Past Sint is a liar.
Chapter 11: Black and Red
Twin blades were quick to nearly cause trouble, as Aranor was a man of duty. His duty? To kill Horde. And right in front of him? Horde. Luckily, there was someone here who knew better.
“Stand down, Aranor.” Sint put her hand on the man’s chest. He wanted to protest, but he chose not to after he saw the look in Sint’s eyes. Why did it not surprise him to know that Sint was familiar with an orc? His eyes widened as he saw a pair of purple ears poke up from behind the hill, a Nightborne followed the orc closely.
He huffed, “You’re familiar with these Horde?”
“Their loyalty to the Horde isn’t something I worry about.” Sint approached the nightborne and orc with her sword low, her stance not friendly yet not hostile. With a perfect accent, her tones shifted from common to orcish, “When I came out here, I was expecting fewer mementos of my amnesiac days, but here you two are.”
The Nightborne scowled, “I was expectin’ the coincidences to stop by the time we got here. First I meet Ora on the road, then I meet this weird information broker, then he gets us a job, turns out the job takes us here because of Ko’hea, and now you’re here. The Hell’re you doin’ here?”
Aranor walked up, cautious. He squinted at Sint, “Who are they?” He still spoke in common, in hopes these two didn’t speak a lick of it.
Much to his dismay, the relatively fearsome looking Nightborne smirked at him, her common just as good as his, “You could’ve asked us directly. I’m Ludrasa Shieza, Violet Panther of Suramar. I’m sure you’ve heard of me if you’ve been out here long enough.” The mag’har looked hopelessly lost, “And this is my companion, Ora-Ur.” She shifted into orcish, “Say hi, Ora.”
“Hello!” Ora-Ur bowed politely, her long braid of hair being marked out by Aranor as a weak point. Just in case. This Ranger trusted orcs as far as he could throw them. None of them caught him staring.
The Ranger chose to speak in orcish for the sake of breaking the language barrier, as minor as it was. If he was to keep a low profile in his disdain for Sint’s allies, he figured it was better to keep the animosity internal, “Aranor, Son of Roy. Ranger of Stromgarde.” He looked equally at them both, “Can’t say I was expecting to use a language I learned just to beat my enemy to speak to potential friends, but… My expectations for how things should go radically changed when I bumped into our mutual friend here. Speaking of, amnesiac days?” He gave a baffled glance to Sint, “What?”
“Long story, ranger. Let’s just say I spent a few months as another person because a Dark God cursed my brain.” She saw that the answer left Aranor in a state of even deeper confusion, “It’s still confusing for me, trust me. There’s still some things I don’t know about that entire situation, but part of me is lucky that I don’t.”
“Yeah. Warrior isn’t exactly what I’d call a uh… role model.” Ludrasa scratched the back of her head, “She was a bit nuts, if you catch my meanin’.”
Aranor looked between them, “Ok, right… It’s not important. What’s important to me is what two Horde are doing out here? It’s not exactly a place I’d want to be as an orc, with all the night elves in the hills.”
Ludrasa deadpanned, “Didn’t think about that, if Imma be real with ya’. I’ve kinda been runnin’ off the belief that everybody vacated the area until I was told about Ko’hea’s people bein’ out here.”
“Ko’hea?” Sint shook her head, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. Guess you weren’t wantin’ to hear that.” The Nightborne procured the contract she’d basically shown everyone at this point, “That means you weren’t lookin’ for her. Y’know that you’re standin’ on the remains of her camp?”
“I did not, no. You see, I’m here for a pretty important reason. A vital mission.” Sint stuck her sword into the dirt, both her hands now placed atop the blade’s pommel, “An old enemy of mine has resurfaced and has been murdering the remnants of humanity in the West. Like a shadowy pathogen he has washed over the land, obliterating these disparate communities.” She looked back to Aranor, “I was lucky to meet him the moment I arrived in the West. Thanks to what we’ve seen, we’ve deduced that the Horde is not to blame for this senseless slaughter.”
“That’s a first.” Ora grumbled.
Aranor’s opinion drastically increased about Ora-Ur immediately, “Aye. Beyond scaring the hell out of me and kicking my teeth in, Sint gave me confirmation that it wasn’t a pointless quest. See, the people I work with have been keepin’ track of these forgotten children of the East, mostly because they provide decent trade partners and are practically our only friends out here. Part of me was scared that Sylvanas finally spotted our refuges, or that she gave up on trying to make this war look like a real war and not an excuse to get her mass murder quota up. No, it’s not her. I don’t know if I’m happy about that, though.”
“Why not?” Ora-Ur crossed her arms, the young orc’s countenance was one that seemed just as bitter as Aranor’s, “I’m happy for you that you don’t have to bother with the madness that is the Horde.”
“I wanted a shot to take her out, if it was her.” He sighed, “But it isn’t. And it’s something possibly worse.” He looked at Sint, “But only she can really say if it is worse.”
