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Thread: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

  1. #41
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    I don't think taking the screenshots will pose much of a problem, although WTW has been acting strange where other mods don't in that regard.

    The real roadblock right now is figuring out a good frame for them that fits this tale, like in the other AAR:s in my signature. It's always the hardest thing, it's like figuring out good character names in Diablo II - the nr. 1 challenge without a doubt. But once I've managed to make a frame I'm satisfied with there are many scenes that could stand to be illustrated in some way.

    EDIT: The first screenshot is up. Meet Jaina and Pained in chapter IV-I. I decided to go with frames based on the mods menu and covering the top and bottom instead of the edges, we'll see how it works. I plan to post the pictures as attachments to avoid the risks of a picture hosting site going black and ruining everything, and no more than one picture per chapter part.
    Last edited by Maltacus; August 27, 2022 at 07:08 AM.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
    An Orcs Tale, a Third Age AAR - Completed.
    Reviewed by Alwyn in the Critics Quill
    My Dread Lady, a Warcraft Total War AAR - 27 chapters done.
    Home to Midgard, a Third Age AAR about two dwarves, a spy and a diplomat - Completed (pictures remade up to chapter 19).
    Reviewed by Boustrophedon in The Critics Quill

  2. #42
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Chapter VI-I. Waves and Wails
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    On the second day at sea there was a second sunset in the east.

    It was barely perceptible until the real sun had set properly, then the rim of the night sky smoldered like the embers in a fireplace late in the evening. Sylvanas stood rigid and unmoving by the reeling and watched it. She had been standing there for hours and it was unlikely that anything would be different the next hour. Still, she wouldn’t take her eyes off it. She didn’t deserve to.

    She should be out there, not hiding herself at sea far away. She should be in the thick of it and not let Kalira and the others risk themselves alone. She should have come up with a better plan. She should never have ordered the burning of an entire forest.

    If there ever really was any sliver of the Ranger-General left inside her, that was her funeral pyre.

    And it was just as well, Sylvanas thought with a contemptive grimace at herself. Good riddance to that part of her! In the end, when it had truly mattered, she hadn’t been good enough. She had held the most crucial of positions and she had failed. Lireesa Windrunner would not, had the Amani not got to her during the Second War. Alleria would not have failed either, had she not refused the position as Ranger-General. Lor’themar Theron could have stepped up, or perhaps even Halduron Brightwing. Maybe even Vereesa. Anyone but Sylvanas.

    Sylvanas the inadequate.

    Sylvanas the failure.

    Sylvanas the banshee, who rose to terrorize the city and the people she had sworn to defend.

    She took on as much work as she could possibly find time for and then some. Anya had not been wrong about that when she came to drag Sylvanas out from her desk. Sylvanas was aware of the fact that she punished herself just as much as she gave the not-enough she had to better the existances of the Forsaken. How could she do otherwise? She saw her debts day and night in the eyes of every dark ranger. She could never repay them. She could never make it right again.

    Was there a point of even trying?

    She questioned what she was now. What was left of Sylvanas Windrunner, what was the banshee queen? Only what Arthas made her into, in the end?

    To Sylvanas’ knowledge Forsaken did not sleep or dream, but that was not to say they were at peace or anything remotely close. Sylvanas was no exception. Her thoughts turned to the blackest abyss more often now than a few weeks earlier. Waking nightmares, stubbornly clinging to the back of her mind even as she tried to shake them off. Visions of herself as Arthas’ unwitting pawn, of her leading the Forsaken to ruin or to renewed slavery under the Lich King. Visions of herself torching forests, cities, kingdoms along a dark path without escape. Would she take the first step onto it tomorrow? Or, more likely, had she already taken that step a long time ago?

    Was there no real hope for them at all?

    Sylvanas was so deep in thought that she had not heard the quiet steps next to her. Unacceptably sloppy.

    ”What do you see out there?” Anyas voice was quiet and gentle.

    Sylvanas should dismiss the question. Deflect it. Answer something witty. Counter with a question of how the rangers were doing learning the basics of sailing to assist the crew.
    But the thought of doing any of those things to Anya disgusted her beyond description now. Before the deep red of her eyes Sylvanas found herself, or more precisely the armour that was the Dark Lady, crumbling to nothing.

    ”Our ruin.”

    ”You have sharp eyes.” Anya said after a while. ”To me it is still rather misty.”

    They said nothing for a moment. Then, to Sylvanas astonishment, Anya began to sing. She had a low, smooth singing voice with the etheral echo of a banshee nearly unnoticeable.

    ”Shadows to the right of me
    Shadows to the left of me
    Dancing flame, withered tree
    Death ahead of me

    Sword and shackle wait for me
    Guarding shadows shelter me
    In the darkness I am free
    Death ahead of me

    Shadows calling back for me
    Shadows lie ahead of me
    What they hide I can not see
    Death ahead of me”

    To another pair of ears the words might have sounded morbid and depressing but the more Sylvanas thought of it the less sure she was about that. The shadows were their element now, their home ground to hide in. And death was not the end for an undead; on the contrary, the way Anya sang it was more as a second chance or a new life ahead of them to experience.

    ”How can you still hope, Anya?”

    ”How can you?”

    ”Who says I do?

    ”Would any of us be here now if you did not think there was a small piece of hope left for us?”

    How could someone so deadly as Anya have such a gentle voice?

    ”Hope fails.”

    Hope fails. Dark Ladies rise again. So as long as I have my Dark Lady I’ll still think we have a chance.”

    A weak, thoughtless part of Sylvanas wanted her to close her eyes and just lose herself in that voice and never think a single thought again. It was a dangerous part of her.
    Hardly a day went by without Sylvanas dreading the moment when Scarlet or Scourge armies would come for them in earnest and casualties would mount, but the thought of losing Anya or Areiel secretly terrified her. They were not useful, although both were among the very best, they were needed. Sylvanas despised herself for it but she needed both her captain and her own lieutenant for purely selfish reasons these days. She could no longer imagine herself leading the Forsaken without Areiel standing steady at hers ide or without Anyas calming presence around her. Anya who always seemed to know what she was thinking without having to ask. Anya who she knew secretly would like nothing better than to just be Sylvanas’ ranging partner like before, when the worst thing Sylvanas had to worry about was getting Anya to safety before she bled out from a troll spear in her leg.

    Anya who drew her a bath from nothing but a pile of rubble and, of all things, boiled soap just to give Sylvanas a moment of comfort. And Sylvanas had just… Belore, what a shameful way to repay Anyas efforts.

    She wanted so much to find the right words, to put shape and form to the cloud of unease and regret that formed up inside. But it seemed that her ways with words were a thing of the past as well.

    ”For what it’s worth I am…sorry for walking out on you before the way I did.” Sylvanas whispered hoarsely. ”I am not the Dark Lady you deserve.”

    Sylvanas stood stiffly and almost expected Anya to scoff at her completely pathetic attempt at apology. Maybe laugh coldly at her and walk away.

    She did not expect Anya to smile.

    She did absolutely not expect Anya to twine her fingers with Sylvanas’, terrible clawed gauntlets and all, and squeeze them.

    ”I don’t want the Dark Lady I deserve. I want the one I have. I want my Sylvanas Windrunner.”

    Sylvanas slumped and closed her eyes. What in all the world had she done to deserve that? But here was her incomparable and irreplacable lieutenant anyway.

    Well. So long as Sylvanas had Anya Eversong by her side perhaps there would still be a chance for her to make things right.

    One small chance.

    One last chance.
    Last edited by Maltacus; August 27, 2022 at 07:03 AM.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
    An Orcs Tale, a Third Age AAR - Completed.
    Reviewed by Alwyn in the Critics Quill
    My Dread Lady, a Warcraft Total War AAR - 27 chapters done.
    Home to Midgard, a Third Age AAR about two dwarves, a spy and a diplomat - Completed (pictures remade up to chapter 19).
    Reviewed by Boustrophedon in The Critics Quill

  3. #43
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    Chapter VI-II. Waves and Wails
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Ever since she became Ranger-General of Silvermoon, Sylvanas made it a point to keep everything around and about her in immaculate and precise order to the best of her ability. And the table now before her was anything but that. It was a travesty, a cluttered, disordered heresy against every tenet of elven military professionalism.

    After a couple of weeks of preparation and planning, the captains cabin – now turned into the Dark Ladys temporary headquarters – was drowning in sketches, notes and above all a dangerously overloaded table where Forsaken and enemy formations battled for control of a rough depiction of the terrain south of Brill. With the state of strategical planning accessories being what it was, the thick-headed enemy was using wooden pegs while the sharp Forsaken were represented by iron nails, all promptly requisitioned from the ships carpenters supplies.

    ”Yes, this should work. I think we’ve nailed it now, Dark Lady.”

    And yes, Areiel was still being Areiel.

    And thanks to, well, Areiel being Areiel in the other ways than her crass excuse for humour, they had a workable idea for how to conduct a set battle in the field. It had been a long-winded exercise in forcing them to rid temselves of elven military doctrine and at least partially embrace the clumsy human ways of doing things. The Forsaken as a whole were much more human than elven and instead of ranks of nimble archers supported by swift mounted units Sylvanas would now have to work with mainly heavy infantry with very few mounted or ranged troops.

    Their new kind of strength was having the numbers to form long and deep lines capable of standing their ground, at least relatively, but doing so would also result in massive losses over time and the tricky question was how to prevent those. The dark rangers would open the battle as they always had, picking off enemy skirmishers and hiding the Forsaken dispositions. The would then melt away into the infantry lines and hurry to one wing with her best units, currently deathguards and abominations, where they would swing around the enemy flank along with the banshees and concentrate all ranged power in one spot at a time. The Forsaken other wing would meanwhile step back to buy itself some time before the enemy devoured it. If Sylvanas could win on her strong side before the foe won on her weak one, she could roll up the enemy front before the weaker Forsaken were grinded down.
    There were many unknown variables, not least how to prevent massed enemy cavalry from delaying her missile troops too much or overwhelming the weaker wing completely, but so far it would have to do. She had some ideas of concentrating those Forsaken adept with halberds and similar weapons at those spots, or adopting square or column formations to take the edge off a cavalry charge.

    As usual after a long session of tactical planning and war games, they were moving on to more everyday matters.

    Areiel produced a list.

    ”To start with today, we are currently diverting key resources to gatheiring supplies – scavenging the ruins, gathering herbs and other ingredients, even a few mining operations. This is generally carried out by our civilians with an escort of deathguards or rangers. That, in my opinion, needs to cease sooner or later, preferably sooner.”

    ”Oh? Would you have them go without escort?”

    Sylvanas was honestly surprised. It wasn’t like Areiel to risk lives if there was the slimmest of chances to avoid it.

