Hello! This is a request made by my partner, Aevari, featuring our characters and how they met in the Warcraft universe. Yes, it's not an Elsword fic this time (hi everyone in the warcraft fandom!) and i'll be back on my other projects soon. so those following my Elsword fics, look forward to a new chapter of Our Inner Demons in 1-2 weeks!
The clamour of Stormwind's trade district was absent here. Even the choking smoke of the dwarven district could not penetrate the high walls that surrounded the keep. Each step in these hallowed stone halls resounded with a solemn echo and was only reinforced by the elite guard that lined the walkway to the throne room.
She never liked these places-the big city, the grey stone that surrounded her, the people… The onslaught of odors that assaulted her nose and the near impossibility of keeping her focus with all the voices made everything about this place unbearable.
But if his highness demanded her audience, it was her sworn duty to respond.
Amidst a circle of advisors and representatives of the Alliance was a young man. Blonde in hair, blue in eyes, and a chin far unlike that of his father's, Anduin was clearly unfit for his position as the newly appointed king. Although he held himself well in posture and the stern look in his eyes, she could smell it palpitating from his skin: fear.
"You've summoned me, my king?" the worgen asked. Her voice was coarse, like a chain smoker on their last legs. She knelt at the throne room entrance and awaited a response.
The circle of nobility turned their heads at the Gilnean clad in green chainmail armor. Pauldrons depicting wolfheads rested on her shoulders and emitted a faint magical glow that caught the king's eyes. Her hair was a curly mess and when she turned her muzzle up towards him, he noted a single eye squinting at him from across the room. The other was hidden behind an eye patch, where a deep scar could be seen traveling from her forehead down her right cheek. A rifle was slung over her back, its dented barrel and splintered stock were clear indications of its service in combat.
"Ah… yes," the king said, though with a hint of hesitation, was evident in his voice. He leaned to his closest advisor, a draenei even someone as remote as her knew: Velen.
He whispered to the alien, thinking the wolf-woman could not hear yet her ears flicked as she just barely caught his words as they snuck past his lips.
"Who's this, again?"
"One of the champions we've gathered for your scouting party," Velen whispered back, "She was among the few that escaped the attack on broken shore."
"Of course. Forgive me for forgetting… does she have a name?"
"She has no clear alias... But I'm told she answers to 'Pretty'."
"Pretty? That's an odd name," Anduin chuckled.
Her ears flicked again at the sound of the word. She snorted but remained kneeling. If she was as insignificant to the king as they let on, she would have much preferred to answer a summons from a low-ranking officer.
"Champion!" it took a moment to realize the king was directly addressing her, "Please, stand. I'm not one for such formalities."
She rose.
"Having served in the frontlines, I'm sure you're well aware of the situation we've fallen into. My late father, light guide his soul, has paid the ultimate price to guarantee the safe return of our men. With Gul'dan still on the loose and much of the broken shore still under demon control we must find a way to establish a foothold. I've tasked Archmage Khadgar with doing whatever it takes to make it possible. Your job will help facilitate this."
The worgen nodded, though the edge of her lips twitched at the mention of a mage.
"What would you have me do, my king?"
"You will act as my eyes. I want reports on the wildlife, the layout, the people-I want you to search for anything we can use to our advantage in combating Gul'dan and stopping whatever he has planned for us."
Anything? The worgen's brow furrowed at the suggestion. That was a little too broad for her to understand.
"Where do I start?"
"A place called Stormheim."
"What awaits me there?"
"We're not quite sure, which is why we've tasked you with gathering intel. A dark presence has befallen these new shores… and to make things worse, the Horde has betrayed us."
He could see it in the mention of the opposing faction: the way the worgen's fur stood on end, the low growl that rumbled from her throat.
Anduin's face turned into a deep frown. "You saw it first hand, didn't you?"
"The cowards left us to die," the worgen replied.
"Then you understand what it means to share the same point of interest with them. Reports suggest high traffic of horde ships sailing to the eastern shores. To avoid any unnecessary encounters, I've prepared airship to escort you. As for your mission details, you'll find them here," one of his many advisors approached the hunter with an envelope in hand. The worgen took the envelope, inspecting the royal seal stamped on it before tucking it away in her pouch. "Open it only when you've set sail. Even in the sanctum of Stormwind keep, I can guarantee that there are horde spies lurking about."