Sint was silent for a moment, her eyes looked beyond them all, off into the darkened sky of Stonetalon. She was in some thought, for she wanted to consider all that she knew of both monsters before she gave an earnest answer. She had fought Sylvanas and Blackfist both in the past, though she truly only faced against the Banshee’s forces and edicts, not the Queen herself. She only clashed blades with Windrunner once, and that Sylvanas was a doppelganger crafted by the same Dark God that cursed her memory. Sylvanas was a cruel egomaniac that cared little for anything but her own personal gain, using and abusing each close ally to achieve more strength in death and darkness. She had caused untold ruin to already broken lands, the blood of thousands of refugees and innocents trying to flee war and devastation staining her soul. There seemed to be little rational thought behind her motivations. To Sylvanas, everything was just a stepping stone to kill more, to brutalize more. She spat on anything good and righteous, and it would be her eventual downfall. Her brilliance was wasted on someone as demented as she.
But Blackfist? Sint wasn’t certain if she could consider him Sylvanas’ tactical equal, but the orc’s power certainly outclassed Sylvanas in every form. Blackfist was the epitome of everything Gul’Dan and the Dark Horde achieved, even going so far to reach the realm of the Black Dragon allies the Horde had years before. He was a master death knight, a master warlock, a dark shaman, and a twisted fleshcrafter in one debased package. He had no qualms with allying with all things dark, his vendetta not one to keep himself as the strongest being. His vendetta was against the Light itself. At first he appeared to be only a lackey of the Banshee Queen, when they met years ago. The Black Legion was one of Sylvanas’ personal armies, after all. For him to be her simple goon would make too much sense. Alas, it was not so simple to have him be a sycophant of the Banshee. No, he was his own beast. His goals merely aligned with her’s for the time being, though now it seemed that they had finally diverged. In their greatest and last battle in Northern Lordaeron, Sint was finally able to learn Blackfist’s true vendetta. It was against the Light itself, for he believed it directly caused the downfall of his mentor and the Horde he loved. The Light spat out a defective Horde that came so close to being great, but continued to fail due to its influence.
Blackfist’s willingness to ally himself to the enemies of the Light made him something horrifying. It put him in the same class as the Burning Legion or the Void, he was an existential threat. Though Sylvanas was a great orchestrator and had caused so much suffering, Blackfist’s potential ruination had just begun. Sint spoke simply, “Blackfist.”
“By Elisande’s- I mean… Oh dear! What could that mean? You actually think your guy is worse than the harlot who caused this war to happen? The same Sylvanas who took Gilneas from you?” Ludrasa was concerned, to say the least, “Comin’ from anyone else, I’d laugh in their face. But from you?”
“What’s a Gilneas?” Ora-Ur piped up, “I’ve no notion on what that is.”
“Another atrocity on the laundry list of horrors the Horde’s committed. Gilneas was neutral, kept out of everyone’s problems. Physically built a massive wall to keep everyone out. Didn’t matter. Cataclysm hit, brought Sylvanas in. She wanted more Forsaken, more land. Instead of leaving the living alone, she chose to kill and conquer.” Aranor’s grip on his bow tightened, “If it wasn’t clear from her cleanin’ out the refugees of Lordaeron and raising them as abominations and ghouls, I’d’ve thought her misdeeds at Gilneas would’ve finally gotten the Alliance to wipe her out.”
Ora looked down, “But she lived long enough to cause this war. It sounds like both the Alliance and Horde have a lot of things to answer for, doesn’t it?”
“Took the words right out of my mouth, orc.” The Ranger moved past the others, even to the point of pushing Ludrasa out of the way, “But enough talk. I thought this camp might’ve belonged to the Blackened, but if it was just your contact’s camp, then we’ve both got problems. Your contact decided to camp right in front of the Land of the Goddess, the territory the Silver Battalion cut out for themselves. I imagine the Battalion’s been watching them for a while, but if they’ve moved out in so much haste that they’ve left all this behind, I have a feeling your contact is about to get riddled by quite a few arrows.”
“Really? Ah, damnit. Can you help out with that, then?” A rifle was lifted, Ludrasa glanced towards the direction the valley led to, “After all, I can’t exactly convince angry kaldorei to stand down. I’m not what you’d call a friendly face to them.”
“If it earns your cooperation in taking down the Black Legion, then I will help you.” Sint pulled her sword from the ground, “I cannot waste time on the membership of the Horde if they are unwilling to stop the darkness in their own lands.”
“Hold on, what if it ain’t the Silver Battalion?” Ludrasa nervously laughed, “It could be the Black Legion already, and we won’t need you after all.”
“I don’t see how that changes anything, Ludrasa.” Almost on queue, both Ludrasa and Sint’s expressions changed. Ludrasa’s smile grew wider, Sint’s face turned into a frown, “Unless that means you’d be willing to run away the moment you’re sure that your people aren’t in danger from the Alliance. I’ll let you know, Miss Sheiza, that if you run from this place- I will find you afterwards. Don’t forget that you told me how to find you. And even if you didn’t…”
Ludrasa’s wide grin broke with that, “OK! OK! You’ve got our help. Thought you might’ve been one of the nicer Alliance types, you know… Like Warrior was. Though Warrior was a bit of a wackjob, she was kind. Had kinder eyes.”
“Warrior is not who I am. Whatever you know from that version of me is something you must relearn, for I do not let things go so easily.” She lifted her sword, its tip pointed at the elf’s throat, “You took that contract. You feel the darkness in this place. You will not flee until this is finished. Even then, if the battle is over, I don’t think I’d allow you to go scurry off and hide underneath a rock. Your knowledge of this conflict is much too great just to let you exist as a mercenary. Your talents, your merits, they’re wasted on such a trivial trade.”
