Perched high atop of Durotar's rocky cliffs overlooking The Great Sea, Buthaleirus wept, as he recalled the whispering wind. The gentle westerly breeze carried Yaka's words. The shadowmaster was not a tracker, but judging from its volume and direction, Butha knew his partner retired to the northern Barrens. With that thought foremost in his mind, his trademark grin spread familiar across his tear-marked face. He had heard whispers like this before, but this time they were different. This time there was a finality to them. His partner would not be running the Gluch or canvassing the Basin anytime soon. He felt alone.
"She's happy." He silently thought.
Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he turned inward, freeing his emotions. From the empty blackness of his thoughts, feelings of respect, friendship and love washed over him. Diving even deeper into himself, he embraced those sensations. It was then he realized just how unique Yaka had been to him. Butha had loved before, but this was different. Through shared experiences and a trust built from battle and bloodshed, Yaka had become the sister he had never known, and he loved her as such.
As the reflections waltzed through his mind, the Great Sea pounded Durotar's red clay rocks. The thundering waves tempted him with permanent end to his pain. A violent oceanic gale swirled around the crouching rogue, whipping about his purplish battle cloak, urging him to heed the Sea's call.
The rogue sought comfort the only place he knew. Looking down to his hands, Buthaleirus saw his twin battle maces. To him, his weapons have always been more than just tools of his trade. They were instruments for his symphony. They played the silent song he held within his soul. For years, Butha swung the blunted weapons for which he had become renown. Sure there were other rogues that flailed about generic war-hammers, but no shadowmaster danced with the brutal grace of Buthaleirus. Yet, when the shadows grew dark, and he was alone with himself, he longed for the slow and easy curves of his first love, one which he had long kept silent. Now, with his dearest partner quieted, the Shadowmaster opened his ears, and his heart to a third and final call this night. Reaching back into his waist band, Butha pulled out and placed twin daggers at his feet. Their deadly blades arching slow and easy.
His long ears moistened, as tears slid down his cheeks. He had raised his eyes, lifting his vision toward the evening sky, searching. With his chest heaving, he slowed his breath, calming any anxiety. Losing Yaka had turned him inside-out. He had lost so many, friends, companions and lovers. Each time, he would search the sky, seeking out his Stars for answers. But, this time, while searching the sky, he found himself.
Now, standing on the cliff's edge, he began to spin. Violent and reckless, he abandoned thought. Again and again, he pushed off with one foot, while balancing on the other. Teetering, the rogue spun and wavered. His momentum transforming his flailing arms and maces into a whirling blur.
((Art by Bylin-Thanks!))
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