Chapter Text
No mind to think...
The white knight and the silken beast fall into the void.
No will to break...
The red spider descends into the Abyss.
No voice to cry suffering...
The red spider saves the white knight. The discarded vessels save their sibling.
Born of God and Void...
Unwoven are the threads that bind a haunted kingdom.
No cost too great...
Although for another, a new threat looms over the horizon. Perhaps... there are costs too great after all.
Stepping foot into the ruins of Andorhal struck a chord within Arthas. The air was rancid, thick with the scent of decay and rot. What was once a center for agricultural trade, reduced to smoldering wood and ashes.
Nearby, ghouls paid no mind as the Prince of Lordaeron approached. Metal footsteps echoed to drown out the sounds of flesh ripping and tearing.
Finally, the prince and his consort had reached the center of the town. And standing there was a man. One whose appearance screamed death and evil through and through.
Draped in a dark robe, accented with a sickening green hue. Wielding a staff, and an animal's skull sat upon his head, horns curving upward, resting upon his stark white hair. That necromancer. Once again they meet.
Beneath Arthas' calm exterior, the sight only filled him with rage. Hot, violent, and unforgiving.
Rage at the man standing at the center of what remains of that he should've protected. Rage at himself, for having been unable to do so.
Noticing their presence, the man turned around, facing him and Jaina Proudmoore by his side. His eyes narrowed. Calculating, and almost mocking. It infuriated Arthas.
"Hello again, children," he says, the prince almost wanting to scoff at the condescending way he referred to them. "I am Kel'Thuzad. And I have come to deliver a warning." Kel'Thuzad's voice dropped to an ominous tone.
"Leave well enough alone. Your curiosity will be the death of you."
For all Arthas pretended to be the model calm prince, in truth the only thing he wanted in this moment was to bash the Necromancer's skull in with his hammer for what he had done.
But instead, he took a deep breath, in and out. To rage like that would be unlike the teachings of the Silver Hand. Much more, Uther would be disappointed, he thought. That recent incident with the orcs came to mind. No, rage would be unnecessary here. What he needed to do instead was to stay calm, learn information, and only then fight back accordingly.
"Are you responsible for this plague, necromancer? Is this cult your doing?" Arthas asked. Perhaps a bit hastily, but he tried his best to keep his composure.
"Yes indeed. I ordered the Cult of the Damned to distribute the plagued grain." Kel'Thuzad replied as if it was merely a matter of fact. "But the sole credit isn't mine."
"What do you mean?" Jaina asked, wary.
"I serve the Dreadlord, Mal'Ganis. He commands the Scourge that will cleanse this land and establish a paradise of eternal darkness!" Kel'Thuzad exclaimed.
Quite dramatic motives, the prince thought.
"And what exactly is this 'Scourge' meant to cleanse?" Arthas asks incredulously.
"Why, the living of course." Kel'Thuzad said, his tone proclaiming it as if it was obvious. "Seek him out at Stratholme if you need further proof."
Before Arthas could ask more, the necromancer shuffled away. For an old decrepit man, he was able flee quickly as need be. He couldn't allow that.
However, before they could give chase, the ghouls, previously feasting, turned their attention towards them. They snarled at them, teeth sharp and claws ready.
Arthas gritted his teeth and prepared for battle, gripping his hammer tightly as he prepared to swing at the pouncing ghouls. Jaina prepares much the same, ambient mana taking form as she prepares to summon a Water Elemental.
The ghouls snarl once more, and begin to pounce.
The Water Elemental forms, summoned in a way such that it would block the oncoming attacks from the undead fiends.
At the same time, Arthas' hammer glows, the might of the Light manifested by his sheer will and faith. It was only preparation as he attempts to smite the unholy beasts with a searing beam of Holy Light.
But no such light ever reached the ghouls.
Before the Holy Light manifested from above, before a single claw could even reach them, an unnerving and unnatural silence fills the air.
