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Both Sides Now	By : Firefall_Varuna Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 4996 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, races, characters, settings, or themes presented within. I do not make money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. I suffered from a massive bout of writer's block on this chapter! For the sake of moving on, I took a bit of artistic license with this chapter. The lore isn't entirely accurate. I hope it doesn't detract too much.
Thank you to KooriRoninHeart for being my beta reader! Love you, Sis!
Also thank you to everyone who added me to their favorite's list! It is much appreciated!

Chapter 8 – The Long Road
Una dove and tumbled out of the way of Anaru's divine storm. The magical attack stung her leather clad legs as she brushed the edges.
She scrambled to her feet and darted back in.
As he brought his practice sword up, she slapped him with her shield as hard as she could. He hesitated.
Una rapped him in the side with her own wooden blade before he could deflect the attack.
Her cousin responded with an vicious slash she barely managed to deflect herself. She countered and lashed him with Holy Shock for good measure.
Anaru yelped in pain and surprise, but his face then returned to a stoic expression. She knew she was in trouble when he looked like that.
He drove in hard, hammering her like a battering ram. Her arms throbbed as she went on the defensive, doing her best not to let him through her guard. Tired of it, she sidestepped and ducked, causing Anaru to stumble forward.
"Sneaky…" He rasped as he caught himself before she could exploit the opening.
"I try!" The young woman replied quickly, sidestepping around him.
Three months had passed since their mission in Duskwood. Her brush with a real, palpable enemy had put in a sense of determination into the young woman. In their chase and skirmish with the Riders, she had been useless aside from being a target. The demons they killed in Deadwind Pass had further driven the point home. While no one had said anything, she found herself feeling tremendously insecure in the aftermath of that mission.
Una decided she had to improve enough to at least be able to keep Anaru or Hakander at bay. If she could hold her own against them, she could probably defeat most enemies.
Anaru was cunning, strong, and versed in ways of fighting most paladins considered improper. As the months wore on, she became more aware than ever of the multitude of things her grandfather had taught him. The bulk of his training predated the advent of paladins and their strict code of conduct. Alarmingly potent in unarmed combat; he could wrestle, box, and grapple. She'd always been aware he could pick locks and had only recently learned he was a capable marksman with a gun or bow.
Hakander simultaneously managed to be both similar and opposite to her cousin. He was a wise, experienced, knowledgeable, juggernaut of a paladin. He was a great deal older than she was, but by how much, she still didn't know. However, that age made him experienced in combat to a degree Una couldn't hope to match. It also made him very jaded at times.
Today, they were in the outskirts of Stormwind sparring in a grove in a secluded bend in the city wall. Tall, mature trees with thick, green canopies sheltered them from the autumn sun. Out here, there was little chance of a bystander getting in the way and they were free to spar as hard as they cared without interference. Hakander sat a safe distance away, observing their match.
Anaru stomped his foot and took a half step lunge to trick her into thinking he was going to attack. It took tremendous self control, but Una held her ground. He was testing her.
He swept his blade in, but the angle was slightly off to the side. Another feint. Una deflected it, making sure it was the smallest possible movement. He took a half step forward and then strafed to the left. Una followed his movements, careful not to allow him to outflank her.
He sprang forward bringing his sword up for a brutal, overhead cleave.
Una leaped backwards to avoid his attack.
Anaru landed nimbly on the balls of his feet and swung his sword in a wide arc. His wooden blade struck her stomach hard enough to force a gasp from her lips.
Wincing, Una skipped backwards and then used a grapevine step to bring herself out of range once again.
Anaru turned as she circled, his face calculating as he studied her. A frustrated look flickered across his face.
The young woman sprinted in, launching into her own Divine Storm. It was his turn to block, parry, and dodge her attacks. He was clearly surprised by her choice to attack aggressively.
Thus, Una wasn't surprised when his foot snapped out in a kick. She was too close so it was more of a push. That push still threw her off balance and halted her attack. She stumbled out of the way as he pressed the advantage with an underhand swing.
She skipped out of range, pivoting slightly to go in the opposite direction without turning her back on him. Anaru was coming for her.
The older paladin charged in, suddenly bringing them hilt to hilt. He pressed downward with all his might. Her wrists and arms screamed with pain.
She felt her knees tremble under the strain and realized this was her chance. Allowing herself to fall backwards, Una kicked her right foot upwards into his belt buckle and helped him up and over her head.
