Oria - July 31, 2007 04:22 PM (GMT)
Eyes cast to the skies, Oria watched for the sign of true night. No glimmering came across the waters below. No name had been given to them for the heartache remained too close for those eldest among them. Every land, every tree, everything had a name, but these. The others may not realize how important this was, but she did.
Hands running over the gnarled bark, still a silver green of rare childlike birth, she tarried a moment longer near the rushing of waterfalls upon the very edge of Teldrassil. A crown so earthen, yet turned within.
Lines of thought and concern marred her forehead. Thoughts of all that had so changed among her people. Jaysara was one such disturbing image, seeking a mate not of their blood. Then others, so too seeking in such a way. Of this, a twinge of fear came. It reminded her of loss, as seeing the Draenei rebuilding her birth home. Sacriledge. And yet, must not all things change now?
Raising her fingers before her, she peered at flesh unable to see the muscle and bone beneath. "When will this too fail me? I have so little time left. And yet...I don't know."
A hissing slither neared, scales otherworldly in their clarity of white and silver wrapping about her shoulders. He understood. Where many others could not, nor Theonalas though he so verily tried, this creature once beholden of endless life with his alseyeur father's blood did. "Lotan, she has risen?"
Thoughts mingling, she knew through his eyes she had. "Of all things that change, I have sought to understand them. Accept them. And move onward. This land is not our own. And yet, it is. Bah, I am becoming ridiculous when left to muse. I have had enough of long stints alone in the night hm?"
A grin lifted her lips and spirits as she preened the glistening wind serpent. "Ever so, ever more. You prattle when you should love and adore. And now. A time for blood yesssss?"
Eyes flashing, her heart thumped a deeper song. "Oh yes." Looking over the waters once more, Oria knew the time had come. A final act, perhaps, of the old ways to make way for a revival. "N'uma Ithil, the night of no moon. She gives her blessing in this."
Her rising and leap seemed a fluid thing, landing her mailed feet in a silence upon leaves unmoving. "Let's find her first."
Oria - July 31, 2007 04:53 PM (GMT)
(timeline: this meeting occurs before Feral by Jaysara)
The zing and plop of bobber was a common sound to Oria's ears, bringing an itch to her palm. Moving around the edges of trees and swirls of leaves, she found the two along waters she too once fished so time ago.
"I haven't seen her in some time. It's worrying me as well." the line flew and landed from a newly learning hand as Kathrynne gauged the aim with goggles of brilliant hue. "Oh Oria! Hello there!"
She gave a smile and wave to her and a darkling shadow that bored eyes into hers, Kat's, and the world about her. "Kathrynne, Saminae, good evening. And who has not been about?"
Saminae gave a slight nod, watchful and wary, as Kathrynne continued her merry trek of snagging silverfins from the ponds. "Jaysara. She's strayed from the pack. Not been about the hall."
Crossing her arms, Oria gave a stiff nod. She knew why, and did not begrudge her such. It had been nothing more than the start of grieving. Did she not grieve for an age after... With a shake of head, she sought with difficulty to ignore the memories of what Ameth'Aran had become. "I think she received word about someone. Hedrick, Hendrix, something like that. It worried her. I offered to seek, hunt, and learn the truth of it. But it remains unknown."
Kathrynne dropped her fishing pole upon the leaves. They crinkled as if too dry. Saminae's dark sneer rounded upon the name. "The human she took as a...a...mate." The word spat from her mouth as venom from a spider. "Such things should not be."
What more was said brought a rising of brows from Kathrynne as she bent to retrieve the pole. "If something has happened, we must seek her. And Saminae, I never realized you hated humans so."
"Filthy, simple-minded, easily fallen creatures. They invite and embrace the damned nether and demons as a child to the teet. Hungry without thinking. They deserve nothing less than my disdain and destruction."
Calmly, Kathrynne returned to her fishing, each twitch of bobber bringing a fish to hand. Wiggling. Dying slowly. Oria watched them as she considered their words. Once in the basket, they would gasp until dead, out of sight...out of mind.
