Vengeance and Regret

Part I

The sun was slowly setting over the ancient forests Ashenvale. As it drew lower in the sky its light became coloured, casting shades of orange and magenta across the ceiling of the world. Down on the forest floor some light was able to penetrate the canopy of the trees. It seemed to dance on the floor as the leaves above were stirred by a gentle breeze. The patterns, the colours, the ebb and flow of the old trees’ gentle movements were beautiful to behold. The art of nature.

This art was lost on the small band of Orcs that trudged through the forest. General Irk cared little for the beauty of nature and trees. Trees only served one purpose in his mind, and Ashenvale offered them in abundance.

Aloft his great wolven mount, General Irk carefully surveyed the forests around him. The band was being careful. This area of the forest was not yet under Horde control. He was aware that Nightelves or Draenei could be close by, poised to attack at any moment. Still the risk for General Irk was a necessary one. He needed to see the land and its resources first-hand before deciding which direction his all-consuming warmachine would move to next. He was of course not unprotected. By his sides rode four of his best soldiers - strong, experienced, and battle-hardened Orcs – ferocious enough to decimate a small band of Elves that might try their luck at a General.

On the track in front Irk spotted a flap of purple cloth rustling in the distance. He raised his hand for his unit to stop, as he squinted at the distance. He thought he could make out a body on the ground. Irk turned to one of his bodyguards and motioned them to take a closer look whilst the rest of the unit remained still. He readied himself to turn tail back to his forces at the first sign of trouble. His bodyguard rode over to the body in the road. The Orc dismounted, inspected the body, then motioned the General that it was safe to approach.

As General Irk got closer he could see it was a Nightelf female lying on the ground. Her purple uniform had been what had first caught his attention. One of her legs seemed to be twisted beneath her.

“General.” The scouting guard grunted. “I think this elf must have fallen from its mount. One of their sabres ran off into the distance as I approached. It is still alive but in no fit state to fight.” The Orc pushed the Nightelfs shoulder with his boot. As she was turned over her face came into view. Her unblinking eyes looked up at the band of orcs above her. Her rapid breathing and pale face reflected the horror of the situation she found herself in. General Irk surveyed his prey and a twisted smirk slowly apread across on his face.

“Shall I finish her?” the scouting Orc asked as he began unsheathing his weapon.

“No!” the general quickly barked. Startled, the Orc jumped and quickly resheathed his weapon. “This one is mine. I hate to let a day pass without ridding the forest of one of their vermin.”

He motioned a series of orders to each of his guards. Each loyally dismounted, drew their weapons and spread out, setting up a perimeter around Irk and his prey. Irk was not stupid. He recognised this could easily be a trap – a number of elves could be lying in wait all around him. But, to have the smell of freshly spilled blood in his nose, and evidence of a kill on his blade when he returned to camp, it was worth the risk. He dismounted, and drew his large serrated blade from his pack. Irk walked over to the elf and stood over her. He watched her frightened eyes dart from side to side. He took a deep breath and let out a horrifying snarl at the Elf below. He always enjoyed this part - the horror in their faces and the smell of their fear before the end. He wondered how he must appear to them. The Elfs world was one of beauty and grace, nature and kindness - a stark contrast to his world of violence and destruction. The dominance he felt over the creature below was absolute. He did not mind killing an unarmed opponent, he only wished he could draw out this kill longer. In the past he had taken such foes back to camp with him and tormented them for days before their eventual death. This was business however, and he did not have that luxury today

He never stopped watching her eyes. As he raised his sword above his head, in what he thought would be the last thing the helpless elf would ever see, he thought he saw her wink at him.

Part II

Kreska lay still as the Orc towered above her and pulled his weapon back. She had surveyed the situation only moments before. Each of the Generals guards was several metres away; they looked out into the forest expecting an attack to come from around the circle of their group - not from within. Kreska would have only a few seconds with the General undisturbed, but seconds was all she needed. She had thought about this moment every day for the last 10 years, and spent the last few months trying to get a moment alone with the General. The feigned look of fear disappeared from her face and she gave the Orc a wink as he held his sword over his head.

