The revelation of a dark master sending his minions to the Highlands was a big one, however strange that might seem at first. Over a year ago, Sint and her allies came to the Highlands to stop the Black Legion for the first time, using tactics and newfound local help to crush Warlord Blackfist's attempt at conquest. One of these locals was Kings Og'ma of what was once Glopgut's Hollow, now named Banehollow. A nameless ogre people now were known as the Foebane, named as they were the bane of their greatest foes, the Old Gods. The Kings agreed to a deal with the Alliance, allying his ogres and ettin with the armies of the Alliance as long as he was able to maintain authority of what was once Twilight territory. Og'ma is an intelligent two-headed ogre sorcerer-king, almost emulating Imperator Mar'gok. What Og'ma had that Mar'gok didn't, however, was empathy. The Ogre Kings hated what his people allowed the Twilights to do, especially hating that Cho'gall lead the Twilight's Hammer. Seeking to undo the terrible evils their kin had wrought, Og'ma began to help mend the land. His alliance with the Alliance helped greatly, their ogres now a welcome sight to the Wildhammer and few remaining Alliance keeps in the region.

So the fact that something slipped through Og'ma's vigilance is surprising. So surprising indeed, that Sint chose to visit the Kings of the Foebane. Banehollow and the area around it lacked the dim sadness that was held once before, as green and warmth had begun to finally seep back into the land destroyed by the Twilight's Hammer. It was no less surprising to see Wildhammer Dwarves walking amongst the half-giants than to see other peoples mingling within the markets and streets of Banehollow, both Alliance and the rare red dragon milling about. Brutal buildings had been torn down for a more civilized scheme, as Gorian pillars and statues had started to sprout up. It is as if Og'ma chose to finally reignite the spirit of the Old Ogre ways, organizing them into the civilization that they once were. Sint was smiled at by more than one ogre on her way to the cave where Og'ma's throne was held, for they remembered her. She helped turn Banehollow into what it is now.

One of the Cave Guardians was a face she recognized, Gumaul the Biggest. Gumaul was Og'ma's greatest champion during the battle for the Highlands, seemingly now promoted to being a royal guard of the newly crowned Kings of the Foebane. The last they spoke, Gumaul barely spoke a word of common. So when she was met with a strong hello and a hearty laugh, Sint felt a warmth flourish inside of her. She looked to Gumaul, "Hello, the Biggest. It's been a good while since I've visited."

"Shadow of War. Visit?" Gumaul still struggled with the language, almost chewing on his words, but the ogre clearly understood the words Sint spoke. He learned common, he just needed to figure out how to speak it. A moment passed as he translated what he wanted to say into spoken word, "Ehhh, purpose of visit?"

"I have come to see the Kings. Are they present?" Sint nodded toward the cave, which was met with an affirming nod from Gumaul.

"Hm, mhm. Kings are present. Bad mood." The ogre frowned, his single eye narrowing, "Trouble at Foebane's borders."

This piqued Sint's interest, "Trouble at the borders? Where they, perchance, orcs?"

Gumaul's frown deepened, "Sound like you have much to be saying to the King. Go in." The ogre pointed his mighty maul towards the inside of the cavern, Sint patting him on his elbow as she passed by. Gumaul was huge, even for an ogre, so Sint hardly even reached his belt. But Og'ma, he was a true goliath. Sint believed that her brother, a seven foot man who could turn into a ten foot worgen, was massive enough. But meeting Og'ma put her brother's height into perspective, as the ogre required acres of cloth to build even a single robe. Sitting upon a mighty carved throne, with much smaller seats fanned out around him, Og'ma spoke to himself. Having two heads must've made ruling far more interesting, as the King had two minds, two personalities. Og seemed to be a more thoughtful, careful mind. His mind is where the magic came from, as Ma controlled the body. Most two-headed ogres divided roles up like this, as all of them were casters of some sort. Although both heads could control the same magic, the same body, they knew better than to attempt to have both heads control both things. Due to this, the mind that controlled the body often became more militaristic, much less spiritual. In this case, it sounded as if Og and Ma were arguing whether or not they should send their army out to find the perpetrators of 'that thing that happened at our border'.

