It seemed that she was drawn to this place lately, with its brooding, thick sky and withering leaves. Picking over the rocks carefully, Tirasa made her way through the ruins and to the cliffs edge. Standing in the light of the fading sun, one leg propped up cavalierly on a nearby rock, she peered out eastward over the restless sea.
The tips of once-majestic marble towers peeked out from under the tumultuous waves, reflecting the burnt orange coloring of the sunset-laden clouds above. From here, the water was gray… a deceitful, dense gray… a gray of lies, of history unfolding yet undone… a gray of many things.
Tirasa glanced to the south, to a high promontory. The monument to Ravencrest wasn’t where she’d remembered it. And the toppled statue itself – it was female. Strange, that. Lord Kur’talos had definitely been male. And he’d had no family that she’d known about. She wondered who, in fact, had placed this marker on the map she’d found in Darnassus. And she wondered when… when, in this time, that it had all unraveled. What exactly had happened during this War of the Ancients, where she had not been involved? Where had Illidan gone, if not with she? But there was no way of knowing, and she was tired of raising suspicion every time she spoke of Illidan. This world just wasn’t her world… wasn’t her place… wasn’t her… time.
Cursing under her breath, Tirasa’s narrowed eyes searched the horizon once again for some sort of clue. Certainly, eastward was the way she must go, the way all the Kaldorei must go, eventually, for there were many secrets to be had in the realm of Azshara and her naga. If, indeed, that still held true in this time. She smirked, and then a twinkle below caught her attention. It came from an island not too far from the beach. An island she had visited a few times already. She made her way down.
Emerging from the water, she ran her hands over her leather armor to squeeze out some of the moisture. Wringing her waist-length violet hair in her hands, she tossed it over one shoulder, and smiled at the few figures before sauntering forward. Ever the watcher, she knew, and his guardians ever the sniffers.
The assassin commander of the Talons bowed to the humanoid figure respectfully, her eyes guardedly taking in the bare well-muscled chest and the grim determination of his chiseled features. She thought him a fine specimen indeed, but she did not think of him as simply another male, oh no.
“Ishnu alah, Loramus.” Tirasa gestured to the sun slowly sinking below the watery horizon. “I take it this dying day has found you well?”
He turned to her with a slight frown, his head tilting towards her. If he had had eyes, she was sure that he would have looked her over dismissively. “What do you want of me, mortal? I have given you the weapon, yet you have not yet defeated Razelikh.”
Tirasa snorted. “Surely you must know that I cannot face the demon alone. I wait to gather a suitable group of companions.” She smiled silkily. “I simply wished to stop here to bid you a good eve.”
A grunt was all she received in reply, and she studied his face once again, the flat expanse of his forehead, the stark curve of his cheek below the blindfold he wore. “Loramus… you can ‘see’ me, can you not? What do I look like to you?”
Pausing for a moment, he inhaled slowly, presumably deciding if he would answer her or not, and then began. “You are a Kaldorei female, adept at surprise attack.” He shrugged and closed his mouth.
Tirasa simply waited.
A few long moments passed, and Loramus sighed, rubbing his chin. “You are… you are covered from head to toe in a glittering bronze dust, and you leave it upon your footprints. There are… several places, however, where it appears as if it has rubbed off.”
The assassin inhaled sharply. He knew. He… knew. A momentary panic gripped her heart and she shuddered, and then, just as quickly, resumed her pure emotionless mask, and then a slight smile curled around one corner of her mouth. “Show me where it has rubbed off.”
He stepped forward and raised his hand to her face. “There,” he muttered, touching her temple. “And there,” he continued, his fingers brushing her cheekbone. “And…” He hesitated.
Quickly she grasped his wrist and forced his thumb to her lower lip. “There?”
Loramus snatched his hand away and took a step backwards, his jaw clenched.
“Do you think there are other places as well?” Tirasa chuckled. “Perhaps you can show me those?”
His face remained impassive and he did not reply.
Regarding him evenly, she began in a sympathetic tone. “I know of your order. Surely you must feel that. I am not afraid of the force that resides within you.”
“I sense some familiarity, yes. But it is odd when coupled with your other … strange effects.” He shrugged. “Perhaps you have read about my order, but I doubt you truly understand.”
Tirasa threw back her head and chuckled wickedly. “My mate was a Demon Hunter, Loramus, before he died upon Nordrassil. I am not disgusted by your leathery skin, your empty eye sockets, the shimmering evil of your tattoos, nor the rage that you continually struggle to keep in check.” She sighed and bowed her head. “If anything, I am… humbled by your sacrifice.”
He nodded slowly and bestowed something of a smile upon her.
Her voice shaking a bit now, Tirasa continued. “I have… many… memories, Loramus. Memories that are…” She sighed and grimaced. “…breaking me, for lack of a better word. Your presence, it pulls me here. I…” She faltered, no more words coming from her slightly trembling lips.
Sighing gently, he caught her arm. “I will help you. Come.”
Posted by Tirasa at 10:45 AM 23 May 2005