"FIERY!"

"in a loft high over Orgrimmar*

Closing his eyes, Buthaleirus inhaled deeply, breathing in the night and smelling the thick smoke from the burning fires beneath him. The ever-present grin widened as he listened to the pounding rhythm of distant war-drums. Then slowly, he opened his eyes and took in the sites of his home, Orgrimmar. He loved this place.

From the loft many of the old Storm Wolves once called home, he watched carefully the on-goings. A sense of melancholy choked the shadowmaster. He was tired, and although he didn't want to admit it, he feared as if he had been beaten. Rumors and whispers abounded that changes were afoot in the coming weeks. Changes that would pit horde vs horde. Changes that would have elves walking side by side with orcs. Changes that Buthaleirus did not look forward to.

Then, he spied two long-time companions at the bonfire below. Ragemane and Kash stood face to face. Their battle-scared armors and war-torn weapons served as visible trophies of the warriors' true prize: friendship. Sculpted in the heat of battle and strengthened like only brothers who have bled together share, their bond would never be broken. With that thought lingering, he quietly escaped, moving into the enveloping shadows. With deft hands, he drew his greatest, most symbolic of all his possessions, The Ebon Hand. As a father would lay his child to sleep, Butha gently placed his gift back into its blue gift box. Closing the lid, his teary eyes drew their attention to a less ornate container.

The box arrived only yesterday its only adornment was seal of the Warchief himself, Thrall.Breaking the seal, Butha opened the sturdy wooden box. What lay before him, were rewards of a lifetime of service. The near perfectly balanced daggers' steel blades glistened, bouncing His Stars' lights into Butha's dampened eyes. Blinded for a moment, his world within the shadows went dark. Time seemed to stop. With eyes wide and sightless, he hefted the weapons. Unconsciously, he moved. No, he did not just simply move. He danced to a song long unheard. Unlike the rhythm he swayed the Demolisher with, this serenade was self-imposed and familiar. It was not initiated by any other than the Shadowmaster himself. This silent anthem was his soundtrack. Memories and dreams translated into cords and melodies. Weeping heavily, his body shuddered, violent, yet graceful, Buthaleirus danced.

Surrounded within a choking black smoke, the Assassin cavorted on the loft's thin wooden edges, teasing death. He taunted the fires below with self-sacrifice. As Butha twisted, spinning his deadly medals, he let out a haunting howl, which faded to a slight giggle. Then, as suddenly as his dance begin, it stopped. Except for his steady near silent breathing, the rogue stood motionless. Calm had settled.

A short moment of rest had passed, when from behind him, Butha heard a familiar and very welcomed voice."Butha, you got your daggers!" Tamanaka said excitedly. Amidst the emotion, Buthaleirus had forgotten he sent word on the winds to his dearest of friends.

Turning quickly, he sprung a hug on the unsuspecting orc. "Ah' did!"

"But, whot about maces?" Frowning slightly, she responded. "I liked them."

"Ah' knows." Butha nodded and sighed heavily, as he turned sauntering easily from the loft's edge to a wooden foot-locker within the building. The rogue was well-aware that many friends and foes alike came to associate him with the blunted weapons. "Mahney dew, Tam Tam."

Opening the foot-locker, a wave of memories washed over Buthaleirus. He moved each item with a delicate caring touch. Till he came to the sacred Blood Paw, tabard of the Storm Wolves. Pausing, Butha mouthed a silent salute before repositioning it, revealing a small, flimsy dagger. Picking up the dagger and reading the letters inscribed upon its blade, a surge of energy raced through the troll. He grinned.

"Joo wunted Da Butha ta come out?" The once-would be assassin growled rhetorically. "Here Ah' be."

"Whot?" A puzzeled Tamanaka asked, somewhat taken aback with his sudden change in demeanor.

"Ahh, nahfin, sistah." Buthaleirus quickly snapping back to present day. Changing the subject with genuine excitement, Butha asked, "Meh new daggahs ar' needin sum magiks.

Excited at the prospect of enchanting such mighty weapons, Tamanaka asked, "Whot kinda of enchant do you want?!"

"Can joo dew da green glowey one?"

"No." Tam said flatly, attempting to hide her own disappoint in her enchanting skill.

"Nah?" Butha said, sensing her feelings. He rebounded hoping to lift her deflated spirit. "Den can joo make dem hit reahly hard?"

"No." Tam again said flatly. This time her attempts at deception were even more transparent.

"Dat okies." He replied quickly still trying to salvage the downward spiral. "Joo can jus put da magik dat be given meh der lifes. Joo knows, da pahple glow."

"No!" Tam said completely discouraged. "I can't do that either.""Oh, den whut magiks dew joo's got?" Butha asked, fearing the answer.

"FIERY!"