Shadows Within

Horde FTW: Oh, I dunno. We'll see. And you'd better update soon, too... rawr.

Fawnheart: Well, what can I say? You always bring out my inner monocled tea-drinker.

And to both of you, that part felt really, really weird to put on paper... like trying to nail Jello to a tree. With a fish. A recently caught and still flopping about and gasping for air trout.
But it worked, right?

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Kalderin heard a sharp whistle to his right, and glanced over. Elarien had tossed a mask and hood in a tight wad of cloth over the crowd, and the rogue deftly jumped into the air in the middle of a small-scale riot and plucked it out. He donned as fast as he was able, feeling magic wash over his face... but it didn't feel the same as it usually did.
Shyla saw the blue flare from his eyes as the darkness covered his face, and it looked even brighter than normal. In fact, the human's entire stance had changed, in a very subtle way. As people panicked around him, he exuded a calm, focused aura that was almost tangible.

Fronai shouted, causing a band of Horde to form behind him in a split-second reaction; he was probably the most armored of the group, and he only wore his chest piece.
"Rajas, get the mages and stall them!" the warrior barked. The troll nodded, gave a sharp whistle, and a mass of bodies were displaced as the arcanists blinked away.
The orc continued, his orders being followed by those who were able to hear him. Others were also marshaling troops, forming groups to defend their home.

"Kalderin!" Fronai called out.
The human turned his head, his lights forming into anger.
"Get behind them, take out stragglers!" the warrior ordered.
The hackles on Shyla's back raised as the rogue gave a predatory growl in response, and tucked his body into a full run in an instant. A cloud of dust was kicked up in his wake, and then he disappeared.

"NOW!"
Bolts of frost caromed toward the first rank of Alliance soldiers, slowing their mounts but not halting the advance. Rajas didn't need to look back to feel the multitude of spells being readied behind him.
"AGAIN!" he shouted.
Another wall of frost magic was released, but the riders were gaining too much ground for much more.
"BACK IT UP, MON! BRING 'EM TO DA AXES!" The line of mages began to retreat, blinking as often as they were able. Rajas himself began shoving some of the slower ones along if they fell behind.
Arrows and bullets peppered the ground at the troll's feet as some of the more competent hunters and warriors fired from their mounts, missing Rajas by mere inches. He saw one coming straight for him-
-then, the whole world lurched as he was pushed aside by a blur of dark fabric, shadows, and two day-bright pools of blue.
"GO!" Kalderin barked over his shoulder, disappearing as soon as he spoke.

The human didn't stop; he propelled himself through the formation, leaping high enough to jump from saddle to saddle, letting a forceful push and swift, leaping kick unseat more than a few of them.
A shield slammed into his back, sending the rogue tumbling to the ground, but he rolled away from the hooves and paws that threatened to trample him. Kalderin sprang from the dirt, grabbed ahold of a saddle, and swung his leg up. The night elf who rode the nightsaber was dazed as the foot smashed into her nose, breaking it.
The kal'dorei fell, tumbling behind them in the dust, and its new rider urged it forward to catch the pack without a moment's thought. Had Kalderin been thinking, however, he would have been shocked at how quickly the cat responded to his movements.


But his mind was instead on the moment, the battle. He raced in from behind and, hearing the ring of metal, stood in the saddle and rocketed from his perch, tackling a warlock and driving a dagger (which he never recalled drawing) into his spine. With the remaining momentum, he rolled both himself and the dying man over and hurled his unwitting passenger into another crowd. The heavy thud and shouts drew an unseen feral grin to his face.
"Holy fuck!"
"Who, or what is that?!"
"Whatever it is, kill it!"

Kalderin's reflexes seemed to be heightened, a part of his mind noted, as it watched him tear through the formations, evading the blows by simply not being there when they got a good look at him. Arrows and bullets went to far or dug into other Alliance soldiers as they tried to pin the limber figure in their sights, swords and maces cleft the empty air as he moved with fluid, deadly grace.
"SHYLA!" the rogue bellowed without missing a beat.
The shaman saw him, he knew it. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew he knew, and he knew she was letting others know. A barrage of magic that rained down around him was all he needed to confirm his disturbing moment of precognition. He focused on the spell's origin and honed into it, turning his whole body and momentum in one spasmodic twist, and ran.

