OOC: This is a transcription of Discord RP with myself (NPCs + Idella), Kanta (just Kanta), and special guest appearance by Sigmah (Razas, who doesn’t have an active WoW subscription). The outcomes of the chase and battle were dictated by d20 rolls, which always makes things fun. Enjoy! ))
Kanta arrived in the Eastern Plaguelands, soaring on the back of his hippogryph. He arrived, quickly dismounting and leaving his armored beast with the Gryphon master, nodding in thanks to the quick attentiveness. He approached a nearby Argent Crusader. “I am looking for a young woman that may have arrived here in the past week. Worgen woman, name is Idella Vanbelle.”
The nearby Crusader is very much on guard. He shakes his head, “I don’t know that name. But I do know there was a worgen brought here by a local that was injured. It was taken to the chapel for healing.”
“Thank you.” Kanta said, quickly darting to the chapel. Light’s Hope had been a place he hadn’t been to in quite a long, long time. He made his way inside and peered around.
Light’s Hope is likely far larger than Kanta may remember. Since a formal hall was founded beneath it, the outpost above ground is far more fortified, its walls made of tall stone. Perhaps two Scourge attacks in five years also had something to do with it.
The healing chapel itself is set apart from the main area but oddly enough, is under heavy guard. A window is also shattered. Judging from the distribution of glass, it was from the inside.
Kanta looked at the crowd of people in the building, and then to the glass. He sighed heavily. He had a sneaking suspicion that something occurred here involving Idella. “I am looking for a young Worgen woman, who was brought here a few days ago? She was injured?” He asked to noone in particular, but did approach near the shattered glass to see if anything could be found.
There is visible blood on the glass, along with reddish fur. Odd that this wasn’t cleaned up, but on closer inspection of the goings-on inside the chapel shows the window wasn’t the worst of it: Beddings are scattered, some shredded. Supplies are scattered everywhere, and there is more blood.
“Damn it all.” Kanta uttered under his breath, looking at the fur. He looked around to anyone in the chapel but knew his answer based on the patch of red fur. He took a peice of it and wrapped it in a cloth to keep the scent and exited the chapel, making his way on the opposite side of the glass and proceeding from there, tracking any sort of scent or trail he could.
Her scent is everywhere, though to discern it from the smell of blood is difficult. She was either still injured or injured more in the altercation. Crusaders come in and out, removing the shattered beds and broken glass. Some have fresh claw marks still visible in their armor. There is also the acrid smell of adrenaline and fear lingering in the air. Kanta’s presence is met with questioning gazes but no one addresses him directly. They appear to be men and women carrying out their orders to the letter.
“Can someone answer a damn question about where the worgen that was here went?” He said, anger stirring. “Did anyone go after her?”
Kanta looked at the nearest man, eyes locked on them.
The Crusader was hefting a crate of broken potions. Though the crate wasn’t knocked over, it’s still splintered on one side and the vials within shattered. Red and blue liquid spills out as he hefts it, “It was feral. Woke up not long after the healers went to work and ran off. There’s a patrol hunting for it now,” he sets the heavy crate down, eyeing Kanta. “You’ll need more armor than that if you’re going after it.”
“I’ll be fine. Can you tell me which way the patrol went? She is a young woman who just underwent the change.” He said, frowning a bit at the broken supplies. “I will… make sure that any damages are paid for. Bill Arialynn Dawnfield of the Rose.” He tried to save some face, trying to get more information out of the Crusader.
The Crusader raises an eyebrow. There’s no recognition in his face of the names, but it at least has snagged his interest, “Let me speak to my captain.” With that, he’s gone.
Kanta sighed, sitting idle for now. He looked out the window and squinted his eyes, trying to see if he can spot anything else that seems out of the norm.
The trail clearly goes out the window. From what Kanta can tell, she made a break for it and gave no mind to the door. From there, it’s difficult to ascertain what path she took from the window, but it’s unlikely she’s still in Light’s Hope. A loose feral worgen would have the guards more on guard. There are increased patrols, but only the healing chapel appears to be where any confrontation occurred.
