Irien Rainsong's head was spinning. Although she could vaguely tell which way was up and which way was down, the just held her arms over her head with her eyes shut tight as she waited for the proverbial carousel to stop.
It was a weird sensation, she thought, to feel like her body was spinning around a central point when she knew she was holding perfectly still. She almost felt like she had been caught in a bad storm - she had actually been at work on one of the Steamwheedle goblin ships during the Cataclysm. This wasn't that bad, but it still wasn't an enviable situation.
Pretending she was only caught in a storm at sea, where she had worked for so many years, made dealing with the confusion a bit easier. Eventually, she would need to open her eyes and figure out where the hell she was. Controlling her breathing, she slowly felt her heart rate go down, and even though the world kept on spinning around her she could feel the nausea begin to subside. Once she began to feel as though she weren't being tossed about in a hurricane, she removed one arm from her head and began to feel her body for injuries. Her mail armor hadn't been damaged, and aside from the usual dull ache of lying in the same position for a long time, she seemed to be alright.
Her rifle was gone. THAT wasn't alright. Rather liberal for a night elf, she eschewed the bows her mother had tried to force on her for what she found more effective: a high powered hunting rifle. But it had been taken, by…well, whoever the hell dumped her wherever she had been dumped.
When she opened her eyes, she couldn't see anything, and the woozy feeling in her head implied that it might take a moment for her vision to adjust. She smelled no odd smells and heard no odd sounds, and there was nobody else around sending vibrations through the air with their movements; Irien was alone. As she sat up, she took relief in how well rested she was. Irien had struggled with chronic fatigue syndrome since even before she had enrolled in the ranger academy in Darkshore. Her condition led to her failure in the academy due to her inability to participate in long patrols through the forest or drawn out melee battles. Once the night elves ended their isolation and opened up to the world - thank the Goddess - they had begun to import all sorts of inventions, gunpowder among them. Within a month, she found her true talent and proved to be a better shot than the dwarf woman functioning as the Ironforge consul in Auberdine.
But no, that wasn't good enough for the academy. That wasn't good enough for her mom. So Irien ran away and never looked back, and hasn't regretted it since. Not even now.
Shaking her head when she realized her pulse was racing, Irien pushed the thoughts out of her head. She had to break that habit of intentionally pissing herself off by exploring bad memories when she got bored. However long she had been out had been long enough for her body to rest, which was both soothing and frightening. Soothing because her condition generally required her to rest for a long time - sometimes days - to recover from more strenuous outings. Frightening because she must have been out cold for a long time; every muscle in her body felt relaxed.
She looked all around her and immediately new things were amiss. Her people could see in the dark, yet all she saw now was darkness. That couldn't be right; her sensitive ears allowed her to feel the shape of the walls with echolocation. Not all people with such long ears could do it; it was one of the few skills she had picked up over her thousand years of living. Even her simple breathing caused enough noise for her to wait until the sound bounced back from the walls, and she could tell that she was in a small room with an open, doorless entryway.
But she couldn't see. That had to be wrong.
When Irien raised her hands up in front of her, she could finally make out the complexion of her violet skin. It didn't make any sense; there was no light source to be seen. She couldn't even see the entryway she knew existed, yet she could see herself. She could see her armor. She could see the shoulder length locks of dark indigo hair in the corner of her eye. But she couldn't see the walls of the room or the bars of the cage she suddenly figured out she was inside. This had to be magic. There was no other explanation.
She closed her eyes again as she leaned against the wall of her tiny cage and tried to revisit the last thing she could remember.
Irien had been patrolling a postal road outside of a garrison in Talador. The campaign against the Iron Horde had been going well, and her employers - the neutral Steamwheedle Cartel - had assigned her a shipping route to protect. The Alliance and Horde both needed to communicate with the native people of this alternate version of Draenor as well as with each other occasionally, and it was the job of Irien and her friends to protect the messengers carrying those communications. She had ventured out alone, separate from their caravan. They all did that sometimes, whether to answer the call of nature or to observe the natural beauty of Draenor before it became Outland. The job was satisfying but could be rather boring at times, especially when they had cleared all the bandits out of a given area.
So when Irien spied a few cult worshippers of the demonic Sargeras, she leapt at the opportunity to crack some skulls. They ran the moment they saw her, and she took aim through the scope of her rifle without remorse; the cultists were vile, and took great pleasure in torturing the common people of Draenor - draenei and orc alike. Although Irien would eventually leave this planet and return to the property she'd split with her two best friends in Ratchet once her contract was complete, she still considered filling the fanatical cultists with lead to be a worthy endeavor.