Dumar saw the thing, whatever it was, make an abrupt turn and take off into another muster of troops. The only things that he could identify it by were the ungodly speed it possessed, and the barest glimpse of its veiled, shadowy face, and the twin motes of shimmering blue within. And, as a single unit, that thing posed the greatest threat to the soldiers.
Kross had already assessed this, and gave a short chop of his hand, then pointed at the strange hostile. The warrior nodded, and gave a shout his comrades knew to answer.

Fronai heard one of the humans give a bellow so violent it shook the air in his lungs, and the sound of four- no, five of the Alliance raiders beating aside everything in their path as they focused on a single target. The orc dared to glance over his right shoulder, just before a swing-
And Elarien, with a voice that had the pure force to match the human's, returned the palpable war call, gathering a group of her own to meet the warrior, who was trying his damnedest to follow Kalderin, with varied success. Fronai ordered his own soldiers to push forward; he knew his guildmistress could handle herself.

Shyla saw the rogue's form and did a double-take. He was only a hair's width away from moving in a full, animalistic lope as he ran, even going down on his hands to push his form faster or keep stable as he spun, leapt, and wheeled, lashing out with bare knuckles and boot strikes as he passed.
Kalderin twisted around and rammed his gloved hands into the dirt, digging furrows in the earth when he ground into a crouched halt in front of her, panting almost like a weary dog. He looked over his shoulder at her and shifted his weight, still not rising, but pulling the glinting dagger into his right hand.
"Choo see dat paladin over deah, mon?" she asked pointing.
He stood now, getting a good look. "Yeah," he growled in response.
"'ee's da one in charge," the trolless told him, her face screwing up with an emotion he didn't have the proper reasoning to process at the moment. "Ah tink choo know what to do."
"End this madness," he said in a dark, bloodthirsty tone.

Rajas saw the human double into a flat charge, kicking up clouds of dust in his wake. Not for the first time, the mage was washed with concern for what the boy may have done, judging by the shaken look on his sister's face. When this was over, he needed to talk to her.
A burst of flame nearby returned the troll's attention to the battle. He needed to focus.

The Forsaken woman was far more skilled than he, but Dumar refused to back down. If she had been wearing her armor, then he knew this would have ended long ago, but the field was, so far, level. Under his helmet, he watched his opponent's face, scanning the ivory skin and bits of exposed bone for anything he could use as leverage.
And Elarien knew it. Her ratty mess of green-blonde hair swayed like a plot of plagued wheat as she evaded the human's precise strikes, and hurling her weight away from his shield when he swung that at her, as well. He was a good fighter, and more than likely a good man... but he was still the enemy as of now.
A clamor arose from the troops behind her, but the guildmistress didn't have the time to look. In fact, she didn't need to. Only one person was moving that fast tonight.

"Stop him!" Dumar ordered.
Armor and blades moved into position, and understanding dawned in the undead's smooth face. The look passed just as swiftly, soon replaced by the same stoic concentration as before, if a little more focused now. She shouted something to her unit, and Dumar watched them form into a single line, still beating off attackers from all sides.
Then, the unthinkable happened; the woman dropped to a knee.
Dumar was confused, but held the line his soldiers had formed. She was up to something, but what?

"GO!" she shouted at the human.
Kalderin decided he liked the way Elarien thought. Quick, adaptive, intuitive- no wonder the orcs behind her followed without question, forming their weapons into a narrow slope.
This is going to be child's play.

Dumar heard boots on metal, and the warrior propped to a stand, smirking right at him. The Alliance unit tensed their weapons for a charge, but it never came.
Instead, the strange thing they were trying to stop catapulted itself from her two-handed sword in a single motion, arcing into a back flip over the line. The two lights stared directly down at him, full of feral rage, focused and deadly.
When he looked back, the warrior was glad they weren't meant for him.

