Note: Narelle Blackmoon's appearance is based on Blackhawk from whatever warcraft book that was. You can google images "Blackhawk warcraft", it'll be the first black and white result – if you ever wanted a visual representation.
Chapter 6
The God Lands
X Fallen X
The rains came.
For the first few minutes, it was something amazing. The bandits pointed and cheered, laughing and dancing. The qiraji, with their first experience, seemed to turn like turkeys by how they all faced upwards with their mouths open. Sin felt like it was the veils that kept their mouths from filling with water and drowning – such had nearly been the case with Sekara, who went without.
Quickly, however, the dangers and negative potential became clear. Un'Goro was called a crater for its place 9,000 feet below the deserts it was slumped between. Despite what logic suggested of its terrain, it was a land of paradise and life, full of green behemoths barely called trees, wildlife that scaled to the heavens, and more exotic presences. It was called the God Lands for this phenomena, a name that carried the rumor as the home of the titans when they lived on Azeroth.
To get there, two clear ramps had been carved from the Silithus and Tanaris deserts along what was already the only ways down. Obstacles had been cleared, the trail leveled, and from then on it was known that apart from flying, those were the only ways down. Sin knew another way, at least on logic and suspicion, where they scaled the steep cliff walls using the naturally jagged formations to overcome the sheerness.
However, as they descended, the hard rock gave way to soil and eventually sparse grass. The steepness remained a constant concern, where a single misstep could cost one his life, and indeed one man had already tumbled down screaming, lost forever to them. The event remained on everyone's mind.
With the rains now, soil turned to mud, and the steepness remained unchanging. Quickly, Sin gathered the forces into a broad nook, mostly flat, and had them raise tents to take cover. Waters began to pour in great rivers and falls down the cliff walls, pooling into lakes where the land didn't slope, and it grew clear that they were trapped.
Two hours into the torrents of rain, Sin remained outside his tent. Water slid off his cloak like metal, rather than cloth, and he carried with him still the black war staff. Shed'lahk was it's name, and it was no staff, as he claimed. It was a key. A key to the nightmares he had grown up knowing. His mother had been the keeper, the jailer, the warden... And now the burden was his to bear.
Light help them all should the key's potential be realized, and Shadow take them before it was ever used.
Sin stood sentinel over the nearby ridge that lined the edge before the valley they sought to enter. Already over a day of traveling and they still were not half way down. Beside him, there was a jagged rend in the lip that poured forth a frothing stream of muddy water – their nook would have flooded if he had not given the pool an exit. Such was the first spell he'd ever cast with that staff, a simple explosion meant to cut down at least two feet of rock.
Beside him, the rend stretched fifteen feet to the right, and the hole split the rock a good ten down at the lowest point. Molten rock had begun to spill forward from the heat, until the river cooled it into an exiting mouth. The experience was a lasting reminder of two things: the dangers of the staff and the awing control his mother had had over magic.
Pelted by the rain and drudging thoughts, Sin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, watching the spew of ash and smoke leave his lungs. His thoughts returned to Shed'lahk. The magic of the staff was inside him, wrapping coils around his soul and burrowing astral tendrils inside his very body. He used it as a measure of how far he still had to go in recovering his control: Shed'lahk was an entity, much like Frostmourne. It sought to control him, to make him into a host, and should it ever win the struggle...
His unstable mind spun forth the memories, showing him visions of his mother when he had still been a youth. A beautiful woman, of similarly dark skin, but she spoke now with a measured frown, "No, my son, not like the Guardian. In my charge, we inherit no power; we are born with no right. We must defend with the strength of a mortal man. And that is why, my son, we learn and use the most begotten and forbidden power that we are capable of controlling. We must exceed our limitations as far as we can, if we are to perform our duties."
The memory was prepared to play out further, but a voice interrupted it. "You will not make your escape." It was a cool, smooth voice, that of the eternally patient night elves. Narelle was with him.
Inside him, Shed'lahk twitched, and with burning agony, it showed Sin visions of its power. To turn her into ash, to carve a path down this mountain by itself, to vanquish even the clouds above and dry all the water below. Sin snorted and scoffed within his own mind. You do not have that power. It does.