Kanta sighed again, crossing his arms as he paced. Waiting. He should had taken off first, as every moment leaves the young worgen vulnerable to being captured or killed, by someone who possibly just trying to defend themselves. The idea of a feral worgen reminded him of the stories he heard when he was younger, and then re-living the stories again when Gilneas needed aid. “Come on… Where is that guard.”
The guard doesn’t return, but his captain does. She’s a silver-haired human, one side of her face gnarled with a puckered scar and an eyepatch covering the corresponding eye. She narrows her eyes at Kanta. “So you know the worgen that tore through here?”
“Yes.” He said, turning towards her. “She is a young woman who has not been a worgen for long. Recently afflicted by the curse. I do not know how she got here, or what has caused her to run more… rampant and feral, but I am trying to retrieve her and bring her back to my order safely.” Kanta looked on at the Captain, no longer crossing his arms.
“I know of the Templars of the Rose. Some of them frequented Light’s Hope during the war on the Legion. You do not wear their colors,” she eyes Kanta.
“I am also a Sentinel.” Kanta spoke, and reached into his bag to reveal a guild stone, and the Templar tabard that was neatly folded next to it. “Marksman Kanta Wildsabre.”
Peering at the tabard, the stern woman nods, “Very well. I am sorry to tell you that the woman is under hot pursuit. We cannot risk having a feral worgen in the Plaguelands, not with as many patrols we have that do not know of the threat. She could be brought down by our trackers or by patrols she encounters. Other than northwest, I do not know where she is.”
“I understand the need for tracking and trapping, but I hope your patrols do not kill her, Captain.” He said. “I will make my way Northwest then. Should I tell your troops anything if I run into them?” He said, pushing the tabard and guild stone back and closed up the bag.
“She has a large lead on you and I cannot risk any soldiers’ lives. We will tell them she is being pursued by an ally, but they are allowed to defend themselves should she attack them. If she is killed in the altercation, then it was unavoidable. That is all I can offer, Sentinel. We do not let feral worgen roam here like in Silverpine.”
The look of annoyance on Kanta’s face could possibly only be matched by the Captain’s at this point. He nodded. “So be it, but if I find one of your troops dragging a body behind them, I promise you will have more to worry about than a broken window.” He turned, leaving the chapel with haste in his step back to his Hippogryph.
“It is the Plaguelands, Sentinel. We can’t risk anything here. Light bless you and your comrade. To my understanding, she was gravely injured when brought here and was when she left,” with this, she leaves.
Kanta sighed heavily and pulled himself up onto his feathered companion. He made his way Northwest and kept his eyes peeled to anything out of the ordinary.
Idella’s blood scent is easy enough to follow, but the Eastern Plaguelands is a foul place. The stench of undead is all-encompassing, drowning out all else, even for a kaldorei nose. But it leads northwestward, confirming the captain’s intelligence at the least.
Kanta hated the Plaguelands. It was a place damned for the rest of it’s years, moreso than Felwood. He had first visited here many years ago, when the Scourge invaded Stormwind for the first time. The more recent time was his run in with the same monster that he feared to see again. He continued to follow it as best as he could.
Luckily for Kanta, either from the injuries she had at camp or other she sustained, Idella left a visible blood trail. Even with his sense of smell being affected, there is something to follow. The path leads straight northwest, north of the Eastwall Tower and far from the roads.
Kanta lead his hippogryph to that direction, pulling up low along the path. He made the beast land, and began to follow the direction at a slightly slower pace.
There is more blood as the trail goes further, though it’s unclear why. Her destination is also a mystery, but it’s consistent till she hits the road that swings directly north to the Ghostlands. Her trail changes directions and follows that path. Kanta also picks up other scents: Trackers following her.
“Fuck.” Kanta practically said quite loud, picking up the pace as he picked up the other scents. “Go, faster.” He said to the soaring beast, which flapped harder and faster along the path that it too, picked up.
