So much had happened this night. It began with a rather cordial conversation with Svarr, then to a few tense moments with Covie, and finally tears, again with Covie. The Grimscale Collector had abruptly resigned from the company. No one saw it coming. Daegan was shocked, and poor Dusty nearly succumbed to a panic attack. Thaelea, upon hearing of the outrageous event over the comm line, set off to talk some sense into Covie. Or, failing that, slap some sense into her.
Things between Covie and Thaelea had been tense since the latter’s ejection from the company. Even after her return, matters had not settled. There was stubbornness and pride on both sides, as well as a bit of awkwardness, given the open and admitted affection the Elf held for Covie. But when the news of her resignation from Grimscale came, Lea abandoned the ‘game’ that the two had been playing. Some things were more important than who was right or who apologized first.
Daegan informed the Ren’dorei that Covie had retreated to Tol Barad, her favored locale of late. Without a moment’s hesitation, Lea followed, meeting Daegan at the inn on the island. After a few snippy remarks in the form of Daegan blaming Lea for this mess, and Thaelea resenting it, he led the woman across the island to a predetermined location. There was some magic at work, as Daegan placed on rune on the Elf’s hand before allowing her to go after Covie. Once found, Lea discovered Covie toying with Blood magic, as evidenced by a poor rabbit that exploded, showering both of them in blood and gore. Such an affair would have been shocking...any other time. For now, more important matters.
Thaelea, ever her entitled, fiery self, demanded answers, going so far as grasping the collar of Covie’s dress. At first dismissive, Covie eventually made reference to Lea’s firing, which only enflamed the Elf further. After a heated exchange between the two regarding what had happened, who betrayed who, and whose hurt was greater, the standoff came to an end after Thaelea tearfully apologized, eliciting an apology from Covie as well, albeit an unnecessary one. With the tension rapidly disintegrating, Lea felt certain that Covie would come back to the fold. But to her horror, the woman refused to return. She assured Lea that she would not leave her, which admittedly, is what the Ren’dorei was most concerned with, but Covie still refused to return to Grimscale. Why?
In the moments after Covie’s refusal, Thaelea’s mind raced with thoughts. So many emotions raging within.
Why is she doing this?
Is this my fault? Another burden to bear?
Why now?
What could be-
And there it was. A single thought took hold in the Elf’s mind. Covie had been spending a great deal of time with Svarr, the ‘barbarian’ as Lea called him. He’d been showing her things, teaching her things. Rituals, visions, ideology, who knows what else? Yes, that must be the answer. Grimscale was Covie’s life, her family. That bond was the very thing that had enraged Covie so much at Thaelea, the elf having called the company ‘treacherous’ and ‘unreliable’. Yes, this explains it all. Svarr twisted and warped her. It’s his fault.
After their emotional exchange, Covie politely suggested that Thaelea leave. The Elf was reluctant to go, but she did all the same. There was nothing more she could get from Covie tonight. But as she turned from the woman, she already began to simmer with rage. An idea had taken root in her mind. Svarr had to pay. This was all his fault. His teachings, his rituals, his damned visions. At no point did Covie even suggest a connection, but so desperate was Thaelea to explain what had just happened, her mind latched onto the only thing that made sense. A wretched barbarian had manipulated Covie into doing something horrible. This could not stand.
Walking through the woods of Tol Barad, Lea’s blood boiled. A trail of dead animals, mostly stags, deer, and assorted small creatures, but no cats, of course. The poor things looked shriveled and lifeless. Thaelea had been draining their life essence right out of them. In her rage, she did to each of these things what she wanted to do to Svarr. Even a few stray demons, escaped from the prisons below, were drained of their essence and left to rot. Any living thing larger than an insect that had the misfortune of crossing the woman’s path at that time was felled by her magic. This proved most unfortunate to a particular group of Orcs.
