Doomed to Repeat History

Beckyann rested on her bed, laying on her belly and flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine she had picked up during her last trip to Stormwind. Her feet kicked idly in the air behind her, spacers made of the carved and polished bone of some humanoid used to keep her toes apart while her pedicure dried. It was one of the rare times when she had some downtime, and she planned to enjoy it.

Naturally this was not to last, and her solitude was soon interrupted by a pounding on her door. She rolled her eyes in irritation as the pounding intensified, “Go away! I'm not on duty! Find one of the officers if you need something!”

The pounding grew louder, with a muffled, “Corporal! You are needed at once!” coming through the wooden barrier.

Beckyann sighed, whispering a word of magic and releasing the wards on the door. The result of this was that the wooden barrier rapidly opened upon the next pounding, leaving an initiate death knight to stumble into the room. His eyes widened and he averted his gaze for a moment as he saw she was in her underthings; it was an ingrained habit from when they were alive and completely unnecessary in their state of undeath. It still made Beckyann giggle a little.

“What is it? As you can see I am not on duty. This had better be important,” she said with a hint of threat in her tone.

“Corporal! Our sentries have spotted a large group of rogue Scourge moving through the hills just south of Eastwall tower! The lead elements of the group have already begun an ambush on a small Argent caravan passing through the area!” the initiate said.

Beckyann's eyes widened for a moment as she realized that it was indeed grave news and the initiate would not have come to her if one of the higher ranking officers was present. She slid out of bed, mourning the loss of a perfectly good pedicure for a moment before nodding and reaching for the armor that was haphazardly piled in the corner of the room, “I'll be on the observation deck in one minute. Get the scrying orb ready.”

It was the duty of the Ebon Blade to support their allies and to eliminate rogue Scourge after all. Plus it would be fun!

*************************

The upper reaches of Acherus had a number of good vantage points where sentries maintained eternal vigilance over the fortress of the Ebon Blade. It was to one of these vantage points that Beckyann hurried, her plate boots pounding on the dark stones. Ahead of her a blue, glowing scrying orb sat ready to be used. Resembling a disembodied spirit eye, the device allowed the Knights to look out over the surrounding terrain to assess threats to their forces. Beckyann wasted no time in reaching up to grasp at the orb.

Instantly she felt it detach itself from the fortress, her vision joining with it and flying freely out into the Plaguelands. The dead ground flew below her as she sought out the enemies that the sentries had spotted, her gaze drawn to a series of moving dots on the ground. As it drew closer, she could make out the individual bodies of a group of Scourge rushing through the low, dead foliage, intent on reaching a larger mass of undead that had surrounded a small group of men and women in bright armor.

Frowning, Beckyann brought the image closer, picking out the details on the group. There were five wagons and a number of men and women on horseback. About ten footmen walked beside the wagons, spears and swords in hand as they fended off the lighter scourge monsters. As Beckyann drew closer still, her eyes took in the emblems of the Argent Crusade on the banners that several of the men held and the barding of the horses. Scanning over the group of men, her eyes encountered a banner that sent a jolt through her as if she'd been stabbed.

One of the men on horseback had two escorts with him. An argent banner flew from his banner-bearer's staff, and beneath that was a small blue banner with a fleur-de-lis flanked by two swords. The sight of it made Beckyann's view waver as a wave of emotions crashed through her.

How many times have I seen that emblem? How many times have my fingers traced it on a solid steel breastplate as I stole moments with him? How proud was he, to wear his own crest as he was appointed captain? How many times has it haunted my thoughts, my memories?

Her gaze faltered and with intense will she managed to move the scrying orb. Her vision roaming until it found...him. He lead the men of course, he always was a natural leader. He looked older now, although it was hard to tell beneath his helm and the steel he wore. Frederick Lightstone had always been an imposing figure, and in plate armor he was outright powerful looking. Just glimpsing him made her knees weak, made her want to vomit. She couldn't understand the feelings that flowed through her upon taking in his visage.

He was a Captain of the Argent Crusade now. She had known that of course. Had known he was stationed almost beneath her feet in Light's Hope. She had never been able to visit though, even after receiving a letter from him. And now, there he was, in her sight at last, his sword flashing as he brought it down to behead a ghoul that clawed at his mount.

