When her boat reached the port of the great city of Dazar'alor, Ylena Autumnfeather chose not to report straight away but instead take the liberty of a quick wash before.

A silly demonstration of vanity, certainly, but cleanliness was in her blood and she wanted to be damned if she faced her commander without having at least washed the worst filth off her hands and face.

Not that Nathanos Marris would probably so much as bat an eyelid if she appeared before him in her sexiest dress and wrapped up in a cloud of sweet perfume. The former Ranger Lord- trained by no other than Sylvanas Windrunner herself and besides, the only human who ever had the honour to claim this title - was most likely beyond such superficialities now.

He was no longer human either, and had not been for a long time.

When the Lichking had unleashed the scourge on Azeroth, he too had been killed and transformed into one of his mindless minions.

After the Alliance commanders in Stormwind got wind of their former hero's fate, they sent many a troop of soldiers to hunt him down, but none of them succeeded or even returned alive.

It was the Dark Lady who found him at last, vegetating in his old family home in Lordearon among his beloved mastiffs now turned plaguehounds.

Her former protegé was reduced to a pitiful sight, a decaying slave who fed on the corpses of his own making.

She had freed him from the Lichking's grip and given him a new home in Undercity, where he had then long served her as trainer for future Forsaken hunters.

But then, first with the third assault of the Burning Legion, and now with an anew bitter conflict between Horde and Alliance in full swing, Sylavanas had remembered his abilities and entrusted him with greater tasks.

He was her second in command now, responsible for the execution of her plans and it said that he was as loyal to her in undeath as he had been in life.

No, if Nathanos Blightcaller - as his new melodious surname now was- still held any feelings for another person in his no longer beating heart that weren't rage and the desire for vengeance, it was for the banshee queen.

Rumour had it, that they had been lovers back in Quel'Dalas, and still were.

And perhaps that was why, when the Dark Lady had asked the valkyr to give him a new body that was stronger than ever before, she had also insisted his face should resemble his old one, one that was more- appealing- to common taste. (That was, if one wanted to call deathly pale skin and burning red eyes appealing. Even the powers of the mighty valkyrs weren't unlimited.)

Countless jokes circulated around the Forsaken and their looks-but one was well advised to tell them in a whisper now that their leader was also the Horde's warchief, and one thing was certain, Sylvanas had provided her tormented people with a new, defiant pride.

It had been Voljin himself who had whispered her name with his last breath when he had fallen at the Broken Shore.

His will had been done, but there were many who had not been happy with his decision then- among them Ylena's own regent Lor'themar Theron- and were it now even less after she had dragged the Horde into another bloody war.

Nathanos had stood by her side when the great world tree Teldrassil burned, and also when she had stopped the Alliance's advance towards Undercity with the blightbombs that killed many of her own people as well.

They say, he had hesitated to execute her commands both times, but he had still done it in the end, and now Darnassus lay in smoldering ruins and the former home of the Forsaken was a poisoned wasteland-

Ylena shook her head in order to rid herself from such disturbing thoughts that seemed to capture her mind whenever it wasn't focused on a current mission- which wasn't situation was precarious and her commander was certainly of the demanding sort. And it wasn't her place to speculate about the right or wrong of her superiors' deeds.

It took a while until she found a well with halfway clean water, but what else could be expected in a city whose inhabitants did not care much for baths.

The capital of the Zandalari empire was impressing, to be sure, but it was also ancient and smelled of rot beneath all the pomp and splendour, just like its royalty.

Dazar'alor was huge and chaotic- even after four weeks in this place Ylena still lost her way from time to time, and that could prove quite dangerous. The outskirts of the city were teeming with vermin of all sorts, and King Rastakhan even allowed the Amani clan to control a whole area-

Savages, thought Ylena with a disgusted shudder. Like all Sin'dorei, she had little love for the members of the "old" Horde - Trolls, Tauren and Orcs- an aversion that was heartily reciprocated.

Granted, since the Shal'dorei had joined the Horde, the Blood Elves were no longer considered the most pompous race in it. ( Not that the Nightborne had much reason to be so stuck up, if one asked her. After all, they had bowed to demons not too long ago. )

But even when arrogance was certainly a distinguishing trait of both their people, Ylena came from a too humble background to be able to afford much of it.

