The Legion wasn't coming, it was already here. It had been ten thousand years since their first attempt on Azeroth, and the scourge was tearing its way through the Eastern Kingdoms. Gylledra Alenos wondered if she was already too late as the human towns and cities were systematically decimated.
She had been in the thick of it during the first invasion and had watched as the existence she knew was torn asunder. She had fought alongside those who resisted, the ones smart enough to abandon Azshara and her mad quest for more power. Gylledra fought until the shield was erected around Suramar, trapping her inside. She never desired to hide, and uncertainty had kept her from leaving.
In the places where time moves differently, ten thousand years could feel like twenty and one year could feel like a hundred. Gylledra had spent a lot of time in such places once she did leave. The face the world now wore was unrecognizable. She knew it was Azeroth, she could feel it, the living thing deep inside it. There was nothing that looked familiar, the whole of Kalimdor was now scattered across the seas.
The rubble of razed towns didn't provide any information Gylledra needed and it took time to make her way to a region that had yet to fall victim to the Scourge. While the residents slept, she rifled through the library of a village called Tarren Mill, absconding with maps and books and whatever else her curious mind thought to grab. It was a human village, they seemed to be the most prevalent race in that part of the world. She'd never encountered such creatures on Kalimdor, before; they seemed like small, stunted versions of a great people she had known, once upon a time.
The town was small but seemed prosperous enough. Gylledra almost felt bad for depriving them of the books, but her mission was one that meant saving even the stunted humans who lived there.
Gylledra's traveling companion was Nasorya, who had with almost disconcerting happiness, slain demons at her side. She managed to focus long enough to keep watch throughout the pilfering.
Tarren Mill was in the remote region, the Hillsbrad Foothills, and making good their escape, Gylledra and Nasorya crossed a river and traveled east through forest. They passed an abandoned keep that gave off a very foreboding feeling before heading north into the hills to avoid the open exposure they'd be forced to contend with if they crossed into the Arathi Highlands.
The forest would have been serene had it not been for the knowledge of what was happening. Aside from that though, Gylledra felt something else was lurking in the trees but she couldn't tell what. Before exhaustion set in, they set up their meager camp in a small valley beside a creek.
Days of trudging through unfamiliar territory and creeping about to avoid notice had left Gylledra in great need of a bath. She stripped down while Nasorya disappeared in search of their dinner. The camp was sheltered by trees and adequate undergrowth and the afternoon sunlight streamed down through the leaves. The mirror-flat calm of the creek belied the current that ran beneath, carving its way through the hills.
Gylledra looked down at her reflection, an odd angle to say the least then inhaled sharply, wading into the icy water. The ripples disturbed the surface image and she wondered if this strange version of Azeroth was no more than a distorted reflection of what once was.
The breeze intensified the chill of the cold creek and rustled the leaves, but she kept an ear on the sounds of the birds, counting on them to sound the alarm if anything entered the immediate vicinity.
Gylledra scrubbed away the grime of travel and rough-living, in a bit of a rush considering how cold it was. She'd bathed in more creeks, streams, and ponds in her lifetime than actual bathing facilities. Doing her best to ignore the cold, she unraveled her braid to wash her hair. To some degree, the frigid water made her feel renewed and energized, alert even. She bent, ringing the water out, again meeting her own gaze in the reflection. The pendant she wore dangled from her neck, the glow emanating from the stone inside its silver metal cage flickered in the ripples.
Most of the elves in Suramar had in time come to have bright white hair in contrast to their skin, which the Nightwell had turned various hues of midnight blue. Her hair was still dark and her complexion paler like the dusk rather than dark like the night. A handful of others had been like her, and it was curious why some had changed differently than others. What she did share in common with them were the shining sigils that thousands of years subsisting on the arcane had etched across her skin.
Gylledra finished then got back onto the bank to dry off and bring back the feeling in her extremities. Naked, and with her back to the trees, she crouched, rummaging in her bag for her hairbrush. An enormous axe blade slid into view, the edge of it touched just under her chin.
"Don't move." Said whoever was on the other end of the axe, in Common. Silently, she berated herself and cursed the birds still singing. "Get up."