Sint stood at the entrance to their throne room, waiting for a break in their rather heated debate. It was until Og looked over to catch his breath that the ogre Kings noticed Sint's entrance. Ma didn't realize it immediately, forcing Og to take control of their body for just a moment. He bopped Ma on the head, "You dolt! We have a visitor. Keep your thoughts of warfare shuttered for now!"

"Agh! I forgot you could do that, but…" Ma's eye rolled, as he looked over to see what Og was looking at. His foul mood lightened as he saw Sint, "Lady Dagon!"

"The Shadow of War. What brings you to Banehollow, and especially to us?" Og tilted his head forward, Ma following with the rest of their mighty body.

Sint bowed to both Ogre Kings, offering up a well-carved box. It was bulky and awful for a human, perhaps, but in Og'ma's hands it would seem to be a perfect fit. She smiled, "Although my visit is perhaps not the kindest one, I still do come bearing a gift for your highnesses."

Ma reached for the box, holding it so Og could see the fine ornamentation. Opening it, both ogres laughed, Og speaking first, "Lady Dagon, how kind! I didn't expect to get a new knife, especially after this fool cracked our last one picking his teeth."

"Listen, it was a fine problem what had found itself in my maw, Og. Who knew black dragon bones were so sturdy that crunching them so finely still caused our golden tooth-pick to shatter so easily?" He scoffed, "It was of the Horde, anyhow. It was only a matter of time before I disposed of it."

Sint laughed, "You seem to be in a better mood already, my lords. So, allow me to explain why I've come. I returned to the Highlands not to visit, unfortunately. If I were a less busy woman, I would've made this a social call and not something so… serious. I walked the forest that I destroyed when we were fighting the Black Legion."

"We are aware of this forest. The crater you left still radiates energy, it gives me a headache everytime we visit." Og sighed, "An echo of fire."

"Precisely, King Og. I've been having… dreams. Dreams related to a vision I saw when I burned away that forest. A vision of a monstrous black shadow who denied the peace of death to the ones I destroyed, a thing that rose from the depths to invalidate everything I had done." She paused, "This shadow sent a minion to study my echoes, a minion crushed beneath a place my life was saved in."

Ma grunted, "You still are poor at hiding your dread, Og. Spit it out."

"Fine. Well, we've been having trouble recently. Mysterious soldiers have been making messes within the Highlands, and their activity has mostly been centered around the forest. We've managed to scare them off each time, but they keep coming back. We were debating on whether or not sending our army out to purge this filth from our land, but…" Og grumbled, "It's possible that they're just the Horde."

"I doubt this is the Horde, Og." Ma growled, "They use magic that even the Banshee Queen might be cautious about."

Og's brow furrowed as he looked to Ma, "How can we be certain that Sylvanas hasn't started to go off the deep end? Start using minions that aren't afraid of the Foes that lie beyond?"

Sint crossed her arms, listening to the heads argue. Both Kings were correct in their concerns, but she knew better than to think so narrowly, "Might I suggest something else, Og'ma?"

"Go ahead." Both heads reply.

Sint unfastens a necklace, pulling it from her neck and holding it out. It was one of two, being a shining silver medallion emblazoned with the sigil of the Ren'dorei. She glances to both Kings, "This medallion is imbued with finely tuned magic, meant to track specific magical signatures down. No one being's magic is the same as any other's, so if I am able to find a trace of their dark magica, I might be able to get a general location of where they're at."

"There's a catch, isn't there?" Ma posits this question, a frown on his face.

"Yes. If they're not close enough, I'll only be able to tell you they're not here." She bows her head, "But I feel like that would be good news, hm?"

Og and Ma both nod, "Yes."

"Then may you guide me to where you last smelled their dark influence, my lords?" Sint puts her necklace back on, drawing Rebellion from its sheath. Whether or not she needed her Stormsilver blade wasn't something she was to argue about in her mind. The journey was likely to be dangerous, even if this step was not. Facing destiny with a sword in hand is the Dagon way, after all.