    ”They can escort themselves.” Seeing Sylvanas’ curious look Areiel continued to explain. ”I see you haven’t been out in town much lately, my lady. There is a surge of eager volunteers arming themselves with whatever they can get their hands on and lining up to train. These new mighty champions won’t do much of an impression against anything regular in the field but I’m sure they can handle the odd disgruntled zombie around Brill.”

    It was actually…not a bad decision. The Forsakens current lack of raw materials and functional workshops, and lack of need for food, made it hard to utilise the surplus of craftsmen and farmers in defense of the Undercity. Most were engaged in excavating and improving the catacombs and sewers but there was a limit to how many could effectively work an area at the same time and with their few tools, and such tasks were also not for everybody. But…

    ”Can you imagine what this is going to look like? Scores of amateurs running around the citys outskirts hacking at feral ghouls with a rusty shovel and a – what, a grocery list of alchemical ingredients in their left hand?”

    ”Precisely!” Areiel grinned.

    ”Belore, so long as I don’t have to watch it myself…”

    ”Well, as Dark Lady you could delegate more menial tasks after all. And I think I know just the right person to keep track of all our new prodigies and their errands. I am sure that Varimathras will be up to the job and eager to do his part for his fine city.”

    Sylvanas almost laughed.

    ”I see you have given this some thought, Areiel. Approved!” she smiled appreciateively. ”And ’quests’, I think.”

    Areiel raised an eyebrow.

    ”Call it ’quests’ rather than ’errands’. That should instill a sense of importance and motivate these newbies.”

    Areiel grinned and nodded. Then she grew more serious.

    ”I have heard an especially ugly rumour that I believe you should know about. It’s nothing I have had opportunity or time to corroborate but the mere rumour is bad enough.”
    Sylvanas braced herself. The Forsaken talked and gossiped like any other people, barring the Scourge of course, even though their subjects tended towards the grim and morbid.
    ”There are whispers among some of the newcomers, at least I think that’s where they’ve originated, about some of them having had contact with the Scarlets and…cut deals.”
    Sylvanas flinched.

    ”What sort of deals?” she asked, tense as a bowstring.

    ”The sort you are thinking about. Information. Trading someone elses safety for their own. Perhaps someone elses existence. And if that is true and Scarlets somehow have their hooks into some of ours in the city, of course spying and sabotage too.”

    Sylvanas wanted to close her eyes and just scream in frustration. To Wail. She could feel the banshee inside her boiling under the surface and forced her down with what felt like a monumental effort. Of all illogical things, would the rabid fanatics of the Scarlet Crusade be capable of putting their blinding hatred aside long enough to truly undermine the Forsaken? Well, of course they would, because why would they be spared that or any other rotten filth that the world tossed at them? Was she naive not to have expected something like this? Well, evidently so. Foolish enough to give in to wishful thinking that free will could come without the downsides of all peoples dishonesty and capacity for betrayal.

    Areiel waited for Sylvanas to gather herself.

    ”We have no way of knowing what is true or not when we are so blind outside the immediate vicinity of the Undercity. But the whispers are spreading and they will work their mischief on us regardless unless we find something to counter with. I will investigate this as best I can when we get back.”

    Sylvanas nodded and they moved on to the next item and the next. But she wasn’t quite there. As hard as she tried to focus on the present and the issue at hand there was a sense of urgency that had taken root inside of her. Her thoughts ran in circles, only to return time and again to the festering, vague feeling that she was running out of time much faster than she had hoped.

    She had to make this expedition worth it, and then get back home as fast as they possibly could.
    Last edited by Maltacus; September 01, 2022 at 02:35 PM.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
    An Orcs Tale, a Third Age AAR - Completed.
    Reviewed by Alwyn in the Critics Quill
    My Dread Lady, a Warcraft Total War AAR - 27 chapters done.
    Home to Midgard, a Third Age AAR about two dwarves, a spy and a diplomat - Completed (pictures remade up to chapter 19).
    Reviewed by Boustrophedon in The Critics Quill

  4. #44
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Like new screeny

  5. #45
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Chapter VI-III. Waves and Wails
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Jaina put down her latest half-written letter and stretched her arms, stifling a yawn. It was well past her bedtime, she thought ironically. Tides, she was still embarrassed by how she had fallen asleep with Pained left to sit alone in the dark beside her. The fact that Pained waved away all her attempted apologies and excuses only made it ten times worse. So now Jaina had delved into the subject of alchemy – never her best one – and more specifically the brewing of sleeping potions. She had a shelf of recommended mixes waiting to be tested that she still hesitated to use, dreading the disappointed look that Jaina knew she could count on receiving from Pained once she found out what they were. Or once she stopped pretending not to have found out, which was perhaps just as likely.

    But Jaina saw no other option for the moment. She couldn’t keep grabbing at random night elves to play at being her mother, for Tides’ sake! Not ot mention falling asleep at meetings so that random gnomes had act her father and send her to bed while covering for her. How enormously stupid of her. She was supposed to be a grown woman practically in charge of a city!

    Some ruler she was, too.

    Lover to a mass murderer whom she failed to stop or reason with.

    Patricide by her own inaction, and not even with shame enough to truly regret her choice.

    Disowned by her own homeland and family.

    Jaina knew, rationally speaking, that she was being neither constructive nor consequent towards herself, and that if she had heard the same judgements directed against someone else she would be sorely tempted to summon a very pointy ice lance against whoever delivered them. But it was one thing to know and another to bring herself to act in accordance with it. So she shut herself inside her office most days while not attending meetings and inspections, maintaining strict professionalism towards the people she thought herself increasingly unfit to lead. She was delegating what she could think of, and sometimes entertained the notion of removing herself completely from Theramoores government. Perhaps that would be for the best after all.

    It was just that she didn’t truly want to. Tides be damned, but as low in esteem as she held herself she still liked ruling Theramoore. She did not want to turn into an autocrat, and she could most evidently not do it alone, nor would she ever wish for anyone to be afraid to speak out if she did something wrong. But sometimes she could allow a little bit of herself deep, deep inside to be genuinely proud and happy for what she had managed to do for her little city in the middle of nowhere.

    Maybe she just needed a break, going away somewhere for a while. Perhaps she could ask Tyrande if she could visit, and let Pained spend some time with her kin in the process? But there was always so much to do.

    A chill ran through Jaina and she rose to peek out of her window left ajar. Even though the summer was brutally hot, both the interior and the coast of Kalimdor had cold periods in abundance and there was definitely a chilly sense to the night. Jaina considered shutting her window competely but settled for wrapping a robe around herself instead. She could use every bit of fresh air in her study after a long days work.

    Jaina yawned and sighed. She could give her little city another hour tonight before her eyes would shut themselves and her dreams would be impossible to keep out. She noted how the wind was increasing outside and raindrops were starting to hammer against her towers roof.

    There seemed to be a storm coming.
    Last edited by Maltacus; September 01, 2022 at 02:35 PM.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
    An Orcs Tale, a Third Age AAR - Completed.
    Reviewed by Alwyn in the Critics Quill
    My Dread Lady, a Warcraft Total War AAR - 27 chapters done.
    Home to Midgard, a Third Age AAR about two dwarves, a spy and a diplomat - Completed (pictures remade up to chapter 19).
    Reviewed by Boustrophedon in The Critics Quill

  6. #46
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    Chapter VI-IV. Waves and Wails
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    ”When meeting foreign powers for the first time, be polite and do not rush things if at all possible. Allow the other party to form his or her opinion about your faction at their own pace. Rushed decisions are rash decisions, and adds the risk of the other party deciding to dislike you just out of spite for being rushed.

    Always have a moderate amount of food and drink close by. An embassy negotiates on its stomach and lack of sustenance leads to unrest in any gathering.

    Always have plenty of maps at hand. Maps are beautiful to look at during boring conversations and having them instills a sense of importance in attending delegates and makes them more tractable to your proposals.

    Try not to kidnap foreign heads of state.”

    Excerpt from ”A Dwarven Treatise of Elementary Diplomatic Conduct” (working title ”Diplomacy for Dummies”).


    The midnight watch was close when they sighted Theramoores faint lights in the distance. The wind was blowing hard from the north and whitecaps would have been visible everywhere were it not for the looming darkness of the sky, black with massive clouds boding ill for any captain foolish enough to be caught under their gaze.

    Captain Davey Bonecarver lowered his looking glass and nodded to Sylvanas who had just stepped onto the quarterdeck.

    ”I reckon we ’ave a quarter-glass or two before we’re about to enter Theramoore Bay south of the town.”

    ”Very good, captain. Prepare the longboat for me. I will approach as openly and visibly as possible and negotiate safe passage for us into the bay and signal to you when it is safe to approach.”

    ”Aye, wouldn’t want to find out firsthand if these Alliance fellows have cannons ashore. But ye best hurry, my lady. Whatever business ye’re going to ’ave, that storm isn’t going to wait for it. I want to have us either safe and sound in the bay or well off the coast by then.”

    Sylvanas nodded.

    ”Signal us if the winds grow too strong, with a lantern waved in circles. I will signal back if you can approach or return to the ship.”

    The ship carried two boats of which Sylvanas was now taking the largest. Seven ranger were with her, all banshees and fully armed but brushed and polished to their best. It was a shame it was so dark, for it was a rare sight to see that band of brigands look so smart, Sylvanas thought almost fondly.

    The waves nearly upturned them as soon as they pushed away from the ships hull and only after altering their course half to the north could they begin to make progress towards the harbour. Every cloak was soaked through in a minute and they were regularly showered every time a new wave crashed into their fore. The light of their lantern looked pitifully small in the night and just as Sylvanas wondered if she should wave it to call attention to them a particularly large wave crashed over them and tore the lantern with it into the churning waters.

    Sylvanas could have sworn several times that they were going more backward than forward but at long last the boat slammed into a thick post of theramoores dock, seemingly half filled with water at this point despite the the frantic bailing of the rangers aft of their rowers.

    Anya tossed a line to Sylvanas, or a head spring or whatever it was captain Bonecarver insisted it was called, and after a nearly being swept away by the waves several times they had secured their little vessel. Sylvanas leaned down and helped her rangers climb out, or more like heaved them up on the pier by herself. They had lost a quiver and a couple of bows to the storm, and the strings of the rest were likely unusable despite the oiled leather sleeves that protected them from more normal amounts of rain. As Sylvanas rose from helping Clea up as the last one, clanking steps caught her attention and half a dozen city guards in the typical Alliance mail and plate armour were running up to them.

    ”Hold it!”

    ”Stay right there!”

    Sylvanas rose to her full height and took an unneeded breath to compose herself. She was unimpressed by the soldiers apparent skittishness but she would not let herself be distracted now.