She sighed, letting her vision expand, not wanting to look any further. Just before she released the spell, her eyes caught the sight of something larger amongst the attacking undead. Eyes wide, she pushed the spell towards the lumps in the distance, their forms clarifying and setting a sense of dread and urgency in her stomach that she could not process in her undead state.

There were abominations in the group, and they had nearly reach the hapless caravan.

In a second urgency turned into rage, rage turned into action. She snapped the connection to the scrying spell, whirling and pointing at several initiates who manned the observation post, “You four, go and fetch five of our skeletal gryphons! NOW! We have to hurry!”

One of the initiates looked at the others and spoke hesitantly, “But Corporal, we don't have orders to launch a rescu-”

His words were cut off when Beckyann's runeblade impaled him. In a rage she left the weapon quivering in his chest as he fell in a heap. She turned her baleful gaze on the other initiates, her voice full of malice, “You have your orders. I will take responsibility. Go NOW!”

As the initiates scurried to obey, she reached down to gather her runeblade. She hesitated, her thoughts whirling. She didn't want Frederick to see her after all. A disguise was in order. Quickly, she stripped the initiate of his rune-ax, also removing his helmet in the process. She left him bleeding out black ichor on the ground as she rammed the metal on her head, covering her hair and features. By the time she had donned the helmet, the other initiates had returned, skeletal gryphons cawing and hissing behind them. She nodded, taking the reins of one and jumping into the saddle.

“We ride!” she yelled before mercilessly kicking the undead creature and launching it from Acherus.

**********************

Frederick knew they were in trouble. The thought passed through his mind as his blade came down to behead another skeleton that had tried to stab at his mount. The caravan was mired in the ambush, unable to break free without a change in the fortune of battle. Amongst the wagons were women and children who had been leaving Light's Hope, and he knew that if something didn't change, they would all perish.

His wife and child were there. He could not fail.

“Rally to me!” his voice called out, confident and strong. “We have to clear the front of the wagons or we'll never get them out!”

Men-at-arms responded, hurrying to his side and spearing a few more of the undead. With a bit of luck and skill they just might break through.

The hope was dashed as the ground began to shake, a dark shadow falling over the men. With eyes wide, Captain Frederick Lightstone turned, his stomach dropping as he saw the abomination that loomed over them. Its flesh was oozing diseased ichor and filled with pustules, its organs hanging out of holes in its torso. Made of a variety of different creatures that had been stitched together like some mad jig-saw puzzle, the undead creature was an unstoppable force. It growled, raising a huge hatchet over its head, a sadistic grin on what passed for its face.

Knowing that there was no way the men would hold the line against it, Frederick spurred his mount forward, his sword raised to take a blow that he would not be able to stop. His heart sank as he realized he'd failed, and determination to die fighting set in within him.

As the hatchet began to descend, another shadow passed over the battlefield, this one moving so fast it was almost impossible to spot. Just as Frederick prepared himself for death, a blur flew from the corner of his vision, racing towards the abomination. It was a dead gryphon, made of bones held together with necromantic magic, its talons extended like razor sharp swords, a horrifying screech coming from it as the armored rider on its back forced it to fly full speed into the abomination.

In a heartbeat bone collided with flesh, and despite its size the abomination was plucked from where it stood, torn to shreds, and thrown to the ground along with the gryphon and rider. The three figures ended up in a heap ten yards away, broken bones and oozing fluids all that remained of the gryphon and the creature.

For a brief moment, the battlefield drew silent as the undead took in the new threat. Three more shadows drifted over them as three more armored figures landed on the outskirts of the Scourge lines. As Frederick watched in disbelief, the armored figure of a woman rose from the ruins of the abomination, her hand reaching up to draw an axe from her back. The weapon glittered with deadly runes as she stepped over her still dying mount, bones crunching beneath her boots. A howl escaped her, cold and empty as she brought the ax down on a nearby ghoul, cleaving its head off.

And then all hell broke loose.

*************************

Beckyann reveled in the destruction she was causing. Ghouls charged her from all sides, the weak creatures meeting their fate on the edge of the weapon she held. Limbs were hacked off and diseased, clotted blood splattered the ground around her. The dead began to pile like driftwood around her feet, pinning her in place but meaning nothing to her as she continued to slaughter.