A heavy thump and Hakander's delighted whoop told her she had done it correctly.
The young woman hastily climbed to her feet and bounded away as her cousin came to his feet as well.
"I yield!" He barked and then laughed breathlessly, "I see you were paying attention!"
Una sucked in deep breaths of air and nodded, unable to speak as she fought to catch her breath. She braced her hands on her knees and smiled shakily as he turned to Hakander.
"Quite impressive." The Draenei said, "However, that throw was amusing."
"No doubt!" Anaru wheezed and then coughed a few times. He pressed a hand to his side and grimaced.
"Sorry!" Una panted, hoping she didn't hurt him. She sank down to the trodden grass at her feet.
"Not you… side cramp." He panted, "Haven't gotten one in years…"
Hakander laughed, climbed to his feet, and pressed a hand to Anaru's side. He muttered a healing spell and Anaru clapped his arm in thanks as the pain faded. "She certainly kept you at a dead run."
Anaru nodded around a cough and sat down on the grass. He peeled off his sweat dampened shirt and used it to mop off his face.
The Draenei retrieved their canteens and tossed them lightly to the two elves. Una nodded her thanks and pushed a sweaty tendril of her brown hair away from her face. She gratefully gulped down large mouthfuls of water, panting around each swallow.
"Quite interesting." The Vindicator mused, stroking his chin. He didn't elaborate further, but continued looking thoughtful.
The elf woman laid back in the grass studied the vibrant, green leaves over her head as she caught her breath. It was a deliciously warm first day of October. The trees would soon start changing color before going into the brief dormancy over the winter months. By April, they'd be fully leaved once more.
Una had always loved the fall colors in Elywnn and the surrounding areas. Fall always reminded her strongly of her childhood and the family's infrequent trips to Silvermoon City. The eternally golden forest had been enchanting to her. The maples around Stormwind usually turned that rich, golden color, but it only lasted a few weeks.
However, as much as she enjoyed the colors, she was ready to be away from Stormwind. With her unit, it wasn't as bad as it was when she left all those months ago but the memories still ached. However, they would be stationed here until further notice. The Scourge were especially riled this year and her troop was selected as one of the first waves assigned to the major cities. Thankfully, her parents were absent so it was one less drama to have to think about. She guessed they were away to one of the Farstrider Lodges.
She yawned, rubbed her hands over her freckled face, and started to doze off.
"Una?" Anaru asked at length.
She cracked open an eye. The elf realized she must have fallen asleep: Hakander was gone and it was just her cousin and her. "Hmm?"
"Are you happy with the Argent Dawn?"
"I suppose I am. Why?" Una turned her head to gaze at him. He was brooding, as was typical of the other paladin when he was perturbed by something.
Anaru sighed, "I need to send you for the Trials eventually."
The brown haired woman frowned deeply and twirled a loose lock of her hair around her index finger. Since the Third War, she had been to the Western Plaguelands only once while riding with Hiram and never the Eastern territories. That had been her very first encounter with Scourge and a necromancer. It wasn't her fondest memory.
He noted her deep frown and continued, "I really don't like the idea of sending you there in October. If they didn't receive so much snow during the winter, I'd wait until late November, early December..."
"I hear a "but" in there." Una interjected dryly.
He nodded, "I need you to have a rank better than Private. As my Lieutenant Commander, Hakander is a great second-in-command for military issues. But I need someone with medical expertise."
She nodded in agreement. Starting that very first mission with the cultists she had repeatedly encountered disease and plague. Usually local doctors and healers were on her side, but there were times they could be reticent. Paladins were immune to disease for the most part, which made her ideally suited to the task. However, somewhere between being female and a High Elf, sometimes it was an uphill battle either to be taken seriously or trusted.
"If you pass, I'm hoping they'll give you the rank of Medical Officer. It's an indistinct rank… I couldn't tell you where they sit in the chain of command." He lowered his voice and smirked, "Someone probably pulled it out of their ass to convince a civilian to let them help and it became standard operating procedure. However, it would give you some authority when you needed to throw your weight around."
"So when should I leave?" Una asked.
"As soon as possible. I want you out of the Plaguelands before All Hallows. As you know, issues with Scourge increase on the nights preceding All Hallows, but it's especially bad up there." Anaru's voice trailed off. He didn't need to say that this year would probably be nightmarish. He finally whispered thoughtfully to himself, "You'd be close…"
"Uncle Eilonel?" Una asked, guessing his train of thought.