"And what of Vond? You know my love of him. Our closeness." These words, so simply laid, gave both a start.
Saminae's eyes warmed if slightly. "Satterly?" Her gaze returned to the waters, downcast as if defeated for the moment. "He has earned my respect."
Yet Oria could not help but think of things. Truly, she had come to enjoy Vond's company. Of all the humans she had ever met, this unassuming man, filled with a reckless bravery he troubled to hold as a child holding too tightly a kitten, had likewise gained her support and consideration. Some things do change...
"There was a time..." The two women looked to Oria. "That Janlith thought Vond a master mind of dark design. A terror to be considered and dealt with. Many a time, I stalked and followed Vond." Their lips twitched as eyes widened. "A mage so empowered, reckless yet devoted to aiding his brethen using magics far beyond the scope of archmagi, without care or whit of worry, smoking pipes of things used at fire festivals on a daily basis. For quite some time, Janlith feared and wanted him...well..."
Laughter. It spilled betwixt their lips, brightened their cheeks, and sent the women roiling in a mirth that robbed common sense. Heaving breaths could not stop the flow of it, only continued their loss of words at such a thought.
In sputters, they tried to answer such a thing. "V..Vond... Our Vond? A mastermind? Oh by Elune, I...I don't...think I can breathe after hearing that!"
Scratching the back of her head, Oria smirked. "Try shadowing him for times on end. Watching him run around in a panic, buying things at market to then squeal and disappear in the arcane. A strange yet adoring thing, after a time, I have to say, I thought Janlith daft on that one." What more she thought, she would never say. They understood the danger in him, to histories such as theirs.
Yet the mirth continued, past the rough moment of hate in Saminae and concern in Kathrynne. The eve passed into true night, and soon, Kathrynne found herself yawning deeply. For she had need of such things in the day, not living fully in night. "Forgive me, but I am off to bed. I'll give Vond your best and see you soon."
From her perch upon stone, cold from lack of sun and natural warmth, Saminae gave whispered words. "There has been a sighting. I may seek it."
Oria watched the meeting of their eyes, knowing what the huntress spoke of was a likewise discussion she wished to have.
Kathrynne gave her an earnest look. "Take care in that, Saminae. Good evening."
As she rose, twinned swords hung heavily at her sides, Oria neared holding up a hand. "A moment, if you would Saminae."
And now a thing happened she never expected. Saminae's eyes held hers then downcast for the briefest of moments. "Yes, elder."
Lotan gave hiss from his place about her shoulders. "Ah, so good when the subjects know their place." Oria flicked his side and nodded to the woman's returned gaze.
"Numa'agar ar' lat." The words were formal, direct. No question could be made of the meaning. "It is time he faced justice in the old way."
Arms crossing under an impudent look, Saminae seemed to curse the night. "She will never allow it. Tyrande will demand he remain locked away for eternity." With a setting of chin, she watched Oria reach into a pouch and remove something worn and shining.
The light moved along the etched lines of the small metal disc. A brooch pin for a cloak, heavier than any she had seen. And stylized within it, a symbol unmistakable. "There was a time when an order was called, brought together, and sent forth to safeguard our people. Shandris leads all, and in those times long past, spoken of little among those of this day, deeds were committed in that defense."
"There is a justice, of Elune. And it is met out in blood and honor." Her eyes felt haunted though she knew the look in them plain. "Let us seek that justice."
Afixing the badge she wore for lifetimes in her wars, Oria covered it quickly by a tufted edge of cloak. The grin that came to Saminae darkened her eyes.
"To Astranaar. That is the last place I heard word given." She turned as Oria followed.
It was a hunt.
Oria - July 31, 2007 05:56 PM (GMT)
Little speech traded between them as they landed upon the wooden platform of Darkshore. Twinned in intent, they strode the length of planks making little sound until sand and sea grasses met their feet.
"You know your quarry better than I. In this, I follow your path." Oria's words remained simple and direct.