“Didn’t ask you to lecture me, Sint Dagon. Last I checked, you have no room to talk. You’ve been runnin’ from your shadow ever since you were thrown into this conflict, kickin’ and screamin’.” The elf pointed her gun at Sint’s head, “Put down the sword.”
“Make me, Panther.” Sint’s eyes almost felt like they were burning through Ludrasa’s skull, the elf’s stance weakened as the confrontation continued onward. It was true that Ludrasa and Ora-Ur had known the true Sint for a small amount of time, as they had only known the amnesiac Sint named ‘Warrior’ up to the point of her regaining her memories. Though unhinged, Warrior possessed a warmth to her that was not matched by Sint. Warrior had spirit, had spunk. She was a wild soul, untamed by the conflict around her. She rushed forward into the future with little concern for what came before her, her enthusiasm to fight and face new challenges was infectious. That vibrant spirit was matched only by her own peculiar kindness, as she seemed to truly care about those who risked themselves for her. She lived in a confusing world, her life as confused as that very world. But she didn’t let it hold her down.
But Sint? Sint wasn’t the complete opposite of Warrior, but it was clear that Sint suppressed the aspects of Warrior that Ludrasa found endearing. Commander Dagon was colder, her emotions kept to herself. She was guarded. She was troubled. There were secrets in Sint’s eyes, as there were things she wasn’t willing to share with anyone, not to mention people she barely even knew. It was no secret that Sint considered Ludrasa and Ora as near complete strangers, as Ludrasa could only imagine how strange the memories of Warrior were to her. She lived another life, albeit for a short time, a life not influenced by the life that came before. Whether or not Sint was influenced by Warrior was another conversation entirely, something Ludrasa couldn’t say yes or no to. She didn’t know Sint before she was Warrior, she hardly knew Sint as Sint. Whoever Sint Dagon was, she was not someone to be trifled with. She was much too serious for that, at the very least. Ludrasa lowered her rifle, “Right… Enough of that. Guess we’d better catch up to Ko’hea before things get more out of pocket.”
Aranor looked at both Ludrasa and Sint, the ranger decided to stand back a bit. He looked at Ora who was not too pleased that a human pointed a sword at her companion, “…Am I the only one who’s feeling weird after watching that?”
“No, Aranor.” Ora looked at him, “But I don’t think you feel the same way as I do.”
“Right, I’m turned on. You’re probably horrified.” He clapped her on the shoulder, “You’ll get used to it. The stories I’ve heard about her all end up about the same. The people she meets eventually rally to her banner…”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re real excited to erect her banner.” Ora rolled her eyes, leaving Aranor behind to get Sint to lower her sword. The orc tapped on the blade, “Think you’ve made your point, Commander Dagon.”
“Good.” Sint removed Rebellion from Ludrasa’s neck, “I’m glad we’re all on the same page.” Without another word, she walked forward, the warrior beckoned for the rest to follow her. Wordlessly, they did. There was no point in arguing with her at the moment, for Sint mind appeared to be set on a plan of action. She was capable of tracking Ko’hea on her own, so their input was relatively unnecessary until they reached the Warguard’s location. Of course, this gave time for Ora-Ur to grumble, Ludrasa to anxiously watch Sint’s movements, and for Aranor to get over himself. Of course, he didn’t, eventually causing him to walk up to Sint.
The ranger spoke, “I don’t believe it’d be us, Sint.”
“What?” She glanced over.
“I don’t think whoever chased off their troll is the Battalion. The Battalion wouldn’t want to chance the Horde knowing where their camp is, and well… “ The ranger leaned in closer, “We’re walking straight for the Battalion encampment. If we keep going forward, we’ll hit the camp within minutes.”
Sint didn’t respond, instead; she looked over her shoulder. Eyes trained on Ludrasa, “Do you think your contact is foolhardy enough to rush a sentinel camp?”
“No. Ko’hea doesn’t like this war. For her to bumrush a guarded Alliance base, well… She’d need a damned good reason.” The elf sighed, rubbing the side of her face, “That or she was tricked to run headon into them, but she’s not that dumb…” She paused, looking at Ora, “Is she?”
“No. I can confirm that the WARGUARD isn’t an idiot.” There was quite an emphasis on Warguard, “It’s like you people have no faith in Ko’hea.”
“I don’t have any faith in anything, Ora-Ur.” Sint turned her attention back forward, “Neither should you.”
Was that a retort on the state of the Horde? Or was Sint just trying to get under her skin? For a moment, Ora-Ur felt as if the little warrior had managed it, to pierce her mostly well-made emotional wall. How did she manage it? Maybe it was because Ora knew the much kinder form of Sint, the amnesiac Warrior, that this state of her was so able to tear through her defences. That, or the human knew exactly what she was doing. She didn’t trust Ora. She clearly didn’t like her. So, perhaps Sint was goading her to make a mistake. To prove her right.
It was incredibly sad, now that Ora-Ur had a moment to collect herself. She had naught a notion of why Sint was so different from Warrior, but she could tell that Sint was trying to push her away. Trying to not be the Warrior. There was no real way to tell, however, as Ora could see nothing in Sint’s expression. Her face was just as guarded as the rest of her, a steely barrier that defended her from the prying eyes of those she didn’t trust. Sint’s face betrayed nothing. And so, Ora gave up on finding Warrior in those intense gilded eyes. At least she would for now.