He comes across the trackers first. They are not garbed in the usual armor of the Crusade but still wear its colors. Their armor is lighter, better for the fleet-of-foot. They are also heavily armed and quick to spot him in return. One raises her bow in alarm, notching an arrow, but she does not fire. “Identify yourself!”
Kanta growled, gritting his teeth as he pulled back quick on the reigns of his flying companion. He landed right before the woman who had her bow notched, only a few feet from her. “Kanta Wildsabre of the Silverwing Sentinels, and Templars of the Rose.”He raised his hands, showing no weapon or means of harm. “I came from Light’s Hope. I am seeking out a worgen woman who is a friend.”
“The worgen?” she narrows her eyes at him, not lowering her bow. But she doesn’t make a move to set it loose, either. “It’s going north. Do you know why?”
Kanta narrowed his eyes back. “I may or may not, either way I am responsible for her. I will take over from here.”
“Take over?” she growls back. “On whose authority? The Crusades? We defended these lands long before anyone else dared. If a feral worgen is here, it’s our duty.”
“She is not a feral worgen. Her name is Idella Vanbelle and she is a part of my order. She is also a young woman.” He glared right back, eyes sharp. “I already spoke with your captain.”
The scout narrows her eyes, “What proof do you have of that?”
“Your captain? None. I will not lie to you, but I came from Light’s Hope and she pointed me here.” Kanta said, his hands still raised as he looks at her, and anyone else who may have a weapon pointed at him.
It’s clear the woman he’s speaking to is the leading of the trackers, the others keep their weapons to their sides but are on alert, awaiting an order.
“‘She’?” she cocks a brow. “You had a fifty percent chance guessing that. What will you do once you catch up to this worgen? Can you take it out alone?”
“Your captain has silver hair. Scar, eye patch on the other side.” He said, flatly and looked back directly to her. “She is a friend. I will tranq her and bring her somewhere safe.”
She glares for one more moment then lowers her bow. Her company relaxes by a hair. “One hour. I’ll give you one hour’s lead, then we pick back up on the trail.”
Kanta looked relived, sighing. “The very least is appreciated. Any thing I should know that you have seen?”
“Only that there’s blood and from what I can tell, she hasn’t stopped moving. She has a destination in mind. But if it’s north, that’s to the elf lands. She could come across a patrol there that won’t be using tranquilizers.”
Kanta nodded, he knew he would have to run into Sin’dorei eventually with how north they are. “Thank you. One hour is all I need.” With that, Kanta took off, heading on where the trackers were heading.
They continued north, through the mountain pass to the Ghostlands. Though also a land scarred by the Scourge, its earth was not as scoured by its taint. The scents here change, are even pleasant at times. The visible blood trail is thinner here.
The forests were harder to see through, so Kanta took to the ground. He road along the back of his hippogryph. He was hoping that she hadn’t been spotted by Blood Elves yet, as they would just kill her. “Come on, Idella… Where are you.” He said under his breath.
Someone yells in Thalassian up ahead, other voices answer back. Though the language is different, the intent is clear: Someone making a call, others answering. Piercing through the otherwise twilight, almost tranquil forests of the Ghostlands: A warning howl.
“Shit.” Kanta sped up on the hippogryph, riding towards the howl and to the yelling ahead. He had his bow at the ready.
There are three sin’dorei in pursuit of something running in the woods: One rides a cat, two others pursue on foot. The one on the cat is far ahead of the others.
Kanta pulled his hippogryph up, soaring just above the path and two pick off the two chasing on foot. He did not have the intent to kill unless he needed to. He would try to have the feathered beast body check the side of the first Sin’dorei.
The sin’dorei is quite agile. He hears Kanta coming and in spite the sheer surprise of seeing a kaldorei and hippogryph of all things in the Ghostlands, his reaction time is remarkable. He leaps away, his surprise giving way to hate, “Kaldorei!” he exclaims, glaring. Though fortunately for Kanta, it slows him from his straightforward path and following Idella.
Kanta couldn’t help but smirk a bit, he enjoyed his battles with his elven counterparts.,. It was something of a challenge. He soared forward, flying over the second’s head and trying to catch up to the leader of the three.
