I know it’s such a cliché choice, but SYLVANAS.
I take no pleasure in pain, but it used to be fun getting into debates with neutral/Alliance Pandaren with my Huojin characters. Now it’s nigh impossible to justify. Gah, I miss Thrall’s Horde.
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Melfurion as I beat him to death with Saurfang and Baine’s decapitated heads as Anduin helplessly watches.
Not since Gorak Tul have I seen such a lost soul, whispered Brom Kal inside Adelbrand’s skull. She may actually even be worse.
Armand Adelbrand swallowed nervously as he opened himself to the Spirit of Life. The Crimson Forest of Drustvar had once been a source of fear for Adelbrand. As a boy, the blood red boughs and shady glens dogged him in his nightmares. But he had been a boy then, a boy running from his destiny. Now he was a man, and more, a Thornspeaker.
And you aren’t alone, whispered Brom Kal. The ancient Drust spirit whom with Adelbrand shared a bond had, in time, become a trusted friend and confidant. And a powerful ally and source of strength and knowledge.
“Still,” muttered Adelbrand aloud. Though he could communicate with Brom Kal with his thoughts, it was something he never could get used to. “This won’t be easy.”
No, said Brom Kal in the blunt way only he could. We may likely die. Or rather, you might. Though without your mortal coil as an anchor, I would cease to exist as well. I suppose that is a death, in a manner of speaking. Then again-
“Brom,” muttered Adelbrand. “Focus.”
Right.
Across the clearing, she chuckled. “It would seem the Little Lion’s champion is a bit nutty,” Sylvanas Windrunner purred. “Do you always talk to yourself?”
Though Sylvanas would have no way of knowing this, Adelbrand had been sensitive to ghosts and spirits all of his life, not to mention the spirits of the land and creatures around him. He had heard the screams of the grass in the first frost almost from birth, tasted the panic of voles being torn apart by hawks with his mother’s milk. Adelbrand was an empath, which, he was now aware, made him an odd duck and prone to talking to himself. He had spent decades being teased for seeing things, for responding to voices no one else could hear. This was old hat to him. The Banshee’s Queen insult rolled off of his back. “I never speak to myself. I speak to the land. The very woods have drank the blood of my ancestors, banshee. You are not the first witch to try and sully this land, and you will not be the last. You think you are special? You’re nothing. The rivers laugh at you, Sylvanas Windrunner. The trees pity you. Even the moss and lichen would spit at your boots, if it could. Fortunately for them, they have me to do it in their stead.”
And with that, the druid hocked up a glob of mucous and spit, and spat it as far as he could in Sylvanas’ direction.
To his surprise, she smiled. “How crude. A fine speech, though. Did you rehearse it? I must say it did little to assuage my thoughts that you’re nuttier than the squirrels you no doubt hold court with.”
Adelbrand slung his warhammer off of his back and over his shoulder. He clenched his teeth in anger. She was unflappable. “You break the cycle, Sylvanas!” he snarled. “All things must die in their time. Each sowing must needs a reaping. Your time has come - has long come.”
Once more she laughed, her laughter mirthful and amused, sly. Though she was a rotting corpse, Adelbrand couldn’t help but see that she must have been beautiful in life. Beautiful and terrible. “I break the cycle, do I? The natural order? Tell me, druid, did not Anduin break the cycle when he yanked dozens of his soldiers from the brink of death? Is your Lord Admiral acting in congruence with nature when she warps the very fabric of reality to suit her needs? To kill my people?”
“That’s…” Adelbrand stammered.
“No,” barked Sylvanas. “No, I listened to your drivel for long enough. You Alliance are all the same. Haughty and proud - and I was a high elf. You and I both know that if you kill me, you will not then hunt down your precious Lion or your Lady Proudmoore. So spare me your sermon, Thornspeaker. You fight and kill for the same reasons I do: to protect your people. To manifest your will on this world. To try and make reality be as you believe it should be. You wish to kill me? Fine. Come and try. But at least have the decency to be honest about it.”
Adelbrand seethed. Do not listen to her, muttered Brom Kal.
“I’m not,” Adelbrand muttered. To Sylvanas he called out, “You’re wrong, Windrunner. About me, about the Alliance, about everything. Perhaps we do not live in perfect harmony with nature. Perhaps we can even be hypocritical. But what you have done, what you represent, is more than the mere quotidian foibles of humanity. You are a murderer. A warmonger. A genocidal witch. And in the name of Light and Life and all that is pure and good in this world, I am going to put you down.”
