The first thing I thought, when Ruuki tasked me with my third trial, was That’s it?
The second thing I thought was, Why not just kill Alliance soldiers? I would cheat, but maybe I could live with
myself. Syreena and Filora would get their jollies at my expense and be none the wiser.
The third thought was, Just get it over with. Better them than Sanctuary.
My first trial was simple enough. I didn’t even have to be told what to do; I just went out and collected Alliance weapons in Arathi Basin. They were as good of a symbol of a life stolen as any.
Cobrak, the orc, watched me do it. And it wasn’t hard. I’m very quiet. I’m very fast. All Dalendalas are. It’s in our blood. That’s why I wanted the trials over quickly.
Fast might be the wrong word for it. Impatience is probably better.
My witness didn’t even see my first kill. Neither did the target. The best way to kill someone from behind when you’re me is to break their spine, just above their hips. They can’t feel it. They can’t fight back. I picked up the paladin’s shield, and threw it over my back. He couldn’t have even had two decades of summer. I wonder what he would have said if I’d tried to talk to him instead? Or maybe that sword of his had just been cleaned off, a dozen sin’dorei lives wiped away just as easily.
The dwarf’s dark grey skin was shrouded in a caul of shadow. A few runes, a little mana, and his breath froze in his lungs, and my blades stole it forever. I put his dagger through my belt as I cut a path through a draenei mage. Nobody expects a mage to fight in melee, not anymore. But my people’s spellbreakers mastered both the arcane and the sword, and that’s what I was. What I am. Maybe.
I let that one’s staff fall as I siphoned the heat from two human warriors. I gathered the staff, and two greatswords. I tore down the Alliance banner, and wrapped up my collection, and threw it over my shoulders.
Cobrak whispered over our attunement that it had taken three minutes. The Lumber Mill was secured, but I wanted to get 25 kills in fifteen minutes.
The Alliance had pushed into several Forsaken farms. That’s something about Arathi that’s always bothered me. Why do the undead farm our produce? It’s not like they eat it. Perhaps it shows how much the Horde trusts its own parts, when it comes down to it.
I even killed two with one spin. Cobrak and the Grim priest with us seemed impressed. I conjured a heat leak on a night elf, and continued my attack. The Alliance were closing in on us, and we let others secure the farms. My second makeshift satchel consisted of a stolen tabard, a Wildhammer totem, a Pandaren bow, a gnome wrench/mace, a Worgen druid’s scythe, and a Kirin Tor wand. I particularly enjoyed getting that last one. As I was telling, when two mages fight, it doesn’t really matter who’s magic is stronger when one mage has swords. Swords they can actually hit with. Not just use to look pretty like some people.
We fell back to the blacksmith. A night elf’s dagger, a human death knight’s greataxe, a monk’s gauntlets, a worgen’s soulstone, and finally, a human duelist’s rapier.
The ever watchful Deadeye took up position atop the smithy, and let me know the Alliance were rallying at the stables. A few spells later, and I had a fourth banner wrapped around three staves, a crystal mace, and a hammer. The hammer was probably looted from Ulduar. Dwarves are weird when it comes to their heritage.
I had a minute or so left as I descended into the sunless grime of the mines. I hate places like that. They’re cold, and I already find it so hard to keep warm. I like being in the sunlight, or by the fire. I’ve just never been good at fire magic. Cold is more subtle, and seems to play better with my swords. Fire is really only good for blowing things up or burning them. But it’s easier to freeze someone. Really quick people can dodge fire. But nobody knows they’re hypothermic until they’re already slowed down. Sluggish targets are great, because I can slash a few runes on them too, so I can let the ones on my swords recharge without getting any down time.
My crane carried five wrapped banners up with me: twenty five weapons, twenty five stories cut short.
My second trial was pretty easy. Ruuki wanted me to talk to Syreena, Malhavik, and Leyujin, and learn their wisdom. I found it baffling, how people can follow one code and walk away with such different feelings and perceptions. Will I serve the Mandate like they do? Or in some other way? Perhaps, we all serve, in one way or another, even if we don’t wear red and black.
Syreena’s message was simple: The Grim is a family, and you fight to protect them until they’re safe. The Mandate means you either break through your obstacles, or they break you.
Malhavik’s was almost entirely contradictory: The Mandate is a means to an individual’s end. But that’s also true. If you’re safe, and your family is safe, perhaps that is entirely selfish.
Leyujin’s thoughts were that the Mandate is transcendent of any bloodline or act. I don’t quite understand. But I am beginning to. Leyujin thinks I have what it takes, which is what matters.
Better them than Sanctuary, I thought again as I felt the blood hit my face.
The guards were no threat. The tradesfolk were beneath even that. There were children.
If I have to answer to them someday, then, that’s okay. Let them have their chance at vengeance. Either way, I fulfilled the letter and spirit of my trial.
It’s strange. What I thought while I killed them was just how their eyes looked. There wasn’t fear. Not really. Some had hatred, towards the end, when they knew I was coming. But it was mostly confusion. Like, “why is this happening?” I bet the sin’dorei looked like that when the Scourge attacked.
I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember that.
That’s the thing, isn’t it? I have to look in my mirror and see what I’ve become.
Is that the meaning of sacrifice?
That I was willing to give up an illusion of being a good person?
I dropped the hooves and heads before the Inquisition. It’s easy to clear away frozen flesh. You just snap it off. I’m not some ghoul that throws my enemy’s rotten remains or defiles their bodies. They deserved some measure of respect.
But the truth is, really, I don’t know what I am anymore. I hope that is sacrifice enough.
