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About Tanaloth

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  • Birthday 03/02/1980

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  1. Maybe in another life I could find you there Pulled away before your time I can't deal, it's so unfair And it feels And it feels like Heaven's so far away And it feels Yeah, it feels like The world has grown cold Now that you've gone away Leaving flowers on your grave Show that I still care But black roses and Hail Mary's Can't bring back what's taken from me I reach to the sky And call out your name And if I could trade I would And it feels And it feels like Heaven's so far away And it stings Yeah, it stings now The world is so cold Now that you've gone away I reach to the sky And call out your name And please let me trade I would And it feels And it feels like Heaven's so far away And it feels Yeah, it feels like The world has grown cold Now that you've gone away* - - - I have seen his face. I have remembered the angles of his smile, the light of his eyes, the contours of his profile in candlelight. My heart exists, because it has been broken. I can still cry. I don't want to sleep anymore. I was wrong, I can still feel fear. * - Gone Away by The Offspring
  2. I know it's hard to tell How mixed up you feel Hoping what you need Is behind every door Each time you get hurt I don't want you to change 'Cuz everyone has hopes You're human after all The feeling sometimes Wishing you were someone else Feeling as though You never belong This feeling is not sadness This feeling is not joy I truly understand Please don't cry now Please don't go I want you to stay I'm begging you please Please don't leave here I don't want you to hate For all the hurt that you feel The world is just illusion Trying to change you Being like you are Well this is something else Who would comprehend That some bad do lay claim Divine purpose blesses them That's not what I believe And it doesn't matter anyway A part of your soul Ties you to the next world Or maybe to the last But I'm still not sure But what I do know Is to us the world is different As we are to the world I guess you would know that Please don't go I want you to stay I'm begging you please Please don't leave here I don't want you to hate For all the hurt that you feel The world is just illusion Trying to change you Please don't go I want you to stay I'm begging you please Oh please don't leave here I don't want you to change For all the hurt that you feel This world is just illusion Always trying to change you Please don't go I want you to stay I'm begging you please Please don't leave here I don't want you to hate For all the hurt that you feel The world is just illusion Trying to change you Please don't go I want you to stay I'm begging you please Oh please don't leave here I don't want you to change For all the hurt that you feel This world is just illusion Always trying to change you* - - - The more I speak with them, the more I come to understand my brothers and sisters within the Cross. I see pieces of their hopes and dreams, strengths and weaknesses, but a majority are behind very high walls. I know we are Horde, and our lives are not all goodness and light, but to see so many... broken souls, it hurts. They each deal with their pain differently, and it always spawns a sense of wonder to see how unique all of the Cross are. We are alike in our Purpose, and some of our motivations, but most telling is that we are alike in that we all hurt. Be it emotional, physical or spiritual, my family are scarred. The tolls of war are many, and I see them etched on the faces around me. My previous life is still surrounded by fog, so I cannot be sure if this need to - the only apt word I can think of is 'mother', so I will use it - mother these soldiers is integral, or a reaction to their own needs. So many seem to need someone to simply listen, to hear what's on their hearts and minds, and offer some sympathy. Some need guidance, and I am not so bold to think I can offer it, although I wish I could. Some need friendship, which I am always willing to give. I want to fill this void in my life. I want to see if I can get my own reluctant heart to beat earnestly, to truly care about someone again. I must have cared for Galamir and Kélethorn, even for Ellowynn, but it seems so distant. But those walls, they are insurmountable by normal means. To lay siege on these secluded hearts will take time - blood, sweat and tears, as they say - but I feel the battle is worth it. To prove that trust is not always betrayed, that a hand that slays can be controlled, that not all sins will come back to haunt us. To whit, I have heard recently that some may think that this, our Horde, has no honor. Recent betrayals on such large scales point fingers at this depravity, but I feel otherwise. It wasn't honor broken that lead the demon to assisting Putressa, it was compassion. The Dark Lady, embittered as she is, had compassion for her fellow Forsaken. Had, has, either it a suiting word. I'm not inferring compassion stayed her hand when she confronted and overcame the demonlord, but she saw his subjugation as a means to protect her people. She is not omniscient, how was she to know betrayal loomed over her? Honor remains in the Horde, if the individual him- or herself is possessed of it. To say there is none speaks to me of eyes jaded and unwilling to see certain aspects of their people. Of not knowing the whole truth. Of being weak-spirited to begin with. What we see of others are projections of what we see in ourselves. Yes, I understand the irony of that statement. This presents many tasks I have to undertake - to breach these walls, proving that compassion doesn't always lead to betrayal, that honor lives and breathes as long as there are those willing to die for it. I have heard lies these past few days, and many unkind truths, so I cannot truly rest until there is some peace found. * - Illusion by VNV Nation
  3. Tanaloth


    He is excitable, which in some situations is a boon. I haven't had the opportunity to fight beside him yet, but that he is friends with Vynnce says enough to me about his prowess. Another willing to lend a hand whenever he can, he seems to take especial delight in the art of war. It's... concerning. I also don't approve of how he treats his risen, but perhaps he has a reason for his unkindness.