"Yes." He nodded, "Give or take – it's a couple weeks out of Ironforge to reach the Plaguelands. Light's Hope Chapel is another two days out. That puts it about the eighteenth to the twenty-second; which would be cutting it really close. But it's only about eight hours from the Chapel to Father's estate. Would you be comfortable going north to go south?"
"I suppose I would be." She replied hesitantly.
Una found herself pensive as she bought supplies, packed her things and then went to her quarters in the Stormwind City Barracks one last time. After talking with Hiram several days prior, she had decided it was foolish to keep paying rent for her quarters. While she was still entitled to them and would remain so for years, she would probably never use them again. It pained her, but Stormwind wasn't her home anymore.
Una found herself brooding as she climbed the familiar steps up to her floor, occasionally pausing to look out the narrow, slitted windows overlooking the sea. Her thoughts drifted back to her trip north.
The young elf hadn't seen her Uncle in years and she wasn't entirely certain how she felt.
The schism between her parents and Anaru's had existed for as long as she could remember. Whatever had been the cause of their estrangement, she was certain it predated her existence and probably Anaru's as well. Her father harbored a deep, abiding resentment towards the side of the family still in Silvermoon City; her Uncle and Grandfather especially. Una was too young to remember much of her father's and uncle's elder sister, Osari, who was killed when she was still quite young. However, what memories Una did have of her indicated she at least seemed to get along with her parents.
Part of her desperately wanted to know what was so awful that it could cause such a rift and the other part wasn't sure she wanted to know. After Osari's death, they seemed to have reconciled when her cousins and she had been young. As they grew older, either they had another falling out or the reconciliation was only superficial. Given her parent's reaction to Anaru, she couldn't help but wonder if Uncle Eilonel would react similarly.
Una frowned in dismay as several rats fled as she opened her door. At one time, she wouldn't have given them a second look. She realized her time on the road had made her forget the sheer amount of vermin in Stormwind City. It felt as though her mind had wanted to forget everything negative and remember only the most wonderful aspects of her hometown.
The High Elf anxiously checked on her Winterveil gown and was relieved to find it intact. Her wardrobe, however, smelled strongly of rats and the floor was littered with scraps of cloth and paper. She recognized the debris as the box her Winterveil slippers had come in. She drug through the refuse and found the red silk slippers, gnawed and shredded beyond repair.
With a short scream of frustration, she swept the filth into a dustbin and began to unpack her heavy, cedar trunk. She normally used it to hold her spare arms and armor, but she needed it for her possessions. Her spare gear would rust and her standard issue bedding would become moldy in the humid Stormwind air by the time she ever needed it again.
As the High Elf woman continued packing, she had the sudden wish that she could store her things with her parents. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she chided herself. That was a foolish thought. Silvermoon's defection to the Horde only gave her parents further cause to resent the rest of the family. When they found she had been up there, even if just to beg her Uncle for a portal back to Stormwind, they would be furious. Her belongings would likely be the first victim of their rage. Instead, Hiram Stonemace's cellar would house her belongings for the foreseeable future.
Una muttered angrily to herself as she hurriedly packed the last of her belongings. She closed and locked the lid, shut her eyes, and took deep breaths. The whole situation felt overwhelmingly perverse. They were her parents, but yet she couldn't trust them to behave as mature elves. Instead, she was turning to her mentor for help once again.
The braying of a ram outside brought her attention to the window. Below, Hiram and a couple of his friends were backing a wagon up to the doors closest to her quarters. They vanished into the building and soon she could hear them chatting merrily as they thumped up the stairs.
"Ye all set, lass?" Hiram asked loudly before he was even to her door. A couple moments later, he leaned into her room. "Packed an' all that?" To punctuate, the gray haired paladin gave her cedar trunk a kick with the toe of his heavy, leather boot. It didn't escape her notice that he was completely sober yet again. "Not gonna ferget anythin, righ'?"
Una thought for a second and with a gasp ran to her small desk, "Grandfather's letter!" She withdrew the letter, still unread and took a deep breath to calm her momentary thrill of panic.
"Aye. Canne ferget that, can ye?" Hiram grunted as he took one handle of the trunk as one of his friends took the other. As Una reached for her suitcase containing her Winterveil dress and her fancier clothing, he barked, "Put it yer pocket, ye silly girl!"
