#diaage

      The old woman sat vigil by the side of her ward, Marcus. He was still in terrible shape from the fight. What more could she do -but- to sit and twiddle her thumbs? No portal devices to take to, no communicator to contact agents, and certainly no rescue in sight on the little abandoned isle they were stranded upon.     A soft sigh escaped her lips. Perhaps she could swim... swim... like she did all those years ago. Thoughts turned to memories as she recounted them to the sleeping Marcus.      “Hundreds.. of years ago, under the darkening sky of Lordaeron...” The scene set upon the ocean miles out from the Coast of Lordaeron. A small merchant vessel stowed. A young raven haired sin’dorei lass was busy tying a knot into a line as elvish crewmen worked aside her and others. “It wasn’t always that bad, you know. We were happy for a time before the sickness set in. Minn’da got it first. When she died it passed onto Ann’da. Then to Lucius. The rest of the crew.”       Errant memories blanked from her mind as she continued to recount the story, for good reason, “Sickness was terrible. Madness among civil men... What could one do?.... Nothing. No medicine would cure this. I didn’t know what else to do but to set aflame to the ship and escape from the madness that dwelt. You should’ve heard the cries as they burned alive.” Jumping from the bow into the ocean, the memories delved, sinking like a stone. Escaping, she thought, saved her life only to snuffed out by the water filling the lungs. Swimming miles to the coast proved futile.     “But.. then for some reason.. I was saved. I didn’t know by who but.. it was this.. this man. He dragged me out of the water to the shore all those years ago. If it wasn’t because of him we wouldn’t be here in this situation...” Diaage paused as she’d rest a hand to Marcus’ temple to check his temperature. “Sometimes.. I wonder if I did it again... if I swam all the way-- that I would see him again.” A soft laugh escaped her lips as she’d twist her olivine-streaked gaze towards the open window that held the boundless ocean. The thought crossed her mind.... would she leave Marcus to do so?....

    A gentle tune carried from an automated jukebox.  The old woman sat with the nanny in their living room, watching their daughter read into recently dusted tomes. It was up to them to teach Nihasa for the moment. Home schooling was what was needed for the utmost of safety.     “Minn’da, minnnnn’da look, minn’da look -- I made a little dress for Forgut!” Nihasa exclaimed proudly, but would frown when she got only a mumbled reply.    “That’s nice, honey.” Diaage would yawn, not even opening her eyes to see what her daughter had made.      Elsif would tap on Diaage’s shoulder, “It’s lovely, Miss Nihasa. I think he’ll enjoy it.”      “Mm..?” The ex-director yawned again, opening her eyes this time. “I’m sorry honey. Minn’da has been so tired lately. It’s charming. Why don’t you go put it on Forgut right now?”       “Ooohoooo.” Nihasa giggled as she’d run off to put her little half-stitched dress on her imp.      

“It appears my findings were incorrect. Gregori Karkarov lives..”         "Should he learn of your whereabouts.. I doub't he could resist visiting."    The old woman kept within the Darkwood’s clearing. The sparring ring filled with illusions of her master. “YOU PROMISED ONE HE WAS DEAD.” Diaage screamed out to Araste as he left. She was left alone with frustrations and a practice stave held tightly within her grasp.      Gregori Karkarov. A name that left a bitter taste in the ex-director’s mouth. A man that thwarted her every move for his execution and eventual manipulation of her mind and personal assets. One of the only two that could shatter her confidence with a single gaze.      Diaage realized why her master had spoken such cruel words - to get her to focus on training. What skills she dulled within the years of inactivity, he wished to sharpen once more into a living weapon. Yet to what extent? A tool, like always. A tool of cruelty for another hand - whether it be her ex-Uncle or Gregori Karkarov. Regret lined her visage, marred with a clouded anger. She never truly had the freedom to control her own strength on her own terms. 

  Master.

     Aid is required from you. I know you have disillusioned the past with your new life, but one is asking for your help in the shadows. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve grown soft on my skills. Training is needed for this shadowstalker once more. I’ve made my decision to resurface.                                                                                                              M.D.

The ex-director pressed the missive to her lips as she’d finish sealing it close, only to hand it off to one of her agents. “Send it to Mr. Grey.” She murmured quietly as she turned around to her her newly acquired desk. 

Sharlen would look to her with a side glare. “You know what you’re doing right? Usurping everything? What’s doing this going to prove, Diaage? There’s nothing left for you here. No goals, no direction. You never were one to grasp at the pitfalls of power. The Regent Lord won’t be happy, not after how you left the last time. I’ve had to take years to repair everything when you dropped off the face of Azeroth. This isn’t going to solve your problems. This isn’t going to make things return to what they once were.”