From the corner of the eye-slit in her helmet she caught sight of the initiates she'd brought with her wading into the flanks of the undead, driving the creatures away and slaying dozens of them. The men-at-arms behind her of the Argent Crusade had begun to rally, and several of them were clearing the path for the wagons to flee. In minutes the caravan would escape the ambush and they could withdraw. She just had to slay enough of the undead to deter them from following.

It was all going so well that she was taken by surprise when the second abomination launched its attack. This one had used more cunning, and rather than running into the middle of what was now clearly a killing field, it used a long chain as a ranged attack, the vicious hook on the end of the chain made of steel and heavy enough to kill a horse.

The weapon flew through the air, aimed at Beckyann's chest. At the last moment she moved slightly, alerted to its flight as she finished off a ghoul that had jumped on her. The repositioning saved her from extensive damage as the creature's weapon gave her a glancing blow to the helmet.

The force of the impact would have killed a living woman, but it was not such a concern for Beckyann. What WAS a concern was that it spun her around and snapped the straps on the helmet, sending the armor flying away and leaving a black, oozing bruise on her cheekbone. Her dead, golden hair, now free of the confines of the armor, flowed around her, framing her face as her head rolled back.

In that half spin, her gaze crossed the battlefield. Facing the wrong way, her eyes locked with HIS eyes, and she knew in that moment by the look on his face that he recognized her. An electrifying shock passed through her body, a terrifying moment of pure raw emotion that she could not control. In that moment, the glow in her eyes faded, and a green-eyed girl from Corin's Crossing stared out across the impossible distance at the one who she once loved.

*********************

As the helmet was torn from the woman's head, Frederick gasped in shock and horror. His eyes met hers, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was Beckyann. Although death had not been kind to her, it had frozen her in a moment in time, and Frederick did not see the dead hair flowing over stylized black armor or the emblems of death that surrounded her. Instead he saw the vibrant young woman that he'd loved. The woman who always wore a dress and a smile, her words kind and gentle and the loving devotion in her eyes when she'd speak to him.

In that horrifying instant, he knew that if he did not act, that girl would be plucked from him again. If he did not MOVE, the Scourge would take her from him as they had when his cowardice had allowed him to falter. Deep within him, guilt plagued him as he thought of the wife and child in one of the wagons behind him, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself. It was a chance to undo the horrible mistake he'd made. A way to assuage guilt that could never be soothed when it visited him in his darkest dreams.

His face drew into a frown of grim determination and his hand tightened its grip on his sword as he prepared to finally save his beloved Beckyann.

***********************

He was going to be foolish. She could see it in the way his back straightened. In that stubborn look that crossed his face; the same one he'd always had when about to argue a point. She could see it in the way his sword came up, the way the gauntlets tightened around it. She could not allow it of course, it was far too late for such a thing. That moment, that time, had passed away forever.

For a second time seemed to slow, and she murmured words that he would never hear over the clash of the battlefield, but that he would read on her lips. He would see it in the softening of her face; the first time a positive emotion had passed across it in the years since she had perished.

Softly her voice came, sounding almost like it had those many years ago, “No. I will love you until the end of time itself, but you cannot save me now Fred. I will never be safe again. Go and live and love. Flee and be at peace.”

She reached out with her free hand, grabbing the chain of the abomination's weapon, her unnaturally strong grip locking around the links just as the creature hauled back on it to retrieve it. As the force of the creature's grip yanked the chain back, Beckyann's body was jerked into the air like a doll, flying towards the creature, her golden hair and black cape of the 1113^th flaring out behind her as she hurtled towards her doom, plucked away from that moment of contact with Frederick forever.

*************************

In an instant she was gone, taken by the Scourge once more. It ripped his heart asunder in his chest, and grief would have driven him to his knees if not for the words he saw on her black lips before she was snatched from him. Tears streaming down his face, he turned from the sight of the battlefield, looking with guilt towards the wagons behind him and the men that awaited his commands. Realizing what she had bought him with her attack and sacrifice, resolve surged through him.

“You three! Clear those wheels! You and you! Push through the remaining Scourge there! We're getting these people out of here!” his voice barked out. Confidence surged through him as a part of him felt guilt melting away, both at his actions and his indecision. Deep within him, peace began to heal wounds that had been opened for too many years, as her parting words freeing him from the past.