"Trials in the Plaguelands ain't gonna like yer Paladin Trials, lassie… ye'll need all the luck ye can git." One of Hiram's friends, a burly, black haired dwarf, said gently as he tucked two of her smaller trunks under each arm.
Una tucked the letter into her pocket as instructed. She cast a final glance at her old room. It was empty now, save for the full dustbin in the corner. The maids would be by later to clean her room and prepare it for the next occupant. The elf finally lifted her suitcase with one hand and a duffel-bag containing a quilt Hiram's wife had made for her years before in the other. She took the stairs slowly, looking around once last time.
"Yer sure ye got everything, lass? Plenty o' underwear? Clean clothes?" Hiram asked as she handed him the last two pieces of luggage.
"Hiram…" Una groaned.
"Oi! None o' that!" He growled sternly, "I think o' ye like yer me own girl. I can ask that, ye ken?"
"Yes, Hiram." Una said obediently. She was somewhat flattered and flustered at the same time. "And I do have everything."
"That's me girl." He brushed the dust from his palms and turned to his friends, "Ye got all this, lads?" He received nods in response. "Many thanks! Shall we depart, lass?"
"Wait, what? No! The suitcase needs…" The High Elf exclaimed. For as long as she knew him, when her mentor announced a departure, he meant they were leaving immediately.
"To go inside." Hiram interjected in a weary tone. "Aye… aye, the wife will see to that. Probably go under our bed. Anything else?"
Una bit her lip, "I need to speak to Anaru before we leave…"
"Then we'd best hurry so ye can do that." Hiram said cheerfully.
He jumped from the wagon and led her around the barracks to the stable. Una shouted her thanks in Dwarven to his friends and jogged after her mentor.
"I know ye weren't expectin' to leave quite this abruptly, but I got us an escort. I bought a few rounds fer this Mountaineer I know last night an' he says we can take Rehburg Pass an' High Pass to the Wetlands." The dwarf said in explanation as they saddled their horses. "Should shave two or three days off yer trip. Those ain't open to the public, so we gotta ride wiv him and I don' like keepin' him waitin'."
After saying good-bye to her cousin and retrieving her gear, they met up with Mountaineer Kortig at the Deeprun Tram and rode it to Ironforge. From there, the Dwarves led her through dark tunnels cut through the mountain. Una soon lost all sense of direction and time.
They camped beside a subterranean lake that the Dwarves had carved into a grand, underground park near a way station. She couldn't tell what time it was when Hiram roused her in the morning. It felt earlier than she was used to, though the Dwarves assured her it was her usual time.
They rode for another couple hours when they came upon a great stone door. The men opened it and cool, yet markedly humid air and blindingly bright light flooded the tunnel. Una flinched and blinked as her eyes fought to adjust to the suddenly change. When her vision finally cleared, she gazed out onto a plateau high in the Khaz Mountains with watering eyes. Brilliant sunlight shone blindingly off patches of mountain snow, dazzling her with the glare. The snowcapped peaks of the mountains stretched out as far as she could see. Despite the snow, it wasn't particularly cold.
"Ah! Always loved this view. Had ye out here when ye were younger," Hiram said as Una dabbed her eyes on the edge of her cloak. "But we came out a different gate. Padraig Hirsch, ye remember him?"
Una nodded, recalling the Dwarven farmer they had helped one summer. She'd fallen in love with his family's many barn cats and his wife's delicious breads. The money she'd earned from those early adventures with Hiram had allowed her to purchase her first weapons and armor.
"His farm is about a half mile west o' here and about three-quarters of a mile further down the mountain." The gray haired Dwarf pointed in a direction she could only assume was west. She was horribly disoriented. The sun was too high in the sky for her to easily discern direction.
The young woman followed the men as they took a worn, cobblestone road. After a few miles, they came to another door and she was plunged back into the darkness of the Dwarven tunnels.
She was yawning in the saddle when they finally came to another door. This time hot, muggy air flooded the tunnel. She stepped out into a hazy sky filled with twinkling stars. Una breathed in the earthy, damp odors of the Wetlands at night. Fen Moss hung in fibrous tendrils from the twisted branches above her head. The men led the way a short distance away to an obviously often-used campsite.
Once again, Hiram roused her the following morning. After a meal of soft bretzel and fruit Hiram had brought with him, they broke camp. Back in semi-recognizable surroundings, Una's sense of direction and time returned quickly. At noon, they finally came to a crossroads.