    ”Greetings. I am…” Sylvanas began in her clearest Common, almost shouting to be heard over the wind.

    ”You be a smuggler I reckon, skulking in the night like this!”

    ”Or a spy, sergeant!”

    Sylvanas flinched. What? What were they thinking, that a smuggler would moor at the docks in the middle of a storm and without carrying any goods?

    ”Sergeant! They’re undead!”

    ”The undead! The undead are here!”

    ”To arms!”

    No…

    ”I wish to speak to Lady Jaina Proudmoore!” Sylvanas declaimed, more and more desperate to retain a semblance of control over the situation. ”I assure you we have no hostile intentions against Theramoore!” She stretched her arms along her sides and sprawled her fingers to indicate that she was unarmed.

    ”They’re undead assassins, sergeant!” one voice called out, frantic and apparently panicking.

    ”You will stand down and surrender your weapons immediately!” the one that was apparently a Theramoorian sergeant barked. Sylvanas did not miss the trembling of his voice that he tried to hide. ”Prepare to be taken into custody!”

    What?!

    As if on cue, every dark ranger drew a blade and spread out to protect Sylvanas. It was in every way the right thing of them to do. And in every way the wrong thing. Sylvanas’ vision narrowed, darkness closed in from all around, darkness that boiled and bubbled and wanted her to let go of herself and be one with it, one with her limitless wrath over each and every thing done to her, to the elves, to the Forsaken. Her pent-up frustration tore at its mental shackles, her anguish of being made into a monster and a murderer, of watching helplessly as her envoys were killed without question and her rangers walked away to seek their deaths, of listening to the frightened whispers of Forsaken families hunted like vermin by a world united by only its hatred of them.

    Sylvanas could hear faint voices and shouts. Time had slowed to a crawl, every second seeming like an hour.

    ”…call for support…”

    ”Back off!”

    ”…we need mages!”

    Sylvanas clenched and unclenched her fists. She tried to breathe, to focus her thoughts on anything at all. But the more she tried, the more they flooded freely.

    It was an ambush, it had to be. Was this the plan all along of the Alliance? To starve her of allies until she became desperate enough to risk herself, depriving the Forsaken of their leader? Would the rest of them be hunted and taken down following her death here?

    The guards were shouting, there was a commotion now.

    They would lose it all. They had lost it all. They had lost. She had lost. She felt herself falling down into a hole of darkness, darkness in which waited the mocking laughter of the Lich King to welcome back his murderous banshee into the fold. Was that her fate, cruel and inescapable? Was freedom of choice but an illusion for the dead?

    She could hear more calling, differently now. There was a flash at the periphery and a new voice rang out, loud and clear and most evidently upset.

    ”What in the Tides’ name is going on here?!”

    Sylvanas could practically taste the arcane magic in the air. Was this their plan then, waiting for their mages to come and finish them? She could agree that it was a sensible tactic.
    She was falling deeper into the darkness. There would be no escape.

    Not for Sylvanas.

    Not for her rangers that she had led here.

    Not for Clea, who would never admit how uncomfortable she was on water and would sail to the worlds end for her, but who clung to her arm for dear life when she dragged her onto the quay.

    Not for Anya.

    Her vision turned red and all the world burned before her.

    And Sylvanas Wailed.

    She could see flashes and the shimmering outline of something that a part of her mind knew was a mages shield, but it was a thought that the rest of her could not hear over the anguished and furious scream that rang in her unnatural being.

    Boiling darkness formed into tendrils around Sylvanas, smoking and writhing like flames. She closed her eyes and willed them back inside her, falling to her knees and curling into herself as if that would contain her banshee self.

    Eventually the last echo of her Wail died down and only the wind and the waves thundered in the night.

    She looked up, only to see a lone mage swaying and falling into the ground, hitting her head against the uneven timber of the quay. A human woman in a nightrobe. She did not rise or open her eyes.

    Sylvanas senses returned, rapidly now. Her rangers were still there. There was no sign of the Theramoore soldiers. The mage was injured for sure, having lost consciousness from the fall if not from the sheer power of the Wail. How was she even alive?

    She heard her rangers cry out and turned around to see the agreed upon signal on the ship far out in the storm. In fact there were three signals, her captain taking no chances.

    Sylvanas could feel the wind rising even further. What of the mage? They had to leave, there would be no time to seek out the humans of the city, let alone hand her over in a safe way. She hand’t attacked them, she had arrived late and only shielded the soldiers, saving them from Sylvanas’ Wail. Saving Sylvanas from having even more blood on her hands.

    She could leave her here. To die from a wound or injury yet undiscovered or contract pneumonia, if she was lucky enough not to be blown straight into the sea!

    She could not do that. Somewhere deep inside her rotten black banshee soul Sylvanas refused to do that.

    She bent down and scooped up the mage, carefully cradling the womans head against her shoulder and holding her tight. Her neck seemed whole at least, but she was bleeding from a head wound, smearing the tangled trussels of hair that hung over her face.

    ”Take your banshee forms! Fly to the ship!”
    Last edited by Maltacus; September 01, 2022 at 02:34 PM.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
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    My Dread Lady, a Warcraft Total War AAR - 27 chapters done.
    Home to Midgard, a Third Age AAR about two dwarves, a spy and a diplomat - Completed (pictures remade up to chapter 19).
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  7. #47
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    I'm enjoying your distinctive characters, such as despairing Sylvanas, kind Anya and the humour and perceptiveness of Areiel. The phrasing works well, too, I particularly like the line about "Scores of amateurs running around the citys outskirts hacking at feral ghouls with a rusty shovel"!

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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Chapter VII-I. Sleeping and Sailing
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Sylvanas dropped down on a chair in the captains cabin. If she had been alive she would have felt exhausted.

    The crew had hung a hammock across the rather small space while Sylvanas and her rangers checked the mage for visible injuries. She seemed fine as far as they could tell, meaning concretely no broken bones and no bleeding wounds, and she breathed steadily. Sylvanas had carried her to bed (well, hammock) herself and put a blanket from the bed over her. She was about to rise and leave at that point but then thought better of it. They were on their way and she couldn’t help the captain in any meaningful way with riding out the storm. Besides, their captive was a mage after all and someone needed to watch her in case she woke up and decided to turn the ship to cinder.

    And there was this storm to consider as well. For all Sylvanas knew some errant rocking of the ship might even knock her out of her hammock. The ship rode the waves well enough as far as Sylvanas could tell but you couldn’t be too careful with head wounds. The living were such frail creatures.

    So Sylvanas sat next to her and the bucket that some thoughtful person – probably Areiel – had remembered to bring along with the hammock in case its occupant would feel sick.

    Thinking.

    What a complete and utter failure this was.

    A diplomatic mission twisted into a…a nighttime raid? Like some band of damned pirates? All because of, what really? The cursed storm that had forced them to hurry everything along? The unbending hostility of the human soldiers? Her own impatience? Her own… Panic.

    They could have done it differently. They could have sailed into the bay and let hemselves be trapped there while enduring the storm, then landed in daylight. They could have located Theramoore and then sailed up the coast to anchor and approach the town by land, scouting it out and making some kind of contact with their patrols or travellers or whatever. But she had been too fearful to trust Theramoore Bay beneath the Alliance eyes and too impatient to find secure anchorage along the coast, which would likely have been no quick and easy task with the jagged rocks that seemed to be a defining feature of Kalimdor.

    It all came down to Sylvanas herself. Her people trusted in her. And she had let them all down.

    What a complete and utter failure she was.

    Sylvanas thoughts were interrupted when the mage suddenly opened her eyes and sat straight up, gasping and letting out a scream, only to fall back down again. Sylvanas saw her face contort in pain, she must have a monstrous headache at the very least, and her eyelids were coming down by themselves again. She must be absolutely exhausted from shielding herself against a point blank Wail for so long, Sylvanas reckoned. That she had stayed alive at all was really no small feat.

    But the mage did not seem to be getting much rest. She was tossing and turning from one side to the other, with her features hard and drawn tight. That wouldn’t do. Sylvanas hesitantly clamped down with her gauntleted hand on the mages arm with what she hoped wasn’t too hard a grip. She should have taken those clawed things off, really. But the mage did not struggle against her grip. On the contrary, she seemed if anything steadied by it and after a while her fitful movements had stopped and she was sleeping soundly.
    Sylvanas awkwardly begun rocking her hammock a little. She felt a bit better somehow when looking at the sleeping mage.

    The night went by, with only the sound of the raging wind outside and the creaking of the ship to be heard. Or, no, not really. She could hear the mage breathe after all, and if she concentrated she could hear her heartbeat. How long had it been since Sylvanas had heard such peaceful sounds? How long since she had just sat down and listened to nothing in particular? Since before she died, most likely. Not that she needed it in any way. But it was…not unpleasant.

    The sky had started to turn towards the faintest of grey when the mage made a pained, whimpering sound. Sylvanas looked up and saw her face tense and her eyes moving underneath the eyelids. Her jaw was clenched hard and she moaned in a way that grew ever more frightened with each sound.

    Sylvanas rose and leaned closer over the mage. Was she mumbling something?

    ”No…don’t do it…don’t hurt them!”

    Sylvanas hesitated. It wasn’t her concern really if the mage had nightmares. Not as if she actually really cared or anything.

    ”…can not watch you… …do th… …thas…”

    The mage seemed more and more agitated. Could human spellcasters accidentally start casting in their sleep? That would be a mess.

    ”Sleep.” Sylvanas whispered softly and took hold of her arm again, as gently as she could and careful not to poke her with the claws, because of course she had forgotten to take them off. Had the mage turned slightly towards her? ”Sleep.” she whispered again. The mage seemed to sink back a little into her pillow, her jaw not so terribly set and her shoulders not so stiff. She drew a ragged breath and sounded more sad than scared now, sobbing lightly and grasping the blanket in a pitiful way.

    Sylvanas turned her chair around and sat down again so she was looking right at the mage, who was calming down. Sylvanas felt a small, stupid little hint of satisfaction at that. Her own thoughts were a little calmer too, she noticed. Quieter. She leaned back in her chair and kept rocking the hammock without really thinking about it.

    She wondered who that mage was. She had dark blonde hair, actually looking quite golden now that the light was slowly returning, and an elegant jaw like most of the elves. But she was distinctly human too, her chin and cheeks and nose tip a little rounder and softer than an elfs and of course those tiny round mouse ears the humans had to make do with.

    Sometimes it surprised Sylvanas how they could even hear themselves talking. Perhaps that explained why some of them were so extraordinarily loud. She almost reached out to stroke that intriguing little ear until she came to her senses.