"Which is it? Don't move, or get up?" She asked through clenched teeth, grateful to have paid attention to the language in the books she'd stolen. In answer, the axe blade pushed upward so she raised her hands and very slowly stood upright, turning around carefully, lest some abrupt movement startle the intruder.
As her eyes fell on the axe-wielder, Gylledra's mouth dropped open. It was an orc. During the first Legion invasion, a lone orc had been captured by the Moon Guard and kept in Suramar. She had thought never to see one again. This orc was huge, armored, and his axe had seen better days, but was still razor sharp. His skin was green and his eyes beneath a furrowed brow were sharp and amber; she could see calculating intelligence, this was not some meat-head axe-swinger. He had long, graying hair which was braided and fastened with metal clasps. There was an iron ring in his nose, and his long sharp tusks were also adorned.
Gylledra was taken aback by him, but not necessarily because he'd come up on her while she was unaware, though, it was startling. She felt ridiculous, staring at him with her eyes wide. It was a strange feeling, she didn't take much fascination in others, but long ago the orc in Suramar had left a lasting impression on her.
Despite being capable of disarming even so large an orc, she made no move that he might find threatening. Her most dangerous weapons were not physical; she was Nightborne, they were the most learned and sophisticated practitioners of the arcane.
The orcs, she assumed there were many, would undoubtedly be seeking to save their own hides from the invasion as much as any people and she was in no position to be choosey about allies. She mulled over how to get the message across so he'd believe her.
The orc's physique was formidable, and Gylledra had absolutely no doubt about his prowess with his axe, the blade of which still rested under her chin. The orc she had known in Suramar had behaved almost familiarly as, if glad to see her. This one did not seem glad about anything at all. He spoke again in a deep, reverberating voice that she felt thrum through her.
"What are you doing here?"
"Taking a bath." Gylledra told him before she could rein herself in. It would figure, all her hard work and she'd end up decapitated from a badly received bit of sarcasm. He bared his teeth. "I'm hoping to help fight the invasion."
"Invasion of the orcs?" The blade was almost biting into her skin.
"No. Invasion of the Legion." She frowned. "Why? Are orcs invading as well?"
He harrumphed, making no reply and she watched his amber eyes move down her naked body. She was a bit shorter than the rest of the Nightborne typically were, but she was not of a willowy stature, she was a warrior, after all, though an unconventional one. His gaze traveled over her at a pace that didn't imply revulsion. With that realization, she inhaled sharply, her cheeks suddenly burning hot. Gylledra cleared her throat, drawing his eyes at once back to hers. "I'm unarmed…I promise." She told him levelly, finding her voice and getting a grip. She almost smirked and he closed his mouth, shooting her a glare. "May I put my clothes on? As you can see, it is quite cold." He glanced downward as though to verify, and the tips of his ears darkened a little.
"Do not expect me to turn my back so that you can flee." He rumbled. She cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Very well…watch then." She gave a little shrug, and he took a step back, still well within axe-swinging range, but he gave her enough room to dress. Before she could grab her clothes, Nasorya emerged through the tree line, and with the ease one of her wispy stature should not have, dragged out a large, dead buck by one of its legs. Her violet eyes widened as they fell on Gylledra, nude and standing at the business end of an axe. The orc noticed that her attention was behind him, so without moving the axe, he looked back. Her companion had a somewhat elven visage to a certain extent, except for those violet colored eyes, small dark horns that curled back, and grayish skin. She was, after all, not an elf.
"Having fun without me?" Nasorya asked, in Shalassian.
Gylledra rolled her eyes. "Absolutely."
"Shall I eat him?"
"I doubt he would be delicious." Gylledra sighed.
"Maybe not to eat." Nasorya dropped the deer's leg and prowled forward, that look in her eye she got when meeting almost any sapient being with a pulse. The orc looked ever so slightly concerned.
"Nasorya, no." Gylledra scolded.
Nasorya halted, disappointed. "Have you tried damsel-in-distress?"
"A bit hard to do convincingly in the nude, don't you think?"
