They called it Outland. It was supposed to be the refuge of my people. Because of that, I should have felt some connection to the place, but I was as lost as anyone in the dangerous marshes, floating islands, and vast planes of Netherstorm where Mana, the precious substance that fuels all things magic, hung so thick in the air you could feel it on your skin and taste it in your sweat.
We had won the war. At least that's what they told us. As I rode my ragged mount through the Dark Portal, to return to my home, I saw the weariness and pain scarred into the faces of my fellow travelers. Horde or Alliance, it didn't matter on those roads back. No one fought. No one so much as acknowledged the differences. We crossed through the portal and scattered in our own directions, like broken autumn leaves captured in the winds of a coming storm.
My mount, Marah, started staggering when we reached Deadwind Pass. We stopped at the side of the dirt road and I found a small clearing where I could walk with her into the gray forest. I removed my tack and saddle. My black leather saddlebags were a gift from a Dwarven leather worker I met when I first arrived in Outland. I can't remember his name, but I do remember his smile. It seemed as big as his face. It pushed his brown mustache up like a pair of eagle wings and when he laughed the sound of it filled the valley like thunder. It's strange how remembering the good things brings me just as much pain as the bad.
Once the poor animal was stripped of all my burdens, I gave her the last of my water. She drank it greedily. I doubted it was enough. She couldn't tell me with her voice, but her body and eyes said, I am tired, Verda. I'm more tired than I've ever been. I can feel a sleep coming over me and it's a sleep unlike any I've known. I'm scared of this sleep.
I patted her nose and she nuzzled into my chest. I realized then that I was still wearing my mail armor. The designs were ornate and I once had found them inspiring, but now they seemed ridiculous. I shed my chest piece, my helmet, my gloves and bracers. I removed it all until I was left with nothing but my thick under armor garments. I removed them as well until I stood nude. I stretched my sore muscles and rubbed at all the chaffed skin where the armor had dug into my body. A river ran close by, I could have bathed, but I didn't want to leave my mount unprotected in those woods, so I let the cool air flow over my body and imagined the gentle spray of a waterfall cleaning the dirt and grime from the war away.
I searched through my saddlebags until I found a pair of light leather pants and an old tunic. I dressed and studied the pile of armor. I found it hard to believe I once relied on such things to survive. Here now, close to the trees and the sound of the running river, I once again felt close to the real world.
Marah fell shortly before dusk. I sat with her huge head in my lap and patted her long face. I whispered for her to sleep. Her eyes watched me, but I couldn't tell what she was thinking. I'm not sure how long it took, but the forest was dark and all the insect songs of night filled the air. She was as still as a sleeping child. I probably should have cut her throat to make it faster, but the smell of blood would have attracted wolves or worse. I cried, but I'm not sure now if I cried for my horse or everything else I had lost.
Soon the smell of death would tell the great vultures who circled the skies of Deadwind Pass that it was their time to do their job. I held no animosity toward the birds. I understand the forest, probably better than the great druids of the old world who worshiped it like a god, because I knew it wasn't a god. It lived, like me; it had an order, an agreement with existence, and a set of rules that were both harsh and unyielding. I understood these rules, but Marah had been my friend. I would give her one night of undisturbed slumber before surrendering her to the scavengers and the natural order of the world.
Morning came and I hadn't slept, but I was used to that by now. A constant battle with an unending army of demons quickly cured me of a need for real rest. After a few months, I moved beyond exhaustion and into a state of waking sleep. The alchemists just kept giving me more chemicals to keep the adrenaline flowing. The weapons, the armor, even the presence of other soldiers in the battle fueled my body, mind, and spirit with an unending supply of resilience. When I wasn't fighting, I couldn't relax my guard, because the demons invaded my dreams. I hadn't moved from that state of being; that manic place where the energy continued to push me, but now toward my home instead of battle.
Shortly after sunrise everything I had decided to keep with me was carefully packed in my saddlebag. My remaining armor, saddle, and tack, I buried far from Marah's body. One object I debated leaving behind was an odd bracer I'd found while clearing a demon stronghold near the Stormspire. It glowed with a sickening green, like the gas that sometimes flows skyward from a putrid swamp, and I hadn't dared to try it on. I carried it wrapped in thick cloth, because just touching it made my bones ache and my stomach to turn. I knew such an item would be of interest to my sister, Lorana, a priestess who worked in the Cathedral district of Stormwind City. I hoped they could find some way to use it for good, or at least properly dispose of the wretched thing.
