Sint stayed for the short rite held for the lost of Redrust Harbor, leaving aboard Aranor's ship. Silence felled the words these men might have had for one another. Paragons of mankind spent little time in mirth, their company grim and their faces even moreso. What words could they spare to a newcomer, who lived her life in the East? A newcomer who had no notion of the situation of things within the West? She came promising her help if they could help her, but within the unspoken words lingering in the air; Sint already felt as if she knew they couldn't spare a soul to help her.
Spread thin by both malignant forces and crushing despair, this team of Rangers seemed to be on their last legs. Proud men and women of the Alliance came to Kalimdor for what? Petty victories and continued awareness of the atrocities of the West? It wouldn't take much to recognize that perhaps this company of Alliance proud warriors had been torn down to their most base and primal shapes, reformed by the constant savagery of a land untamed by elves and men. A land most chaotic, torn by both war and hatred. Fear of the other, the perfect victory of Garrosh Hellscream. Whether or not the Tyrant expected his true war to be fought after his death, Garrosh had sewn the seeds of chaos within the people he conquered. There was no trust in Kalimdor, each and every soul living their lives with a dagger pointed at another's back, knowing full well that another Hellscream was waiting for them.
Sylvanas was proof. All of her loyalists were proof. The Kor'kron the Horde hunted down were proof. This fear coerced them into believing Teldrassil was correct, tearing down the very last bastion of hope for Kalimdor. With both the elves and Horde lost to tragedy, mania, and fear… Kalimdor was no home for any man, woman, or child. A land of the lost, a land so torn by the wretched that it may as well be hostile. A perfect land for a monster to work within the shadows, butchering their way through innocents to obtain something.
Perhaps these seeds were scattered long before Tyrant Hellscream's authoritarian regime, but they were not grown until he came. His was a conquest that would last much longer than a physical one, his was a conquest of ideals. The Horde was united by shared hardship, being driven to the edge of the world due to so many things. Be it by man or by another force, the Horde was driven together out of a need of a united strength. But the Horde grew fat on this ideal, spending the short time it had together creating a false idea that unity was the only way. It stood together through atrocity after atrocity, its people growing disillusioned with this ideal of united peace. Bloodied by the actions of conquerors, its people were prepared on a silver platter to burn down the world for the sake of 'survival'.
And this conquest of ideals went further than a common grunt or even a High Warlord, it went across the sea. The consequences of Tyrant Hellscream's conquest touched every part of the world, whether the world liked it or not. So at the end of a war caused by the late warchief's actions, the Shadow of Conquest still loomed over the world, a foreboding menace that drove even mankind to embody division. The Alliance, always united by a common enemy, even found itself cracking underneath the weight of the shadow.
Sint shifted in her seat as she looked to the faces of the men within Aranor's scouting party, seeing the Shadow of Conquest patterned across all of them. It was an uncomfortable feeling, looking to men who had lost hope in a united cause, only moving forward to survive. If they looked back, chose to try to strive by the ideals of the Alliance, they feared they were to lose themselves to the despair of the past. The despair of the present. Part of her wondered if Sylvanas succeeded in killing hope, or at least killing a part of hope.
The silence was crushing, nonetheless, forcing Sint from her seat. It carried her above deck, to where Aranor hid among crates and boxes, with a ranger disguised by magic guiding the vessel. She ducked down and sat next to the Captain. He was watching the ocean, almost unaware that he was joined by another. A pained expression was the one he wore when Sint spoke, her pleasant voice doing little to comfort the things he saw. She knew fully well he was seeing the faces of the innocents he thought he failed to save, "I'd like to speak, Aranor. Could you spare me a moment?"
His sigh was not one of relief, "I'll spare as many words as I can, Shadow of War. 'tis the least I can do for you." The ranger's verdant eyes flashed with concern as they met Sint's golden gaze, "Though whatever you might ask, I might not be able to answer. Both for my and my men's sake, if it means anything to a fellow Commander."
"I understand, truly I do. Having lead soldiers for as much time as I have, I have begun to understand the difficulties of keeping their best interests in mind. Even to allies that I so dearly wish I could share the full truth, the truth would harm the men it is attributed to." Sint pushed a loose strand of hair from her face, her hair made messy by the helm she wore earlier, "But, Aranor, I'd like to know about your operation. Why are you out here, and who are you exactly? It's not every day that I see an organized team of rangers headed by a man of Stromgarde in the West."
"It's for good reason. There's little good we men and women can do out here. No backing, no reinforcements. We're all that you get in Kalimdor, the little that we are." He grunted, "The Alliance as an entity is failing, as far as we care. We came here to help the Night Elves, even though the Alliance didn't want us to."
