The Wolf and the Raven

((AN: Sometimes when you roleplay both in and out of guilds, partners and friend groups, you get the rare oppurntity to show off your oldest, most fleshed out character to people who know absolutely nothing about them, and watch everyone react to them in real time. This is one such case, and I'm so thankful to Fenris's player for letting run this solo thing for them as a way to ICly explain their guild membership. As always, any mistakes are probably mine, and I hope you enjoy.))

Out in the wilds of the Isle of Dorn, a pair of acquainted individuals traveled to a specific location. A goblin, anxious to get what he wanted, had a partner to be his second pair of eyes. The goblin was eager to claim the minerals he wanted. He didn’t become a great businessman without risk, nor would he stop now. And while some items were easy to obtain, others were not so simple.

He had his eyes set on a small island just off the coast of the Isle of Dorn. Home to many hostile elementals, but also many herbs and ores that are fated to fall into his pockets. He looked from the coastline of the small island. Beautiful. So much gold to be made. And at the crack of dawn, where most folks would still slumber, he was here. All of it ripe for the taking.

“Hey! Hurry it up, I ain’t got all day ya know!”

Following just behind him was a young worgen warrior. Her eyes narrow and heavy, dragging from her mouth a weary yawn. Clearly not used to being awake so early. “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” But as she looked upon the island, her sleep faded in an instant. And as if with the flick of a switch, her senses became keen.

“This is… Dhar Bandar.”

The goblin nodded his head. Aware of the risks that merely stepping into these grounds permits. “Ah, so you know this place? Maybe now you know why I hired you then.”

Dhar Bandar is one of many locations in Khaz Algar that are not monitored or bound by law. There is nothing stopping anyone from being the victim of a battle. Even being of the same faction doesn’t exempt one from killing another. In these lands, it was kill or be killed. The warrior immediately drew her blade. She had been to these places before. Having met other champions who go about their business here, and those who seek nothing more than to fight. The goblin followed her lead, drawing his weapons as well. He dared not take his eyes off of his surroundings.

“Look, I’ll make this quick, Fridas? Uh, Fenrir?”

“It’s Fenris.”

“Yeah, whatever. Look, all I need you to do is watch my back. We’re here pretty damn early, so I doubt there’s anyone around who would want a piece of us. But you never know.”

“Yeah, got it.”

Things went smoothly, as hoped. No sign of anyone else around. About an hour or two passed of killing elementals and gathering materials. Fenris felt more at ease, but still alert. The goblin looked around some more. He still needed just one more thing, an ore that seemed to have been in the process of gathering.

“Aha, there you are. Ok Fenris, I just need this last thing, and we’re out of here.”

She reached his side while looking in the same direction. A vein of Ironclaw ore accompanied by other… noteworthy items.

“What the hell? It’s rigged with dynamite?”

“Yeah, indeed it is.” He tapped her hand before pointing it towards the Ironclaw. “Ok, you’re up.”

Fenris’s head darted down towards the goblin, clearly bewildered and shocked. “Y-you can’t be serious?!”

“Hey, you said you’ve handled these kinds of situations before! I figured you’d be the expert as a fellow miner! And besides, you’re hired as my bodyguard. And as such, you’d wouldn’t mind taking the damage for me, if any, right?”

“Aa-… I mean… ugh, fine.”

She began to slowly walk towards the vein, pickaxe in hand, sword in the other. Meanwhile, being careful not to step on any of the explosives on the floor or tied on the Ironclaw. However, as soon as her pickaxe was about to make contact, she heard a noise from one of the surrounding trees. Fenris immediately put away her pickaxe and prepared to fight. The sudden action freaked the goblin as he readied his weapon in response. “What happened?” He asked shakily.

Fenris rushed towards the goblin’s side. Looking between trees, beyond them, listening again for what she had heard. Footsteps. The elementals make no such sounds, so it could only mean one thing.

“…We’re not alone.” 

Silence dragged on for a maddening time; The trees rustled. The sea lapped at the shore. The elements rumbled and whispered in their powers. There was no other noise, no other movement. 

“It is good to see your reputation was not all fanciful, Fenris. I would hate for the panda to be wrong.” The voice came from everywhere, but with no discernible source. It was cool, calm, sure of itself in a way that could only be genuine. “I have a proposition for you. Double the pay, whatever this one is asking, with more if you follow instructions. I can promise fewer explosions, if not less danger.”

The panda? Fenris thought to herself. Of course, Jibing. The one she met at Halfhill back in Pandaria. The goblin looked confused as Fenris’s demeanor softened. She stood straight, blade at her side.

“Then I assume you are no foe. Am I not right?”

She motions the goblin to stay close and quiet, which he quickly obliged. Still no discernible direction of where this voice came from. 

“I am however you decide. I’m looking to hire you, which implies that I am not. But I was willing to track you out to one of the more dangerous regions of Khaz Algar, which implies that I am capable of becoming one. Are you willing to parlay?”

She looked back towards the goblin, a bit of fear in his eyes, but he seemed more composed than before. She took a deep breath, ready to make her choice.

“If I can finish my work with our friend here, I’ll happily join you. I am under his employment at this time, so it is only natural that I conclude my end of the bargain. I’m not one to leave work unfinished. Surely, you understand.”

The goblin would tug at Fenris’ arm. “Hey, are you sure?” She nodded, “It’s ok, if she wanted us dead, we wouldn’t have heard her in the first place.”

“Do we have an understanding?” Fenris called out, awaiting an answer.

The silence was quickly cut by a whistle, followed by movement that drew Fenris’s eyes to her feet: a single, black shafted, red fletched arrow dug into the earth like a punctuation mark. Any closer, and she might have lost a paw. “Brains and brawn. Yes, you are correct. You would have been dead before you even set foot on the island if I wanted it. Thankfully, I do not.” The voices sounded amused, “I would remind you that I can pay double of whatever number he offers you, but I can wait, but not long. You may find me in the inn in Dornagal. Oh, and I would hurry with your business here; there is a squad of orc mercenaries patrolling just southeast of here. They are still quite bitter about the last war.”

Fenris put away her sword as the voice concluded the conversation. “I believe she has the right of it.“ 

She turns towards the goblin. “Raz, help me with that Ironclaw you need. Our time here is up.”

