strong, sudden, and he's not sure what to do with it. It feels like a pressure in his head, an unsteadiness in his limbs.

It's hardly the time for all this.

He blinks it back, takes another breath and begins to fumble for the water flasks.

"I should refill these," he murmurs, and moves to stand.

His gaze flickers briefly across the jihui board, a relic of memory, and traces of his smile return. But Wrathion's words command his attention once more, words that feel oddly honest and forthright for the young dragon.

Perhaps he realizes it too.

Before Wrathion can stand entirely, a hand rests against the crook of his arm. Anduin peers at him, halfway to standing himself if it means keeping that hold.

"Stay," he says again, quietly. "Please."

Though in truth a part of him has already let the situation play out, where Wrathion insists and withdraws and walks away, and it is the same as it ever was. Some part of him is already resigned, but another more stubborn fragment still ever clings to hope.

He tenses as the hand lands on his arm, fingers flexing uncomfortably around the flask he's picked up. His shoulders lift, and the urge to flee regardless is strong. To escape before he makes a mistake, somehow says something to shatter this delicate balance.

Yet, equally, it is hard to deny Anduin anything.

His eyes slide sideways, fixing on the box on the floor between them. His face still feels hot, but a few blinks begin to get it under control.

"... I don't want to make this uncomfortable for you."

Wrathion knows he has a bad habit of making things about himself, and his heart wants to. It wants to rage about how unfair this is, about how it hurts, but -- he shouldn't. He can't make a mess of this again, cannot risk the fall out of damaging one of the few relationships he has that matter so much.

There are a lot of things he could say. True things. Unkind things. Instead:

"I know."

The implication is there, hovering on his lips. Stay anyway. It hovers in the humid air of the hut, lingering unspoken like so many things, until Anduin finally loosens his grip. Wrathion can go of course, if he really means to.

If that's the only course left.

Wrathion swallows back discomfort, turns slowly and lowers himself to sit down. His fingers flex, trying to work out the jitters.

"I missed you."

Said more to the ground than Anduin, to the jihui travel set, to his hands -- still flexing through discomfort. A truth that has never changed, be it here or in Azeroth. Wrathion has always thought of Anduin, always missed him. Even if he didn't know how to show it properly.

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