Og'ma's portal took Sint a short distance, but it left her alone to investigate. The Kings elected to stay behind and maintain the gateway just in case Sint needed to escape quickly, allowing Sint perfect operating space. Where she was dropped appeared to be an old Horde camp, set right at the jaws of the Twilight Bastion grounds. An old and battered tent lay broken on the ground, a few crates and barrels shattered due to ogre bashing. The only thing that remained intact was an outhouse, resting upon its side. Already, though, Sint felt her medallion warming up.

In the shadow of the broken Twilight Bastion, Sint chose to investigate this camp with caution, out of worry that something might come crawling from the depths of this abandoned fortress. Poking through broken boxes, Sint found little more than materials for unknown rituals and shattered glass. It was probably very likely that whoever abandoned this camp knew someone or something was coming for them, taking their essentials and leaving the rest to be obliterated. As she approached the outhouse, the medallion grew cold. It made sense, to be fair. Even that privacy shouldn't be perverted by foul magic. No, her medallion grew hot the closer she got to the broken tent.

Though the tent itself was non-magical, what was underneath it might have been. Though at first Sint's study of the tent found no reason for her medallion to be as hot as it was, as she moved the tent itself to the side, she found what it was reacting to. The ogres missed something when they smashed and bashed their way through. A small stone was out of place, not entirely flush with the surrounding ground. Unlike gravel or a normal stone, it earnestly appeared to be an attempt to hide something in the stone, leading Sint to pull the stone from its resting place.

A light violet glow radiated from the crack from where the stone once sat, attracting Sint's attention. The stone itself was nothing outstanding, but what lay beneath was extraordinary. At first glance most would think the crystal nothing amazing, something likely worthy to just purify and leave be. But as one should realize, their eye has been caught by the crystal. Something pulls attention towards its core, as discordant chimes play within the back of your mind. As you look, the shadows are not cast by the crystal, but by the power that lay within it. A melody of beauty turned chaotic, of the death of the light. A fragment of a Dark Naaru, in Sint's hands.

And it was just… left behind?

Sint shuffled through the crates, finding a good amount of runecloth to wrap the shard in. Something so exceedingly rare and dangerous should be kept in safe keeping, forcing her to ask herself a question. Did she trust Og'ma with such an item? She didn't trust herself with it, to be fully honest, so she didn't quite believe an ogre should have it. Taking a glance at the portal left for her, she still knew she had to return. So for the moment, she did her best to mask the Shard's power. Taking her medallion from her neck and taking a few deep breaths, Sint took the heated medallion in hand, feeling that extreme warmth fill her body. It was painful, this process, but the pain made it extra accurate.

Though distance dulled the medallion's effects, Sint could easily tell the direction she needed to head. The white hot pain already dulling in her hand, she knew that her next step was to head to the next Echo of Fire. To the West she needed to sail, to the land of eternal starlight, to Kalimdor. However strange, the echoes she must've left in the Eastern Kingdoms seemed to have been left alone by this dark presence. For a moment Sint dwelled on why they'd abandon a shard of such potency, wondering why they even had it in the first place. Which Naaru did they gather this from? And how could nobody sense that it had come to Azeroth?

She came to find an answer, only to leave with more questions than answers. Passing through the gateway back to Banehollow, she knew the ogre kings were curious on what she had found. Og'ma looked eager to hear what she had to say, so she chose to speak of her findings before they had the chance to ask. Sint's concern was heavy in her tone, "Though I am glad to tell you that these perpetrators are no longer within the East, they seem to be a far more dangerous adversary than I expected."

"You carry the stench of the Old Ones, Lady Dagon. Was the magic truly that potent?" Og grimaced, bringing a hand to his chin. Scratching at his mighty beard, the ogre hummed.

Ma pointed to Sint, "Well, you've solved our problem. As concerning as it is that they escaped our notice until it was too late, they have left. If not for our need to continue to build up our territory, I'm certain I could convince my better half to agree to supporting your cause. Instead, Lady Dagon, take our trust with you."

Og nodded, still rather unhappy with the results, "Alas, that is all we can provide for now. On your next visit, we will be able to reward you in thanks. Take care on your mission… and… uh. Find a way to get rid of that stench. Others who are not so inclined to trusting you may take the feeling the wrong way, Lady Dagon."

