Assassin of Kings

In the shadow of the Gilneas wall, deep below the earth, prisoners of war are being forced to dig through the night, at the point of a crossbow. What they uncover will be their end...

A (very) short story by N.T. Blevins, set in the World of Warcraft universe, created by Blizzard Entertainment.

Thanks for reading!


4. Death for Life

  Below them, inside the mine, Sylvanas' men shouted. Some screamed. The figure in the hood beside her shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the horses tied several feet away, behind the tent. This had been her plan to begin, but perhaps she had not believed, herself. Many thought the old gods a myth, something to scare children with. Sylvanas knew better.

  More sounds drifted out, inhuman and echoing with death. Sylvanas felt a chill run through her, but she held her ground. The hooded figure turned, deciding to try and break for the horses. The Banshee caught her wrist, and held it firm.

  "To the tent." She commanded.

  They ducked inside, and the figure returned to her place, in the far corner, opposite the door. Sylvanas made herself sit, and waited. The sounds quieted, and for a moment, she wondered if she had made a mistake- If the dreams had been wrong, haunting her sleep since she received the amulet. She pushed the doubt from her mind. No, this was too important. It would shift the tide of the war, and secure her claim over the fractured Horde. Garrosh may be a mighty warrior, but he was no leader. After tonight, the Horde would know who was most capable, most fearless.

  Outside, the silence grew heavy. A thousand sounds that had surrounded them in the night, creating a silence of their own, were suddenly gone. Behind her, the woman breathed- shallow breaths, filled with terror. They waited.

  The tent stirred. The heavy woven flaps over the opening shifted. Sylvanas tensed. As they watched, a trickle of smoke appeared between them, like a moving shadow. It snaked into the tent, and grew, filling the doorway, coalescing into the form of a man. But this was no man.

  He would have been handsome. Taller than most, with black hair. But his eyes, like hers, were dead. As they gazed upon her, she felt them driving into her soulless heart. Her body shivered.

  His robes were woven from shadow, and seemed to swirl around him, as though alive. He did not move, nor breathe.  Exactly as he had been in her dreams.

  Am'Rok Su'tan, god of assassins, god of death. Imprisoned beneath the Gilnean wall for centuries, now free to roam Azeroth once more. His voice slithered through the tent, a thousand dead whispers brushing past her ears.

  "Death for life. Speak a name. It will be done... as promised." The old god said.

  This was their arrangement, made in the dark dreams that had brought her here. Am'Rok's freedom, in exchange for one death, anyone she wished.

  Sylvanas opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the figure behind her, finding new courage, stepped into the light, and threw back her hood. 

  Vanessa VanCleef. She had inherited the amulet, and the dreams, from her father. Sylvanas possessed the mine. It was an arrangement of necessity, an arrangement of opportunity.

  Now she spoke the name that had brought them here. The name which would change the tides of war, and bring about a new era. Her voice did not falter.

  "Wrynn. Varian Wrynn."





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