Azshara’s falling, withered leaves look somehow vibrant today, Tirasa mused to herself as she guided her nightsaber through the ruins of Eldarath and onward towards the switchback that would take her down to the beach. She yawned. True, she hadn’t slept much, perhaps her vision was still nearly clouded with sleep. She shrugged, and then sighed.
The evening with her new lover had exceeded her expectations. Physically, that was, for the emotional void that filled Tirasa’s every waking moment had only been widened by the contact. Widened and then contracted, like some bizarre iris into the darkness. It was as like two vampires trying to feed off one another… at once satiated, and then once again ravenous. Such was his internal anguish that it mirrored hers, and she wasn’t quite sure yet if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
As she neared the shoreline, her silvery eyes caught sight of a squat reddish-black shape running at full four-footed speed along the beach in her direction. It was Rataf, she deduced quickly, one of Loramus’ felhound guardians. It bounded up to her and placed its spiked maw around her ankle in a friendly gesture, only letting its teeth brush her leather boot.
Dismounting, she stared at the foul beast, at a loss as to how to try to comfort such a creature. Tirasa had never been much for animal husbandry, indeed, her nightsaber mount she barely tolerated. Her black king snake amused her, but only because it did not make any demands on her, affectionate or otherwise. The dark dragon whelpling was there, in its tiny cage, for her to take out any aggression upon. And so, the night elf assassin found herself caught between her devotion to Loramus, and her distaste of creatures in general, especially fel ones.
And then she heard it. Or, rather, felt it. It was as if a brutal wind suddenly buffeted her and forced her back a few paces, and yet the trees on the cliff above remained perfectly still. A powerful wave of energy had been unleashed, and it was coming from the direction of the island near which Loramus made his home.
Instinctively slipping into the shadows, Tirasa took off at a sprint towards the disruption. Rataf bounded ahead, as if understanding her need for concealment. An unearthly roar sounded in the near distance ahead, followed by another, and then the clashing of weapons. And then, a sound that stopped her dead in her tracks.
“FOOL! At last we have found you!” The ensuing low chuckle sent shivers up Tirasa’s spine. It had been millennia since she had heard such a voice, and her heart pounded in her chest. Loramus…
Continuing forward, a horrific scene suddenly spread out before her. The corpses of six doomguard lay on the beach near Loramus’ island. Three more now battled the Demon Hunter, who was a whirlwind of glowing warblades. He fended them off easily, his two other felhound guardians, Shatllar and Zaman, joining in the fray.
Looking ahead, Tirasa saw three more doomguard marching in from the south, perhaps a score of satyr, and a few naga accompanying them here and there. But that alone did not strike fear in her heart.
Commanding the onslaught of the doomguard a few yards away could only be a Dreadlord, yet the illogic of a Dreadlord’s presence in Azeroth screamed through her mind. The portal wasn’t open! How was he here?!
Tirasa watched as more enemies descended upon Loramus. He appeared to be tiring, but his face… he wore a determined and mocking grin. Certainly he didn’t think he could go up against all these doomguard, satyr, naga, as well as a Dreadlord? But then, suddenly, he raised his hand towards three of the satyr, and a bolt of white fire shot out, sending them charred and smoking to the ground almost immediately, resuming his deadly warblade dance a split second afterwards. And then it dawned on her.
Loramus didn’t know the Dreadlord was there. Again her mind screamed fallacy. He had demon sight! How could he not see?!
An evil peal of laughter roused Tirasa from her cloud disbelief. “Feel the wrath of Dagiron, mortal!”
The Dreadlord charged, and, from behind him, and in the shadows, Tirasa did the same. Bringing down her swords upon the thick bluish hide of Dagiron’s back, she winced as they merely glanced off with a fleshy bounce. The monster turned on her, one shaggy eyebrow raised, and threw back his great horned head to laugh.
Dark swirling energy appeared around the demon, which he gathered like so much wool from the air, and directed it straight at Tirasa’s chest.
Pain exploded through Tirasa’s mind as she found her body floating a few feet in the air, her back arched, a tortured scream echoing from her lips. Soon a red-gold light of energy began to seep from her chest into the Dreadlord’s waiting hand, and he licked his lips.