Snapping out of his moment of fear, Raz jumps into action. “Yeah, on it!”

---

After a job well done, Fenris made her way inside of the inn in Dornogal that the voice had spoken of. As she entered, her eyes wandered about for who that lady from Dhar Bandar could have been.

The inn, subterranean as it was, was thrown in a thousand flickering shadows as the central fire and lanterns struggled to spread their light to every corner of the place. But there in the low ambient light, as she entered the main dining room, Fenris was at once hit with the feeling of eyes tracking her. Judging her.

It wasn’t hard to find the source, for the figure with the hood drawn low across the face was the only non-Earthen beside her in the establishment. Lithe feet propped up against the stonework table, body half swallowed by darkness. 

When the figure lifted her head, the shadows seemed to cling rather than flee—dark gray skin catching only the faintest trace of silvered light, like an old forgotten gravestone under a forlorn moon. Red eyes gleam beneath the hood, sharp and watchful, reflecting the fire like embers banked deep and waiting. This thing, for it could scarcely be the woman she presented herself to be, was a dark ranger.

Her armor was built for a life lived between moments—layered plates and fitted dark leather overlap with deliberate precision, silvers etched and worn. The kind of armor made to move, to vanish, to turn the physical into nothing more than a ghost in the woods. Every buckle lies flat, every edge is quiet, protecting without proclaiming attention. That was for the twin hand-crossbows resting at each hip, mirrored and compact, their steel limbs folded close, grips worn smooth by constant use. They sit within easy reach, though her hands are kept clear of them. 

It was easier that way for her to motion Fenris over to the table with a two-finger flick. Drinks and food were already on the table.

Fenris would be fooling none but herself if she said fear didn’t have even the slightest grasp on her. The ranger’s entire demeanor was haunting, yet inviting. At least… for the moment.

Silence followed the trail that led Fenris to her seat at the table, maintaining eye contact with the crimson red eyes that met her from across the room. No less crimson than her own. Naught could be heard from her own ears. Not the conversations of the other earthen, or even the crackling flames of the fireplace. Only the sound of her black-plated armor rubbing together with each step she took as she approached the ranger.

She drew her sword slowly, so as to not startle the one before her, setting her blade against her seat before sliding into it. The aroma of the dish before her was delightful, but it didn’t distract her from the lady. Not one bit.

Fenris laid her hands atop her lap, not exactly sure what to do with them, as she sat straight to meet the dark ranger.

“I imagine you’re not one to waste time, so I’ll skip the introductions. You wish to hire my sword, yes?”

“And your... unique physiology.” She smirked, pulled down the hood to reveal her face. Long raven-black hair braided back proved a striking contrast against her complexion to frame the sharp, refined features carved with a precision only afforded to those of the Quel’dorei or Sin’dorei descent, assuming the long, slender, and pointed ears did not give it away. “I need an armed courier who can deliver a letter, follow directions exactly, and travel in places that one such as I can not. I will pay well, half now, which will include travel expenses, and half upon your return.”

Her eyebrow raised as a subtle response. Fenris wasn’t expecting such a trivial task. Especially not from a dark ranger.

Although for a warrior to be asked to fulfill such a task, an armed courier, perhaps it wouldn’t be so simple. 

She nodded her head briefly. “Very well. When can I expect to start?”

“Immediately,” The woman considered Fen for a moment, then motioned to the meal before her. “After you rest and recover. Room and board have been paid for today and tomorrow. Your charge is waiting at the desk with Ronesh under your name.”

“O-oh?” The tension in Fenris’ body broke as the ranger finished her sentence. She had been alert from Dhar Bhandar to this moment. To be offered a moment to rest granted her a moment of relief.

She looked down at her plate as her stomach began to growl. Nearly forgetting hunger’s intrusion. She looked back up towards the ranger, then back to her food. A small sigh escaped her breath as she picked up her silverware with a smile. “I see. Thank you.” Then began to eat.

The woman nodded and stood to leave the warrior to her meal. “I would hope I do not need to specify that failure to follow instructions voids payment, and would likely mean your demise? And that exemplary service will result in further opportunities? No? Good. I will meet you back here when you are finished.”

Fenris looked at the ranger as she left. She wasn’t a stranger to such conditions, but it made her wonder if this letter delivery would feature high risks that the woman couldn’t afford, or if this was just her way of doing things. Either way, it wouldn’t be a problem for the young warrior.

“Right.” She said softly to herself before proceeding with her meal.

Fenris was allowed a quiet meal and evening, even a few mugs of ale if requested. Not once was she asked for payment. The room was modestly sized, earthen in design, but someone had laid out a few sleeping pads and blankets to make the stone bed bearable.

In the morning, she could take as much time as she needed to prepare; she needed only go to the front desk to retrieve her package and instructions.

After gathering what she needed, Fenris approached the desk to find the package. She looked at it for a moment before reading the instructions given to her by the Ranger.

“You must be Fenris,” Ronesh said. Fenris looked up with a subtle smile. 

“Yes, sir, it’s a nice day for more work.” 

He let out a light chuckle before looking down at the instructions. “Seems to me like you’ve got quite a handful. Try to stay safe out there.” 

She gave a brief nod, “I’ll certainly try,” and proceeded to read the rest of the instructions.

The package was perfectly wrapped in paper, its lines straight and military-grade. Inside were a large bag of gold, a wax-sealed letter, a scroll wrapped in ribbon, and an insignia that Fenris did not recognize. 

The insignia was clean and polished, well cared for, like something to be prized. The wax-sealed letter bore the sigil of a raven cradled by a full moon. It looked important, official, but bulky, with something likely inside. That was likely the thing the ranger wanted delivered, or at least part of it. Which meant that the scroll, with the ease with which it could be opened and re-tied, was likely Fen’s instructions.

Opening the scroll revealed two pages: one a letter, the other a map. The letter read as such: 

Fenris,

Thank you for taking this assignment. I apologize for any earlier brashness. There are unfriendly eyes even among the Earthen, and they oddly struggle with the concept of discretion when it is required. The wax-sealed letter is your charge. Any damage to it voids payment. Any tampering with the seal voids payment. Yes, this includes any attempts at resealing.