Saminae could come to like such a thing, but vengeance seethed in her heart, threatened to engulf her quickened breath. A sweetness cloying and heated filled her chest as if a fire sprung within. "Then we cut cross country. Seek the one called Selarin, gain what she knows, and press on."
A gathering of the youthful neared seeing two such able folk. Heroes perhaps by the cut of armor and blades upon them. Pressing closer, curiosity and intrigue playing about their faces, soon they slowed their steps.
Perhaps from afar they seemed a gleaming of honor, but close told a tale of wrongness. Dark armors, black edged as if sooted from a fire. No gleam shone upon them, only a sense of swallowing night. The only brightness seemed a winged serpent that watched with scarlet eyes, far too bright for any beast.
"Upon your mark." With a pulling of fabric, Oria's face lean and hard disappeared behind embroided leather. Whispering something lost in the folds of the hood, her eyes errupted in a similar scarlet as Lotan's. In them she watched the dead wander.
In this, Saminae understood, slinging her bow loosely at her side. If trouble came in passing, she was a better shot. And firing from her sabre's back flowed as naturally as breathing to her. Pulling and cinching, she gathered the scaled greaves tighter about her wrist, providing a quicker action of arrowshot.
Jutting her chin, she motioned to Lotan. "The beast is too bright for where we travel."
Running her hand along his jaw, she whispered again. In a bolt of lightening, he rose to the skies, quicker than the eyes could follow. "Then he finds us in time."
Silence. As the folk backpeddaled from the pair's explosive leave taking, it was perhaps that which gave them pause. Too young to understand, the Kaldorei followed them with eyes wide, breath held. Nothing so large nor menancing should move so quietly.
Bounding low through the woodlands, claws digging deeply into soil to turn it with care, the two sabres made way through the lands held in eternal twilight. The Darkshore many called it. Some believed magics were laid within it to keep any interested in landing away. Perhaps once such was true, but the shimmering of ghosts, the lost dead, now brought a strange dark to it.
At times, Saminae would slow, listening and watchful. Her bow rose at times, arrowshot making a mark, to then lean forward urging the big cat to seek a faster path. Of this one, Eridani, Saminae knew much. A coward and killer, a kin slayer, and worst of all, a dealer in things nethral. He would pay in ways that consumed her thoughts. Swift slices of her swords, eyes gouged, lips cut, ears sawed away. Dragging him still lifefilled through the streets of towns. Taking him to the places he commited such atrocities.
He would pay. By Elune and the dark and every warlord and spirit of death and hate she could conceive of, he would beg for his life and receive no quarter. Yet even thoughts of dancing in his decimated skin seemed not enough. Would it ever be enough?
They journeyed in care, doubling back at times, never slowing in concern for what demons may lurk. Saminae had learned much of such things, never bothering to question or offer to Oria. Only expecting her to keep up the pace.
In such hunts as these his words returned. Loramus standing above her, driving home such lessons to make her bones and mind ache for millenia. Eyes bound in runed cloth, he could see beyond her flesh and bone, searing her heart and thoughts with insights damned. He did not call upon the nether, but damned it forever in his service. And in so seeking the damned, do you call it.
Could it feel her now? Her hunger to end this demon charged slave? To kill this coward who aided not only in the fall of her own units, and many others, but her capture. And what they committed upon her, the atrocities. A blinding rage began within, something that welled on occassion and seethed demanding recompense.
Yet something near, worked its way into her thoughts. A strange thing, A simple sound.
Oria was humming. Deep in sound, moving between them as a battle chant. Something of it, the way in which she rode near, the feel of its rise and fall soothed and focused that rage. The ancient ways once thought so lost, those of true warfare. The purity of what may come and being one with the warring spirit of it.
It carried them through, Saminae's hate and Oria's focus, until the gloom of Darkshore became the everglow of Ashenvale. Now Samine was ready.
Motions of hands rose, signals that wandered the wood as they neared the town. It seemed the pair appeared from no where, startling sentiels tasked with being watchful. But in the course of peace, they made themselves seen.