"I understand. My voyage will likely be enough to cleanse myself of such corruption." Sint pauses, "But your word is enough, my lords. To see you building a society unmarred by the Fourth War's destruction is… almost beautiful. Not all lands have been crushed by this useless conflict."

"Your voyage?" Og's voice is curious, not laden with typical suspicion.

A silver glow gives Og his response, as Sint lifts the medallion once again. She points to the West, "My foe tarries not within land I can easily reach. To the West they have gone, to Kalimdor. If they had stopped within the isles near the Maelstrom, to Pandaria, to Northrend… This medallion could've told me. Luckily, it urges me so far West that I may as well travel to the other end of the world." She looks down, to her feet, "A trip to the edge of Azeroth, a trip I must make alone."

"Alone? You have your Blades, do you not?" Ma grunts, "As a fellow commander, I'd say bringing a few of those stubborn lunatics with you might be a wise course of action."

"This isn't about military action, not yet. My journey must be taken alone, for now. The paths I must walk must be tread by me and me alone, for they are paths only I can take." Sint sheathes Rebellion, "This is a journey not meant for a weapon, tis meant for the blade's master."

"I see what you mean." Ma leaned back, "A shame none can go, however. A journey traveled alone tends to be the most difficult one of all."

Og'ma bowed their heads, "Save travels."

Sint bowed to the Ogre Kings, "Thank you for your hospitality. I am off." Sint spun on her heel, exiting the Kings' hovel. Passing Gumaul, she patted him once more on the elbow, eliciting a grunt from the large ogre. To the path she walked, seeing different smiles and different faces as she walked past. They knew that she had solved their troubles, but they also knew that she had her own weight to carry. The Foebane and those who dwelled in Banehollow thanked her for what she had done, but secretly prayed for her safety.

Out of Banehollow she went, the shard in her pocket almost forgotten as the weight she bore started to manifest itself. What awaited her in the West? What thing had come to undo her achievements, to undo the tenuous peace granted at the close of the Fourth War? She sighed, putting these things to the back of her mind. First, Sint needed to get to the West, then she could concern herself on these questions. Not too far from Banehollow was an Alliance base, Victor's Point. Once used to fight back the Twilight's Hammer in their prime, it now was a ghost of what it once was. A skeleton crew kept watch from the tower, a team of veterans who fought the Twilights and the Legion during their invasion. A team of veterans that even aided Sint when she came to face the Black Legion, just a year prior.

Luckily for Sint, even though she had been ejected from the Alliance's military, these men were happy to see her and glad to keep her gryphon safe. Paying the watchmen as she arrived and locating her Gryphon, Roger, Sint was able to finally disembark from the Highlands. She steered her companion toward the West, but there was one stop they needed to make before Sint was to finally leave. They flew for a short time, mostly flying downwards, as they flew over dwarven marshland. The Cataclysm's scars still were easily visible through the land as they flew, overflowing rivers and lakes yet to have been healed. The Wetlands had not been treated as kindly as many other lands wrecked by the Cataclysm, for in truth, a rare few people lived within the marsh. A border territory, the end of Khaz Modan, it was better left to frontier-folk than to fully settle. The land was tough, hard to grow crops in. The soil was weak, leading to unstable foundations for building. There was little bounty in a marsh, so when the Cataclysm came, the Wetlands was mostly left alone.

That was, except for Menethil Harbor. A port established by the Kul Tirans, it had long since been in Dwarven and Alliance hands. The ruinous extent of the Cataclysm damn near sank the Harbor, if not for the efforts of the hardy folk who called it home. Though much of Menethil was to forever be lost to the ocean, it was mostly repaired. Compared to the last time Sint saw it years ago during the days following the Cataclysm, it may as well have been a new city. The harbor was busy this morning, as many soldiers were returning from the war. To their homes in Khaz Modan or the Harbor they went, little thought given to Sint landing with her gryphon amidst the busy crowds.

The docks of the Harbor were perhaps the busy section of town, forcing Sint to dismount from her trusty companion. She pat Roger on the beak, "Dear friend, this is where we must part ways for now. Return to Dragonguard, and don't come looking for me. My journey will take me far, and that is no distance for an elderly gryphon. Take care, and say hello to the Rock for me." Though the gryphon protested for a moment, he understood well enough that Sint needed him to leave. Quick was Roger's flight away from the Harbor, and quick was Sint finally fully alone in her journey.