And that's when she…felt tired.
Yes, she remembered it now. She felt tired while she was chasing them, but not the usual type of tired associated with her condition. It wasn't logical. She lied down on the ground in an open area and slept. It was crazy; she wouldn't normally do that. And yet, as if she were being controlled by something else, she did.
After that, Irien could remember a damn thing. This didn't add up at all.
Those demon worshippers…they kidnapped her. She knew it had to be them. They kidnapped her, stole her rifle and threw her in this unnaturally darkened dungeon. But they made a huge mistake: they left her alive. And armored up. And when she found a way to get out of this stupid little cage, she'd make sure every single one of them would die. They'd better hope her friends didn't find them, either. If her mentor Cecilia, a 12,000 year old who was already older and wise by the time of the War of the Ancients, were to find out that her protege had been kidnapped by demon worshippers…suffice to say having their skulls cracked was the least of their worries.
Wait - another sound. Irien twitched her long ears to pick up the echoes. One of her captors sounded like they were approaching. She lied down in the same position she had woken up in, wasting no time in formulating a plan. From what she could tell - and echolocation was one of her few talents, and she was among the best at it - the person approaching was draenei, male, heavy set and carrying metal items. And walking rather slowly. Irien was already to beat his head in just for being a part of her abduction; the way he walked so slow like he was the weekend co-manager of the universe enraged her even more.
But Irien was a sharpshooter; waiting for the right moment was her specialty, even in high stress situations. And wait she did.
A little more.
And a little more.
What the hell, she thought at the dummy who was definitely coming to her cell, hurry your fat behind up so I can kill you.
She had to close her eyes tight due to the bright silver glow, and did her best to control her breathing again as she heard hooves clopping on the floor. The advantage was hers, here. Her feet were already placed securely across the cage's bars, and her weight rested on one shoulder poised to strike. The sound informed her that the bars were wide enough apart for her to grab appendages but not wide enough apart for her captors to hit her effectively. This asshole was all hers.
Stupidely, he bent down to take a look at her, and she heard the tendons in his knees pull taught as he practically knelt down next to her. Moron.
Here goes nothing, she thought.
"Ghhhhrrr!" the man grunted through clenched teeth as Irien shot out and grabbed him by the hypersensitive neck tendrils.
Her dear friend Anushka, a spastic, naive but truly caring friend, was also a draenei and had once explained to Irien how much it hurt to have those tendrils yanked on. And so Irien yanked so hard that she heard the fibruous tissue inside tear. Even in the scuffle, she was surprised at how the man refused to cry out in pain and assumed it was part of some vow of silence mandated by their crap beliefs. The man reached his fat wrists through the cage and grabbed at her hands, and she immediately sank her fangs into the flesh of his fingers. All the needed to do was anchor him long enough to reach his neck.
She didn't have to wait long. Leaning in, the guy tried to push on Irien's face to prevent her from biting, refusing to scream the entire time. He was in such a panic that he barely even reacted when Irien flicked her long, claw-like fingernails at his neck and sliced his jugular vein vertically, causing his blood to gush like a fountain. Normally her style wasn't as gruesome, though just in case of scenarios like this one her mentor had taught her a few desperate measures.
Squeezing on to the man's neck tendrils and hand for dear life, she felt his life force fade as he bled out. Irien didn't even need to know who the hell he was to know she felt no remorse for his death; he was a cultist and obviously wasn't coming to let her go. Anyone else like him would be dying as well, no questions asked. Only when he had stopped moving entirely did Irien collapse back against the wall. She didn't feel particularly winded from that brief exchange, but she didn't want to take any chances in such a dire situation. Lying back down for perhaps longer this was wise, Irien waited for her nerves to calm before she reached through the cage to pilfer the man's robe pockets with one hand and to feel the bars of her cage for a lock with the other. Simultaneously, she located both along with a dagger sheathed on the cultist's belt.
Jackpot, she thought. Pulling on his neck tendrils must have caused him so much pain that he couldn't think straight enough to use the blade. She would have to keep that in mind for later.
The keychain only had three keys, and Irien tested them as slowly as possible to avoid creating any noise. The second key worked, and the cage swung open. Although her backpack had been taken from her, her belt pouch had not, and she stores the keys and attached the man's dagger sheath to her belt. Stuffing his carcass back in the cage, she hit the wall near the entryway and began to think as she stared into the unnatural darkness of the room. If she had been brought in, then that meant there was a way out. She would have to find it, kill anybody in her way and reach the nearest postal road to signal for help.
