Yvette the Wicked
“Ahh, I’m home,” Mori reached out and stroked the red carpet tenderly. It had been weeks, no, months since she had left her homeland to travel and practice her skills, and she had longed to return, even if temporarily.
“Not a very warm welcome, I’m afraid.” Sahtra stood next to her, surveying the scenery. Piles of dead blood elves were scattered around the city, some resting their heads on clay pots that housed dying plants, others lying ingloriously face down on the ground. Behind him, in a small but ornate meeting chamber, lay the bodies of Regent Lord Lor’themar Theron, Halduron Brightwing, and Grand Magister Rommath. How ironic, Sahtra thought, that in this timeline, the blood elves who had survived the fall of their city eight years ago and had toiled to rebuild had only been rewarded for their efforts by being wiped out by a crazed pirate with a powerful artifact.
“Not again! WHY?” Mori climbed onto her feet and finally looked at the carnage around her. Burying her face in her hands, she paced agitatedly around in a circle, muttering to herself, “It’s not real, it’s not real,” ad nauseam.
“Look, over there,” Meechi pointed at the stone path covered in carpet directly opposite the elven leaders’ resting place, “there’s foreign soil heading in that direction. It must have come from Moldmane’s boots when he was back in Stormwind.” The vulpera squinted at a fountain in the distance amidst several buildings. “The captain must have gone that way.”
Halvor nodded. “Let us go to water and look for clue.” With that, the vrykul started for the monument, walking by a series of deceased Silvermoon guardians dressed in their traditional regalia. They wore red and black armor lined with gold and carried red shields forged in the shape of the phoenix. The shields bore on them green jewels that matched their own wielders’ eye color. Past them stood a series of beige-gold buildings with crimson rooftops and matching glass windows.
“Red clothes, red house, red window,” Halvor observed, “everything red in this city.”
The fountain was carved of smooth marble and polished with a fine sheen that reflected the evening sun. Three sculpted elven ladies holding up a jug were perched upon a pedestal, and the serene water flowing out of the jug and into the surrounding large pool was the only reminder that there had once been life in the city. Mori briefly smiled as she recalled watching children play in the waters, laughing gleefully until their parents or older siblings dragged them out despite their protests. It was improper behavior for one who would grow up to become a proud blood elf, they used to say.
“The trail leads over here,” Meechi slowly walked down the stairs by the side of the pool. She was about to turn the corner when a throwing knife zipped past her ear and struck the base of the fountain.
“WHOA!” the vulpera cried out. “That was close!”
Halvor picked up the knife and examined it. “This little thing? It has teeth of dog drawing on it.”
“Wait…what did you say?” Meechi turned her head to Halvor and held out her hand. “Let me see that.” The vrykul placed the knife into the vulpera’s open paw and watched as her pink skin turned several shades paler.
“I-It’s one of the captain’s assassins,” Meechi stammered, “s-someone is after me.”
“You should have kept your nose out of this, Meechi,” a raspy female voice threatened from the shadows. Stepping forward into the light, the speaker revealed herself to be a worgen wearing tight brown leather with metal bracers and shin guards. She had a red sash tied around her waist, and atop her head a brown brimmed had with a feather tucked in it. A flash of light glinted off one of her blue serrated daggers.
Halvor scratched his head. “You know her?”
Meechi nodded nervously. “Yvette…the Wicked. The captain’s best friend and most trustworthy assassin. She has never failed an assignment, so there’s a really large bounty on her head.”
“Thank you for the introduction. That was quite lovely.”
“Why are you here?” Though Meechi did not want to admit it, she already knew the answer.
“Moldmane knows you’re on to him,” the worgen spoke nonchalantly as she twirled one of her daggers, “you need to be silenced before you go tell your…friends who are looking for us.”
“But we don’t even know what he wants with the titan artifact,” the vulpera protested, “and why all these people are dead!”
“I could tell you,” Yvette scoffed, “but that information won’t do you any good,” the assassin crouched, preparing her assault, “because you’ll be dead.”
“I think not,” Meechi snorted, “and we’ll get you to talk!” The vulpera turned to the rest of her traveling companions. “Everyone, we need to take her down alive so we can ask her questions. Make sure you use non-lethal attacks, okay?”
One versus four, eh? The worgen looked down from one traveler to another, studying their size, armor, any weapons they visibly carried, and any signs of weakness. This might get difficult, she muttered to herself, but I can’t risk any of them escaping and stopping the captain—
“TAKE THIS!” Meechi shouted as she quickly hurled a bomb at Yvette’s head. The worgen dodged in time, and the blunt pieces of the bomb bounced off her shoulder armor instead of dealing any significant damage to her head.
