Chapter 7 Persuader unsheathed his sword and held it to his face. Decayed flesh and bone looked back at him in the reflection of the blade. Once a strong farmer working in the fields with his brothers and sisters, he was now an undead shadow of his past. Alone for two centuries he had acquired an un-merciless nature. Once sorrow had walked at his side, a constant reminder of what he had once been and the richness of his life. Now it was long gone, the bitter taste of anguish forever lingering. The skies of Shadowmoon Valley were thick with the embers of fallen Infernals. The charred ground cracked beneath his plate boots disturbing black dust to shimmer around them. He watched without expression as the militants, both Dwarf and Orc, raised their weapons to defeat the surge of relentless Infernals as they littered the land. He lowered his sword to his side and took a few ominous strides towards an encroaching Infernal. He could feel the heat from its body sending the temperature of his plate armour rocketing and he revelled in the sensation. The Infernal swung its arms madly, like a conductor. Its bodily coordination was rabid and aggressive, acting almost without any true directive- only impulse. Persuader’s hand shot out in a ‘Stop!’ motion as trickles of ice fell from his yellow nails. The motion was hastened, yet unbothered. His hand lingered in the air in front of the Infernal’s flickering body. An icy shackle had twisted itself around the Infernal’s legs and twined up its chest reaching towards its neck. Specks of ice glimmered delicately in the air as he released a soft, misty breath. The tendrils of ice gripped at the Infernal tightly as it stood, motionless, like a fly in a spider’s web- the awareness of an imminent death soon to be dealt. He moved slowly towards the Infernal and placed his body in direct contact with it, almost leaning. He peered up into the Infernal’s eyes, swirling pools of insane, unharnessed energy. For a moment, it looked back at him. And for a moment more, Persuader felt akin to the Infernal’s insanity, almost reverent. The icy tendrils had begun to twist playfully around his feet and he kicked them away. He turned his back on the encased Infernal and thrust his sword back into its sheath as he continued on his path. The cries of Orc rang out behind him as their blades plunged deep into the helpless Infernal’s body, a searing sound of metal scraping and slicing through rock. The Infernal was silent. --- The note was hastily written but direct. It had been given to him one dreary night in the Undercity by a young Blood Elf Rogue. She had wanted to communicate further with him but he had waved her away with a flick of his hand whilst studying the note. The fresh, lively smell of Blood Elves made him sick to his stomach. Their frolicking nature and notable arrogance was stifling to him. The words had given him a purpose once again. The same purpose he was given nearly every fortnight by a wandering stranger, a distraught wife, a broke Goblin cheated from his riches. They all came to him seeking justice, revenge, closure. But the mission was always the same. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It was the only reason he stayed in his pitiful existence, assassinating not for money-but for a purpose. If he had not this path to walk he would have found a way to cease to exist a long time ago. He placed the note beside his plate and let his brain go into autopilot. Who was the target? Where was the target? Memories of past missions similar to this one began to trickle in, associating tactics and manoeuvres best suited for the situation. He stood up and shoved the note into his pocket. It had but three words written on it and that was all he needed. He cared not for endless lists of possessions to reclaim, tear stained calligraphy or garbled essays of how’s and where’s. He would ultimately determine that in the end. An Orc lay on the floor close by him. Its breath was haggard and thick with the scent of ale. Not an uncommon sight in this forlorn place. Many of its residents had lost hope, lost faith and fallen insane. Driven by nightmares and the unbearable loss of their past had created a claustrophobic atmosphere in the Undercity. He knelt down and unsheathed the Orc’s dagger. It was obviously only for sentimental purposes as the blade itself would not kill more than a ragged boar. The handle was wrapped with fine leather and had the language of the Night Elves carved delicately in it. Curious. Maybe this Orc had fallen in love with the opposition? His condition now seemed even more understandable. A passer-by slowed down and glanced at Persuader bent over the Orc. He could only make out the back of the Undead form, long elegant cloak, stocky armour, dark blade. Persuader sensed his eyes on him and turned his hooded head to return the gaze. At once, the passer-by released a startled ‘O’ as recognition hit him full in the face-along with the precisely thrown Orc’s dagger. --- The five hippogryphs soared high above him, wings outstretched gloriously. The thick air was sliced by their speedy forward motion. They glided gracefully towards the Wildhammer Stronghold and out of his vision behind its vast stone walls. A diluted sense of what he assumed to be excitement flickered