She was not resentful. She had forgiven him. He knew it in his heart, and with renewed energy his blade came up and he prepared to do his duty to his order and to the people that depended on him. Nothing would stop him now.

With a roar, the Argent Crusaders charged, plowing a path through the remaining dead that the Knights of the Ebon Blade had left. Behind them, they left the center of the fight, freeing the innocents amongst them from the carnage by blade and faith.

************************

Abominations were one of the most powerful weapons the Scourge had ever made. Designed to besiege and destroy any strong-point, the creatures were unparalleled in strength, size, and ferocity. They were not very intelligent, but that made it all the easier to direct them into combat. Although few were left amongst the Scourge ranks in the Plaguelands, they still were a formidable foe and many Argent Crusaders had died beneath their chains, rusty weapons, and fists.

As the chain curled back around the abomination's arm, it came to learn that although it was almost the peak of Scourge research into necromantic weapons, it was not THE most powerful weapon in their arsenal. The creature that flew towards it from the force of the chain's yank was something different entirely.

Designed purely for war, purged of weaknesses and forged in the most vile of necromancy, Beckyann Eastberg had been changed from that young maiden that Frederick had loved into something else entirely. As she flew through the air, her grip on the chain strong, scourgelight blazed in her eyes and rage burned through her body. Designed to feed on negative emotions, the shock and pain of meeting a loved one had sent her into a killing frenzy.

As the arc of her short flight was reached, the hand holding her rune-ax came up, bringing the deadly weapon over her head. The abomination had certainly not expected its prey to still be capable of lifting its weapon. It was doubly surprised when Beckyann collided with it, her ax arcing down and blazing with scourge magic as it smashed through the creature's upper torso.

Still partially alive, the abomination wondered in confusion why its vision suddenly split in two as the two sides of what passed for its head fell away. The last thing it saw was a boot coming down to stomp out one of its eyes, and the last sound it heard was the howl of a forlorn spirit so driven to rage that she would tear it into unrecognizable bits.

****************************

Hours would pass before the battle came to an end. Hours filled with hacking, howling rage that left Scourge creatures maimed and body parts and gore littering the plaguelands. By the time it was done, Beckyann's armor would be awash in dark fluids, several rents in the metal showing where blows had struck her.

One of her legs was barely functional, a gargoyle's talon protruding from her armor as she limped to the edge of the battlefield. All around her as far as the eye could see lay twitching, dead Scourge. One other figure walked amongst the destroyed creatures as carrion birds circled slowly high above. Beckyann nodded at the last remaining initiate, pleased to see that her entire strike force had not been destroyed.

The initiate, a human who was now sans one of his arms, saluted her awkwardly before frowning, “All of the mounts were slain Corporal. We'll have to walk back...unless you can make a death gate?”

Beckyann shrugged, figuring the pain of the magically enchanted claw in her leg would be good suffering to focus on during the trek. In the distance, she saw a cloud of dust passing out of sight; the caravan safely on its way into Argent territory once more. For a brief moment, the glow of her eyes faded once more, and she nodded towards the departing dust, “Farewell...my love.”

The initiate paused, turning to look at her, “Ma'am? Did you say something?”

Beckyann turned, her eyes glowing once more as she started the long walk towards Acherus, too drained even to open a death gate back home, “Shut up initiate.”

He wisely did so as the two headed off.

Common Interests

The ruins were covered with vegetation, making it difficult to identify what some of the structures might once have been in some places. The vines had choked much of the crumbling stone walls, leafy foliage sprouting all throughout the bamboo forest.

Beckyann carefully stepped over a thick vine, her plate boots jingling slightly as she planted her foot to gain better purchase. She had been in the ruins for an hour or so now, and with each passing minute an almost child-like delight grew within her. There were ancient carvings and glyphs all over the ruins! What was even better, they appeared to be older than most of the other sites she had ever visited, with the exception of a few areas in Uldum and the Storm Peaks. Truly ancient mysteries were buried within the soil beneath her feet.

Her fascination with the site drew her deeper within the encompassing walls that surrounded the ancient compound. Ahead of her, one of the walls was partially clear of vegetation due to the way the sun filtered down through the Jade Forest all around the site. It left the carvings there exposed, and although thousands of years of moisture had obliterated some, there were more than enough to record and study.

