CHAPTER 1
Nazkura had not stopped riding through the forest since parting with Gro'kar. Although her heart was still heavy with grief, she needed to press on; she could not, she would not let Gro'kar's death be in vain. She had to outrun Velariene's Coterie, survive and make it back to…
Where was it that she was going?
She paused to gain her bearings, but it was only then that she felt fatigue beginning to grip her. She slept for only a few hours a night, and it weighed on her immensely; her mount, Eyota, was starting to wane and slow. She took out some of her rations, feeding Eyota some dried meat and giving her some well-deserved water.
Looking around, she knew that she barely recognized the locale: Nazkura knew they were somewhere in the southern part of the Darkshore and that she had not yet reached Ashenvale. Gro'kar and her had managed to ride around the swirling whirlpool in the north and that she kept along the river's edge since they parted.
Her mind was too addled - she needed to focus. She rummaged through her saddles, finding some incense. She placed them both into the ground deliberately, placing her fingers on the ends of each and rubbing - mumbling words of power and calling her patron spirit, Brother Fire, to give her but sparks to light them. He responded in kind and burned the ends aflame only enough to allow the scent to permeate from them.
She sat down, cross-legged, and placed her hands palm up on her knees. The spell she was casting, Far Sight, requires her to utterly devoid of everything so that she might expand her mind to the smallest of details around her. Those little details would create a larger picture and spirit willing, a vision of an entire area around her.
Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, She attempted to clear her mind of all doubt and uncertainty. Each deep breath she took quieted her mind as the incense entered her lungs; the magical fragrance began to enhance her senses in the world around her. She heard the snapping of twigs, the rustling of bushes, the nearby cyclone -
Her mind jolted; she had a vision over the region nearby. She saw the cyclone - the Eye of the Vortex they called it - that the warhost had to avoid on their way up here. She used that vision as an anchor point, calling Sister Air to grant her more sight from that point. Her bond to Nazkura granted such a request, showing her the lanes from which the warhost were using, and the nearby Elven remnants used to mask their movements.
Ruins; that's what she saw just a few kilometers south of her. She focused on them, seeing the blurry vision of corpses on the ground and the nearby wisps angrily reacting to the carnage of the battle. She called out to Sister Air, her mind pleading.
What is this place, Flurris? What are these ruins? Her Kalimag words carried slowly over the wind, the foreign tongue having not been practiced much in the preceding year.
It took a few moments for Sister Air to respond; Nazkura kept her mind sharpened, focused on the ruins while Sister Air deigned to respond. It is an old place, Flurris finally said. The long-dead of the Queen still reside there; the wisps kept guard over it, but they have been disturbed.
Nazkura began to strain, her far sight blurring immensely. Its name, Flurris. What is its name? She could feel the vision slipping, but just as her final glimpse blinked away, Flurris answered.
Ameth'aran.
A gasp of air filled Nazkura's lungs; she was short of breath as everything came back to her suddenly tenfold. Gro'kar's death wracked her, her doubts on the Horde caused her to second-guess all that she was doing. She pulled her knees into her chest, curling up into a ball, and fell to the ground. She began to weep, tears stinging her eyes for the first time in a few days since she parted from Gro'kar.
Far Sight was the cause of this, she knew; these intensified feelings she felt were the cost of such a spell. More experienced shaman than she could counter it, but she steadfastly paid the price. Eyota sensed her companion's heartbreak, her doubt - the great black warg moved and settled, wrapping her great furred frame around Nazkura to provide some physical comfort to counter the emotional weight.
At some point, she fell asleep - her fatigue was only amplified by the flooding of her emotions. Curled up against her beloved companion, she rested soundly, though she had visions.
They were blurry; opaque. Nazkura first saw the Darkwolf village in Feralas. She saw the blurred faces of her clanspeople, but the vision did not focus on them. No, it moved through the village to Maz'rinda's dwelling. She had an intense focus on the ritualistic ornaments outside - bones of enemies fallen, animal skulls placed atop sharpened stakes, and splayed leathers stretched for curing. Her vision brought her inside where furnishings were scarce, and smoke filled the single room. At the end of the room sat an altar to her homeland's Loa and there knelt Maz'rinda, giving offerings of fetishes while praying to such Loa.
The vision came and went quickly; a second vision assaulted her mind. This one was painful as it shook and rattled her even as she slept. She saw Gro'kar in his final stand against Velariene and her Coterie - a dozen faceless specters, save for Velariene herself. The phantoms advanced on Gro'kar, but each attacker he fended off; each wound he took she felt, each cry she saw but could not hear.
The vision was long and replayed three times more. When it faded, a final vision came into view: the warhost on the banks outside Lor'danel. She saw her ever-loyal Overlord, Drem'lok, standing alongside a Mag'har woman emblazoned with Warsong tattoos. They stood upon the beach with other soldiers, waiting for orders until they saw Sylvanas' confrontation with the dying Kaldorei and Saurfang. Her vision focused on Drem'lok as he saw the catapults not only move up to the edge of the water but fire upon the tree. She saw his horror, anger, and grief fill him, but worst of all she saw his spirit break.