  4. I know what darkness means (and the void you learned from me) The isolation steams (So I think it wants to bleed) The echoes in my brain (All the things you said to me) You took my everything Now I'm coming for you CHORUS: I won't back down I will not fail I've come to bring you down I live again Things you did I've come to bring you down The shadows that you see (In the places that you sleep) Are memories of me (Better pray your soul to keep) The truth behind your eyes (You know the thing you never see) Your darkest little lies I'm coming for you CHORUS All the scars that never heal All the wounds that will not heal I will not forget the day These memories never fall CHORUS I've come to bring you in (I've come to bring you hell) (x4)* - - - War and Fear. These are things that can spring debates, items that fall within one another like lovers who also hate. One can lead to another readily enough. I am all too accustomed to war. It's all I can remember, the fighting, the killing, the screams of the dying and of those who have lost everything in the inferno of destruction. It is a machine that never stops, that listens to nothing, that plows on through man and woman, elder and child, with no discrimination. War treats everything and everyone the same - you are either with it, or against it. You are either bringing it, or trying to end it. Hot and cold, never silent, war comes through all nations and all peoples. The smallest of skirmishes are the details of war, culminating in the massive, writhing beast of the fields of death and blood. The Battle for Wrathgate, the attack on the Chapel of Light's Hope - merely facets of the dark jewel that is war. I have a memory of someone once saying to me, "Show me a man without fear, and I will show you a fool." I am ashamed to admit to my being a fool, as I haven't found anything to fear since leaving the Lich King's command. Should I fear Arthas? He had lead the Scourge to demolish my home, ultimately leading to the death of everything I ever loved, and my own fall. But I don't. I don't think on him, this creature who would be the 'one true king', and fear. I have too much faith in the powers of the Horde - and the Alliance - that they will overcome him. Bitterness and hatred may run hot and without end, but a common foe can bring together the worst of enemies. Do I fear those who stand against the Cross? No. Even after the cowardly ambush of my Patriarch, and my own defeat by those who think themselves our equals, I am not afraid. They may be stronger than me now, but it is something that can be remedied. They think they are proving themselves our superiors by their one 'victory', tainted as it is with the nauseating smell of cowardice. All they prove by their actions is that they must be cloaked by duplicity to gain any edge over us. Those who bring swords covered by the banner of peace have no one to blame but their mistaken strategy, for the repercussions to come. Our might will not be surpassed by craven children dropped by blighted wombs. They are not even our equals, as they cannot fight their own battles. The war they bring is akin to every war brought by hubris, no war at all. In this instance, fear brought war, but it is a bastardized version of war. They may sit in their holds, smiling cowards' smiles, patting themselves on the back for their intelligence, but it won't last. At the end of the day, it shall be the sable banner of the Raven Cross - blood- and smoke-stained - that reigns triumphant over those creatures that would cross blades with us. I abhor war, but for them I will find joy in the clamor of battle. For them, I will smile, and sing a hundred battle-songs while I wash in their blood. I will hear the lamentations of their loved ones, and I will smile with a cold, dark heart filled with the glory of victory. * - Won't Back Down by Fuel
  5. My Lord Skeptic. His world is dark, considering how passionately he embraces the Light. As distant and cold, but as brilliant, as a star in the night sky. I am, however, proud to stand beside him, to wear the same colors, to fight for the same causes as this knight. He and My Lady are examples to me, a perfection to strive for; like My Lady, an elf I wish to befriend. Ours is a shadowy world where trust can be broken, and of all things, I wish to show him that not all people will one day turn on him.
