The mountains between Felwood and the rest of the world were often referred to as the "Gortoth" by local orcish forces, as it was well known to the many who lived nearby that though Felwood itself is on its way to recovery, the mountains surrounding it may never see that luck. The corruption of the wood may have started within the forest, but the fel crept its way through the land until the very magical essence of the land forced it to stop. The taint of chaos seeping into the very earth, it has continued to send its tendrils downward, causing a lasting chaos that might never see its end. In orcish, Gortoth stands for "Fangs of Chaos", for the mountains around Felwood will always seem to be the fangs of an accursed beast, locking Ashenvale within its maw.
It was in the grip of these fangs that Dengarl Dagon sacrificed himself, a pillar of mourning flame rendering a tremendous army to ash. With a fist, a chasm was opened beneath an army, both the fire of Dragons and the embrace of the earth claiming thousands of lives. It still wasn't enough. The armies of chaos still managed to traverse the mountains, crushing a symbol of life beneath the boot of death. The thought still rattled Sint, the battle being one she so dearly wished she could have been there for. Maybe she could've been enough to turn the tides, enough to mean so many didn't have to die.
Trekking through the mountains and hidden pathways of Kalimdor was a long endeavor, one spent mostly in silence between Sint and Aranor. When they landed in Azshara, he sent his soldiers to return to Darkshore to join back up with the rest of the Silver Battalion, a route that he and Sint were to entirely diverge from. She knew that the Captain worried for his soldiers, fearing that they might face untold danger that he now couldn't guide them through. Without his leadership, he feared that he had doomed his squadron. It was a fear that Sint knew well enough, a fear she'd had to rationalize much through her commanding years.
There was much that a leader had to embody, much that a leader had to do. They were responsible for the direction and the morale of their men, so much so that often the death of a leader meant the end of an entire cause. But as much weight as there was on a leader's shoulders, they solely were not responsible for heading a cause. To their secondaries, to their very lowest ranking man, all were somewhat responsible for keeping a leader's dream alive. Each man contributes, not a soul is allowed to let others bear his weight. It was a hard lesson, that one. The lesson that every leader should plan for their death, as their lives were in more danger than any single member of their troop, even their most reckless berserker had a greater chance of living to old age than a commander in the line of fire.
It was a lesson that required a warrior to face his ego, to check it and make certain that it did not blind him. A lesson that required one to humble himself in the face of mortal danger, to make all understand the responsibility of war. To each man who raised a sword, be it a blade of steel or of ideals, they all must understand the cost. An idea must never live in the shadow of a leader, nor should it ever be tied to a single man's life. For an ideal is much more important than one man, no matter who the man was.
To Sint, it was a sobering reality. Long had she relied too much on herself, forcing herself to grow while leaving the rest to stagnate. She wished she had learned this reality long before her journey to the West, to find a shadowy monster from her dreams. If she had, perhaps she'd have no need to recruit Aranor's people. The Blades of Dagon might walk alongside her. It was her fault that they didn't, that they almost seem to cower in her presence. Many had begun to build a cult-like devotion to her name, her blood. It infuriated her to no end. So what if she had done so many things? So what if she had defied the divine and the unholy to see her duty through? She was but a human, a young woman lost in a path defined by dark tides and uncertainty.
The waves of an uncertain future crashed against her psyche, forcing Sint to confront her thoughts as she guided Aranor to the Echo of Fire. She dearly wished for Geneva's presence, missing the joy that they earned together. It was Geneva who was best at dispelling the demons that marched in Sint's shadow, for it was her touch and her nature that best comforted Sint in her darkest moments. To Sint, Gene was one of the rare lights in her life; a living sanctuary to protect her from herself. Alas, she was stuck facing this darkness alone. There was no hope in seeking Aranor's aid, for the man was living in a similar shadow. He also probably didn't know how to help Sint, even if he wasn't in the same situation.
The pair entered Felwood only days after arriving in Kalimdor, due to Sint knowing the route her brother took to cut off the Horde before they reached Darkshore. Passing over a river brightened by natural magics, Sint could see the path they needed to take to the ravine where the echo surely was. Stopping for a moment, she glanced to her companion, seeing that he was prepared to continue the climb. He did not protest the momentary rest, however; Aranor using the moment to speak to her.
His voice was less negative, his tone made much brighter since the last they spoke. Perhaps the trip had been ample time for Aranor to get his emotions back in line, or it had been time enough for him to at least regroup his thoughts. Collected, he spoke, "Commander, do you expect any action in the mountains? Though I've heard the orcs speak in mild fear when referring to this 'Gortoth' range, I've yet to hear any story speaking of the dangers that lie within it. All of it has been vague references to potential demons or bandits."