Your destination is a manor keep in the hills of Alterac. A man named Lord Jorach Ravenholdt lives there. Deliver the letter to his hands and his alone. Keep the insignia provided on hand but out of sight. If your life is threatened, show the insignia, and it will buy you time. If they ask, “Why does the cat have nine lives, but needs only one?”, respond only with “Because the hawk has eight talons.” Relax if this is the case, for you have found allies. If the threat persists, offer no mercy and leave no witnesses. They will do the same and can not be reasoned with.

Tell no one of your mission or your travel plans. This is not a requirement, but it is advice to keep your blood pumping in your heart rather than on the dirt. The gold I’ve provided is the first half of your payment, with a little extra to cover the most strenuous travel expenses. I leave it up to you to choose your mode of transportation and route. A word of advice, if you do fly, cease once you reach Stromguard in the Highlands and continue on foot. The insignia will not save you from being shot down.

Eyes forward,

Raven 

---

The instructions were loud and clear. This was to be a carefully executed delivery, and Fenris was ready for it. After finishing the instructions, Fenris wasted no time making her way towards the destination.

She chose to travel first through the Deeprun Tram connecting Stormwind to Ironforge after taking the portal from Dornogal. From there, she would fly from Dun Morogh up until just before reaching Stormgard Keep, where she would walk the rest of the way. Since no one was to know of her task, she thought it best to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

The map had her follow the main road up until a point just past Durholde Keep. Then, it was north the entire way up until she hit a specific part of the mountains where a cave was expected. On the other side of which was marked her destination, Ravenholdt Manor.

A building hidden within the mountains of Hillsbrad, as the instructions said. Not easy to stumble upon naturally, nor wanting to be found. The Ravenholdt name rang familiar to Fenris. She heard talk about them in the past, but not much to warrant any attention or curiosity from her. The only thing she cared to remember was that these people were Assassins, who, from experience, were all but welcoming.

There were no signs of them anywhere. Not at a glance, but she knew they were here and likely had already seen the young warrior step into their territory. Fenris held the insignia given to her close and as hidden from view as she could, ready to present it should the situation require such. She had also recited the words that she would use to respond to their question that might be asked. And if all else fails, her blade was in position to be drawn quickly and efficiently. Her right hand was free, ready to fight.

As if on cue, triggered by the mere thought, Fenris would only see the slight glimmer of steel before the point of the knife pressed into her back. “Nice and easy, stranger.” The voice was a low, harsh whisper, the accent thick on the syllables.  “No need to reach for that bone breaker on your back, ‘else I’d have to scar up your hide…. Now, who are you and what are ya doing here?”

There was more movement all around her. Through the bushes and trees, shadows that were darker than they should have been. She was very quickly surrounded.

Arguably, the worst-case scenario that could have occurred was leaving Fenris no other choice. She moved slowly while raising up the insignia so the one behind her could see. “I have a letter to deliver to Jorach Ravenholdt.” 

She used her left hand to motion toward her bags, one of which carried the letter in question. 

“I mean no intrusion. Nor am I here with ill intent.”

Silence. A hand from behind her head reached for the insignia and took it from her.

“Well, all be.... the lady has the mark!”

A chorus of murmurs and acknowledgements. Still, the dagger did not move. 

“Let me ask you this, then, why does the cat have nine lives?”

“Because the hawk has eight talons.” The answer left her mouth with no hesitation.

“Tsk.... such a shame....”

A breath. Dread sank into the air like a fog.

“....I was hoping to impress a lass with your coat. No offense.”

The dagger retracted, the shadows retreated, and a hand shoved her forward towards the house. 

“Move it. The master does not appreciate brashness, and especially does not like to be kept waiting.”

Without much input from Fenris, she was led up the path to the entrance of the house, past terraces built for training and for growing all manner of exotic plants and fungi, and through a courtyard that felt more like a chokehold than anything decorative. At every point, there were eyes, some visible as they went about their secret business, giving her the barest glance, and other eyes went unseen, and it was these that followed her every step, every breath. It would be a miracle if she made it out without some attempt on her life, either by poison in her veins or by blade in her back, but she had made it this far; maybe there was hope?

The escort ended once they were inside the house, the door closing behind them with a lock click that screamed of finality. 

“Wait here.” The man, roughly Fen’s age, dressed in the uniform of many of the other assassins with walnut hair tied back, walked around her and up the stairs, two steps at a time.

Making use of this moment of peace, Fenris looked about the room in silence. 

The place wasn’t anything magnificent; it looked like any other building you’d find in human territory. Save perhaps for some deadly equipment scattered about the room, she was in. Before her, just beneath the chandelier barely lighting the place, was a table housing a globe atop it. To her left, a staircase led to a lower section of the building, with another set of stairs just above it. The ones that the man had walked on to reach the upper level.

She couldn’t hear anything. No words, no footsteps, it was as if the assassin had faded from existence after leaving Fenris’ field of vision. Scent wasn’t even a factor; their position on the floor above couldn’t be pinpointed. Nor could she sense if any of the other assassins were in the room with her. Almost every corner of the room was enshrouded in complete darkness. Even with proper lighting, rogues in general were masters of hiding in plain sight. Whether anyone else was in here or not, Fenris had no way of telling.

For all she knew, they could be plotting to just kill her right then and there. But any attempts at escape, much less fighting, would be futile. The sheer amount of assassins she’s seen, not including the ones that don’t show themselves, would make quick work of her. Not that she would run, as it would leave unfinished work, but the option was out of the question. That much was clear.

Her best choice was to simply wait. And hope the floors aren’t decorated in her own blood.

She did not have to wait long, for a man, clearly different from the rest, elegantly dressed in deep, rich blues, blacks, and silvers, walked down the stairs with a catlike grace. He was older, but showed his age in the long silver grays of his hair and the deep-set lines on his face, rather than anything in his physical form. 

Jorach Ravenholdt (?)

“So, I hear you have something for me? You don’t look like our usual applicants, but you were clearly sent here all the same…. What is your name?”

Facing the man with head and body, the young warrior introduced herself. “Fenris, sir. And you must be Jorach Ravenholdt. I bring a letter for your eyes only.”