"You aren't wanted here?" Sint frowned, "That shouldn't be right."
"Alas, it is. The King cares more to befriend the Horde than to help his own. I suppose that's how it is within Stormwind, upon his gilded throne. Avarice blinds the King and his bold ideals, stopping him from doing what he promised to do by accepting the leadership of the Alliance in war." Aranor shook his head, "I understand fearing a Fifth War, but at this point, it almost feels like he wants it to come. He lets the Horde off with a few sanctions, allowing them to breathe easily. Thrall even was welcomed back with open arms, even though the greenskin bastard is the reason we are in this situation!"
"That doesn't tell me who you are, however. I've scorned the King's wishes on several occasions to pursue the right thing, but that doesn't tell you who I am, does it?" She hoped to push Aranor with these words, "You know of me, but not me."
"I doubt there's a soul within the military who hasn't heard of your story, and trust me, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't come here inspired somewhat by your public disagreement with the King. It takes more than courage to defy a divine authority, it takes a bit of madness." He recognizes he did call Sint a madman, somewhat, so he does his best to fix that, "Luckily for you, I'm starting to think the definition of insanity is changing for our favor."
She shrugs, "To be in my shoes is to imbibe on a bit of madness. I delved into the Void, alone, to chase a hostile adversary who outclassed me in every way shape and form at the time." There was a glint of humor in those intense golden eyes, "But I managed it. I imagine you've been managing, just as I have."
"The Silver Battalion is doing a little less than managing, in my opinion." He sniffs, "We've been doing an organized plummet."
"Your squad is the Silver Battalion?" Sint leans in, curious.
"No, my squad is a part of the Silver Battalion. I'm somewhat of a secondary leader to it, but we work for someone a bit bigger than me." He releases a puff of air from his nose, "Quite a bit bigger, if I'm being honest. I'm some crappy commando from Stromgarde, she's…"
"If I'm a betting woman, I can guess that she's a sentinel of sorts? The little I do know of the Kaldorei, I know they love putting Silver in front of a lot of their named organizations." Sint rubbed her nose, "Though, I guess mankind likes silver just as much as they do."
"No, no, you're right. Sentinel Captain Tarro Stardew, errrr… Ex-Sentinel Captain Tarro Stardew. She got together a good amount of Black Mooners and some scattered soldiers who came to help in Darkshore to keep fighting." Aranor honestly smiled, he seemed to deeply respect this elf, "She had the mettle to defy this faulty peace. I came to Kalimdor a bit lost, fighting a one man war against the mongrels who are polluting elven lands. They think because they burned it all down and the King let them go that they can have Ashenvale?" He clapped his hands, a fierce grin on his face, "Not on my watch. I bled and struggled for my own home for long enough, so to see the Alliance give up so easily on the night elves deeply got to me. I ran as fast as I could, prepared to stall the conquest of Ashenvale as long as I could."
"And I suppose you got in too deep?" Sint posed the question, "So deep that you garnered both the right and wrong attention?"
"Aye. Pissed off enough local warlords to have a black-ops team of Shattered Hand thrown my way. The trap I set was good, but it wasn't good enough to get all of 'em. Barely shot two orcs down before I had a bola wrapped around my knees, my head cracking against a boulder." He chuckled, "But I guess my trap was exactly what Captain Stardew was huntin' for. My trap didn't work for me, but it did work for her. Her rangers came swingin' out of the black reaches of Ashenvale, absolutely blindsiding them. Like, they knew I worked alone. I didn't expect 'em at all, myself!" He put a hand on his knee, pointing at Sint as he leaned forward, "They killed every last one of those orcs and offered me a place in the Silver Battalion."
"An army at the edge of their world, fighting a fight given up by their superiors. I like it." She crosses her arms, "Though, I have a single concern. You said 'Ex-sentinel Captain."
"Turns out the High Priestess isn't allowed to officially kill orcs as they defile her land." He snorts, "Little good that slap on the hand does. Even if she can't endorse it, her people are still gonna keep fighting for home. They've lost just about every home they've got to the actions of the Horde, they aren't gonna sit exposed because some princeling told them to stand down and kiss up."
"It's a promise of steel, this battalion. You push a people down long enough, they start to forget and ignore the warnings of others. They don't particularly care, as they've been struck hard consistently by a black hammer on an anvil built of hate. From the forge, a silver blade is built out of the frustrations and suffering of an entire civilization. A silver blade aimed at the black heart of their attackers." Sint draws her own sword, pointing it to Aranor so that he could see it, "A blade forged by victims so that they might never be the victim again."