Tol Barad had largely been abandoned by the Alliance and Horde. No longer of strategic significance, the island was vulnerable to raiding parties, from both sides. One such raiding party, Orcish outriders, stumbled across Thaelea as she wandered down the main road. What easy prey she must have seemed. A singular Elf, alone on the road, with no apparent means of defense. They must have thought themselves fortunate. They were not. Thaelea was a woman easily underestimated. She herself said frequently that she was no fighter, and she wasn’t. But she didn’t need to be.
The leader of the Orcs approached her, shouting something in Orcish. The language was familiar to Thaelea, thanks to her time with the Horde, but she paid him no heed. He shouted again, dismounting from his riding wolf and placing himself in Thaelea’s path. Only now did the Elf acknowledge this brute’s existence. The green-skinned beast smiled at her, flashing large, rotting tusks. Lea just stared back with half-lidded eyes. There was no expression on her face. She was totally blank. It didn’t seem to trouble the Orc, any. He reached for the axe he kept on his back, preparing to cut down the Elf without a second thought.
When the Orc reached for his weapon, Thaelea immediately began muttering something. It was...demonic? The Orcs took it for gibberish and ignored it. That was a mistake, for they failed to realize that a portal in reality had ripped open behind them. They also failed to realize the twelve-foot Wrathguard that stepped out of the portal, summoned to Azeroth by his mistress. The Orcish leader seemed poised to strike Thaelea, but was interrupted by the frenzied howl of one of his comrades. The other Orcs turned back to see Khillikad holding the rear-most Orc up by his head. The remaining two Orcs readied themselves for a proper fight, though not soon enough to save their comrade. The massive demon crushed the Orc’s skull in his grasp.
Two of the three remaining Orcs howled in rage at the loss of their friend, charging forward without a moment’s hesitation. Had they been a bit more caution, they might have noticed two more portals opening. A pair of felhounds lunged at the Orcs from the flank. They missed the first entirely, but successfully tore the rightmost Orc off his wolf. The felled Orc roared, intent to fight on, but he was lost as soon as the hounds had him. The creatures had no eyes, but a sense of smell that almost equated to vision. Their powerful jaws and jagged teeth snapped repeatedly at the Orc, biting, slashing, gnarling his forearms as he frantically tried to block. In the end, one of the felhounds scored a fortunate strike to the Orc’s throat. The strike, and the following rapid loss of blood, stopped all resistance. The demons devoured the Orc while he was still partially alive, but powerless to save himself.
Meanwhile, the Orc that had avoided the hounds went straight for Khillikad. The demon swung its massive axe. While the Orc managed to dodge, the wolf beneath her was split in two. Thrown from the beast, she recovered quickly and made another run at the titanic demon. Khillikad, for all his strength, was not invincible. But to most races of Azeroth, he’d be close to it. To an Orc, who favored frontal attacks that emphasized strength and ferocity, Khillikad was a near undefeatable foe. The Orc could not hope to overpower the demon, nor would her axe, small compared to the demon’s, have a chance at inflicting deep enough wounds. Yet, she charged all the same. For a fleeting moment, the Orc seemed as if she had gotten through, that she could slay the demon. This hope was dashed when the beast whirled around, striking the Orc with its spiked tail and knocking her into a tree. Khillikad did not even get close to her to finish the woman off. He hurled his axe towards her, imbedding it deep into the tree, as well as splitting the Orc’s skull from jaw to scalp.