Sint drew Rebellion from its sheath, "I expect trouble, be it by demonic or our mystery enemy's hands. If they're good enough to completely avoid you for this long, I'm almost absolutely certain they've got a notion that I'm coming for them." She plants her foot on a roughly hewn step, "But when, that isn't known. If I had this many crushing victories under my belt, I'd be cocky enough to bet that we'd be coming with the main Battalion, instead of coming in a small group at least a day ahead of them."
"You think they're tracking my squadron?" He drew his daggers, frowning, "I'm not sure. If they can find your power, what stops them from tracking you?"
"Do you think I'd let anyone trace me? There's a reason they know me as the 'Shadow of War'. They don't ever see me coming." Sint says this with a bit of humor in her voice, showing Aranor that she's not entirely a monolith of severe seriousness. With a smirk, she speaks further, "Don't worry, Aranor. I've been tracked once through my power, and it's not something I particularly want to happen again. My medallion here has two purposes, one to find magic, and another to obscure it." Sint tapped the silver object, dangling across her breastplate.
"Such an interesting trinket, your medallion. Where'd you get it from?" He leans in to inspect it, "If you don't mind my asking, of course."
"I have friends in the right places. Turns out that befriending void elves is a worthwhile effort." She grips the medallion, "And that effort is still favorable. The medallion, it grows warm with the stench of foul magic. Though it is not the same magic as the shard, it is enough to tell me that it isn't the fel around us."
"Let's get a move on, then! I'm not letting these bastards get away, this time." Aranor twirls his blades, "Just up these stairs, up the slope?"
"Right." Sint nods, "Let us face these fiends, at last." She was the first to head up the steps, her heavy armor hardly holding her back. Years of training and the power of Dragonfire made even the heaviest implements in her arsenal easy to carry, allowing her to outpace even the lightly dressed ranger. Though she already obscured her magical signature with the Medallion of Telogrus, she did not want to chance the enemy even slightly detecting her. She refused Dragonfire's quickness, using her own strength to climb the mountain. The peak gave them a vantage point to see the battlefield, and the chasm her brother wrought from the earth.
Known as 'Giant's Landing' by the survivors of that battle, it was left well alone by those who didn't wish to draw the ire of whatever caused the ravine to be created. Unbeknownst to most, of course, Dengarl was the one who created it. So it was practically superstition and a lack of just cause that made the battlefield untouched, until now. Sint and Aranor stood atop the peak of one of the Gortoth mountains, staring down at an encampment of black-clad soldiers. Sint could make out the forms of Forsaken, Orcs, and even the odd man or monster. Their camp surrounded the chasm, which still burned with raging flame. Strange stones hung over the pit, suspended by unknown magic, covered in near-orcish script.
Aranor cursed, "The hell is going on down there? You got any idea?"
"I know they're trying to collect the motes of power left behind by myself and my brother, so perhaps they're attempting to harness the destruction that still burns in the Landing? I'll need a closer look." Sint makes to head down the slope, only stopped by Aranor's outstretched arm.
"Are you mad, Commander? Heading down there would be suicide, and you know it." He shook his head, "At least I could sneak in. You? You've got that great big armor and big shinin' sword! You'd be seen the moment you stepped one foot near that camp."
"If you're scared, Ranger, just watch me work."
"...War Camp Toth'ag is one of many, Overseer." A spectral voice shimmered through the evening air, silky smooth yet chilled to the core, "Even if your operation fails, another can take its place. Prove your worth by the Dawning Hour, and perhaps the Dark Lord shall forgive your stumbling. For now, take the small mercy that I am leaving your presence."
Its clawed hand was held around the orc's throat, as he whimpered like an abused dog when the being glared intently into his very soul. Its grip tightened for a moment, reveling in the noise that it forced from the Overseer. Eventually he was let free, a shadowy handprint now marked around his neck. Wherever the thing went, Thuller wasn't about to go looking. Ever since his people got the order to camp around these lands, more and more oddities began to appear within their ranks.
For one, Thuller was placed as 'Overseer'. His people never used such a rank, and no sort of thing existed within the Horde military. As time passed, Thuller recognized that what was happening no longer answered to the Horde. His original master was dead, now they were headed by a 'Dark Lord' he'd never seen. There were ghosts ordering his peers about, ghosts that were unstoppable by their hands. Previous Generals were now Overlords, squatting in derelict and abandoned keeps across war-ravaged lands.
