Title: The Perfect Mount
Description: "Sylvanas prides herself on flaunting her status as Queen with a mount befitting her image."
Notes: I got back into Hearthstone yesterday after...geez, months of being away from it, in between World of Warcraft and Heroes of the Storm. I have so much catching up to do.
Notes 2: Also inspired by the August 7th "In Development" trailer featuring Kharazim (the Monk THAT FINALLY HAS A NAME; I don't have to call him "Aang" or "Tenzin" anymore), Rexxar, new mounts and skins, etc., one of which showed the treasure goblin and Malthael's Phantom.
They spawned in the Hall of Storms on the High Heavens side of the eternal battlefield in five crackles of thunder, one for each person.
Sergeant Hammer rolled out in her big, fancy tank bristling with caches of napalm missiles, crawler mines, and tertiary cannon. The treads made a low, trundling noise, like crunched gravel, as she made for the bottommost lane.
Rehgar tagged behind Illidan toward the top in his ghost wolf form, the light from the healing fountains and the azure bushes comprising the gardens passing through his translucent blue fur.
Sylvanas and Tyrael, the Lord of Sin, took one look at their surroundings and were dismayed. Tyrael hummed unpleasantly from the shadows of his hood, his grip on the reins tightening.
Sylvanas sighed. "Just our luck," she said. Her thighs squeezed harder around the large, round, bumpy mass wriggling beneath her. "I swear Ilarian is doing this on purpose. Well, if it hasn't worked the first few times it definitely won't work now. He can keep his Light all to himself."
"Agreed," Tyrael hissed, and he stood tall and proud upon his horse. "I am the master of my own destiny. The only 'light' I'll need is from the destruction I will sow upon this infernal place with El'druin."
"I suppose that's why you always ride Phantom?" Sylvanas nodded at the jet black steed. It belonged to Malthael the Angel of Death, who was almost never seen in the light of day let alone the Church of Light the idiot people of the Nexus constructed for themselves and their lauded Heroes, and apparently he had considered this variant of Tyrael the Archangel of Justice to be the brother and compatriot he always wanted to have when it came to kicking Sanctuary's face in.
Phantom snorted softly and stamped his hooves, rustling the armored plates on his body, his tail swishing at the sound of his name. He might be alive, but having a name like that and being associated with death Sylvanas quite liked him. He smelled like dust and coffins that haven't been opened in centuries; other than missing the lingering scent of ozone and failed alchemical potions, it reminded her of home, down in the deep, dark, stinking Undercity.
Tyrael grunted agreeably and patted the horse's flank. "Indeed. I ride Phantom so that if I should ever be summoned here, and on the side of the High Heavens, it will remind Ilarian where my allegiance truly belongs. I need not his sympathy."
"Good. Make you sure stand by that," said Sylvanas. Overhead and unseen, the announcer declared that the match would begin in less than one minute. The flames in the core intensified as the energy shields roared to life, flickering at first and then stabilizing with each strengthening layer. The portcullis to the forts groaned open, the first wave of minions awaiting the command from its systems to sally forth and assist their Heroes.
Phantom whickered and scuffed a hoof against the floor, impatient to go. Tyrael stroked his mane roughly, easing the horse just a little longer. "And what of you? What reason do you have for riding...?" he coughed and looked askance at her mount.
Sylvanas understood completely. "You mean this thing?"
"Yes…That. Would you not rather ride on something a little more…what is the word…regal?"
"Tell me you haven't entertained the thought of having your own personal slave at least once in your life," she said.
Tyrael hummed thoughtfully. "Well, yes, I have. I am the Lord of Sin. Why wouldn't I?"
"Then you'd know that you can make a slave do anything, just as much as you can break a beast into doing your bidding."
"Except for Phantom. Phantom wants to do my bidding."
"And so will the treasure goblin. Isn't that right, slave?" Sylvanas looked at the creature from over the rim of its massive sack of loot. It cackled and tried unsuccessfully to do a little happy jig; it only made the gold jingle-jangle-jingle like a thousand little ringing bells. "Watch it!" she snapped, and clamped harder down on the straining 'saddle' (it was really a small treasure chest with the straps stretched all the way across the sack) to keep from falling off.
Tyrael stared oddly, head moving between the Banshee Queen and the antsy treasure goblin. "Are…Are you sure you can handle it?"
"I know what I'm doing! I run a nation back at home! My people made damn sure they listened to me whenever I spoke. This…thing…will be no different!"
"It looks like it is…how do kids like you put it…oh yes, 'raring to go.'"
"Yes, just like everyone in your debased realm. Talk about lack of control."
"It's a den of sin. I don't have to do anything."
