Far below the bustling city streets, Nordrassil's roots created a cavern of sorts, a network of musty, earth-carpeted tunnels that twisted and turned upon themselves in a jubilant dance of pure bolstering strength. Far below was the new Well of Eternity, forever bound by the clasping hands and feet of Nordrassil, forever protected.
In these caves of twined wood above the Well lived mostly rodents and other woodland creatures who preferred the dank darkness that the tree's roots so satisfactorily provided: bats, and some birds, who feasted upon the many insect grubs nestled deep in the loam. It was here, within a small hollowed-out chamber, that a small group of night elves often congregated, their faces unseen and their voices unheard by the rest of Nordrassil's population.
"Kingsblood climbed to one gold yesterday," a young male presented with a grin. "And purple lotus to 50."
"Bah, herbs are out!" an elder exclaimed. "Cloth! Cloth and skins, I tell you!" His face, though unlined as Kaldorei always were, had a dozen scars about the brow, cheekbones, and jaw, nicks that had healed long ago, and now spoke only of the male's vast experience. He lifted a mug and downed some smuggled dwarven stout, an affectation that he stubbornly refused to give up, no matter the cost to his reputation. His irisless glowing eyes, dimmer than some, slowly scanned the room, taking in the multiple tables of haggling traders, and a pleased smile came to his lips.
He failed to notice the unabashed grimace of an adolescent female seated in the corner of the room, half her body cloaked in shadows. Many failed to notice her, for her movements were slight and precise, even her breath slowed to near motionlessness. She listened for about twenty minutes longer, and then stood with an annoyed sigh. Still frowning, she made her way across the room to stand before the elder male, chest heaving in indignation.
"So this is what the Talons have become!" she blurted without preamble. "Once a well-revered society of assassins, now merchant kings, growing old and fat and lazy while sitting on their piles of gold!"
The elder smiled up at her jovially and motioned to the empty chair beside him. "Come now, Tirasa, not the same subject again. What would you have us do, police the streets? Slit the throat of errant schoolboys who filch an apple?" His companions chuckled, and their attention made him grin widely. "Besides, the Wardens have everything under control."
Tirasa snorted. "The Wardens are corrupt, and you know it," she snarled.
Kythen shrugged and turned away a bit. "Well now, that is none of my concern."
"None of your concern! Malfurion chained his brother up beneath the earth, with a pack of obsessed, power-hungry harpies to watch his every move. That is none of your concern?!" Her eyes narrowed, which served to make the magenta markings across her cheeks grow larger, blood-red as they now appeared in the dim light. "You were there, Father." The title was flung out in sneering disgust, a tribute to the parenting skills he had shown her, his fosterling. "Surely you know that if the Talons had made use of Illidan's knowledge, the war would have ended differently."
The elder's cheeks darkened, and his jaw clenched. "Do not speak to me of the Betrayer in that manner, child! He is no hero, and is rightfully entombed." He raised his mug once again, this time pointedly at her. "Now, you may politely stay with us, or you may continue your ranting in another place."
All eyes in the room were upon her as Tirasa turned without a word and departed the room, sinking into the shadows.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Ah… come to keep your old father company?" Kythen remarked drily as Tirasa stepped from the doorway to stand before him. The other traders had left long ago, and, as was his way after their meetings, he had retired to a small corner alcove to record his journals and ledgers.
Tirasa swallowed the bile that rose in her throat as she watched his eyes slide hungrily over her form. After all the years of his abuse, she'd learned to mask her revulsion, yet, deep down, it never ceased to affect her. "Actually, I wanted to talk with you." She moved to sit across the table from him, donning a gentle smile. "I'm considering that you're right about why the original Talons failed, and I'd like to hear about it."
"Come to your senses at last, eh?" He brushed a finger over his lower lip. "Good. Now, what do you want to know?"
"Tell me how they died." Her gaze was steady, unwavering, without a hint of emotion.
Kythen sighed, pausing, his fingers drumming the table as he fought to prevent being overcome by sorrow. "Well, it was me, and Syla, and Litnas, and…" He coughed, and cleared his throat. "Bah, you know all that already. Pretty much the whole squadron was out there, once the head Tracker Dalric had told us where Illidan was going. Most of the time we watched him, made sure he didn't see us.
Illidan used some kind of cowing spell over the felhounds to bind them to his will. He must have learned some kind of demon magic from them, because every time one of us fought a felhound, well… let's just say it was a fight. Many times we thought that he would hear us fighting and know we were following him.
But he didn't, and the assassins Syla and Theras managed to get into the palace with him. They were the ones who wanted to embrace the fel magic, but the rest of us were against that, of course. I can't say what happened inside, because I was left outside to stand guard and relay news back to Lord Ravencrest. It was a long wait, before the rest of the force caught up to us. When they finally arrived, I found that Lord Ravencrest had been killed by one of Azshara's assassins. We were leaderless, and we had only instinct to act upon."
He paused, shaking his head, blinking furiously.
"You know the rest, Tirasa. There was a great battle, a vicious battle. The Well of Eternity was destroyed, and the Talons along with it. But I was there, on the shore, right when Illidan crept out to fill his vials with the waters. I knew I couldn't face him alone, so I began to move as far from the battle as I could."
Kythen leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "I survived. I was the only Talon who survived." Presently he bent forward again, this time with a proud smile, but looked about the room in confusion when he saw the chair in front of him empty.
"No, you' re wrong," Tirasa stated calmly as she appeared behind him, blithely drawing the cold edge of her dagger across his throat. "None of the Talons survived."
And as the night elf's indigo blood oozed slowly down, soaking and dyeing his fine linen shirt, Tirasa removed the ledger and papers he had been working on, replacing them with a set of her own. A ledger perfectly rendered, seemingly in Kythen's own hand, detailing the many ways he had fixed prices and swindled the traders of the very merchant empire he had founded.
Posted by Tirasa at 10:16 AM 1 December 2004