Shadows Within

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"You gave them a five minute head start. Are you sure that's a good idea?"
The coal-haired boy smiled, letting a giggle escape his lips. "It's the only sporting way of doing it, miss Nightingale. They know I'll find 'em eventually."
"Well, that's very true," the aging caretaker told him with a soft smile of her own.
The boy nodded, and dashed off without another moment's hesitation. He ran through the church courtyard, easily finding the few of his fellows trying to hide there, then worked his way through the Dwarven District, then Old Town, the Trade District, and took his time in the Mage's District and the Park to take in the sights. Finally, he topped it off by mucking through the canals again, poking around for the last few he missed. The whole ordeal barely took fifteen minutes.
"That ain't fair!" one of the other little boys fumed to the caretakers.
Everyone looked over at the pale-skinned child, more than a few outright glaring at him. He shrugged, the very gesture seeming to say, "I can't help it if I'm better."

Later that night, just after dinner had been finished, caretaker Nightingale stepped outside, easily finding who she was looking for seated on the porch of the orphanage.
"Come on, Kalderin, it's time for bed."
The wiry boy gave a small sigh and a quiet "Yes, ma'am," as he rose.
"Don't fret yourself over them, Kalderin," she said, guiding him back inside.
"I know I shouldn't, miss Nightingale," he admitted, "but I can't help it. They never liked me much when I showed up, anyways."
Caretaker Nightingale smiled, trying to keep the boy from getting depressed. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find a way to make it work."

Kalderin shifted in his bed, unable to sleep. A restless wanderlust settled over him, finally prompting the child to lift the window and sneak out onto the cobbled ground of the Cathedral District. With a stealth that belied his youth, he picked a careful path to the aged buildings of Old Town.
The boy looked around, stopping to listen outside the door of the Pig and Whistle. The sound of raucous laughter, clinking cutlery, mugs tapping against one another, and the occasional and surprisingly well-played song on the piano gave Kalderin a sense of calm, for reasons he really could not explain.
He stayed there for a time, waving at the faces who entered or exited, before a great yawn reminded him of where he really needed to be. Rising from a sit, he began to walk back to the orphanage, but something caught his attention.

One of the houses had a pair of bobbing lights going through it. Back and forth, high and low, they kept moving around and around, as if their owners were searching for something. It would have been entirely normal, had there not been the occasional sound of furniture being toppled or glass shattering.
As the child crept closer, he could spot glimpses of the lights' owners; large, heavy-set men, dressed in all black, with hoods and masks covering their faces. Their methods and dress meant only one thing to the boy; they were obviously thieves. Dread snaked around the young human as he moved away from the house; somebody had to get the guards.
Of course, it was hard to focus when one of the innumerable stray cats planted itself firmly underfoot, just in the right place to be stepped on.

The feline pest sent Kalderin crashing to the ground, toppling over a pair of empty barrels, and generally making a singularly hellacious racket. He glanced up just in time to see the two thugs looking straight at him from the window.
For a brief second, time seemed to halt for all three of them. Then, the child sprung to his feet and ran.
The clapping of boots on the worn stones was quick to follow. The orphan ducked into a patch of shadows for a moment, following the alley out to another street; finding a grown-up had become a very pressing priority.
The two thieves split up, one of them always managing to catch a glimpse of the child as he changed direction or tried to take himself off the main streets. The sound of their dogged pursuit drove him to run harder, worming his way to the only other place he knew that always had adults inside.

Charging through the empty and winding streets, the boy lost his footing several times on loose cobblestones, but used his momentum to roll and right himself, always managing to come up running, albeit with an unsteady start; now, more than ever, Kalderin was thankful he spent so much time practicing those tricks the traveling elven acrobats had so gladly taught him.
He heard one of them peel off to the side again, and took the chance to turn into an alley again. The timing couldn't have been better, because he heard something cut the air behind him and strike the corner of a house hard enough to send a few sparks into the dark night.
Daggers?! he thought in a panic.
Another metal missile bounced at the mouth of the alley, too close for the child's comfort. He turned his head to look, but whipped around as another sound caught his ear.
Something BIG was coming down from above him. Another patch of gravel caused the boy to drop unwittingly into a slide, and kept him form being pinned under the weight of the second thug. Shifting his small weight, Kalderin dashed away, but not before one of them managed to throw a third dagger. This one struck true, lodging itself in the child's waist as he fled.