"As you wish," she said with a deep bow, "I'll report to the docks immediately."
"One more thing," this time it was the Velen who spoke.
"Yes, Prophet?"
"I've sent for one of my sisters to accompany you on your journey."
The image of an elderly draenei woman popped into the hunter's head. How they would be of any use to her during a scouting mission was a mystery. She tilted her head, "Forgive my ignorance, but I wasn't aware you had siblings."
The old draenei chuckled, "Not in the literal sense, worgen. She is one of my followers. A warrior of the light who would benefit you greatly if you are in need of her services."
"A paladin?"
"A priestess," the prophet corrected
It took everything in the hunter's will not to snort out loud. This was going to be a covert mission. A paladin would have been less than ideal stomping around in bright, reflective plate. In battle, they'd at least be useful in drawing attention. But a priestess? Not only did she have to watch her back but she had to watch this cloth-wearing, religious fanatic, as well. She shook her head, "That won't be necessary. I'm perfectly capable of doing this alone."
"All the more reason to bring her, then," the king insisted, "The task I'm asking of you requires more than one person's capability. Velen hand-picked her for this mission and I have faith in his champion's ability. You're bringing the priestess. That's an order."
Pretty couldn't hold the frustrated growl back and she bowed quickly before turning to leave.
"Her name is Tatyanaar," Velen called after the worgen who was already in the process of leaving the throne room, "Please take care of her."
"That's exactly why I prefer working alone," she grumbled under her breath.
"I've been meaning to ask, by the way," a draenei began as a bright, almost searing, glow filled the large Vrykul tomb. She was a young draenei-black hair tied to a bun with long bangs falling along the side of her smooth, unblemished face. Like many draenei her eyes emitted a faint white glow symbolizing the Light's presence within her. Far unlike the others and to the hunter's dismay her goat-like hooves showed little signs of wear and tear: the sign of an individual who spent a lot less time beyond city walls and more time at a desk. The white and gold religious vestments made her stand out against the cold grey stone that surrounded them. Coupled with her glowing eyes, she was the exact thing the worgen found perfectly impractical to bring in a covert mission.
"What?" Her partner grunted from the opposite end of the room. The hunter was on her knees digging through stone bricks in search of a faint glow from a rune-carved stone.
"Your name: 'Pretty'. That's odd, isn't it?"
"You have a problem with my name?" the worgen growled as she passively tossed another blank rock aside.
"Well, no. I just thought it'd be a good way to get to know you more."
"Is that so?" Pretty responded half-heartedly and proceeded to dig into another untouched pile of stones.
The draenei's lips formed a visible pout. This wasn't anything new. The hunter was always quick to dismiss or deflect any form of conversation directed towards her. In fact, now that the priestess thought about it, Pretty deflected any conversation in general outside of common small talk. "We've been trudging through these hills for a few weeks already and I just thought it'd be a nice way to start a conversation."
Pretty paused, extracting a rock from under all the rubble. She carefully inspected each side of the cube-shaped object but found no runes etched on this one either. She tossed it aside. "Less talking, more searching, draenei."
"That's priestess, hunter. Thank you very much."
The priestess exhaled, blowing the fringes of her hair aside in the process as she leaned on the staff. Her eyes scanned the rest of the room. Apart from the collection of bones from a recently slain undead Vrykul and its rune-master, there wasn't much that really caught her eye. There probably wasn't even a rune-etched stone anywhere in this particular room. They've been scouring the ruins of Haustvald for almost an entire day and the Tatyanaar was beginning to think this Val'kyr spirit had sent them on a wild goose chase looking for magic rocks that didn't exist. The hunter's terrible conversation skills was just the icing on the cake. She shuffled over in defeat towards a pile of untouched rocks and began sifting through them. The sooner she finished this job, the faster they'd return to their rundown camp.
"It was a nickname," the worgen said out of the blue, still not taking her eyes off her search, "My father gave it to me… back before, all this." Pretty extended her fur-covered arm.
This was new. Seeing the opportunity to press further, Tatyanaar quickly jumped at the chance."Where's your father now?"
"He's dead."