Though she did not gloat, there was sureness in her words. Sin glanced over to see her crouched to his left, her warden cloak fanned about her as she ran a smooth stone over one of her blades. Beneath her hood, he could see her silver eyes overlooking the crater, and then she took looked to him.
In reply, he said, "It is far too late to turn back, for the same reason. But I have already touched the clouds, and they will pass from us soon. It will be a simple matter to dry the mud as we move along."
"Until the next coming of rains, and perhaps then we won't be on such flat ground," she said dismissively. She flicked the stone over the ridge and sheathed her blade, just one of many, before adding, "Your qiraji refuse to fly over the canyon walls. They know that the land before them is the God Lands. What makes you think that they will enter now, when not even all the will of C'Thun could get them to?"
Sin smiled. "Because I believe it was the will of C'Thun that could not enter, not the qiraji. Remember how eager the gladiators were to enter on their way to this other, who does not yet know defeat at titan hands." She remained silent.
Neither moved from their place of watching, even when Darnin and Ressact came to speak to Sin and left. The sun was in the latter hours before sundown when the torrents finally eased up. The clouds began to disperse shortly after.
Narelle stood once Sin turned from his place and began to make his way back to the camp. Before him, a few dozen sun-bleached tents were erected, bandits in some and Battleguards crammed into others. Pools of water showed like glass, reflecting pale sky and storm-grey clouds, and they connected the tents together on its crystal plane.
There was a distinct absence of sound behind Sin where the Watcher moved.
With Shed'lahk, Sin weaved a complex spell that would begin drying the area around him immediately. It was strange, almost nostalgic, to be working with arcane magicks once again, where spells wove together like art and the language of tongues rolled and waned rather than snarled and clicked. However, Sin's tongue lashed out when he noticed Shed'lahk had sent the nearby pools into frothing, boiling pits, forcing it back into the usual spell, where water peeled away in cool, wispy fog.
It was almost like a magister's duel, using the staff. To fight a separate will, that might either hinder or accelerate your command. There was so much power contained within it...
After rousing his followers, the camp erupted into commotion as they broke down the tents and regathered supplies in carrying form. Sin noticed many had laid out plank-wood buckets to gather as much rain as they could, and he joined the camp in refilling their skins. It was difficult enough finding clean, pure water, even in Un'Goro. The spells for the purifying process were too weak for any more than one person.
At the neck of their nook, Sin ran his hand over his cheeks and chin, feeling the small build up of hairs fall away from the sparks of magic. He blinked after the absent-minded action, then reprimanded himself severely. Only a fool shaved with magic, dangerous as it was, and a mad one, if his control wasn't surgeon-precise. The motion had just seemed natural, coming on instinct.
Narelle was watching his every action, every decision. The slip reminded him of it.
"Come along," he announced to those behind him, then raised his staff and slammed the butt down into the hard dirt, muttering a spell.
The water that still spilled down the mountain made their intended path a dangerous stream. With the spell, mud and dirt rose from under the water and formed a new ridge up the side. Sin crafted it to slope west, into the nook they were leaving, and guided the stream in an earthen gutter all the way to the pools far behind them.
With a wave of his hand, fire licking his fingertips, the muddy line that the stream had formerly ran down immediately dried out, the mud turning from dark brown to the light tan of Un'Goro soil, then cracking as he took out too much moisture. He continued out, following the path down as the slope steepened.
Magic was such a versatile matter, fluid and volatile as the Nether yet dependable in skilled hands as steel was in a warrior's. It could be utilized in so many ways as well. Like the warlock, who called upon fel magicks, the arcane of demons, and fought the battle of wills with every cast to remain above its perverse touch. There was runic arcane, where the true power was in the shapes and symbols the magic was woven into. There was the arcane of mages, a matter of intent and incantations for precise results.
But there was also the raw magic, from those with enough power. The magic responded to the wielder's will, usually in simple and explosive manners. It was quite easy to use, near instant too, yet also the quickest to go wrong, or behave unintentionally. It was a favored method of Dalaran mages to find powerful students among the populace by finding those who had an accidental outburst.
With the loss of his control, the slipping of his mind, Sin was not surprised to see this magic of instinct coming even easier to him now. He was casting spells without thought, on primal instincts – nothing dangerous yet, but how long until his testosterone accidentally took a woman from her clothes, or someone too loud at night found themselves without lips or a mouth?