While saying so, she opened the bag containing the letter and offered it to him. Taking care not to accidentally break the seal.

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Oh, and why do you presume I am to be this Jorach Ravenholdt? I could be the butler.” He looked at the letter in her hands, his own clutched behind his back as he approached, then stepped aside to circle her. “What a curious little thing you have. How far have you traveled?”

Before Fen could answer, the letter was plucked like a bird from the sky out of her hands. He stopped stalking around her as soon as he saw the seal with the crest. He looked at her, then back at the crest, and popped it with a well-practiced motion.  As the letter unfolded, a feather fell onto the floor. A raven feather, the upper portion of which was drenched in blood that had long since dried, was crusty, dark maroon. The stench of it filled the air with acrid iron. The two of them watched as it fluttered.

And the man started laughing. Not a chuckle either, but a laugh that started small and overtook his whole chest and stole some of his breath away. 

“That cheeky bastard….That son of a bitch!” He chuckled, picking up the feather and giving it a once-over. “So he lives after all. I had wondered…Good, good. Well then,” He tucked the feather into a front pocket on his clothes, skimming over the letter with an amused expression on his face.“The fact that you were sent to deliver this means either you were very lucky, very stupid… or that he has seen something in you. Either way, you are to be congratulated on a job well done.”

He? The only person Fenris had seen about the letter was a woman. Who was this ‘he’ that the man spoke of? What would he have seen in her? What exactly was that feather supposed to represent? And why did it mean anything to him whether this ‘he’ was alive? What about the feather gave away that this person was alive? And the blood on it…

A multitude of questions ran through Fenris’s head. All of which was so overwhelming that her face couldn’t help but wear the most obvious mask of bewilderment ever seen on Azeroth. All that could leave her own lips was a brief sentence, almost said entirely subconsciously.

“… I beg your pardon?”

The older man gave her a sympathetic look. “This is your first time taking a job like this, I take it. Let me explain something, and listen well to my words. Those who train here are taught first to ask every question, and secondly to accept that you aren’t meant to know all the answers. But I will tell you this: Your employer is well known to me, though we have not spoken in some time. For him to send you, to send this,” He patted the feather in his breast pocket, “It is as much of an announcement of intent as it is a request to proceed. One that I acknowledge. Do tell the Dread Raven that, of course, the shadows welcome him back to our little game, and that I enthusiastically await his first move.”

The Dread Raven? She thought. Then an idea emerged in her mind. The instructions left by that ranger were signed, ‘Raven’, presumably her name. Could it be that she has a connection to this Dread Raven that he speaks of? Perhaps the feather was a signal of his arrival. Perhaps the dark ranger was an adversary of his.

Either way, this was clearly no matter that Fenris was to get involved in. Heeding the older man’s words, she nodded her head.

Since the older man assumed that Fenris was employed by this Dread Raven, it would be folly to ask where she would find him. No, it would probably be best to report his words back to the Dark Ranger, Raven, and see what else should be done.

“Very well. I’ll let him know personally.” She looked back towards the front door. “With your permission to take my leave, of course.”

Jorach chuckled and nodded his assent, “You catch on quick, but you would do better saying less and promising nothing. Yes, you are dismissed. Return to your employer. Derek will show you to the Wall.” 

With a quick glance at the door, Fenris would see the man who had apprehended her at the cave, watching her with an easy smile. “Not sticking around? Shame, I would have liked to watch you spar.”

Fenris had a smile of her own, raising a curious eyebrow towards Derek. “I do my best not to overstay my welcome.” She then turned her full body towards him. “But perhaps I’ll see you again in more preferable conditions? And in good faith, of course.”

His friendly demeanor dropped like a pit in the stomach. “Don’t push your luck. I’m still unsure how you got your hands on an insignia, and have half a mind to kill you just in case.” But then he shrugged and smiled as he continued, “But the boss said to make sure you get to the wall, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“In any case,” she looked back towards Jorach, then once more to Derek. “I appreciate your hospitality. And for not waking up in a platter on your table.”

Jorach was gone when she looked back, and Derek did not react to this revelation. He just kept walking forward.

“Not so much hospitality, more of a code. Like pirates and their parley, though don’t tell anyone around here I said that. The insignia was a….a white flag of sorts. A sign that someone in here trusts you enough to have us open the door instead of killing you. Normally, that means you’ve been invited to train here, but I guess whoever hired you wanted to increase your odds. Awfully kind of them considering. Though the one you had was quite an old one.”

Fenris looked down at the insignia still in her hand. With a better look, it indeed showed signs of age. Either that’s what he meant, or the model of the insignia is simply that of an older one. Either way, the ranger wouldn’t have lent it to her if it wouldn’t have at least granted the warrior a moment of protection. It more than sufficed.

“I see.” She returned the insignia into one of her bags. “Then I’ll heed your words and try not to push the luck I still have.”

Derek nodded, and unless Fenris decided to ask any more questions, the travel was done in silence until they reached the outskirts of Durnhold ruins. 

When the wind shifted, there was a smell of ash off the old stronghold, trying to keep the memory of that dark time and place alive. Previously built to imprison the orcs after the Second War, it had remained in its ruined state since its razing. From this distance, she could see the wooden frame, blackened with flames and age like ribs through the stone shell. What parapet had once held banners only displayed pale ghosts—ash stains climbing the walls where color had burned away, and the sun and bleached what cloth had remained.

In the seriousness of the sight, Fen would have barely noticed the shift in her companion. His eyes were always moving, but his gait was light-footed, a saunter rather than a march. Then the switch flipped, and his stride shortened, weight settling back into his heels. He did not turn to face her or anything other than what was directly in front of him. 

“Head into the keep.” Derek’s voice was low, but her heightened hearing picked it up with ease. It may have been phrased like a request, but it was spoken with the edge of an order. “Now.”

Not waiting for her to respond, he grabbed her arm and turned her into the broken gates of the keep. He did not let her go until they were well over the bridge.

“How quickly can you pull that stick of yours off your back and put it to good use?”

The wind now had a different scent; old blood, yes, but something fresher beneath it all—oil, steel, and fear carefully masked with discipline.