Her parents were simple hunters like her, not only forced to provide for themselves but also the "higher" folk in Silvermoon, all those haughty mages and scholars in their fine robes, whose soft white hands never had to wield anything heavier than a quill.

Her own hands, as Ylena noticed with a hint of regret as she carefully cleaned them, were full of callouses and not even white when she had washed the dirt off it. She had spent too many years outside in the open to maintain a pallor that would be considered noble, and held a bow at an age when city children still clutched to their plush toys.

And although slender as all her race, years of training had made her body rather muscular than delicate. She kept her hair cut at shoulder-length, which was definitely more practical in the field than one of those fashionable updos, and it wasn't light-blonde either but dark red- an advantage when you had to wipe it off your face in the heat of the moment, and with bloodied fingers.

So Ylena might not be the role model of a Blood Elf lady in many ways, but she had still managed to emerge from her common origin with hard training, persistence and a healthy amount of ambition.

She had made a name for herself as a skilled and ruthless huntress-and it wasn't as if she would have had much of a choice. To live close enough to the Ghostlands with permanent ambushes by servants of the Scourge and- well- Amani trolls required that one knew how to defend themselves.

But then, finally the Horde's warchief, in search of new allies, had seen her potential and hired her for a secret mission- the rescue of a certain Zandalari princess and an old prophet from Stormwind's dungeons.

Only that Princess Talanji had refused to pledge allegiance to the Dark Lady before the Horde had not proven their worth as an ally by helping her father to deal with riots in his own kingdom.

And that was why they were here now, in this large, derelict troll city amidst a wild jungle, with all its decaying pomp, strange cults, unpleasant smells and way too lurid colours.

And so was the Alliance; Jaina Proudmoore's fleet lay in wait at the bay on the other side of the ocean, and the number of her troops grew steadily.

And so every new day brought another dangerous special mission for the Horde's warchief's new champion.

Ylena splashed some more water into her face, then she filled a bucket for her companion as well and watched as Brighteye drank greedily.

The red female lynx was a descendant of the very first pet she had tamed herself and she could not wish for a better and more loyal companion.

Being a hunter meant you never had to go to battle alone, but also that you were always responsible for someone else's life.

Ylena did not take this responsibilty lightly- it was a lengthy and challenging process to train a beast to be the perfect fighting companion- and she was proud of having lost only three so far, and two of them had died of old age. ( Plus, the lynx's fur matched her hair colour quite nicely. Ylena was still a Blood Elf, and thus not entirely free of vanity.)

"Come," she said and petted her companion behind her pointy ears. "Better not keep him waiting."

The "Banshee's Wail" was Sylvana's flagship and currently served as her center of command as well.

The dark lady herself resided in the royal quarters, she was busy with her own affairs most of the time and seldom aboard in person- or at least, as much as Ylena could tell- whereas her second in command hardly ever left the ship at all.

Nathanos Blightcaller claimed the Zandalari didn't like him much, and that was probably true, but perhaps also due to the fact that he refused to "mingle with the crowd" ( except for official performances when he had to )and instead preferred the isolation of his ship's cabin.

Ylena had never met him in any of the taverns where she usually spent her nights ( the trolls may understand nothing about culture and bodily hygiene but their drinks were not to be scoffed at, let alone their weed ) but she had often fantazised about exactly that to happen.

She and him alone in a dark corner of a bar, after a few mojo cocktails, exchanging memories of the fallen kingdom of Quel'Dalas- not that she would have much to contribute to the topic.

She was too young to"remember the sunwell" as the traditional farewell of the Sin'dorei went, at least before its destruction, and too unimportant to have been allowed to visit it since it had been restored.

But surely she remembered ( and missed ) the smooth hills and beautiful forests of her homeland, the soft pastel colours of its leaves and flowers, the elegant, luminiscent towers of its buildings-

Stop it! she reprimanded herself inwardly. There she was again, dwelling in daydreams when her mind should be focused on the task at hand.

Perhaps she was only tired. Perhaps she should retreat to her small room at the inn after providing her report, instead of drinking away another night.

Her commander awaited her aboard his ship.

Ylena was always nervous when she had to report to him. There was no reason for that; her missions hardly ever failed, but she couldn't help it, something about the man gave her goosebumps and it wasn't just out of fear, which would at least be understandable.

Not for the first time, she wondered helplessly where that morbid- and doubtlessly fatal- fascination came from.