He enjoyed these thoughts and reflections as he led the bandits and qiraji in silence.
XxX
"Ah, now killing from the shadows, that's my trade, girlie." It was a dwarf that was boasting, starring at the night elf warden with the hungry blue-shined eyes of a cultist. A wicked kris was in his hands, being turned side over side. "Thought about starting as a rogue in big-ole Ironforge, but those crooks don't seem to like crookery."
Narelle had all the appearance of being disinterested. Her Watch was on Sin de Rath, seated beside the unveiled qiraji in pink at a far fire. As she watched him, her eye fell back upon the staff that rested upon his lap. Dark feelings blossomed inside her heart at the sight of it. That artifact was far darker cursed than anything these Twilight dogs had gotten their hands on. Had she had her own way, it would be taken up to Darnassus, to be sealed into the deepest vault they had.
The drunken dwarf was quickly trying her patience, however. "A load of cock buttock, if yer askin' me, but I moved out and moved on, taking a bit of this and that, cut a little of this and that. The shadows and I, we be real good friends now, aye. Makes a man wonder what a skinny little elf like yerself can... oh, ho ho!"
Without ever looking his way, the warden faded into the shadows, untouched even by the nearby fire. The night made any trace of her impossible to find. The dwarf laughed, peering left to right, and he twisted his blade to a reverse hold over the hilt, pointed downward. Though his stance was loose, his fist was tight.
"So yer a hunter of the night, girlie, but you ain't no monster. You ain't no killer like me or us, just don't have the stones for it. Like a hawk against a panther."
In the Blink of an eye, Narelle showed the dwarf a true taste of the shadow. No sound, no warning, no sight until her moon crescent was already against his throat, the elbows of her arms pushed against his to keep them from moving in and cutting her. One foot remained tangled with his too, not with weight but positioned just so to optimize leverage if she had need of throwing him off balance.
"Give me reason," she whispered with deathly calm, "and you will be dead before the first hiss of my blade. Feel fortunate that my Watch is that warlock, not a staggering drunk."
"An' to think I was once afraid of yah," the dwarf chuckled, careless. Narelle's silver gaze narrowed, until she felt the slip of her narrow leather top. Her blade did not waver as her chest fell free of the cut bodice, but unease set in the base of her spine. "You see, yer problem is that you lived just too comfortably, yah damn elf. In the desert, we faced the North Wind, we faced each other, killin' and slashing just for a cup of water. We had the weakness bled out of us, slowness, softness... Yer slow, lassy – slow and easy. And the shadows are mine."
Narelle looked down, to see his his kris tapping the center of her chest, between breasts nearly exposed from the severed leather. The strap that held it together had been cut. She saw his hand, pressed outward to keep his blade away, awkwardly maintaining the reverse grip so the blade reached her. He hadn't moved since she ambushed him, meaning he had caught her in the very instant of her Blink.
With a careful step back, the dwarf untangled from her leg and withdrew himself and the blade. He grinned at her, tapping the kris against his wrist, then gave a brief leer for her chest. He whistled a merry tune as he turned and headed back towards the fire.
Narelle returned to the shadows, melding back in, brooding. She left her severed top undone, uncaring in favor of the thoughts the dwarf left behind in her. Certainly, she had not been subtle with her attack, and he had known it was coming, But is that the the forging of the desert within him? Is that what Sin de Rath wanted from desert-hardened warriors?
As a warden and a sentinel, Narelle did not live comfortably. She lived among the desert, Watching, yet water was always near at hand with a quick spell to pull it from wells deep below the desert. In the storms, shelter could be erected in minutes, and her cloak kept out the worst of anything, be it heat or cold. She did not struggle for meals, water, safety... How much strength did the desert grant to those who stayed alive?
If she was to kill Sin de Rath, who led these people, she would need every advantage. Rather than wait to slay the dwarf, she felt he had earned his disgusting leer; a lesson had been learned this day.
At the distant fire, Sin watched the cheeky dwarf sit with comrades at another campfire, bursting into song as he placed skewered worm meat into the flames. His lip turned up briefly at the exchange, witnessing the phenomena once again. The desert had a way of making strange skills into those who trumped death.