Fenris had thought it strange that Derek would walk her inside the keep, but now she knew why. Along with these new scents, a feeling of dread overcame her. It didn’t scare her, but it couldn’t be ignored.

No doubt the young warrior was capable of drawing her sword faster than most; it was a practice her combat instructor taught her first before learning to fight, but the question Fenris asked was, how many are there?

She began drawing her sword.

Derek, the Ravenholdt Assassin

Derek kept pushing her forward until the corridors of the keep opened into the entrance of some grand hall, the ceiling long since crumbled away. The stone echoed with their steps, which repeated one too many times. High above the clatter, crossbow strings creaked.

“Go left....now!”

He shoved her out of the way to propel his own roll to the right. The first bolt punched through the air with a dry, snapping thrum. Wood shattered where Fenris’s back had been an instant before. The bolt buried itself in the flagstone, quivering. Another followed, then another—three shots loosed in perfect rhythm from different angles. Derek was already replying, coming up on one knee, a knife sailing back into the rafters where one of the bolts had come from. Blood sprayed bright and obscene in the sunlight as it found a home in an ambusher’s throat, the man’s scream cut short as he pitched forward, hitting stone with a wet crack.

They emerged from the shadows then—men and women in muted, rugged traveling leathers, with expressions cold in their fury. Their tabards were a mix of the familiar and new. One of the men, who had chosen to charge at Fenris with his shield raised, bore the unmistakable markings of a Scarlet Crusader. Another, a woman with wicked daggers that had already engaged Derek, wore a red bandana tied to her arm that could only have belonged to the Defias Brotherhood. Though they were only blurs above, the vivid orange of the masks worn by the crossbowmen was indicative of Syndicate allegiances. But the other two, their tabards bore an unfamiliar emblem; a red rising sun with long rays emanating from it on a white background.

Seven in total—four on the ground and three above them, assuming one was to count the cooling corpse on the floor.

Fenris was no stranger to being outnumbered. Although her typical solution would be to flee and fight another day, here, the choice was not present. Even so, to flee would be to leave Derek to his own defense. Abandoning him. Fenris did not lead a life of cowardice, leaving people for dead. She would not start now.

She met the crusader’s shield head-on. Blocking it with her blade as the force of his charge pushed her back. With each strike, his blade aimed for the next vulnerable spot in the young warrior’s person as she evaded, deflected, and countered his attacks. He was fierce, relentless, and focused. 

But the major problem was still the others. With Fenris and Derek both engaged in an active fight, it wouldn’t be long before they were overwhelmed. They needed to think of something and fast.

She looked to Derek in between clashes. Anything. Any sign of a plan, or a brief signal on what to do next, while trying to think of something herself before things got worse.

Derek caught her look in the aftermath of a sucker punch from his opponent. It lasted no more than a heartbeat, just long enough for his mouth to twist into something that was not quite a smile. Blood ran down the side of his face from a split brow, one eye already swelling, but his gaze was sharp. Calculating.

He dropped low without warning—A crossbow bolt meant for his spine screamed overhead instead and punched into the crusader’s side with a sound like a hammer striking meat. The impact staggered the man half a step. A much needed opening for Fenris.

With not a moment of hesitation, she struck the crusader’s neck from his left. The sound of iron slitting through flesh and bone filled the air as Fenris swiftly removed the sword from his throat. Blood splattered about as he stumbled to the ground.

In that exact moment, the other person with the red sun tabard ran to join the fight against Derek. As quick as her legs would allow, Fenris charged in front of them and intercepted the assault by a swift slash to the hamstring. Then, with a fierce kick, launched them far across the hall. Just in time to hear the next crossbow shot and evade the bolt as it struck next to the fight between Derek and his oppressor.

The bolt that struck near Derek’s feet sent shards of stone skittering up his legs. He recoiled instinctively, twisting sideways as his Defias opponent surged forward to capitalize. She was too eager, too sure, and she felt her mistake before she saw Derek’s twin daggers slip between her ribs and sink deep into her chest. She did not scream, only spat blood in Derek’s face as a final insult before she joined the crusader on the floor, shoved by the force of the dagger being wrenched free.

There was no time to reassess, no time to wipe the blood from his face as another bolt snapped past his shoulder. He rolled, coming up behind a fallen pillar, leaving the two remaining combatants of unknown faction to try to corner the worgen. 

“Fen—” he started, then bit the word off as another bolt shattered stone inches from his head. He cursed, shoved the thought aside, and hoped that the enhanced hearing of his comrade would hear the warning in time. Popping up just long enough, a glass sphere from his belt flew from his cover into the fray, near the center of the hall. 

In a blast of white fire and thick smoke, Fenris and the two assassins were engulfed in acrid lime dust and alchemical smoke, burning lungs and blinding eyes. Shouts erupted immediately, angry, startled, suddenly afraid as human eyes lost their power to see.

From above, the scrape of boots gave away the two crossbowmen as they tried to reposition, though visually they were lost in the thin haze of the smoke bomb.

Luckily, Fenris caught Derek’s attempt at a warning just in time. Although she could still see, her lungs would not be safe for long, and pain tolerance would only let her shrug off the burning sensation for a moment. As if a ghost in the wind, she attacked in quick succession. The two combatants let out brief grunts within the smoke, flesh being torn following each sound they emitted.

A second later, Fenris jumped out of the smoke and behind a pillar where the crossbowmen wouldn’t be able to shoot her for now. She leaned against it to regain her composure as she attempted to resist the burning pain in her lungs.

Smoke covered her retreat to a column beside Derek’s, the assassin from Ravenholdt slumped in half cover, propping himself up with a hand to his ribs. The dark armor around it was taking on a new, troubling shade. He dragged in an exhausted breath before muttering, “Well...this is going to hurt.”

He craned his neck, first to check on Fenris, then past her, squinting upward through the drifting haze. Shadows moved, illuminated by the sun through the open ceiling, but too obscure to get a reading on. Above them, the castle’s old timber bones still clung stubbornly to the stone. They were charred beams spanning the upper gallery, half-rotted but thick, heavy, and very much loaded with armed zealots carrying crossbows.

Fenris could visibly watch an idea cross his mind.