Kalderin landed, rolling back to his feet, and kept running without the slightest hiccup in his stride. The image of the immaculately polished plate armor was burned into his mind, fueling him with adrenaline. Like a wolf to the hunt, he darted through the lesser conflicts, boring to the bright, blinding heart of the Alliance force.
There were no preparations, no pleasantries. Just the sound of boots pounding the dirt, another dagger being drawn, and short, clipped breaths.
And, the rogue supposed, a very amazed look under the "holy" man's faceplate.

Kross shouted orders all around him, marshaling the forces as best as he could. They could stand to do a bit more damage, but until that wyvern roost is in flames-
The thought was cut short when a humanoid thing running a full-tilt boogie barreled into him, ramming a haphazard dagger through the joints in his armor. It bounced, but only because of the chain lining beneath it.
The human slung his war maul about, watching the thing roll to one side with the grace only a rogue could possess.
"What manner of creature are you?" the paladin demanded.
He saw the lights that served as eyes glare at him with undiluted hatred. "Your killer," came the rough, clipped reply.

Kalderin lunged forward, holding the knives now like a "proper" rogue now, just the way Jasper would always tease him for not doing. Like a force of nature, he rained the daggers down, lashing them out like raindrops, scuffing and denting the plate with sheer strength of arms.
However, Kross was not one to be daunted by anything. He endured the mixed, chaotic blows the thing piled upon him, and waited, trusting in his armor and the Light to aid him. When his aggressor stopped, he retaliated with wide, punishing strokes that the now winded rogue dodged only by the skin of his teeth. Calling on the power of the Crusader, his attacks gained speed, forcing the thing to dance ever closer to the head of the mace.
The paladin drew his weapon up for a sure bone-shattering blow, but it fell too slowly as the rogue rolled forward, twisting on his heel and driving the right-hand dagger into a crack that had formed in the armor.

Kalderin pulled the blade free and twisted again, away from the paladin's clumsy punch, and took a rigid stance before him. The human swung again, sweeping the maul, but he leapt up, onto the head, and forced it down, driving his blade deep into the armor yet again. The thick green paste that saturated his off-hand dagger seeped into the paladin's blood, slowly leeching away his life and forcing him to fight for the here and now.
Chaos, when used right, was a wonderful thing.
He knew the paladin would use the Light to purge the poison from his system, though he wasn't expecting the hammer to club him in the side quite so fast when swung one-handed. Kalderin tumbled, but righted himself with little more than a sore rib.
So, that's how we'll play, then.

The rogue poisoned the other blade as well, jamming it into the spare sheath he always wore on the back of his belt, and smirked. He dodged another lumbering swing and lashed out, snagging the elbow joint and once again biting flesh. But before Kross had the chance to rid himself of the wound, Kalderin rushed again, thrusting both of the blades at odd angles as he changed stances after almost every strike.
He caught his knives in chinks that the paladin didn't think existed, and usually managed to nick the skin beneath, forcing more and more poison into him while keeping him on the defensive. The rogue was relentless, finally finding purchase with a cruel, wrenching stab that wormed into the other man's gut.
This time, however, he was to close to evade the steel-cased knuckles that crashed into his head. They carried such a force that it knocked away Kalderin's hood, exposing his face.

Kross looked for a moment, trying to understand... then it dawned on him. He had seen this one before.
"Demon child," he raged through grit teeth, hefting his hammer and ignoring his wounds.
The bright-eyed human pulled himself together, not bothering to replace his disguise. "No demons here," a voice that was not his own spoke under the one that was.