"I fear yer on yer own from here out, lass." Hiram said sadly as she gazed up the road. "Missed bein' able to ride wiv ye like this."
"Thank you so much, Hiram! You too, Kortig." Una exclaimed. She was still slightly disoriented, but that trip did seem much faster.
"Bah, was nothin'!" The Mountaineer said, "Have a safe trip, lass. Er… I'll meet ye up the road, Hiram." The Dwarf trotted his ram a generous distance away.
When he was out of an earshot, her mentor pulled a pendant from under his shirt. "I'd like ye to have this, lass." Hiram removed it and tossed it lightly to her.
Una caught the necklace and examined it closely. It was a thick ring of gold on a well-worn leather cord. Una turned the heavy pendant over in her hand and suddenly realized there were Dwarven glyphs and some kind of design stamped on it. They were blurred and obscured by hammer marks. She turned it over a couple more times and then realized it was a coin. A gold coin.
"I started wearin' that back in… eh… lets just say I got that well before ye were born." The Dwarf said, puffing on his pipe as he tended to do when he was anxious and far too sober. "I got that coin outta a bet at a tavern and put it in me breast pocket fer safe keepin. Keep in mind, lass, I was nae a paladin then… just a blacksmith. Later, I made me way home. A sniper decided to take a potshot at me." Her mentor gestured as though firing a gun. "I thought he missed an' ran away like a scared, wee lass."
Una pressed a hand to her mouth, her mind coming to the logical conclusion.
"When I got back to me place, I took off me shirt. A bullet and that coin fell out. Scared the piss outta me." The Dwarf said roughly, pointing the mouthpiece of his pipe to the center of the pendant, "I had a helluva bruise, but the bullet woulda gone straight into me heart if not fer that wee coin. It was all dented up, so I hammered it into a pendant. I did a passable job, don' ye think?"
He coughed and his voice softened, "Wear it fer me, lass. It was lucky fer me, perhaps it'll be lucky fer ye too. I know I dun gotta warn ye about the Scourge..." He said, his eyes dampening slightly. "Ye be careful." The Dwarf stressed each word as he spoke, staring pointedly into her eyes.
Una leaned across the gap and embraced her mentor tightly and was fiercely hugged in return. "Thank you, Hiram."
"Off with ye, now! Go on!" The Dwarf barked gruffly to cover his display of emotion and shooed her away. Una shot him a watery smile of her own and urged Vesper into a trot.
Her trek through the remainder of the Wetlands, the Arathi Highlands, and then Hillsbrad was uneventful though long. She camped along chilly highland streams and alongside lonely stretches of road. The more she thought about it, a hot bath at her Uncle's estate sounded divine.
She stopped at Aerie Peak to resupply and prepare herself mentally for her trek across the Plaguelands. The Wildhammer Dwarves were more than happy to put her up for the night. After a robust and cheerful meal of veal, potatoes, and more ale than she probably should have enjoyed she crawled into a bunk and drifted to sleep.
She was awoken early the next morning by a bleary eyed Innkeeper Thulfram. "Sorry to wake ye, lass. Got an urgent letter fer ye from the Kirin Tor." He declared around a yawn, handing her an envelope bearing the seal of Dalaran.
Una frowned deeply as she accepted it and carefully rolled out of the Dwarf-sized bunk bed.
She had no idea why the Kirin Tor would be contacting her or who among their ranks would even know she was here. Dalaran City itself had vanished from the banks of Lordamere Lake more than a month ago. All that remained was a massive crater that still pulsed with torrents of arcane energy. She sat down on a bench at the foot of the bed and cracked the violet-colored wax. She anxiously withdrew the letter from within and unfolded it.
My Dearest Una,
I hope this letter finds you well. I was delighted when Anaru sent word that you would be coming. Too much time has passed and I have missed you so.
Una sucked in a breath in surprise and her eyes dropped down to the signature to confirm. It was from Uncle Eilonel. How he knew where she was, she couldn't be sure. Thanks to Hiram and optimum conditions, she was days ahead of schedule. She shook her head in amazement and continued reading.
I know you must return to duty, but I should very much like to become reacquainted. I adored my cute, little niece, but I know precious little of this adult woman I am writing to. And of course, while you are here, you must allow your Uncle to dote on you a little. There is so much news! Many of our family would very much like to see you as well...