"Alright, I'll do it." Nasorya rubbed her hands together as though preparing, and affected an over-exaggerated, frightened expression that even someone gullible would be hard pressed to believe. "Please! Do not hurt my mistress!" She cried, dramatically. Gylledra tried not to look amused. Nasorya lived for this kind of nonsense, not that she was ever discouraged from it. The orc looked back at Gylledra, and his expression was clear. Really? his face asked.
"Yes, I know." She told him. He rolled his eyes a little before his eyes flicked downward at her nakedness again then he blinked away the distraction stubbornly, staring her firmly in the eye instead. "I am getting dressed now." Gylledra wore only simple leather leggings, flat, knee-high boots, a shirt beneath her vest, and leather coat. She had a couple bags but only two utility knives which she kept sheathed in her boots. "I assure you we mean no harm. I swear it. On my honor." She tucked her pendant discreetly beneath her shirt. The orc scoffed a little, seeing right through her thinly veiled attempt to appeal to his sense of honor. Even she thought it was a weak effort.
"What do you know of honor?" The creases in his brow deepened but she bristled at the suggestion she might not understand the concept. Her tone was a little cooler when she replied.
"I have spent six and a half millennia at war with demons, I know a great deal more about honor than most." She still kept her hands where he could see them. His brows had gone up a fraction but he kept his face under control. There was no use in behaving like enemies, she thought. "My name is Gylledra Alenos."
"I am Varok Saurfang of the Horde. I will take you and your…maid? to the Warchief for further…discussion." He nodded in the direction he meant to go. Gylledra decided not to correct his assumption of Nasorya's station for now.
"Thank you, Varok Saurfang."
"For what?"
"Not killing me." Gylledra gave a half smile but his stony countenance remained unchanged.
"Hmph." He let out a long breath.
Nasorya pointed to the dead deer a couple paces behind her, brows arched in question. "Should I bring this? I did go through the trouble of dragging it all this way…" She called to them. Saurfang appeared to notice that she had no visible weapons on her, and a fresh frown knitted his brow. He looked almost as though he was going to ask for an explanation.
"Meat is meat." He told her instead, shrugging.
Gylledra and Nasorya walked ahead of their captor who was dragging the deer and watching that they did not try anything. They were silent at first, but as usual, it never stayed that way.
"Who the hell is this green…what is he?" Nasorya asked.
"He is an orc." Gylledra explained.
"An orc? Like that one you told me about?"
"Yes…"
"Plotting your escape?" Varok Saurfang said suddenly, sounding annoyed, and they looked back at him over their shoulders.
"If we wanted to escape, you'd be waking up beside the creek wondering for the next hour what your own name is." Gylledra retorted without hesitation.
"Whispering conspiratorially does not allay my suspicion of you." He narrowed his eyes and she returned his glare in equal measure.
"I am just as suspicious of you, orc. Make no mistake."
"You'd be a fool not to be." He almost smiled, one corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
The orcs were many more even than Gylledra had thought, and they didn't seem to be well organized, but they were put together adequately enough that there was a clear hierarchy of command. Saurfang never said whether or not the orcs were also invading, but this lot didn't look as though preparing for a battle. The warchief appeared to be younger than many of his brethren who quieted as Gylledra and Nasorya were brought forward. Their captor spoke in Orcish and in the midst of it, Gylledra heard her name. She folded her arms and he looked over at her.
"This is the elf, Gylledra Alenos." He said levelly. "And her…maid. I don't know about the horns." Nasorya looked mildly offended but the Warchief turned from the older orc to look at Gylledra, studying her closely.
"I am Thrall." He said evenly in fluent common.
"The warchief, I presume?" She took a step forward and he nodded. "So, what is the Horde running from?" It didn't make sense that such warriors would flee from a fight, but the anxious atmosphere implied there was definitely something they wanted to get away from.
"What makes you think we are running?"
"This many orcs sneaking through human territory? Options are fairly limited as to what you might be up to." Her situation was somewhat precarious, no matter what Gylledra's abilities were.
"We are not running from anything; we leave behind an unhappy past to seek our destiny elsewhere. There is land across the sea to the west." Thrall explained.
"You so readily tell a stranger where you're going? What if I am an agent of the humans?" She could see the intelligence in his bright blue eyes, they lacked the savage, hungry look some of the others had. Whatever Thrall was, he was not a fool.