So it was they arrived in the town of Astranaar before Sentinel Selarin. "Elune-Adore, what brings you among us?"
Oria remained quiet, cowled, and ready. She would not reveal herself to this woman she had known for so long. The deed so sought kept her from such.
Saminae moved forward, giving a sketched salute. "We seek word. I am Saminae."
"Ah yes, I was told to receive you in time. Your hunt is a long one, and well hoped to see through to completion." Entering a cabin, she returned with a folded parchment, marked in wax. "He was sighted near Brathren, perhaps spending a time among the twilight's encroaching there. Some word was given that he might have passed into these lands through a landing near Althalaxx."
Hearing of the demon caller Kaldorei of that spire brought a sneer to Saminae. Perhaps she would seek him after. Breaking the seal, she followed the simple reported log of places, sentinels and trackers, and what they saw. Yet the final notes gave her pause. "This path, I think I know it."
With a bow, bending low over her cat, she sped off from the township into the forest eastward.
"Where?" It was the only thing Oria had said in hours.
"Azshara."
Oria - July 31, 2007 08:10 PM (GMT)
Dampness. It hung in the air about him, left a soft patter of drops that sounds almost like music. Yet, Eridani grimaced again in annoyance. The sounds were making him sleepy, killing his focus, and becoming a nuissance when he could sleep.
The cavern was a small thing, and the naga that once resided within long since departed. Settling upon bended knee, he laid wood for a fire, each piece painstakingly set in a triangular way. With care he laid sage and other bits and pieces of plants within it, to mask the scent and give any smoke a vaporous consistency. With luck, so close to the water's edge and wind gusts, it would disappear before detection.
Heaving a sigh, the kaldorei fell back upon his haunches to wait again. The length and breadth of this waiting taxed him in this land. Why, he could not say. Yet something of it all, being among the naga's lands, so close to those kin of the blue flight, left a flutter of concern. His senses for panic and safety were itching close to hysteria.
To the world, he seemed a rather bored fisherman. Nothing else.
"Damned plans failing. They will demand payment for such a juncture lost. Too many eyes and hands. Too many allowed into this. I have to start cleaning the slate. And those that know this face." Such a moment of chaotic bliss to come raised his spirits and gave him a bodily experience of glee. A pity none were about to be so tasted of his passions. Alas, into these murky wilds with him.
"But her pain was an exquisite thing. Ripe and succulent for all it's blustering anger. Those eyes, how they could sear. Oh and her dove's tears. Like nectur." His fingers marred in the thinnest of scars, white upon the skin, took up a mask of bone.
Hollowed and pale, his eyes and fingers caressed the edges of it. the pointed rise over the eyes, the pristine features of a boiled skull. And the lines of it, etched with love and care, to elongate the look and add an air of eccentric beauty to it. This mask he was known by.
Hovering it over his face, staring at the fire glimmering through the eyes, he imagined Anwynn's tear streaked face before him. Word had come by courier of her reawakening and return among the world. She was seen smiling, laughing, blissful. Now was the time to strike. "A dance perhaps. Hmm, yes a dance indeed. A new chapter to the tale of pain and loss, to rile her hate, to make her strong in it. She is so close, dark masters. A fall from grace that the blinded cannot save her from."
Ah just thinking of it brought a swelling of his heart and quickening of blood. Closing his eyes, he laid the mask over his face. Cold bone, like that of Winterspring. For a moment, he wondered what it would feel like to feel her fury and break her. The last of the first he had sacrificed. All in the name of greed.
Leaning back his head, he mused with hands apart. Fingers splayed, he mimiced the statues of those in Stormwind. Of saints in divine supplication of the Light. Opening his mouth slightly, he mocked the beatific in them, laughing in a shrill way.
He never sensed the motion coming down upon his skull. Nor felt the wrapping of cords about his neck and arms. For a moment, he dreamed of death, pain, and the reaping of rewards. The next, he laid sprawled as drunk fallen from too much wine.