"Oh," the priestess paused, feeling as if she had touched a sensitive subject. Yet Pretty didn't seem too bothered by it. "I'm sorry. But I'm sure the Light has guided his soul to a better place."
The hunter waved off her condolences. "Doubt it. He wasn't exactly a saint. But he was family. When you lose almost everything, you tend to cling to what little you have. My nickname was one of them."
"No family whatsoever?"
Pretty shook her head.
"Not even a pet?"
Again, she shook her head.
Tatyanaar chuckled. "Don't hunters usually have pets?"
"That's quite presumptuous of you, priestess. Why would I want a pet?"
"Wouldn't they, I don't know, follow you around and fight alongside you?"
Pretty had trained her single good eye at the priestess and it took the draenei a moment to realize the hunter was waiting for her to elaborate. She continued.
"I imagined you having this big wolf companion… Leia! Who'd... distract the enemy with her ferocity while you pinned them down from afar."
"Companions would only slow me down," Pretty muttered, rising to her feet and moving past Tatyanaar towards the exit.
"You realize I'm a companion, too, right?"
Pretty stopped, turning towards Tatyanaar and gave her a look as if waiting for her to put one and one together in her head. She did. Not one to take an insult, the priestess rose to her feet.
"That's not fair to me, you know. I've saved you a number of times. Without the light protecting you, you'd be dead out there."
"Wrong," the hunter replied, "Without your light I'd be just fine. I have the means of survival. I know the steps required to administer first aid. I know when to engage enemies or when to avoid altogether. You, on the other hand, can't help but attack the horde the moment they appear in your peripherals. You insist on announcing our presence before 'smiting' your enemies of the light with your giant sky laserbeam. You might as well wear a sign over your head that says 'Alliance scout here!' for all the Horde to see. The only times I've needed your help is directly related to the number of times I've had to save your skin."
"The Horde is our enemy, though."
"And we are on a covert operation," the hunter replied, her patience nearing its breaking point, "Our job is to observe and report. Not slay every Horde scout that comes within earshot of our base camp."
"I'm not going to sit idly by and let them find our camp. We've lost enough lives as it is during that failed assault on their fleet. Those humans are hurt; desperate. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if injured men and women were slaughtered in their sleep because of our negligence to eliminate scouts."
"They will die serving our cause. Our job isn't to protect them."
"Maybe not for you, worgen, but it is my sworn oath to protect those in need. You cannot change who I am."
Pretty snorted. "Says the one actively trying to get me killed," she mumbled.
"I'm not trying to get you killed, Pretty. You need to have faith in the Light. Around me, you will always be safe from harm."
"You need to look at the bigger picture," the worgen sighed, "Their lives may be important, but in the grand scope of things, our Alliance, for example, they are insignificant."
"That's horrible for you to say," the priestess replied, almost disgusted by the suggestion.
"But it's true. If something jeopardizes the mission, then you have to weigh in that thing's worth. You can't go around saving other people's lives because of your moral obligations in this line of work. Some lives are just not worth saving-even mine if the opportunity arises. I want you to remember that." The worgen searched the draenei's face as she was in clear disagreeance with her. Her ears perked as she directed her attention outside.
"To suggest I'd let you die when I can save you goes against everything the Light teaches me. I can't do that," Tatyanaar replied.
"Shut it," Pretty whispered, raising a finger at the priestess as she carefully trained her ears left and right. She sniffed the air and a low growl escaped her throat as she slowly drew her rifle.
"What is it?" Tatyanaar asked, killing the light that emanated from her staff, the room was immediately shrouded in darkness. The hunter motioned her to take cover right behind her at the entrance and she did so, letting Pretty do her thing.
"Horde," she muttered, sniffing the air deeply this time. She shook her head in disgust, "Tauren… witchwood on their person… likely a shaman." Pretty's eyes widened and she hastily dug through her backpack, extracting a white cube that she slid out to the door entrance just as the shadow of a large hulking bull came into view.
The small metal cube came to rest at the shaman's hoof and, before he could react, was immediately greeted by a burst of magical frost. The trap quickly encased the shaman in a thick layer of ice, rendering them immobile for the time being.
Pretty sighed in relief, dropping her rifle as she inspected the trapped tauren.
"What are the horde doing skulking around in a Vrykul gravesite?"