At last, an uncertain silence fell over the group. The ranger with no loyalty other than to violence. The contradictory mercenary of mixed allegiance. The shaman on a blind quest. And a juggernaut who struck fear into all. They were an odd bunch of conflicting personalities. Each of them had their own quest, a quest that just so happened to now line up with one another. One helluva coincidence, a coincidence that a few of them started to worry about.
Well, all of them but Sint. Aranor and Ludrasa could practically feel the ferocious rage boiling from Sint’s body as she led the march through Stonetalon. To the point that Aranor cast a few glances Ludrasa’s way (even Ora’s! Or at least the orc believed he looked her way.) as if to ask if Sint was alright. The ranger was right to be slightly concerned. Up to this point, he hadn’t particularly sensed ANY emotion on Sint. There were a few moments where he swore she was sad, but otherwise, nothing. She spoke flatly, her face never shifted, and she seemed to pursue everything with the same determination. This was different. Maybe it was because of the presence of Ora-Ur and Ludrasa? Aranor knew that Sint had a deep hatred of the Horde.
But it couldn’t be that simple, could it? These two (and their compatriot they were out to save) didn’t seem to be the biggest fans of the Horde. That, and they had some history. History that Aranor was completely lost on, due to his lack of understanding what that whole “Warrior” business was about, but history that he could easily tell was there. Sint knew these Horde, whether she liked it or not. And clearly, she didn’t like it. As Sint further peeled ahead, Aranor decided to satiate his curiosity.
His voice was low as he went to catch Ludrasa’s attention. “I’ve not seen her mad yet.”
“Me neither. Saw Warrior get pissed a few times.” Ludrasa was curt with the ranger.
“Apologies for her behavior, Ludrasa.” He grunts as he hops up over a broken step in the path, “But, I need to know why your presence has got her so worked up.”
“Kay. See, ranger, I don’t know Sint. Well. I do know her, just not much. I spent a few months with her when she had amnesia, but that girl was way different to her. Warrior had no secrets. Warrior had nothin’ to hide. Sure she liked stabbin’ things a little too much, but she reminded me of a little kid. Innocent. And easily angered. Had the damndest pout, Warrior.” Ludrasa cracked an uneven grin as she kept her gaze trained on Sint’s back. A grin that faded as quickly as it came.
“And Sint’s nothing like that. I admire her strength, her resilience, and all the deeds she’s done… but I can’t lie. She’s frustrating.” The ranger grimaced.
And the mercenary took her eye off of Sint, entirely shocked that Aranor said anything like he just did. She snorted, “What? Yer just now figurin’ that she’s awful?”
“She’s not awful! She’s just…” The ranger couldn’t find a better word.
Ludrasa clapped him on the shoulder, mirth still in her voice. “Don’t worry yerself, Aranor. I get yer admiration for her. Back to my story, though. See, one day, Warrior was gone. Last few days I spent with the Blades of Dagon, Warrior finally came back to her senses. A certain light got turned on when her wife called her name.” The elf kicked a pebble as they stopped before a broken bridge, watching Sint leap over the gap in the wood as if it were nothing. “And then, she didn’t say another word to me or Ora. Spoke real cautious-like with the Warguard we’re goin’ out to see. That childish energy wasn’t there anymore. That kindness. That warmth.”
“Mm. I see.” He felt himself frowning. “Do you believe she’s concerned you remember all that?”
“Nah. Doesn’t seem to be a Sint thing to worry about people rememberin’ her havin’ human emotion. I think what really bothers her is that she remembers us bein’ friends.” And the elf’s voice couldn’t have gotten more derisive, “And big scary War can’t have those.”
“Where’d that War garbage come from, anyhow?”
Now that was the question of the hour. What is the deal with the Shadow of War? Aranor’s brow creased as he thought. “I wouldn’t call it garbage, per say. But I… do agree that it’s a strange one.” It was right to bring up. As long as Aranor had known Sint (personally only for a week, maybe less), he had known her as the Shadow of War. Though he knew not exactly where the title came from, he knew exactly what it meant to those who called her that.
She was ruthless. Merciless, even. To some Horde generals that willingly served the Banshee Queen, she made them look like innocent children by comparison. It was not to say that Sint committed great crimes or atrocities, it is just that she seemed to have naught a single ounce of mercy in her body. She left no survivors. She took no prisoners. And it was not as if it were a moral dilemma, it was simply how she was. In all the stories he had heard, the reports he had seen, not once had Sint stopped to question her path. Never had she faltered. Then it hit him. The reason why she was so disturbed by the arrival of these Horde.
“You said Warrior was not like her. That Warrior was innocent. Warm…” He realized that there was not a kind way to put this as he paused to collect his words.
“And merciful.” Ludrasa finished his statement. Aranor glanced at her with surprise (and some suspicion that the elf could read minds), before he caught her looking at him with an amused expression. “It don’t take a genius to follow yer thoughts, ranger. Trust me, I’ve spent ‘nuff time ‘round humans to get where yer minds tend to go. Unhappy places. Extreme places. Ain’t much time fer subtlety in yer shorter lives.”