"He talks too much." Saminae hissed.
Oria gave a soft grunt, giving a sign for their sabres to near.
Oria - July 31, 2007 09:45 PM (GMT)
He woke choking. A sputtering and coughing as something was forced between his pried open jaw. Pain thrummed in his skull, yet as he hacked and sought his breath, the throb of it dulled and left him. Every sense was awake, pure, well.
"Why did you give him that?" The question was a barely a whisper, female and far away as he sought to probe the darkness.
A moment more and an answer also a female but much lower replied. "This is the old way. Perfect body. Perfect--"
"Where am I? What is this?" He barked, angry and indignant for the burning of cords against his flesh. Wrapped tightly around his waist to upper chest in turns and criss-crosses were windings of rope to the bark of a tree. More lengths were knotted and crossed in such a way to keep him from bending his knees or elbows, both pulls to the sides making his muscles ache.
The only freedom permitted was the movement of his head and speaking of his voice.
"I swear by all the gods you hold dear, this act will earn you misery untold. You have no idea who I work for." His long silvered locks suddenly were touched, brushed back, almost motherly.
A pair of eyes gleaming in the night met his. Red, deeply held in a hood of darkest black. A serpent of white slithered around her shoulders to follow the hand. The feel of its scales against his cheek and neck an alien presence.
This woman stood calmly, far short than himself, though the ears that raised were that most elven. The gun slung against her shoulder seemed almost about her own height. No sense of mercy was in this woman except for her continued caresses of his hair.
And then, she appeared. Dark armors swallowing any glow from the serpent. Hair the color of his own, face stone cold, eyes as fierce. He knew the eyes, so very well. The cringe and gleam in them as he tortured her for countless hours and days. The same gleam that blossomed when he turned away and ran in the camp...a place...much like the one he found himself.
"You! Sami, ha!" His laugh was a cracking thing. "And to wonder, I was just thinking of you."
She raised a hand, sudden, fingers curled clawlike. It made him jump. But they reached not for his neck, nor his cheek to slap. They only moved with cool slowness to lay upon the pommel of her blades.
"Where--"
"To your death."
And then there were no words.
Oria - August 1, 2007 03:13 PM (GMT)
How it had come to this. At first, she met those eyes of his with a heated stare. Fire inflamed her vision and cheeks, making them ruddy in the night. This is where it began.
Was it just hours past that she stood here with Oria, pulling and leading here to this small area near the rushing Southfury. They had chosen it then for the added security of a rise to their backs, bushes and low hanging branches to their south and west, the river to their east. Defensible and hidden if they did well in no firebuilding. She smiled more in those days, perhaps even blushed as a maiden when looking upon Enza.
Her beloved. Was it not that very night she considered something far more permanent, considering the token to give, the words to say, to make what they felt a vital living piece of themselves. To be mates.
The fevered dreams returned for a moment, the ache and loss filling her mouth with venomous words. The gall of this coward, this blood traitor, to do what he did. Running from battle, leaving them to die, selling them out at every turn past. His first crime she knew of was bloodless in intent, saving his own skin as the strange red faced orcs swarmed them. But from that point onward, every move, every decision became a wet path of death and opportunity.
This moment was hers.
She knew not how or when, but her twinned swords were in hand, criss-crossed on either side of his neck, ready to slice together in a perfect X. His head would roll, blood would fly from the stump of his neck, and her soul would be vindicated for his misdeeds if not her heart. Her hands trembled with the need for this, to end him, as his incredulous gaze rigidly held her own.
"You know this is not the way of justice. All you stood for then so do you now. To kill me with swords? The way you intend? Without the will and word of Tyrande and your holy orders? BAH. Have you fallen so far woman?" His lips turned a ragged grin, lecherous and amused. "Seems we have much in common after all. Perhaps my way with you taught you something, Sami."