And among the ghosts and lost territory, were other horrors of the past. Thuller may have been a criminal, a Kor'kron Sergeant who got overzealous in his punishment of the Trolls, but his skin still crawled when he looked at the army's more fresh recruits. Just a month prior, the Black Empire had been defeated, N'zoth killed by the Champions of Azeroth. At the end of that month, the Black Empire came to them. N'raqi and Aqir, K'thir and the corrupted… they walked within the same army as him. And he lead a great deal of them. They listened to him.
Perhaps he was the owner of a cursed blade, a fearsome orcish juggernaut who carved a name out in the underworld over the time since Garrosh went missing… But he didn't feel like he was really in control. He'd locked eyes with cursed dragons and undead abominations, things he had nightmares of when he was just a pup. Things that bowed their heads in respect to him, now.
"Overseer. The Wraith has left a mark this time." A sultry, twisted voice piped up over Thuller's thoughts.
"Vega. Things aren't lookin' good." Thuller spat through gritted fangs, turning to face this 'Vega'. Vega was one of the few horrors that he knew, one of the few he spoke to regularly. An ethereal twisted by the Void, he was a servant of the Viceroy Nezhar on Argus. When the Viceroy was butchered at the Seat of the Triumvirate, Vega chose to take what he could and flee Argus. Luckily, apparently he heard the echoes of N'zoth even so deep in the Great Dark, making a journey all the way here.
"Dear Overseer, I doubt things are so dire as you make them out to be." The ethereal hovered to Thuller's side, pointing his bandaged head to the orc. Although ethereals had no eyes, Thuller felt his gaze present. Looking between wrappings, he could see the ethereal's true form hidden beneath. An abyss of magic and sentience was beneath the physical form he took, placing a deep sense of uncertainty within Thuller. It was another horror taking the form of a mortal, of dubious thought and mind. Vega seemed to read the Overseer's mind, "Though you doubt your new allies, we have begun to make great strides with our research over Giant's Landing."
"Right." Thuller spat that word out, "So you have."
"Don't take the wraith's words so hard, Overseer." Thuller could make out a gleam of light behind the ethereal's violet tinged wrappings, almost a sign that Vega was laughing at him. Vega placed his bejeweled hand on Thuller's shoulder, "They do this to inspire loyalty in you. I doubt they'd so eagerly eradicate such a valued soldier."
"They eagerly ignore this 'valued soldier's' complaints. Don't seem far-fetched they'd toss me into a ditch without a second thought." He drew his accursed longsword, treading lightly toward the edge of the cliff he and Vega stood upon. Overlooking the Landing, Thuller's small eyes grew even more narrow as he watched his people act as if nothing had changed. A loud growl is what he had in response to such lax behavior, "It's as if they don't care that I'm on the chopping block, Vega!"
"If it means anything to you, Overseer, I'd quite dislike seeing your head on a pike." The ethereal paced behind Thuller, clicking his gilded fingers together. Never did Thuller see such an extravagant ethereal, not on the level of Vega. The orc did figure that the name often followed by 'Prince Netherglitz' or 'Lord Sparkle and Shine' should be just as shiny as his reputation, but to the scale of Vega… It was almost obscene to him. Perhaps it was astounding to wonder how Vega managed to keep himself together with all the metallic weight that covered his bandage-built body, or perhaps Thuller wanted to know how an exile of exiles managed to gather so much overt wealth.
It made Thuller wish that he had gone in search of riches, instead of high ideals. He rubbed his scruffy brick of a chin, "Nevermind that. Why are you even here, advisor?"
"Well. I wanted to give you some advice dealing with our defenses." Vega stopped pacing, drawing his feet together. Standing with a bit of swagger, still, the ethereal did his best to appear as if he were giving a report, "Our Eye picked up some new activity in Ashenvale."
Thuller snarled, "Horde?"
"No." Vega spoke, "Something else."
"SPEAK IT. What did we see?!" He whipped around, frothing in rage.
"While I cannot say they are Alliance, it was a coalition of Alliance races. The same one that the Dark Lord's agents have reported on before, it seems." Vega pointed to the valley entrance to Giant's Landing, "Their trajectory implies that they're heading to us."
"How many? When?" Thuller grinned, "This might be our chance to redeem ourselves, Vega. It's KEY you tell me."
"Well, their force is comparable to an elite sentinel taskforce. They are not elite sentinels." The ethereal buzzed with energy for a moment, "But. To avoid you getting your hopes too high, they were joined by a strange figure. She walked as a giant among the small, her energy hard to understand. She carried an odd glow within her, and was the only very well-armored member of their group."
Thuller's expression began to fade, his grin turning into an expression of fear, "Did they see anything else?"
"Why?" Vega made a sound akin to snorting, " It's not as if she appeared too mighty, she was but a small warrior in black plate. She looked a child, puffing her chest out in an attempt to look imposing." The ethereal shrugged, "I doubt she's much to worry about."