The High Elf giggled and shook her head as he went on to talk about each family member in turn. Some were family she knew and other names were unfamiliar. Her Uncle's elegant penmanship degraded and his sentences became longer as the letter progressed. She had the growing sense that it would be difficult to leave Silvermoon once she arrived. He desperately wanted to spend time with her and catch up. Relatives would likely come out of the woodwork to do the same, some she had to admit she was curious about.
In a way, it put her mind at ease. He was still the charmingly eccentric and excitable Uncle Eilonel she remembered so well.
However, those memories were in sharp contrast with the memories of the vicious feuds between her father and him. Fights between the brothers always became physical and were often pitched in her father's favor. Uncle Eilonel had always been slight, even by elven standards. Her father, meanwhile, was in every sense the classic ranger: muscular, lithe, and very quick. He knew how to force the mage to fight without magic, putting him at an even greater disadvantage.
After the end of the Third War, she had only seen him moments as he silently collected his sons and departed. She knew from the wounds on his face that he had had another fight with her father, but it still hurt that he had said nothing to her.
As she began packing, she forced it from her mind. There would be time enough to talk with her Uncle and perhaps put those feelings to rest. At the moment, she was less than an few hours from the Plaguelands.
Anaru and she had planned her route before she left. She would cross through the mountains separating the Hinterlands from the Plaguelands via Plaguemist Ravine. From there, she would skirt Darrowmere Lake going east. Anaru had warned her to stay off the roads, stick to the wilder country where the undead concentration would be thinnest. From there, she would ride through the wilds to Lake Mereldar and then eventually swing north-east for the ride to the chapel.
It sounded easy enough.
To Una's amazement, she saw little in the way of undead. The only creatures she encountered were a few herds of sickly deer, a few plaguehounds, a plaguebat or two, and some carrion worms. She thought she spied a gargoyle in the distance, but she lost sight of it over a ridge.
Vesper had a case of nerves once again, his ears pinned back to his skull as shivers ran down his body. Una did her best to reassure her stallion, all while keeping a wary eye on her surroundings.
Sickly orange plaguemist shrouded everything in sight, obscuring her view. Bleached bones of both man and beast were everywhere, at times crunching under her horse's hooves. She passed abandoned, rusting Scourge meat wagons and the crumbling foundations of former homesteads.
Dead and dying pine, some bloated with the Blight, reminded her this used to be Darrowmere Forest. Some of the dead, fallen trees emitted a foul, brown gas that drifted upwards lazily. In her mind's eye, she could still see the thick, verdant, pine forest that stretched all way north to Eversong.
That night, she camped at the base of an escarpment near Lake Mereldar. The night went without incident, though she was forced to get up to calm Vesper several times. At dawn, she made her way around the lake and turned northward.
She arrived midday at Light's Hope Chapel three days ahead of schedule. It was a grim outpost, surrounded on nearly all sides by the Scourge and Scarlet Crusade to the south from their fortified city of Tyr's Hand. Vigilant sentries patrolled the perimeter and kept the clearly visible Scourge at bay.
Una tied Vesper off and strode inside. Surrounding a table that had seen far better days was a group of Humans and one Forsaken. Most wore tabards of the Argent Dawn, though she uncomfortably noticed the white and blood red cloth of the Scarlet Crusade. They were pouring over maps, settings markers. The young elf vaguely recognized it was a map of Thunder Bluff. Below it sat maps of the other large cities.
"Pardon the intrusion… Lord Maxwell Tyrosus?" The paladin asked tentatively, snapping to a salute when a brown haired human male with an eye-patch stood. He returned the salute crisply.
"Private Una Whitebrook, of Argent Dawn Unit Fifty-Six, reporting for the Trials, Milord." Her voice sounded calmer than she actually was. Her heart was hammering in her chest so loudly she was certain he could hear it.
"Well met, Private." The human said evenly. "Commander Whitebrook sent word you would be coming. You're ahead of schedule; I trust the roads were favorable."
"Very favorable, Sir." It took a tremendous amount of willpower to keep from reaching up to grasp her pendant or to fidget with her hair. "I wished to complete the Trials as soon as possible so I might return to my Unit."
"Excellent." Lord Tyrosus stated with a nod. "Take all the time you need to prepare. I'm sure you're exhausted after your journey."
"Thank you, Milord." Una said with a bow.
The elf woman used her three days to rest and recover from the long journey as well as mentally prepare herself. No one had told her what she could expect and there seemed to be no advice incoming either. Her Trials as a paladin had been equal parts tests of her physical fortitude as well as her spiritual. This Trial was likely to be quite different.