The Blades would not follow her. Her companions were safe in Dragonguard. Her wife and her siblings likely understood she needed to go alone, for now. They all were to wait for her return. Alone with her thoughts, Sint chartered a small yet sturdy vessel from the dockmaster, taking to the open sea with a grim path now opening in her mind. As Sint sailed from the Harbor, she finally allowed those creeping thoughts to break loose from the momentary barrier she set up. Like a black tide, as deep and wide as the sea ahead of her, these gnawing questions popped up. Why would she see the ideal of something so cold and distant, yet ever so warm and familiar? This Death she saw was close to her, but it was yet to be known to her.

It could not be Void, could it? The Lord couldn't have had disciples, could he? Did the Lord have a master that finally succeeded at breaking into Azeroth? If so, then why didn't anyone know of it? If a Void Lord walked Azeroth, Sint was certain someone should have already organized an army to destroy it. That, or the skies would have already grown dark, tendrils of chaos ripping through the land… Azeroth would be dead. No. Sint knew it couldn't be Void, so what could it be?

Could it simply be a soldier she swatted aside in battle, rising in vengeance? Could it be one of her own, betraying her and purposefully drawing her closer? Nothing particularly added up, for the rest of the things she has faced had been slain at the end of her or someone else's blade. Vantel, Blackfist, Iren, the Hanged Man… so many names of so many monsters. She'd slain them all, seen them disemboweled or decapitated by her or another's hands. Even Blackfist had been obliterated, the Lord's chaotic touch eradicating the orc from reality.

"Perhaps I've just lost my mind, huh." Sint spoke to the air as she guided her small ship into the open sea, "No supplies, chasing a ghost from a vision I had. All I have to guide me is a shard of a cosmic entity and my own madness."

"If you've lost your mind, then I guess now wouldn't be a good time to start talking." Sint flinched, swinging her head side to side. Of course the vessel was empty, but was a naga trailing her? That would be absurd, she'd've noticed…

"Yes, you probably would have." The same voice, strong and gruff. His voice almost seemed to carry an archaic Gilnean accent.

Another different voice appeared, much kinder yet equally as resolute. "Sven, maybe it would be good of us to introduce that concept later on."

"Voices in my head… It's official." Sint tapped the side of her head, "Completely lost it."

"You've not done anything of the sort, heir. You've just started to let go." Sint closed her eyes, hearing the first voice louder than ever. It was as if he was right behind her. The sudden feeling on her back warned her that perhaps he was. She opened her eyes to see that the ocean around her was glowing gold, as the sky was much darker than it was before. Whipping her head to look behind her, there were two glowing forms sitting in her boat. It took her eyes a moment to familiarize themselves with the setting, the two figures becoming more clear as she adjusted. Already in the front of the boat, Sint sat back, looking to the strangers in her vessel.

The first one was a large man with shining golden eyes, features very similar to her brother. He wore a great strong beard, held powerful muscles, and wore fairly decent plate armor. He held an axe in hand, wore a necklace of various rings. There was a weathered, albeit familiar, look in his eyes as he looked to her. Sitting next to him must've been the kinder voice, with burning orange eyes instead of golden ones. Dressed in ornate robes and covered in all sorts of fine jewelry, it was as if a nobleman and his guardian had sat within her boat.

There was something deeply familiar about the man, though. Beyond the familial resemblance… Sven. The other voice said Sven. Could it be?

"She can see us, Kumo. Finally could hear us… didn't expect to be seen so soon." Svenrir Dagon shrugged his mighty shoulders, "I didn't figure it'd be this hard to get through to her, compared to her brother."

"Well… To be fair, she's more like you than any of your descendents." Kumostraz the Red Dragon shrugged his well-ornamented shoulders, "My gift gives strength and awareness, but you Dagons tend to be so… stubborn."

"...By the Light." Sint looked between the two, "What is happening?"

Sven leaned forward, "Well. To be frank… You're finally waking up."