“Ouch,” the assassin hissed, “that hurt.” It hadn’t knocked her out, but the force of the explosion had left one of her arms throbbing. Using her daggers effectively would likely prove to be a challenge. No matter, she mused, throwing her dagger down and reaching for her belt, I still have my flintlock. Loading her pistol, she shot out two bullets at Meechi, the first missing but the second lodging itself in her target’s leg. Veins of lighting shot out from the injury, and the vulpera fell to the ground.
“Darn it,” she cried out, “I can’t feel my legs!”
“Only temporary,” Yvette replied with a laugh, “I cannot let you get in my way while I deal with the others.” The worgen studied her opponents and dropped down in front of Mori to launch her next attack.
“Perfect positioning, little—” the worgen began to speak but stopped short as Halvor slammed into her with his shield and knocked her back several yards. She snarled and reached into her pocket and waited as the vrykul approached her with his sword poised, ready to strike.
“MY EYES!”
As the large warrior prepared to land his blow, the assassin took advantage of his vulnerability and thrust out her hand into his face, opening her palm to spray sand. Halvor fell back as he dropped his sword, desperately attempting to rid himself of the fine particles.
“Strike while her defenses are down.”
Mori heard the command from Sahtra and nodded, sending out several bolts of shadow aimed at Yvette. Each bolt landed with a hiss, their collective destructive power complementing the strikes from the death knight’s cursed axe Shin’ka. The human smiled to himself. He had Yvette in melee range, where he was most effective. Only a few more hits and she would be neutralized.
“Don’t think you’ll get me so easily,” whispered the assassin as she blinked, disappearing and reappearing behind Sahtra. With a rapid movement of her wrist, she struck the side of his torso with the flat blade of her dagger, sending an electric shock throughout his armor and his limbs and rendering him stunned.
“Now,” the worgen sneered as she turned towards Meechi, “where were we?” With the force of her powerful legs, Yvette launched herself into the air, hoping to land on the defenseless vulpera, but a spell of blight stopped her short. With a cry of pain, she took the full force of the blast of shadow magic and was propelled backwards into the wall. The worgen slumped onto the ground, unconscious yet breathing as her head struck the hard stone.
“Don’t kill her!” Meechi called out as she ran up to Yvette’s body, “I still need answers from her!” She motioned to Halvor, who had finished ridding his eyes of sand. “Hey, do you have any rope? Let’s tie her up so she can’t escape when she comes to.”
The vrykul nodded. “Yes, friend fox, I have rope.” Sahtra frowned as he recognized the very same type of fiber he had found wrapped around his arms and legs upon waking up from his coma not more than two days earlier.
“Knife is bloody but sharp,” the vrykul commented, “it does good job cutting rope.” He handed the knife to Meechi, who attempted to study the dried up remains of whatever poor creature had fallen to Yvette’s blade. Mori walked over and placed her hand a short distance from the knife, searching for familiar traces of magic in the dried blood. Several paces away, Halvor neatly secured the worgen’s limbs and hoisted her limp body onto his shoulder.
“All right,” he turned to the vulpera, “where to now? It appears we are still in blood elf city—”
“The forest!” Mori cried out, her eyes widening as she recognized the aura coming from the knife. She looked distraught. “I must go to the forest!”
“Wait!” Meechi yelled, but it was too late. Mori had darted off towards the Silvermoon City gate as quickly as her little legs could carry her. Given her small limbs, however, she was pretty easy to catch up to, and the vrykul followed her with no more of a pace than a brisk walk. The others all stayed behind him, the furthest at eyeshot so as to not lose track of one another in this strange illusion of Azeroth.
Halvor followed the small image of the young blood elf in the distance, and the group eventually found themselves at a small house at the outskirts of the capital in Eversong Woods. The vrykul raised a large finger in front of his lips. “Shh, listen.”
Once the shuffling settled, they could all hear the sobs from the young blood elf. It was the first time that any of them had heard Mori cry. Quietly, the vulpera, human, and vrykul, still holding the unconscious worgen over his shoulder, made their way into the abode.
The three found the young necromancer in front of the fireplace, hunched over the body of a tall elven woman, her limbs covered with scars and bruises, the red and black jewels from her golden horns broken off and scattered across the floor, and her black hair strewn about, the long locks covering most of her face. The woman’s arms were spread above her head as if she had been struggling to protect someone, and the fingers of her right hand were still partially curled into a grip. Meechi looked above the corpse of the woman and noticed what were unmistakably claw marks from a dragon, their patterns etched violently into the wall.
