VALORN

The animated weapon straining underfoot, the rider, the worgen, his desperation... . It all faded into background noise as Valorn cut through the last tough layer of hide and gazed upon an unveiled marvel.

The Staff of Elune... older than the Night Elf civilization.

The Fang of Goldrinn... remnant of a beastial Guardian of Azeroth.

Combined into one blessed weapon.

The Scythe of Elune.

His mission was to see it delivered to Tyrande herself, but right now it was his potential salvation.

He grasped it and hoisted it up to a host of howls. The chorus of worgen.

MAL'GANIS

Mal'Ganis's eyes narrowed.

An artifact. A strong one! There was no mistaking the emanating power. Not to one like he who came from the race which crafted many of the Burning Legions greatest weapons.

As the elf raised a scythe high to the welcoming howls of the worgen pack, the demon suddenly understood one of his why's. And all the possible potential!

Mal'Ganis didn't hesitate to make his move.

With a single beat of his wings, the unseen dreadlord glided across the meadow and was upon his victim. From whom he promptly plucked the artifact free.

VALORN

Valorn numbly stared at the bloody stump where his hand used to be. Where the holy night elf relic should have been.

As the stunned and disbelieving elf questioned reality, the boulder was rocked once more causing the elf to dazedly stand if a fight for balance. Forgetting why he was kneeling in the first place.

The forgotten and suddenly freed blade spun, and Valorn felt like he was no longer able to keep his balance. He was falling. Why was he falling? Collapsing in shock, the elf looked over and saw his foot planted upright, left right near where he had pinned the sword.

Where he had pinned the sword! Where was the sword?

The elf found it hard to process what was happening, but knew he had to move. And as he caught a glimpse of the moonlit steel speeding at his face, he rolled away.

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Right over and off the edge of his boulder.

Valorn suddenly snapped back to reality as he stopped trying to figure out how or why and focused more on the now. To survive. He reached out for the edge. And failed, coming short by a hand.

And as he crashed hard onto the ground in a broken heap, he came to rest facing upwards. To witness a blood-chilling sight. And he understood.

A flying bat-winged being with shark-like teeth. A species he had never seen before, but had heard whispers about.

An infiltrator demon. A dreadlord. Bearing the Scythe of Elune.

Watching the demon who wasn't even sparing him any attention smile triumphantly, Valorn wept bitter tears. There would be no escape.

He, Valorn Stillbough, entrusted to retrieve the holy relic by Elune's high priestess herself, had utterly failed in his mission.

And the world would suffer.

As Valorn closed his eyes and waited for the end... the worgen were howling

THE DARK RIDER

Bound by unholy magic, the undead minion's sole purpose in this world was to retrieve artifacts of great power. And it was close to one now.

Also to kill anything in its way.

Despite the crumpled courier that it had relentlessly pursued laying defenseless beside it, it simply did not care to finish things. The elf was never its target, and it's attention was focused on the magical signature currently in the hands of a flying demon.

It calculated its methods at hand and utilized the best option.

MAL'GANIS

The elf could never have predicted this turn of events. And immediately suffered while the suddenly visible dreadlord flew higher.

Halting at a safe height, it was just in time for the demon to spectate the courier's fall to earth and the elf's face twist in horror at his appearance. Amusing. Ma'Ganis took a brief moment to savor the elf's self torment before examining his new acquisition in the moonlight.

Sensing a deep well of power there, he smiled. A wicked sight that inspired despair from the elf below.

Mal'Ganis felt the spectral figure's attention upon him and scoffed at the be-spelled sword shooting up towards him. Even more amusing. A instant dismissive dispel and the spectre's blade was plunging back to the ground.

The ground where also sat a horde of worgen, alternating between low howls and staring up at him. No. He spun the artifact idly from side to side. Not staring at him. The worgen eyes were trained to the scythe.

The dreadlord stopped the spin with the weapon aimed towards the crumpled elf. It was all over in mere seconds, four worgen dashing forward and the elf's butchered chunks flying about.

A warm delighted smile crept across Mal'Ganis's face. He madly reveled in the moment. How could he not? More progress in seconds than from the past couple of seasons. Along with the familiar intoxicating scent of fresh blood.

And shifting the artifact towards the silent dark rider had numerous worgen leaping atop the undead steed to claw at the spectral knight. The undead tried fending off the bestial assault, attempting to spur his mount forward while flailing with armored limbs.

But it was far too late. Not anywhere near enough momentum to escape. Nor was the cracked heavy armor enough to defend either mount or minion, as the rider and steed tumbled over from the sheer weight of the frenzied attackers.

The magic sustaining the undead soon flickered and faded. It was obvious why, the dreadlord noting damaged enchantments on the interior of the now scrap armor littering the area.

The moonlit scene was now motionless to Mal'Ganis's gaze while hundreds of gleaming worgen eyes expectantly stared back and the demon didn't even bother to repress the laughter bubbling up.

The meadow soon played host to his great bout of roaring laughter...

...and the worgen were howling.