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It was these nights on the red cliffs of Orgrimmar, head tilted back to watch the clouds drift lazily through the obscured stars, that Lark hated reminiscing. It had become a sort of second nature for him to travel back and fixate on what he had done and not done back in somehow brighter times. He had brought a friend with him to counter this exact problem of his, but what he forgot to take into account was that Senka was normally as talkative as a wall.
The red dirt of Orgrimmar was cold in the desert night, and he could feel the chill through his shirt but it felt far away. His mind was where the fire had been, burning away the home he had grown up in. He wasn't even upset or angry anymore. All he could do was watch through the eyes of an angry young woman. That day.
And in a sudden jolt, his body seizing briefly in a start out of his flashback. His friend had smacked him in the chest while he drifted, as if sensing his thoughts smoldering next to her. "You don't need to smack me, y'know," Lark snipped.
"You weren't responding to me," Senka countered softly. He also hadn't thought about her whisper toned voice.
"Alright, sorry about that," Lark said, to which Senka hummed neutrally in response. It was quiet after that, for what seemed like a few minutes. It wasn't long enough to let Lark fall back into his spiral, but it was close enough.
"What is it you're thinking about?" Senka asked, in an uncharacteristic moment of beginning a conversation herself.
The question admittedly caught him off guard. Normally he could deflect any questions but he was not expecting Senka to say anything. "That day." She turned towards him, her dark red eyes meeting his. He had her full and undivided attention.
It wasn't the first time he had told the story. It had gotten easier the further from That Day they got. He still hated feeling vulnerable, even in front of a friend.
Senka said nothing as she waited for him to either tell his story or to change the subject. She just watched him owlishly as he stroked his facial hair, gathering his words up. "I think that if I could go back and change one thing… I think I woulda killed my parents years before.
"They were always bad, y'know? I just thought that when I moved out it would get better. I never did get the chance to leave but I don’t think it would've changed anything. Always controlling. They were well to do in the garments business of Quel'thalas and crazy undeath cultists apparently. Err… Scourge Cultists?"
Lark looked at his friend for confirmation of the ‘politically correct’ word but the pale elf beside him just blinked, waiting for him to continue. "Ah, well, they used that money to sell me off to some other powerful family that may or may not have been in on the whole thing, but I was going to get married off to some rich Magister's boy. Presumably so we could have ‘well bred’ children.
"The day after the wedding was when Arthas showed up. I remember seeing the army from my window, but I’ve always been grateful that I never saw the ghouls up close. When I ran to get my parents, I overheard them talking about celebrating the whole thing and knew they were in on it and I just… every ounce of magic I have ever conjured since then has felt like nothing compared to the sheer rage I felt right then. They had sold me, used me as a bargaining chip, as if I had been nothing and they had betrayed Quel'thalas, but…" I was madder about them using me, I couldn't care less about my country, hung heavy in his throat, but he didn't feel like telling the Dark Ranger that would be a good idea.
"So, I just let the whole place burn down. Honestly if my husband or his family got out I… don't care. They wouldn't have made it far in the chaos anyway." Lark sighed. It was about a minute before he started speaking again, started droning on again.
"After that I kinda disappeared. Went to Silvermoon, fell in with the civilian refugees… I woulda helped out the mages and reclaiming the ruins but I had never controlled magic before that. I didn’t know how to control myself so the studyin’ came later. I remember that I was going through withdrawal, but couldn't tell you what it was like beyond the usual symptoms and guesses. I was just so thoroughly checked out.
“From there I disguised myself as a man, realized I was one, and then just dedicated myself to fighting. It usually didn’t matter what or who to me until later, but I’ve always taken satisfaction in watching the mindless Scourge burn. It took me a while to get any emotional help, but it was in Pandaria.” He chuckled dryly at the memories still being dredged up. “I was a bit of a problem on Pandaria. Too much anger, y’know?”
He looked over to her, and saw her watching the sky with those large and unexpressive eyes that now told of more tiredness than Lark ever could have comprehended.
He was about to open his mouth to ask her about her darkest day but she had begun speaking on her own for the second time ever in his presence. "I was with my sister when it happened, Phoenix. It was Silvermoon." He swore her eyes flickered like the flame of a candle, but with what emotion Lark could only guess at and wait to hear about.
"Nemi and I always got along really well. It was my day off and she was free for an hour. She had just delivered a baby for a young couple. I… when I heard the sentry bells I knew it was bad. Nothing ever got that close to the capital. I just thought it was murlocs or… or Trolls. I always thought it would be Trolls.
"Elizabeth was in school, at the time. She was my first thought, my niece. I always loved her so much. She wasn't very old at the time, maybe ten or twelve, but she was half human. The other kids picked on her a lot. By the time the bells had sounded the city had already been whipped into a panic. Nemi didn't even need to tell me to get Elizabeth. I might have thought of it before she did. I had to kill so many ghouls to get through to the school, it wasn't even far, but…" Senka curled in on herself. Despite her flat affect, she looked so vulnerable. Lark didn't know if he felt comfortable touching her shoulder, he didn't know if she would react poorly to it, like he did.
"She was the only one left alive and I took her back home. She never told me about what happened. I wasn't even in my armor. I only had my hunting knife and I was protecting a little girl. We only survived because I was determined to keep her safe. When I got back I put my armor on. Nemi thought I was doing it so I could protect her and Lizzy. I told her I had to join the defense, so I could save lives. So I didn't abandon my post, my comrades. She yelled at me. I died thinking she hated me. Thinking that she thought I was betraying her.