I remained off the main road to Darkshire, but followed it closely. Moving silently and concealing as much of my tracks as possible was a slow way to travel, but in my experience, without a fast mount, it was the safest. After a few leagues, I did begin to feel the first stirrings of a curious presence. I would stop to observe and it would stop to observe. I would continue on slowly and after a few moments it would catch up. The presence seemed to be deeper in the forest, also covering its tracks and attempting to remain silent. I sensed no menace from this presence. Whatever it was, it wasn't hunting me, but like most creatures of the woods, I didn't like being the one stalked, so I turned my attention from the road to my new traveling companion. I moved in deeper toward the place where I felt the presence most strongly. I stopped and found a spot to camouflage myself and wait. It wasn't long before I saw a great black wolf with yellow glowing eyes. I pulled an arrow from my quiver and knocked it to my bow. The animal caught my movement and turned its head toward me.
It knew I was there. In that still moment we caught eyes. One predator to another. Chances were, it had never seen my kind before. I had horns and hooves like a goat, a tail like a cat, but a body like a woman. It sniffed the air, but it received no whiff of fear from me. My body said, I'm not afraid of you, Brother Wolf. You and I are the same. We are both hunters in this forest. He turned his ears up higher as though he expected me to speak, but I knew words wouldn't serve me now. Instead, I stood to my full height and with my posture and my attitude said, See me, Brother Wolf. See how I am strong and powerful. See how I can protect my pack with my skills and my killing tools. See how this forest obeys me. I am a leader and I demand your respect.
The wolf lowered his head and growled. He showed his teeth and moved down low, like he was ready to pounce.
I changed my stance and gaze to look beyond the wolf, to look deeper into the forest, completely ignoring his threat. With my body and presence I said, I won't acknowledge you, Brother Wolf; because I am like this tree. Your threats wash over me like the wind. I am this tree and you are now the wind and all your threats are like the rattling of leaves. I am the mistress. Your threats have shown me you feel fear. You are the servant. I am the strength of the forest. I am the earth and you are the air. I am flesh and now you are spirit.
I could feel the wolf's anger swell like a wave on the ocean and with one leap he meant to bring the entirety of his wrath down on my neck with one strong bite, but I denied him that pleasure. I crouched into a lower position and caught his eyes. Instead of on my neck, he landed at my feet. He held my gaze until his fur settled and his tail dropped between his legs. After only a few moments his ears dropped back and he had to look away. With my hand gestures and body I said, Now you are mine. We are the same blood now. I turned you into spirit, but now you're flesh again, because I will it so. You may serve me as I wish, and from this service you will find your joy. I am your mistress. I am your everything.
"I believe I will call you, Astra," I said. "After the name of these dark trees that make this forest eternally night."
Astra wagged his tail in approval, and despite his ferocious looks, he was rather sweet and affectionate for a wolf. I hadn't had a hunting companion in many moons. I reached into my saddlebags and tore off a large piece of pork jerky. I took the first bite and chewed it slowly while Astra watched. He licked his teeth, but remained seated while I took a second bite. Showing clearly with my body language that I had eaten my fill, I threw the piece of meat to Astra. He devoured the meal with a single bite. Now that I had his trust I went to work checking him over. With a comb I removed burs and thorns from his coat. I brushed between his claws and examined his teeth. I pressed into his strong muscles and felt his stomach. He was malnourished, but relatively healthy.
"Why, you're just a young pup," I said. "Awfully young to be hunting out here by yourself, brave soul. What happened to your family?"
Astra just wagged his tail, unaware of what I was asking, but knowing these woods even a wolf as powerful as Astra could become prey to more terrible creatures. Rumors were that the dead walked these woods. Other hunters even had tales of a race of wolf-like men who lived deeper in the hills. As I gathered my things to prepare for our journey to Lakeshire, Astra's ears went up in the direction of the road. With my body I asked him what he heard. He cocked his head and I gestured for him to lead me.
He crouched low and found the easiest, quietest path for us to follow through the brush and trees. Within moments we were near the main highway. We remained hidden in the overgrowth and I praised my new companion for his good work with a scratch behind the ears. He alerted again toward the southern end of the road. I heard the wagon before I saw it. Then I heard the singing, in that strange, nasally voice common to the goblin folk whose mercantile culture controlled much of the trade. The wagon was loaded with so many pots, pans, and household materials that it banged and clanged as it progressed down the street. A poor gray donkey with a chipped ear slowly dragged the overburdened wagon over the cobbled road. Seated next to the goblin on the driver's bench was what appeared to be a woman dressed in robes wearing a heavy cloak. I motioned for Astra to stay and stealthily moved to the other side of road.
As the wagon approached, I stepped out onto the path with my bow drawn and an arrow knocked.
"Speak common," I asked.
The goblin pulled up on the reigns and the wagon creaked, groaned, banged and clanged, but did finally come to a stop.