Beckyann practically ran towards the wall, excitement on her face and an almost life-like flush in her skin. It was moments like this when she most connected with the woman she once was, and the act of discovery was a driving force in her unlife. It took the doldrums out of merely endlessly existing.

With some degree of glee, the death knight paused before the wall. She took her runeblade and plunged it into the soft soil, sinking down onto her knees to view the inscriptions. The ones near the bottom of the wall had some plants growing in front of them, but had suffered the least from water damage and deterioration. She eagerly pulled plants out of the ground, removing her gauntlets so her fingers could trace over the deeply engraved words. After a few moments of study, she set her pack beside her, removing a travel journal and beginning to take notes. It had been some time since she'd found a site worthy of further study, and it was highly likely that another archaeological dig would be called for in the near future.

Beckyann was so engrossed in the carvings on the wall that she failed to pay attention to her surroundings. Kneeling on the ground, she wrote quickly in her notebook, murmuring to herself as she attempted to translate what few words she was familiar with. It was for this reason that she failed to notice the intruders approaching her from behind until two overly large hands wrapped themselves around her neck.

“I see you are already kneeling supplicant! This is good! It will save us much trouble!” a loud voice boomed out from behind her.

The pressure on her neck increased, and clearly whoever had grabbed her was trying to choke the life out of her. Idly Beckyann noted that the size and coloration of the hands around her matched those that she had seen of the Mogu. Although she'd not fought them directly, she knew enough about them to understand that the creatures would slay any that stood in their way.

She was also not impressed in the slightest.

Rolling her eyes, Beckyann pretended to struggle, her hands coming up to try and remove the huge hands encircling her neck. She kicked her feet, pretending to strain, one hand reaching over her head as if to grasp at the attacker that she could not possibly overpower. To her annoyance, the pressure increased and she heard the crackle of cartilage beginning to break. If it went on much longer she would be damaged, and the thought immediately irritated her. Tired of the game, she slumped forward, arm resting atop her own head and her other arm dangling limply.

Predictably, once all signs of 'life' had fled her, the hands encircling her throat let go to drop her to the ground. The tactic was an excellent attack, and would have left any of the races of Azeroth choked to death and laying sprawled in a heap before the wall.

Unfortunately for the Mogu, Beckyann was no longer a member of the races of Azeroth and didn't actually need to breathe.

As the hands let her go, rather than fall forward, her hand shot up into her hair. She yanked her hairpin free, whirling around and rising. She had a glimpse of a surprised, disgusting face inches from her before she plunged the hairpin into the creature's chest. Seven inches of cold saronite pushed through its body, striking its heart. The death runes on the little hairpiece flickered to life, disease setting in all around the puncture. As Beckyann fully straightened, she smirked at the Mogu, watching his flesh begin to decay. The large creature slumped sideways before falling to the ground, a last gasp of air escaping him as he died.

With the large form out of her line of sight, the death knight could see three more Mogu standing in the ruins. They looked at her with some degree of surprise. Casually she reached up and brushed some of errant blonde hair from her face, the brittle dead strands having little luster even in the light of the sun. She smiled at the Mogu, casually reaching for her runeblade and pulling it from the soil.

The creature closest to her pointed at her with the blade of a halberd, its voice thundering, “You! You are not like the others! You are already a construct! You will submit to us for study and dissection at once!”

Beckyann blinked, pausing to consider what the Mogu had said. She studied the creatures as they fell into a battle stance, noting something unusual about the weapons they held. Magical energies sparkled on the blades, and she could sense the essence of chained spirits in some of the materials they carried on their belts. As she took this in, the meaning of the Mogu's words came into focus.

They were using the spirits of the slain for some foul purpose.

She laughed as the realization struck her, the echoing sound unnatural as it bounced off of the rocks. After all she'd been through, it seemed the Cult of the Damned had not even had an original idea when they began enslaving spirits. The creatures before her used similar spells, and likely had been doing so for far longer.

Oh well.

She brought her runeblade up, saluting the large creatures mockingly. Her black lips parts, the words that slipped out full of malice, “Kneel supplicants.”

The Mogu glared at her, bringing their weapons up and roaring battle-cries. They had little effect on Beckyann however, and she merely brought her runeblade up, advancing towards them like the endless march of death that time brought to all things. Silently her runeblade came up to meet the first of the attackers' blows.

