Trial of Combat: Rona'zae

[Rona'zae]

In the bundle, there are two letters, and a small wrapped package. The first, folded over, has written in blocky script “READ ME FIRST”. Upon opening it, a letter from Rona’zae, in her familiar script and manner of writing, is found.

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Hey there, bossmons! I finally got my Trial of Combat all finished for ya. It was a great hunt, and you’ll find proof of the kill in the package. But, ya know, I’m not the best at writin’ and stuff, so, I went to a contact of mine, a goblin inventor and, more importantly, writer. He goes by Nezvet Sparkplug, or Sparks for short. Anyway, Sparks is great at writin’ good sounding stories, and he owed me a solid for this thing I did for him one time, so, I told him about the hunt, and he agreed to write it out for me. And he made it sound good, too! I’m probably gonna have him write out all of my reports for me, seein’ as I can’t write for longer than a few minutes.

Good hunting!

~Rona’zae

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The package included with the bundle is small, and jingles when shook. Opening it reveals a set of five badges, each depicting a Night Elf glaive, with a helmet behind it and a moon at its center. It was the sigil of the Sentinels, the warriors of the Night Elves. They were stained with a bit of red, here and there.

Finally, opening the second letter reveals an elegant script that stretched across a few sets of pages. It appears Rona’zae was not kidding when she said that her Goblin friend was a writer… there was a lot of writing, here.

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This is a bit challenging to recount. Normally, I do not make records of my kills. I live in the moment, and leave the moment behind. But, circumstances demand that I must dictate the details of one of my most wonderful hunts to date: an entire squadron of Night Elf Sentinels, and their commander.

I’d been tracking the movements of these Night Elves for weeks, since before I even heard the whispers of The Grim on the wind. I’d learned about them upon one of my first excursions to Kul Tiras, while helping establish one of the many footholds we now have on the island with a few other members of the Horde. Specifically, I remember a Tauren druid, assisting one of the Forsaken who had been scouting the area nearby. She had been repairing some damage to the scout’s bones, as well as few patches of skin that had fine cuts upon it, as fine as a surgeon’s scalpel. It was impressive work.

“I said I’m fine, Druid.” the Forsaken said, attempting to get up and move on to his tasks. He faltered when he stood, and I moved to steady him alongside the Tauren. We helped him down, and he begrudgingly accepted the healer’s aid.

“Waste of time, repairing dead flesh,” he complained, “Should be focusing on getting that squad of knife-eared scum out of the woods.”

That caught my attention, and I inquired further. He described a squad of silent figures in the night, stalking him and his companions as they scouted the area. His companions were cut down without much fanfare. Even with his sharpened senses, he didn’t catch them falling until it was too late. From what he could tell, it was a small squad of five, but from the sound of his tale, it was enough to start with. I thanked him and wished him a quick recovery, to which he seemed a bit miffed about. Heh. I moved on into the woods, and began my search.

Through the next weeks, I would only find small traces of their presence. A raven feather from a species not native to Kul Tiras, bits of blood on bush leaves, the faintest traces of foot prints. I moved with the shadow, and I give thanks to whatever Loa may have been watching me work that day, because not a single time was I harried by the elves.

Finally, after putting the pieces of the puzzle together, I discovered the squad of sentinels moved camps regularly, and returned to Boralus to report to whoever their commander may have been. They would only hunt in the dead of night, and either camped out in a hidden away location, such as caves or densely packed canopies, during the day. Every third dawn, they would return to Boralus, and come back to the woods the same evening.

It was during their return trip a few days ago that I was prepared for them.

Now, I am not sure how known my talents are among the upper rungs. But, being that of an atypical Shadow Hunter, I take much of my skill from that of stealth, using darkness and shadow as my ally, much as an assassin would. Normally, one of my title manipulates these things into curses, hexes, and other nasty tricks. I never had much of a knack for that sort of thing. I suppose I would say I’m more of a Shadow Tracker than Hunter. The wild night is my home, and it is at home that I thrive.

I followed the night elves as silent as a feather on the wind, drifting from spot to spot, never letting them know where I was for long. Oh, I’d give them a sound here and there. Nervous prey makes for a more entertaining challenge. The five of them were sharp, though. It was tough to stay ahead of all of their thoughts at once, making sure none of them would lay an eye on me. They tread carefully, slowly scanning the trees, the underbrush, and the path ahead of them for signs of whatever was stalking them. It was cute, really.