"Maybe the Valkyr are employing the Horde's assistance as well?" the priestess added.
The hunter's eyes narrowed, "If that's the case then I need to report this to the higher ups. Come, priestess, before the ice melts."
"Look!" Tatyanaar exclaimed, catching the hunter's attention.
Pretty turned and her eyes widened as she saw the draenei's eyes glow with that familiar burning light.
"This one has a rune stone! We need that!"
"Tatyanaar! Wait!" Pretty raised her hand to block her but she knew there was no way she could stop the heavens from splitting as a giant sky laserbeam punched through the cave's entrance.
The spire's tower walls were split asunder as a torrent of lightning and fel energies tore through the very fabric of their reality. What once was a small army of Alliance and Horde troops at the gates of the Elven city were now reduced to a little more than two dozen.
Their formation was scattered, the violent winds threatened to hurl even the largest of taurens off the platform. A gnome screamed as they lost their footing and were sent tumbling backwards along the ivory platform until there was nothing but the earth left to catch them far below.
The mighty archmage stood his ground, a barrier of magic keeping his steady as he channeled his energies into the soulstone.
"Keep pushing, champions!" Khadgar rallies, "Gul'dan wavers! He. Will. Fall!"
At the opposite end of the platform, a hulking beast stood. Once an orc warlock, the fel magics that had been infused into his flesh had warped him beyond anything recognition. Thick layers of corrupted skin absorbed bullets and arrows as if they were nothing while conjured flames, frost, and lightning did little to scar his flesh. Even the mightiest of blows from the Alliance and the Horde's strongest warriors couldn't faze this monstrosity. A gigantic tear in reality hangs in the sky behind him. The presence of a fallen titan looms over the battlefield.
"Why won't you die..." Gul'dan sneers, "Why do you keep resisting?!"
"This is our world!" Khadgar shouted, as the champions stood their ground amidst the relentless fel storm, "Not the Legion's!"
The warlock eyed the faces of the surviving heroes of Azeroth. He gritted his teeth and with a mighty pulse of fel magic he hurled a conjured eye into the air that quickly divided and multiplied.
"More of the eyes!" a raid leader called, "Take cover!"
An eye focused on the leader, firing a scorching beam at him that pierced through his chest armor. He fell to his knees as the beam continued to burn up his torso and out his shoulder.
A well-aimed bullet struck the eye, causing it to burst in a small puff of goo as Pretty rushed to the leader's side, firing a moving shot at another eye. By the time she reached him, the fatal wound over his chest was already enveloped by a warm light, reversing the damage done.
"Get up. Get up!" Pretty ordered, picking him up to his feet and pushing him forward.
"Archers!" the leader continued as he stumbled to his feet, "Get those eyes!"
Tatyanaar whispered another prayer on the man, ensuring his wounds would slowly heal before quickly turning her light to a troll and mending a destroyed leg.
The remaining marksmen turned their attention to the tiny floating targets, putting volley after volley of shots into the air. The lasers continued to slow the advancing troops as the few surviving healers mended and stitched each new wound as quickly as possible.
The fastest of their warriors reached Gul'dan first, burying their axe into his arm as he raised the muscular wall of flesh to block it. He swept the warrior aside, tossing him over the edge as a death knight drove his blade into the warlock's chest. Gul'dan leaned into the blade, exhaling in the first sign of fatigue. He snarled at the plate-wearer, winding up a powerful haymaker with his mutated arm that cratered the death knight onto the floor. The raid leader leapt in, slamming the monster's chin upward with his shield. A bullet drilled itself into his neck and he trained his eyes at the worgen who had struck him.
As the fel blood coursing through his veins rapidly healed his wounds, he sneered at the hunter, using his free hand to knock the leader aside. Gul'dan tore the blade from his chest, cleaving the melee fighters in one powerful swing before tossing the blade aside. He stomped on the ground, sending a dark wave of energy towards the group's backline. A void-like blackness surfaced and it rapidly began to expand outward, encompassing the opposite end of the platform in dark energies.
"Get out of there!" the raid leader cried as the majority of the caster and ranged line began to move towards Gul'dan.
"Run!" Pretty motioned everybody on towards the opposite end of the platform as she made herself scarce from the ominous void that swallowed the floor. She fired another shot into Gul'dan, catching him in the chest and causing him to reel back in visible pain.
