A Return to Shadows

The rolling foamy waters of the Great Sea licked at Buthaleirus' toes, tickling them. The troll smiled and snickered as he lay sprawled along Durtotar's clay edge, gazing at the stars. Over the past weeks, a quiet peace had begun to settle over Butha, and he allowed himself a moment to remember the events, which led him to such a tranquil oasis.

Closing his eyes, a wicked grin twisted across his face, and a sickening sense of self-gratification came over Butha. He recalled the retribution on his dream tormentor, the child killer, Celphus. Now the cries of his youth will forever be drowned out by the screams of his revenged. He relished that sound echoing within his head before turning his attention to an image of a great orc seated on a Throne.

Led by Kash, a raid group simply known as Awesome, had defeated Neferian. Thrall's mismatched band of cast-offs and misfits had placed the dragon's head high atop Ogrimmar. For some, the head symbolized victory and strength. For Butha, it symbolized much more. It represented hope and perservence. It represented a thousand sacrifices and a thousand more opportunities. Awesome had crushed a barrier and new frontiers awaited.

The Shadowmaster bit back a tear as he recalled disbanding the guild-house which he created. With their missions completed, he thought both his assassins and the horde better served with his shadowstalkers scattered amongst the other noble clans of Awesome. He knew in his heart their loyalties were more than a shared tabard or guild stone. They walked where others feared to. Guided by faith as much as sight, they walked the shadows.

Finally, Buthaleirus opened his eyes and returned his gaze to the stars. As he donned his new colors, the rogue remember his former clans, and in silent tribute, bowed deeply. After months of fighting beside Tamanaka and her clan, Butha had been asked to walk amongst Sanguine Steel. Today, with great pride and honor, he did.

Although these were monumental events, there was more to this peace, this ease, which Butha experienced, something deeper. He was growing whole again. Shattered and broken by the loss of his sister and Alabaster, the last Black Wolf morphed from the smiling, giggling mischievous sneak to a rampaging, brutal destroyer of empathy. The broken shards of his heart cut his spirit deep. A cavernous and festering wound grew infecting and stinking, threatening Butha's existence. He became a shell of his former self, cold and hollow.

But no longer. The once near fatal wound healed. Its putrid stench, cleansed. Buthaleirus had found his way home. As he lay buried within the darkness of the night, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: Comfortable. It had been months since the rogue experienced such a sensation. Over the past weeks, he felt his movements gain their fluidity back. He felt his zest and zeal for living return, and now, finally, he felt at home surrounded in blackness.The grin that now appeared on the Shadowmaster did not twist its way upon his face, rather it seemed to dance its way there.

Da Butha was back.