"I cannot suppose agents of the humans would pilfer one of their villages." He gave a smirk at her surprise. She'd been completely unaware of being watched and made note not to underestimate the orcs again.
"And here I thought Saurfang found us by chance." Gylledra tutted, looking over to where the older orc stood with his arms folded, his silence enduring.
"I've told you what we're doing here, now it's your turn." Thrall still looked a little amused. It had been a while since she'd let her over-confidence get the best of her.
"I am looking to rally anyone willing to fight against the impending Legion invasion." She told him. "It has been ten thousand years since they came to this world the first time, getting them to leave then meant shattering the world as we knew it."
"You were there?" It was the warchief's turn to be surprised.
"Orcs are no strangers to the Legion." Varok Saurfang spoke up. "Our world is dead because of them, countless lives lost and ruined because of them."
"I have seen many of the worlds they destroyed." Gylledra watched his eyes and knew better than to look at him, or any orc, with pity. She understood, even though she had not yet lost her own world, she'd been on so many that were torn apart for what lay at their center. She had seen firsthand the heartbreak, terror, and devastation. "They must not take this world too."
"On that, we agree." He gave a single, solemn nod. There was an air of desperation over the orcs, tattered scraps of hope gingerly stitched together, that was all that sustained them. They were downtrodden, escaping from something that had made them so very wretched. There was nothing for them to do but go west, it was clear to her now.
"I know what subjugated, enslaved people look like. I would deny no one their freedom, it is a precious thing. Please believe me when I say that we will do nothing to harm or impede you." She was speaking to Thrall, but her eyes still lingered on Saurfang's, haunted and full of shadows.
"But will you do anything to help us?" The warchief's question shocked more than just Gylledra. Saurfang's eyes widened as he fixed them upon Thrall, and murmurs rippled through those who had gathered around them.
"We know nothing about them!" He protested.
"If there is any aid we can lend, then I freely offer it." Gylledra responded before more objections could rise. These were not the people she expected to be involved with, but they were strong, even if they didn't all believe it yet; they would do just fine.
When it became clear that nothing interesting or violent was happening with the strange visitors in the camp, the orcs grew bored of watching Gylledra and Nasorya. Evening had settled in and small cooking fires were built. Many glances were cast their way, as well as plenty of outright stares. Gylledra didn't begrudge them their mistrust, she didn't know what they had been through.
They were seated on logs at the same fire as Thrall and Saurfang, both orcs eyeing their guests as closely as the rest of them were.
"Was this my deer?" Nasorya asked with food still in her mouth. She never seemed particularly feral to Gylledra until the presence of other people made it apparent that she kind of was.
"Could be. It was handed over to be butchered with the rest." Saurfang responded. "Curious though, how its throat was torn out." He was shrewd; advanced age among orcs was not achieved through stupidity.
"A fresh kill is a fresh kill, is it not?" Gylledra said before Nasorya could blurt whatever inciting thing was probably on the tip of her tongue.
"I could have found it like that." She shrugged her shoulders, batting her eyes very unconvincingly.
"I doubt that, somehow." Saurfang growled.
There was a stretch of silence as they ate, Nasorya casting pointed looks at Gylledra that without any context, she had no idea how to interpret. Saurfang broke the silence, though, interrupting the strange miming.
"You said you fought the Legion before." He began. He was sitting a bit to her right and Gylledra nodded.
"Yes. I have been fighting them for a very long time."
"So…then you are a warrior?"
"I suppose that is accurate."
"And you wield magic?" Saurfang arched one brow at her and Gylledra smiled.
"Can I not do both?"
"So then, you are familiar with how the Legion fights?" Thrall interjected.
"Very." It was an understatement, but she didn't wish to appear boastful. "Enough that they actively do not want me to be part of the fight when they force all of Azeroth to defend against them."
"You are that well-known to them?" Saurfang asked. Thrall looked to the older orc, surprise on his face. Perhaps it was unusual for the old warrior to take such interest in strangers.
"Yes." Her smile faded quickly. Though she was well known by the Legion commanders, and had caused a great deal of trouble for them, the inescapable fact was that despite her efforts, they ultimately succeeded in destroying the worlds they set out to. "They know enough to fear me."