And as planned, I kept their attention on looking for me, rather than where they were going.

I had the help of a few of my little ones during this trek: Vetazak, a nasty bugger called a Lava Spider from the Firelands, was one of the more stubborn friends I’ve made, but her deadly bite and blazing venom made the challenge well worth it. And in the skies, Ssathzek circled, drifting with each gust of the wind, never making a move that was not needed. The Wind Serpents make for wonderful scouts, but where they really blossom is in that of a hit and run attacker.

The first of the sentinels, the one furthest ahead, had her eyes in the clouds. There’s a saying about that, but I just can’t seem to put my finger on what it was. Anyway, she took a step in the wrong place, and my sweet Vetazak struck. She sprung from her trap hole under a nearby brush, and dug her fangs into the sentinel’s leg, nice and quick, deadly quiet. Ohh, seeing the little ones work just brings a tear to my eye.

The sentinel who took the fiery kiss screamed in pain, jerking back and stumbling. The venom of Vetazak is a terrible, terrible thing. It lingers in one spot for just long enough, burning white hot the whole time, before it moves swiftly through the veins, spreading itself thin, then multiplying when it reaches vital organs. It’s a slow, painful process. Curable, sure. But not without reagents from the Firelands itself, and I was willing to bet a few gold pieces on the squad not having any of those particular herbs on them.

The commander took to her side quickly to see what was wrong, and there presented my next opportunity. Well, Ssathzeks, anyway. He moved just as gracefully as he ever did, drifting down upon the winds and swooping down to sink piercing fangs right into the neck of another of the unsuspecting elves. She screeched like a harpy, rearing her head back and attempting to strike at my pet’s slender form, but the sneak was already back up into the clouds, waiting for his next opportunity to strike.

Ssathzek is a particularly interesting kind of Wind Serpent. Normally, they are not venomous. They tended to strike with lightning blasts from glands in their neck that… well, honestly I don’t quite know how they do it. Magic, maybe? Anyway, the point is that generally speaking, venom isn’t their means of attack. But a particularly nasty kind of Wind Serpent, found in the Wailing Caverns of Durotar, adapted in a much more interesting manner, thanks to the accelerated, nature magic induced evolutions the beasties there undertook. It developed a venom that causes a sort of paralysis, as though one were shocked by a bolt of lightning. And it worked quite fast.

The sentinel barely had time to let out a gasp before Ssathzeks venom took hold of her. She couldn’t control herself within seconds, and she stumbled over, hand clutched on her neck, staring straight up into the sky where her assailant had vanished to. It was clear that she wasn’t going to be much use to any of her squad in a few moments, to all of us present. The commander cursed in her flowery, elvish tongue, and the other two sentinels readied their glaives, scanning the area for their attackers.

Now I was starting to feel a little left out of the fun at this point. So, it was my turn. I took careful aim from my hiding spot behind the group, and let loose with one of my crossbow bolts. The bolts I use carry my own little concoction of love, and its purpose is more aligned with causing pain than actually killing. It makes for a much better distraction, that way. My shot struck home, and the sentinel standing near the paralyzed elf took a bolt right in the flank, sinking in between a set of armored scales there.

Her eyes went wide, and her scream was the loudest by far. But, to her credit, it didn’t give the effect I was expecting. She set her jaw, traced where the bolt was launched from, and tossed her glaive with surprising force and accuracy. It buzzed through the air like a living insect, and struck just to the side of my hiding position. Another few inches and it would have left a nice slice in my shoulder.

I moved, firing another bolt into the group, but they were ready, now, and deflected the projectile with a dismissive swat of their circular blades. My pets remained in their starting positions, waiting for more opportunities to attack stealthily and unexpectedly. Their specialty was in quick strikes, not brawls, so it was up to me to give them the chance.

“Kill the troll! Avenge the fallen! FOR THE ALLIANCE!” the commander called. They moved just as swift as I had expected. They were just as at home in the woods as I had been. But, I had an advantage that they were not expecting.

I had bombs.

Casually I flicked one of my explosive grenades into the path of the group. And, credit where it's due, they knew what to do with them. One of the sentinels, the one that I had shot the bolt at earlier, moved to intercept it with a bat from another of her throwing glaives. Normally, this would have been an ideal tactic to use; deflect the blast into another spot where it won’t blow up in your friends faces, and maybe even back at the one who threw it. Of course, that doesn’t work so great when the grenade has an impact trigger on it. Oh, and when it doesn’t explode, either.