Mori noticed her traveling companions had entered and momentarily turned around to face them, tears streaming down her eyes. “It’s my mama,” she spoke through sobs of anger and worry, “she’s dead!” The young blood elf turned back to Kaelstrasza’s corpse and placed her small hands on the woman’s head, stroking her black hair wistfully. Mori had often played with Kael’s hair, she found it soothing and soft to the touch. She tenderly began gathering the black hair to one side but abruptly stopped and silently recoiled in horror.
The one Kaelstrasza had died protecting was none other than her adoptive daughter, Morthana Ashblossom. Mori stared at the lifeless body of her own corpse, her blue eyes wide open in death. Blue?! Mori gasped, I never learned how to use the fel in this timeline!
The worgen began to shift and fidget in Halvor’s arms, but her eyes remained closed. The vrykul frowned as he noticed a knife pierced through a piece of parchment and embedded into the wooden table at the center of the room. “Eh, friend fox,” he gestured to Meechi, “can you read that paper? Looks like note.”
Meechi picked the knife out from the table and studied it carefully. The blade looked like a model similar to the ones she had seen her captain and some crew members use. The vulpera held the paper out in front of her and read aloud:
Eversong holds a powerful dragon. Destroy her and eliminate any witnesses. -MM
The alchemist frowned as she recognized the seal of the captain of The Stray Dogs. She crumpled the note and tossed it onto the table.
“I told you my mama was a dragon,” Mori was furious, “now do you believe me?”
The now-conscious worgen let out a slow, deep chuckle. “It appears I struck a nerve with the kid, eh? Well guess what, little elf, your foolish mother thought she could save you, but she was no match for our new power!” Mori glared angrily at Yvette but remained silent. This isn’t real, she reminded herself, my mother isn’t actually dead.
“It was really amusing watching her struggle,” the worgen cackled, “I’ve never seen anyone, especially a dragon, try so hard to protect a worthless little brat! I could hardly—AUGH—”
Yvette let out a croak and gasped for air as she was violently pulled from Halvor’s shoulder and into the open palm of Sahtra’s gloved left hand.
“You do NOT speak to the child in that manner, wench!” The death knight growled and held the worgen’s neck in his hand tightly as his blue eyes burned furiously.
Meechi ran up to Sahtra. “Hey!” she called out angrily, “I said don’t kill her! She still needs to talk!” The death knight shifted his glare from the worgen’s pleading eyes to the angry ones of the vulpera.
“You would be a fool to think I would, fox,” he sneered, and turned back to the worgen. “You WILL talk!” Sahtra roared, and he tightened his grip on her neck. He gazed at Meechi intently, indicating it was time for her to question the worgen.
The alchemist nodded and looked the worgen in the eye. “Yvette, what’s going on?” she asked in a mixture of confusion and anger, “What does the captain want? Please, tell us.”
“I’ll…answer…let go…I beg you,” the worgen grabbed Sahtra’s hand with both of hers, attempting to loosen his grasp but to no avail.
“It appears you can talk, wolf,” the death knight snarled as he pulled her closer to him, “speak.”
Yvette looked at Meechi, her eyes wide open with fear. “The captain…he wants to cause…havoc…on Azeroth…and destroy all life…with his new power…he has a box…the Titan relic.” She gasped for air and continued squirming in the death knight’s grip. Her neck grew cold as frost formed along Sahtra’s gloved fingers.
“Where did the captain go?” Meechi asked, “How do we find him?”
“He…went…he went…to the north…so he can go outside…again,” the worgen finally spat out as the death knight tightened his grip at her hesitation to answer. “He wants…to trap…you…in this world…so you…can’t escape!”
The vulpera gasped. “Then we need to get out of here as quickly as possible!” Sahtra followed Meechi with his glowing blue eyes as she ran for the exit.
“Are you finished with the wolf?” It was a simple question.
“Yes,” Meechi replied, and looked away as the death knight snapped the worgen’s neck with a simple movement of his wrist. Satisfied, he dropped Yvette’s limp corpse to the floor, a pale blue ring still visible around her neck where the death knight’s fury had left its mark.
Halvor blinked a few times then walked up to Mori, who was silently staring at the worgen’s body. “Uh…small child, are you okay?” Sahtra watched as the vrykul attempted to get Mori to leave behind the bodies of the alternate Mori and Kaelstrasza, but all the young blood elf did was glare at the massive warrior, clutching her blue cloud serpent for comfort. At her lack of willingness to cooperate, Halvor shrugged and followed Meechi out the door.
The death knight, moments ago destructive in his anger, now took slow, heavy steps towards the child and warmly placed his hand on her back. “Come, little one,” he spoke gently, with no trace of the wrath he had unleashed upon the worgen, “we must not lose any more time.”
Mori stood up straight and nodded in response. She silently let go of the cloud serpent, who took its place at her side, and gripped Sahtra’s cloak tightly as they made their way out of her home.