Something follows. Lithe, in great, massive leaps through the corrupted trees, keeping just out of sight.
The leader of the sin’dorei pursuit suddenly has their own problems. As Kanta closes in, he finally catches sight of Idella—still bleeding but no less fast, she sprinted ahead of her pursuers. She hits a treeline ahead of her at full tilt, planting all fours on a trunk and leaping toward her pursuer. In an instant, he’s off his saber cat, her claws tearing into him.
Kanta came to a wide stop, watching from afar and waiting momentarily. He typically would allow the worgen to tear into the sin’dorei. However… “IDELLA!” He snapped his voice loudly.
She bears down on her prey, not a hint of hesitation to her in spite Kanta’s yells. The sin’dorei does his best to parry her attacks with a sword, even as she snarls and bites into the blade. It draws more blood from her, but she doesn’t seem to care. Eventually, her teeth find their mark and dig into his shoulder. Jerking her head side to side, she rips and tears at the flesh.
“Dammit!” Kanta yelled and flew himself off, he notched the bow with an arrow tipped with a wyvern’s poison, a fast acting tranquilizer. He aimed and fired his arrow at her shoulder.
Idella’s ear flickers in Kanta’s direction as he curses. The arrow flies and she shrugs a shoulder, ducking down and the bolt flies past her. Teeth bared, she turns her silver glowing eyes on Kanta.
Kanta stared right back at the flowing silver eyes with his shining black ones. He looked past Idella at the mauled sin’dorei briefly and then to her. “Idella. It is time to go home.” He said, trying to sound calming.
There is a beat, barely perceptible except to perhaps an elf, but still there. That lightening-fast fury Idella showed as she bore down on the sin’dorei and ripped his throat open… hesitates? Then there’s the tiniest almost… flicker, to the glow of her eyes. It’s there then gone, the fury starting up again as a deep-set snarl in her throat and her eyes glow. She lunges.
“Well, this is not going to be fun…” Kanta said to himself, notching another wyvern poison-tipped arrow into his bow and kept his bow ready and aimed. He was waiting for the last possible moment to get a non-lethal, but shot to her shoulder with his arrow. It was this or he would have to deal with being a chew toy, and however many Sin’dorei were amassing at this point.
The arrow just barely grazes her shoulder. Even mid-air, she managed to twist and avoid a perfect shot, even with the Marksman’s expert aim. The Fury allows her to be so fast, a reminder to why Malfurion resorted to exiling the feral kaldorei worgen.
The arrow and her subsequent plan to repeat the very mauling that ended the sin’dorei’s life, however, is temporarily thwarted. She leaps back, assessing Kanta. Notably, she’s still bleeding from a rather terrible wound in her right side: an open slash between a set of ribs. It’s too neat of a wound for its placement to be coincidental, it has all the hallmarks of an intentional blow. Between the graze with the poison and the bleeding, Idella circles Kanta with much slower movements, but her glowing eyes are still intent on him.
The leaping thing gets closer, behind the Sin’dorei, curious and watching, but it isn’t exactly quiet this time as one huge leap to a tree causes one of the thick tree branches to crack a little. Still a decent distance away, but there is intent and curiosity of the Night Elf and Worgen’s Fight.
Kanta, obviously hurried, notches another arrow. He did not want the Sin’dorei to have to stumble upon them and him lose Idella to either running away, or worst. He had to hurry up. “Idella! It is your friend Kanta! We must return home! You are injured and not yourself! We can return back to Stormhaven and see our friends!” Kanta said, bow remaining notched. “We must leave. NOW!”
Kanta’s worries are not unfounded. More Thalassian sounds in the forest, the sin’dorei are no doubt rallying as word of a feral worgen and a kaldorei hunting it in their territory spread.
Again, it’s fleeting, even more fleeting this time. But the tiniest flicker again comes to her glowing eyes as she slowly circles Kanta.
Kanta gritted his teeth. Between the time crunch of the hunters, the SIn’dorei, and whatever else risks may come with being in Horde territory. He took another shot, letting the tipped arrow soar at Idella’s shoulder once again.