"I said get out of there!" the raid leader ordered once more as warm light mended his broken arm.
Pretty scanned the faces and, to her horror, found a priestess still locked in prayer in the middle of the void, trying to heal the melee fighters' most recent wounds.
"Taty! Move!"
It was only then that the draenei shook herself out of her trance and found herself miles away from everyone else.
Those that weren't fast enough were already crawling for the edge, their bodies quickly being consumed by the fel magic. She tried to move, but the void ate away at her strength and only after a few steps did the priestess fall.
"Leave her," the raid leader said through gritted teeth, his attention quickly returned to Gul'dan as he stopped another sweeping strike that would have tore the weaker fighters in half, "We must press onward!"
Pretty watched as the flesh and bone of those just mere meters away from the void's edge rot away from the still-struggling champions until their limbs turned into dust.
The air around the worgen began to dazzle with life-giving energies. She knew what this meant. Turning to one of the Night-elf druids, she could see them channeling the power of the moon. The regenerative strength of its healing magic bolstered everyone that stood on the platform. Those still able to crawl for the edge were given as much time as possible with their body stitching itself back together against their own rotting flesh but Tatyanaar was much further out than the rest.
The elf nodded at the worgen. This was the opening they were giving her. Without even a second of hesitation, she sprinted into the miasmic pool, each step weaker than the last. The healing magic that soothed and comforted her did little to stave off the sensation of rapidly dying limbs. She broke into all fours, running as fast as her wolf-like nature allowed her to. She arrived at the priestess's side who could barely lift herself up at this point even with the moon's healing.
Tatyanaar looked up at her companion as Pretty grabbed her by the collar of her vestments with her teeth.
"You owe me," the hunter grunted before using the what little of her strength was left in an attempt to drag her back to safety.
The moon's light faded as the Elune's healing energies disappeared. Still a few steps away from safety the worgen summed up the last ounce of her stamina into one heaving throw, tossing the draenei onto safety before collapsing on the floor.
Magically purified healing water from a troll shaman washed over the priestess and she was pulled from her semi-unconscious state. She snapped to a sitting position, eyes scanning the surroundings as she tried to get her bearings. She found her companion. The hunter lied face first in the fel-corrupted ground, motionless as the rest of the surviving healers turned their attention to keeping the front line alive.
"Pretty…?" she called but the hunter didn't respond. The worgen was dead.
"No… no, no, no," the priestess turned to the others but found them at their limits in just keeping the warlock at bay. She turned her attention back to Pretty. Her armor was beginning to disintegrate and she could see bits of her flesh and bone pooling into dust. She turned her attention back to the rest of the group as the souls of the damned tore at their skin.
Seeing the bodies of many rotting away in the fel-corrupted floor, the warlock's lips curled upward despite the onslaught of spells and arrows that tore at his waning flesh.
"One by one you fall... You should have bent the knee!" He slammed the ground, sending a shockwave that sent the others to the floor.
Despite the horrors that befell each of them, they continued to fight. But the group's cumulative strength had all but diminished. She could help them. All of them. But it would come at the cost of someone she had grown to tolerate. One hunter firing rounds into the warlock would not be as effective as an entire raid team being kept alive. Pretty understood this. Tatyanaar wasn't going to throw that chance away.
She stood, turning her attention away from her fallen companion and began to sing a holy hymn. Her words tore a hole in the darkened clouds above as her form was engulfed by the Light. Much like Elune's will, the light that cascaded from the heavens washed over the raid. The injured rose to their feet, their strength renewed.
Archmage Khadgar saw the group's strength return and immediately rallied the for one final push. "Fight for Azeroth! For all you hold dear!" he cried, "We can stop him! I know it!"
In the background a giant fireball slammed into Gul'dan's flank causing him to real back in pain. A blood elf paladin charged in, his two-handed mace whirling with shaman aided windfury and the light's retribution. He screamed in elvish to what Tatyanaar could just barely piece together to say: "This is for Tirion".
The blow shakes the entire platform, knocking the fel-magic out of Gul'dan and sending him sprawling to the ground. With the fel-magic gone, his form reverted back to its original, frail form. The portal hanging above the warlock began to flicker, sending a shockwave of energy that knocked everyone of their feet.