Kalderin managed to lose them for a moment, and tried to catch his breath as he looked at the long, empty street that ran to the building. He knew they would see him, but would they be able to catch him?
"He who hesitates..." the boy muttered with a pained grimace before darting out from his hiding spot.
Like clockwork, the loud bootsteps began after him, but he kept running, threading them through a cluttered back alley one last time before reaching his destination.

The child came barreling up the steps like a man possessed, but he slowed down at the sight of the lookout.
"Woah, there, little one. What're you doing up at this hour?"
"Please, sir... you've got to... thieves after me..." he huffed in short phrases. Every breath showed more than just exhaustion to the rogue.
Osborne eyed the child over. "And where are they?" he asked, a tiny bit skeptical.
Almost on cue, two thugs sounded off toward the courtyard. The watchman slipped into a nearby shadow and moved as the boy backed up against the wall, fear clouding his features when the Night Man vanished.

They came running with murder in their eyes, but a single blow to the head kept either of them from going anywhere for a while. With a practiced calm, the old rogue stepped out of the shadows and looked down at the boy. Now, he plainly saw the open wound the child had, the crude dagger still pointing out of the bleeding flesh.
"Hold still, little one," the rogue said, placing a hand on the small shoulder. One quick tug freed the weapon, and Osborne quickly patched him with a few bandages.
"Now," the old human said, letting the boy turn around, "care to explain yourself?"

The human had been twitching in his sleep, at one point giving a small, almost helpless cry of pain, but had passed into a more even and featureless state of rest. Shyla kept a watchful eye on him during his fit, making sure that he didn't inadvertently injure himself; several more unnatural wounds hand been compounded into his body, but none as grievous as the single slash he had suffered almost a week prior.
Curiosity peaked in the trolless' mind as she wondered what sort of thing the rogue would dream about. Most would balk at the thought of watching another's mind like that, but Shyla was well known for prying her way into anything she wanted to know... without hurting anyone, at least.
Calling on the spirits, she placed a gentle hand on the human's forehead and let herself fall into a trance.

Osborne followed the boy as he hurried back to the orphanage, keeping an eye on his wound. He would give an occasional hiss of discomfort, but seemed to be ignoring its existence altogether.
The rogue saw the aged caretaker pacing the porch, nervous concern creasing every movement she made. The sound of Kalderin's pattering footsteps drew her attention, as the boy quickly hopped up to her.
"Where have you been?!" the elder caretaker asked in a hushed whisper. "I nearly worried myself to death when I found your bed empty!"

The child's frame slumped a bit. "I'm sorry, miss Nightingale. I got restless," he told her. "Besides, I think I did something right this time."
He pointed past the shadows on the porch, into the faded light of the street where the faded outline of the Night Man stood. Caretaker Nightingale squinted her aging eyes as the rogue walked up to the lit porch with a steady gait.
"Osborne? What are you..."
She trailed off, glancing between the rogue and the apprehensive orphan, whose face had slumped into a sad ghost of a smile.
"Like I said," he muttered, trying not to choke on his own childish fear, "I must have done something right."

The adults spoke between themselves for a while, in hushed voices that Kalderin couldn't hear, or stepped away if they got loud enough for him to understand. If they wanted him to know what they were talking about, they would tell him.
The boy knew he should have been happy; from the way the man spoke, maybe Kalderin could get a chance to be somebody. He didn't care if it meant going all across Azeroth to train, but if it was a shot at giving something back to the few people who had helped him, then Kalderin felt it was worth it.
Finally, he saw miss Nightingale beckon him back to the porch. The child moved with a slight hesitation as the aging woman looked down at him with a neutral expression.

Osborne's told me about your little adventure," she stated, "and that he's thinking about taking you under the wing of SI:7. Are you sure you want to do this, Kalderin?"
The boy nodded. "I'm sure. This might be my best... no, my only chance to give something back to the good people here. Besides, maybe if I train," he said, jabbing his thumb at the orphanage, "maybe I can get them to leave me alone... maybe even think I'm worth something."
Caretaker Nightingale broke into a soft smile at the child's words. He never hid what he thought from her, because he wasn't much good at lying anyways; he always spoke his heart to the staff of the orphanage.