  6. My Patriarch stands as my ready example of what his people stand for. Strength in the chaos of the elements, dedication to those called family and a compassion to see that all are accepted, regardless of their pasts. But his compassion is tempered with an understanding that war is, sometimes, the only thing people will listen to. And he stands with his people, his wayward children in The Raven Cross, and never behind. His mind is open, ready for new ideas and philosophies, and he never judges unless presented with truly foolish ideals. His corrections are kindly but firm, as any father should be. He is a Leader, in a world of pretenders and selfish tyrants, and I would gladly bleed - or die - for any cause he believes in.
  7. Demons are generally looked upon with disgust, and unfortunately that sentiment passes to those who call on them in battle. But the arcanist here, she has proven herself a capable and cordial elfmaid. To have chosen the path she walks, it takes an understanding of who and what she really is, and a comfort level with what she found few seldom possess. She is sure of herself and willing to present it, unabashed in her expertise.
  8. Perhaps a bit too fond of the drink, but nevertheless a force to be reckoned with. There are some who call Shadowstalkers like him cowards for their ways, but I disagree. It takes great skill and dedication to become that sure with the ambush and the strike-and-hide. Some of us are born to bluster and stand in front, and some of us have the fate of being very good at assassination. He is kindly, and to have achieved his rank within the Cross is recognition of the talent he embodies.
  9. My Lady Paladin is an elfmaid who I would like to one day call friend. She is Noble, upstanding - perhaps a little distant, but from what I remember it's nothing I can't blame her for. She is the reason I was curious enough to join the Cross, and she is the reason I try to better myself daily. I would follow her into the darkest pits of evil, if so ordered.
  10. Tanaloth


    He is reserved, although not in a detrimental way. I enjoy his company, and he is always willing to lend a sword to a cause should he be asked. Opinionated and willful, he nonetheless believes in his causes with a passion. He is a warrior I am glad to fight beside, but I still have questions about where his loyalty lies at the end of the day...
  11. Tanaloth


    (( You might wanna unbold things there, sirrah! )) Rimmon is a strong warrior, and little causes him to back down. I've seen him take a sword to the gut, grin, and behead the opponent. He is instinctual rather than analytical, but that works in his favor as his instincts are seldom wrong. Possessed of an irrepressible good nature and sense of humor, he believes in fair play but isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty if need arises.