“Oh, Fenris,” he called, tone light, playful, like he was inviting her to a drink, clearly glossing over the fact that he had never asked for her name previously, “You know what would really brighten my day?”

Another bolt cracked into the pillar near his head, fired with carelessness as the smoke was close to dissipating completely. Derek flinched, then waved vaguely in its direction.

“Having the large frame that ya have, not saying it’s not lovely for some...Have you ever developed a personal grievance with architecture? And, if so-” His grin faltered, just slightly, humor bleeding away as he groaned, repositioning to take a knee while hands filled themselves with throwing daggers, “-Would you be so kind as to take it out on those beams up there?”

She looked toward what he was talking about. There. Of course. One good strike to those beams would send the gallery crashing down. Potentially staggering the crossbow men upon its descent, leaving enough time to finish them off, or killing them with the debris.

She looked back towards Derek, who had seen better days, and knew she needed to act. 

She looked around for something to throw. Something large enough that its weight would collapse the beams in a single blow. But nothing was large enough. Her only option was her own blade. This would disarm her for the moment, but she had trust that Derek would be able to pick up her slack, as a result of possibly losing her weapon with this action, if their enemy didn’t die in the gallery’s collapse. For now, the claws gifted to her by the worgen form would have to suffice if need be.

Another bolt snapped into the pillar Fenris was behind. They took a desperate shot; now was her chance! She rolled out from behind her cover with her blade drawn. Standing upright, she wound her arms behind her person, both hands gripping her sword by the handle, and just as the smoke dissipated completely, she hauled the blade with ravaging force as if shooting it from a cannon.

Instantly destroying the beams upon collision, causing the gallery to begin collapsing.

The impact boomed through the ruin like a thunderclap as the old wood crumbled in a cascading failure. One beam went, then another, and another, each snapping like a gunshot as the upper gallery sagged and then collapsed. Stone blocks slammed into the floor hard enough to crack flagstones. Splintered timbers punched through armor and bone alike. The two crossbowmen screamed, tried to find safety, but gravity ensured that their bodies tumbled with the wreckage. One man tumbled through the air, hit the ground wrong, and simply… stopped. The other lived, if barely, his leg visibly twisted in an unnatural angle that promised shattered, visible bone and a crimson soup. Thankfully, the slab of stone crushed into his lower body and pinning him where he lay hid the majority of the gruesome sight. Derek wasted no time, rushing into the dust knives ready to put an end to his suffering. But broken was not dead, and he raised his crossbow for a final shot-

“Derek, no!”

As quickly as she could, the young warrior charged towards Derek and shoved him out of harm’s way. But in that instant, the crossbow shot its bolt. Landing a clean blow into Fenris’ Lower body, where her armor didn’t protect her.

Upon being struck, she tumbled towards the ground, clutching where the bolt landed as she groaned in pain.

Derek hit the stone hard, breath blasting out of him as the world spun. He heard Fenris hit the ground a heartbeat later—heard the sound she made, low and involuntary. 

“Shit-” He started, the word coming out ragged, but it died in his throat when he rolled onto his side and saw her. Pushing himself upright, pain screaming as his ribs protested, he scrambled to her side. Practiced fingers retrieved a crimson vial and popped the cork with a quick flick of the thumb.

“Hey, hey, little lady, don’t you go dying on me. You still have a job to do, yeah? Your employer needs you angry, not unconscious, alright?” Derek pressed the vial into her hands and guided it to her mouth. “Healing potion, made it myself, drink up...”

He stayed with Fenris to ensure she wouldn’t immediately bleed out, an ear out for trouble before standing and moving towards the crossbowman, still half-buried under the wreckage of the gallery, torso twisted, legs crushed beneath stone and timber. One arm was pinned. The other trembled as he fumbled to reload, teeth bared in a rictus of pain and hate. His eyes were locked on Fenris, even as his body died slowly. Derek crouched low and took the crossbow from him like a parent confiscating a toy from their child.

“You did your job. Truly. Very impressive form.” Derek said softly, almost kindly, tilting his head as if examining a curiosity. “You Red Dawn lot are getting better at this! You should be congratulated.”

The man spat blood and tried to reach for a dagger at his belt. Derek caught his wrist and twisted. There was a sharp, brittle pop, and a wet choking rattle as Derek broke his wrist, and turned the man’s own blade up and under, into the soft V-shape area of his jaw. He held the dagger there until the body went slack.

Then he wrenched it free and stood, chest heaving, blood dripping from his hand to toss the blade aside against the stone and rubble. He didn’t look back at the corpse, just went back to Fenris- the look in his eyes was empty, cold, like staring into the abyss of the sea and seeing nothing but the dark yawning below.

She sat up slowly and carefully. Trying not to irritate the area where she had been struck or have the bolt mess it up any more. Thanks to Derek’s vial, she would be fine. 

More thankfully, the encounter had conceded. However, Fenris couldn’t help but wonder who those people were. ‘Red Dawn’ she heard Derek call them. To be attacked by them near the Ravenholdt manor. And clearly, they were acquainted with the assassins of Ravenholdt for Derek to mention their improvement. Did they want something with Jorach? Or did they just ambush the first people that caught their eye? They attacked Fenris alongside Derek after all. Perhaps they assumed she was with Ravenholdt. It beared questioning.

The bolt punctured her side pretty good. Taking it out would risk additional blood loss. Fenris had a potion of her own to help with the damage, but she can’t say it would act quickly enough to stop the bleeding after removing the bolt. Best to leave it where it’s at for now.

Still clutching her side, a soft groan escaped her mouth as she stood fully. Turning towards Derek as he approached her, then towards the now dead Red Sun enemies lying about the hall. “Do you think they wanted something with us?” 

“Ah-ah, drink first, questions second. Questions get their turn when you stop actively leaking.” Derek chided her, making her drink more, and refused to speak until the whole thing was finished.

Only when the vial was empty did he hum thoughtfully.

“It’s hard to say with them.” He considered the cooling corpses for a moment, “The Red Dawn are an old problem with a new face. Let’s just say that some of their lot have been dancing with some of our lot for almost as far back as the Second War. Nasty little habit of coming back in fashion. They have friends now-” 

He gestured to the Defias woman, the Scarlet Crusader, and the two of unknown faction, presumably the Red Dawn, whom he was speaking about. A grin tugged at his mouth, sharp and humorless.