Perhaps appealing to whatever humanity is inside Idella worked, or perhaps the graze with the wyvern poison and blood loss from her wound made her slow. The arrow finds its mark in her shoulder, though a bit higher than Kanta intended due to Idella’s attention diverting and flinch at the incoming sin’dorei. As it burrows into her shoulder, her attention snaps back to Kanta and she snarls but the poison acts quick. Her next lunge at him is erratic, and she stumbles to the ground, panting but conscious.
There is the unmistakable sound of arrows notching nearby as the sin’dorei round in on them both, taking up higher (and far safer) positions in the trees. Demands are issued in Thalassian.
The look of relief on Kanta’s face was brief. He remained still and kept his bow in his right hand, lowering it and dropping it to the side. Kanta was a damn good Marksman, he could out-shoot a lot of trained archers. However, when it came to numbers, limited supply of arrows, and already being outnumbered, and having to care for another soul… He remained still, turning slowly and looking to the numbers around him.
There are five, including the one Kanta body checked with his hippogryph during his pursuit. They are far more cautious now, waiting until Idella rests her head on the ground and stops moving from the poison before the first sin’dorei nimbly hops from her branch to the ground. Narrowing her green eyes, she addresses Kanta in cold, alto tones, using her native tongue. Then she pauses, switching to Common. It has a heavy accent and is imperfect, but is far more understandable. Though her own bow is down, held at her side, her fellows have arrows notched and trained between Kanta and Idella.
“Why are you here?”
Kanta gestured his head back at Idella “My friend has been recently afflicted by the curse of the worgen. She was acting feral. I have dosed her with Wyvern’s Poison. I wished to try and take care of her before anyone has been hurt.” He said, looking sidelong at the mauled Sin’dorei, unsure at this angle if he was critically injured or dead.
“I have some potions and bandages in my bag. If there is any use. My name is Marksman Kanta Wildsabre. Of the Silverwing Sentinels, and Templars of the Rose. I am trying to get her home. I did not intend for her to head this far north.”
The sin’dorei narrows her eyes, flicking briefly to her fallen comrade, “He’s dead,” she grits her teeth at him. This makes the others tighten their bows. Tilting her head, her eyes close to nothing but slits as she eyes Kanta. “Life for a life?”
Kanta frowns, taking a deep breath. “She is a young girl. She did not know what she was doing. Surely something else less drastic can be done. I came here not seeking bloodshed, I came here trying to prevent it.”
Kanta’s hands flexed as they remained up, his eyes looking at the others around him
“… Please.”
“She is not a young girl,” the sin’dorei snaps at Kanta. “She is a worgen. Didn’t your people slaughter them when they were your own kind?” At this, she adds a few choice words, but in Thalassian. Their insulting meaning is not completely lost in translation, however.
“They may have, but that was not me. Could one not say your people burned my home down? Sylvanas was your kind, was she not?” His words shook with some anger, glaring.
“You say life for a life, how about the thousands of innocents in trade for this girl’s own?”
The smell of fresh blood, of wounded prey…. oh, what a wonderful thing for the dead. They are gathering. The ghost lands are still tainted by the Fallen King, and those who die on it are rumored to always come back. Cold, dead eyes are watching this exchange, but instinctual hunger wars with base intelligence to wait… wait for something… as ghouls gather just at the edges of the misty forest, skeletons rattle quietly, and a Geist waits in the treetops. Watching.
The sin’dorei barks orders at her comrades, her words Thalassian. From what Kanta can tell, it roughly translates to “kill the worgen, take the kaldorei.”
Kanta glared, hands dropping to his quiver and belt. He grabbed a moon-shaped axe that was sheathed prior and an arrow tipped with Wyvern’s poison. He backed up until he would be directly back against Idella.
“Care to bet your life on that order, Farstrider? I do not die easy. I do not mind waiting for the mindless scourge to amass. I am sure you have noticed too. Let us leave and you will never see my face, or hear my name again.”