  12. Tanaloth


    Full Name: Shurae Argentflame (neé Sunsoul); currently only goes by Tanaloth Nicknames: Tana, Tanny Season of Birth: Spring Age: Roughly two centuries old Race: Sindorei Gender: Female Hair: White Skin: Charcoal gray Eyes: Vibrant blue Height: 168 cm (5'6") Weight: 65 kg (145 lbs) Place of residence: No one static place, although she spends a great deal of time in Dalaran and Orgrimmar Place of Birth: Silvermoon City Known Relatives: Her immediate family perished when the Scourge laid siege to the city. They were as follows: Kélethorn Argentflame (husband), Galamir Argentflame (son), Delinae Frostforged (mother), Jhann Sunsoul (father); two sisters and their husbands (surnames of Steelbreaker and Fleetfoot). Her sister-in-law, the Lady Ellowyn Duskcaller, survived the onslaught to join with the Argent Dawn, and played an integral part in renewing Tanaloth's memories before she had to be killed. Religion/Philosophy:Words mean nothing if you cannot back them. Any fool can make impassioned speeches, but true strength lies in proving what you believe in. Strength and honor are proven in combat; honor and integrity in promises upheld. Truth shouldn't be cleaned up to spare someone's feelings. If you cannot stand on your own, admission to the fact. While no longer a paladin, she still adheres to many of their morals. Occupation: Knight of the Ebon Blade, soldier Group/Guild affiliation: The Raven Cross Guild Rank: Bearer Enemies: None personal; several groups, though, are earning her irritation Likes: Animals, children, paintings and statuary, and most especially music. When idle she will often sing to herself. Favorite Foods: Not often an eater, she seems fond of regional cheeses Favorite Drinks: Water's about all she's drunk thus far, the occasional potion aside Favorite Colors: She's not particular, as long as the color is lively Weapons of Choice: Favors two-handed swords at the present Dislikes: Weakness, slavery, hedonists, war, the Scourge, abuse of all sorts, discord Hobbies: The aforementioned singing, alongside a contentment that comes from taking pick axe to rock, or gathering medicinal herbs. Physical Features: There isn't much striking about Tanaloth, minus her coloration and the traits common to most Death Knights. Her face is angular, with a pointed chin and nose, accompanied by a smallish mouth prone to smiling. Beneath the glow of runic power, her eyes are almond-shaped and a clear blue in shade. Her voice possesses the faint dull echo most Death Knights carry, although hers shows emotion readily enough. Her singing voice is close to a mezzo soprano's. It's obvious to 'hear' her smile, and her laugh comes readily enough. Her skin is cool to the touch, and she hardly ever complains about being cold. Her hands and forearms bear faint scars caused by the usual mistakes of beginning swordselves. Her only adornment out of vanity are several small golden hoops in her long, tapered ears. She keeps her hair long, but often pinned and upswept in such a way that it serves as a cushion for her helmet. Special Abilities: Those common amongst Death Knights Positive Personality Traits: She is calm in the face of most things, almost annoyingly so. If she has a temper, she controls it well. Once she pledges her loyalty, the person or entity has it until either death, or they prove themselves unworthy of the loyalty. Tanaloth has a buried sense of compassion, although it is reserved for only a few types of people/circumstances. She can't lie, but she has to be asked the right questions to tell the whole truth. Unfailingly polite, but she is trying to make her attitude more casual. Negative Personality Traits: She can be stubborn, and is often reticent to ask for help. She believes certain things amount to weakness, and disrespects those she deems as weak. Pushed far enough, she has a mean streak a mile wide, and won't hesitate in verbally belittling people who irritate her. She is also an amnesiac, and as such can forget certain things like recent events and peoples' names. She follows orders to the letter, and can occasionally take things literally rather than figuratively; she may just bring you that head in a basket, if you're not careful. While she doesn't let other people influence her opinions, it's difficult to change her mind once she's decided on something. Misc. Quirks: Her Thalassian infects her Orcish, so she tends to get verbose and very formal. She doesn't blink when she's concentrating on something. She also has a diminished sense of smell, and the odor/fragrance needs to be very strong for her to notice it. Tanaloth often gives people she meets nicknames based on traits she sees from the individual. Played by What Famous Person: TBD Theme Song(s): See her journal thread, most of those songs listed are to coordinate with the mood of the entry. History: Shurae was born to a bloodline of loyal and true paladins, and took up the sword at a young age to follow in her father's footsteps. In the course of her training she met and fell in love with the mage Kélethorn Argentflame, and upon completion of her training was wed. After some time, the couple was blessed with a little boy they named Galamir. They lived peacably enough, fighting against the foes of their city. When threat of the Scourge came to them, the family decided to remain in Silvermoon to defend their home from the undead. In the end it proved folly, as the Lich King's forces overran the city and soundly decimated it. During the battle, Shurae witnessed the destruction of her family home, and subsequently the deaths of her husband and small child. In a moment of hopelessness, her faith in the Light wavered and broke - bereft of both her loves and her purpose, her sanity snapped. She carved through the undead and left a swath of bodies, but ultimately was brought down. She next awoke in Archerus, an elf barren of the spark of life. The powers that be amongst the death knights considered her a cull and set her in chains to be destroyed by her fellow initiates. Confronted with an over-confident death knight aspirant, the former paladin resumed her awareness in the middle of the battle and defeated her would-be killer. Delighted, her trainers gave her the aspirant's place in the Lich King's army. It was at this time she chose the name Tanaloth for herself, having forgotten her former life. She was a devoted follower of the King until she was told to kill a member of the Argent Dawn. The familiar face and voice of her dead husband's sister returned some speck of awareness - the lady's death returned Tanaloth's sense of remorse. Tanaloth slowly gathered her free will, and when the Highlord Darion Mograine broke from Arthas' control and birthed the Ebon Blade, she willingly followed. She has come to accept her new lot in life, and has dedicated herself to her people and their allies within the Horde. She longs for the day of the Lich King's downfall, but is willing to wait for that time to come. Until then, she strives to master her new abilities and grow into the identity she has forged for herself.