in his chest. The slain Arrokea lay beheaded in a circle around him. Nothing but a means to pass the time. What a strange race they were, beaked and feathered, shrouded in cloth and beads. A pathetic attempt to create some sort of residential home for themselves stretched out around him. An unusual lifestyle, filled with owls as companions and a custom to corrupt and destroy. Although these Arrokea would rise once more as mere spirits, to wander their territory until another temporary death might greet them. Some of the ghostly bodies around him were already beginning to twitch with unnatural life. He wiped his blade along the body of one of the Arrokea to remove the blood. The Arrokea heaved slightly in response before rising slowly to its feet in an awkward upward motion. Ghostly mist steamed from its body as it began its jaunty circular walk, seemingly unaware of what it had just befallen. His ears pricked at the sound of hooves pummelling the earth. He quickly lay down amongst the bodies and played dead keeping one eye slightly open. The travellers rode past him with a sense of urgency about them. He slid his blade back into the body of an awakening Arrokea beneath him to still it. With assassin’s attention, he drank in the details. Two females, three males. Weapons: magic, maces, axes. Was that one a healer? Could complicate the situation. No minions present. Although not something to rule out. Tauren could pose a problem. He shifted unwillingly to let the Arrokea rise. A nice bed, he thought distantly. Perhaps something he could arrange for himself after this mission. A bed of Arrokea feathers-a simple pleasure he would surely indulge himself in. The five riders faded into the smog as he stared after them. There was no doubt in his mind that he had found his target. --- He followed his target like a shadow and watched from the side-lines as they fought the invisible dragon, Vhel’kur. He was frustrated that he too could not see the mighty beast that circled the mountain. He’d watched as they’d climbed to the mountain’s peak and rested, talking nervously and animatedly. He had a much more accurate idea of what he could be facing now if they all mustered their forces against him should he be discovered. The Warlock had a rather vicious looking Minion with horns and spiked tail, similar to a hound possessed by a demon. He knew of its bite, but it was of no hindrance to his mission. The other female, however, could be. She was clearly the Healer of the group, drenched in Holy power. He could taste the life-force emitted from her from where he was hiding. Potent and ripe. One of the males crouched protectively beside her, frequenting his gaze on her pale, determined face. The Tauren was hefty but slow. A couple of direct blows from him would surely be fatal, distance would be a necessity. And his target. A frolicking, arrogant Blood Elf. Persuader’s mouth twisted into a painful grin that didn’t meld well with his taut skin. An unfamiliar gesture to his naturally grim features. The dragon had been spotted by the Warlock who then flung a shadowy bolt up into, what seemed to him, an invisible body. The bolt had met with a cloud of purple mist that dissipated upon impact. He couldn’t really decipher much that was taking place during the battle, instead he looked to the faces of the five fighters to depict how the encounter was panning out. The Tauren was conveniently disposed of in regards to Persuader’s plans, as he was upfront and battling the dragon head on. He would not have time nor the reserve to take on anything more than he already was. The Healer cast her spells relentlessly. It was an admirable sight to behold. She seemed to surpass the natural abilities of even the greatest of Paladins he had seen in action, white light forming in her hands and lighting up the faces of her allies like a display of fireworks. The Warlock’s hair danced furiously as the dragon’s fetid breath fell upon her in almighty gusts. She sent shadowy bolts spinning and twirling, shouting commands to her Minion who listened devotedly for her calls. The Night Elf Warrior moved like a dancer as he sliced and swung his weapon. Each swing left a trail of determined power as his muscles stretched and pumped under his armour-but yet still always Persuader could tell a part of the Night Elf was focused on the Healer behind him, constantly aware of her. His target had unknowingly placed himself in a very vulnerable position. He stood slightly off to the side from the others, back turned to Persuader as he swung his mace back and forth. His armour reflected no light that would inconvenience Persuader-in fact, it would be one of the most easiest kills Persuader would ever have to perform. The five continued to battle on as Persuader analysed their faces for his cue to strike. Some of the merciless orcs below had stopped their work and looked up with anticipation in their faces. A fallen soldier was food to them. Saliva formed around their protruding teeth and settled into the corners of their mouths. Some had even begun climbing the treacherous rocks below to gain a better advantage on their presumptuous meal. They reached into footholds with muscular arms, heaving themselves up and up, sometimes lashing out at each other and accidentally sealing