Aranor silently studied Sint's weapon, admiring it even. He could see that it wasn't perfect, Rebellion, but it was built out of something extremely important. Passion. It was perfect for the kind of person its wielder was, engraved with words that mattered to them. Down its length was old Gilnean script, before the language was cemented as common across all human kingdoms. Though Aranor did not know how to read Gilnean script, he knew that whatever the engraving was, it was extremely personal to Sint. He wondered if this was a "Promise of Steel", as she mentioned.
Sint drew her sword back, laying it across her lap. The short silence was broken by her, "Seeing my sword, I feel you understand."
"You could say that. I can't claim to know what you mean, but the idea is something I resonate with." The Captain strokes his beard, "I never knew Stromgarde, really. I was young when it collapsed, and the life I lived before it's fall was spent in lands ravaged already by the Horde." He slowly nods, "I only have known life on the frontier, fighting to build something that I believed in. I never had what you had, I can't even fathom the idea of losing it. The idea that you still don't have it, watching as another ruined Kingdom is favored while your land still remains in limbo. You've lost, just as the Elves have. For that, I feel as if you know their strife better than I do."
Sint's expression grows somber, her eyes downturned, "Teldrassil was our home, too. Though we lived there for such a short time, those years were good years. We helped throughout all of their lands, trying to earn a place within their home. Kalimdor was to be a Gilnean home, as Gilneas' rise seems so ever-distant." To the sea did Sint's gaze go, "As deep as the ocean, as distant as the stars. Two homes lost, and nothing to show for it. We share their pain. We've lost everything, just as they have."
"By the Light… I'm sorry I brought it up." Aranor placed a hand on Sint's shoulder.
No tears came from Sint, as it seemed to be that she had accepted this bitter fact. As hard as it was to deal with, Gilneas was just a people at this point. Their kingdom was gone, their King hardly fought with their best interests in mind. A people held together by loss, and loss alone. She looked to Aranor, shocking the man with the lack of emotion she seemed to hold for this, "Apologies are worthless, Aranor. I brought the topic up. Let us not speak on it any longer."
"Fair enough." He spoke, allowing a short silence to fall again. A short silence upended by a sudden burst of insight, "Though, if we are not speaking of such upsetting things, perhaps we could speak of your reason for being here. I know you're searching for something, just as we are, but I would like to know what exactly you're out to achieve."
"A fair question." Sint pursed her lips, thinking a moment. Finding a way to word it so that he might better understand, Sint spoke on the topic, "I have come in search for places I've been once before. For areas I have used the power I used to dismantle your squad when you attacked me." Her tone grew stronger, "Something is hunting for those echoes. Something that I tracked to Kalimdor, but the energy dispersed before I could get a better reading on where it's exactly sourced from."
"Odd, though I suppose we aren't capable of seeing everything. As much as we've been watching the oceans to make sure nothing was leaving the West, I can't guarantee we saw everything." Aranor folded his arms, his brows furrowed, "As frustrating as it is, I don't know if our foes are the same."
Sint procured a runecloth bundle from a hidden pocket, "Though I won't unveil the object within, for your sake, I fear that this foe is extremely dangerous."
"What is it?" He looks to the cloth, wishing his query to be answered. He probably hoped that the answer was not as horrific as he knew it was going to be.
"A shard of a Dark Star. A piece of a dying Naaru… Something I was hoping to get purified after using it to locate its previous owners." Sint placed it back into its hiding place, safely in her breastplate, "They seem to no longer be manipulating the Void to find my echoes."
"That's… bad." He rubbed his face, "Really bad. If they can just easily discard an object of such strength… I don't like your foe. I'm starting to actually really wish our enemies aren't the same."
A voice pipes up, a voice that only Sint certainly could hear. Kumostraz' disembodied voice rings out from within Sint's mind, "My dear, I have been following what Ranger Captain Aranor has been saying and I do think his details are strongly correlating with what you witnessed in your vision. A black wave of death taking the spirits of people forsaken by hope. Considering that you found an orc searching for your power in the Highlands, as well, and they are taking on a shadowy adversary in the same land you traced your enemy's power to…" Kumo paused, "Well. You can probably make that conclusion yourself."
Sint didn't respond to Kumostraz, but she did use the drake's words to hopefully seal a pact between her and the Silver Battalion, "I came here due to a trail of clues I found relating to a vision. An orc found an echo of my power, I found his camp and this shard. I tracked the shard to Kalimdor, a shard belonging to this black wave of death, that took the spirits of people forsaken by hope. A shadowy army that slaughters a people abandoned by the Alliance."
"Damnit." Aranor grumbled, "So it really sounds like what you're searching for is the thing we're trying to find, ourselves." The ranger didn't like that, "I'll poll my men, then. Give me a moment."