Silence, except the sounds of overlapping whispers said in a foreign tongue neither could understand.
It felt like a shadow was cast over them. The ever encroaching darkness dampening everything. Sight, smell, hearing, taste, touch, they all felt muted.
The ambient temperature fell at an unnatural rate, as if everything truly went still. It was cold. Yet not in the way frost or a cool breeze felt. It was simply the absence of heat.
From the vibrations in the air to the very molecules making up matter itself. The feeling of stillness, of pure, utter, nothingness. It was overwhelming.
And suddenly, the stillness shattered.
Before either could react, a sudden explosion of what could only be described as pure darkness shot forth from the right. The ghouls shrieked as they near instantly perished. Their fragile bodies split apart, and the necromantic energies keeping them stable dissipated. The only thing that remained were mangled, blackened corpses. Wisps of white energy exiting the now lifeless bodies.
The two humans present were shocked, unmoving for a split second. What was that? What even happened?
Knocked out of his stupor, Arthas reflexively stood in front of Jaina, hammer raised. Whatever could've caused that, it definitely wasn't good.
At where the corpses lay, a dust cloud had formed, blocking view of whatever entity had helped them, intentionally or otherwise.
Arthas squints, trying to see anything beyond the thick smoke. And there, only barely, he could see a strange silhouette. Inhuman as far as he could tell. It simply stood there, unfazed, and so far, unmoving.
And so seconds later, the smoke slowly began to dissipate. As it does, Arthas prepares for the worst, and so does the Water Elemental beside him, ready to attack or defend at a moment's notice.
And so, slowly, the smoke faded, revealing what was there beyond.
As the smoke fully disappears, his eyes focus. Narrowing, analysing whatever creature it could be. However, as soon as his eyes narrow does it widen once again.
"What...?" Arthas mumbles. What is this thing? He stares at the tiny creature in front of him.
As far as he could tell, it wasn't a dark creature of the undead, nor a dark wizard of any kind. From the nature of the attack, he had thought of several possibilities, and yet nothing could've prepared him for the truth. No, what he sees is definitely not human, yet still...
The creature. It couldn't be any larger than two feet, three feet if you count the horns atop its strange, stark white mask, curving upwards, a boney texture about it. The creature wore a dark cloak the color of mulled wine, and what he could see of its body appeared to be pure darkness.
It was strange. Darker than any tint or paint he had ever seen. It was as if its body did not reflect light at all.
Despite its small stature, Arthas never let his guard down. After all, resting on its back is a strangely shaped weapon with intricate carvings, the sunlight reflected upon the pure, white metal it's made of. Was it platinum? Silver perhaps? Yet neither metal the prince knew had brightness comparable to what currently laid before him.
It was small. Unassuming. Seemingly harmless. But armed, and from what he saw earlier, dangerous. Arthas knew better than to judge from appearance. He stayed wary, weapon drawn.
But, such power. It would be a waste, he thought. Perhaps, perhaps he could use it, somehow...
He took a deep breath, calming down. Again, it would be in his best interest to gather information first. Still wary, he opens his mouth.
"What... are you?" Arthas asks.
The creature simply tilted its head.
The sentinel. Hunter. Red maiden. Little spider. Child wielding needle. Daughter of Hallownest. She was known by many titles, many names.
Hers is a story of mothers, of grief, of blindly protecting the corpse of a fallen kingdom, of being taken into a strange, new land against her will.
Hers is a story of identity, of struggle, and yet, so too is it a story of helping those in need. Descending into the Abyss below all things, saving that silken child, saving a haunted kingdom from a calamity of her own doing.
It was selfless. Yet, it was the most selfish as well.
And that, she had thought was the end.
Exhausted, she had wondered where life would lead her now, as she sat atop the black platform besides that sea of liquid nothing. The Haunted Kingdom saved, and she had seen her siblings one last time. And so, what now? Perhaps, selfishly, she would stay. Aid in rebuilding.
