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That Day Is Not Today

Chapter Text

Oh no, not this again...

She found herself - once more - standing within in the crowds. She recognized this place as the old combat arena in Orgrimmar, the place only true warriors could test their metal. And down in the arena below, she saw an elderly Tauren and an Orc, fighting with the ferocity of a thousand soldiers. It seemed as if the Tauren would win, but just then, the Orc swung his axe, and struck the Tauren across the chest. He didn't fight back, only remaining immobilized, and his opponent took advantage of it.

Finally, she was able to move her mouth, after being unable to speak, but it went drowned out by the roaring crowd.

"No... Father! Father! FATHER!"

Deathlord Imala Bloodhoof awoke with a start. The brown furred Tauren sat up in the bed she laid on, staring around the quarters she had occupied on the Acherus. 

A dream... just another damned dream, she told herself, swinging her legs over the bed and touching her hooves onto the floor. She sat there, blinking her cold blue eyes silently as she folded her hands across her lap. While the undead did not desire or have the need to sleep, Imala occasionally allowed herself to doze off. It helped keep a small reminder of her old life, despite the scrutiny of the other Death Knights.

Their opinion did not matter. She was their Deathlord, and they would not question what she did behind closed doors. 

"Deathlord? Ah, I hope I am not... disturbing things, per say".

The undead Tauren glanced up, warily eyeing the tall human figure standing in the doorway. His equally glowing blue eyes peered at the Deathlord, and Imala could have sworn she detected a hint of concern of them.

"I am fine, Trollbane", she replied after a moment of silence. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with".

The former king of Stromgarde nodded. There were times he did not understand his Deathlord, unlike Highord Mograine and Nazgrim. But then again, both he and Whitemane figured it was because she had known the two long before, having served with Darion while under Arthas Menethil's control, and having been under Nazgrim's command at the time of the Cataclysm and the Pandaria fiasco. He chose not to comment on it further.

"I suppose. But I did not come here to ask you about what happened", the Horseman replied. The Daethlord watched him passively, silently motioning him to continue. He indulged her. "A messenger informed us that you are to arrive in Thunderbluff, as per the request of the Chieftain".

She nodded. "Very well".

                                                                                                    ~*~

She had chosen to take a quick portal to the Tauren capital, instead of flying there because it would've taken Earth Mother knows how long. Kyranatrasz had not been happy that she was not taking him, but she reassured the former red that she would be back soon. 

The Deathlord cautiously stepped out of the portal, feeling a light breeze brush past her and ruffling her mane. She had donned her Lichlord armor, but kept the helmet off, while The Apocalypse sat sheathed on her back. After she had grudgingly sacrificed the Blades of the Fallen Prince to neutralize the Mad Titan's sword after he impaled it in Azeroth, she had taken up The Apocalypse as her main weapon, and handed The Maw of the Damned over to Darion, believing him to be a far more worthy wielder of it. 

"Imala!"

Imala glanced up, watching as a younger white furred Tauren ran her way over to her. Her forest green eyes shone happily, and she embraced the Deathlord, who grudgingly allowed it.

"I'm so glad you made it! I was beginning to worry you wouldn't show up!" The younger female exclaimed, finally letting the uncomfortable Death Knight go, and looking up at her.

"Ayita..." Imala sighed. Ayita Cloudjumper was another fellow Tauren of hers, but she was a shaman, and the new Farseer of the Earthen Ring as Thrall stepped down. She had wielded The Fist of Ra-den, but after giving that up, she had chosen to use Doomhammer, former weapon of Thrall, and sharing its name with the late Orgrim Doomhammer, though of course it was an artifact passed down from the Doomhammer legacy.

There were rumors that Baine was courting Ayita, and Imala was not the least bit surprised if that was the case. It was about time he find himself a life-mate to sire an heir with.

"Anyway", Ayita continued, breaking the silence between them. "C'mon. Let's get you dressed up", she said as she grabbed the older Tauren's hand.

"Wait, what?"

Ayita just giggled at the expression on her friend's face she dragged the protesting Death Knight away, onlookers watching in amusement.

                                                                                                           ~*~

It had taken plenty of convincing to get Imala out of her armor, and since she refused to wear a robe or dress, the Deathlord was now dressed in black leather pants, a white tunic, but that was covered up by the Thunderbluff tabard. She stood with a resting scowl on her face as Ayita stepped back to inspect her.

"So... how do you like it?" The shaman asked her.

"... I feel like an idiot", she deadpanned.  

 

Chapter Text

The city of Stormwind slept soundly as night fell over the captial. Guards patrolled every corner of the street, their lanterns held up and warily scanning each sector of the city for potential intruders. 

Within the alley, one figure clung to the shadows, in an attempt to avoid detection. The young woman knelt, watching as one of the city guard passed by her hiding spot. But she remained undetected. She smiled, a golden glow taking over her blue eyes briefly before she crouched further back into the darkness. 

She stood up, a slight breeze blowing her auburn tresses back. She made a 'hmph!' noise, brushing it forward onto her shoulders. Her garb consisted of a robe colored both blue and green, with the blue details glowing, along with a blue glow on her shoulder pads. She remained without a helmet, as it was laying on the ground, along with a pair of sharply curved daggers laid next to it. 