    How old could the girl be? The rounded, soft features of her face resembled those of an elven child and the impression was likely added to by how she was sleeping peacefully nestled in her hammock, but she was far too tall for that. She seemed to be only slightly shorter than Sylvanas, which would put her on par with almost any elf.

    Alleria had made up a rhyme about human ageing one time when she was teasing Turalyon, with every sentence beginning with a ”T”. How did it go, now again? Human ages were measured in Tens. Tiny until Ten. Then Teenagers. Then Twenties. Then Thirties. Then…Tired?

    Sylvanas almost found herself smiling at the memory of her irreverent and wild sister, never too old to arrive at a fancy dinner with straws in her hair and mud on her boots, gracelessly crashing into her chair like a sack of beets no matter how stony the gaze from her mother or how deep the frown from her father. Curious. It certainly wasn’t often she could think of Alleria without pain.

    The mage in any case would probably be a Teenager or in her early Twenties Sylvanas thought. Just a couple of decades old. Seriously, all of them practically Toddlers in comparison…

    Wait.

    Wait one Sun-blessed bloody moment.

    It couldn’t be, could it?

    No, who was she kidding, of course it could be because why on Azeroth should it not?

    Tentative, as if afraid to do do it and of the answer, Sylvanas whispered.

    ”What is your name?”

    The mage stirred and moved her head a little, with her eyes still closed.

    ”J…Jaina…” she mumbled sleepily.

    Sylvanas recoiled, and stepped back towards the door as if the mage had turned into a venomous reptile.

    For once in her unlife she needed air.
    Attached Thumbnails Attached Thumbnails 7-1.jpg  
    Last edited by Maltacus; September 01, 2022 at 02:32 PM.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
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    Reviewed by Alwyn in the Critics Quill
    My Dread Lady, a Warcraft Total War AAR - 27 chapters done.
    Home to Midgard, a Third Age AAR about two dwarves, a spy and a diplomat - Completed (pictures remade up to chapter 19).
    Reviewed by Boustrophedon in The Critics Quill

  9. #49
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    The description of how Alleria would arrive at a fancy dinner party is brilliant, and I'm wondering about the events that the mage was dreaming about - and what will happen now that Sylvanas has discovered the mage's name.

  10. #50
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Chapter VII-II. Sleeping and Sailing
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Dawn was almost breaking outside. The sea was still in turmoil but the storm was passing now and the sky was grey rather than black. The ship tore defiantly through the waves, a couple of reefed sails providing the bare minimum of speed and maneuvrability.

    Areiel met her with a concerned look but also a mischievous glint in her eyes.

    ”Is the little sweetheart asleep?” she whispered.

    Sylvanas glared the darkest glare she could muster. They were in the middle of a political disaster, it was not the time for frivolities.

    ”The kid certainly looked like she needed a nap.” her insufferable ranger captain continued unperturbed. ”Is that why we’re kid-napping her?”

    Areiel was biting her lip of all things. This was not funny!

    ”I expect you to have been briefed by Anya about the encounter at the docks.” Sylvanas replied icily in her strictest commander voice.

    It glanced off Areiel like a wooden club on plate armour. Indeed, having been Sylvanas’ old commander and mentor centuries upon centuries ago seemed to make people immune to all her tricks.

    ”And woman, Areiel. She is an adult and an Alliance mage. Gather the rangers and captain Bonecarver. I have an announcement to make.”

    ”No problem, they’re all on deck. We’ve searched the ship for every bucket and barrel capable of holding a drop of water the last couple of hours.”

    ”What for?”

    ”The rainwater. We don’t have any drinking water onboard so I reckoned it would be high time to gather some now that we’re taking on living passengers. We will still need to go ashore soon to provision, we can hardly count on fishing for the whole journey.”

    That was…outstandingly practical thinking. Sylvanas decided that she could let Areiel off for this time. Suddenly it struck her how Areiel had assumed that they would bring the mage, no, Jaina Proudmoore, with them back to the Undercity and not objected in the slightest.

    The other dark rangers and Bonecarver were quick to round up. Sylvanas strode in front of them and assumed a strict stance with her hands clasped behind her back and towering over the small assembly as much as possible.

    ”Rangers, captain, after the engagement last night our mission to Theramoore must as of now be considered a failure. We have been met with hostility from the citys forces without being given a chance to plead our cause. From now on we must consider Theramoore as hostile to our cause. I wish to underline that any responsibility for this setback rests solely on me. Rangers, you did everything you were supposed to. Captain, convey my compliments to your crew. They have performed under exceptionally harsh conditions this night.” she concluded with a brisk nod that made Bonecarver stand a little taller.

    ”This leads us to the question of the mage now in our custody. She is Jaina Proudmoore, the ruler of Theramoore. She is also an archmage of considerable skill according to our admittedly insufficient sources, but in light of the extraordinarily powerful shielding she demonstrated this night I am inclined to regard that as a proven fact.”

    ”Dark Lady, we found this on the quay right before you ordered us back to the ship. I thought you’d want to know.” Clea held out a staff, ornate and topped with a blue crystal. Fairly elegant in fact.

    An archmages staff.

    ”It must be hers. Well done. Keep it hidden for now and do not speak of it unless I say so.”

    Clea nodded.

    ”Why did we bring her with us?”

    ”What’s the plan now?”

    ”How are we going to guard an archmage?”

    Sylvanas held up a hand, halting the stream of questions.

    ”With the Alliance evidently hostile, Lady Proudmoore will serve as our hostage which should prove useful. If we aren’t already accused of having attacked Theramoore it is only a matter of time until we will be. No other faction possess similar ranger troops.”

    And especially not under the command of such an easily recognizable commander, hung unspoken in the air.

    ”Not to mention that a Wail like that practically screams of banshees and banshee queens.” Areiel added with a smirk, leaning back casually with her arms crossed.

    The rangers snickered while Sylvanas resisted the urge to throw something at Areiel.

    ”How do you wish to handle this, Dark Lady?” Areiel continued slightly more seriously. ”Mages tend to be ’dangerous if provoked’, as they say.”

    Sylvanas shot a long glare at her. But the question had merit, and truth be told she wasn’t even completely sure herself. Her mind was still spinning with thoughts and questions.

    ”I am confident that our combined strength can easily overpower her should the need arise, but currently that is not an acceptable outcome as the damage to the ship would be catastrophic. I will handle the majority of guarding myself and you are to treat Lady Proudmoore firmly and not let her out of your sight when I am unavailable. I will review what we know about her and see if there is an angle that can be exploited to keep her off balance. For the time being our official standpoint towards her is that the Forsaken delegation was attacked unprovoked when approaching openly and without any declaration of hostile intent. That will be all for now.”

    The rangers rose and saluted her, and went about their tasks again.

    As Syvanas was about to return to her cabin Anya approached her.

    ”You know it could be a very long journey home, Dark Lady.” she begun matter-of-factly. ”So you should have plenty of opportunity to speak with Lady Proudmoore.”

    ”So long as I can keep her from incinerating our ship, yes.” Sylvanas shrugged.

    ”So what if you could win her over to our side? Then Theramoore would no longer be hostile if their ruler wasn’t. Perhaps you could try to be a bit nice to her too and not so, you know, dark and looming all the time? It’s just a suggestion.”

    Sylvanas wondered whether Anya was actually serious as she stepped down the stair to check upon her…prisoner? Ward? Guest? What was Lady Proudmoore really to her? Sylvanas shrugged. Her mage, as much as anything else. Her mage to keep her eyes on. She had better not forget what that woman could do. And it felt more right inside her than any other term, somehow.

    Her mage.

    Sylvanas told herself that Anya must have been jesting to lighten her mood after all the trials during the night. She would just keep Proudmoore in check and preferably put her in her place so she wouldn’t bother Sylvanas’ rangers or her crew, nothing more.
    Last edited by Maltacus; September 06, 2022 at 01:27 PM.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
    An Orcs Tale, a Third Age AAR - Completed.
    Reviewed by Alwyn in the Critics Quill
    My Dread Lady, a Warcraft Total War AAR - 27 chapters done.
    Home to Midgard, a Third Age AAR about two dwarves, a spy and a diplomat - Completed (pictures remade up to chapter 19).
    Reviewed by Boustrophedon in The Critics Quill

  11. #51
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Chapter VII-III. Sleeping and Sailing
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Jaina woke up peacefully, opening her eyes in slight wonder about that very fact. There was light dancing across a wooden roof above her, coming from somewhere above her head, and the room she was in smelled of wood and a bit of tar and the homely, familiar damp air of a closed space. Jaina knew that smell very well. Was she on a ship? She surely was, and at sea no less. She could feel it rolling in the waves. And she was in a hammock? That must be why she had slept so soundly. Although there was something else.

    There had been a…a dream? A dream of glowing red eyes and a strange voice. A deep, alluring voice that echoed and made her go back to sleep and calm down. A voice that not even Jainas nightmares dared say no to it would seem. She strained to recall more of how it had sounded and nearly cried out.

    Aouch!

    No. No, no, no. Absolutely no thinking or remembering for the time being. Tides, her head hurt! What had happened to her? She wasn’t sure she could even feel her arms and legs, even. Jaina wondered how long she had been knocked out like this. She hadn’t…embarassed herself, had she? No, it didn’t seem like that. Her clothes and bedclothes were just a bit damp, because…because she had been outside and… No. No thinking. Hurt.

    Jaina was getting angry at herself. For all she knew she could be captured by enemies of some kind who intended to kill or torture her and she worried about the state of her bedclothes? Although people who abused their prisoners rarely put them in hammocks with blankets first as far as Jaina knew. And damn that line of thinking anyway because now she had to get up.

    The world spun and every blurry piece of furniture suddenly had twin brothers and Jaina pushed back the urge to vomit. She stood swaying and grasping the hammock for support as Azeroth slowly realigned itself around her. Uuuh… It was worse than the day after the celebration party when she had been accepted as Antonidas’ apprentice, toasting the fruits of weeks of badgering and stalking and pestering her new mentor from dawn to dusk. Jaina blinked owlishly and looked around. She was in some sort of officers cabin likely, with windows that let in the morning sun and a cluttered desk, a bed built into the wall, a few cupboards and her hammock. Her foot touched a dented bucket that someone had left next to it. Well, that very considerate person would probably be considerate enough to not mind if Jaina borrowed it for a while, especially since she currently didn’t trust herself to take more than five steps anywhere on this ship.

    It was all Jaina could muster to put the bucket back in a corner and crawl back into her hammock. Had she said – thought - her hammock? It wasn’t like she was moving in here, was it? Her head was splitting in two, it was like one of those migraines that weeks of overworking brought on her. Maybe she had gotten drunk last evening and abdicated or something... Oh, this was intolerable, she had to reorder her thoughts. Jaina tried to breathe heavily through the headache and mentally list what she knew.