Now, only the ring leader remained. With the arrival of Lea’s demonic defenders, he had forgotten the Elf, focusing his attention on the savage creatures. But Lea had not forgotten him. With his attention focused elsewhere, she raised her hand and touched her palm to his back. An eerie, green glow enveloped him; his life essence was being ripped out. It didn’t take long to incapacitate the Orc. By the time he realized what was happening, it was already too late. He fell to his knees, then onto his side. His once impressive physique began to dwindle. Thaelea stepped around him, approaching the Orc’s face, and crouching down beside him. “Shh.” She says, just above a whisper. “You cannot die so long as your soul endures.” The woman spoke in Thalassian, while the Orc likely did not speak. “You’re a barbarian, like him.” She continued. “You look different, you fight for different things, but you’re just like him. You have your own ideas of honor, would infect others with your vile ideology, turn good women against their families…” The Elf’s hand fell to the Orc’s exposed chest, gently pressing her palm to him as the creature struggled to breathe. “You’ll never harm anyone ever again.” Her hand began to glow a pink-violet. The Orc, already weak, struggled, in vain, to move away from her hand, but it was no use. “And when I’m done with him, neither will he.” Lea pulls her hand away from the Orc slowly, tendrils of energy stretching between the two. It’s clear the Orc is suffering as he writhes. But a moment later, the energy stream stops, all light centering around Lea’s hand. The Orc? Motionless. No movement, no breathing. In the Elf’s hand was a gem, pink-violet in color.
Thaelea looked down at her memento with a strange sort of smile, almost unhinged. “Yes, that’s the only way to deal with people like him, isn’t it?” She didn’t speak to anyone in particular, only musing openly to herself. “You did this to Covie, Svarr. You made her abandon us. I will never forgive you.” Her fingers closed around the newly-acquired gem as pale-violet eyes turned towards the sky. The little smirk grew into a wide, positively cheerful grin. “You took Covie from us. Now I’ll take your soul.”
The Alliance Commander had spent his third week in the barrens of Northrend, the tent holding what little heat was offered from the bodies that entered and left the small space. A makeshift desk, bed quarters, and even a foot locker was all that accompanied the grey haired human as he peered over the newest report from the scout that so urgently rushed in early. The Commander had seen many fronts, the decorations of Alliance medals that he donned was matched by the look of wear the man had acquired over the span of his career.
“Boy, I said how many.” The Commander spoke in a sharp tone, addressing the younger scout for a second time. “Sir, w-we lost two more patrols...They were ambushed ahead of the company a-an-...” The Commander waved a hand at the younger man, clearly having heard enough of the rambling. The message was clear, he had lost another two patrols to the Ice Wolves. “Send the paladins out with the second recon team, I want a report of their camp on my table by the end of tonight. In fact, I will join them...I swear, the quality of the troop has fallen sin-..” The Commander’s rambling continued for some time. A man of his rank was rarely on the front, let alone in the patrols ahead of the forward encampment, but their numbers dwindled and it would be a while before more men were sent to the winter like wastes of Northrend. The Commander waved at the scout once more, growling. “Get out of my tent and ready the patrol. I’ll be out there shortly.” The young man offered a brisk salute before leaving the Commander alone once again.
The patrol made haste to leave the makeshift fort, the wooden gates swung open as the Commander lead his squad of paladins though the winter wastelands. The night would cover the team’s movements, carefully weaving through what little treelines were scattered throughout the snow-covered landscape. “Been a while, Commander McHallen?” A woman’s voice broke the near silence in the night. The Commander peered behind him to eye the young paladin bearing the Knight-Lieutenant’s rank. He scoffed. “If you think I’ve lost my edge, Lady Nadila, you’ve surely mistaken….” The woman muffled her giggle, the amusement clearly evident as she spoke in a more mocking tone. “Oh come now. I’ve been in your service for, what? Four years now? Not once have I ever seen you ‘wield’ a blade, let alone kill a man.” The Commander let out a chuckle of his own. It had been awhile since the man seen combat, but he was far from helpless. “It’s because I’ve such a skill in combat, I simply kill my enemies before I ever see them. That’s the ability of command.” He tapped the side of his plated helm, as if to signify that he was intellectually superior. “Sure, McHallen...Whatever you say.” Nadila snorted. The pair’s conversation ended as quickly as it began, the winter’s silence taking a dominant hold over the group once again.