*******************************************

Less than an hour later, Beckyann mounted her deathcharger, cuffing the undead animal harshly when it tried to bite her. Behind her, the runes lay silent once more, a thin layer of frost beginning to melt in the warm weather that the Jade Forest enjoyed. Silent and still forms lay crumpled amongst the ruins; a demonstration of what happened when the very weapons the Mogu wished to create were given free will.

With a laugh, Beckyann harshly spurred her deathcharger, the saddlebags beneath her bouncing as they began to move. Within lay her travel notebook and the research she'd done, as well as a few bottles filled with the twisted spirits of long dead creatures, taken from the fallen as spoils of war.

Maybe the continent was not as much a waste as Beckyann had first imagined. The thought brought a smile to her face as she raced beneath the bamboo canopy.

Burial Rites

“And you say that the creatures have been appearing more frequently?” the older Pandaren asked of his companion. The two were walking slowly down a path between low bamboo plants, heading towards the ruins of the Horde base in the Jade Forest.

“Yes Elder,” the other Pandaren replied. “The Sha remnants have been appearing with more regularity as of late, but only in the specific area I mentioned. I fear that there is some element of malice that is causing them to form. I'm quite worried for the safety of the village.”

The older Pandaren chuckled, bringing a hand up to forestall further theorizing, “Now now, let us not jump to conclusions. It could simply be that the battle on this site left a bit of a mark on the lands, and that with time the manifestations will diminish. Rushing to declare that it is this or that may make us overlook important details.”

As the two continued to talk, they reached the end of the path and a clearing beyond. Small stone markers with brightly colored bits of cloth tied to them sat in neat rows in the cleared space. The cloth fluttered in the wind, the memorials to the dead looking peaceful and serene. The older Pandaren paused, looking over the small cemetery.

“And you say that it is in a specific area here? This is where we buried the outsiders who fell in battle against the Horde,” he mused. “Show me the spot.”

The younger of the two Pandaren nodded, moving between the neat rows of markers to one near the end. The stone itself resembled the others, although it had a few scratches on it where Sha creatures had been clawing at it. On the center of the stone was a metal marker taken from the one buried beneath it, some beastly emblem with the inscription '1113^th' engraved on it. The marker itself had a name carved into it. The Pandaren had been able to determine that the fallen woman's name was Beckyann Eastberg based on dog-tags she had within her armor.

“Ah, I remember this one,” the elder said sadly. “The poor woman's arm and leg had been torn off when one of their machines crashed, her other arm broken. I pray that she did not suffer long.”

The younger Pandaren nodded and then turned to his elder, concern on his face, “What if a Sha creature is inhabiting the corpse? We've seen such before. That would explain the manifestations.”

The elder thought the question over, stroking his beard in thought. Finally he nodded, looking sad. “Yes, such is possible and we have seen it happen in this conflict that the outsiders brought amongst us. We should at least check, so that the poor woman is resting in peace.”

With a nod, the younger Pandaren set down the bundle he had been carrying, unrolling the fabric around several tools including a shovel and pick. “I agree, it is for the best I think.”

He rose, shovel in hand, and drove it into the soil to take the first load of dirt off the grave.

*****************************************

Minutes later the shovel hit metal, the sound of it causing the younger Pandaren to pull his tool back. He leaned forward, brushing dirt from the hole he'd dug, revealing purple plate armor that was covering a forearm. The Pandaren carefully brushed more soil away, revealing a tan wrist and hand with black fingernail polish.

He looked over at the elder, relief etched into his features, “Her hands are not Sha claws. The corpse is still pure.”

The elder frowned, leaning closer, “And yet...I know little of these outsiders, but look at the coloration of the flesh. Their living look as such, sun-kissed and warm. And her nails...the flesh of the dead rots and decays typically. The claws of our people appear longer, as if they had grown, yet hers are neat and trim despite being in the soil for such a long time.”

The younger Pandaren looked at the arm with wide eyes, “You are right elder! What could this mean?”

He picked his shovel up again, prodding the soil around the exposed limb, as if the dirt itself would give rise to an answer. Within the soil a small creature squirmed, some type of bloated worm that one would associate with corpses. The Pandaren thought nothing of it, pushing the shovel deeper into the soil.