The woman looked at the items in silence, before she reached down, picking them up in her arms. She first slipped the helmet on, tucking her hair inside, and silently thankful she had cut her hair just a little above the shoulder. Finally, she slid the daggers around her waist, feeling a surge of strength inside of her as she did so. 

I suppose a nightly prowl wouldn't hurt, she thought to herself. She smirked ever so slightly, outstretching her hands in some sort of combat pose. A green glow overtook her palms, and a flash of smoke appeared. Her form gradually got smaller, but slender and four legged. 

Her transformation now complete, she let out a low snarl, stretching her legs and opening her mouth as an orange glow was seen past her long canines and in her mouth. Her eyes, the same color, scanned the Cathedral square carefully, before she took up stealth mode, and moved forward. 

She stalked throughout the city, making sure she avoided the guards, and avoided spooking those who rode on their horses. Were this any other night, she would've brushed against them and given them a good fright as a practical joke. But under these circumstances, she left them alone. 

She understood these were dire times. The war against the Burning Legion had left many dead, and tensions among both the Horde and Alliance. She firsthand had seen that despite in a time of war, and that the two factions, there would also be the inner squabble. 

It was evident when both Genn Greymane and Sylvanas Windrunner had warred against each during the Stormheim campaign. She had no love for the Banshee Queen than anyone in the right mind would, but even she felt as if Greymane had went over the line attacking the Forsaken fleet, especially when they had an uneasy peace with each other. 

She didn't blame the old king, though. Being forced to ally with the very person who murdered your child and plagued your kingdom could cause anyone to do rash things. 

The druid found herself in the Mage District, as she felt the grass beneath her armored paws. Just as she was about to stop, she was suddenly exposed, and a brief flash was seen in the air. 

A flare. I am not surprised, she mused, turning her head as as she turned her head, steps crunching the grass behind and a familiar scent wafted in the air. 

"Am I going to keep catching you in my traps, Miss Elaine?" 

The large feline turned around, adjusting her vision as she watched the Night Elf make his way over to her. While most Night Elves stood at a height of 7', he stood at a staggering 7'9. His blue hair remained loose and past his shoulders, but he kept some of it in a small side braid. A few yards away, the white tiger lingered nearby, watching the exchange between the two. 

Remembering his earlier question, the large feline let out a snarl, and the elf huffed at her. 

"Don't growl at me. You know I am right". 

Shaking her head, she stretched again, before the snapping and shifting of bones and muscles came from her as she transformed. She stood up to her full height, and what was once a woman, was a wolf like humanoid. She stood at 8', towering over the elf in front of her. Her armor was still intact, but it was bigger and more fit to accommodate her size. Her fur was a musky grey color, and her black mane was unkempt. 

She grinned at the Night Elf, who sighed back at her. "What's the matter, Amadros?" She asked, her voice low and raspy, but the Gilnean accent was clear as day. "Don't tell me you're getting tired of our daily game". 

Another sigh, and she could not stifle the snicker that escaped her. She had always known the hunter as a quiet individual, preferring the company of his pet over people, but relishing in the hunt. 

He had been one of the many Night Elves who had assisted Gilnean refugees with the Forsaken invasion, and sheltered them in Darnassus. She had met Amadros in Darkshore, when she was looking for a few small jobs to adapt to her new environment. 

Six months after meeting, they had parted ways. He had departed to the Eastern Kingdoms, while she remained in Kalimdor, assisting the Night Elves with the Horde forces and demonic invasion in Ashenvale. 

They had crossed paths again, during the Pandaria campaign, and when the Alliance and Horde invaded Orgrimmar after Garrosh Hellscream attempted to seize Azeroth for his own Horde. 

They had met again, a year later after vanquishing the Iron Horde, and when the Burning Legion invaded the world a third time. She had been named Archdruid, and he Huntmaster. 

"You are the same as ever", Amadros responded, breaking the silence between them. "How have you been, Elaine?"

"Good as ever", she said, flicking an ear back. "And how are things with you?" 

"Uneventful, I suppose", the Night Elf replied. "I was surprised to not see you when King Anduin gave his little speech today". 

The worgen shrugged. "I did not feel like going", she admitted. 

One of his ears twitched, and his amber eyes looked at her, his usually stoic expression now harboring a hint of unamusment. "How typical of you", he drawled out. 

She huffed back at him. 

"Anyhow, I did not come to debate playtime with you", Amadros continued. "The SI: 7 has made a discovery, and I thought you would be interested".

Elaine perked up. This would be good.

"And what is it?" She asked, craning her neck closer. 

The hunter shrugged. "No one is sure, but the Horde has been sending Goblins to Silithus", he replied. "They have been mining up an odd mineral that bled from the ground. I spoke to the King and Master Shaw, and Wrynn requested me to head to Silithus to investigate the matter. I had decided to come find you and ask if you wished to accompany me". 

The druid's eyes brightened up. "You and I going on another adventure? Just like the good ol' times!" She barked a laugh, reaching over and slapping him on the shoulder. 

Amadros shut his eyes, and had to force back a sigh of dismay.

Elune, give me the strength to not lose my patience....