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.
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."
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shalamayne
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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."