However, the more she pondered, the more her exhaustion caught up to her. Having fought against the void below all things, the fatigue she felt was unbearable.
She attempted to stand up... yet, to no avail.
The white knight's laughter was the last thing she had heard, before she fell unconscious, once again brought back into the infinite chasm of oblivion.
And now, an indeterminate amount of time later, the hunter in red wakes up. And in a stroke of irony, once more, in a distant unfamiliar land.
.....
The first thing Hornet felt when she woke up was the harsh cold upon her shell. Thankfully, the fayforn cloak had helped block most of the cold and kept it at a manageable level.
She stood up, shaking off the snow that had accumulated on her mask and cloak. She must've been unconscious here for long if that much snow had accumulated.
She looked around, inspecting her current environment. It was as she expected upon feeling the cold. Snow. Wide frozen plains and harsh cold winds clawing at forests of dead trees. Had she been brought into Mount Fay somehow?
No, the air here felt... harsher. Colder. And the mountain at the edge of Pharloom had been steep. Mountainous. Not the wide plains she could see currently. Not to mention she hadn't come across any naturally occuring wooden structures last she were in the region. Shellwood was close, yet still far away from the mount.
And as she stares above, she could see them. Gray clouds. Floating slowly, moving. Blotting out the light from above. That only meant one thing. The sky.
Despite spending most of her life underground, she was no stranger to the surface. Up above in Dirtmouth, watching for intruders in the Howling Cliffs. Or even as she was brought forcefully from Hallownest to Pharloom. There was also that very strange town above the Citadel.
That is to say, she had been to the surface enough times to recognize it.
This level of cold, ice and snow. It could not be caused merely by altitude. No, this could only be one thing. Weather, if she recalled correctly. Storms, clouds, lighting, climates. These are things she had come to know, yet she was not awfully familiar with the concepts either.
And thus, by these observations, she concluded that she was very much in the surface, away from the subterranean civilizations she had lived most of her life in.
Walking around and surveying the surrounding area, she catches sight of her Needle, glowing amongst the snow. Its true Hivesteel pattern reflected on the weapon as she picks it up, binding and healing her wounds with Silk as she did.
Great. It would be unwise to explore a potentially dangerous new land without a weapon.
She began to wander once more. The fayforn cloak helped, but the cold was still harsh. It would do her no good to simply stand as the winds picked up. She was no stranger to the effects of such low temperatures.
And so, she travelled. Walking across snow. Jumping across trees. Sliding across frozen rivers.
Yet, however far she went, it seemed like there were no signs of civilization. Or life for that matter. Until...
Close to what she assumes is the sea, the wide stretch of salty waters bordering the land through the snowcapped rocky shore, there were strange beasts she had never seen before. Small creatures that didn't seem to be capable of flight despite wing-like appendages. Their faces had a sort of protrusion on them, which reminded her much of the craws of Greymoor.
Their bodies were mostly grey, though their bellies were white. From what she could tell, this color was not innately of their shell. No, it appears to be the coloration of a soft, fluffy material. Fur.
She wasn't wholely unfamiliar to fur, as many creatures she encountered im Pharloom had possessed it as well. But stranger is their lack of shell, and not only that, but also of claw.
From what she observes of the creatures, they appear to not need them, however. They seemingly hunt below the water, catching small, aquatic creatures using said protrusions on their faces. Their "beaks."
It was interesting to say the least. They seemed docile enough, and even fled when she approached. She decided to catalogue them in her journal for now.
Later on, she had found some groups pf what she assumes are of the same creatures. Though these seem fluffier than the others. She would've tried to feel their fur on her claws had they not been so skittish.
Continuing on travelling across the shore, she found more creatures. New, yes, something she hadn't met before, bur more familiar compared to those from before.
They appeared to be some species of scorpion, employing burrowing tactics that reminded her very much of the Skarr.