XxX
In plain defiance of Narelle's misgivings, Sin urged them onward down the mountains. As they neared the final few thousand feet of slope, they encountered increasing patches of areas that could not be climbed, and the qiraji Battleguards required more and more prompting to move. Fortunately, they had a sort of herd mentality, so if he could convince one, the rest followed.
The sun was behind them now, blocked by the cliff wall and sinking past the far horizon of Silithus, and there was speculation if they would sleep on the mountains again and continue searching the next day. Handon loudly complained that there wasn't a way down at all, hence why the elves never bothered protecting the "path." Narelle said nothing, but the gloat was obvious in her eyes.
As twilight began, with the clouds above beginning to change to dark purples, Sin found himself in another dispute with the qiraji. Around him, the bandits murmured at the continuous interference. Sin was especially frustrated, as they stood above a clear way down, yet once again, as if mocking, the slope neared vertical for the entire three hundred feet down. It was another two hundred feet vertical to climb back up the arm and go around.
"Look, Sekara, why ask for my help to take you out if you refuse to even enter the first area outside Silithus? If you will not enter Un'Goro, then turn around and return to Ahn'Qiraj, and may the o... Bah, take you all!" A deep frown settled over his face as he almost broadcasted the presence of the old god to all the former cultists.
"Sseen," Sekara pleaded. Sin could still pick up the qiraji expression for worry.
Arms folding, he returned, "No. You have to make the choice here. You want to live safe on this wretched planet, you have to move forward. You have to take the actions necessary to ensure your survival, and entering this Light-forsaken crater is one such action, and remarkably easy!"
"Sseen." She included a throaty whimper this time, playing at the pathetic card.
Sin glanced at her face, the tension tight in her form as she hovered barely off the ground. He growled and turned away, the war staff in his fist, and walked to the edge of the cliff that barred their way. Enough, he felt, was enough. Shed'lahk seemed to purr with pleasure as it fed him the power he demanded, and Sin slammed its butt into the edge of the dirt.
With the dark thrum of power, birds took to the skies from the trees beyond, and creatures roared down below. A second later, there was the shriek and groan of stone as chunks began to rip free of the mountain wall, layer over layer, and formed a massive staircase from where Sin stood all the way to the floor below.
At the conclusion of the spell, a crippling weakness overtook Sin, sapping at his strength and reflecting his near empty mana reserves. Shed'lahk seized advantage of the moment, invading further into his body at the weakness, tightening its hold and attempting to slide its tendrils closer to his mind and will.
Sin showed none of this outwardly, but he mustered all of his mental will and cloaked his mind in shadows, then began the counter-offensive. With the cool control of a warlock, he shoved back the dark presence within him, ignoring the nearly black smoke he was exhaling and the way the dark skin of his wrist began to crack, revealing a fiery vein beneath.
His exhausted body shuddered at the battle of the wills, but Sin found the small victory as skin resealed itself, covering the burning essence beneath, and the smoke returned to its faint white color, nearly unnoticeable, before vanishing entirely. The entity of the staff grew quiet, brooding over the case of its particular host.
Sin tried to speak to his armies, but he noticed the gravelly cast to his voice and stopped. He cleared his dry and parched throat, then announced in his usual voice, "Let us be off!" He began to descend the staircase of his making.
Narelle was the first to follow him, but she hung back nearly fifteen feet away. Her silver eyes were narrowed with suspicion, her heart still racing with fear. She had felt within the dark energy that the staff had released into the ground, and she understood the sheer power needed to perform this spell. Such was... impossible for a mortal. To even be on his feet following, he needed to be of the strength of perhaps Queen Azshara, or Prophet Valen.
Was such the forbidden strength of a warlock, or was it the power of that cursed artifact he never allowed himself to part with? What mental strength, or even physical, did he need to even wield such a weapon? She noticed by the slump in his shoulders and the way he dragged his feet forward that it had taken nearly everything he had for the spell, but the respect between huntress and prey grew shamelessly within her.
Narelle understood well the significance of this ally in the War of the Shifting Sands, and she knew she had been right to fear him as her target. Specter of the Sands indeed.
As the bandits also began to descend, marveling over the sudden pathway, the qiraji finally shook themselves free of their trance and began to follow. Their dark master finally led the way into the land of the Usurpers.