The vision replayed in her mind over and over again; she must have seen it a dozen times before she finally awoke. Her skin was moist was sweat, her breathing heavy as she leaned against Eyota for comfort. Her mind was far more pellucid, her body more-or-less rested, but she was still wracked with guilt and doubt: what should she do now?
She grappled with the problem. There was no doubt that the Horde knew of her betrayal; her vision of Gro'kar's death had confirmed that suspicion. Her vision of the Darkwolf village was pulling her heart home, to her clan and daughter. Was that the purpose of such a vision?
She stood up, stretching. As she looked to the northwest, she figured it must be the early evening. She saw the setting sun coming over the treetops, painting the sky orange and red. However, when the winded shifted and chilled her slick skin, she smelled smoke. This wasn't the smoke of war that she had been acquainted with - no, this was different. She looked up and still yet saw the stars above her.
Her muscles were slow to wake up as she moved slowly through the trees, but she soon saw it was not evening. No, the oranges and reds she saw in the sky were a great bonfire, and Teldrassil was the fuel.
The final vision, which had played over and over in her dreams, had come back to her suddenly. Drem'lok's reaction - the Horde mercilessly burning the innocents across Teldrassil. So much death, so easily created at the hands of regular soldiers under the orders of Sylvanas' solidified regime.
I cannot go back, she thought to herself as she realization hit her. I am an enemy now; they will kill me, the Darkwolves, my friends, my family - Velariene's Coterie will hunt and kill them all if they shelter me. Her thoughts began to race through her mind as she weighed her options.
I could turn myself in and face judgment… I know that I would be executed, but that might yet spare the clan. Nazkura was not ashamed of her actions, nor should she be. She lived her life according to her own code of principles, and she stuck to that code of honor. But Gro'kar's death would be in vain. He would have died for nothing.
No, she couldn't go back now and submit herself to judgment. That left her with only one feasible option, in her mind: Run. Keep running, keep evading. Until I find a better way, I must keep going. A mere bandage upon a gushing wound, but it would buy her time. Perhaps she could flee to the Earthen Ring or the Argent Crusade; they might grant her amnesty and protection.
She turned to Eyota. Her long-standing friend, her beloved companion. She approached the black warg, wrapping her arms around her friend. "You've been my companion through thick and thin," she whispered. "You've been with me for too long…" Nazkura looked into Eyota's blackened eyes, peering deep within her soul.
"You must go back to the Darkwolves, Eyota." She reasoned within herself that this was the right course of action: she didn't wish to submit her closest companion to death, and it might throw off the Coterie's hunt. She took off her surcoat, identifying her allegiance to the Darkwolves and put it in the saddlebags. She took only meager supplies. "Go, Eyota - take the long paths, circle back, and confuse your trail. But make it back."
Nazkura kissed Eyota's snout before she let her go. They had been inseparable since becoming a rider and mount, and it was difficult to part ways now. But for the safety of both, they must. Eyota slowly faded into the forest but not before looking back at Nazkurand whimpering. Nazkura moved south, and half an hour later she heard Eyota's howl through the woods.
Ameth'aran, she thought to herself. A few kilometers away. That is where I'll find shelter next. She moved quickly through the foliage and attempted to cover her tracks as she moved. She called upon Brother Earth and Sister Water to muddy the trail she had been on, Sister Air to clear her scent and whisk it away, and she even took to climbing trees and hopping between them.
Such actions took a toll on her physically and caused her to slow her progress towards the ruins, but a few hours later she managed to get there. It was close to midday: the sun was nearing its zenith, and the stars had long disappeared. The smoke and flames of Teldrassil still loomed at her back, but she tried not to think about the death and destruction that was wrought.
She approached with caution, her eyes sharpened. She saw the angry wisps floating around and the specter dust on the ground from where the old Highborne ghosts had been killed. Each step she took was deliberate, ensuring she did not take out her axes to ensure she did not anger the Elven spirits any more than they already were.
Most of the fallen here were soldiers that had been killed in skirmishes that took place over a week ago. Nazkura rummaged through some of the corpses looking for supplies but found that some of them were recent - far more recent. There were several Forsaken corpses, clad in leather, that had been scorched. She looked closer and deduced that it was both lightning and flame in origin. She looked around and saw that some of the corpses were killed in an arc.
Curious, she thought to herself. Her brow became knitted as she followed the corpses to ruin's eastern edge. She saw one of the Forsaken that stood out among the others. His face had been burned, his limbs charred, but she was able to make out his rank: Deathstalker Captain.
Had they come to stalk her, she wondered? She shook her head - she had not come this way coming north, and thus they wouldn't have tracked her to her. She looked around the Captain's belongings hoping to find orders of some kind, but she came up with nothing.
She huffed, scanning the trees. Scorch marks on the foliage showed that whatever the Deathstalkers were looking for, it came from under cover of the forest. She moved further in, tracking footprints and broken branches. Each step she took brought her closer to the mountains, wading through thick vegetation. She felt a presence nearby - elemental, shamanistic in origin. There was something off about it, however.
There was no time to think about it further as she saw a clearing to a cave. She stood there only for a moment before she a blunt pain to the back of her head, and her vision fade to black. She had been drawn into a trap; she was sure of it. Velariene had come for her, and this is how she was going to end.