Like lightening Kreskas left hand shot out. It brought with it a short-hammer mace that had been concealed under her cloak. It smashed into the Orcs left knee. It would not do him much damage through his plate armour, but it caused him to loose balance at a critical moment. As Irk brought his sword down his knee buckled and he twisted to the side, missing his target and driving his blade into the earth a few centimetres to the side of Kreskas head.

In no time at all Kreska leapt into the air. The foot that had been awkwardly coiled underneath her (which the Orcs had thought she had twisted from a fall) acted as a spring, launching her into the air. Concealed behind her wrist a dagger shot into her right hand. She drove it like a spear under the arm of the Orc. There was no armour here and Kreska had aimed her blade with precision. It penetrated the Orcs skin and pierced the brachial plexus – the nerve centre for the Orcs left arm. The result was that as the General tried to react and knock Kreska from his side, his arm suddenly became a numb dead weight. It swung helplessly at Kreska and the Elf side-stepped the blow. As she withdrew her blade she managed to sever his brachial artery, and blood gushed from the wound.

The General began to form a cry for help. As he did Kreskas mace hit him in the throat and the scream was caught there for a moment. Before he could try again Kreska would stop him. As he had stood over her earlier in his pathetic act of intimidation she had noticed a few links missing in his chain mail. The General had doubtless thought they were insignificant and neglected to get them repaired - to Kreska they were a significant weakness. In a quick stab she guided her blade with pin-point accuracy through the hole in the Orcs mail. Her blade penetrated his lung and as Kreska twisted her blade there came the resounding hiss of air escaping his chest. When the General attempted to cry again his vocal chords found no air and only a wince passed his lips.

Kreska danced around her target now. Her arms a flurry blows and stabs. Her mace would deliver quick hard blows to impede his attempts at self-defence or expose weak spots in his armour. Her blade utilised any and every opportunity to get to his flesh, each stab accurately placed to weaken her target. She had studied the anatomy of several dead Orcs and knew their weak spots - the location of the small tendons that gave his body strength and stability and the position of vital arteries and nerves that lay close to the surface of the skin.

With blood flowing from several pores the General collapsed forwards on his knees and dropped his weapon. Kreska Stormraven stood behind him. She carefully unbuckled the armour that protected his neck and threw it aside. She grabbed the Orc from around his jaw and pulled his head back. From above she looked into his eyes. She wanted him know that she had beaten him in the end, that a seemingly weak and vulnerable Nightelf female had dominated him before he died. His eyes met hers and he returned a look of terror!

Before Kreska slit the Generals throat she looked out in front of her. There she imagined she could see the solemn face of her dead lover stood before them. How her lover must have suffered at this Orcs hands all those years ago – finally she would get her retribution.

“This is for you my love.” She spoke gently as she drew the blade across the Orcs throat. Blood gushed and gargled from his neck in waves as his carotids were cut. Life drained from his face and escaped his eyes. As Kreska let go his body dropped to the ground. For a moment she stood there in a quiet lament watching the ground absorb his vileness.

Then she awoke from her trance. Luckily she managed to catch sight of the first Orc guard as he turned in curiosity to see what the General was doing to his victim. The Orc saw her stood over the Generals body and gave a look of shock and surprise. Kreskas hand moved swiftly to her side then back up in the direction of the Orc. A small light blade shot forward and hit him in the eye. Blood filled his vision. He looked down and pulled the short blade out, pulling jelly from his eye with it. He roared loudly in anger to alert the others. When he looked back up, and the other Orcs turned to see what had happened, the Elf had vanished. The dead body of General Irk was the only evidence that she had ever been there.

Part III

Kreska Stormraven had been born during the War of the Ancients. Her parents had died fighting Queen Azshara and the Highborne almost 10,000 years ago. As an orphan child she craved to avenge her parents death and was taken in by the Kal’dorei resistance. The resistance taught her how to attain her revenge – but they never taught her how to go back to living once the enemy was dead. For thousands of years she worked as an assassin for those who claimed to keep Kal’dorei society safe, until 800 years ago when she met her love.

When the Orcs first came crashing through Ashenvale Forest and her love had been tortured and killed, Kreska found anger and revenge much more useful emotions to cling to than grief and loss. A week had passed since General Irks’ death. It had not brought Kreska Stormraven the peace she desired. Now she felt nothing. She felt empty. An eternity of loneliness stretched out in front of her once more.