With unabashed horror she watched her life essence slowly being drained from her, and she closed her eyes as the landscape of Azshara gradually faded, to be replaced by a pit of belching fire. As a slave of the Burning Legion, her soul would know an eternity of conflagrating torture.
Her last whisper was a half-mad prayer to Elune.
*********
A dark red light was her field of vision. Funny, she didn’t feel any pain. Was her soul protected, even in this place? Had the Moon Mother aided her in this way?
“You awaken. Good.”
Tirasa literally jumped at the familiar voice, and then wondered that her formless soul could startle. And then, she felt a hand on her forehead.
“Be at peace, Tirasa. Your senses will return to you shortly.”
“Loramus! How is it that our souls ended up in the same place?!”
A short snort of amusement sounded in the other’s voice. “You passed out just before you could watch me save the world.”
Tirasa blinked, and then struggled to sit up, but found that she had no more strength than that of an infant. But she could still smirk. “You sound like Illidan.”
“Do I? Or is it that you merely wish me to?”
Suddenly, uncharacteristically, Tirasa wailed. “Loramus, stop! I am… I…” Her voice rose in pitch as she began to panic.
A cup was brought to her lips. “Drink.” The nectar did help her vision clear, and she saw the comforting shape of Loramus, seated on the edge of the bed next to her. But still, she was weak. She pouted.
Loramus sighed. “I could not return your essence to you in entirety, as Dagiron still held quite a bit of it when I slew him. You will have to return to Shadowglen to retrain, I’m afraid.”
Struggling, Tirasa managed to scoot herself up into a semi-seated position. “Sh-shadowglen? I am…?”
“Consider yourself a novice.”
Stunned but for a moment, Tirasa quickly gathered her thoughts. “How will I get there from here?”
“Leave that to me.” The Demon Hunter’s tone softened. “I do have a gift for you.” At the snap of his fingers, what looked like a small, pinkish felhound scampered into the room, jumped onto the bed, and perched itself onto the stomach of a now horrified Tirasa. “The Legion summoned these beasts from the nether some time ago. I believe they are what was used to create felhounds long ago.” He paused. “Tirasa, it is your friend.”
“Ugh! It’s disgusting.”
Unfazed, Loramus continued. “It is called a Zergling. Do not worry, it does not eat, it simply absorbs energy from its surroundings.”
“Why are you giving this… thing to me?”
He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “I will not see you for some time, Tirasa. This creature will warn you when there are fel in the vicinity. Rest now, and I say my farewell.” He rose, bowed, and then stepped out of the room.
“But…!” And she fell back against the pillow, falling soundly asleep, the drug in the nectar apparently doing what it was designed to do.
THREE DAYS LATER
Tirasa strolled the dusky sands of Darkshore, head down, her eyes barely taking notice of her surroundings. Her head pounded mightily, and she owed that to the copious amounts of Darkmoon Ale she had downed all at once the night before. She’d heard mention later of herself dancing with an orc and tickling him tremendously, but she hadn’t remembered that. She wondered what else she had done that she couldn’t remember.
She sat down suddenly and removed her boots, jabbing her bare toes into the chilly spray. Waves of desire still flowed through her veins like rivers of magma as she thought of the infuriating male, and she gritted her teeth. There was really nothing she could do about that. He had to make things so difficult, fretting and theorizing, why couldn’t he be like the others? He both repelled and attracted her at the same time. It was better, yes, that she didn’t see him anymore. Her mind was all ajumble, she couldn’t remember half the conversations she’d had, and she’d find herself walking along and then stop, with no idea where she’d set off to.
But perhaps Tanna was correct. Maybe it wasn’t Ardanas’ fault. She snorted. Perhaps this is what happened when half your life essence dies with a demon. She rubbed her forehead and frowned, looking up at Elune’s blessed light, misty through the low clouds of the coastline. “Yes, Mother,” Tirasa murmured. “I know. Be strong, that I know how to do.”
An ancient ballad floated through her mind, and she sang to the choppy waves. And then, Tirasa pulled up her knees to her forehead, and cried.
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