Leaping down from above, a tendril blonde of hair fell from loose from the carefully pinned knot on her head, falling to curl over her face, framing the flower and pupil of her eye. With one hand thrusting out in front of her, she caught herself and balanced her body above the cobblestone streets, her free hand behind her back gripping the poison coated dagger. Slowly looking up at the street in front of her, the corner of her mouth curled up as the satisfaction of a job well done built within her to unholy levels. Really, she thought to herself, no one should have such extraordinary luck. Springing up on her toes, she sprinted out of the city, her feet stinging still from the jump she had just made from the ornate gold guilt balcony that looked over Murder Row. The slivers of pain made their way up her legs, making their protest known as she twisted and turned to hide herself in the shadow of a doorway, just as two patrolmen came towards her. Yet still, they didn’t lessen the joy (for lack of a better word that she could not grasp at the current time, given the circumstances) she felt within at her continued run of fortune. It was so nice to have an occupation that wasn’t measured just by a job well done, but by a job done with a certain amount of flair. No remorse was felt for what she had just done. After all, how could one feel remorse for a bunch of fel sucking elves? If they were even elves anymore. While some might argue that they were simply making the best of a very poorly dealt hand, she had no such sympathy for the lot of them.
Once out of the city, the woman hurried to the spot that she had hidden her horse earlier, quickly inserting her foot into the stirrup and swung herself over the animal’s back. She hadn’t been spotted by even one guard, even as she rode through the unnaturally lush forest, and in no time at all, she was speeding away from Silvermoon, crossing over into the Plaguelands. She passed by withered trees, dead to their roots, yet they somehow still clung to the earth, as though they were trying to hold onto something that kept them from some unknown pain that could somehow be worse than what the land was already suffering. A few of the scourge’s lesser agents roamed amongst the deadened forest, moaning in bewilderment, searching for some sign of life for them to consume, something that the small ghost towns and fields here rarely saw anymore. Outside of the Horde and Alliance agents that were sent here to somehow “beat back” the scourge that now occupied this territory, the Plaguelands were a dead zone and a death warrant to any living thing that entered. Yet today, it was somehow quiet. Peaceful almost. Why was that?
Mulling over that question for a moment, the horse suddenly reared up, dancing backwards at some unfamiliar disturbance. Blinking, she narrowed her eyes, scanning her surroundings. At first, nothing… but then… the sounds of battle in the distance. Perhaps it was not so peaceful after all. Quickly dismounting, she pulled the horse’s reigns, hiding behind a thick trunked tree that was losing its battle to cling to the earth, knowing it would provide enough coverage to allow her to observe whatever it was that was causing the ruckus that continued to grow louder and louder.
Scourge after scourge scurried towards the nearby farm, by passing the old barn and farmhouse, clotting up the center of the rotten corn field, each trying to claw its way to some prize at the center of the fray which each hungrily desired. Likely some overconfident whelp who thought he could free the Plaguelands most likely, she thought to herself, preparing to come out of her hiding spot to lend a hand, and then a sharp tongue in lecture, to the idiot at the center of the scourge. If whoever it was survived of course. But then, a flash of light emanated from the center, sending the ravenous mob skittering back, exposing what it was at the center of the mass. Two elves, each in plated armor, one with bright red hair and more masculine in appearance wielding a sword, which he (she presumed it was a he anyways) swung towards the undead, lopping off a limb, head or other appendage here and there, the other more feminine elf with darker reddish-auburn hair whispering rapid prayers and incantations, alternately infusing the male beside her with holy light and then sending a wave of the same energy towards their opponents to continuously push them back. Quickly reassuming her hiding place behind the falling tree, she could feel her lips curl up in a sneer as her hand reached behind her for a throwing dagger. Normally, she hated the scourge, but in this case she felt that she maybe she should help them dine on fresh meat. Was Blood Elf was in season? Perhaps they tasted like chicken… The scourge probably didn’t have a sense of taste, so she doubted that they would mind either way.
Yet, despite that, she held herself in check. As much as she hated Blood Elves, and most especially Paladins, as they appeared to be, the hatred of the Scourge won over. She wouldn’t hamper the two in their battle, but… she wouldn’t help either. No, she would simply continue to watch the battle as it progressed, and take out the winner once it was all over. It was the strategically sound choice. As the battle continued on, the pair beat back a number of the minor scourge, a lich, and a few stronger spirits that desperately wanted to try to make a meal of the two. Even the spectator had to admit that the display was surprising. They really should be dead by now, with or without help from her daggers, which were itching to be thrown.
Finally, the battle began to wind down, each of the plague riddled corpses falling one by one to the swinging of the male’s sword, a few to a shock of holy light. And once it was all over, the two elves stood there, breathing deeply, and eyes wide as they looked back and forth between the corpses and each other. She could hear them speaking a few words to each other in some strange language which she couldn’t understand, but if she was to guess, they were likely saying something like “How did we survive that,” and if they were smart, “Let’s get the fel out of here.” Such sentiments tended to span the races, and she assumed, spanned between the Alliance and Horde Scum as well.
And she must have been right, for a moment later, they began to hurry towards their mounts, pulling them in the direction of the Bulwark. Holding the weapon by its blade, she pulled the dagger back, preparing to toss it into the male’s back, her free hand reaching for the dagger she’d toss into the females. Leaning forward, she prepared to release the dagger, suddenly startled by a loud screeching sound behind her. “MeeEEOOOooowww!” echoed through the dead woods, followed by an angry “Hiss!” Flinching, the throwing dagger went astray, thudding a few feet from the males back into the body of a tree trunk with a “thunk”.
“Dammit!” she whispered to herself, grinding her teeth angrily. Turning around, she looked behind her in the direction which the sound came from, vowing to skin whatever it was that had caused her to miss.
But as her eyes found the guilty party, the blood drained from her face and her heart fell from her chest nervously into her stomach. Near the bridge behind her, a white kitten, with crystal blue eyes stared back at her, blinking innocently. It looked so perfect, so sweet… so… familiar… that it couldn’t be real. And yet, there it was. Suddenly, it turned away from her, scampering off to the other side of the bridge to hide underneath, a small silver bell hanging from the worn leather collar around its neck jingling, causing the spectator’s memory to itch her mind.
She had seen that kitten before somewhere, hadn’t she? She thought dreamily.
Jolting awake, she turned back around, gazing down the path where the Blood Elves had been, but were now long gone. Anger boiled up inside of her, directing itself at the two for their stroke of luck. No one deserved such, especially two such as they.
Walking towards her horse, she shoved the un-thrown dagger into its sheath on her belt. Grabbing the reins, she gave them a tug to signal the creature to follow her past the deadened forest, with its trees whose roots still clung desperately, pitifully, to the earth in hope of something better. Reaching up, she pulled the ill thrown dagger from one such tree that had once shaded the cottage nearby that had long ago been reduced to charred ruins.
No one, but no one, deserved such luck.