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At the Silverwing training camp in Ashenvale, Kreska was back in her Sentinels armor. The camp was abuzz with young Sentinels practicing their archery, weapon skills, and discussing their studies. As she looked up twenty girls, all eager to learn the art of war and combat, sat looking up at her. To Kreska they all looked far too young and fresh-faced to challenge an enraged band of Orcs. She reminded herself that she had been far younger when she made her first kill and continued her teaching.

"The dagger, ladies, is the last weapon you must learn to master, and it is not for the faint-hearted." Kreska said twirling a short blade in her hands. "Getting close to your enemy in combat is dangerous and leaves no room for mistakes. But, once you have the skill to do so you will never be able to dispatch your foes more quickly."

One of the young Sentinels raised her hand "But Ma'am," she said. "Surely it is quicker to swing a big sword at the Orc and chop his head off than stab at his flesh until he bleeds to death." The other girls snickered at their colleague.

Kreska glared at the girl. "Young Sentinel, what is your name?"

"Tenderflower Ma'am."

"Sentinel Tenderflower. Do you believe that Orcs are in the habit of lying down and presenting their necks for you to cut in two?"

The Sentinels face turned bright red. "No Ma'am."

"No they are not! Attempt that in a fight and you will miss or be parried and the next thing you know the Orc has laid his off-hand weapon into your belly." Kreska continued staring at the young Sentinel who subconsciously put up a hand to protect her stomach. "But, if you let the Orc take the first move, lure him into taking a swing at your head... In the time it takes him to regain his balance you can put a knife into his chest, his neck, his eye... Then he has to fight on your terms."

Kreska smiled at the young Sentinel who broke her gaze and looked down at her knees. None of the others spoke, each lost in thought. It was at that point that Kreska saw one of the older girls approach the group carrying a note.

"Perhaps we should end the lesson here today ladies. We will continue this tomorrow."

As the girls started talking amongst themselves the messenger approached. "A message for you Ma'am." she said. Kreska took the note and read it's short message.

Raven,

It has taken some time to find you - I hope you have not forgotten your oath. Corruption circles around the heart of our people. Tyrandes resolve will soon fail. You are needed once more.

It was a long time since anyone had referred to her as the Raven. There was no signature on the note but Kreska knew it could only be from one person. Her face began to drop before she realised the messenger was still stood next to her waiting patiently.

"Is there something else?" Kreska asked the Sentinel sharply.

"Yes Ma'am. The High Sentinel has asked to speak to you."

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The High Sentinel was in her office sat behind her desk. Even whilst doing her paper work she was not out of her pristine shining armour and her glaive and bow were never more than a foot from her side. Kreska admired her – she was a model of self-discipline and always carried herself with grace and pride.

“You asked to see me High Sentinel?” Kreska said.

The High Sentinel stopped her writing and looked up. Her eyes looked annoyed. “When were you going to tell me about this?” she said waving a scroll of parchment in front of her.

“I’m sorry…” Kreska began puzzled.

“It says here you are to be released to duties in Darnassus, although it does not quite say what those duties are.”

“Oh I see.” Kreska replied slowly realising where the orders must have come from. It was the first time she had heard she was going to Darnassus but after the note she had just received she was not surprised.

The High Sentinel came round and sat on her desk facing Kreska. “You must have friends in high places. When I challenged this order the powers that be were quite insistent. Can you tell me what this is about?”

Kreska looked at the High Sentinel. For a moment she wished she could tell her everything - tell her about her past, about the Raven. But what would she say. “I’m sorry Ma’am I don’t think I can.”

The High Sentinel nodded slowly, looking a little disappointed. “Well it will be a shame to let you go Kreska. The skills you teach the girls are very precious to us, to me. I mean that.” She smiled at Kreska for a moment. “Do you know what you’ll do there? In Darnassus I mean?”

Kreska thought for a second in silence before it came to her - an idea that had been forming in her head for the last few weeks suddenly became a reality. “I thought I might join the Order of Natures Grasp.”

“Natures Grasp? You’ll do well to get in there. I hear they only take the best.”

“Aye Ma’am, I heard that also.”