And thus, she told him.
The next day as daylight waned and night time gradually overtook the sky, many would funnel into Dalaran’s underbelly to enjoy the festivities that took place. Drinking, card games, fighting, any and all things took place within the Uncrowned’s primary headquarters. One person, however, wasn’t joining them tonight.
Rifty, whom had recently endured the laceration of his throat at the hands of La’row, was busy getting all the rest that he could. As the final caretaker of Rifty left, the shadows crawled towards him, like a spill of ink covering the paper.
Speaking, let alone calling for help, was rather difficult for Rifty right now. As he awakened, and promptly shoved himself upwards, backing further against the headboard of his bed in terror.
It was then that a form rose forth, ink gradually falling away from him as his eyes opened. In one quick realization, Rifty understood who the person was that came to visit him.
The Bogeyman of Booty Bay.
The Wolf of the Sands.
The Moon’s Other Half.
“You decided to push your luck. She showed you why you shouldn’t have.”
Gargled, muffled sounds came from Rifty, who couldn’t manage anything that even remotely sounded like words. The fear in his eyes, however, said more than he ever could.
“And as it turns out, you’re lucky; because you lived.”
With that, Bruce slowly rose up out of his chair, moving around to the side of Rifty’s bed. A lone right hand reached out, placing itself upon Rifty’s trembling left shoulder. A clear connection was being made, and eye contact was being held.
“Everyone’s luck runs out at some point, Rifty.”
He sounded sympathetic, almost. As if pity was something that would save the fearful man in this current moment. Help him turn a new leaf maybe? No, that wasn’t why he was here.
“You get one chance. People care about you, and because they do - I’m not going to kill you right now. So, I am giving you one chance. Do you understand?”
Bruce’s other hand moved, the left one - claiming Rifty’s other shoulder, forcing the man to look at him head on.
“La’row is mine. Her pain, her joy, her anger? -Mine.-”
He leaned in, face nearing Rifty’s, a guttural growl present within the depths of his throat as the color of his eyes shifted to a animalistic gold.
“Beg her for forgiveness. Because I have none.”
The words metaphorically clawed themselves into the flesh of Rifty, whom quaked with fear and terror, even after being released from Bruce’s grasp. This, however, wasn’t the end, because he still wanted to send a message to everyone else who cared and protected Rifty.
A message that showed that Rifty would never be safe, and neither are they.
Destroying Rifty’s house would have to do.
Ah well. It’s not like he was going to need it.