The morning of the fourth day after her arrival, she ventured back to Lord Tyrosus.
The human glanced up from a discussion he was having with Korfax and Commander Dawnbringer. The conversation seemed especially animated, though she couldn't quite understand what they were discussing.
He returned her salute and excused himself for a moment, "Are you ready, Private Whitebrook?"
"Yes, Sir." Una said nervously, licking her suddenly very dry lips. She added, "As ready as I'll ever be".
"Then let us begin." Lord Tyrosus declared. "Behind our chapel, you will find the entrance to a crypt. Interred within are the bodies of our fallen heroes; those who gave their lives in the war against the Scourge. Their spirits are at peace, but they return intermittently to test those seeking to join the order."
He handed her a simple scroll. "Enter the crypt, and then read from this scroll. Lord Raymond George – my predecessor – will preside over your test."
"Thank you, Milord." She saluted him and walked out of the Chapel. Numbly, she accepted a lantern from a sentry and nodded her thanks when the human wished her luck.
The entrance of the crypt was tiny and understated, barely noticeable behind the chapel. All she could see within was blackness.
Hiram had always told her going into crypts in the Plaguelands was both suicidal and incredibly stupid. Today, she was doing it deliberately. Una drew her sword and cautiously made her way down the stairs.
Despite the tiny entrance, the interior of the crypt was massive. Holding her lantern high, Una gazed around at the final resting place for only the Light knew how many souls. It was silent, like a crypt should be. Given where she was, Una found that disturbing.
She cast her emerald gaze across the niche covered walls, each filled with caskets of various ages and sizes. The young woman strained her senses to search for the presence of undead, but found nothing. She sensed no malevolence, only peaceful silence. The tell-tale stench of the Scourge was missing, only the musty odor of an old burial vault tickled her nose.
On some level, she realized not too long ago that wouldn't seemed odd or out of place to her.
Five wooden coffins lay in a neat line across the path before her. She gingerly stepped around, leveling her sword at the aged, dirt stained wood at her feet as though Scourge could burst forth at any moment.
Dirt still clung to the coffins, caked in the nooks and crannies left by nails and brass hardware. Some of it still disturbingly dark. Morbid curiosity compelled her to kneel and touch the dirt coating a small, rusted plaque at the foot of one of the coffins. Fresh, moist soil came away onto the fingertips of her glove and revealed the mark of the Silver Hand. The High Elf jerked her hand away, startled.
Una chided her foolishness. She was on sacred ground, beyond the reach of the Scourge. The Argent Dawn had every right to exhume the graveyards; every corpse in this vault was one more potential weapon out of the Scourge's arsenal.
Leaving the coffins behind, Una carefully descended uneven stairs and wound her way through the hallways of the crypt.
Only once she was very deep into the crypt did spirits start to make themselves known. Her honed senses told her unseen presences had fallen into step before and behind her as though an honor guard. She held a tremble that threatened to race up her spine in check and fought the urge to turn and look. There was still no malice.
At last a chamber illuminated by flickering candlelight came into view before her. Fires in the Plaguelands had the habit of burning a disconcerting shade of sickly green or eerie blue. The light before her was perfectly normal candlelight; warm and gold as it should be.
She stepped into a large, bare room. Only an ornately carved, stone sarcophagus occupied an altar-like niche in the very back of the room.
The ghosts that had escorted her into the room were gone as quickly as she'd noticed them.
Taking a deep breath, she sat the lantern down on the sarcophagus, slid her shield onto her arm, drew her sword, and then pulled the scroll from within her tabard. This was it.
She read the words from scroll, barely paying attention to the words that passed over her lips.
"Let the Trial Begin," A disembodied voice announced. Una glanced up in alarm as the spirit of a paladin appeared, clad in the black, white, and gold tabard of the Argent Dawn. "Rise, champions! Rise, and meet this woman in combat!"
Una cast her gaze all around her, ready for attack.
She heard the hiss of drawn steel. The elf spun to her to her right. The spirit of a dwarf female with bright red hair drawn up in braids advanced on her.
Una stepped lightly around on the balls of her feet. The Dwarf drove in hard. Her sword came around in an underhand swing. She blocked with her shield.
Another lash. The elf nimbly pivoted out of the way and spun into a Divine Storm. The spirit evaporated with a light laugh.
Blinking in surprise, Una almost wasn't ready when she heard a faint, feral chuckle behind her.