With a roll of wrists, the blades parted to raise in an arch and come downward, both points now hovering over his heart. Another fast death, piercing the gruesome thing that beat there, black and turned. She saw other faces, those of Caelie and her confusion and pain in retelling what she learned of the Silent Coup and the elf among them. the bitter metal taste in her mouth when she realized the men were one and the same.
"So it's death then? Death? Nothing more original? Come now, please, listen to reason? Would not...torture be better? Prolonged living in some hollow somewhere, for you to detest and poke at me any time you wanted? Hm? Living at your whim seems far worse than any immediate end wouldn't it so?" A beading of sweat formed along his brow though the bravado he exuded seemed only to strengthen.
Her eyes and thoughts focused on the point of her blades, the pinpricking of his flesh that slowly left spots on his jerkin. So like his first love bites or so he called them. In the despairing pits of that black mountain. The tools of his profession laid upon a table beside her prone body. The blades, the razors, oinments and painful salves, how he could twist flesh and with but a dab of some creme make her wish for death than to feel its taint worm into her. How she suffered. Even in words to Anwynn, she could not bear to explain it all. The moments were still too close.
A ragged wet cry rose in her, demanding she not listen. He spewed his words, but they made no purchase on her vision. The heat of the moment was coming, was here, and as it filled her...she stepped back.
Lowering her blades, Saminae heard a simple word.
"Breathe." So strange how she could do that. To her side, Oria appeared, hood now pulled back, arms crossed watching in calm solace as Saminae battled instinct for thought.
One breath, then another, and soon the heat drained away to a cold certainty. The blades returned in their crossing of his neck, no tremble nor concern in her. She was ready, the executioner. In this, Oria believed the true time had come.
Lotan flapped to land about his mistress' shoulders. He hissed into her ear, gaining nothing more than a grunt in reply. With a step, she moved a little before the woman intent on death.
"How should we do this." More statement than question, Saminae awaited Oria's words. It was a subject she tried to breech in their travels, but the elder only shook her head. Timing seemed important, and Saminae began to realize just how so it was to those most ancient. A fitting thing indeed.
But what came next, made her almost jump. Oria took hold of a line tethering Eridani's right arm, sliced it, and slammed the dagger into his wrist, betwixt the bones, halfway to the hilt, above his head into the tree.
His scream was a delicious terrible thing, but the quality to it burned. The pain of the lancing brought not only a sudden blossoming of blood that ran in slithering trails down his arm, but awoke a look of terror in his eyes. Fluidly, she offered another blade to Saminae, hilt first, awaiting.
In equal measure, did she take up the blade. Her gaze moved along it as in tandum she repeated the motions with his left arm. Another scream filled the air, followed by seething whimpers. Bits and pieces of clarity brought realization.
The blades were his own, designed to bleed someone to death, grooved and deadly. They stank of a poison, something that made her eyes water and throat close. The wounds never ceased in their slow dripping. The cuts were lateral, slicing open his life, pinning his arms, rendering his fingers useless.
Sliding into a kneel before Eridani, Oria watched his eyes. She tilted her head in speaking.
"Andu-falah-dor, na' Elune. No'lle mereth en draugrim. Utinu en lokirim, quel esta. Tenna' tul're, aa'lle an lema."
Saminae listened, hearing the ancient telling of endings. A reserved and sacred thing of vengeance, as old as the sung prayers in the temples.
Let the balance be restored. Unto to you, the feast of wolves. Son of snakes, rest well. Until the morrow, may this journey be long.
As his eyes widened, the whimpering in his throat a warped and blanched thing, Saminae realized in this moment he recognized them too. The severity of what punishment was met filled him, making him jerk spasmodically in his bonds, hoping in his eyes, begging in every way possible.
He would die, slowly, exsanguinated. His body would be rendered in such a way, in a hidden place for those to be forgotten for all time. No healing could save him. No ressurection from death's grip. This was a deadly gift given to those who truly became blood traitor to the people. An art many had not seen since the days of the Sunderings passing. For in the days before, the magi held punishments far worse than the touch of death. Ever after, death itself became the most dreaded decree.