their own fate by losing grip and impaling themselves on the fatal speared rocks below. The Warlock had noticed the scuffle below and was warning her allies. The wind had begun to really liven the skies as the dragon beat it’s wings furiously. It’s tail flailed out behind, whipping into rocks and sending them crashing down as it tired and began trying to land on the spot where the five allies fought. There was nowhere near enough space and the five of them began closing the gap, edging closer together and pulling Persuader’s target in with them. He cursed and ran his fist into the side of the mountain, resting his forehead wearily against it. Taking out the target was not an option, but he had hoped that fighting the group would be. A trickle of rocks showered down beside him and scattered around his feet. He looked up to see the tail of the Blood Elf’s cloak flapping in the wind. He was so high up. Persuader pursed his mouth in quiet determination and began to climb. --- Their voices grew louder as he climbed, no longer were they carried away by the wind. They cried out to each other in languages he did not care to understand. He supposed they were warning each other of the encroaching Orcs that had helpfully disguised his approach. The tongue of the Human held some clarity mustering up memories of his old life when he too had spoken the same tongue. He shut her out of his mind and continued to advance. The mountain was mischievous and taunted him with misguided routes and a vast mirage of footholds. Eventually, however, the whip of his target’s cloak could be felt against his face as he gave a final upwards surge. He reached up and grabbed the Blood Elf’s ankle who looked down at him abruptly. His face showed shock and confusion when he realised that it was not an Orc that had come to claim it’s dinner-but an Undead Death Knight. The others had not yet noticed their ally’s predicament, and even if they had- a Fel Orc was easy business to finish. They would leave him to it and think nothing of it. He tightened his grip around the Blood Elf’s ankle and began using him for leverage. The Blood Elf momentarily lost his balance in the restricted area he fought in and his arm flung out to grab something for stability. It caused a ripple effect through the group as his arm made contact with the Healer who then staggered into the others. For a moment, chaos ensued as the Tauren tried to see what was going on, whilst the dragon tried to land on top of them all, and whilst the group tried to regain their composure. Persuader knew from experience to act quickly. It was now or never. He unsheathed his sword and thrust it into the rocks beside him. With a final burst of energy, he overpowered the Blood Elf and plunged him off of the side of the mountain. The most effective way to get his target as far away from the Healer as possible. The Orcs had been persistent in their ventures. They began surfacing on top of the mountain and a wrestle for grounds had begun. Persuader hung from his sword that protruded from the side of the mountain. He swung gently for a moment, the wind rocking his body back and forth before he kinked his sword and used it to quickly retreat down the mountain. It grazed and sparked across the rocks as he held on, slicing down the mountain like a crazy theme park ride. The Blood Elf had somehow managed to avoid a fatal fall and instead lay still on the ground, but still breathing. Persuader lowered his sword and stood over him, legs spread to stand across the width of the Blood Elf’s chest. He crouched down and, with his free hand, pulled his target’s face up to his. Almost kindly, he cradled the Blood Elf’s head as he tilted his own to examine him. Bright golden eyes revealed themselves as the Blood Elf began to come around. He looked into Persuader’s dark, hooded face and slowly closed them again. Persuader nodded and stood up with an air of professionalism. The look the Blood Elf had shown was one he knew very well. It was acceptance. He lifted his sword up above his head with both hands, tip poised over the Blood Elf’s dying body. With a small huff of exhaled strength he plunged the sword deep into Athenist’s heart. Athenist surged with the impact and gripped the top of the impaled blade with shaking hands. --- The dragon dropped from the skies of Shadowmoon Valley and slid destructively down the side of the mountain. It’s body consumed many of the climbing orcs on the mountainside and also many were crushed beneath as it crashed into the ground. The four figures watched from the top of the mountain. They had fought the dragon distractedly whilst watching their friend be slain. There was nothing they could have done. They had defeated Vhel’kur, but they had lost a friend. They stood silently together stricken with shock and grief. Khroen held Parantaja in his arms as she wept silently into him. The note had spun its destiny and sealed Athenist’s fate the second it had touched Persuader’s fingers. He left his sword where it sat impaled in Athenist’s body. Unfolding the note from his pocket, he tucked it into the armour of the fallen Blood Elf before looking up at the four statues on the mountain top. His eyes shone with an ethereal blue light before he gave them a half-hearted salute and walked away.