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shalamayne
It was only to be investigation. Observation. A simple survey of the land, to find if Blightcaller's whispered words had been true ones. Holding faithful ear of his Banshee Queen, Nathanos had made careful report claiming there was certainly something on a plane of land seemingly uncharted far to the east of the already eastern kingdoms.
'Something' could have been anything. With time being more foe than friend, Sylvanas had taken it upon herself to see it with her own eyes, to decipher truth from fiction. For though she trusted Nathanos explicitly, two sets of eyes were better than one, and an entire entourage of eyes... Well. That spoke simply enough for itself.
Above what appeared to be a vibrant, lush infinite expanse of greenery, blocking out most rays of the sun, loomed a nondescript zeppelin airship, not flying proud banners, most likely in an attempt to remain as inconspicuous as a large aircraft could. Aboard it the Dark Lady had been when air fire launched and whisked over in a hail of indescribable projectiles of heat and shrapnel. With compromised integrity to the hull and a damaged propulsion system, the goblins that had scurried to and fro amidst the panicked crew had screeched their diagnosis—down she would fall and repairs would have need to be made.
The zeppelin sunk further and further, black smoke rising from its body as it made its inelegant descent. Striking the first heightened top of a tree, bark and branch tore at the structure, sending orc, forsaken, and troll alike overboard, not likely to have met with a compassionate landing. It had been only by the sheer fortune that Sylvanas could become incorporeal that she escaped the falling deathtrap. Not long after, the telltale explosion of engine and fire seemed to ricochet through the ground in a furious tremor.
Separated from her arrival party, when she finally roused herself, it was on the musty, slightly damp floor of the forest interior. Rays of light only catching in momentary glimpses, leaving an otherwise uneasy stillness. An occasional creak of trees that swayed in subtle breeze. A distant far-off cry of birds. And not too far from her, she was certain she picked up the sound of running water. Red eyes scoured her surroundings as she made way to her feet, no shortage of rips and tears in her soft leathers, having taken the brunt of her eventual fall.
A look over her shoulder to a faint opening in the trees spied a trail of smoke. Nathanos, she thought, suspecting he had faced far worse than crashing airships. They would be reunited again in time, she was certain. Until then, she had only herself to rely on in what she had not yet deemed entirely a gods-forsaken land.
Fixing hood and tattered cloak that hung off of her, Sylvanas lingered no longer than necessary, steps over stone and dirt and plant in the direction she had heard the singing of rushing water. Water led to civilisation, or so it had always gone before.
Perhaps she could find a settlement, or in some way, something to identify to where she had come, and the reason that had brought her there to begin with.
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There had been war meetings, council meetings, talks of who would go and how. They had to approach this with less aggression than others would, it would be naught but folly to go in wishing for a fight. And so things had been arranged; there would be a scouting advance of night elves who would go first, swiftly followed by the dwarves and gnomes who would then help establish the correct links in order for travel to be set up.
Things had been easy to plan, almost too easy and Anduin couldn't help but wonder what the catch was, what strange things they'd find in yet another new land. He hoped for the best and expected the worst and as he steps into the mage portal to head for Ironforge he briefly sends a prayer to the Light that it doesn't turn into yet another War. They've had enough Wars.
Anduin takes a few steps forwards before taking note that Ironforge is looking decidedly green. There's only a split second of confusion before Anduin's mind catches up with the rest of him, realizing that this is not where he needs to be. Instantly the young man spins around only to see the portal promptly and conveniently vanishing before he can even think to make a run for it. Great. Anduin can't help but sigh to himself; it would seem the Wrynn family curse holds true, that the Kings of Stormwind have a penchant for vanishing.
"I suppose I ought to be exploring."
Anduin knows he's been wanting some time to himself but this is going a step too far and he keeps Shalamayne to hand as he slowly starts to wander around, doing his best to strain his ears to hear anyone oncoming. Though, chances are, he'll never hear a specific ranger until they're upon him....
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To proclaim it so would have been naught more than arrogance. Many things was Sylvanas, outwardly cocky was not one of them, for clever and cunning were different than the idiotic waxing that the overconfident tended to do.
Prominent frown hooked into her features, once lovely in life, Sylvanas found herself in no greater or lesser position than when she had made her most unique arrival. For the hint of a moment, a passing in time so fleeting and abrupt, she paused, weight resting on the foot and bent knee, accompanied by the twitch of shapely ears. A sound. She heard a sound.
No mere sound either. A voice.
So quietly she strafed. In the back of her mind, she entertained the notion of hallucinations. Not even she was immune to such things. To such whispers in the ears. A trap. It all could have been a trap. Although the place between life and death had never been quite kind to her, Sylvanas found no interest in throwing herself into the embrace of what came after. Even she would tread carefully where traps might have been concerned.
Pulling herself into the tree above her with a surprising ease, she used the foliage to hide herself and followed across long, outstretched branch to the next, creating a path to rival the one that seemed infinite on the flooring below. And not long after, she found him.
I see, she thought as she eyed his head of blond hair, pulled back into that ponytail he seemed fond of. His blue, white, and gold apparel, decorated with its Alliance insignia. Anduin Wrynn was an unmistakable man. Alone. With one of his greatest enemies.
No dog at your heels? Sylvanas felt the curve in her mouth grow, the first piece of good news she'd found since the crashing of the zeppelin. Where is your faithful Greymane now?
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The surroundings look peaceful and Anduin would love to sheathe Shalamayne, to offer a smiling, warm expression to whatever people he came across here. It's just that something is wrong, terribly so and he cannot figure out what's causing it. Every fibre of his being is yelling out that something is wrong, the Light sending reverberations of pain along his bones in a horribly familiar way. Whatever is happening right now in this moment is a bad idea, enough that even the Light is changing the flow of harmony to let the priest know.
But what?
Blue eyes narrow as Anduin looks around, scanning the horizon for anything that may stand out as his grasp on shalamayne tightens. He doesn't want to fight those who live here or to give them the wrong first impression but right now it could be a matter or survival for all the discord that skitters down his side.
"Show yourself."
It's a wild guess, a stab in the dark. If he's wrong the Anduin can at least laugh at his own expense of talking to himself.
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Sylvanas is pleased. Even in the most bizarre of situations, Anduin is on top of things. Never caught unawares, it seems. A proper, worthy challenge. She has underestimated him time and again, and she knows it. But watching him grow as an individual, still viewing him outwardly as less than a threat, the Banshee Queen knows there's more to him. He may not be like his father, but he is still an adversary she would not trade in for another.
She's become rather fond of the way they stand against one another. She doubts he would or could say the very same.
The grin at the corner of her mouth grows. The softest creak of the branch beneath her feet ensues as she shifts, spiked and boned bow drawn from a mist of black. She nocks an arrow into place, but does not fire. Instead, she simply watches and waits, examines where she could or should shoot. Not at him directly, she decides. It's much more fun to play with the prey than to outright devour them.
"Oh, kingling," she croons from her perch. "Are you going to be that threatening to everyone you find here? What a terrible way to make friends. Although they might forgive it when it comes from such a pretty face."