The corrupted floor vanished and Tatyanaar, turning towards her fallen companion's body, raised an arm towards her, whispering a soft prayer as a light projected hand gently pulled the worgen closer. She rested the dead hunter on her lap, noting the deeply marred and rotted flesh that covered the entire front of her body. Tatyanaar whispered a divine hymn in an attempt to mend the lost flesh and singed fur on her companion. Despite her efforts to heal her, she knew in her heart that the hunter was long gone.
She had seen it happen once and only once. The Light was kind but it only granted a second chance to those it deemed worthy. For someone who defied the teachings of the Light, the priestess knew that the hunter was far from consideration.
But she had to try.
The priestess set the worgen on the ground and clasped her hands together as she locked herself in a tight prayer.
Her words in recited prayer were heavy with desperation, its tone carrying more demanding force than song. Light surrounded the hunter but the worgen did not stir from her lifeless slumber. Tatyanaar redoubled her efforts. Mixed within the soft whispers of what she tried her best to remember from the written verses she also scolded the worgen for her recklessness.
"Please, Light. I beg you, I can't repay my debt to her if she refuses to return to me."
In the background a figure emerges from the darkness behind the defeated warlock. Gul'dan turned around only to have a hand grip him by the throat. His execution was quick; without words. As the once-trapped Illidan stormrage held the weakened warlock aloft, the demon-hunter flooded the orc with fel. Gul'dan struggled. But under Illidan's grip, the most he could do was scream. His skin cracked as a sickly green light burst from them and with a flap of Illidan's wings, the orc was reduced to ash.
"Music… to my ears," a rough voice strained to say, catching Tatyanaar's attention. Still locked in prayer, the priestess opened her eyes and saw the worgen who had her single good-eye trained at the scene that played out nearby.
"Pretty…?" the priestess was beside herself in disbelief, "You're alive?"
"Don't act so shocked," the worgen replied, "I genuinely thought you knew what you were doing pulling me back from whatever place I was in."
The priestess hugged her, catching the worgen by surprise. Her body relaxed as she patted the priestess on the back. "Thank you," she chuckled, "For sacrificing me, and saving me."
Tatyanaar wasn't sure if Pretty was teasing her or genuinely thanking her. But she was back. That's all that mattered.
"We're even," the priestess said, "Let's just leave it at that."
Gul'dan's death was only the beginning of a nightmare. The loss of his puppet forced Sargeras's hand and the invasion on the Broken Isles began with renewed vigor. Argus, the planet-ship of the Burning Legion made its appearance over Azeroth and began raining hellfire from orbit.
Steadfast in repelling the invaders, Azeroth's champions, both Horde and Alliance, banded together aboard the Vindicaar to bring the fight to the invader's homeworld. Months of fighting tooth and nail and grasping at every inch of land they conquered. They eventually turned the tides into Azeroth's favor as time and again the Burning Legion's plans were foiled.
The fight eventually reached the Legion command's doorstep, where the fallen titan, Argus the Unmaker, dwelled. Their victory was almost certain. With champions wielding legendary artifact weapons and the titans at their side, the fight against Argus, the Unmaker, was sure to end in victory.
But he defied it. Despite the efforts to chain the fallen titan's fragments, he tore through the bindings, forming into one once more. With his immense power granted to him by Sargeras, he pulled all the champions together and cleaved them all in half with a single strike.
With the mortals' spirits trapped within the spirit realm: a manifestation of the living world. At this point, all hope seemed lost for the planet the Burning Legion sought to conquer. However, the weakened titans had one more ace up their sleeve.
With the last ounce of her power, Eonar, the titan of life and death, created a portal that connected the spirit realm with the living realm. The champions trapped in the reflection of the seat of the titans took the invitation by storm, flooding the gate as with reignited fury as they threw themselves at Argus once more.
Tatyanaar and Pretty stood before the Life Binder's Gift: a gnarl of withered roots and leaves shaped in the image of a gateway to the living world. Their incorporeal forms flickered like candles in the wind. Everything around them was without color; as if life itself was absent in this realm.
"I can allow but one more through," Eonar, the Life Binder, whispered to the spirits, "But hurry. Argus's blows weaken the portal with every passing moment."