For Nathanos was certainly no handsome man to Sin'dorei taste.

He was of medium height and sturdily built as humans were- his plain, dark leather garb did little to hide his broad chest and strong, muscular arms and legs- and he shared the deplorable tendency of his people for facial hair, his beard was as deep black as his bushy brows and shoulder-length hair.

She knew his face had been restored, but he had not been a young man any more when he died and it showed in the lines on his forehead and crow's feet around his eyes ( and it weren't laughter lines- he hardly ever smiled. )

As a member of a long living race, blessed with the looks of eternal youth, Ylena should find visible traits of age repulsive, but on him for some reason, she did not. And neither did she feel repelled by his red-hot eyes or his skin that was as pale as a corpse's- which he technically was.

As always, Nathanos didn't bother with greetings but merely waited for her to speak. If he was angry about the delay, he did not let it show; his expression was as unmoved and unreadable as ever.

He listened to her report of another successfully accomplished mission ( sneaked into an enemy base, killed a dozen Alliance soldiers, plundered supplies) and when she had finished, he gave a short approving nod.

"Well done," he said. "The dark lady chose her champion well. She will be pleased to hear about your success."

It was hardly more than an empty phrase- he had said the exact same on other occasions before- but Ylena still revelled in the rare praise like in warm sunlight.

She was being foolish and she knew it. There were no indications that he cared for her as a person, she was a useful tool- one of many- and her successes were successes for the cause, nothing more.

Besides, his dark voice always had that particular- slightly sarcastic- undertone that seemed to reverse his every word. ( quite similar to the Dark Lady's "For the horde". ) As if all this was really a big joke for them.

Perhaps it was.

And perhaps it was only her weariness that made her throw all caution to the wind and decide to enquire.

"And you?" she asked quickly, when she saw he was about to turn his back on her, meaning she was dismissed. "What about you? Are you pleased with me, too?"

For the first time during their meeting, something akin to an emotion flickered across Nathanos' pale features. If Ylena were to guess, it was most likely confusion.

"What difference does it make?" he asked in a flat voice. "We both serve her."

"Indeed we do." Ylena hastened to agree. She watched his face intently, trying hard to figure out what he might think about her approach. Had she gone too far already? Could she dare to go even further?

She swallowed. "But it does make a difference." she whispered. "It does for me."

Her commander furrowed his dark brows. " Why?" Now he did sound confused.

"Why because-" Ylena paused and swallowed anew. The truth was that she would love to know that herself, but that was hardly an appropriate anwer.

"You are my employer." she said at last and lifted her hands. "And you- you are a legend."

"I know, I still have a lot to learn," she added quickly. "And I-I would be more than honoured if you considered me worthy of your training."

His frown deepened and Ylena dropped her gaze in order to escape the piercing gaze of his smoldering eyes.

For a long while there came no answer and she dared not look up, afraid to find the rejection on his face she expected, or even worse, mockery.

At last, the former Farstrider exhaled audibly. ( A mere reflex as she assumed, Undead didn't have to breathe. )

"Your skills are- satisfactory." he said coolly. "I would not have accepted your service were it otherwise. And it cannot have escaped you that my days as a hunter trainer are over. More important matters require my attention now."

"Of course." Ylena felt her cheeks grow hot and cursed herself inwardly. What a fool she was! Of course he wouldn't like to be reminded of his days in Undercity, of what he must consider had been "dirty work".

"Forgive me." she whispered.

Suddenly, and to her utter astonishment, she felt his hand on her skin as he gently lifted her chin up to him. His touch was as cool as expected, but the shiver it sent all the way through her body had nothing to do with cold.

"Rest now." he said in a surprisingly soft voice. "You look tired. There is still much to do and I need you fit to perform at your best."

Knowing she was dismissed for good, Ylena nodded and turned to leave the ship on wobbly legs.

She picked up her pet at the pier, where a local fisherman was feeding it from his daily catch ( all Trolls seemed to be animal lovers and the Zandalari were no exception ) and made her way to the inn, where she bought a cold snack and a jug of wine to accompany her to her room.

She picked at her food for a while, found it less tasty with every bite and at last pushed it aside in favour of the wine.

She emptied the whole jug, before she sprawled out on her bed without even bothering to take her clothes off.

The ordered rest, however, would not come for a long time.