(( This thread revolves around Tirien as I toss him into the "Eclipse" storyline that's starting up. I plan to put more of his personal stuff here and his story-involved stuff in the main Eclipse thread. Enjoy! ))
Another day means another take. Tirien finds his haven in a back alley of Old Town. The space is cramped but the detritus is enough for most folk passing the alley to ignore and the smell enough to keep the rest from entering. Besides, only at noon does the sun illuminate the space and even then for half an hour at best. He rests against a grime stained wall and slides down onto a small, rotting crate. Losing his wind on the sprint here was something he doesn’t recall having trouble with in the past. Then again the last handful of months are nothing but a blur drowning in a sea of whatever booze he could get his hands on.
Luck seems to be with him today. His target, a moderately dressed Night Elf, hadn’t noticed a thing. Serves him right for risking a short cut to wherever he was going. He picks through the coin purse and meticulously tosses out buttons, lint, anything that can’t get him what he wants. Foreign memories creep to the forefront of his mind and he fights to keep focused. They aren’t his and never were. This unfamiliar knowledge he never cared to pursue. This troubling connection to fiends and demons and Fel fire he never wanted in the first place. They aren’t his, but he knows where they came from.
Tirien eases up with the paltry amount of coin squirreled away in a pocket and drags along the wall to the back exit of the Old Town alley. The cool mist of the morning begins to fade as he rounds the corner on a route he could walk blind. Living like this in Old Town, at least, has proven useful in navigating the city. The bustling center of the Alliance is more interconnected than most know.
Bang, bang, bang!
Fists pound against a thick wooden door, startling someone just behind it. When no one answers, Tirien’s patience shatters and he tries to force the handle. A powerful swing of the door knocks him off balance before any more damage is done.
“The Fel is wrong with y - ?” A portly woman in her mid-thirties stares down Tirien’s ragged, dirt ridden form as the broken man regains his footing. She notes the unkempt leather armor and, particularly, a rusting blade on Tirien’s hip.
“You again.” She spits to a sewer grate. “We ain’t got any handouts for you anymore.”
“Shut up, I can pay.” Tirien stands. His moth-eaten cloak manages to conceal him from any curious eyes. He produces a fist full of coins. It’s enough. He knows it.
The woman takes it, counts it, and pockets it. “That’ll be ten more silver.” Her cocky grin sends Tirien’s blood boiling.
“WHAT?!” He barks.
“You heard me bud.” She folds her arms, “Ten silver or no go.”
She sidesteps Tirien’s speed fed fist, using her steel-toed boot to trip him into a solid wall in a back room of her establishment.
“Don’t make me call the guards.” The threat paralyzes him as he recovers. They are the last people he wants to tangle with.
He looks around, careful not to give away the movement under his cowl. He’s inside now and it’s an advantage he plans to exploit. A glance to his right reveals the hallway to the main office and from there, the storefront. To his left, a quick look reveals their liquor stock just a short distance away. His eyes go wide upon seeing the door cracked open the barest amount. Lock picking just isn’t in his blood so he’s thankful. Worn gloves pat around in the dusty low light until they grab hold of a brush handle. He launches it back to the woman. It’s his chance and he sprints for the store room, a string of curses follows a loud thud against the ground outside. With a large sack open he grabs what he can and makes for the exit.
“Guards! Guar – “ Tirien’s boot connects with her lower ribs, cutting off her alarm. Behind him echo footsteps quickly maneuvering from inside in reply. He wastes no more time and barrels down the alley and out of sight.