Aranor lifted up into a crouch, making his way below deck. This left Sint, Kumostraz, and Svenrir mostly alone. The sky grew dark, but the ocean did not turn yellow this time. The forms of both Kumo and Sven slowly faded into view, as they were standing by the edge of the vessel, looking to Sint. Sven looked particularly excited.
"Good timing, you two. I have a feeling he's going to be gone for a while." Sint sighed, "These men have little to cling to, so I feel that Aranor is going to have to invigorate them to tackle our shared issue."
"Hard job, inspiring boys with no spirit left in 'em. If anything, though, I feel you're a Lightsend for these poor soldiers." Sven leaned against the railing, "A strong hero who's come to fight the same enemy that they're struggling to even find."
Kumo nodded, "As much as Aranor will need to do to get them back into fighting spirit, I have no doubt that you've given these people a twinge of hope. Instead of two evil enemies, it is one, and they know you will stay to fight it."
Sven rolled one of his great big shoulders, "Though, it isn't the best start. This army isn't strong yet, and really I think you've only got one reliable ally currently. Aranor's good. He's got his head on his shoulders, and I don't think he's quite given up as hard as his boys below have. Even if they agree to help, methinks it'll just be Aranor and you working for a bit."
The drake patted Sven on the shoulder, "For once, he speaks wisdom. Though your strength has been proven to these people, they have little reason to hope. Even if they are convinced to aid you, there is little doubt that they will not send more than one man to help." Kumostraz doesn't speak of this as a bad thing, however, as he continues to talk, "This is for the better. What you are about to do is not a duty that can easily be done by a team of dejected fighters. Aranor is exactly what you need."
"Aye. If you can, you should convince them to give the Ranger Captain to you." Sven looked down at Sint, "Anything else, really, isn't important right now."
"He is prepared for the path ahead." Kumostraz says, "But we have a question for you, Sint."
They speak at the same time, their forms almost seeming to meld together in Sint's vision, "Are you?"
As their word fades, Aranor walks through their combined form, the sky returning to normal. He has a mixed expression, "They've agreed that we should help you."
"But they don't want to help me." Sint says, "Their fighting spirit is depleted, they need more than inspiring words to get thrust back into action."
"How'd you figure that?" Aranor shakes his head, "Intuition, I guess. But yeah, you hit the nail right on the head. They know we should help, but they just don't have it in 'em to do it. So, they've agreed that once we hit the coast of Azshara... "
"You'll be coming with me." Sint interjects.
"Damn good guess. Damn right guess, at that." He chuckles, "Maybe this isn't as bad of an idea as I first thought! I'm goin' with you to where you need to go, because I honestly believe that if we find anything, AND I MEAN ANYTHING, it'll be our first actual hint to finding the perpetrators of all this bloodshed in our outer havens." Aranor procured a map from the pack he carried, "So, I want you to point out where we need to go."
He laid it out in front of her, giving her a moment to think of where she should go. The powers of Kumostraz and Svenrir appeared slowly, as the two spirits seemed to be locating each area where they felt an echo of Dragonfire from. The first one they spotted was in Ahn'Qiraj, an idea Sint already crossed out in her mind. She doubted it was in her best interests to search Ahn'Qiraj during this period of instability, with an Old God on the loose and all. The second and third appeared in Feralas and Desolace, which Sint figured might be too far away to be effective. Then there was one in Azshara, which Sint almost felt would be the best idea.
That was until the one in Felwood was labeled, both spirits seeming to emphasize it. There was likely a reason for that, the reason being that it was the biggest ever eruption of Dragonfire. Sure Sint's outburst when she achieved the white version of Dragonfire was immense, but it was nothing to the scale of her brother's sacrifice. He survived the Legion, faced a Titan and survived to tell the tale, but when he came against the Horde… He perished. It was a sacrifice to save the refugees fleeing from the carnage in Darkshore, refugees being hunted by a massive Horde force that swelled in Felwood. A force that Saurfang used to finish the War of Thorns, the force that directly caused the Burning of Teldrassil. With a single fist, Dengarl cracked open the earth and split the heavens, raining fire and destruction down across an immense Horde army. The force was so tremendous that it instantly vaporized Dengarl, creating a new valley in the mountains.
Such an Echo would be hard to find just out of the geography of the land and the presence of the Army of the Black Moon, but… It should be the most powerful Echo of Fire. She pointed to Felwood, to the mountains, and looked to Aranor. She saw the shock in the ranger's eyes. "The mountains…" He thought for just a moment, "That was where Saurfang's army finished the War of Thorns. That's… Where Marshal Dagon died."
"You must take me there, Captain." Sint didn't beg him, her words a command.
"Yes ma'am." A good soldier listens to this command. This soldier knew better than to disobey the Shadow of War, especially after promising himself to her. An order well received.