XxX
Sin de Rath entered his tent alone, seizing advantage of the chance to take a break from those he led. Not even Sekara was allowed inside with him now, though he wondered what method Blackmoon used to watch him from within. Poor Narelle, to be so wrapped into conflicts that were not her own and facing more shades of grey than even night elf wardens understood.
The tent was small, perhaps only six feet by eight internally, held up only by poles at the four corners. He saw his pack and still-bound bedroll residing at a corner, deciding to roll out his bed vertically against the right wall when the time came, then slid Shed'lahk into the grassy dirt at the left. The black wood passed soil like water, down half of it's seven feet of length, and Sin released its haft.
Immediately, the tendrils within slid out of him through his hand, the thorns sliding out like the splinters they were, and Sin's body jolted as if with cold water. The burning essence within vanished, leaving cool, human blood flow, and his lungs filled with clean, pure air without the taste of ash and choking thickness.
And in that same instance, a deep want penetrated his soul to take up the staff again. Knowing its dark master, knowing its goal, he wanted to take it up again. Sin shook his head, relishing the relief even through the shadowed-mind trick, and he muttered a short spell, twirling his right wrist in a circular motion near the buried staff.
From the soil, clear strands of water escaped and rose magically like ghostly tentacles, and their spiraled around and around the black wood of Shed'lahk. When he had raised the spiraling water to the very top of the staff, Sin's chant changed pitch and words, and the spiral of water froze into hard ice. Minerals, salts, and sand carried with the water crystallized into white and grey veins and encased the column in its fine web.
Studying his construct with pleased eyes, Sin released his hold over arcane magicks and gently grasped that of the fel and dark. He snarled, gave a gutteral growl that retched into a repetitive hissing click, and then green light poured down from the crystal head of it in thin bars, giving the whole thing a green glow. When the light touched the ground, Sin released the spell, noting the lack of any influence upon his mind.
An Ice Barrier empowered by an Earthen Shield, and then locked with shackles of the Nether. Sin tilted his head at his precautions, then snapped his fingers once. A mental alarm enchantment for tampering or foreign proximity, just for good measure.
One could never be too careful.
Sin's next step was a summoning spell, invoking a contract nearly as old as he was. From the purple light, woven in a thousand symbols and letters, a small imp sprang free in a ball of flame, rolling across the ground once and hopping to its feet. The golbin-esque face of Quztal grinned at Sin, and he greeted, "Where's the fire?"
"Welcome back," Sin returned. Shifting his robes, he seated himself on his pack, facing the imp. "I'm going to need you to play doctor for a bit."
"Yeah, yeah, the doctor is in- Whoa! Now that is one monster of a headache! Hatcha! Ow ow!" Quztal shook his head, springy ears swaying, and then faced Sin with a pensive frown. "Took one hell of a beating on the noggin, did you?"
"Focus, Quztal. I'm going to meditate and try to address the problem within. I need you to invade a bit, find the core of the problem for me, and together, let's work on cauterizing it."
The imp jumped back and forth on his feet, anxious. "You want to cauterize your mind? Are you out of your brain?" Sin gave him a look, and the imp stared right back. "Well, if we do this, you will be!"
Sin sighed, leaning back on his hands, and he nodded towards the glowing, green column. "Look behind you. You remember what that is, don't you?"
Quztal turned, squinting and leaning in close – Sin could feel the tingle of his magics warning him of the proximity – and then the imp leaped back with a raspy shriek. "No, no, no, no, no!" he howled, then scurried behind Sin's leg, ducking under the hem of the robe. Peaking from underneath, he complained loudly, "You took up your mother's staff! What kind of idiot are you, huh? I've got four hundred and sixty six brothers, and none of them are as imp-brained as you!"
"I've faced some... difficult decisions as of late. The power will be necessary before the end, I fear. I feel it is time I stopped running from my responsibilities."
"And become the next Keeper? You're an idiot! Your mother asked you to hold onto it until your next return home, not take it for a spin!"
"Quztal," Sin sighed, unwilling to explain himself any further. The imp hesitated, but with another glance at the staff, it huffed loudly and slammed the hem of Sin's robes over his tiny head, hiding. "Quztal..."
"Sorry, Quztal isn't in right now. Please call back and leave a message at the explosion." Sin began to count to three within his head, yet on two, he heard the imp snap his fingers, and a ball of fire exploded in the middle of the room. Harmless, yet loud.