And he received it, in a slow excruciating way.
His own instruments, his own poisons, his own sins. In the place where it began, so would it end.
Long into the night, into the day, and the next night for three full turnings did this continue. If he fell unconcious, healing droughts were used. Poisons reapplied from his own stores. His bleeding end was an eternal suffering. He had spoken in those hours, told his secrets, begged, pleaded, threatened, anything to gain freedom.
As a beast, he died. Never accepting nor truly repenting. Never gracefully accepting the opportunity truly given, to enter death with Elune's grace.
As the moon rose upon that final night, Oria then turned to Saminae. Her face remained as passive and calm as it had always been through the ordeal. "Nae saian luume' sina tarma. Na Elune, cormamin lindua ele lle."
It has been too long this passage. By Elune, my heart sings to see you.
Saminae turned, walking from the clearing in slow even steps. She did not turn back to look upon Oria or Eridani's corpse. A peace perhaps filled her, slowly. Something dawning, rather small, but there nonetheless. What the elder spoke, she understood clearly.
Her pain had been held long. A terrible and loathsome journey that held her enthralled in dark hate. She may not be rid of it quickly, no salve or words of comfort as that exists. But now she could move forward, no need for looking back. A new path was before her.
She took the first steps upon it.
Krystalia - August 1, 2007 03:18 PM (GMT)
((Wow. Great story, thank you!))
Oria - August 1, 2007 03:39 PM (GMT)
((Quite welcome! That's what that rp with Kat inspired! Now...Epilogue!))
A figure moved among the ruins. The naga about hissed and cried at the intrusions, smelling freshness and life among them, yet unable to stop its passage.
Beyond them she moved, followed by a white sabre, sides heaving from the journey through the farthest climes of Azshara. About her shoulders laid a white wind serpent, hissing ever softly as if in song. With a caress, she sent Lotan away from her shoulders to rest with the cat and its burden.
In a strange way, did Lotan sing to what laid wrapped there. He curled upon the chest of what once was Kaldorei. What he spoke, Oria would never repeat to another. How very alike they were, despite coming from such different places.
In ritual fashion, she too prepared. Slipping away the armors of midnight hues, the huntress laid before her simple things. A pitcher to fill with water, a robe of purest mooncloth, a potion volitile and terrible, stoppered and fierce in a deadly red glow.
When last visited, she had not been alone. The wars with the furbolg had been furious. And those leaders that betrayed had been so condemned in this place. When Francois had found it when traveling with her and Janlith, how she feared they may seek too deeply into its secrets.
Walking with even steps, nude under the newfound moon's light, she settled upon a crumbling fountain's edge. Taking forth the pitcher, she gathered water for washing. First herself, scrubbing and cleansing. A humming song of childhood tickled her tongue. But no smile followed.
Pulling tightly the gown about her, she turned now to the cat and her final burden. Lotan turned his head, wings unfurling to rise away from the dead.
"You give him honors in thisss. A return in flamesss?"
She nodded, never speaking. Unmaking the ties, she lifted what was once named and laid it with ease upon the edge of the fountain. Again with care, did she wash this body that endured such painful hardship.
Lotan neared again, moving through the air in patterns and motions, curious and eager. His eyes and hisses followed Oria as she rose with the cleansed remains, moved him deeper into the ruins until she found a stone of obsidian so dark as to absorb all light. It was a jutting, sharp thing. Time and weather would never distress the edges of such an ediface. From whence it came remained a legend itself.
Turning her face heavenward, Oria spoke softly. "Amin naa tualle, Elune. Yaaraer, Goth en mellonamin. Late'he."
I am your servant, Elune. Ancient ones, he is foe of my friend. Honor her.
Pouring the potion upon the bare flesh, it began to sizzle and spark. With a turning, much as Saminae, she continued to Drathir her mount, Lotan curling about her shoulders, as an inferno of a blaze erupted behind her.
Not even ash would remain.
It was done.
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