A ghostly axe grated across her back armor. She tucked and rolled. The ghost of an orc male gave her a toothy grin as she came up and rushed to batter her defenses.
His style reminded her alarmingly of Hakander's brutal impacts. She sprinted out of range. She felt a breath of air. She skipped out of the way as she nearly ran into another spirit. The ghost of a human male with an alarming outsized hammer pursued.
She kept moving. Una called upon the Light and used it to lash the Orc ghost. She thought she heard the word "Good!" and he vanished.
She didn't have time to ponder. The human ghost was upon her. The elf ducked out of the way as the ghost swung his hammer. The head grated harshly against the stones.
As with the first ghosts, the human vanished once she scored a touch.
Panting heavily, the elf woman scanned the tomb for more.
"Your warm-up is complete." The ghostly paladin, she assumed Lord Raymond George, said as he began to stride forward. "Now, the real trial begins!"
The elf woman had a feeling this was one of the original paladins. She wasn't fighting Hakander or Anaru anymore, but probably someone more on par with her grandfather.
Una skipped backwards. She would give this one range and fight in a flighty series of in's and out's. It was going to be difficult to keep all of him in range. Watching throats worked well for human sized opponents, but this ghost towered over her. There was simply no way she could watch all of him at once.
The ghostly paladin seemed to be sizing her up as he advanced on her, his longsword held in a relaxed grip, his wrist fluid. A shield bearing the crest of Lordaeron was casually held at the ready.
Una bit her lip. The one time she had watched her grandfather spar, he'd started in a very similar stance.
The ghost seemed to be in no hurry, the glowing blue eyes from within the dark helmet seemed to still be weighing her up. Perhaps he knew her or at least her grandfather and was being cautious. Or perhaps he was waiting for her to make the first move.
She wasn't going to take that bait. If there was one thing she learned while sparring with Hakander, it was patience. To attack too soon invited failure.
Una circled slowly, not taking her eyes off the massive, transparent sword.
Quick steps.
The blade came down in an overhead slash. Una deflected. She lunged forward, slashing. Mist erupted as her sword found his side.
She darted past him, pivoted, and skipped out of range.
Lord Raymond George didn't dissipate like the others. He nimbly spun and attacked.
Una parried and riposted. The tip of her sword impotently struck his shield.
Sparks flew as the tip of his sword grazed her breastplate, slicing through her tabard. A ghost he might be, but that sword was very much real.
She spun on the balls of her feet, changing the direction she was moving in. What may have fooled a less experienced swordsman barely fazed him.
The elf lashed him with the Light, allowing the spell to surge around her like electricity as she attacked.
The sword came from above. Una pivoted and rolled. She came up in a Divine Storm even as her shield arm seared with pain. Lord George pressed through the attack, hammering at her guard.
The young woman seized an opening and dove out of the way. She came up running, weaving her steps.
Nothing felt broken. He was easily as strong as Hakander. Being undead, he didn't tire like a mortal either.
Una sprinted in, low and fast. She brought her sword up and under his guard, aiming for his throat.
He vanished.
Armor creaked behind her. Una spun, bringing her sword up. The ghost of Lord Raymond George stood atop the stone sarcophagus.
He dropped to one knee, his left hand pressed to his chest in an old Silver Hand gesture of respect, "Well-done. You have passed my test of combat." The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere; loud and commanding.
Una blinked slowly in disbelief. In the brief moment her eyes were closed, he was gone.
Panting heavily, the young elf gazed around the crypt, not quite comprehending what this meant. The tomb was still, only her ragged breaths broke the silence.
The young woman's mind slowly grasped the idea that she had won. However, she felt unsettled by how abruptly combat had ended. Either way, she had been found worthy.
Triumphantly, Una snatched up her lantern and hurried through the passageways. She whispered her thanks to the unseen spirits as she ran in euphoria.
So caught up in her success and frantic desire to report, she was unprepared when she came around the final bend and into light from outside. Blinded, she stumbled forward. Her boot awkwardly found the first riser and slipped out from under her. The elf fell prone upon the stairs in a clatter of armor. Her sword and the lantern crashed loudly down the stairs and back into the tomb.
"Throm-ka!" Rumbled a familiar, deep voice with a mixture of surprise, humor, and delight. As her eyes finally adjusted she realized there was a massive, emerald-skinned hand being offered to her. The orc chuckled, "That was a glorious battle; too bad the stairs knew your weakness!"
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