"One elf can frighten demons?" Thrall arched a skeptical brow.
"If you torture and kill enough of them, they will fear you too." She continued eating into the slightly awkward silence.
"Who are your people?" Saurfang fired off another question and she met his gaze. "You said this is your world too."
"We called ourselves Shal'dorei." She told him. "A very long time ago, our queen betrayed us all when she aligned herself with Sargeras and his Legion. I know now that it led to a great sundering of the land. I was trapped inside the city when the order to put up the shield was given. We all believed that everything and everyone outside the city had been destroyed. Even now I don't know what happened to those who were outside of Suramar, if anyone survived."
"Why have you not returned to them and told them the world isn't gone?" Thrall asked her.
"I don't know these lands or where it even is from here, or if it is a lone bubble floating in the sea. But even if I found them and told them the world is not gone, the Nightwell sustains them, the arcane powers that flow from it are their food and water…everything. They cannot leave, no one can, to do so means starvation and death."
"Except, you left." Saurfang pointed out.
"Well, I had some outside help after thirty-five hundred years." She gave an enigmatic smirk.
"And then began your war against the Legion." Thrall concluded. Gylledra nodded, though there was more to it than that.
"I cannot fail here where I have failed before. I cannot listen again to the screams of dying people, millions of innocent lives lost." She looked down at the bowl in her lap, the pain she felt from the ruined worlds was as fresh and real as when it was happening. "War is all I know, but it is not all I desire. I will do anything I can to stamp out the Legion and those who bear their taint of fel."
"What of us then?" Saurfang growled. "Are we not tainted by the demon blood we willingly drank?" Anger flashed in his eyes, but she knew it wasn't at her. "It changed all of us, even those who did not put the cup to their lips." He gestured toward Thrall.
Gylledra reached out and grabbed his hand, laying it palm up across her knees. Saurfang gaped, too shocked even to pull it back. His skin was warm and dry, callused but not rough, and she put her own palm against his. Her entire hand fit in it and she delved just a little bit into his energy, his life force. While she felt many things coursing through him, strength, uncertainty, guilt, intelligence, and the heavy, powerful beat of his heart…the power of the fel did not thrum in his veins.
"I cannot feel the fel in you, Varok Saurfang." She told him, her voice quiet. She looked him in the eye, surprise and mild confusion still rampant on his face. Even Nasorya was staring at her a little surprised. He blinked though, and his fingers twitched as though he'd close them around her hand. Gylledra let go and he took back his hand. Finally, he gave a single nod before looking away, briefly glancing at his palm.
"What do you think of these Orcs, Gyll?" Nasorya asked quietly in Shalassian. Their bedrolls were set up not far from their fire, conspicuously surrounded by orcs…just in case they decided to flee in the night despite Gylledra's promise of help.
"I think they're a strong people, determined to make honorable lives for themselves again. The Highborne would no doubt find them to be savages, but there is much more to them than that." Gylledra replied. She was on her side, her head on one arm folded beneath it as she watched the back of Saurfang's head. His bedroll was only a few yards off, well within earshot and he was not asleep. He was listening despite not understanding their language. His back was to them and she stared sleepily in his direction. "Strong and stubborn, I think I quite like them already." She chuckled softly.
"You'll fit right in."
"We shall see." She turned to look back at Nasorya who had a look on her face that Gylledra recognized easily.
"I am looking forward to getting to know them…" She mused.
"Let me know how it goes." Gylledra snorted.
"Maybe you'll find out for yourself." Nasorya looked diabolical and Gylledra could practically see the ideas formulating in her mind.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"You'd like that." Nasorya retorted.
"I'm not about to speculate." Gylledra grinned though. A number of orcs stirred at their chattering and Saurfang shifted, looking over his shoulder at them. Gylledra stuck her tongue out and his eyes widened somewhat before he shook his head and turned back over. Stretching a little, she yawned and turned onto her back.
"I bet he would like to have a go at you. He hasn't taken his eyes off you since before you put your clothes back on." Nasorya hissed through an impish grin.
"Still not speculating."