“You will try. And then when I kill you, I will raise your corpse, Thornspeaker. I will bend you to my will. And I will make you blight Drustvar yourself.” She nocked an arrow, but just as she let it fly, a vine wrapped around her ankle, pulling her down to one knee and making her arrow fly wide.
Sylvanas hissed and nocked another arrow in her bow. Adelbrand, however, was already charging her, his warhammer in one hand, the other casting a spell. The bright green of Life magic danced around his fingers. Sylvanas let her second shot fly, and Adelbrand released his spell.
Sylvanas smiled as the arrow sailed at the Thornspeaker. It looked as though it would be a direct hit, striking the large human oaf in his heart. Yet, as the arrow was about to strike, it was swarmed by hundreds of bugs and chewed to pieces in mid-air.
“Damn,” whispered Sylvanas. And then he was upon her. He swung his giant hammer at her head. Sylvanas, still bound by one leg and down on one knee, lay down on her back as she dodged the swing. She pulled a knife from her boot and cut the vine, rolling away with the speed only an undead elf could have, Adelbrand’s hammer crashing to the very spot where she had been a second ago.
The Banshee Queen kipped up to her feet, and then plunged her dagger into the Thornspeaker. It struck him in the armpit. Sylvanas smiled, but the victory was short-lived. With a speed that belied his massive size, the Thornspeaker pivoted on his heels and headbutted Sylvanas in the face.
She staggered backwards, dazed. And as she opened her eyes, she saw the hammer coming for her head. It struck her, and Sylvanas fell back.
I must be dead, she thought. She could feel her skull split in twain, could feel cold, sticky fluid leaking out of her forehead. It wouldn’t be blood, she knew. As she blinked the stars away, Armand Adelbrand stood over her.
“Sylvanas Windrunner, in the name of the Thornspeakers, Kul Tiras, and the Alliance, I sentence you to the final death. May whatever gods await you be merciful on your soul, for I have none to spare.”
As he swung the hammer down one more time, Sylvanas screamed.
Not a scream of fear. Oh no. For as she lay there, Sylvanas realized something. She was not dying. Injured severely? Yes, of course. Would she bear the mark of the Thornspeaker’s hammer for the rest of her unlife? Undoubtedly. But she was undead. It would take more than a crack on the head to destroy her.
And so she screamed a banshee’s wail. It sent the birds and deer and thornbeasts scattering. The very trees began to wither and die around them. And it sent the Thornspeaker Adelbrand to his knees. His hammer landed on the earth with a thud, and he clasped his hands over his ears in pain.
On and on Sylvanas roared. Perhaps I will scream until I split his head like he split mine, she mused.
Inside Adelbrand’s mind, however, all was quiet. Though his body was wracked with pain, his mind was serene.
“It is time,” Brom Kal said. Adelbrand felt as if he were standing before the ancient Drust Thornspeaker, as if he could see the other man in the flesh.
“Will it work,” asked Adelbrand.
Brom Kal nodded. “It will. I doubt I could take full control of her body. But I will be able to interfere long enough. It’s like I told you, Sylvanas is a banshee. Her spirit and her body are tethered together by the magic of the enemy. My presence inside of her will weaken that tether long enough for you to strike the final blow.”
Adelbrand nodded. “And you are sure this must be done?”
Brom Kal returned the nod. “I am sure. It is the only way.” He smiled sadly. “I wish Gorak Tul were here to see this. I wonder what he would say, to know that in punishing me with the curse that bound me to this plane as a ghost would lead me to you? That he would be undoing one of the greatest champions the forces of Death has ever had?” The Drust chuckled.
Adelbrand smiled despite himself. “What will happen to you?”
Brom Kal seemed to shrug. “I cannot say. Perhaps I will cease to exist? Perhaps Gorak Tul’s curse is deeper in my soul than even we know, and I end up in the darkest part of the Shadowlands? Or perhaps some god will take pity on me, and lead me into paradise? Elune, perhaps? I cannot say, but even if I could, it would not divert me from this path. Sylvanas must be destroyed.”