    She remembered working late. Well, when was she not working late?

    She had gone to bed, when it was pitch dark outside. There had been a storm outside.

    She had not fallen asleep because she had been disturbed by sounds from outside and a strange feeling in the air, one of strange magic?

    Jainas tower was overlooking almost everything in Theramoore and she had seen some sort of commotion by the new docks, in the middle of the night. She had wrapped a robe around her and teleported there.

    The events of last night came back to her in vivid clarity. Arriving in the middle of an argument. Weapons raised. Dark, lithe shapes on one side, Theramoorian city guards on the other. And then that horrible, horrible scream. Her head almost hurt from the memory of it. She had thrown up a shield and without thinking teleported her guards away from it. She had stood her ground – why had she done that? – until she passed out. Her night was filled with troubling dreams she could barely recall, but also that voice and those red eyes.
    Jaina looked up at the cracks and flaking paint of the ceiling while she tried tried to think. Who were the dark shapes? What kind of creature could scream like that? She went over all the monstrous, peculiar, fascinating beings of Azeroth that she knew about – the last year had certainly been educational if nothing else – but it was like her thoughts had been glued together.

    But then the cabin door was quietly opened and the answer to her question stepped inside.

    It was an elf woman, that much was quite clear by the ears sticking out of her hood and the, well, buckles of her armour. Jaina tried not to stare, but then what else in the room was she supposed to look at? And the elf was captivating. She had light blue-grey skin to start with, and was dressed in what looked like an elven rangers attire except that instead of the blue or green tones she had seen amongst those that had journeyd to Kalimdor with her, it was dark red bordering on purple, with grim silvery ornaments where graceful patterns mixed with skulls. And her eyes… They were those eyes. They were red, and they actually shone, just like in the dream that Jaina was beginning to wonder how much had really been a dream.

    The elf somehow managed to make the couple of steps to Jainas side seem like a demonstration of balance and grace. Unfair elves… She leaned forward slightly and seemed somehow even taller than she already was – definitely one of the tallest elven women Jaina had met – and somehow the room felt a shade darker.

    ”Good morning, Lady Proudmoore.”

    The simple and altogether reasonable words momentarily made Jainas brain cease to function completely. First and foremost, the voice…was that voice, and it sent a shiver down Jainas spine and made her long to hear more delicious words that dripped like melted chocolate into her ears and…wait! One of those delicious words had been ’Proudmoore’. She knew Jainas name. How did she know Jainas name? Had they met, and she didn’t remember? And why couldn’t the room stop spinning like that?

    ”W…What are…” Jaina tried.

    ”I said; ’Good morning, Lady Proudmoore’.” the elf repeated herself slowly as if questioning whether Jainas ears were functioning as they should.

    ”Oh, that… I mean, good morning too! To you.” Jaina blurted out. Tides, she was already making a mess out of this. ”I must apologize deeply if this comes across as very rude, but you obviously know my name and I am not sure if I should know yours.”

    The red eyes regarded Jaina for a moment, and she couldn’t turn her gaze away from them. They were mezmerising, like ruby red fires waiting deep inside to flare up and consume her.

    ”No. We have not met previously but I can understand your confusion. The nights incidents must have been…disorienting.” the elf continued in an even tone. ”My name is Sylvanas Windrunner. I am the queen of Lordaeron and of the Forsaken, the free undead no longer under the Lich Kings control.”

    Jaina could only stare. Queen of Lordaeron? Queen of a nation of free undead?

    ”I’m sorry to say I’m not really in any shape to bow, or curtsy, or however you do it in Lordaeron these days, your majesty.” Jaina said with an apologetic smile. ”I am, well, not quite well.”

    ”Of course.” the queen nodded. ”And in the interest of formal courtesy you my adress me as Lady Windrunner as one head of state to another.

    ”Well, Lady Windrunner, how did I end up here? I remember arriving at the docks in Theramoore just in time to stop everyone from losing their heads and attacking each other, but then there was a terrible scream that really went through my bones and my memory is blank more or less from there on.”

    The Lady Windrunner regarded Jaina silently for a second. Jaina felt like the red gaze bored into her mind and went through every thought that she had been thinking since yesterday afternoon.

    ”I am a banshee and possess several ways to incapacitate an adversary. What I hit you with was a banshees Wail, after your guards had proven Theramoores hostile intentions.”

    A banshee! Jainas brain ran through all her mentally catalogued knowledge of banshees, which was not too much, but they were still creatures that the Scourge had employed during the fighting in Ashenvale. She was so intrigued by the revelation that she almost missed the other bit of crucial information.

    ”Wait, what?! Theramoores hostile…we’ve no hostile intentions towards you!”

    ”The actions of your city guard speak otherwise, Lady Proudmoore.”

    ”But what happened? What did they do?”

    ”I arrived by boat with my escort, disembarking openly with the intention to seek out the citys rulership to negotiate safe passage for my ship into Theramoore Bay and the opening of negotiations between our respective factions. I was met by a guard patrol whose commanding officer insulted me and demanded that I would surrender myself and my bodyguards. You arrived about the next moment. As you are aware of I unleashed a Wail and you were wise to teleport your guards away. I must commend your quick action in that regard. I assume you lost consciousness after maintaining your shield for so long and I had you brought to my ship.”

    Jaina felt her face redden slightly. It was absolutely silly, but she had a profound weakness for being praised and hearing someone so impressive as Lady Windrunner recognizing her quick thinking and the strength of her spells made the blood rush to her cheeks. And there was that voice as well. It had a peculiar otherworldly echoing quality to it, sometimes almost imperceptible and sometimes very clear.

    ”As for now, you are in my custody onboard my ship. So long as you do not attempt to escape or attack me or anyone else under my command you will not be harmed. You may go where I allow it onboard the ship and you will have food and water brought to you.”

    ”Hm, well, regarding that…you probably already know that I am a mage…” Jaina began. Then she wanted to slap herself. Of course she new Jaina was a mage, she had just commented on her teleporting people away, for Tides’ sake!

    Lady Windrunner nodded.

    ”We are aware of that, and you will be under constant watch. Any attempt to cast a spell without prior permission would be…inadvisable. You would also be wise to keep in mind that the dead do not require sleep.”

    ”For now it’s not like I could conjure so much as a snowball for my head, and I don’t think I’d make it through the door without falling, but I can let you know when I’m feeling better and more dangerous.” Jaina promised, a tiny bit cheeky. It was maybe – probably – not very wise to provoke the queen of Lordaeron but she didn’t want to appear too intimidated either, and a very unwise part of her wondered what would happen if she actually did that and if those eyes could in fact burn even hotter than they already seemed to do. In that moment, Jainas stomach made a very undignified growl to remind her that she had in fact not eaten since yesterday evening and that the concept of breakfast had more to its merit than just satisfying the whims of stubborn night elf bodyguards.

    Lady Windrunner raised an eyebrow, which was enough to make Jaina want to disappear under her pillow.

    ”I will have food and water brought to your cabin as soon as it is available. My crew has gathered limited quantities of drinking water during the night but otherwise we did not expect to be carrying living passengers and did not bring any such supplies with us.”

    ”As soon as I’m able to cast again I could conjure some mana-bread or something like that, but some water would be very nice, thank you.” Jaina said gratefully and noted that her throat was in fact starting to feel very dry.

    Lady Windrunner nodded.

    ”Is the hammock to your liking?”

    ”Yes, it’s actually been quite comfortable.” Jaina nodded.

    ”Then you may continue to make use of it as well as this cabin.”

    ”May I ask, where am I? On the ship, I mean?”

    ”This is the captains cabin, which now serves as my quarters for as long as I am onboard. You may continue to use it at your leisure as I do not sleep and require little light to work. Do not mistake my occupying myself with other tasks for dropping my guard.”

    Jaina fell back into her hammock, too tired and too thirsty to ask any more questions for the moment. Her mind was spilling over with questions – they thought Theramoore was an enemy, what a Tides-damned utter mess – and things she wanted to know more about as well as clarify. But that would have to wait. She had to get her head back under control first.

    Perhaps she was too exhausted to worry as much as she probably should, but for some reason Jaina did not feel nearly so ill at ease as when she’d woken up. She did not doubt that her captor meant what she’d said, and on the one hand she was freaking scary. But on the other…Jaina could not help but long to hear more of that voice and as much as the queen of Lordaeron frightened her – which she did – Jaina also felt intrigued by her. As far as being captured and technically in enemy hands went it could certainly be considerably worse and the thought of Lady Windrunner watching over her and lending her her room made Jaina feel inexplicably warmer for some reason.

    Although, it didn’t actually fit to think of the elf as Lady WIndrunner, or as the Queen of Lordaeron either. Those were titles she bore but not who she was. Titles were for stiff, formal people doing stiff, formal things and the graceful and doubtlessly quite deadly Sylvanas Windrunner was anything but that, even though the way she spoke Common was a little old-fashioned at times.

    Sylvanas. That name was what she was, Jaina was sure of it.

    Sylvanas, with the burning eyes and the voice that made Jaina shiver.

    Last edited by Maltacus; September 06, 2022 at 01:28 PM.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
    An Orcs Tale, a Third Age AAR - Completed.
    Reviewed by Alwyn in the Critics Quill
    My Dread Lady, a Warcraft Total War AAR - 27 chapters done.
    Home to Midgard, a Third Age AAR about two dwarves, a spy and a diplomat - Completed (pictures remade up to chapter 19).
    Reviewed by Boustrophedon in The Critics Quill

  12. #52
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Jaina's cheeky humour sounds like an encouraging sign for Sylvanas, this sounds like the best opportunity so far for the dark rangers to start diplomacy with another faction. However, guarding an archmage on a ship sounds dangerous for everyone, so i look forward to finding out whether Sylvanas and Jaina can find common ground.

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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Chapter VIII-I. Knives and Knaves
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Jaina had not had time over to wonder overly much about what kind of crew the queen of Lordaeron commanded before one of them introduced herself by a brief knock on the door and entering upon Sylvanas’ order. She was evidently another Forsaken elf but her skin was light grey, almost white. Apart from that she had the same red eyes as Sylvanas but they were not the same flaring fires. They were glowing more akin to the eyes of a night elf, except for being red of course, and indeed there was something of Pained across the scarred features of her face. Jaina had never been good at guessing the age of elves, tending to find the lot of them unfairly elegant regardless and somewhat grudgingly leaving it at that, but she had the impression that this one was older than most and that there was very little on Azeroth that could unbalance her in life or in death.

    The new elf saluted Sylvanas with her hand over her chest.

    ”Lady Proudmoore, may I introduce Areiel, captain of my Dark Rangers.” The way Sylvanas said Dark Rangers hinted at great significance and Jaina made a note to herself to ask her more about them later. Certainly Areiel appeared like a darker version of an elven ranger, with sparse armour very similar to Sylvanas but less elaborate and black rather than dark red.