Sin inhaled deeply, holding it, and extended his count to ten. When it finished, he said, "If I cannot regain firmer control of myself, I am in greater risk of failing my duties as holder of Shed'lahk. We are all in risk, if I fail. Will you help me, Quztal?"
A short growl, and then Quztal lifted the robes again to peak up at Sin. He moved it only enough to let his glaring eyes and nose be visible over the purple line. He snapped, "Okay, okay, but don't say the name! Got enough nightmares without you reminding me of our famous little backdoor garden floating about in the Nether! Oh yeah, reminds me, your realtor called... she wants you to move your bloody cursed tree and all prisoners therein to your world, not ours!"
Sin bent down and scooped up the imp, holding him in a headlock like when they had wrestled as children. Quztal squirmed and complained as he drawled, "Actually, you little spitball, that prisoner belongs to your world, but if you want me to move the tree here and leave it there, I'd be happy to-"
"Okay, okay, you win! You win! Let me go!" Quztal yelled, his struggle losing strength. He began slapping Sin's arm. "Tap out! Tap out!"
Sin let him go, and Quztal jumped to the floor, dusting himself off. "Geeze, what's an imp gotta do to get some respect down here? Azeroth, I'm telling you." Turning, the trickster faced Sin again, but with all seriousness. "Alright, start it up. We'll use some mind-fire, but Nether help me, you better know exactly what you're doing."
Sin didn't. "In we go."
XxX
"So that's it then?" Jern asked. One hand scratched his red beard.
The colossal trees of the east obscured the morning sun, and cool mists filtered about their camps with languid presence. They met post-breakfast, while the collected peoples were still groggy and deciding whether to break cap or return to sleep. Now that they were free of the Silithus Desert, there was nothing holding the bandits to Sin or the qiraji. The bargain was complete.
The party was five: Sin, Darnin, Handon, Narelle, and Jern. The elf remained in her warden dress but watched from the distance, crouched by a large, dead root. The bandits remained in heavy dress with their faded clothes and thick, sand-proof robes, though their veils had been down since first leaving the sandstorm. In his usual purple robes was Sin, the center of all the attention, and he still held his black staff.
To the question, Sin nodded. "We will take half of the supplies, but your path is your own now. Warden Blackmoon will remain with me. Thank you, gentlemen, for your brave work and assistance."
"About damn time," Handon sighed. He nudged Darnin with his bony elbow. "Come on, let's start up for Tanaris and find some heavy, heavy booze. I need to drink these memories away for at least a week before we kick up camp somewhere."
At the morning fires, many of the bandits were already boiling pots of water for the journey. Water was plenty in Un'Goro, as seen by the stream less than a mile from the rock wall they had descended, but in such a lively region, clean water was not. The runs were the least of someone's worries if they ingested it raw.
Darnin was not so eager. "And you, Specter? Where will you go now?"
Sin gave a vague shrug. "Somewhere that will satisfy my charges. If I am lucky, it won't be with a poisoned bolt in my back." He nodded in Narelle's direction. Those predatory silver eyes never once strayed from his visage. It was certainly unnerving, though he showed no concern of it.
Darnin nodded and rubbed the coarse stubble over his chin. "And if you do not mind me asking, what will you do following?"
There was no alarm at the question, but Sin easily recognized the probing questions as exactly what he had worried over in the beginning. He remained as obscure: "The world is an ever-changing place, more so now with the death of the Lich King. I will take a trip home and visit my remaining family, and then I will be out again, to lend my skills and power as I can."
The wiry bandit leader nodded, and after another scratch of his chin, he said, "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to continue with your group, at least as far as Tanaris. There are strength in numbers, and certainly the elves are hunting for our trail as we speak. Your travels will take you from Un'Goro Crater, will they not?"
"They will," Sin admitted tightly. There was a clatter as Handon's jaw dropped. Literally.
Darnin smiled, sending cracks through the tanned leather that was his skin. "I know that look, but the truth is I am unsure as what to do with my life now. These men look to me, and the Shadow knows they'll follow me, but I'm thinking about living on the right side of the law for once. Perhaps the goblins could use a stout team for lease or such."