  13. Deliver me, out of my sadness. Deliver me, from all of the madness. Deliver me, courage to guide me. Deliver me, strength from inside me. All of my life I've been in hiding. Wishing there was someone just like you. Now that you're here, now that I've found you, I know that you're the one to pull me through. Deliver me, loving and caring. Deliver me, giving and sharing. Deliver me, the cross that I'm bearing. All of my life I was in hiding. Wishing there was someone just like you. Now that you're here, now that I've found you, I know that you're the one to pull me through. Deliver me, Deliver me, Oh deliver me. All of my life I was in hiding. Wishing there was someone just like you. Now that you're here, now that I've found you, I know that you're the one to pull me through. Deliver me, Oh deliver me. Won't you deliver me.* - - - I feel I've talked in circles. My handwriting grows better, but I seem to repeat the same things, rephrase the same feelings over and over again. Am I that fixated? Or is my mind still so scattered that I can't break free of certain thoughts and revelations? I don't usually sleep. I snatch perhaps a handful of hours at any given time, but never as much as some do. I don't tire, I don't eat, but I yet breathe and bleed and wonder what changes had been made. I'm not like the Forsaken, but neither am I wholly sindorei any more. I had thought the extent of my changes were cosmetic - I have vague memories, dreams almost, of the tanned, russet-tressed face that was Shurae's. I have lived with this grey-skinned face for as long as I can remember, that I'm not sure if those memories are real, or simply fictions. Dreams haunt my sleeping hours. Perhaps that's why I don't sleep as I should, with these sometimes disturbing scenes rampaging through my mind. Haunt, though, seems a harsh word for some of them. These dreams have returned many memories of my son, the laughing joyous child that fills my heart with a facsimile of affection. He is, though, forever frozen in my mind as a child. I will never see him grow, chose his way in life, find love or heartbreak. I can never again cradle him to my breast and sing to him. I believe that's what bothers me the most about Silvermoon - there are no children. As many dreams as I have had of Galamir, every wisp of Kélethorn has hidden his face. I can describe all the details of my little prince, but my lord and love remain shadowed. His voice, though, my mind recalled soon enough. His laughter, the deep, resonant tones of his voice joined with mine in song. How he lilted my name when he grew irritated, how precisely he pronounced his spells. But I cannot recall his face. Every meeting with him in my dreams casts darkness over his face. I see his robes, all the intricate embroidery and delicate folds of cloth. His hair, darker and longer than mine, how it looked in any light, and how it felt against my skin. But never his face. Something about Ellowyn's visage reminded me of his, but it slips past true remembering. As if whatever small similarity it was, I refuse now to let it come to the surface of my mind. It sits as a looming thing, omnipresent but out of reach. It is maddening. Perhaps my heart doesn't allow it, as if a pure recollection of Kélethorn will shatter the icy resolve that keeps my emotions in check. Maybe it does this to keep me safe, to allow me to devote myself wholly to the Raven Cross and the Horde, instead of wallowing in misery of being utterly bereft of everything that made me alive. Does the heart work that way? Is there a clandestine agreement between it and my mind that keeps such memories from revealing themselves? * - Deliver Me by Sarah Brightman
  14. Another mission The powers have called me away Another time To carry the colors again My motivation An oath I've sworn to defend To win the honor Of coming back home again No explanation Will matter after we begin Another dark destroyer that's buried within My true vocation And now my unfortunate friend You will discover A war you're unable to win I'll have you know That I've become... CHORUS: Indestructible Determination that is incorruptible From the other side A terror to behold Annihilation will be unavoidable Every broken enemy will know That their opponent had to be invincible Take a last look around while you're alive I'm an indestructible master of war Another reason