"Vega, you IDIOT. Rally the defenses, NOW!" Thuller rushed down the cliff, sprinting as fast as he could to the center of his camp. His people and the recruits his new Dark Lord had brought in watched incredulously as they saw their leader in such a panic. The center of the War Camp carried a massive horn that if blown a certain way, he'd gather his soldiers in preparation for battle. It was atop a small tower, built in the shadow of a much larger tower where he tended to spend much of his time. The 'Eye' Vega spoke of rested atop the tower, a magical artifact that Thuller's people could use to do advanced recon over the area. It was said that the Dark Lord could see through the artifact, as well, leaving Thuller to leave the scouting to others. He'd rather not have a mysterious mastermind probing his thoughts, seeing what he could see.
The rickety tower hardly bore his weight as he scaled its ladder, finally reaching the horn with a huff and a puff. He blew a long and mourning note from it, its low thrum penetrating the air. Carried far and wide, he could already see his forces rallying to his position. The people Thuller knew very well were the first to respond, followed soon by Vega's cohorts, and then the rest of the oddities and abominations came afterward. Much to his dismay, several refused the call, continuing to work on whatever odd project they had been assigned to. With no time to waste, he didn't choose to call again. With a panicked pace, Thuller yelled out, "The Eye has seen an incoming war! A party of few, at first, they seem to be little threat to our dark might! But when I was told of those among the company, that is when I learned the truth! Our Greatest Adversary comes! I did not expect her so soon, but it seems the Shadow of War has fallen over our operation."
A gasp resounded among those who knew the name, who remembered the one who carried it.
"I know some of you don't know this name. I'm pretty certain many of you don't care that I'm terrified by it. Be scared. This warrior has crushed things far stronger than us, and the fact that she's still able to march is a testament to her willpower. Do any of you remember the Lord? Do any of you remember the Unseen Army?" Thuller saw many nod, those that head notable heads at least. He pointed to the valley pass, "She killed the Lord. She broke the Army. And she killed my master, Xagroth Blackfist. She eradicated the Black Legion!"
Thuller could see that his words were now reaching the few who didn't care for his original call for attention, "She walks with the master's enemy, and she's coming." The Black Legion had been brought back together by an unknown power, still acting with an authority imposed by the last Warchief of the Horde. Bound together by service and the ruinous powers they had dedicated themselves to, they came to this land in search of power and to build the Black Legion into a force to be feared by both the traitorous Horde and the distant Alliance. But what they needed to do to get there was veiled by their Dark Lord's refusal to make himself known, his refusal to share his plans with his armies. All he had them do is do tasks, in disparate groups too distant to share glory with. It was much too soon for Sint Dagon to be here.
An eruption of magic derailed Thuller's train of thought, as pieces of masonry and rubble fell around him. A large enough chunk of stone broke a leg of the tower he stood on, forcing him to leap from it. Landing hard, he felt the weight of his armor nearly break his knees. Looking back to see what happened, Thuller's flew open wide at what he saw. The great tower where the Dark Lord's Eye sat had been blown in half, golden flame marking where most of it once was. Standing among the flames was a figure, triumphant. Holding a spectral banner in one hand and a shining silver blade in the other, they looked down upon the Black Legion.
"I'm already here." A strong woman's voice swirled from within the fire and dust, her word almost seeming to blow these things away. In seconds, where an obscuring cloud stood, was a bonfire of shining gilded fire and an avatar of war. The fire billowed around her, threatening the darkness that had settled so easily in the War Camp. Thuller could hardly look at her, the bright light hurting his eyes.
When the fire died down enough for him to maintain vision on her, he felt his heart sink. In black and red, an angel of death and fire had fallen from the heavens at his doorstep. With no answer for this threat of conflict, Thuller could only look in fear as he made out the face of the offender. She was as terrifying as the stories made her out to be, a giant among men. Even if she was simply human, her humanity was a thought far at the back of the Overseer's mind. She planted her spectral banner, a banner bearing the symbol of a dragon's skull pierced by a greatsword, squarely into the ruins of the tower. Lifting her sword to the crowd, "I challenge your leader to single combat."
"Why should we answer this request?" Vega was the first to speak out, "You are but one human alone against the might of the Dark Lord of Gothgor!"
"I may be one, but I am never alone." She leveled her blade towards Vega, "If you do not answer my request, then perhaps I shall face you all."
Thuller knew the threat was not an idle one, but the dark masses around him didn't seem to fear the threat of facing such a warrior. Perhaps he had grown paranoid from the stories he had heard, but he didn't wish to face Sint Dagon in battle.
There were worse fates, he was sure, but he'd rather survive the day.