"I suppose right with goblin law is right with a law, but not by right law, believe me," Sin mentioned, thoughtful. Say that five times fast... "Alright, you can keep on with us, if that is what you and the rest wish. You must forgive me if things remain in haste though; I don't intend on turning this escort of mine into a year long excursion."
"Of course, Specter. Who knows what dire threats are out there, waiting?" Their eyes met and locked, and Sin recognized the wily challenge there. Darnin was letting him know, directly, that he understood something was going on. It was the unspoken question as to what.
Fantastic, Sin dully thought to himself. "And for you, Jern, Handon?"
The undead skeleton folded his arms and glared at a tree, still without his jaw. Jern's beard twitched as he moved his lips thoughtfully. He admitted, "My destination is Feralas, which I believe means we must loop through Tanaris, Thousand Needles, and then we'll reach there. The journey will take us at least a month. I suppose we can do with some travel companions for a time."
Sin nodded and looked over to the camp. He finally said, "It is agreed then. When the water is properly stored, let's break camp and move on. Un'Goro is about forty-five miles straight through, so I'm guessing we'll be out in three days in this terrain with no interferences." Pausing, Sin reconsidered his following. Qiraji fliers, men of the desert, and one of the night elves' elite. This was not an army of basic infantry. "I suppose we'll just see."
The conference broke apart to perform their respective tasks. However, as Sin tied the rope around the bundle of his tent and poles, he noticed that Narelle had approached with her usual subtlety. She busied herself by adjusting her clawed glove while asking, "Darnin already suspects. It will not be long before he connects the change in the qiraji with the changed times, and he will know."
"Yeah? I hadn't noticed by the way he accused me right in the middle of the conversation," Sin declared flippantly. He tossed the tent by his bag, then unwound the cord that would hold his bedroll similarly tied. "Not much that can be done about it. He's a clever man."
"And a threat," she reminded, with just a lilt of emphasis. An apparently whimsical comment, as she still toyed with her gauntlet. One silver eye glanced over at him, a shadow of a smile on her purple lips. "If you'd like, I can eliminate that threat as we go. No one will suspect a thing. Something easily played off as him making a run off early by himself. Or with a few dozen others, should you prefer."
Sin finished binding his bed and added it to his pile, then faced her with a stern expression. Hands no long occupied, he drew Shed'lahk from where he had buried it in the soil. No longer did the ashen presence infiltrate his being, though the wood burned under his fingertips, as if recently drawn from a fire. "You heard him yourself. He may be a changed man. Years of solitude in the desert can do that to you."
"I know you, Sin de Rath. You've worked as a peacekeeper, a bruiser, and a bodyguard for most of your life. You know better than to assume someone of his ilk 'changed for the better.' And if he did, what of his followers when they find out? Will their loyalty remain so unshaken? Or will they peel off to rush back to the cult, to later cross arms with us?"
Sin shook his head, turning back to his supplies and performing a quick check that it was all there. He said, "I hate the idea as much as you do, but I don't believe we can make the choice for them. If they choose to return to the cult, then they do. We'll tear them apart no differently when we get there. But this way, we do not make the mistake of killing men who would honestly remain apart, or even join humanity in the fight against them."
The warden crossed her arms before her chest. The stance widened the opening of her cloak to reveal more of her scandalously garbed body. She did not, apparently, believe in armor outside of her broad steel shoulders and the iron cloak. The rest of what she wore seemed no more than leather belts and harnesses to clip on more and more blades, centered around the narrow top and thong-like bottoms.
Sin guessed if her armor could parry for her, she really didn't need much else.
"That is not the attitude that your files outlined, so called 'Specter of the Sands.' You seem the type to be the first to kill before someone becomes a threat."
Sin was glad then for the shadows around his mind, for the burst of rage (even enhanced by Shed'lahk) hardly broke his calm. He delayed by beginning the summoning ritual for a demon, and only a few seconds later, his dreadsteed sprang free in an eruption of flame and molten soil.
The headstrong demon faced Sin challengingly, flaming eyes defiant, and as always, its will slammed into Sin's mind, vying for control. Sin's mind remained in a faint fog, mostly numb, since the previous night, and the bludgeoning mental attack was caught, detained, and overcome by his own. The demon snorted flames in satisfaction as Sin yet again proved himself worthy of being its master. It's flaming and armored head bowed.