"Then you have a lot to learn. And I am most certainly not a kid! I have a good couple hundred years under this rotting belt of mine! Not like you, old man!" Sylvanas sniffed and slapped her heels against the sack. "Let's go, slave!"
The treasure goblin jumped with a start. It bounced on its feet and clapped its overly large hands, cackling, making the contents it carried shake and bounce with its movements. Then, just before Sylvanas could get a firm hold on the saddle, it leapt over the steps, hit the floor, and pelted toward the gate at the middle lane.
The suddenness of its leap bucked Sylvanas off with a squawk, flinging her head over kettle at the foot of the Hall of Storms. The meaty smack of her back kissing the ground rang across the High Heavens like a gunshot.
Tyrael winced. Everyone else turned around and saw her, spread-eagled and staring dazedly up at the fluffy white clouds and pretty shining lights that either had to be magical globes, miniature suns, or lightbulbs that blinked. The Aspect of Sin had Phantom canter down the stairs and stand next to the Banshee Queen, to which he offered a hand. "It would appear I am not the only one in need of learning," he said with the slightest trace of arrogance.
"Sylvanas!" said Sergeant Hammer, her tinny voice amplified through the speakers in the tank. She rolled up before the pair, artillery cannon idle but primed for combat. "Hey, you alright? Man, girl, you shoulda seen yourself! I ain't ever seen anyone do a somersault as flawlessly as you!"
"Sh-Shut up, Hammer," Sylvanas groaned, ignoring Tyrael's outstretched hand in favor of pushing herself up into a sitting position.
"You need something that's more at your beck and call! How's 'bout investing in a siege tank? You can paint it all kinds o' pretty colors and give it a real boss name, too, like Banshee Rider or Hell's Belle…ooh, I know! THE SCREAM QUEEN! It totally suits you!"
"N-Not now, Hammer!" Tyrael hissed hurriedly from what had to be out of the corner of his unseen mouth.
Sylvanas tuned them out, scanning the area for the treasure goblin. The dismount had put her in a foul mood, not to mention that the landing had forced her to take a breath—the coolest, cleanest breath of air she had ever taken in undeath—at least three or so weeks before she was supposed to. It had to be the worst taste in all the Nexus.
Finally, her eyes stopped on the treasure goblin. It was hiding right next to Rehgar in plain sight; maybe, Sylvanas thought, if it wasn't wearing that obnoxious sack, it would've fared better seeking shelter between him and Illidan, or between the ghost wolf's legs.
"YOU!" Sylvanas roared, causing the treasure goblin to squeal in fright. "You are going to carry me and YOU ARE GOING TO LIKE IT! COME HERE!" She got to her feet, drew out her bow, and charged.
The treasure goblin screamed. It ran back and forth across the field, zigzagging madly as arrow after arrow slammed into the floor, whizzed by its ears in haunting wails, and left scorching marks in the stones of the cannon towers and forts. Some shots were absorbed by the core's shield, which reacted and fired lightning bolts at wherever they were aimed from. Sylvanas dodged those, ducking and weaving, eyes never tearing away from the little beast.
Hammer opened the tank's hatch and popped up to watch the spectacle. "Yeah, you go, girl! Give it to 'im!" she whooped. "Show 'im how mama wants it!"
The announcer called for a delay of game. Tyrael put a hand to his forehead and sighed, shaking his head. Phantom snorted and observed the chaos with as bored an expression a horse such as he could muster.
Illidan scoffed. "Foolish woman. She should've gotten herself a real mount. Something that is slow and dumb and can be easily broken."
Rehgar turned away, not needing to see that Sylvanas was more than likely giving the opposing team an advantage given how close the treasure goblin was to the core. "Is that why you're riding the billie goat?"
The night elf made a choked sound, as if someone had snuck up behind him and abruptly squeezed his neck. He looked down at the bright pink goat with its cotton candy-colored hair, to which his large hands were buried in. Its tail whipped around, bringing to life a streamer of hearts and sparkles. "…All the other mounts were taken."
"You lost a bet playing Hearthstone to Valla again, didn't you?"
"I had everything lined up the way I wanted!" he raged. "Victory was at hand! I was so very prepared, and still I…!"
Rehgar couldn't quite hide the chuckle in his voice. "Heh, at least you'll impress Tyrande. She likes cute things, doesn't she?"
Purple roses bloomed in his cheeks. "I…I dunno," he grumbled lamely. "I…I guess she would like seeing me on this…thing? Bah, but it's all 'Malfurion-this' and 'Malfurion-that'! What does nature have that I don't? I can make horns sprout on my head, too, you know! And these warglaives! Women dig warglaives, don't they?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
Illidan went quiet after that, mumbling under his breath while massaging the billie goat's fine hair.