    Areiel bowed formally to Jaina, who hurriedly managed a ”Good morning, ranger captain Areiel.” in response.

    The ranger captain, still silent and with an even expression that betrayed no emotion, held out a flask with the flourish of a waiter presenting a particularly exquisite and expensive wine. Jaina only hesitated for a second before she greedily snatched it up and downed the most delicious pint of rainwater she could imagine at the moment, eagerly enough to spill some over her nightgown.

    ”The crew is currently fishing for something to serve for breakfast.” Areiel stated.

    Jaina was about to express her gratitude when her stomach rumbled again, quite loudly.

    ”I’ll tell them to hurry up.” Areiel said in the same even tone and made Jaina want to sink through every deck of the ship and to the seas bottom. Areiels voice was something like what one might guess from seeing her face, a little hoarse and rough from untold years of trials but still carrying.

    ”Dark Lady.” Areiel nodded to Sylvanas before leaving, bringing with her the bucket Jaina had borrowed. It did not make Jaina feel any more dignified.

    Sylvanas had watched her without a word and her expression betrayed as little as Areiels. If Jaina wanted to appear as more than a bumbling girl she would evidently have some work cut out for her, she noted with an inwardly sigh.

    Briefly clenching her eyes, Jaina put her mind to work instead by going over all se knew of Sylvanas, trying not to look too much at her as that was proving to be utterly distracting. Dark Lady, to start with. The Queen of Lordaeron Lady Windrunner was apparently a woman of many titles. This was certainly an intriguing one and Jaina was going to ask more about it later.

    Speaking of names, though. Windrunner… Her friend Rhonins wife Vereesa was also named Windrunner. Was she and Sylvanas perhaps related? How common could the surname be? It was surely more elaborate than the ever-present human Lanes, Fords, Hills, Lakes and so on but weren’t all elven names that? Perhaps Windrunner was a commonly used name. Jaina thought of Vereesa and Sylvanas. Both were tall and fit, and actually rather similar apart from the hair colour with Vereesas being silvery and Sylvanas a faded blonde, which might have been less faded in life. Then again Jaina thought most elves were looking quite alike, each more handsome than her than the other with their elegant features, so maybe Jaina wasn’t a very good judge at that. But Vereesa was also an elven ranger, which was a noteworthy coincidence at the very least, so chances were she and Sylvanas would know about each other if nothing else.

    She had met the adventurous Vereesa several times and she had been quite nice to Jaina, eagerly trading embarrassing stories about Rhonin and regaling Jaina with the unlikely tale of their grand first mission together and their heart-warming rescue of Alexstraza and the other red dragons. Jaina and Rhonin had managed to find time and opportunity to write to one another a few times since she had settled in Theramoore and Jaina was immensely relieved to know that both he and Vereesa had survived the Scourge and the ensuing turmoil around Dalaran. Jaina promised herself she would write more often to both Rhonin and anyone else she could think of as soon as she got the opportunity. And she really had to ask about Sylvanas’ last name at some point.

    Right now was not a good time, though. Jainas thoughts were turning increasingly towards all the fat and juicy fishes that she knew could be caught around Theramoore – the primary source of food for her city – and didn’t want to be more distracted than necessary when conversing with her intimidating captor. Besides, Jaina was fairly comfortable now apart from her hunger. Having something to drink along with Sylvanas opening the small windows of the cabin to let in fresh air was starting to do wonders for Jainas headache, even though her limbs still felt like lead. True to her word, Sylvanas was sitting by her desk and writing, and the familiar sound of a quill against paper was as comforting for Jaina as that of a crackling fire was for the majority of Azeroths peoples.

    Now that she had resolved to leave the talking for some time later, Jaina decided that it wouldn’t interrupt anything if she tried to steal a few glances of Sylvanas while waiting for her crew to get lucky with their fishing.
    Last edited by Maltacus; September 17, 2022 at 02:34 PM.
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  14. #54
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    Chapter VIII-II. Knives and Knaves
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Anya had knocked on Sylvanas’ cabin door countless times by now. So she shouldn’t really hesitate to do that one more time. It should be just the same as reporting last morning.

    Should be.

    If Anya had a mirror she would have double-checked every little detail about her appearance. It wouldn’t do for them to appear like a band of scruffy-looking thugs when you were dealing with a foreign ruler, whether Sylvanas wanted to appear sympathetic or intimidating to her.

    She knocked briskly and was immediately told to enter.

    Lady Proudmoore was awake, and looked newly awake in a beautiful sort of way with tangled hair spilling across her pillow and clear, curious eyes that fixed on Anya. They were distractingly blue little oceans that Anya tried not to look too much at.

    ”Anya, good. I need to see to some things with Areiel, stand guard over Lady Proudmoore in the meantime.” Sylvanas said without further ado.

    ”Dark Lady.” Anya saluted and took up a position next to the door in full view of Lady Proudmoore. She’d caught the hint and wouldn’t act as if guarding archmages was anything but routine for the dark rangers.

    ”This is lieutenant Anya Eversong.” Sylvanas mentioned to Lady Proudmoore. ”I would avoid antagonizing her. Rangers do not command my personal guard for no reason.” she said curtly and walked out without another word or a second look, projecting the supreme confidence that only Sylvanas could. Anya had never quite figured out how she did it. It was as if the idea of everything not turning out like the Dark Lady had just ordered was completely alien, ridiculous even.

    Anya could see that the posturing had made an impression on Lady Proudmoore, but the mage eyed her with interest none the less. She looked very tired, Anya thought and guessed that she should perhaps be pleased by it. Tired mages would be less prone to cause trouble and more easy to intimidate. But she didn’t feel pleased at all. There were dark spots under Lady Proudmoores eyes and her dishevelled nightrobe could not hide a certain sense of frailty about her, almost like malnourishment as if she hadn’t eaten enough for a long time. But how could that be, if she was the ruler of a city? Was Theramoore running out of food?

    Anya stood as still as she could, which was like a statue, with her hands clasped behind her back.

    ”Are you going to make some sort of threat too?” asked Lady Proudmoore. Not unkindly, more like a tone of wry amusement in her voice. Her eyes were still locked on Anya and taking in every detail about her.

    Anya initially showed no sign of having heard the question. Then she walked over to the desk and picked up a paper she knew Sylvanas had long since read.

    ”Would you please throw this into the air, Lady Proudmoore?” Anya asked politely and put the paper in her left hand that was closest to the port side wall.

    The mage frowned but did as Anya had asked, throwing the paper with a little spin.

    In one rapid movement Anya drew one of her daggers and threw it, nailing Areiels summary of the Undercitys blacksmithing capacity to the wooden wall over the cabins fixed bed. It drew a satisfying startled gasp from Lady Proudmoore who looked between the impaled wall on her left and Anya standing nonchalantly on her right.

    In that moment Sylvanas entered the room again. She took in the scene in a moment and quirked an eyebrow. She seemed decidedly amused.

    ”Have you been playing with your prey again, my dear lieutenant?” Sylvanas almost purred.

    Anya could have sworn that those little round ears peaked up a little, and damn her if Lady Proudmoore wasn’t blushing a bit. It was rather sweet.

    Sylvanas leaned over the hammock and its occupant and made a show of examining the dent in the wall.

    ”If you are going to ruin my cabin walls you might as well do it for real, Anya.” she scoffed, frowning and pretending to be displeased by the too shallow indenture. Anya could tell she was pretending but she wondered if Lady Proudmoore could. This was starting to get fun.

    ”One has to start slowly so the beginners have a chance to keep up, right?” Anya said as evenly as she could.

    Sylvanas hummed affirmatively. Then, without any kind of warning, she grabbed two other pages from her desk and threw them randomly in the direction of the cupboards in the starboard side wall.

    Anya drew the second dagger from her belt and was already kneeling as she let it fly, drawing the smaller knife hidden in her right boot and impaling the second sheet a tad lower than the first.

    Lady Proudmoores eyes were big as teacups and her breath had hitched. Anya could see Sylvanas smirk and there was pride in that, she noticed and felt lighter than she had for days as she dodged under the hammock to retrieve her first dagger.

    ”Perhaps you should practice on a live target...” Sylvanas mused with a downright evil smile that showed just a little too much teeth, and glanced at Lady Proudmoore.

    If Lady Proudmoores eyes had been large before they grew even larger now. Teapots instead of teacups, perhaps.

    ”Hey, hold up now! This is a joke, right?! I know this is a joke! You’re not seriously going to…” she rambled in a terrified voice.

    Anya fingered her daggers edge thoughtfully, looking between Sylvanas by the desk and Lady Proudmoore in the hammock from her spot next to the door.

    Fixing Lady Proudmoore with her glare, Anya threw her dagger at Sylvanas as fast as she could, who snatched it out of the air just as rapidly.
    Lady Proudmoore let out a loud gasp, or choked scream.

    Sylvanas picked up the other two daggers form the cupboard wall, and then threw all three at Anya in rapid succession.

    ”Stop it! Stop! Please stop it, have you lost your minds?!” Lady Proudmoore shouted frantically as Anya caught them just as rapidly.

    ”Hm, you don’t think I should be playing with the knives, Lady Proudmoore? Do you want me to return them?” Anya inquired threw all three back at Sylvanas as fast as she possibly could without waiting for an answer.

    Lady Proudmoore screamed.

    ”NOW you have to make up your mind, Lady Proudmoore!” Sylvanas demanded, raising her voice to carry over Lady Proudmoores fading scream. Then, taking one in each hand, she threw both of Anyas daggers at her at once. Anya barely managed to catch one in each hand, staggering a little but still slashing the following boot knife aside to send it clattering against the cupboard wall. And Sylvanas was all but beaming at her, looking proudly from behind the view of Lady Proudmoore who panted heavily. And for just one wonderful moment Anya was a ranger recruit again who had just scored her first good hit at the archery range and was looking up at Sylvanas’ bright and sunny smile over her shoulder.

    ”Lay off this at once, you knaves! Bloody crazy pirates!”

    Sylvanas flashed a predatory grin at Lady Proudmoore, looking genuinely amused.

    ”Pirates, Lady Proudmoore?” she asked so smoothly that even Anya shivered. ”And I think it was knives involved rather than knaves. Anyway, I came to tell you that my crew has caught some fish which should be properly grilled by now. Do you think you are rested enough to come out and eat?”

    ”Sadly not. And this was not exactly a peaceful display, Lady Windrunner.” Lady Prudmoore huffed and managed an impressive tinge of indignation under the circumstances. ”You sure know how to make a girl relax…”

    Sylvanas flinched at the last ironic statement and looked at Anya with an apologetic look she struggled to conceal. Anya knew exactly why.