The sin’dorei leader draws her own weapon as the others ready to let loose their bows. But an odd sound comes from the canopy above: A snarl, a cry of surprise, the gurgling of blood, and a sin’dorei drops from the trees, limp, his throat bit out.
“There’s another!” the lead sin’dorei cries out in warning and immediately charges at Kanta, blade drawn.
Kanta’s face turned to a smirk, he gripped the axe tightly and swung at the approaching Sin’dorei, attempting to hack at the sin’dorei’s arm. Unfortunately for Kanta, the blow is parried and he’s too slow to react to a counter-strike across his midsection, slicing through his tabard, chaim-mail and leaving a nasty cut. “Anarial!” He called out in Darnassian. “Do not let any runners go! We need to get out of here now!”
The sin’dorei leader clearly didn’t expect an ambush, and is very mindful of the encroaching undead massing around them. This makes her next blow sloppy, too wide to land on Kanta.
An acknowledging growl from the canopy is the only verbal reply from Anarial he gets. Arrows let loose in the trees, the sin’dorei seeking their mark. This keeps Anarial from securing her next prey.
In the minds, the word is spoken, black and full of command. Hatred laced within, but controlled. Hold. The dead freeze, their slow advance to bleeding and dying stopped. The command reaches the mind of the living, as Sigmah, in the old, but preserved and bloodstained Tabard of the Blood Guard of the Horde across his chest, the black armor and axe moving quickly. He goes to the first, and coldest corpse, ignoring the living and their silly squabble.
He puts a hand on the coldest corpse of the Sin’dorei, and shadows gather. He recalls the man’s spirit back to the corpse, and then, in an effort of will, forces the life back in the man, despite his wounds. The man bucks, and shakes, shivering, as he looks up to the Death Knight’s Blue flame eyes. Then Sigmah moves to the one Anarial killed, his axe glowing Brightly with unholy runes. Shadows leaping towards Sigmah, drawing in power.
The presence of Sigmah, his clear command of the undead, and raising their comrade, makes the sin’dorei weigh which of the four encroaching their land is the most dangerous enemy. Though Anarial remains in the trees, judging by the arrows that let loose in Sigmah’s direction, they chose their target.
Kanta narrowly dodged the wide swing of the sword in front of him, the weariness of travel and exhaustion not down on him entirely yet. He would go to swing his axe over his head and down on the Sin’dorei when that voice spoke to them all. His black eyes widened in recognition of the figure that came through at Unholy speed. He looked on at the Sin’dorei commander that stood in front of him.
“You.” Kanta said, looking to the side as he kept his ground and remained in a defensive position. Eyes fixed on the Lich that made himself seen. His gaze shifted back to the Farstrider leader in front of him.
Though on the backfoot, the sin’dorei leader manages to dodge Kanta’s blow, a feat possible by an elf’s superior reflexes. As Kanta looks beyond her to Sigmah, she is supremely tempted to follow suit but keeps focused, clearly a trained and disciplined warrior in her own right. She narrows her eyes at Kanta when he speaks. “An ally of yours?” she spats out.
Whack, whack, whack. The arrows strike Sigmah, back, head. Arm. Their aim is true. Except he ignores it. He keeps going to the fallen, other Sin’dorei, and more shadows grow. The blood slows. The heart beat stops. Yet he lives, gasping for air. The other Sin’dorei stands, not undead. But clutching his throat. “Commander?” Through rough, nearly shredded vocal chords. Sigmah turns to the elves, and in Perfect Thalassian. “Your troops have exactly one hour to make it to the healers to live. I’ve stopped their death. For now. Heal them, or fight this idiotic battle when Ny’alotha waits for an opening, much like this.”
“Not quite. He says to the Farstrider. “He appears to be your people’s savior, however.”
Kanta remained where he stood, looking forward at her. His stance remained ready to try and parry anything that she may throw at him.
“Better listen to him, I wouldn’t want to fight him.”