"Allright, then. I suppose I can't stop you," she told him, giving the child a pat on the shoulder.
Kalderin gave her smile, but his eyes misted over with sadness. "I just don't want you to worry about me. But I can't stop you, either," he retorted in a small voice.
Beside them, the Night Man smiled to himself as the boy walked down the steps. The orphan didn't seem like much, but Osborne's trained eye knew raw potential when he saw it.
The kid would be a natural.

Bright light poked through the windows, jabbing his closed eyes like needles. Kalderin lifted his left hand to block the offending rays, even though it was sore from disuse. He groaned as pain shot through his chest, but opened his eyes when he was sure he wouldn't be blinded.
"Choo finahlly up, mon?" Shyla's voice was a grateful sound after so much darkness, and the rogue found himself pushing against the mattress to raise himself to a sit.
The human smirked, letting his eyes focus on the green mop of hair that was situated at a table nearby. "I think so," he responded, rubbing his face and giving an inward grimace at the rough feel of the growing stubble. "How long was I out this time?"
The trolless thought for a moment, adding a few figures in her mind. "A day an' a ha'f, or som'tin like dat," she told him when it came to her.
The man sat, gazing out the second window. "One of these days," he said, his eyes giving a dull blue shine, "I really need to quit doing that."

The human seemed almost hypnotized as he stared out the glass, a calm expression etched into his features, from the lazy blink of his eyes to the casual way he shifted his weight to flatten his back on the wall. After several forevers, he glanced over to the trolless.
"Hey Shyla, could you pass me that black pouch?"
She straightened up and looked at his things, spotting the dark cloth tied to his belt. Pulling the cord off, she tossed it easily to its owner.
He gave the shaman a nod of thanks as he snatched the sack from the air, and pulled out a purple, fist-sized gem from its depths before placing the bag on the bedside table.

Shyla watched him as he held the shadowgem with a firm grip between both hands. He took several deep, controlled breaths, ran a thumb across the necklace, and whispered what sounded like a prayer in Common before holding the uncut gem in front of his chest and closing his eyes.
The distinctive feeling of fel energy shifted in the room, making the trolless shudder as she watched. The jewel in the rogue's hands pulsed with green light as he forced the corrupting magics into it, his face set in stone cold concentration.
As the woman watched, she had to pinch herself to make sure she was seeing this right; the fresher lines on the human's skin were shaking like shadows in torchlight, actually moving and shifting across the flesh before shrinking a little and jumping about like wild birds again.
She sat, watching him carefully for a long time as he focused on discharging the foul power from his body. The stone's glow grew brighter and more irritated every second, even as the veins of dark on the man's skin vanished little by little. When he opened his eyes at last, the gem shone a sick emerald color, with superficial cracks and night black furrows all over its surface.

Kalderin exhaled a single, shuddering breath before setting the now corrupted gemstone on the table beside him. He gave it a sharp glare, but quickly turned away and looked back out the window.
The shaman stared at the stone, then turned her red eyes to the rogue, who looked like he was half asleep again. She wanted to say something, to question him, but was having a hard time finding the right words.
"What's on your mind?" the human asked, glancing over at her.
Shyla averted her gaze like a whelp who was caught watching a private ritual. "Ah... yah, well... uhm..." was all she could stammer as a blush crept up her face. Wha'ssa'mattah wit me today? she thought as she tried to calm down.
The human gave a soft and gentle laugh; not a full-blown show of mirth, but an honest and whole outburst. "Don't worry youeself over it," he told her, pulling the tattered shirt over his head. "It's just one of those days, I suppose."

The trolless giggled and nodded as well, glad to have him break the ice. "Too true, mon," she said with a sigh. "Choo feelin' bettah?"
"Much," he replied, shooting a look at the gem again. "I need to get rid of that, though. It's more dangerous than it seems."
The shaman stared at it as well, somewhat glad that the fel energies were contained within it instead of the human. Kalderin produced a satchel from somewhere she couldn't see, a green and leafy thing that held strong traces of nature magic, and dropped the stone inside, tying it shut quickly.
"That should keep it until later," he said to himself setting the bundle aside before turning to the trolless. "Well, then... do we have any pressing business to attend to at the moment?"
Shyla gave a few broad shakes of her head. "Not dat ah know of, no," she replied. "Wha'choo got planned?"
The human smirked, producing a book from his bags. "I was hoping we could continue your lessons."

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