Another cause for me to fight Another fuse uncovered Now, for me to light My dedication To all that I've sworn to protect I carry out my orders With not a regret A declaration Embedded deep under my skin A permanent reminder Of how we began No hesitation When I am commanded to strike You need to know That you're in for the fight of your life You will be shown How I've become.... CHORUS I'm... CHORUS x 2* - - - Pride is something that's always being talked about. Whether one is too prideful, or not enough, it's cause for discussion and speculation. Who's to say which is the preferred? I've seen people killed for being too arrogant, and murdered because they were too meek. I suppose there is no middle point between the poles of extremes. I will admit to a great many faults, and pride must now be counted amongst them. Since I have begun to regain a sense of who and what I was previous to my death, I have come to understand much of my strength comes from my pride. I see too many examples of those extremes that I push myself to walk that middle ground. I no longer bear the name of my father, so I cannot represent my lineage, and my name now means little to people outside of the Cross - although even amongst them I'm a relative unknown. So it was for myself that I fight, and get up from every mistake I make. But now I have more, as I look at the crimson cloth over my armor. I have earned my Cross to bear, so to speak, and when no one was watching I took many minutes examining every minute detail of this new tabard. The Wyrmrest Accord were willing enough to grant me the honor of their colors, but more than anything I wanted to carry the Raven Cross into battle. Orgrimmar saw me as Death Knight when I entered her walls, and I suffered for that recognition. I understood their reactions, even accepted their harsh words and, heh, overripe produce. Now, though, they have grudgingly accepted me, and I have even followed the Warchief into battle. I have warred alongside my green-skinned brothers and sisters, and while I will never be One Of Them, I will no longer be spat upon for what I had done. I expect something of the same, now that I wear this tabard. I know the reputation of my new, family? And I am willing to bear the burden of misunderstanding and scorn. It takes a certain sort of person to understand that sometimes, what needs to be done, is not pure and clean. There are those with more than enough pride who frown and look down upon those of us willing to dirty our hands for our Horde. Pride made me comment to the Skeptic that not even the grave has been able to be an obstacle to me, but that is more because I will not allow myself to fall now that I am visibly a member of the Raven Cross. I have a name to uphold, a reputation to help grow. I am proud to be a Bearer of the Cross. I am proud to be a hero of the Horde. I am honored to be able to raise my sword with these brothers and sisters, regardless of race, who have one rallying cry. Woe to those who would stand against us. * - Indestructible by Disturbed
  15. Do you pray, In the night? Can you appreciate the wind? And I won't care, I won't fight, I need you close to sing, It's the same beginning CHORUS: Gone away, It's the same old, same old song Gone away, It's my whole life In words And I can't breathe, When you cry, But I'll be there to hold you tight And I would kill, I would fight, To keep you close, I keep singing the same way I won't live, If you died, If I can feel you in the wind And this is me, It's my life, I'll need you close to sing, It's the same beginning CHORUS X 2 And I can't say, And I don't know How far, I'll go And I can't say, And I don't know How far, I'll go CHORUS Gone away, It's the same old, same old song Gone away, It's my whole life* - - - She dismounted from her steed with the ease of long practice, landing with a faint clatter of armor. Her eyes passed over the figures of her brothers and sisters, some holding torches, others cleaning blades and talking animatedly amongst themselves. The church was burning, smoke blackening the sky and sending ash towards the heavens. It was somehow ironic, the Chapel of the Crimson Flame, dying in very fire that symbolized it. Flames still poured from windows and doors, a few knights not busy with other tasks cheering at the ruination it presented. Reins in hand, the death knight made her way