In the background, the shadows of those fighting for Azeroth could be seen exchanging blows with Argus. Each sweeping strike tore through the realms, sending a wave of dark energies that threatened to snuff out Tatyanaar and Pretty's spirit forms. Even the titans seated around them felt each blow as pieces of them fractured into the spirit realm.
"Go," Pretty said to Tatyanaar and motioned at the gate, "You can just resurrect me again, anyways, right?"
"The Light was generous during the fight against Gul'dan," Tatyanaar replied, hesitancy in her voice, "I might not be able to this time around."
"Your physical forms were completely obliterated by the Unmaker," Eonar's voice echoed in both of their heads, "The Light, although powerful, cannot resurrect a being without a vessel to store its soul. My strength as a titan, however, can. But I can only allow one more to pass."
"And the other?" the hunter asked.
"They will be remembered in the hearts of those-"
The worgen snorted, "So in other words, they remain here forever."
"Hurry, champions, my power… wanes."
"Taty. You have to go. They need you more than me."
The priestess hesitated and then shook her head. "There's plenty of other capable healers out there. What they need is the spirit of Thasdorah. The one inhabiting your rifle."
Pretty glanced at the weapon in her hands. Even in the spirit realm, the gun thrummed with magical power.
The worgen's brow furrowed as she looked up at the priestess. "But what about you?"
Before she realized it the priestess shoved the worgen through the portal. As Pretty stumbled backwards she looked up just in time to see the Tatyanaar wave to her. Her lips were moving but she couldn't quite hear the draenei as she slipped into the living realm. Reading her lips, the hunter could only guess the three words she said: "you owe me."
Much had happened a year after they defeated Argus. With the threat of the Burning Legion all but gone, the once strong bond the Alliance had with the Horde all but shattered as they have once again returned to petty squabbles over territory and resources. The recent discovery of Azerite, however, propelled the world into another world war. With the appearance of the new resource, greed was always nearby.
Teldrassil was lost. As the capital of the Night Elves burned in the distance, the cry for blood rose on the distant shores. The Horde had to pay and Anduin, the boy king, responded in kind. The Undercity, once home to Sylvanas's Undead, fell to the might of the Alliance siege. And with that, all forms of communication between the two factions ceased. The only thing in their minds was the requisition of Azeroth's lifeblood.
Thankfully, Tatyanaar wasn't there to see this. To see their world propelled into war once more, over something far less than the Burning Legion, would have upset her. "You owe me," she had said. As if she could ever pay her back.
With one last heaving strike, Pretty brought the pickaxe down on the Azerite node. The large chunk of solidified life-blood of the planet shattered into a dozen smaller pieces at her feet. With an exasperated sigh, the worgen tossed the pickaxe haphazardly aside as she knelt down to loot her prize.
Pretty stared at the strange metal, its gold to cyan colors reflecting beautifully in the moonlight. She reached for a sack and began filling its contents with the metal. Frankly, she didn't know why the Alliance was so dead set on hoarding it all. But now that she had definitely found an abundance of the metals deep in the Crimson Forest, she had to report this to the higher ups.
A snap of a twig caused her ears to perk and she turned her head towards its source. The red forest shifted eerily in the wind as silence was all that followed. She brought her nose to the air. Nothing but the scent of a decaying body, likely from the witch she had slain not far off… unless-
A skeletal arm suddenly wrapped around her neck, pulling her to a standing position as a dagger was pressed to her side. An undead rogue. Of course. She could never discern their stench from a rotting corpse. Another appeared from the shadows in front of her. This one knelt down at the recently unearthed Azerite node and inspected the precious metals.
They spoke in the Horde's native tongue to one another, one motioning at the worgen in his grasp. The kneeling rogue cackled then shrugged at the first. All the while, Pretty could feel the poison tipped dagger burning into her side.
"Where is more?" the undead whispered slowly in broken common.
Pretty struggled under his grasp, searching the area and spotting a large shadow looming just beyond the thicket.
"Have you been dead long enough to forget your native tongue?" the worgen muttered, "Or had your brain cells rotted away when your banshee queen converted you?"
The rogues looked at each other before shrugging at each other. The second stood, pulling out a map of the area and holding it in front of the worgen to see.
Again the first spoke, pulling the dagger from her side and pointing at the map.