Narrowing her eyes at Kanta, the sin’dorei leader chances a look at Sigmah. Her former-fallen comrade also hoarsely calling out her title also grabs her attention. The tattered Blood Guard tabard over Sigmah’s chest makes her pause, “What are you?”
Up in the trees, Anarial waits from her hiding spot, eyes watching the standoff below.
A moment to make sure the spells hold over her Troops, he looks back to her, and continuing in Thalassian, “Many things, a Death Knight foremost. Right now, someone trying to stop the idiocy instigated by the traitor Banshee.”
Her grip tightens on the hilt of her blade and her gaze hardens, “Bold words, coming from a… thing, such as you,” she answers back in Thalassian, her tone icy. “If we retreat, we owe you nothing.”
Kanta used this time to put a hand on his chest, checking the depth of the cut that sliced across it. Nothing terrible that would kill him. He used the time to take another step back, eyes locked on the Sin’dorei to pick up Idella and put her over his shoulder, buckling a bit at the weight of her worgen form.
“Nothing asked. Nothing owed.” replies the Lich. “What I Hope, is that you save your people. The Ghostlands have enough undead already on this ground.”
Her lips pressed together in a thin line, the sin’dorei does not answer Sigmah directly. But from her barked orders in Thalassian to her comrades, the retreat is clear. The remaining hidden sin’dorei hop down from the trees and assist their injured comrades. They do not look back.
Anarial nimbly scales down one of the trees, red blood from her “kill” still dripping from her muzzle. She pays no mind to it, her head nuzzling Kanta’s leg and sniffing, checking on him.
Kanta looked on at Anarial, nodding to her. He looks more exhausted than injured at this point. “I am okay. Thank you.” He spoke in Darnassian.
His eyes shifted from Anarial over to Sigmah, staring at him.
Anarial lets out a purr, albeit a brief one. Then her full focus also goes to Sigmah.
Blue flame eyes turn to two elves, and one Worgen. Many of the dead gather behind him, watching. Fury, cold and calculated, burns behind the black plate. “I expected -better-.” Bitter, hateful rage, and the net of the undead part, as Sigmah gestures with his axe. “Go. Before I change my mind.”
Kanta growled “You are the reason I am here. I came to retrieve Idella. Did you expect that leaving a young, recently changed worgen in the care of morons at Light’s Hope was my fault?” Kanta’s voice raised, obviously quite furious himself and not caring much of the mindless undead that backed the massive undead orc in front of him. His ebon eyes stared back.
“I will leave, but you best expect my return. There is no reason you of all people would contact me out of the blue if it was not for other reasons.”
“I expected -responsibility-. She has not had the ritual, as I found out too late. What insane reason would anyone not perform it for a newly changed, unless she is somehow immune to Druidic magic?” Sigmah’s voice is basso low. And the anger matched by the dead growling. “What I did was out of courtesy, for one fallen who respected you and yours, and because I keep promises. No more, no less. After this, I owe you nothing.”
Anarial, silent, but responds in a deliberate way: her silhouette grows large, looming, hulking at the shoulders, ursine. Her eyes are on the undead massing around them.
“Sigmah.” Kanta looked at him, his voice no longer as anger, but more questioning.
“Of all people to reach out to. Why myself? Why was she this far north, in your lands?”
Kanta adjusted Idella on his shoulders. He clicked his tongue twice, the Hippogryph that was nearby soaring over, bucking at the sight and smell of undeath but trusting Kanta.
“The Walker and the Witch.” He says simply.
Kanta gritted his teeth “So he is back.”
“It never left. It just waited.” Sigmah looks around, and then back to Kanta and Anarial. “My control is growing strained, after the two exertions. They are hungry. Go, and fix your companion, before they slip the leash.”
Anarial relaxes, but only slightly. She nudges Kanta. “I can carry her.”
He looked to Anarial and nodded, placing Idella gently on top of her mate’s ursine form back. He looked back to Sigmah, nodding.
“Very well… I will return to speak to you in a few days. Where should I meet you?”
“Come to the Plaguelands. I will find you.” He turns his back, and walks through the wall of the undead, who look hungrily at the group.
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