“Right, right. It just strikes me that perhaps she tried to push away her memories as Warrior? Memories that conflict with her… whole identity.” Aranor looked to Ludrasa, almost expecting her to have a witty retort. Instead, he found her with a thoughtful look on her face. She hadn’t considered this either, perhaps out of short-sightedness or a simple lack of concern. As they both now looked ahead to the furious Shadow of War, waiting for them on the other side of the broken bridge, they came to a near mutual understanding. Sint’s identity was not as airtight as they both previously thought. She wasn’t as resolute in her path as either believed.
It came as a relief to Ludrasa. But to Aranor? The ranger almost felt disappointed.
Ora-Ur passed them both, leaping over the gap with ease. A gust of wind propelled her to Sint’s side, as now both the human and the orc waited impatiently for their two companions. Ludrasa’s single eye flickered back to the waking world, her thoughtful trance broken with her partner’s leap. “Wake the hell up, Ranger. We’ve got a warguard to find and a monster to hunt.”
And Aranor complied, his thoughts derailing as he watched Ludrasa leap over the gap, catching onto the edge and getting helped up by Ora’s strong grip. He thought about making a similar jump, but he saw that Sint was no longer paying attention to the bridge. Whether it was simply because she cared little for the ranger, or she trusted him completely to be able to make the jump, it did not matter. What mattered is that Aranor had to make that leap. Unlike the other three present, he was a mundane human. Arcane, elements, brimming Holy fury… these things did not come to him. All that Aranor had was a bow and a pair of blades. In a world of mages and monsters, a mundane man could only rely on his mind to make his living. So he took some rope from his kit, wrapped it around a serrated arrow, and launched it into the wood. And luckily, the orc saw this. He didn’t expect an orc out of all people to secure his crude grapple, but she did without a second thought. Ora fastened it around a fairly solid stone, even stomping a few rocks from the ground to better ensure his line would hold his weight. With a few tugs, Aranor could feel that his line would hold. The question now is if it would hold his weight. This rope was not meant to carry his weight and the weight of all his equipment, but instead was a poorly made and cheap thing only meant to carry him out of a dire situation. Something about the orc’s eagerness to help took some concern from his mind, though.
If she could leap that gap, she probably could jump to save him if he fell. He wasn’t keen on being humiliated today, so he prayed to Elune and the Light both that his rope would hold. As he leapt, his grip tight on his grapple, he closed his eyes. The rope creaked, it complained, but it held. Then he felt his feet contact with the face of the cliff across the rift. He opened his eyes to see that he had made it and felt as if he was about to cry. Thanks to whatever listened to him in that moment, he was not willing to face death or salvation in an orc’s arms that day. He was not quite certain which would be worse. It was simple enough to climb the length of the rope, and he chose not to reflect on how frayed it looked when he pulled it from the stone. Ora gave him a respectful nod as he rejoined the group.
“Thank you, orc.” That wasn’t something he ever expected to say.
A sheepish expression crossed her face. “I-It was nothing. You would’ve done the same.”
He chose not to tell her that he would’ve probably let her fall. He also chose to think about this later, that maybe he was a bad person for immediately thinking she should fall to her death for being an orc. It made him feel guilty, as she hadn’t done the same for him. “Mm. Y-yeah.” That elicited a quick glare from Ludrasa, as her elvish hearing made it so she could hear them from her vantage point. As long as it had taken him to get to where they were, Sint had stopped the group. Though he could not tell why just yet, he knew it was for good reason. Ludrasa didn’t look too happy, and Sint was alert. Heat still poured from Sint.
Ora and Aranor both walked to stand by Sint as she focused down the road. Lo and behold, they had followed the right trail. A few bodies and clearly Darnassian arrows were littered through the area. “Darnassian arrows, no kaldorei casualties. Seems to be a mix of Horde and Black Legion deceased. The Warguard was chased out by the Black Legion?” Sint’s voice was purely tactical.
“It would seem that way, yeah.” Ludrasa hopped from her vantage point atop a small fencepost. “What I can’t see is where the damn Black Mooners came from. Ticks me off that those demons still can do this to me.”
“Do what?” Aranor needled her. “Can you not track night elves?”
“Not since they picked up the power of the Night Warrior. Thanks fer poking a sore spot!” She snarled out, “Makes me feel bad enough that I can’t track ‘em, but now I’ve got a human jabbin’ at me ‘cuz of it.”
“Awh. Don’t feel bad. I can’t track them either.” Aranor smirked, looking to Sint. “Betcha she can’t ei-”
“I found the sentinel’s trail. I want Ludrasa to come with me. Aranor, Ora, you keep on the trail of the Horde.” Sint’s voice quickly broke Aranor out of his mirth.
“…’course she can…” He grumbled under his breath. The fact Ludrasa began to giggle like an idiot told him that she heard that. Instead of further dwelling on the fact that had been, yet again, shown up by Sint “Shadow of Awful” Dagon, Aranor clapped Ora on the shoulder. “Welp! We’re buddies. Keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious.”
“I have a feeling that we’re not going to need to look too hard.” The orc flinched at the feeling of Aranor’s hand on her shoulder, her previously rich voice turning cold. Aranor wondered for a moment if he did anything wrong before following Ora’s eyes, realizing that she was looking dead ahead.