Especially as they revealed themselves by bursting from the ground in an ambush. The reason as to why felt obvious to her.
It was a hunt.
Yet soon, it was they who were to be hunted.
Many pounced in unison, but she leapt over them effortlessly. Another tried following her, using its many legs to propel it up. But it instead found itself sliced cleanly in half as Hornet dashed through it in a blur of blade and silk. She normally didn't use it, but the Sharpdart skill found its use in this skirmish.
Upon landing, the remaining scorpions didn't back down, choosing instead to pounce all together once more. Choosing to end this quickly, Hornet suddenly threw the Needle, silk attached at its end.
The scorpions were confused, the modicum of intelligence they possessed seeing this as a strange move. To the limited instincts guiding them, casting your own weapon aside spells only doom.
They continue their assault, only to find their bodies ripped to shreds as the needle suddenly whirled and spun around Hornet wildly, silk lashing at the arachnids in a storm of threads.
Despite what could be called the 'frontline' gone, the even fewer who remained still tried to attack Hornet, now spitting corrosive liquid towards her, reminiscent of the Cragglers of Pharloom.
She simply dodged the attacks, outpacing the arachnids while acid hissed into snow where she'd been. Finding a position where all the scorpions were lined up, Hornet pulled out one of her personal favorite tools, the Silkshot, rebuilt by herself on Mount Fay.
She pointed the tool at the creatures, and immediately pulled the trigger, the concentrated beam of silken soul piercing their exoskeletons and killing them near instantly.
And, finally, quiet followed. Quiet besides the sounds of the cool ocean breeze.
Logging the beasts in her Hunter's Journal, she also decided to pry the stingers off of their corpses, at least those that were intact. They could prove useful, for tools perhaps.
Yet the sight of them reminds her of a memory...
"To survive this world, you must learn to sting. Swift, and sudden."
She remembers that memory with her master fondly. And such a lesson would be important to keep in mind. Especially now, displaced once more.
Lost in yet another far away land.
It was strange it had happened to her twice.
Unfortunately, she was snapped out of her thoughts by the sounds of heavy metal footsteps.
She turned around quickly, Needle drawn, Silk drifting through the air.
"State your intentions," Hornet said harshly.
"Woah, no need to be so serious, aye lass?" a voice cuts through. A booming voice, that of an old weary warrior. It reminds her of Garmond. Not as booming as the old bug's though. She tries not to think much, of the old knight's void-stricken demise.
There was someone here. Armored, yes, wielding what appears to be a hammer, as well a sort of weapon used for hacking and slashing, one largely unfamiliar to Hornet. There was a great amount of 'fur' on what she assumes is the man's face.
"I walked 'ere 'cause my men swore they saw a figure walkin' round these parts. And then we heard these sounds. Thought I should investigate ya know?" the man continues. "And guess I was right, aye?"
The man glances at the corpses surrounding her, his eyes narrowing, yet keeping that jovial tone as he spoke.
"You killed these arachnathids? What can I say, mighty impressive that," he says in a friendly manner. Regardless, Hornet stayed wary. She's unfamiliar with these non-bugs, and for all she knew this could be a ploy for her to let her guard down.
"Though..." he glances at Hornet's mask. "Ya certainly ain't no dwarf. And yer not exactly human either... are ya?"
"If this... othering is a sign of hostility, then I should warn you, sir." Hornet's voice lowers to a threatening tone. "You won't make it out of this encounter alive."
The man's eye widens. "Aye, nothin' of the sort! Think we got off on the wrong foot, yeah?" he exclaims.
"Why don't we start over? Maybe introductions 'oughta help. Name's Muradin Bronzebeard, leader of the Dwarven Expedition up here in Northrend. And you are?"
Hornet contemplates for a bit. She doesn't lower her guard, but decides to answer. Names were simple enough.
"Hornet." her voice cuts through the howling wind. "Call me Hornet."