Dead hair drying against her forehead, her expression was fluctuating between pain and satisfaction. Her black armor was drenched with draenei blood, human blood, elf blood. Her gloves had Tauren hair stuck in the tight creases of the metal. Her mace was almost clogged with torn up blue flesh and blonde hair, and her greaves were leaving crimson footprints on the pale stone of Silvermoon City.
She could see three ribs protruding through her black plate and briefly touched the white bone as if contemplating pushing it back in. But her hands flitted from her side back up to her face and prodded her cheekbone - cracked in half by a greatsword - then went back to counting that day's arena marks, tiny red and white things the goblin gave out.
Not bad... Her eyes, blue lights at this point, flickered upwards to cross the many gathered blood elves. They ignored her entirely, and she barely recognized that they should have possibly glanced her way. Instead, she was intent on passing their lords and masters, sparing one minute second to gaze in almost artificial lust one of them, a mask covering half his face.
A few moments later, she touched the transportation orb and was walking the roads of Undercity, where she was quite at ease and not a soul looked at her with strangeness. The Forsaken there smiled and grinned, smirked and cheered, and eventually she made it to her warlock, who was finishing sewing a particularly darling elven-styled hat.
Several firm salutes later, the death knight leaned against the stone wall and said with a long, curving smile, "You and I ought to try the gladiatorial arena together... I would love to see you in combat beside me."
She extended a hand before even letting the warlock respond, but the other Forsaken closed her cloth-gloved fingers around the metal glove without pause. "Yes, we should. Let's try it soon."
The death knight's smile rose. "Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow..."