A few hours had passed, the group of ten slowly came to a halt as they neared a single tent placed in a treeline nearly twenty feet away from them. McHallen raised his hand, as to give the order to hold. In harmony, the paladins held their ground. The men and women gripped their weapons, peering at one another as they waited for further instructions. These were the Commander’s elite, some of his best warriors among the 119th Battalion. The man and his company were clearly confident. After all, reports suggested these recent attacks were due to -one- man. Who could stand up to ten of the Alliance’s shock troops? As the group waited, some gazed upon the extent of the woodland before them. The trees appeared to stretch for miles upon miles, making the extent of their hike intensive. McHallen finally motioned at Nadila and spoke. “Clear that tent!” Without delay, the woman motioned at two accompanying paladins and jogged forward, the two falling slightly behind her. The woman tore at the small tent, revealing an Alliance footman, his corpse turning blue from the winter conditions. If it wasn’t for the axe sticking out of his face, one would have wagered that it was the everwinter that killed him. “Another scout, sir! Dead!” She shouted towards McHallen. He growled, rage building up inside him. “Into the wood! I want this savage’s body to hang outside our gates!” The party marched on as ordered, slowly being absorbed by the darkness of the wood.
The full moon above allowed the party’s sight to easily adjust in the woodscape, their eyes constantly peering about as danger lurked around every corner. The troops knew very little of the forest before them, halting at every branch snapping or animal skitter that was heard by the group. At nearly an hour’s worth of travel, the group halted in a small clearing, surrounded by forest on all sides. One of the men spoke. “Sir, I don’ th-...” The gilnean voice was cut short as the sound of a loosed arrow filled the nearly silent air. With a sickening crack, the man’s life was ended instantly, the arrow’s head piercing the side of his skull. The armored paladin fell with a heavy thud as the group closed into one another, forming a circle. Nadila shouted. “Paladins! SHIELDS!” They raised their shields up high, expecting a volley to land. A few moments passed, the night’s silence filled the air once more. With caution, one of the men broke rank to peer at the fallen. “H-He’s dead...Cowards! All of you!” The man shouted into the woods, as if the attacker was near enough to hear. “Fan out, cover the flanks, an-..” The Commander was cut off as yet another arrow was loosed, only this time being stopped by a Nadila’s own shield. “Shit...There!” She pointed at a silhouette in the distance, barely luminated by the moon’s light. The man stood at an impressive height, only looking more menacing with the horns that protruded from his skull painted helm. The man dropped the bow at his side, favoring the spear that was now in his hands. The man walked forward, his spear dragging in the snow as he slowly approached the group.
The party, now nine strong, formed a small shieldwall as the Northman approached, the Commander’s eyes widened as he finally was able to witness one of the many he was tasked with finding in these lands. “Kill him!” The Commander’s only orders. Three of the paladin’s rushed forward, leaving six of the party to defend McHallen. The Northman quickly brought his spear up to parry two swords that made an attempt to slice at him from an upper angle. The man extended his hand forward, sending a blast of ice that knocked the two paladins to the floor. With ease, the Northman drove his spear into each man, switching between the two a few times as to finish them off. As the last paladin of the first assault charged, the Northman charged in turn, his body ducking the swing of the paladin’s greatsword with expert timing. With a swift spin, the Northman buried his spear’s head into the gut of his enemy, slaying the last of the assault. Nadila shouted, attempting to raise the moral of what remained from the group. “Get in there and fight! For the Alliance!” Another two paladins rushed forward, their shields raised high to offer extended protection that paired well with their armor. The Northman ran forward, meeting the charge halfway. He lowered his shoulder and slammed right into the pair, sending them back from the sheer force. The Northman raised his weapon at one of the paladins, a few words were mumbled in the vrykul tongue before a bolt of frost was launched at him. The paladin attempted to shield himself, even going as far as using a Holy ward to do so. The ward was broken once the frost bolt had landed, leaving the man exposed. The Northman launched yet another bolt, this one slamming into the man’s chest, a spurt of blood lining the white snow beneath his feet. The paladin fell hard, gasping for air as his chest was now home to a sharp piece of ice. The second paladin attempted to retreat, though was only met with a spear that punched through his back. The Northman twisted the speer as the man let out a shriek of pain, the display was enough to change the current tactic of battle. Nadila shouted to those that remained at her side. “Retreat with the Commander, I will hold the ground.” The Knight-Lieutenant only offered the Commander a simple nod before the troops nearly forced the Commander to retreat.