    She raged inwardly at Lady Proudmoore for bringing up that miserable earlier episode and ruining this precious rare moment. Then she calmed herself. Lady Proudmoore had no way of knowing about that and it was unfair to blame her. Anya still would have wanted to kick Lady Proudmoores shin if she had been standing. But only a little.

    The mage had spotted their exchanged glances, Anya noticed, and made a mental note that they would have to watch themselves in her presence. Not much escaped those attentive eyes. They were not unfriendly though, on the contrary.

    ”I trust I can get your fish without you giving Anya any trouble now?” Sylvanas asked wryly.

    Lady Proudmoore rolled her eyes and then rolled over into her blanket as Sylvanas went to fetch her breakfast. Anya could see Sylvanas’ eyes sparkle, like if the red fires deep inside danced merrily for just once. It hadn’t been a completely ruined moment, then.

    ”I believe I still owe you a death threat, Lady Proudmoore…” Anya said, still feeling mischievous.

    ”Don’t you think you’ve made you point already?” Lady Proudmoore asked dryly, gesturing from her hammock at the dent in the wall to Anyas amusement.

    Anya looked down on her resting form. Right now Lady Proudmoore appeared like the last thing in the world that needed guarding against. But Anya had still seen her block a point blank Wail from the most powerful banshee on Azeroth. The archmage had not been fighting back that time, perhaps unwilling to believe that mortal enemies could have appeared in the middle of her city, or perhaps that if they were enemies they would already have attacked her soldiers.

    Next time, they would not be so fortunate.

    Next time ice and fire would rain on them. Forsaken would die and Sylvanas would grieve.

    ”I will do it if I have to, Lady Proudmoore.” Anya whispered. ”But I think that I will not enjoy it.”

    ”All too kind.” the mage mumbled dryly. ”I hope you’ll make it quick at least.”

    ”I promise.” Anya said solemnly and sadly.

    A black tear ran down her cheek and dropped on Lady Proudmoore. She didn’t appear to notice.

    If Sylvanas ever ordered Lady Proudmoores death it should be Anya, because doing so would be wrong, and Anya would rather have it be herself doing something so wrong than Sylvanas. It would be very, very wrong to harm Lady Proudmoores slender neck. Anya would much rather fight to keep it whole, she decided. In fact Anya would !"#¤%& kill to keep it whole, because the beautiful Lady Proudmoore had made Sylvanas smile.

    Another tear dropped, and this time the mage noticed it.

    ”Anya” she said in a kind but saddened voice ”do you think we are bound to end up fighting each other?”

    ”I don’t think you are our enemy, but I believe we may end up on opposite sides of a battlefield one day.” Anya almost sighed. ”And I don’t think I would like that.”

    ”I don’t think I would like that either. I think I would rather have you as a friend.”

    Anya thought that she would like that very much.

    She reached down to tentatively stroke Lady Proudmoores hair. It was soft and welcoming between her fingers, and didn’t feel like the hair of an enemy.
    Last edited by Maltacus; September 18, 2022 at 12:23 AM.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
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  15. #55
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Anya's demonstration of her skills seems a little surprising, if Sylvanas is trying to engage in diplomacy. Perhaps the dark rangers are afraid of their captive's magical powers and this demonstration was meant to warn Jaine against using her magic to escape. Good updates, the tension between the threats and the possibility of friendship makes me wonder what will happen.

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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Good updates, the tension between the threats and the possibility of friendship makes me wonder what will happen.
    The charm of an untagged story...
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
    An Orcs Tale, a Third Age AAR - Completed.
    Reviewed by Alwyn in the Critics Quill
    My Dread Lady, a Warcraft Total War AAR - 27 chapters done.
    Home to Midgard, a Third Age AAR about two dwarves, a spy and a diplomat - Completed (pictures remade up to chapter 19).
    Reviewed by Boustrophedon in The Critics Quill

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    Chapter VIII-III. Knives and Knaves
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Sylvanas had never considered humans to be particularly complex creatures, but she was finding her mage more and more difficult to place, for lack of a better word. On the one hand Proudmoore had demonstrated magical prowess that doubtlessly would have rivalled the most senior magisters of Quel’Thalas, and despite being captured by an undead queen in the middle of the night the mage appeared to be in inexplicably good spirits, even after Anyas outrageous antics. On the other hand the woman was blushing, awkward and in many ways the perfect picture of shyness and naivety. Perhaps it played a part that she was technically in bed dressed in only her nightrobe with complete strangers going about in the same room. Most people tended to be more squeamish than the rangers about those kinds of things. Sleeping on bare ground with tents being a luxury and your comrades as the most reliable source of warmth tended to do away with overbearing feelings of propriety after a while.

    The way Proudmoores eyes lit up at the sight of a slightly burnt mackerel was nothing short of endearing. Nobody had schooled her in the art of masking her emotions it would seem, but all the better if it made her easier to read and to manipulate.

    The mage had swung her legs over the side of the hammock and was eating her fish eagerly bent over a tin plate, her modesty yielding before her distaste of getting pieces of fish amongst her bedclothes. Sylvanas frowned at the worn appearance of her mage. She was way too thin, and modest or not no woman should shrink away from another's gaze like that, even if Sylvanas’ in all honesty was something out of the ordinary.

    She shouldn’t care. But then, a hostage needed to be kept alive in order to be useful after all.

    ”Are you not getting enough food in Theramoore, Lady Proudmoore?” Sylvanas asked with a raised eyebrow.

    The question caught her mage in the middle of a particularly large bite. She struggled visibly to chew and swallow quickly to be able to answer.

    ”Mno, nosching like at.” Proudmoore denied and looked rather self-conscious. ”It’s just me I’m afraid, I tend to overwork and, hm, not always eat so much.”

    Sylvanas could relate to that. When she had stepped up as Ranger-General and tried to fill the all too big boots left by her mother she had mistreated herself for years with too late nights and too little nourishment. It was not a pleasant position to be in. Sylvanas forced down a wave of sympathy. At least she had had a long time to get used to the thought of eventually succeeding Lireesa Windrunner. Theramoore had not even existed two years ago.

    Then again, perhaps she was reading too much into Proudmoores demeanour and seeing herself where she had no reason to. And damn all such thoughts. The Ranger-General of Silvermoon was a figure of the past and she would never be that woman again, or anything close by.

    ”That never works in the long run.” Sylvanas said firmly.

    ”You’re sounding like Pained.”

    ”Who is?”

    ”My bodyguard. She likes to point out when I’m not eating or resting as much as she would like.”

    ”I can understand how she came by her name then.” Sylvanas smirked, and noted that Pained and a certain ranger captain would probably be able to find common ground.
    Her mage looked down and cleared her throat slightly before she continued to assault her fish. She had quite adorable eyelashes, Sylvanas noted.

    After finishing her meal, Proudmoore leaned back into her hammock and turned her gaze on Sylvanas again.

    ”You know, speaking of names, may I ask if Windrunner is a common name among elves?” she suddenly asked.

    ”Not anymore.”. Sylvanas’ tone was curt.

    ”Oh. I’m really sorry.” Proudmoore apologised as the grim implications dawned on her. Of course it was no longer a common name, just as no other elf name was common anymore after the fall of Quel’Thalas. ”The thing is, I have a friend whose wife – well, she is quite nice so I hope I can count her as my friend too – is named Vereesa Windrunner. Is she a relative of yours? She is quite tall, with light blue eyes and silvery hair.”

    Sylvanas froze.

    Little Moon.

    Little Moon.

    Little Moon.

    She lived.

    Sylvanas did not want that thought in her head. She wanted to tear out everything that tied her to the world of the living that she was forever shut out from. And deep down she wanted to keep Vereesa from ever having to find out what became of her. She would be far better off without that ugly knowledge to mar whatever brighter memories she had of Sylvanas. Forcing her voice to remain steady, Sylvanas answered her mages question, after a far too long time.

    ”Vereesa Windrunner was my sister.”

    Sylvanas could not tell if she had answered in an even tone or outright barked at Proudmoore. Speaking the words felt like a curse, a judgement where Sylvanas relinquished every remaining right to call a living soul family again. Her words rang inside her head, inside her soul, or whatever was left of it.

    Sylvanas did not look up but she could just feel Proudmoores eyes on her, staring and piercing. She wanted to shrink and hide before them. She did absolutely not wish to share what they might see inside of her, and it surely felt like Proudmoore could see right into Sylvanas’ torn soul, through the evidently too fresh wound that was Vereesa.

    Or, wait. Was she looking at her scar? Of course she was, what else would it be? Sylvanas really ought to have some less revealing set of armour fashioned, but she also enjoyed the familiar and comforting mobility of a rangers outfit and there were so many things of endlessly higher priority to be ordered from their armouries.

    Perhaps she had made a tactical error in letting Proudmoore remain close to her for extended periods of time. She could practically see the mages mind working its way through everything Sylvanas had told her since she woke up.

    No. This was just a temporary setback, caused by her surprise of the mages mention of her sister, nothing more. She would order her rangers to observe strict discretion in their interactions with the Lady Proudmoore and lead by example in that regard from now on. And it was high time that she started to study her dossier in earnest to form a strategy. She would wait for the right moment to truly break that irritating mage. The journey was still long and there would be many opportunities left for that.

    Sylvanas browsed through her stacked reports to find the folder of information about the rooms other occupant that Areiel had prepared. Then she leaned back slightly in the uncomfortable seat and begun to read it again while trying to block out every annoying hunch that her mage knew exactly what it was she was reading.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
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  18. #58
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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    Sylvanas is an interesting character - it sounds (at least to me) as if there was a mix of grief and shame in her reaction to discovering the news about Little Moon - and it sounds like there's common ground between Sylvanas and her captive mage - and yet Sylvanas intends to "break" her prisoner rather than befriend her. It seems what Sylvanas has become (an undead queen) is her dominant motivation, but that she keeps coming back to the memories of her previous life and the emotions associated with it.

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    Chapter VIII-IV. Knives and Knaves
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Later in the afternoon Jaina finally felt rested enough to get up. Truth be told she also wanted to get out of the cabin that had started to feel very cramped after her blunt inquiry about Vereesa and Sylvanas’ grim manner of answering. Jaina needed space to process that before she committed any more hurtful blunders, no matter how tempting it was to keep asking questions just to get to hear Sylvanas’ voice.

    Vereesas sister!

    What would Vereesa say, if Jaina could get a chance to talk to her about all this? And what if she could bring Sylvanas with her to meet Rhonin and Vereesa?

    That would have to be a thought for another time. Jaina needed to focus on the present and first and foremost get her bearings, in more than one way actually.

    Jaina cleared her throat.