"Of course," he said. "Can I interest you in a new dress? I'm running a special today for highway robbers."
"I'm no thief, merchant," I said as though the word 'merchant' were a curse. "I wish to trade. You do trade, don't you?"
The goblin laughed nervously and said, "Of course, of course, is my skin green, doll? Don't you see the gold stains on my fingertips? It's value for value around here, love. You need new armor, right? You're out here without anything to protect yourself with. You need some leather armor, because I have the best. Need a new bow—," he stopped speaking rather suddenly and examined my bow.
It was no ordinary hunting bow. The bow had once belonged to a demon who fancied himself some sort of prince. Prince of what, I hadn't cared. With enough arrows and sword slashes, even the mightiest of princes will die, and when he did I rummaged his dwellings for anything of value. That's what we did on the front. We picked our weapons and armor off the dead. Oh sure, you could wear the armor and use the weapons supplied by the military, but if you wanted to live longer than a few weeks you learned rather quickly to steal from the recently deceased.
The goblin obviously hadn't expected to run into anyone who could even carry such a weapon, much less wield it deftly, because his whole demeanor changed. I could smell the fear and see the sweat that formed on his brow. These things told me I suddenly had the upper hand in any of our future negotiations.
Just as the goblin realized my origins, I recognized the rider. She wasn't a woman. At least, not anymore. She had been once, probably many years ago, but now she was one of the Forsaken. Her robes told me she was an adept, one of the newer mages still in study, but as I had so clearly illustrated to the goblin, clothes could easily deceive. I aimed the arrow at the undead woman. She looked at me, without a trace of fear in her eyes, and said something in her ghastly language. The sounds of her voice didn't seem to come from her mouth, but from someplace deeper and darker. In my time, I had seen many Forsaken, and every time I was around them I felt nothing but the desire to rid the world of their uncanny existence. I'm sure she felt that hatred from my stare.
The goblin raised his hands in a gesture to try to calm the hostilities, but it was useless, the mage was already attempting to call on some dark powers to grant her a spell that would rid the world of me. It might have even worked if Astra hadn't jumped from the cover of overgrowth and bit deeply into the undead's skull. I quickly fired the arrow into her heart as she screamed out the last words of her spell, but it was no use now. The magic from her curse surrounded her in a reddish purple light. She fell from the wagon with a dry, crackling crunch, like sound of gathered branches hitting the road and Astra shook whatever life animated her corpse from this world.
The goblin's gaze was nothing but furry. He showed his tiny, needle sharp teeth and clinched his fists. I already had an arrow knocked and pointing in his direction.
Through his locked teeth he said, "Please call off the dog."
I watched him a moment more and he repeated, "Please?"
I called Astra. He came and sat beside me, the mage's femur still clutched in his jaws. I scratched him behind the ear to reward him for a job well done. He wagged his tail and watched the goblin closely.
The goblin crawled across the driver's seat and down the other side of the wagon. I moved around the donkey and kept the arrow knocked and pointing in his direction. When I saw him, I wasn't certain what he was doing, but then I realized he was weeping. He was holding the thing's broken body in a tight embrace and rocking her in his arms. He brushed its ghostly hair and seemed to be speaking to it in the Forsaken's tongue. I made Astra drop the femur from his jaws. I returned my arrow to the quiver, holstered my bow over my shoulder, and picked up the femur. I walked to where the goblin sat rocking the dead creature and placed the femur by the corpse. He didn't acknowledge my existence. He just continued rocking it and speaking in the Forsaken's language.
I wanted to feel something then. I wanted to feel anything. I wanted to feel remorse for what I had done. I wanted to feel guilt, but I didn't. I looked at my hands and they still held the marks and scars from where the armor had dug into the skin. I remembered how my hands had looked when I was just a girl. They had been light blue, like the sky. They had been almost creamy, they were so beautiful then, but I didn't even realize it. Now my hands, my arms, my legs, were a garden of swirling scars and indentations made by the very things I had worn to protect me. I wondered then what sort of scars I had inside. What did my soul look like? Was it the pure white light that the priests promised; or had I destroyed that in my journey to become the ideal hunter? Was that light gone? Was I still Draenei?
I looked at Astra and I felt I had more in common with that beast than this poor, weeping goblin. So many nights, trying to catch some rest in a camp surrounded by the demon hordes and the constant sounds of never-ending battle, I had prayed for some peace. Maybe that's what I'd found? I had been reborn with the soul of an animal. Whatever was Draenei in me had died.
I called to Astra and he joined me. We continued on our way to Lakeshire, with the sorrowful songs of the goblin merchant echoing off the dark trees.