A stiff breeze gusted across the plains of the Arathi Highlands, colliding with Thoradin's Wall in the west. The resulting updraft ruffled the hair of the lone Forsaken guard as she made her rounds on the southern portion of the immense barricade that separated the Horde-dominated Hillsbrad from the Human-inhabited Highlands. The guard tucked an unruly lock of her lank blonde hair behind one ear, gazing into the wind. Her dimly-glowing yellow eyes searched the twilight for any sign of Alliance encroachers. Most were smart enough to stay far away from this part of Lordaeron, but there were always exceptions. She gave a grim grin, hoping one would try and pass through or over the wall. Sending an arrow through the heart of a living being would liven up her day.
She blinked, slightly surprised at her sudden macabre thought. She was finding it harder and harder to dredge the buried shreds of humanity from the depths of her mind. That part didn't faze her, what troubled her most was the fact that she hardly cared about her disappearing conscience. With an impatient sigh, she pushed her quiet moral quandaries from her mind and once again focused on the rippling grasses and shrubbery of the Highlands.
"Evenin', Vi! Busy as usual I see," exclaimed a cheerful male voice as an arm was draped around her narrow shoulders. Hiding her surprise at the silent approach and sudden appearance of her company, Violet swiftly drew a notched dagger from her belt, fully intending to hack off the cold arm that held her. As soon as the blade was clear of its sheathe, however, she felt the prick of an equally lethal dagger on the side of her neck. "C'mon, Vi. I'm way too fast for you, haven't you learned anything?" her visitor said in a sympathetic tone as he released her and stepped away.
Violet turned, fury plainly showing on her gaunt face. "One day you'll slip up, Viktor. I advise you to stay far away from me if you value your worthless hide," she nearly snarled as she sheathed her own blade. "What do you want?" she snapped, sizing up her opponent. He was dressed in the typical black leathers and dark hooded cloak of a forsaken stalker: calf-length boots with leather soles for a silent tread; leather pants and tunic; a belt from which hung two wicked-looking daggers; and fingerless gloves for dexterity. She was dressed in a nearly identical outfit, the only differences being a layer of chain mail under her leather tunic; a long black bow and quiver of black-fletched arrows; and her gloves were complete with a reinforcing layer of leather on the palm and fingers. Her dead fingers would have snapped off long ago without the gloves protecting them from the strain of pulling her bowstring taut.
Viktor smiled and pushed his hood back, ruffling his short mop of unkempt blonde hair. Though he appeared at ease, his glowing yellow eyes never left Violet's face. He knew she would attempt to kill him at the first opportunity. He tossed his dagger into the air casually as he replied, "Do I need a reason to visit my dear older sister? I know one day you'll realize you are wrong. When that happens we can stop this silly feud and go back-"
"Shut up, Viktor! Shut up and get out of my sight!" shouted Violet, her voice ringing sharply in the dusk. Viktor's nonchalant expression crumbled for just a moment as a brief flicker of pain crossed his face. But it was only momentary, and his eyes were hard as he looked back at his sister. "I was right. You'll realize that, it'll just take time. And we have all the time in the world now, don't we sister?" he said, smirking.
Violet's patience snapped, and she swiftly nocked an arrow and fired at Viktor. But the arrow buried itself only in the crumbling masonry of the ancient wall. Viktor was already melded into the night, leaving only his dark laughter hanging in the air. Violet wrenched her arrow from the stonework and angrily turned back toward the Highlands, trembling in fury. How dare he speak to her like that! At the first opportunity, she would wipe that smirk off of his pale face for good.
As time passed and her anger dissipated, she began pondering the events that had driven her to this point. To gleefully plotting the deaths of hapless humans and grimly fantasizing about separating her brother's head from his body. With a heavy sigh, she reached down the front of her tunic and pulled out a tarnished silver pendant on a dirty chain. As she turned it over in her gloved hand, an onslaught of memories nearly threatened to overwhelm her. Normally, she quickly squelched these dangerously emotional thoughts as soon as they broke through the careful barriers she had put in place to keep them silent, but tonight she allowed herself to be consumed by them. She needed to remember. She needed to remember her life before this cursed existence. She needed to remember the woman she once was. She needed to remember the man her brother once was. And, most importantly, she needed to remember why she must kill him.