to her supervising officer, the Knight Commander Plaguefist, who was watching the scene with a wide grin. As she approached, his attention drifted over to her, remaining as she saluted and tied the reins to a nearby fencepost. "Knight," he said by way of greeting, his sepulchral voice haughty. "You asked for me, sir?" She queried politely, standing at loose attention. A strong gust blew soot into her face and caught her cloak in a twisting dance, but she ignored it. Plaguefist was silent, his gaze drawn back to the Chapel and its accompanying buildings. The make-shift prison of the Scarlet Crusade had remained standing, but bore the scars of the conflict readily enough. "We got here," her commander began, his voice quiet and hard to hear over the clamoring of their brethren knights. "Tore the place apart, and headed toward the prison house." He paused to gesture to the wooden building before them, then continued. "We weren't expecting what we found in there, Tanaloth. Seems the Crusade's been real busy." Plaguefist looked back to her, a smirk growing on his decaying face. "That whole thing is full of Argent Dawn prisoners. Most of them were already dead by the time we arrived, but a few were still breathing." Tanaloth noted the barely-disguised glee in her commander's gaze, but ignored that as well. What place was it of hers to question her superior officer's moods? She wasn't sure why, but the gleam in Plaguefist's eyes made her uncomfortable. "I was about to go in there and execute the rest of them, but I think you should have the honors." He shifted and laced his thumbs around the links of his belt, his barbed spurs jangling as he shifted from foot to foot comfortably. The smirk was now positively alarming, although he cloaked it well in an oily, sneering smile. "In particular, there's a real feisty female blood elf in there that I think you'll take great pleasure in executing." She knew a command when it was spoken, and with another salute Tanaloth left Plaguefist's side and approached the wretched excuse for a building. Dirt and gravel crunched under her boots, her cloak again caught in the breeze caused by the super-heated air of the sacrilegious bonfire that once served as a sanctuary. The rickety steps were strong enough, and so sure were the knights that they had left the door off its hinges. The interior was dim, and it took Tanaloth a moment before her eyes adjusted. Faint sobbing echoed dully, and a buzz of flies kept the interior from being totally silent. The death knight looked over the remaining prisoners - some were sitting huddled, arms about knees, ankles chained to the wall. Others stood as she entered, battered and bruised but willing to fight still. The bodies of the fallen remained where they had died, both soul and rigor mortis long gone from their bodies. The blood elf female was focused on readily enough, being one of the few that had stood at her entrance. The death knight pivoted on a heel and approached, armor clanking, feet treading the wood with quiet thuds. She stopped before the sindorei, taking in the arrogant but delicate face, the proud bearing of her shoulders. It was a pretty face, smudged with dirt as it was - dirt and likely blood, with no few bruise marks. But she hadn't let her treatment diminish her in the least, and she met Tanaloth's eyes without fear. "Come to finish the job, have you?" Her voice was scathing, her Thalassian crisp and proper. Something in her tone gave the death knight pause, a faint, strange feeling she couldn't define. Puzzled, she dropped her eyes from the sindorei's, trying to sort out what the strange feeling was. In a sudden movement, the other elf darted towards her and yanked Tanaloth's hood down. "You'll look me in the eyes when -- " Tanaloth lifted her head in reaction, in time to see the she-elf's eyes go wide, mouth opening in a small 'o' of surprise. The agent of the Argent Dawn lifted a dirty hand to cover her mouth for a moment, then extended the hand to touch Tanaloth's cheek with shaking fingers. "S-shurae?" It seemed a resounding peal resonated through Tanaloth's very soul, and instinct forced her hand up and back, curling fingers around the hilt of her blade. But the sindorei was not deterred, closing the space between them as she lifted her other hand to cup the knight's face. "Shurae, sister, what have they done to you?" The