“-But the Syndicate has been infesting these mountains for years. Why would they crawl into bed with zealots? Easy: Power. Resources. A shared, deeply personal loathing of anyone who isn’t them. Dealer’s choice. Take your pick, they bleed just the same. Could be they clocked me and were wantin’ to settle the Old Score. Could be the others saw you and got a little drunk on their human purity nonsense.”

He exhaled through his nose, a thin and crooked smile returning. “Either way,” Derek finished, glancing back at the corpses, “They picked the wrong afternoon.”

A sigh of disappointment left the young warrior’s mouth. She hated seeing lives go to waste. Not that anything could have been done. Given how determined they were to see their enemy killed, trying to spare them would have resulted in Fenris and Derek’s demise. Luckily, the two were more than capable of holding their own. Even if a bit of damage had been suffered.

“Indeed, they did. Damn fools.” She began to reach into one of her bags. Pulling out a vial of her own. “But perhaps you could take your own advice and drink up?” She held out the vial towards Derek. Offering it to him. “You don’t look too good yourself. Consider it, thanks for giving me one of yours.” A sincere expression grew on her face as she said this.

Derek shook his head, straightening his posture for a moment before groaning. A hand rushed to his wound. It wasn’t as urgent as hers, but it clearly hurt, despite his best efforts to conceal it. 

“Tell you what…We split the drink up to Stromguard. From there, we can get patched up by the priests. And before you ask, is it safe, let’s just say I have an in there, ok?”

Nodding her head in agreement. She looked around once more, still not exactly at ease.

“Then let’s get going. Before any more of these guys decide to show up.”

---

Night had already claimed Dornagal by the time Fenris reached the Stonelight Rest, though her wounds would still ache despite the priesthood of Stromguard having done all they could. Days of incense, murmured prayers to the Light, and steady hands had done their work with discretion just as Derek had promised. They had not made her whole, but well enough to travel.

When she entered, the innkeeper barely looked up as he slid a key across the counter. Her room had already been paid for, and an order for a full meal was being sent to the kitchen as they spoke.

After some hard, vigorous work, Fenris felt exhaustion envelop her. Even after having a few days of rest before actually returning to Dornogal, it didn’t quite give her the moment of peace she had been wanting since the fight in Durnholde. The injury, received from those crossbowmen, had healed nicely. But still very much present, as any sudden movements would irritate it.

She approached the door to her room, unlocking it with the key given to her by the innkeeper. As the door opened, the young warrior was greeted to a magnificent bed. A smile so vibrant hadn’t manifested on her face in quite a while. At last, she could truly rest. She walked to the side of the bed, removing the bulky parts of her gear, pauldrons, boots, and such, then allowed herself to lie back fully on the bed.

… ah, right… stone beds. Well, it mattered not to her. She lay on it till her dinner for the night was ready, ate until she couldn’t anymore, then called it a day.

When the morning arose, it meant it was time to conclude the job with the dark ranger. Fenris gathered her things after waking up, then prepared to meet Raven once more- Except when she sat up, there was an elf-shaped shadow sitting in a chair in the corner with a smug smile.

“Good morning, Fenris.” Raven stood as she made eye contact with the warrior. “I am pleased to see you alive and well. How is my letter?”

She almost flinched at Raven upon seeing her. “O-oh!” She straightened herself. “The letter I was tasked to deliver to Jorach Ravenholdt is in his hands. No one else got it. Nor did I dare to open it myself.”

Fenris

“I know. Lord Ravenholdt would have ensured you would have never left that manor otherwise.” She threw a bag to Fenris that clinked with the promise of coin, and lots of it. “The rest of your payment, plus some more for your trouble. Had I known of this Red Dawn, I would not have sent you alone... I presume you have questions, and you have stumbled blindly in the dark long enough. I will answer what I can, so long as you answer mine in turn.”

Fenris thought for a moment. “I do have one.”

She pulled out the insignia entrusted to her for the job. “When I handed Jorach the letter, or rather, when he plucked it from my hands, he opened it after seeing the seal. A feather tipped with dry blood fell out. He then proceeded to assume that I was employed by someone he kept referring to as ‘Dread Raven’.” She lifted the insignia above her waist. “Furthermore, an assassin of theirs mentioned this particular model was that of an older one.”

Fenris then gave the dark ranger a firm look. “If it is any business of mine, then I ask only one thing: Who is this Dread Raven? And why did you choose me of all people to fulfill such a task?”

“I will answer the second before the first. I chose you because we both have needs I believed that the other could solve. I need someone who can go into places I cannot and do the things I cannot. Who can walk within the halls of the Alliance and tell me what goes on there.  Someone that I can count on not to sell me out in turn, either due to loyalty or because of their own fear of retribution. You, meanwhile, require a steady stream of employment, with an employer you can trust who will not betray your values or try to double-cross you... and who will not ask questions as to why you are not entirely within the good books of the Alliance officials.”

Raven reached into her cloak and produced a neatly folded piece of parchment. “Here is a contract for employment with an organization known as the Emberheart Expeditions. They are neutral, in service of Azeroth over any faction allegiances, though truth be told, if you were to look at their ranks, you’d be forgiven for calling me a liar. More importantly, they are honorable and trustworthy, and they take care of their own. Recently, they have been given land by the Horde Council to settle, and if you were to sign this contract, a plot of land could be set aside for you. I represent them, for the most part. You could work for them for as long as you see fit, and when we once again have unique needs, we can help each other fulfill them. Of which you will be handsomely compensated, of course.” 

She looked at the contract Raven pulled out. Sensing it was almost time to find a place she could call home. “It would seem Jibing told you I was interested in a guild. Very well, if all I have to do is sign that contract, then consider me a member of the expedition.”

“Now, is it my business to learn about this Dread Raven? Or should I wait till some other time?”

Raven chuckled, offering the contract and an open hand; A trade. “Depends. Give me back my insignia and tell me what message the old man gave you.”

