After such a 'warm' welcome, it was no surprise to the sin'dorei woman that the offered directions would be an indifferent hand gesture. Still, it was better than being turned away. She walked away, careful to not linger in the main hall for long. The staircase echoed with her steps: a metal-on-metal clank that fell in time with every breath she took. Funny, she thought, I'd forgotten that I could still breathe. A faint smirk brushed across her lips, a brief respite from the clouded thoughts she'd been holding onto.
Before long, the stairs gave way to what should have been a wide, airy space – now packed with columns of wooden crates that formed a forced passageway. It was greasy-smelling and metallic; the crates obviously had held (or in some still held) various weapons for the Horde's war effort. Had she still been in her previous life, the woman supposed that all of this would be a serious offense to her senses. Now, it was merely an annoyance, more in the way than bothersome.
She found her way through the makeshift passage easily enough, guided by the dim lights of half-melted candles interspersed along the wall. Out of habit, she pulled her axe from its sling on her back and held it in front of her slender frame, poised as if expecting an attack; the eerie runes she'd placed on it glowed more brightly than her surroundings. Her smirk returned as she wondered if any of the 'mighty' soldiers were actually afraid of the dark. Perhaps, she told herself, I'll test that out once I get a bit more … settled here.
Her steps began to feel heavy, a sure sign of fighting too many days without rest or personal care. The woman sighed and made the final turn to the widest-open spot she'd found in the basement. Sure enough, here were the 'gracious' accommodations the warlord was so willing to provide her. A table with a near-melted candle was sandwiched between two lopsided beds –cots, really– as they seemed to have been used by one too many overly paunch orcs. The mats on them were thin and frayed; the frames bent and held up by fragments of the very same crates that provided walls around her. A moth-ridden blanket was haphazardly thrown across the closer of the two beds.
She frowned, then tossed her pack onto the floor beside the table without sending so much as a glance into the dark area across from her bed. The elf took more careful attention to setting down her axe, gingerly resting it atop the pack. At last, she sat down; a grateful sigh escaping her lips. Her eyes closed briefly, her shoulders rolled back and forth, creaking her armor. With her eyes still closed, she began to undress.
Each buckle holding the pieces of plate came loose with effort, as if she'd forgotten to remove her armor for many days and nights. She had forgotten, of course. But now there was nothing but time to kill, and before long, every buckle and lash was undone and the dirty plate mail was piled at her feet. She stood again, stretching her pale frame to its fullest height, clad only in frayed bandages around her chest and a thin silken pair of half-breeches at her hips. She ran her lithe fingers through her pale hair, straining at the knots until most had been removed. At last, she opened her eyes to gaze down at herself.
No, she thought. Nothing has changed. So many whitened scars … not a bloody one among them. If only I could just feel them once more … to know they were real …
Her fingers hesitated, then slid down her arms, gliding delicately over raised scars and the bandages that vainly covered them. She moved at last to the largest wrapping at her chest and the fine knot that kept it all in place. The woman nodded to herself; it was time to see it again, to touch the mark that, in one blow, destroyed and remade her. However, just as she reached for those strings, a voice broke her concentration.
"If I were any other man, I might see this as an invitation of the flesh, little Death Knight."
She froze in place, in awe of the graveled timbre that had pierced the darkness above the second bed. Idiot, you should have looked. And you pride yourself on being observant. Wait … I know that voice, don't I?
"Good thing for you that my desire for such entertainment ran cold years ago. Show me your face. I want to see who I'm speaking to."
The woman hesitated, but finally looked up and across to the other bed. Her composure wavered briefly – was it fear or curiosity? She couldn't tell; it had been too long since she'd actually kept track of such trivial things as emotions. "I … I know your voice. I remember hearing it so often in Acherus before we all … left. M-Master Koltira … I-"
"I am no one's master now, girl." He leaned forward from his perch in the corner, a faint twitch of a smirk curled in the corners of his thin lips. "But I cannot lie; my ego does enjoy the boost given by a respectful title."