"Where is more?"
"Leia!" Pretty called.
A giant wolf lurking in the shadows leapt onto the first rogue. The three of them tumbled down the hill as the large black wolf wrestled the undead off her companion.
Pretty rolled into a standing position, drawing her spear as she searched for the second. By then the second undead had vanished into the shadows. Intending to keep the fight in her favor she quickly turned her attention back to her companion who wrestled with the first at the bottom of the hill. The rogue drew his dagger, taking a deep bite on his shoulder as he drove his blade into the wolf's side.
Leia cried out in pain, giving the rogue just enough time to kick the wolf off and vanished in a puff of smoke. Pretty arrived at her side, looking over the wound and yanking out the dagger stuck to the beast's side. The weapon oozed a sickly green poison.
Leia growled, scanning her surroundings and prompting the worgen to do the same. They stood back to back, eyes wide as they searched the clearing for any signs of movement. Only seconds had passed but Pretty could hear the labored breath of her companion. Leia was already growing weaker to the poison. She had to act fast, both for Leia's sake and for hers.
The wolf barked, pulling Pretty's attention towards her and, without a second to spare, hurled her spear in that direction. The spear landed flush through the shadows, pinning the rogue against a tree trunk. Leia followed up, throwing herself onto the pinned victim. She tore off the spear, tossing it aside and sunk her teeth into the rogue's skeletal neck.
Pretty moved to catch up but lost her footing when an invisible body swept her by her legs. The second rogue appeared over her, arm raised as he brought down a dagger onto her. Pretty raised her hand defensively, forcing the dagger to punch through the palm of her hand. She howled in pain but kept her eye locked on the glowing green tip.
She was losing strength, and in the corner of her eye she saw her companion fall over the lifeless body of the first rogue. She was succumbing to the poison. Looking at her own impaled hand, it was only a matter of time before she lost her own strength.
The rogue kept his eyes locked onto the worgen, intent on seeing the life slowly fade from her. He pressed his weight down on the dagger and it slowly made its way down to her chest. Pretty tried to push back but she was quickly losing the battle with all senses leaving her arm. The dagger pressed through the armor, driving itself into her chest as she did all she could to fight back.
This was it.
It was over.
In her last moments, as her life flashed before her, she thought not of the days before she turned. She didn't remember the festivals in Gilneas, or her father coming home from the hunt. She didn't remember even the days after, of living a life hiding away in Teldrasil until Stormwind welcomed the half-wolf people with open, if not wary, arms.
She didn't remember the blood sweat and tears poured over learning and mastering the rifle and spear, the loss of all her previous companions and nor the great cataclysm that followed with under Deathwing's flight.
All she remembered was standing face to face with a draenei, still clinging on to her moral compass and looking to the Light for guidance. "You owe me," she had said.
"Tatyanaar," Pretty thought as she felt the blade numb her body, "How could I ever pay you back?"
A bright light tore through the thick forest canopy.
It came down on the rogue, burning him like a giant sky laser beam. The undead leaned forward as pain wracked through his body and a familiar strength returned to Pretty's. The worgen's eye flew open and she was almost immediately blinded by the searing pillar of light that bore down on them.
It was warm, to her. Empowering.
At this point she could have pushed the rogue off herself but she didn't need to.
A blade swung outward from the pillar of light, slicing the undead diagonally into two. Someone was standing before her. With the same motion the figure in the light reached down, plucking the dagger from Pretty's hand, the touch enveloping her wounds in healing energies.
The worgen could just make out the outline of someone, and she could see the figure turn their head towards the wolf dying in the distance.
"I thought you were against having companions," the figure said. Pretty couldn't see it but she could tell the figure was smiling, "What's her name."
"L… Leia."
"Cute," the figure chuckled, then turned their attention to the wolf, gesturing at it with a upward palm, "Rise, Leia."
The same light that healed the worgen filled the wolf and, just as quickly as she fell, she rose to her feet with little to no effort.
At this point, Pretty didn't need to know who this person was. And as the figure turned back to her old companion, she extended a hand to help the hunter up.
"I guess that's two favors you owe me, now," the figure said with a smile.
Pretty took the hand without hesitation, returning the smile as she rose. "It's good to have you back, priestess."
"That's paladin, hunter. Thank you very much."