Ludrasa looked down at both of their expressions, deciding quickly that it was probably for the best that she followed Sint’s lead and left them to whatever it was they were looking at. She also had questions for the little Shadow of War, questions that mostly related to her injured pride. Through some questionable underbrush and under a few trees, she found Sint waiting for her. “Okay, okay, so… How the hell?”
“What do you mean?” Sint’s voice was still decently flat, but Ludrasa swore she saw the corners of the woman’s lips upturning. Just slightly, just for a moment, but she knew that Sint was amused.
“I mean, how the hell do you track literal shadow warriors!? They’re melded with the Night, lady… like…” The elf threw her hands up, lost for words.
“It’s rather simple. You can’t.”
“WHAT?! THEN HOW?!”
“They wanted us to follow them. They never leave a trace, otherwise.”
“WHAT THE ACTUAL F-”
Warguard Ko’hea the Vigilant was a simple troll. She fought for her Queen and she tried to spare as many lives as she could. She was strong, after all. Strength allowed her to be merciful.
Perhaps she was not as simple as she liked to think herself as, as she drove her sword through the body of a horrible monstrosity. It was to be a simple mission, so her Queen told her, the Horde hadn’t the ability to handle the instability within their own lands. As a symbol of their continued alliance, Talanji sent her own to clean up the Horde’s mess. All Thrall had said about their issue is that something dark had risen within the confines of the battlefield in Stonetalon, something that he was uncertain he could commit Horde soldiers to in the face of the very violent regime shift from Warchief Sylvanas to the Horde Council. It was a fair enough concern, albeit a rather amusing one to the Zandalari. The Horde barely could keep itself together. It had gotten so bad that they were relying on foriegn aid.
Of course, the Zandalari had needed exactly the same. The amusement was based on that irony, not the sense of superiority they would’ve undoubtedly held before Zul’s uprising. So to come here felt right. The Speaker of the Horde and many champions of the Horde had stopped the downfall of their Empire, it was only right that they gave back. Ko’hea had expected a few Sylvanas loyalists, insurrectionists. She did not expect the malignant foe they now struggled against. As her blade cut through another dark and twisted enemy, she was concerned that they may not stop coming.
The morning had gone like the two mornings prior. They continued to establish their camp and scouted the area. Ruined fortresses were combed through, derelict mineshafts were collapsed, and trails were marked. The landscape had been through hell and more in the last war, and it left plenty of places for a cunning adversary to lay low. Then her scouts located a war camp and ever since, a mass of darkness had swelled in their direction. At first, it looked to just be Horde exiles. Forsaken. Orcs. Trolls.
Then they spotted a Twilight Dragon. Ko’hea had been somewhat familiar with the Twilight’s Hammer, albeit her experience was extremely limited with actually fighting them. The Hammer hadn’t troubled Zandalar too much, though the oppressive presence of a C’thrax like Mythrax and the Blood God G’huun had drawn some of them to their borders. Nothing too troublesome to handle, but that was because the strength of the Twilight’s Hammer was preoccupied. Corrupters of Elemental Lords, Dragon Aspects, and the very world herself. It was no small wonder that the Hammer had caused so much trouble elsewhere. Part of Ko’hea prayed to the Loa that Zandalar would never have to face the power of the Twilight’s Hammer, and that part of Ko’hea was relieved to say that it still was being spared from their strength. Still, she was the reason why. She was one of many shields of Zandalar, defending the homeland from outer threats. And as she looked to the great wyrm circling above them, she knew they needed to abandon their camp.
Maybe the Kaldorei that had been watching them for so long could handle the monstrosity. Either way, it was a problem that wasn’t causing trouble quite yet. The beast was quite content with keeping above the struggle, whilst Ko’hea battled the forces of darkness. It wasn’t just exiled Horde forces, it was forces that hadn’t troubled themselves with the Horde for a long time. Atal’ai. Blackrock Orcs. Ogres not of the Stonemaul variety. And even Fel Orcs. Fel Orcs were definitely something Ko’hea had never seen before, so to see a giant red orc with spikes and extra tusks barreling down at her with the murderous intent of a demon… Well, it was not a pleasant first encounter.
Ko’hea was bigger than the orc, but his strength still rivaled her’s. A few blows were traded between the two of them before she was able to find that she outskilled the brutal fighter, parrying his crude axe and driving a knee into his gut. Out of all things, even the monstrous drake that hovered above them, there was a presence that put a pit in her gut. It was an extremely strange presence that stood at the edge of the battlefield to observe the fight. Something so horribly twisted and dark that Ko’hea wondered if Bwonsamdi himself had come to fight. She could almost hear her Loa snort at the idea that he would trouble himself with a battle such as this, but she also could feel her Loa’s anger at the existence of that presence. It was a power of death, sheer death. A being of such necrotic strength that it choked the life around it.
When Ko’hea finally caught a glimpse of the thing, she was confused. At first, it looked to be like any other Death Knight. Sure the Scourge concerned her and her Queen (not to mention infuriated Bwonsamdi to no end), but it wasn’t new to her. She had met plenty of Death Knights. Even Death Knights of her own race. Why was this one different?