While Sin began to strap on his supplies to its back, he finally replied to Narelle. The short battle helped put his mind in proper perspective – he was a master in this world, with slaves whom bowed to and looked to him, to serve him. She was just a silly mortal to be used until she was to be discarded. There was no reason to be angry.
"What I did in that war was necessary. Every night, infiltrated cultists pulled one of our own off the streets and butchered them, flayed from them their skin, for us to find later and be demoralized. They poisoned our food and waters, or weakened our armor and blades. They needed someone to finally act without moral regard, and Lynona and I were best suited to the task. Four men... Four men were, with all certainly, innocent yet detained, and the things we did to them were unspeakable. My best compensation, of a hundred gold to each, and another hundred to their families at home, will never – ever – make up for it."
The night elf seemed nonplussed. "When men escape to the cult, and they contribute to the burning of villages and rape and murder of women and children, and they damn the world before we get to them, I will remind you of this conversation. I will bring to you the corpse of the most violated woman and show you the damage this decision could have prevented."
"And I will mourn, Narelle. Unlike you, I will mourn," Sin replied simply.
She opened her mouth hotly, ready to tear him to ribbons, but his tired eyes fell upon her, and the words died in her throat. A heavy frown settled on her face as she stared daggers at him, and then her head turned away. Sin turned back to his dreadsteed and mounted, then turned it to rejoin the camp.
As they walked, Narelle asked, "What is your plan for the qiraji? Do you know where we go yet?"
"I thought to kill two birds with a single stone, if we could. You know already about the silithid hives that broke free in the deep south of the Tanaris Desert. I'm hoping I can get Sekara and them to agree to seize control of the operations there. It gives them a home, and the silithid are no longer a threat. And considering it is over a week of desert travel to get there from the nearest town, I consider it quite safe, and it is also near enough the exact opposite side of the planet from it."
Narelle stated none of her thoughts on the decision, though she asked, "And how will you deter the ongoing military operations trying to purge the infestation?"
Sin smiled. "Tanaris is my home. If I tell the people that the problem is resolved, then they know that the problem is resolved. My mother would be glad to maintain order in my absence... and if there is treachery to be had later from the qiraji, I know she will be the first to rise up and utterly annihilate them."
"Your mother?" Narelle asked, actual emotion slipping into her voice. It was curiosity. No doubt, she had heard his argument with Quztal the previous night and heard the mention. He notice her glance at his staff.
"We all begin somewhere. She was my mentor, and she is the one who taught me courage and altruism in the self-serving, deceptive goblin world at Gadgetzan. She is a great woman, greater and more powerful than myself. I can only hope to match her legacy before my own demise. I am sure you will meet her before our time together ends."
The warden turned thoughtful. Sin wondered at her own family, likely millennia old now with the formally immortal night elves. Did they hold any significance to her now, or were they a forgotten relic of her past after years of war, strict training, and the solitude of her Watch?
She surprised him by following up with: "What of your father?"
Still, he smiled before answering. "He was also a great man, but for perhaps different reasons. A human Explorer's League member. He came here on their Uldum expedition. When all was said and done, he remained out here and was back and forth between their base camp and our house. He was an engineer and a marksman, a man of honor and... say, a fine attention to detail. I believe it was that trait that attracted my mother most to him."
"So that is why you put your faith in the hunk of metal you hide at the right of your waist," Narelle acknowledged, recalling the moment when the bandits had turned upon him and he had drawn his father's revolver.
"Yes. He had trained me in shooting and sharpshooting, and a bit into engineering before his untimely demise against a sand troll raid when I was but twelve years of age. That's enough of the history of your prey though. It's time to head out again." Narelle stopped at a rock, while Sin continued to meet the Battleguards. Looking back, he added, "And if you dare to use my mother against me in the coming days, I will burn everything you love to ash before coming for you. Everything. That is, assuming she doesn't tear you a new one in my stead for trying."
AN: Sheesh, never had to post an update without getting a review on the chapter before. Oh well, so it goes. Small community and all. Also, this is the last you see of Sin until Chapter 12, where he finishes up his part in the first stage of the story. Actually, I just finished writing that chapter today, hence my update now. Chapter 13, Malthon's, will conclude Stage One of The War of the Sightless Eye. Some really exciting stuff on the frontier of this story, with some very small glimpses of it in this chapter.