The paladin charged, holy energy flaring on his weapon. The younger human bent his legs, anticipating the move with a cold glare. The hammer came around in a short, angled swing to get the most from the paladin's momentum, and Kalderin shifted his weight back just enough to shirk the blow by a thin margin. The rogue lashed his foot out, stomping on the haft of the maul with considerable force to throw the paladin's balance awry, then lunged.
Time slowed to a crawl as the blade shone in the firelight, then quickened again when it bit down into a narrow exposure in the armor. The keen edge struck lucky and true, ripping through muscle and sinews, cutting through to the jugular buried within.
Blood erupted from the wound, arcing into the air to soil the rogue's night-black shirt, and serving to draw the attention of the remaining Alliance force. Kalderin glanced around as he removed the dagger, and brushed an errant strand of hair away from his face.
"There will be no more death here tonight," he said in Common, eying the sudden halt in all conflict as word of the paladin's death rippled through Crossroads.
It felt like all eyes were on him. "I suggest you take your wounded and dead and leave this place," the rogue said, moving back to the main concentration of Horde, "before our reinforcements arrive."

Dumar was the first to respond at the sight of some twenty-odd blank, disbelieving stares.
"Are you all deaf?" he asked in a booming voice. "Gather the casualties and move out while we can!"
He dared to match eyes with the undead before him; she gave him a hard, fierce look, and inclined her head at a nearby corpse. Then, she turned away.

"Gather the fallen!" Elarien called to the Horde. "We still have time enough to honor their passing!
Most everyone who could still act began to move the bodies, placing them reverently near what remained of the bonfire. The Alliance soldiers also hurried off, dragging their dead onto mounts and using ropes to keep the riderless creatures from bolting.
Fronai sighed, placing his axe back into it harness, and made to help the others. To his mild surprise, Rajas was right along with them, almost unseen for the fact that he had taken his ebon hair out of its braid and let it spill unhindered around his face.
"What's gotten into you?" the orc asked in a hushed voice.
The mage looked up, all his usual venom absent for the moment. "Too much blood, mon," he replied in a tone that was just as subdued. "Even Ah can't be seen doin' notin'."

The noise and dust of the Alliance raid passed into the night, but an air of sadness hovered overhead in its wake. Kalderin was kneeling next to the body of one of the revelers, the same orc that had, in a drunken fit, floored him in the inn earlier in the day.
"Fucking humans!" someone nearby spat.
A troll looked at the sullen rogue's blank expression. "No offense, mon," he said.
Nearbly, a tauren stamped her massive hoof in fury. "Who do they think they are, storming in with innocents all about?!"
The human couldn't stop his mouth from opening. "It was right by them," his voice echoed into silence.
Everyone nearby stopped dead, and several of them rounded their anger at him.

"What did you say, you little cunt?" a hunter growled.
"From a tactical standpoint," Kalderin told them in an almost dead voice, "they were doing the right thing. Hit the enemy when you know they'll be weak." He glanced around him, focusing on the orc who had prompted his words. "That's what you'd do, right?"
"Well I damn sure will now!" he fumed, grabbing the rogue by his shirt. and hauling him to his feet.
"And they'll just return the favor," he sighed, his obvious distress falling harder on his shoulders. "How many times will it have to come to this before we see it's all wrong?"

The orc stopped himself from punching the brat. "What?"
The human looked up now, speaking loud enough to be plainly heard. "The raids and counter-raids. All this killing and slaughter just to feel vindicated for the latest slight. No one's in the right to say the other side deserves it."
Kalderin's mind was taking off without thinking, and without stopping now, saddened though it was. "When they come in and kill the innocent, I cannot deny it's wrong. But what about the undeserving who will be put to the axe when we storm them?" He looked around at all the half-lit faces. "How is it that it's wrong for them, but right for us?"

The silence was deafening. Everyone within earshot had heard, and they were all shocked into a stupor. Truly, what mortal had the right to say who lived or died? And who were they to claim such a title?
Slowly, the hunter let go of Kalderin's collar and turned away in shock or shame, he wasn't sure which. There was a slow, quiet murmur of concession to his words.
"All we can do," he found himself saying, "is give praise to the fallen here, and hope that the Alliance is wise enough to do the same."

With those words, the human began to move, trying to clean up gaping wounds and make the bodies seem at piece.
And in his own strange manner, he was glad he didn't need to sleep this night.