majestic voice was subdued now, a horrified whisper that was lost to the anarchy outside. Tanaloth couldn't move, couldn't speak. Something was rising from the fog of her mind, a great terrible thing that sent a tremor through her. The elf noticed the knight's hesitation, vain hope flaring in her eyes. "Shurae! Think! Remember! You were a paladin once, my sister in marriage, one of my greatest friends!" At the knight's continued silence, the elf shook the face she cradled. "Ellowyn! It's me, Ellowyn, your Kélethorn's sister! You must remember me! "You must fight his control!" Ellowyn pressed, sensing her growing advantage. Tanaloth could no longer feel the hilt in her hand, her whole body numb with shock. "He is a monster that wants to see this world - our world - in ruin." Her voice broke, and tears began to shimmer in her eyes. "Don't let him use you to accomplish his goals. You were once a hero and you can be again. "Fight, damn you!" One of Ellowyn's hands dropped to pound against Tanaloth's breastplate. "Fight his control!" Plaguefist's snarl brought life back to Tanaloth's weakening frame. "What's going on in there? What's taking so long, Tanaloth?" Dismay clouded Ellowyn's eyes for but a moment as both of their heads turned towards the open doorway, and quickly she again used her hands to turn her sister's face back to hers. "There . . . There's no more time for me. I'm done for. Finish me off, Shurae." The word 'no' was formed by Tanaloth's lips, but she could utter no sound. Ellowyn's tears fell freely now, and she shook her sister's face one last time before dropping her hands and stepping away. "Do it or they'll kill us both, Shurae. Remember Kélethorn, your husband, my brother. Remember Galamir, your son! Your hope, your light!" Ellowyn bit her lip, hands balled into fists against the rags that had once been magnificent mage's robes. "This world is worth saving! Avenge us, Shurae!" Tanaloth remained frozen, awash in memories, swept away with images of her dead husband and son. The ground was falling away from her feet, yet felt more firm under them than it had ever before. A roaring was in her ears, but for the first time she truly heard. Her eyes took in the now-familiar face of a sister-by-marriage she had loved and laughed with. Those grass-green eyes held hers, and though swimming in tears, remained resolute. Silently they commanded her. The blade sang free and sank deeply into the sindorei's flesh. Tanaloth watched the sudden widening of the mage's eyes, and then the slow withdrawal of light and life. Ellowyn's eyes had been the same green as Kélethorn's. The body slid into a heap on the floor. Some deeply buried part of Tanaloth's uncovered mind wailed and screamed, but she could not let that noise escape. Swallowing past a dry lump in her throat, the death knight turned and left, unaware of the eyes following her and the pity that shone in some. Plaguefist was approaching, scowling, but stopped once he saw Tanaloth emerge from the building. His eyes took in her face, carefully composed into her usual apathetic lines, then the bloody sword she still held. He smirked again, clapping a hand on her shoulder as she drew even to him. "Felt good, didn't it?" He commented as they walked back towards the fence where she had tied her horse. She broke from his hold to go to her steed's saddle for a rag to clean her sword with. "You're not one of them anymore, Tanaloth. You're Scourge. You're one of us." She glanced up and over at him, catching the sinister smile on his face. "Forever." Knight Commander Plaguefist turned away then, striding over to address a small knot of death knights come for new orders. He did not see the expression on Tanaloth's face, and remained unaware that her eyes bore into his back. Her eyes, once apathetic and blind to the horrors she had caused, were brimming over with hatred as they stared at the beings she had called allies. She had fought beside them, warred with them, only to discover the grossest betrayal came from their hands. Tanaloth ripped the reins from the post and mounted her horse, sword sheathed and rag discarded. She didn't look back as she spurred her horse into motion, letting Vonik decide which path they would take. A small flame flickered now in the once-torpid soul of the former paladin - the light of purpose renewed. * - Gone Away (A Song For Starr) by Cold