With a “WHOOMP” of force, a green cloud of gas burst from the container, enveloping the brave, stupid elf who tried to protect her friends. Again she cried in agony. The gas cloud was another of my favorites, filled with chemicals crafted courtesy of a goblin contact of mine (writer’s note: that’s me!) that interacted directly with the venom in my crossbow bolts. It fed the venom, causing it to redouble its deadly sting, and begin its painful process anew once more.

This time, my strike brought the sentinel down, and I was already on the move again. A pair of glaives sang through the night, slicing and thirsting for my blood. And one struck, hitting me hard in the thigh. It was a solid blow, and the teeth of the blade sank deep. I faltered, and I felt red hot pain shoot up my side. Nothing new to me, but it was distracting. And worse, it lost me some distance.

The two remaining elves came upon me like whirling dervishes, small blades whipping through the night, each one craving the killing blow. I spun, bringing my spear to bear against them. Their speed was great, however, and they already were well inside of my spear tips reach. I danced backwards on my good leg, parrying where I could, but felt the bite of another few strikes. I was losing ground quickly, and at the rate I was going, I may not have had a victory that night.

But, you know what they say. Darkspear never die.

My retreat brought us right to the waiting place of my lovely Vetazak, and the lava spider struck. She bit once more into the remaining sentinel’s leg, her blazing fangs going straight through her armor without much difficulty. The pursuer faltered, stumbled, and fell, the white hot pain lancing through her, crippling her. It was the opportunity I needed. Now it was just the commander and myself, and we both were already winded. The commander was also well aware of the position of both of my companions, now, her eyes darting up every now and again during the fight to catch where Ssathzek was lurking.

Our weapons crossed, their steel singing a siren’s dirge, and we danced to the melody. My leg throbbed, but the pain wasn’t enough to stop me. The night elf before me was skilled, and she was angry. But, it was clear that a straight fight like this was not what she was used to. No, she was a stalker, an assassin, much like my children that had aided me in the fight already. She was struggling, despite my injury.

“I won’t let you take any more innocent lives, you monster!” she cried. She redoubled her efforts, closing the distance between us, aiming for a killing strike with her final glaive. I let her in, not countering her charge with my spear. Her eyes went wide, thirsting for the kill… and I swayed just enough to the side, her blade only slicing a bit of my side open, not enough to bring me down. And I countered with a headbutt, right into her dense skull.

She gasped and fell back just enough for me to spin my spear around, swinging the blade across her gut and opening her wide, and with a quick spin of both weapon and body, I stabbed the butt end of the weapon into her chest, sending her onto her rear with a satisfying crunch.

I stared at her, smiling, breathing heavily as my life blood trickled from my wounds. My two children lingered nearby, no longer hidden, sensing the danger was over. Her glowing eyes narrowed, her own breath hard, escaping her lips in puffs of visible mist from the cold that surrounded us.

“You… won’t win this war... troll.” She said in between her deep, desperate gasps for air. My smile deepened as I watched, leaning on my spear as she spoke. “We will have revenge… for Darnassus… for our families… You will pay… for all of the innocent blood… you have spilled.”

I clicked my tongue, moving with my spear at my side, taking cautious, gingerly steps until I stood over her, looking down on her with a bit of a smile on my lips. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t often people gave me such perfect straight lines.

“Innocence be for sheep, elfy,” I said, the words like honey on my tongue. “I… be da wolf.”

And I drove my spear’s tip right into her chest.

[Rona'zae]

((As soon as I posted this and re-read it, I realize that I did not meet one of the main requirements for the Trial of Combat; interaction with other members of The Grim. However, I did thoroughly enjoy writing this report, so I'd like to keep it on the board. If this doesn't fit the criteria for a Trial of Combat, let me know and I'll edit it where needed to just make it an RP report post. Thanks, and sorry for the confusion!))

[Qabian]

Qabian maintained a raised eyebrow as he read through the narrative. He started to question just exactly what this Goblin friend had done to create it. Pure imagination? Based on what? Memory extraction? But it hardly mattered in the end.

Qabian scratched the word "Sufficient" in red ink in the margin, then folded the package back up and attached a card to it with the name KHORSHAH written in capitals to be assigned to whatever filing system was going to come with a new guild hall.

((You did forget learning about the Grim! But not gonna make you rewrite it, or at least I won't, heh. It'll do~))