If she were still in Talador. Irien shuddered slightly before pushing that specific idea out of her head.
Finally peeking out from behind the corner, she was only treated to more darkness. The air pressure outside her room signaled that the short hall led to some sort of open atrium. She heard no voices or machines, and she could sense no movement. Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she waited for the echo to return to her the way she had been taught and when it bounced back, she nearly gasped. The atrium had to have been three stories high, but empty aside from a solid, doorless structure in the middle. She clicked a few more times and was able to make out the shape of a ziggaraut in the middle and walls leading...well, it must have been at least half a mile of hollowed out emptiness until the far wall.
Most importantly, she did not detect any other people as she listened to her clicks bouncing back to her. Feeling reassured, Irien shadowmelded - using her people's ability to shift their outer appearance to almost transluscent - and crept out of her room.
She could feel the drop in air pressure and her scalp tingled. This place was huge, and navigating through it would take a very long time. Clicking once every second, Irien drafted a mental map of the dark prison she found herself stuck in. Even worse than the size of it were the gaps: rather than a solid floor, she sensed a series of platforms turning at ninety degree angles and reaching dead ends - drop off points - like a maze without walls. And what absolutely terrified her was that below the platforms, her echoes didn't return. It was either more foul magic or they really were over a very deep pit.
Creeping carefully, Irien walked. To where, she did not know, but she was alone in the dark and had to keep moving. Waiting around would get her nowhere and Sargerei cultists obviously weren't about to extend any helping hands.
Minutes ticked by as she walked along the platform, always measuring the paths before her without walking. In Darkshore, the forests were dense but night elves can see in the dark. The headmistress at the ranger academy had always thought that echolocation was a waste of time for all but the blind, but Irien knew what many of her superiors did not: their people could not remain pigeonholed into the old class and talent spec system. Any sort of skills could be of benefit given the right situation, and the criticism of her peers and superiors for her eclectic choice of talents melted away as Irien realized how helpless she would feel had she not learned to mimic the behavior of the many bats darting in and out of the Darkshore canopy. Irien always remained on the platforms closest to the wall, afraid to find herself stranded and then end up discovered by enemies.
As she searched - it was at least half an hour and probably more - she detected more entryways along the walls. Her chest swelled with pride when she realized she could even detect on the far opposite walls half a mile away, though her hopes quickly sank when she remembered that the exit might be half a mile away across a maze in the darkness.
Wait.
Breathing.
Two people.
Close.
Soon...
Irien crouched lower but increased her speed, clicking even more quickly - if they were draenei as most cultists were, they would be able to hear her anyway. There was an entryway in the wall on her left, much like the hall where she had woken up. Her heart raced as she realized it would lead to something. Whether that something was a fight, a friend, or food didn't matter; it was something. At every step, she grew nearer to the room and the echoes of her tongue clicks painted an even more detailed picture. The room was small like hers, and there was a turn in the platform like a little bridge leading to it. Very thin lines implied the presence of another cage with bars, and someone lying in it. There was another person standing over it, merely watching.
That was her target; this was no time for caution and Irien felt absolutely no moral qualms over what she was about to do. This was kill or be killed, and whoever was standing and staring over the cage - friend or foe - was about to be killed. She would not put her own life at risk for anyone else in this Goddess forsaken place.
The platform was solid obsidian, and it neither vibrated nor created noise as she turned left and approached the room. The person standing there was an acolyte of some sort, and appeared to be holding a book and chanting in the draenei language. Good. It was a cultist. Not only would she feel no remose, but she might actually have fun.
Irien wasn't a rogue, but all members of her race could stealth to an extent. Her mail armor wasn't particularly light, but after a thousand years she had learned how to creep while wearing it. The acolyte had no clue and didn't see it coming - not even when Irien plunged the dagger in the woman's throat.
"Hrrrrgghh," the cultist gurgled as she crumpled to the ground.
Before she hit the floor, Irien came out of her shadowmeld. The vile 'prayer' book hit the ground and she distinctly heard the clink of keys and another dagger. Jackpot again.
More immediately, Irien found what complicated her situation somewhat - hopefully, for the better. Already awake at the bottom of the cage, an orc woman with the green skin signifying those of her race from Azeroth - Irien's own timeline - sat up.