The Northman allowed them to retreat, seeming interested in Nadila. He spoke softly, though it was more than loud enough to hear between the two. “Lady of Gold, as you are known. You’ve killed a number of Ice Wolves in your time, I’m impressed. It will bring me great honor to slay you.” The Norhtman huffed through the vents of his helm as he brought the bloodied spear to his side. Nadila growled, throwing her own shield and sword to the ground, opting to use the two handed blade that hung from her back. The steel screeched as she drew the blade, holding it at her side. “You’re kind do not belong here, savage. Surrender now and I promise you’ll be treated far better than how you treated our troops.” The Northman laughed. “You invaded our land, attacked our people, and you think you have the high ground? Enough talk, more fighting!” The man lunged forward, using his leverage to thrust the spear lazily at the woman, as if to test her. The Paladin parried the attack with ease, shuffling back in the snow. She said nothing in return, the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Her body hummed softly with Holy energy, her form nearly radiating with light as she charged in turn, the weapon burned with Holy fires as she attempted to strike the man. The Northman parried, though the blast of Holy fire surged across his body, burning him. He let out a grunt before stumbling back. Nadila smirked. She knew how powerful the Light was and having such on her side was clearly going to win her this fight. The Northman lunged forward again, only this time he used his own magics to empower his attacks. Each blow was parried wildly by the woman, nearly unable to keep up with his strikes. The Northman ended his barrage of pike swings with a kick, sending the woman sprawling onto the floor, her greatsword falling a fair distance away from her. As the Northman lumbered forward, she sprung up, pulling a dagger from her belt and jabbing it between the folds of his armor, the man grunting as the blade pierced his flesh. Nadila grinned, a near victory, but still a victory nonetheless. The Northman’s body lingered over her own before the sound of more flesh rending filled the air. Only this time, the woman’s eyes widened. Even through the blow against him, the Northmand was able to pull a brown hilted knife of his own and shoved it into her upper chest. Nadila stumbled back into the ground, the light that once surrounded her had all but faded away.
The Northman pulled the small dagger from his side, tossing the weapon into the snow. His gaze lingered over Nadila and he closed the distance between the two, kneeling beside her. The woman coughed violently, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. There was sympathy to be had, the Northman seemed to be comforting the woman in her final moments. “W-Who are you...Who are you r-really.” The woman mustered a few choked words between shallow breaths. The Northman wrapped his hand around the hilt of the dagger that was in Nadilia’s chest. “Svarr, Seer of the Ice Wolves...I shall see you in the Great Halls, child.” With that, he twisted the knife hard, the woman’s head lunged forward in a final act of defiance before falling back into the snow. He watched as her eyes glazed over before standing. Aerdin shook his head and turned towards the wood once more, taking his leave with no further actions.
A few days had passed and the Commander had finally worked up the courage to enter Nadilia’s tent. McHallen remained silent for a brief moment before breaking down in tears. The woman had been with him through Hell and back. He easily viewed her as a friend, if not a daughter of his own. The Commander stumbled across the tent before sitting in the woman’s bed. His eyes lingered towards her desk in thought, though something quickly caught his attention. The man stood up and took a few steps forward, his fit of crying cut short by what he saw. On the desk, a brown hilted hunting knife was laid on the table, along with the Knight-Lieutenant’s pin.