    ”Lady Windrunner?”

    Sylvanas looked up.

    ”With your permission I would very much like to catch some fresh air on the deck.”

    ”Very well. You should certainly enjoy that luxury a much as you can for as long as it lasts, Lady Proudmoore.”

    Morbid woman, Jaina thought.

    ”The deck is straight ahead and up the stairs. I will be right behind you.” Sylvanas’ tone was neutral but Jaina did of course catch the underlying meaning of Sylvanas watching her every move.

    The cabin door led to a small corridor with the stairs up straight ahead. Jaina did not see anyone else but she half expected the darker corners left and right to be filled with dark-clad pale elves itching to unburden themselves of various sharp and pointy objects.

    It was more than Jaina managed not to shiver at the thought of Sylvanas’ presence right behind her neck. She did as instructed however and stepped out into a bleak and gloomy grey afternoon. The wind was still strong and large frothing waves crashed into the bow while a heavy rain kept blowing into her face. Jaina pulled her ludicrously flimsy robe even tighter around her and thought longingly of every kind of greatcoat and cloak she had ever worn. The wind and rain made her squint and lower her head but she could spot someone approaching them.

    ”Lady Proudmoore, meet captain Davey Bonecarver!” Sylvanas called out over the howling wind.

    Jaina looked up into a dead mans face.

    Skin stretched over the upper half of a face with gleaming yellow eyes, leaving the jaws bare and perpetually grinning like a skull. Skin of a sickly grey colour that Jaina had seen far too close far too many times on the wretched victims of the plague of undeath that had ravaged Lordaeron.

    Jaina recoiled. Her legs moved on their own accord and her mind unconsciously reached for the mana that coursed through her body. Sylvanas hand clamped down with an angry hiss from her and held Jainas arm in an iron grip, and Jaina dimly realised she had been about to raise it to cast…what she didn’t know, but nothing pleasant. Panic and the overwhelming need to get away overtook her and she stumbled backwards, somehow avoiding falling headfirst back down the stairs.

    Jaina collapsed in a pile at the foot of the stair and wrapped her arms around her knees while trying to get her breathing to slow down and think of something, anything, that wasn’t this cursed ship and its cursed crew.

    Heavy steps, meant to be heard, brought her attention back and Jaina looked up to see Sylvanas’ burning glare. She couldn’t look away from those eyes. Jaina could practically feel the disapproval radiating off the elf. Disapproval and disappointment. Some part of her wanted to turn her eyes away but another, the greater part, wanted to keep looking at Sylvanas because even though it did not exactly bring Jaina comfort in the normal meaning of the word she was coming back to her senses. Her fears of other things melted away until there was only Sylvanas before her.

    ”Do you find us repulsive, Lady Proudmoore?”

    Jaina cringed at the acid bitterness in her voice. She opened her mouth to deny it, to assure that she didn’t find Sylvanas repulsive, or her dark rangers. And that was all true for Jaina found them unsettling of course, at times downright frightening, but not repulsive. But then she thought better of it. That wasn’t the issue here.

    ”I just… I…” Jaina tried and sighed in defeat. ”Yes.”

    She cringed inwardly at hearing herself, and braced for a tongue-lashing without peer – perhaps even rivalling Katherine Proudmoores, for who knew what a banshee was capable of – or worse. She was well aware that she was in no shape of fighting the banshee queen. But Sylvanas stood still with her arms crossed, as if waiting for something more from Jaina. Or demanding it, more like, because she was the banshee queen after all.

    Jaina inhaled a ragged breath.

    ”It is so terrible, the state they are in. So wounded, so…decrepit. Is everyone else like the captain?” she asked with a trembling voice.

    ”More or less. Everyone but my rangers.”

    ”It…It was like I could see all the deaths of all those poor people by the plague in front of me. Andorhal. Stratholme. I can almost hear Arthas in my head again, ordering them to be…culled.”

    A flash of terrible rage passed over Sylvanas at the mention of Arthas, so quickly that Jaina nearly wondered if she had not imagined it. A colossal wave of shame was beginning to well up inside her when she considered her own words. How selfish she sounded. Tides! She had founded Theramoore instead of returning home because she wanted it to be a safe haven open to everyone. She had turned on her own father in order to protect the orcs who wanted to get away from decades of cyclic bloodshed, orcs that Daelin Proudmoore would slay just for being orcs. How was Jaina any better if she turned away the undead, the Forsaken, merely for being undead? Some ruler of Theramoore she was.

    The Forsaken was a frighteningly fitting name. They were truly forsaken by each and everyone in the world. And not even for their personal deeds committed under the Lich Kings control either, but simply for the way they now were. It was like turning your back on a revoltingly ill or old person just for the way they looked. Sure, there were sicknesses where you had to keep your distance but that did not mean you still couldn’t offer help. And undeath as such was not contagious, not in itself.

    ”Lady Windrunner, I am sorry for the way I acted. With your permission I will go and apologize to your captain.”

    ”Do not make promises you can not keep, Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas sneered.

    Sylvanas’ tone was hard as stone but she did not stop Jaina from rising and taking a step towards the stair.

    ”Dark Lady. Lady Proudmoore. If you have a moment?”

    Areiel was standing behind Jaina with a pile of clothes in one hand and a pair of sailors boots in the other. Jaina gratefully accepted them and after a confirming nod from Sylvanas began to put them on with her back turned to the two elves and hung her night clothes on the hammock to dry. It felt woefully indiscreet to do so right in front of the two all too perfect elves, and Jaina couldn’t shake off the feeling of a thrown dagger making its way towards somewhere between her shoulder blades, but right now she felt the discomfort only served her right.

    The boots were too large by far and the trousers and shirt were almost in tatters, complete with a tar-stained sailors jacket with the most frayed cuffs imaginable. It must all have been leftovers or spares dug up from some obscure shelf or sea chest but at the moment Jaina couldn’t be more thankful to the ranger captain. She tied the piece of old rope that served as belt and tried not to stomp too much in her unwieldy boots when she ascended the stairs.

    The rain was dying down when Jaina came back on deck and the ships captain was standing where she had left him. He turned around and Jaina swallowed and fought down her rising fear. She was better than this. She had to be.

    ”New garb, eh? Wouldn’ wan’t to brave this sorry weather in yer night shift, aye.” he begun in a raspy voice before Jaina had managed a single word. It grated like, well, bones upon bones Jaina reckoned.

    Wait. Tides, he was offering her a way out of having to apologise? If Jainas conscience had been bad before it now plummeted. She felt beyond criminal for the way she had conducted herself. But she would own up to it at the very least.

    ”I apologize for the way I acted previously, captain. It was unfair and unbecoming of me and I can only say that I’m sorry for it.” she forced out and tried to only look at his eyes that shone a dim yellow just like the elves’ red. ”Captain Bonecarver, was it? I am Jaina Proudmoore of Theramoore. It’s…it’s an honour to meet you.”

    She held out her hand. For a brief, awkward moment the undead captain just stood still but then he grasped it and Jaina failed to suppress a shudder. His hand wasn’t all bone but it was cold as ice and clammy. But she steeled herself and shook it all the firmer.

    ”Welcome aboard, Lady Proudmoore.” he said hoarsely, loud enough to carry to the closest undead sailors.

    ”Thank you, captain.” Jaina managed a small smile. ”Would it be alright for me to introduce myself to the rest of your crew?”

    Captain Bonecarver regarded her for a moment, and appeared reluctant even if it was hard to guess with the state he was in.

    ”Better lay low on that fer a while. Some of the lads’re none too used to meetin’ with the living either. Might wanna give it some time ’ let ’em come forth who so wishes it.”

    ”I understand.” Jaina said. Tides, she could hardly blame anyone after the first impression she had made.

    ”Although, there may be one o’ ’em ye’ll wanna meet.” the captain chuckled dryly.

    He led Jaina to the main mast and whistled, which Jaina found surprising that he was able to but also comfortingly human.

    ”Hey! Haley! Get your bony hide down ’ere!”

    ”Why should I?” a lighter voice answered impishly from somewhere above.

    ”Because I’m yer captain an’ I’m gonna keel-haul you before I use you as shark-bait otherwise, that's why!”

    ”You’ll have to catch me first!”

    ”I’ll tell the dark lasses they can use you as target practice! Free drinks for the winner!”

    ”Vel’ won’t let them. And none of them drink.”

    The source of the snarky comments form above was now made apparent as what must be a young Forsaken, a girl of perhaps thirteen if Jaina had to guess, swung down onto the deck from a rope. She was slightly more intact than Captain Bonecarver but also had a kind of perpetual grin. Her cheerful mood, and perhaps her size and flamboyant dress, managed to somehow take the edge off it though. She was dressed fairly similarly to Jaina with boots, pants and a shirt, but all in proper size and good fit, and a much better cut and sleeker jacket. Her hair was tied back with a broad red ribbon that together with a few earrings made for a very roguish appearance.

    ”Lady Proudmoore, meet Haley Quinnivere Bonecarver.” the captain said with irritation but also an unmistakeable fondness in his voice.

    ”Huh, so you’re the living one.” she greeted Jaina, with a most refreshing lack of excitement.

    ”A notorious delinquent, I understand.” Jaina said and smiled without having to force herself.

    ”Delinquent? Worse. Daughter. And I’m never getting rid of her now.”

    The comment was cheerful but of course there was a monstrous truth to it. She would never grow up and he would never age. Jaina tried not to think of that right now.
    ”You could always give her a ship to captain. Then you would be Commodore Bonecarver, right?” Jaina suggested.

    ”That’s what I’m talking about!” the younger Bonecarver cheered. ”Velonara will be my first mate. But you’ve gotta drop this ’Bonecarver’ crap, lady. It’s Davey and Haley Bones to those who know us, and you better get on knowing us ’cause I’m not gonna put up with anything else.”

    ”Watch yer tongue.” her father muttered. Jaina almost wanted to laugh. At least some behaviours were apparently so human that not even death could erase them.

    ”Have you given her a tour ’round the ship yet?”

    Last edited by Maltacus; September 27, 2022 at 02:04 AM.
    The Misadventures of Diabolical Amazons - Completed.
    An Orcs Tale, a Third Age AAR - Completed.
    Reviewed by Alwyn in the Critics Quill
    My Dread Lady, a Warcraft Total War AAR - 27 chapters done.
    Home to Midgard, a Third Age AAR about two dwarves, a spy and a diplomat - Completed (pictures remade up to chapter 19).
    Reviewed by Boustrophedon in The Critics Quill

  20. #60
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
    Content Director Patrician Citizen

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    Default Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady

    The cheerfulness of Haley Bones provides a nice contrast to the dour manner of the Dark Lady. I look forward to seeing what happens on the tour of the ship.

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