Then she got a better look, as she was able to push through the enemy’s ranks to get closer. A spectral cloak wreathed much of its body in smoke-like fabric, but what she could see beyond was black armor and a mist-like body. This was no ordinary death knight. This thing was a wraith, a ghost. It had no physical body. As if death had become so central to its being that anything even remotely lifelike could no longer exist within its being. A body? A face? These things were too tied to life for them to remain. As it stood there, every ounce of Ko’hea’s being told her to run away. All but the part of her that trained in the Temples of Rezan, that fought alongside the Torcalin order. The part of her that now prayed to Bwonsamdi for power. As a warrior-priest of Zandalar, such an abomination wasn’t allowed to stand.
She could sense that her Loa was happy she came to that conclusion.
As she sprinted to face the leader of this cohort of darkness, she felt her power swell. This was what she was meant to do, right? Fight darkness for her people? Even if it was so overwhelming?
She lifted her blade high, a blazing aura burning around her, only for it to be stopped by the knight’s hand. The wraith flicked her back, turning slowly to face her. Where the being’s face should be was shrouded by a visor, a visor that depicted a ghastly face. Something akin to the folk spirits of the Pandaren. Lowering itself, it seemed to take the stance of a monk. Not any style she had ever seen, but it was something she at least was somewhat familiar with.
“Interesting.” A decidedly feminine voice came from the being’s spectral form.
“Huh?” Ko’hea gripped her sword in both hands, preparing to strike again.
“You are my first foe. Isn’t that interesting?” She started to move around Ko’hea, a predator circling its prey. “In my previous life, the list of enemies I had was long and great. Each day I could wake up with the knowledge that my fists were useful, that I was to fight for my life. It was exhilarating. Then I died. And since my death, I have fought not a single soul.”
“So I am to be your first?” Ko’hea grinned. “AND YOUR LAST!” The troll jumped forward, hoping her sheer size advantage would overwhelm the much smaller fighter instantly. Pushing down with much of her might and more, the Loa-enhanced strike was planned to instantly break the undead fighter’s guard. Much to her excitement, the being made no move to dodge. Instead… She completely nullified the attack by clutching the sides of Ko’hea’s greatsword. The force of the impact drove both fighters somewhat into the ground, shaking the area around them. Such an attack was worthy of splitting through even a Dire Troll’s defenses, but this knight? But a breeze to her. Twisting the blade, she pulled Ko’hea forward, striking the Warguard squarely in the jaw with a kick.
Her plumed helm tumbled into the soil, Ko’hea’s white hair now visible. Brute strength and the pride of Zandalar wasn’t going to carry Ko’hea to victory here. The Warguard needed to think to beat this impossible adversary. What were the weaknesses of the undead? She knew about their physical weaknesses, that Holy Magic and Fire Magic were particularly effective against them. Fel, as well, but she had no ability to call upon such vile magic. What else? Mindless undead were very rigid, they didn’t adapt. Were intelligent undead the same way? Did they fall into set and rigid patterns, in their attempt to appear alive? These weren’t enough. Ko’hea had to focus on their last weakness, the most difficult one to acutely handle. Being a creature unnaturally put back together, their soul was weak. Connecting a corpse back to any spirit, even their own, was a great and jarring weakness. Though this spectral foe was only their spirit and a suit of armor, it was not a far-fetched idea that if maybe Ko’hea shattered that armor that the spirit could be banished. All she needed was to break the seal, even slightly, to make her attempt. Thus, she shrugged off a few pieces of her armor. She gripped her sword in both hands once again. With the added weight of her armor now gone, the Warguard hoped that the new haste to her movements could give her the momentary edge to break the wraith’s guard.
She swung her sword to hit her flank, only for it to be dodged. Then from the other side, quickly making up for her failed strike. This time, the wraith just narrowly avoided the strike. She needed to keep this up. Ko’hea stomped, a blast of holy magic throwing up a few stones. The wraith jumped. “I HAVE YOU!”
Infusing her blade with all the divine strength she could muster, Ko’hea pierced the Wraith Knight straight through her chest. And then, Ko’hea roared, a blast of fearsome magic going through her blade. It was all she had, and she believed it would be enough. As the Light faded, she expected a limp suit of armor to be hanging from her blade. Not a still functioning Wraith, one hand tapping against the flat of the blade.
“It was an attempt, I suppose.” The Knight almost sounded disappointed. “Perhaps they made me too strong to enjoy the simpler things.”
Terrified, Ko’hea tried to get the Knight off of her weapon. There was no need to, as the Wraith seemed perfectly poised to do that alone. She drove her elbow down into the center of Ko’hea’s sword, shattering it in twain as one might do to a branch. Even against Ko’hea’s greatest foe, her blade had held. She had clashed with some extremely powerful foes in the past, but to see this bored knight break it with her bare hands was almost too much. Resolve fading quick, Ko’hea pulled a dagger from her belt, holding her broken sword and dagger up in a flimsy guard.
“This is sad.” The wraith mentioned, boredom evident in her voice. “What happened to your bravery? I broke your stupid toy. Keep fighting me. Entertain me.” In more august company, this would sound as if it were a gladiator’s challenge. The thought made Ko’hea slightly nostalgic as the Wraith came closer, the Warguard understanding that her death was imminent. “Don’t misunderstand me. If you don’t entertain me, you die. Maybe you’ll be better as one of us.”
“One of you? What are you?!” Ko’hea’s resolve strengthened in the face of certain death.