Fenris tossed the insignia towards Raven. “He only told me to tell the Dread Raven this: The shadows welcome him back into their little game, and Jorach enthusiastically awaits his first move.” Her eyes diverged from Raven’s. “I told him I would let the Dread Raven know personally.”

She caught it in one smooth motion, tossing the contract on a nearby table a moment later, “Then you may rest easy knowing you’ve been true to your word, though I haven’t gone by that name for some time now. Perhaps I will have to start now.”

Her eyes slightly widened as her gaze returned to the ranger’s eyes. “You?”

“Surprised? I had a life before I became what you see, much like you, Haley.” A swift gloved hand was raised to cut off the warrior’s protest, “Of course I know your name, only fair I learn yours before you know mine.”

When Raven mentioned Fenris’ real name, a light gasp could be heard from her. As Raven finished her sentence, the young warrior chuckled a bit. “You certainly have a way of getting to know the people you work with. Safe to say you know everything about me, then?” She said in a more somber tone.

For the first time since she had met the ranger, Fenris received a sympathetic look, “...Almost. I find it is easier to do business when one understands another. There was one question I could not quite learn the answer to.” Raven started removing her glove, “I would learn it now, if you allow me.”

Fenris nodded, wondering what the question could be. “Very well.”

The glove removed, a strange, crimson power was pulled from the ether and into her curling fingers. In the same instance, a knot formed imperceptibly slowly inside of Fenris’s chest, deep inside her soul, which grew and grew until it lengthened into a silken, delicate cord-like thing. It tugged on that deep something, with the other end cord reaching out, floating in the void between mind and spirit- and the pain. The pain that blossomed from her was excruciating. It robbed everything but the most surface of thoughts. Raven closed her fist, and Fenris’s throat closed up from the primal fear that gripped her mind, that invisible cord ripped out to form a tangible ribbon from her chest to the dark ranger’s spell work.

“Why are you no longer welcome within the greater Alliance?” Raven’s voice was no longer calm, but commanding. It was an order, and Fenris would feel compelled to speak the absolute truth as she knew it.

The young warrior spoke willfully, revealing the truth.

“… I killed my Alliance brethren in arms.”

The words spoken with pain and sorrow as she revealed the details.

“I was stationed at a camp in Durotar during the conflicts occurring between the Alliance and the Horde in Pandaria. My commander at the time was tasked with gathering intel on what the Horde were up to. It just so happened our camp was stationed just outside an orc village. One day, he gave us an order: to ravage the village and eliminate the orc people there. I saw this order of his as unjust, so I objected against it. Still, he insisted that they be killed, to this day I know not why, but I could see the vile hatred in his eyes. In an attempt to stop him, I placed myself between the platoon he led and the village. He was disgusted by my actions and called it treason. To which, he ordered for me to be executed along with the village. I fought that day for the safety of innocent orcs who had nothing to do with the ongoing conflict. But…” her voice swelled a bit. “But I was forced to murder the people I had fought alongside to ensure my survival and the safety of the village. It cost me my place in the Alliance, my home. As a scout, separated from the action, reported back to Stormwind to inform them of my deeds.”

She took a breath before continuing.

“The orcs spared me no mercy themselves. They thought it insulting that their enemy would try to save them. That my actions for them would suddenly forgive the damage the alliance had already caused. At that moment, I realized I would not be welcomed anywhere. I had lost everything. I was left for dead. Even after surviving mostly on my own, in the harsh climates of Durotar, a bounty had been placed on my head. They hunted me relentlessly.”

She takes another breath before continuing, concluding her truth.

“That bounty lasted until the events of the burning Legion. Where Azeroth needed all of the warriors they could get. It was then that I lent my sword for the sake of saving our world. Since then, my status as a traitor has lifted, but the Alliance still did not welcome me back with open arms. In their eyes, I could never be forgiven. And I don’t blame them.”

The dark ranger gave no obvious reaction to the warrior as the words spilled out of her soul, but as Fenris took the deep breath, whatever magic hold she had been under dissipated, and the pain eased like a fever breaking.

As she put her glove back on, Raven spoke slowly, with what could be imagined as an air of empathy, “I… apologize, everyone reacts differently, and I should have warned you. I have….been where you are. I have also been the one to see those orders carried out against my people. More often than not, however, I have been the one giving those orders a thousand times over…. Let me be clear, I do not judge you for your decision. We have all done things we have to one day answer for. Either in this life or the next. But…..You will be welcomed into the Expedition, however, so long as you hold onto that sense of honor. Of that you should have no fear.”

Fenris looked down in disappointment. Clearly still unable to come to terms with that day after so many years later. Even if for a righteous cause, it was still murder. That much was clear to her.

She looked at the contract, then to Raven once more. “I am glad you’re willing to accept me. I seek to lend my sword wherever I can. If not to repent for my sins, then at least to help those in need.” She reached for a pen in her bags, then proceeded to sign the contract. “Naturally, when you have any more work for me,” on the contract was written her real name: Haley Manuriel, with her alias, Fenris, just beside it. “You need only say the word.” She spoke, looking again towards Raven, setting the pen down.

“I think I can manage that.” Raven’s lips turned into a small, but no less wicked grin, as she picked up the contract and placed it somewhere under her cloak, “Are you ready to depart immediately, or will you require time to settle affairs here?”

“I would like at least the rest of today. I have a mentor I’d like to bid my farewells to. He’s the one who urged me to find a guild, and is the reason I stand here to this day.” She said with a bright smile, excited to tell her mentor that she’s found a new place to call home. Or at least a work home.

“Of course, take all the time you need. When you are ready, there will be a mage here who will provide you with a portal to the Enclave. You will know them by the green and gold uniform, with a phoenix in the tabard.” Taking her time to set her hood so as to cover her face, Raven started to exit the room before pausing at the doorway, gaze cast over her shoulder, “Now that we have an understanding of one another, I hope I don’t have to impress upon you the price of divulging information that is meant to be secret?”

Fenris maintained her smile. “That won’t be a problem. I’ve already assumed my task, and what I’ve learned from it are to be kept secret.” She stood up. “I won’t let you down.”

“Actions provide evidence of the truth, not words.” She said curtly, “But I look forward to you proving me wrong.” 

And with that, she stepped out into the dark subterranean hallway, out of sight of the worgen.