With a sudden motion, the arm of the 'corpse' reached out and grabbed the lower portion of the shovel's handle!

With a gasp of shock both Pandaren reeled back, the younger still maintaining his grip on his shovel. He pulled, his frightened mind frantic to retrieve his tool from the grip of the corpse. The arm holding it displayed incredible strength, maintaining the grip and pulling. The sudden resistance caused the Pandaren to tumble backwards.

As he fell, his weight put leverage on the shovel's handle, pulling it with a mighty jerk. The soil around the limb heaved, the dirt piling up in a mound and falling away. Both Pandaren looked on in horror as the corpse of a blonde haired woman rose from the hole, dirt falling away from her and caked to her armor. The purple metal was rent in several places, particularly along her left arm and leg. Both limbs displayed a black gash with whitened flesh along the edges, but all four limbs seemed attached.

As the two Pandaren looked on with terror in their eyes, the blonde haired woman took a step out of her grave, steadying herself on the headstone that had marked her resting place. Her eyes opened, baleful blue scourgelight studying the hapless creatures on the ground before her. Black lips parted and she attempted to speak, the dirt in her mouth preventing sounds from coming out.

Although both Pandaren were only vaguely familiar with the language of the outsiders, it was clear that the walking-corpse was not saying very nice things. They scrambled to their feet, eyes still wide as the blonde spit dirt out of her mouth. Angrily she snatched up the marker on her tombstone, the rank badge that also served as a communication device to keep in touch with her legion.

She rolled her eyes, chanting something and dark energies formed around her lips. She spat out a few words which were translated by the temporary spell.

“Bath. Now. And do not TOUCH me. Ever.”

Wide-eyed, the Pandaren scrambled away from the woman, heading back towards their village to do as she'd ordered. Clearly she was not Sha-touched, but whatever she WAS they wanted no part of it.

For her part, Beckyann Eastberg reached up to brush more dirt from her flesh, shaking out her hair and leaving the grave soil behind her. Her clothing was ruined, her armor torn to shreds, and she had no idea where her runeblade was. She was going to have to craft a new one from whatever weapons the primitive fools in the village ahead had. The fact that they did not even know what her kind was did not do much to convince her that they had any intelligence within them. In fact, at that moment, she was not sure if she hated a living creature more than the foolish fur-covered twits that fled before her as she stalked towards the town.

Behind her, a small manifestation of her hatred formed, tendrils reaching out to lash at her back. Before they struck, she whirled, necromancy on her lips. The creature was struck with a howling blast of freezing air, shards of ice tearing it to shreds in a moment. A thing of hatred that fed on negative energies snuffed out by one of its own kind.

“I cannot STAND this place,” Beckyann Eastberg murmured. “I can see this is going to be a long campaign.”

With that, she shook her head, proceeding towards the town where the natives had better damn well be drawing her a bath so she could clean her corpse and armor. It would be steaming hot if they knew what was good for them.

Going Ashore

“I want everyone lined up on this deck TEN MINUTES AGO!” the voice bellowed out.

All across the deck of the Sin'dorei warship, elves scurried to find their positions, neatly folding into organized, orderly ranks for the pre-shore inspection. All that is, except a small group at one end of the formation. That side of the ranks was filled with jostling, angrily whispering elves who took a minute longer than the rest of the group to assemble. It was as if they had not been given a good two months of basic training before being shipped off to Pandaria.

The deck sergeant rolled his eyes and brought two fingers to his lips, whistling sharply. The piercing sound cut through the last of the grumbling elves and all eyes turned towards him.

“This is it ladies and gentleman. This is the place we've come to bring glory to the Horde. It is here that you will serve House Sunfire, House Sunhaven, House Felo'melorn, and House Dawnsea as the Horde calls its valiant champions to battle.”

The sergeant paused, looking over the assembled troops and folding his arms behind his back. He began to pace back and forth before the ranks of red and gold armored Sin'dorei warriors, pride in his voice as he spoke. “I know some of our allies think that we cannot contribute, that we are not strong enough or skilled enough to take this war to our foes and bring them down. We are here, soldiers, to show the Horde what we are made of! To show them that we are more than just magic, more than just spells and fancy words! We're here to show them true power!”