“Ouch. What am I? Why not… who?” The wraith sounded upset.
The troll spat blood to the side, as the wraith’s previous kick had dislodged a few of her teeth. “Oh, no reason. Just you’re an abomination to my religion.”
“So close minded. Nevermind! I’m Yama-O. And what am I? I’m one of the servants of the Dark Lord.” This ‘Yama-O’ quickly bowed at the mention of the Dark Lord. She stood straight afterwards, patting at her chestplate. “For someone who doesn’t even know who the Dark Lord is, you did do a number on me. He’ll be very pleased that I caught another strong spirit.”
“What?” Ko’hea’s stance strengthened, her voice venomous, “You plan on turning me into one of you? On my pride as a warrior of Zandalar, good luck trying.” She held her broken blade out. “I won’t give you the chance to make me an abomination! YAARGH!” Ko’hea belted out another powerful battlecry, her strength coming back to her. This second wind gave her more power than before, allowing her to match the Wraith’s strength. Yama-O was forced to block and deflect each of the Warguard’s attacks, even letting a few slip.
Ko’hea landed a solid punch across the visor of the Wraith, splintering it. Standing back to admire her handiwork, she wiped some blood from her face. The Wraith staggered back for a few moments, “Oh! That’s better. Were you hiding that from me?”
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She cautiously watched the Wraith move, “It almost sounds like you’re actually enjoying yourself. That’s… disturbing.”
“Disturbing? I’m finally being given something exciting, troll! You were much too simple before.” Then she lurched forward, her splintered visor still holding. “This, though? PRACTICE IS OVER! TIME FOR-”
“Oh.”
Yama-O’s hand pierced through Ko’hea’s chest. “Too much, then?” The wraith let the troll drop, shock still crossing her face. “Hm. For a second I thought you could handle that. I guess not.” She flicked the blood from her hand.
“…H-how?” Ko’hea’s voice was wet, thick with blood. The wraith had gone through her lung.
“What do you mean, ‘how’? You saw how. You were outmatched.” Yama-O picked entrails from her clawed hand.
“No… How can you be so strong?” Ko’hea wasn’t dead, far from it. A slight glow surrounded her wound, both the regeneration of the trolls and the Holy Light mending the hole. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve fought in many wars, and none of my foes have been as strong as you. And then… you say there are more of you? Just what have I gotten myself into?”
“Interesting. I’m stronger than anything you’ve ever fought?” She seems to consider that for a moment. “Even the Shadow of War? That can’t be right.”
“The Shadow of War? You say that as if I know who that is.” The troll trembles as she starts to rise. “Unless you mean that human… What was her name? Warrior. Warrior wasn’t my enemy.”
“She is now. Or at least, she should be. The Horde and Alliance aren’t on the greatest terms. Never have, never will. And they keep getting their champions killed for it. Isn’t it awful? Their prodigies are taken before they can grow into a proper challenge.” Yama slams a fist into her palm. “But that one? She’s special. She scares my master… And I’ve never been able to touch him. Isn’t that exciting?”
“That little girl scares your master? Where am I? Did someone concuss me or something?” Ko’hea couldn’t believe the words coming out of this undead. She had met Warrior once or twice in her campaign against an unseen army, something that had threatened the Horde from beneath the pages of history at every turn. The Alliance had some stake in that conflict, as she understood that they had finished the fight whilst she held off their foe’s army. That little warrior was a part of that fight, and Ko’hea knew she was tough. But if she was enough to make this Dark Lord wary, perhaps she’d better find her. That is, if she survived this day.
“The Black Legion has faced defeat before by her hand. Though, Warrior? That’s new. She is the eternal adversary to Conquest. She is War. She is Sint Dagon.” Yama crossed her arms. “Though, you have met, so perhaps you understand something. Maybe it isn’t her strength that makes her powerful, perhaps it is her path. Her conviction. It opposes my master’s so deeply that she is his counter. His balance.”
“You’re completely insane.”
“Duh.” Yama lunged, her clawed hands curled and prepared to inflict a brutal beatdown on Ko’hea. The troll accepted her fate, just for a moment, until she saw a brown shape hurl through the air, colliding with the wraith. Though the shape was quickly thrown off, Ko’hea couldn’t believe her eyes.
Ora-Ur, the Fist of the Storming Star, had come straight from her memories to fight alongside her. Well, it would’ve been a near perfect match to the Ora she knew if not for the loss of this Ora-Ur’s right hand. “Stand and fight, Ko’hea. This thing might be better than you, but what about all three of us?”
“Three?”
“Sorry! She’s faster than she looks!” Ko’hea’s eyes widen at the sound of the last voice, the voice of a very clearly human man.
“The Alliance? Damnit! They’re here?” Ko’hea spun around to hold her sword to the ranger, surprise evident in his green eyes.
“Oddly enough, I’m a friend. Ora can vouch, but now’s not the time! That thing’s about to get back up, and by the looks of it, we’ll need to work together to put it back where it belongs. Fiends like that only deserve a quick and decisive death.”
Yama-O stood, hands now curled into clawed shapes. “Good! Let’s dance!”
Ora-Ur lowered herself into a battle stance. Ko’hea strengthened herself, raising both her dagger and her broken blade. And Aranor prayed under his breath for Sint to hurry up.