Lordaeron. Honestly, it’s kind of a pisshole. But then, I guess after being buttfucked by the Forsaken for years, what do you expect?
A figure sat, crouched on a dead white branch; the pine had long since succumbed to sickness and death. Dark was the night, starlight and moonlight both smothered by clouds, and she sniffed the hot air, grinning.
Those fire will rage for days, I expect. Good. Fuck you too, banshee bitch. I was just getting to like that tree, and my girl liked it real well. I’m gonna carve out your eyeballs and feed them to you for making her this sad.
It hurt, seeing that. Seeing Zetera after the Tree fell… Ana was no expert at feelings, though she was more of one than she used to be, but the grief on her face was indescribable. And it killed her that she couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t help. Couldn’t do anything, except hold her and silently vow all the bloody vengeance she was capable of.
“I can, however, do this,” she muttered softly to the night. Below, something shifted, drawing her fel green gaze. She looked like little more than a demonic monkey up that tree, if they had a ten foot wingspan and a curly, prehensile tail, all colored like a setting sun, though not very noticeable now in the smoke-choked air. The markings were beautiful. The teeth less so, and the smile was the stuff of nightmares: entirely too wide to be natural, full of needle sharp fangs, stretching in a Cheshire grin of pain and promise. Muscles that simply shouldn’t be pulled it wide.
All of that currently focused on a Forsaken wandering below. Like magic, knives appeared in her hands, the glint of the moon on them echoing her smile in the dark.
You made my wife sad. And me, too, a little. I was just getting in touch with my inner night elf and learning to be less of a shit. Thought Darnassus was pretty.
Ana shook her head, faux sad, feeling the magic come to her as her tattoos flared with crimson power, unholy red against the night. Look at me, back up on my old bullshit. Ah well.
Bad, bad timing, guys.
She dropped down from above to claim her ninth kill of the night in a flap of wings and a flashing, evil smile. They didn’t have time to do more than look up and gasp. Ichor flew into the night, splattering onto the ground beneath.
Assassins had nothing on a vengeful demon hunter.
“Shh, shhh, there we go, choke on that like a good fucking asshole,” she soothed, twisting the knife into an eye socket and stabbing down again as her other cut the throat, turning what would have been a scream into a burble. “It’ll be over soon. You’re the lucky one,” she added, smiling that terrifying grin at wide, fearful eyes.
“After all… It was me that found you, not the missus.”
Later, the Justicar gets a report on her desk of the surrounding area, potential problem areas, good vantage points, and suggestions as to perimeter deployments. And, amended to the bottom in a scrawling hand with a green smear on the edge, a recommendation:
Give Zee some patrols where she can kill things. This has been hard on her. A little bit of bloodletting might be good for the soul… and everyone else in camp, as well.