From amongst the elves came a chorus of shouts, but this was expected and did not catch the sergeant's attention, what DID catch his attention was the giggle mixed in. His eyes narrowed and he studied the ranks of Sin'dorei before him, walking close and putting his scarred face near those in the front rank. A few of the elves looked away, unable to bear his glance. One or two nodded to the right, and he stalked that way, his face going from one face to the next face to the next...chest...?

He stepped back in surprise, looking up to see one of the tallest Sin'dorei females he'd ever laid eyes on. It did not help that she had two enormous blonde pigtails that bloomed from the top of her head like some sort of exotic fern. Her red-painted lips trembled once, as if she sought to contain mirth within her.

“Is something funny soldier?!” the sergeant barked. The tall Sin'dorei straightened further, fel green eyes widening in surprise as she shook her head. The sergeant stepped closer, forced to tilt his head up to look at her. “I asked you a question soldier!”

“Uh NO SIR!” the Sin'dorei shouted. Looking at her critically, the sergeant shook his head in disgust and folded his arms across his chest.

“And do you know why we are HERE soldier?!”

“TO EAT FACES SIR!” came the stern reply.

Several of the soldiers around the elf stiffened, now also holding their mirth in. The sergeant frowned, blinking in surprise, “What did you say soldier?”

“Er...to...eat faces sir? Isn't that what you're supposed to say?” the tall Sin'dorei replied. She looked down in confusion at the other Sin'dorei next to her. While none of them made eye contact, several of them shook their heads ever so slightly, and the tall elf bit her lip in embarrassment.

“I don't know where you got your crazy ideas soldier, but we're going to have a lo-” the sergeant began. His words were cut off as the lookout shouted “LAND DEAD AHEAD!”

Immediately the ship's crew scurried into action, climbing the rigging to bring the sails in. The sergeant nodded, stepping away from the Sin'dorei soldiers and cupping his hands to his lips to shout, “SQUADS ONE THROUGH FOUR, FALL INTO POSITON ON THE PORT SIDE. PREPARE LANDING BOATS. SQUADS FIVE THROUGH EIGHT, PREPARE TO FOLLOW SUIT ON MY ORDERS. THIS IS IT BOYS AND GIRLS, WE'RE IN IT NOW!”

The ranks of soldiers dissolved into a moving mass of elves, all intent on preparing for the landing, the tall Sin'dorei amongst them forgotten for a moment.

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Several minutes later a small fleet of eight landing boats drifted gently towards the shore of the Krasarang wilds. Amongst them in one of the central craft bobbing on the waves was landing party seven. In the center of landing party seven's boat, the squad leader sat still, rolling his eyes as the largest female Sin'dorei he'd ever seen squished him against her as she held on for dear life, murmuring something about not being able to swim.

Mercifully, the rest of the boat's crew managed to keep their grins to themselves...or at least direct them out over the water.

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As the Sin'dorei gathered together and began removing supplies from their landing boats on the shore, the elves started to form into small groups, working together to get the task completed as quickly as possible. There could be Alliance in the wilds after all, and staying stationary on the beachhead might result in an ambush.

As they worked, they lost track of their original squad assignments for a time. None of them noticed the tall Sin'dorei as she slowly wandered further towards the edge of the camp before she stepped into a row of tall bushes that lined a nearby creek. The tall Sin'dorei disappeared from sight, never to be seen again.

Hours later scouts would find several pieces of chain armor laying scattered in the bushes along with a few scraps of linen. The linen looked to have been torn by the claws of some animal, and the scouts determined that one of the landing party must have been taken by a jungle cat. Little did they realize that the cloth had been torn not by claws, but by sharp thorns, and the owner of the linen had not intended her garments to be shredded before passing from their camp.

Deep in the Krasarang wilds the tall Sin'dorei paused, looking back over her shoulder before letting her invisibility spell fade away. Spellsong drifted slowly from her mouth and her skin darkened, taking on a purple hue, her hair fading back to its beautiful cyan color.

Malandrae Moonwhisper smiled, her coral blue lips pursed as she took stock of her situation. She had some supplies, a good pair of boots, and mostly modest linen armor on. It was time to find some talking pandas! With that, the Highborne turned and happily strolled into the darkness of Krasarang.

It was debatable as to what would be more surprised by the visit; the Highborne or the land itself.