Adelbrand nodded. “I can’t help but feel responsible for all of this… What if you are damned forever? How am I supposed to live knowing that I helped cause that?”
Brom Kal put a hand on his protege’s shoulder. “Armand, you did not damn me to anything. You freed me from that crypt. Through you, I tasted air and felt soil once again. You have become a fine Thornspeaker in your own right - through my teaching, of course,” he chuckled. And then his face was serious again. “I am proud of you, Armand Adelbrand. I am honoured to be your ancestor, and may Athainne and Athair’s eyes ever be upon you.” He touched Adelbrand’s forehead, and then the two Thornspeakers embraced. “Now, we have come to the end.”
Outside of Adelbrand’s mind, Sylvanas was still screaming. Blood trickled down Adelbrand’s nose, and his eyes had rolled back into his head.
Sylvanas watched with relish. Yes, soon the druid would be dead, and she could proceed with her plans. This little gnat would be crushed.
And then she felt it. As if some sort of spirit had jumped from Adelbrand into her. A presence was… inside her body.
“Who goes there?” she yelled, though now her yell was not a banshee’s wail but a fearful shout.
And then her mouth moved again, and another voice came out. A deep, ancient voice. A man’s voice, thickly accented. “I am Brom Kal, Thornspeaker of the Drust, enemy of Unlife, protector of the cycle. I am your doom, Windrunner.”
“N-no!” howled Sylvanas with her own voice. She tried to move, but found she could not. In front of her, Adelbrand was getting back to his feet.
“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” shrieked the Banshee.
Adelbrand hefted his hammer high into the air. “Sylvanas Windrunner, in the name of the Thornspeakers, Kul Tiras, and the Alliance, I sentence you to the final death,” he said, echoing his words from before. His hammer seemed to glow with the light of faerie fire.
“No!” sobbed Sylvanas impotently.
Adelbrand brought the warhammer down with both hands, caving in the Banshee Queen’s head. Her body slumped unceremoniously to the earth.
Reaching into his pocket, Adelbrand produced his long, churchwarden pipe and a match. He packed the pipe with a fragrant blend of tobacco and peacebloom, and then lit it. Once the pipe was lit, he lowered the match to Sylvanas’s corpse, and lit it aflame. He stood and watched it burn. When there was naught but ash left, he produced a seed from his pocket. With a wave of his hands and a flash of magic, the seed became a sapling.
Carefully - nay, lovingly- Adelbrand planted the sapling in the nutrient-rich ash that had once been the Horde Warchief, the Banshee Queen of the Undead. “Welcome back to the cycle, Windrunner,” he whispered.
And then, as he was about to walk away, he stumbled to the earth. Sylvanas’ knife was still embedded in his armpit, and his blood had splattered to the ground and stained his garb in copious amounts. In the commotion he had forgotten it.
Panicking, Adelbrand reached out to the spirits of Life to heal himself. But found no response. Sylvanas’ shadowy scream had drained the land in the immediate vicinity, the animals had all fled. Adelbrand could not find the means to heal himself.
He fell down on his face, and coughed up a splutter of blood. Rolling onto his back, he smiled. “All things serve the cycle,” he whispered. He turned his head to look at the sapling, before fading out of consciousness and into the cold embrace of death.
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Wow Adelbrand! Really well done. Thank you for following up with this!
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That was brilliant, Adelbrand!
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Aww thanks folks ![:blush:](https://d38bqls1q93fod.cloudfront.net/en/wow/images/emoji/twitter/blush.png?v=6" ":blush:")
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Im gonna kill the two elves taking selfies at Dazar’alor.
I’m tired of watching this really beautiful scenery be “interrupted” in the chat box by these two idiots calling the whole place “primitive”.
In fact i’d go so far as to say it makes me uncomfortable that one of the first interactions Horde/Zanda is those two tourists calling the place “primitive” and “ugly”. If that’s what they think of Zandalar, what do they think of the rest of the Horde? Feels like a detriment to the belf/horde relationship.
I much prefer the HM Taurens using a kite and going “damn, the winds here are good!” It’s just them having harmless fun without being arrogant about the troll empires, the same empires that fought the Black Empire and survived. Its cute and fun.
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Being arrogant and condescending is kinda what elves do.
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We in fact do that better than any race on Azeroth.