"I wish they had burned my corpse. It wouldn’t have changed anything, I still would have been turned into a Banshee. I still would have been a Dark Ranger. I suppose I should be grateful for the second chance I had at a life, but… Most Forsaken were just normal people who got to use their unlife to learn new things. I was a Farstrider, so I never really got the choice. I served Her in life and in undeath.” There was something in the way Senka spat the single syllable, something deep beneath the surface of the mere reference to Sylvanas Windrunner. An endless bitterness, one that Lark knew was an ocean to the mere drop he felt in comparison.
“You have the choice now, though… Right?” Lark tentatively pressed.
“I do. Did you know that in Forsaken society, reconnecting with your old life in any way is looked down upon?” Senka began rummaging through her impossibly cluttered pockets for something, presumably a token from her life. She pulled out rocks and vials and charms, letting them fall to the rusty dirt as she focused on finding the thing buried beneath so much of what Lark could only tell was garbage.
He watched her, waiting patiently to see what she was going to show him. “I had heard it once or twice. I don’t talk to most Forsaken I meet about culture.”
“You should, we have a very unique way of looking at things,” she said, her hand still shoved impossibly deep into the pocket of her trousers. Lark noticed for the first time that they seemed to be a regular fabric garment, instead of whatever the Dark Rangers usually wore. He felt pretty selfish for not noticing what his friend was wearing, too caught up in his own past.
When she found what she was looking for she looked at it for a moment almost tenderly before holding it out to Lark. It seemed to be a small journal with a well worn binding, not much larger than the palm of his hand. When he opened it up he wasn’t surprised to find small photographs and drawings of a family. What surprised him about the book was that much of the family seemed to already be undead.
Senka leaned over, after having put all of her treasures back into her pockets. “This woman,” she pointed to a tall and elegant woman in the first family portrait, “is my sister, Nemi.” Her finger moved to the man next to her, a Forsaken who clearly took care of himself, but still had a deeply weathered face with deep scars all across it. “That’s her husband, Mathias. He died at Stratholme, but they found each other again and reconnected. The girl next to him is their biological daughter, Lizzy, and she not only put this book together for me, but she also sewed all of my clothes for me.”
Lark took a moment to re-examine the trousers that he had just realized she was wearing minutes before. They were a dark color, made from a sturdy fabric, and covered in an ungodly amount of pockets. He noticed that her shirt was also well tailored, and admired the handiwork of Senka’s niece for a moment. “She must be very creative.”
Senka nodded, and Lark wondered if the quirk of her lips was a smile or if he had imagined it. Her gaze returned to the book and he followed her eyes to the shorter and brightly smiling girl next to Nemi. He could tell she was aesthetically different from the rest of the gothic group. “This is Milly, Mathias and Nemi’s adopted daughter. She was adopted by Nemi after Silvermoon was destroyed. Apparently her older brother had brought her north after their parents were killed, and then he joined our prince to go to Lordaeron.” She didn’t need to finish the story. Lark knew what came of those who followed Kael’thas and never came home.
She took the booklet from his hands and began flipping through it, sharing the very personal contents within. Some pages had pressed flowers from Quel’thalas, others had bright photographs of her family glued to the pages. On one page was a drawing of Senka with another Dark Ranger. They were leaning in close together, deep in a private conversation. The charcoal sketch seemed to capture the two in a very intimate moment, with the other Ranger’s hand on top of Senka’s. “Who is this other woman with you?”
It was shocking for Lark to see Senka smile. He had never thought she was capable of it. He tried not to let the surprise show on his face as she opened up to him. “That’s Ilarise,” she said with fondness molding every word she spoke. “We don’t have a label.” Senka went back to flipping through the album, saying no more on the topic, but her smile remained. Lark realized he liked to see her happy.
He listened to her for what seemed like minutes but was probably closer to an hour. In all the years he had known Senka, he had never seen her so animated, so passionate, even if only by Forsaken standards. By the time she had stopped telling him about her family he felt almost as though he knew them a little. After she had finished showing him the little book she stashed it back in her pocket, burying it once more underneath everything within her pockets. A sudden shadow seemed to cross her face as she spoke next. “When I was serving the Dark Lady, I wasn’t allowed to see my family. Even though we were all Horde, and even some of them being Forsaken, it was taboo. They told me it was so I didn’t have any conflicts in my duty. I was having second thoughts before what happened at the Gates, but when she finally left us... I finally felt free for the first time in almost twenty years.” Venom dripped from her words, in a way he hadn’t ever heard. The betrayal was still fresh for him, but it seemed that she had been resenting Windrunner for a lot longer than he had. It seemed that Senka had far more reason to be bitter than he initially thought.
Lark smiled softly at his dear friend. “Your family must be very nice. I can tell you love them a lot.”
Her disposition seemed to soften once more, her outburst of anger subsiding. “Yeah. I didn’t think I was capable of love after I was turned. You have to control your emotions and so much of what you feel is just anger, or sadness. I feel… Better, with them. I can finally let myself feel, and when I’m with them I feel good.”
Bitterness rose in Lark’s throat for a moment, jealous that she had a family that worked. He pushed it down, bottled it up as fast as it arose, though. He was happy for Senka and that was all that mattered. She deserved to have a much better family than he did. He didn’t deserve to have that, after all. He smiled at her, though he thought his eyes must look too forlorn. “You deserve to be happy, Senka.”
She saw the emptiness in his eyes, and he knew that she did. She didn’t ask him why he was so sad, and after he told her the bare minimum of his story she probably knew where it came from. Instead, she took his hand in hers and said, “I feel good when I’m with you too, Phoenix. I think you should meet my family.”
He didn’t think he deserved that either, but instead of protesting he grinned and told her that he would love to meet them.