“You know what must be done,” Sylvanas said, reaching out to lift Nathanos’ chin, with a sly smile on her lips. “Go, my champion.”
Her eyes followed him as he left the dusty throne room. Once she was alone, she slid into the throne of the kings of Lordaeron, lounging in its embrace, already gleefully anticipating the reaction to her arrogance.
But when the door opened, her arrogant smirk twisted to a frown as an unanticipated figure entered instead.
“I had not anticipated you would be here as the Boy King’s lackey, draenei,” she said. “My sources told me you were occupied in Darkshore. Tell me, did you like what I did with Teldrassil? Did your efforts even save more than a few score from the flames?”
Glowing eyes met hers wordlessly, and she shifted on the throne, irritation mounting at the almost bland indifference on his face. Irritation that only flared hotly as he turned his back to her, closing the door with a simple, final slam.
“You are right,” came the soft words. “I could not save many. I failed there. But I am here to excise that failure.”
Her responding laugh rang mockingly from the stone walls as he turned back to her, walking into the center of the room, sword in hand.
“I always thought you a simple sort, but never did I think you were this foolish. You dare think you can walk into my home, and challenge me? What hope do you think you have?”
Arkturas’ eyes lifted from her to the throne on which she sat. “I faced one who also held this throne,” he said, his voice for the first time holding an edge of bite to it. “No doubt you have heard of him. In the end though, you have proven your old master’s most capable student. I wonder, now, if he looks at you with pride.”
She snarled, leaping from the chair, daggers springing to her hands. The crystalline greatsword rose to meet her, the armoured draenei uncoiling in a slash that would carve her from the air, only to catch nothing. The blade slid through her shadowy form, leaving him to twist, helpless under the momentum of his blow.
Her banshee form slid over him like oil, wrapping around his limbs, his throat, lashing him with the fetid cold of undeath. He shuddered under the assault, sword falling from nerveless fingers. She floated above him, eyes glowing like blood as she smiled heartlessly, watching him fall to his knees.
“And so,” she purred. “the great champion of the Alliance, of the Light, falls. I had hoped to catch the young king of Stormwind here, but this may even be the greater prize. Even in the Horde there are those who respect your might and prowess.”
She floated closer, reaching down with one misty hand to force his gaze to hers. “I did not forget how you aided Greymane when he ruined my plans in Stormheim. So this is an exquisite…”
Her brow furled as she finally could see his face unobstructed. And what she had taken for a pained grimace was instead a wolfish, hungry smile. Belatedly, she pulled away, only for his gauntleted fists to sweep out from their shadowy bonds, and latch around her throat.
Pain blossomed through her mind and she tried to scream as the agony forced her back into her corporeal form, only to manage a pained choke from the vice like grip on her throat.
“Sylvanas Windrunner,” Arkturas said, regaining his hooves regarding her with an implacable expression. “You face judgement for your many crimes. Light have mercy on your soul.”
She clawed at the hands around her neck, trying to escape the merciless grip, as the agony spread through her body. Dimly, she could see the room lit by something. By the Light consuming her, she realized. Then, a sudden flash lit the room, blinding in its intensity. When it faded, Arkturas swept the ashes from his hands.
Moments later, Anduin found him there, still watching the pile of embers and ash.
“It is finished?”
“No, your Majesty. She was only ever a symptom of the problem. I am afraid our work is not yet done.”
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I’d hijack a bronze dragon to take me back to Garrosh’s first day as Warchief and assassinate him. Then, make sure a much more level headed orc, troll or Tauren takes his place. Eitrig, Vol’jin and Cairne are/were great leaders.
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True. I don’t really know why it makes me so angry in that specific case. Maybe i just really like Zandalari stuff, maybe i hoped that after the Scourge they’d have learned a bit of respect. It kind of annoys me that the full theme of Zandalar is that the Horde tries to build a relationship with them and yet, right out of the Great Seal you get these two buffoons.
I’d prefer if i didn’t see them everytime i hurl myself down the stairs. Throw them out the stairlock.
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The only thing I hate about this is that it actually happened, but in an alternate universe. AU Velen was the most proactive, competent, and admirable character WoW has ever created. Best cinematic as well.
Also, I like Yrel. Please, come back, Yrel. I am ready for the draenic inquisition. I’ll even pretend I wasn’t expecting them.
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