#nanulak

Turning slowly, she found the troll witch lying on her side on the furthest disused bed. She was certainly the source of the horrid noise. Nanulak paused, noting that the witch had not reacted to her entrance. The sound resumed... wretched, hacking sobs.  The witch was crying! The wardancer couldn't believe her ears. Her first reaction was to make the sign of warding, pointing her index and smallest finger like the horns of the Ox.

Backing away slowly, Nanulak intended to stalk back downstairs and call for the paladin. The dust and rot was thick, however, and concealed fallen beams. Her foot caught one and she fell back on her hands. Springing back on her feet, the warrior cursed under her breath and prayed to the Ox that the witch didn't notice. Anyone with ears would have heard that awful clatter of armor - and the heavy thud of a healthy pandaren slamming into the floor.

The sobbing gave way to a screeching cackle. As Nanulak assumed her fighting stance, the troll rose from the rotten bed drifted eerily into the centre of the room. Lightning of white and violet streaked from her hands to the ceiling. The witch muttered incantations, channeling dark power into herself. Nanulak shouted for help but her voice was drowned out by the great rumbling. How could Aenistian not hear?

Nanulak circled the witch, convinced that she must endure alone. The troll taunted her; "Foolish creature. And all alone!". The pandaren hoped desperately for the witch to close her eyes in exaltant laughter. Yes! Nanuak struck, thrusting her spear at the wretch. A great ethereal hand intercepted the her and threw her across the space like a ragdoll.

A sickening crunch filled Nanulak's ears and she knew it to come from her body. The weight of her armor and force of the throw had certainly fractured some bones, if not worse. Remaining where she landed, she croaked, "paladin". Then, louder: "PALADIN!".

Thalassian names don’t come easily to this pandaren.

Aenistian arrived within moments and entered the door closest to Nanulak. He took only a few seconds to understand what had transpired and prepared to face off against the troll. The witch was unfazed, and teased, "pretty boy! Foolish boy! You'll meet the same end as your friend". 

The pandaren thrust the butt of her spear against the floor and heaved herself to her feet. There wasn't much time. She coughed and grimaced; the pain in her chest was unbearable. Turning to the blood elf, she pointed her thumb at their quarry. "Finish her".

It was a struggle to stay upright, but she did. If she could distract her, Aenistian could deliver a killing blow. Nanulak’s last effort against the witch was to drive her spear at the heart of their target. Yet again, an unseen force pushed the wardancer to the ground. No matter. The plan had worked out as she hoped. The paladin swung his sword in a great arc from right to left, cleaving an arm from the witch's body. Had Nanulak faced better circumstances, she would have marvelled at his technique.

The troll witch toppled to the floor, screaming and writhing horribly as her disembodied arm lay beside her. The paladin drove his sword into her chest. Nanulak slipped from consciousness, there in the delapitated bedroom of some elf's great manse. She was permitted some respite from the trobbing pains that wracked her.

When Nanulak woke, Aenistian had already removed the troll’s body from the building. She lay for some time staring through the ceiling at the miserable Ghostlands sky, unsure if she was conscious. The pain of her wounds reminded her. Hauling herself from the floor using her spear as support, she eventually was on her feet again. 

The wardancer slowly shambled down the ramp with her arms wrapped around herself. Great Celestials, had she ever felt such pain? Shaking her head, she pushed the helm back from her head and squinted in the low light of the dead land. 

Nanulak glanced at Aenistian out of the corner of her eye as the commander explained the details of their mission. Besides his typical rich sin'dorei set of plate and scarlet tabard, he sported an peculiar talisman around his neck. Were those... teeth? Raw stones? It looked to be of troll craftsmanship. How unusual for a paladin - this one in particular - to wear such rough ornaments. He looked none too impressed with it either; his mouth set firmly as he focused on the commander. During a pause in their instruction, the pandaren whispered, "strange necklace. You don't usually wear that, do you?" and jabbed her thumb at the string at his neck. His only sign of having heard her was straightening his posture and glaring haughtily ahead.

"This witch, the Farstriders tell us, is travelling in the direction of Suncrown Village. You will not permit her to escape." Autumnfire looked down her nose (or would have, had she been taller) at Nanulak, declaring, "you shall prove yourself to the Sunreavers. If you think yourself worthy, you will destroy her". Nanulak nodded obediently. 

A witch... First the Ghostlands, and now a witch. Her first patrol there was unsettling enough. She could practically feel the ghosts of the fallen brush past her. Then the party had discovered the macabre shrine to a bloodthirsty deity. She made the warding gesture taught by her mother; the horns of the Ox. "Does she move alone?" the unnerved pandaren queried.

Nodding, the commander said, "not usually, but no others have been sighted with her most recently. That's precisely why we strike now". Then, "you have your orders. Slay the troll witch and burn the body. Now, go!". Autumnfire directed her slender white hand like a knife at the hall's door.

Nanulak saluted to her commander and exited the hall. From the corner of her eye she caught expressions of pride and thinly-veiled affection from the elder woman. She shook her head and called for her yak. "Back to the Ghostlands, Ayanga," she muttered, flicking a reed crop crisply against each flank of the beast. They galloped out of the city.

She and the paladin rejoined as they crossed the bridge over the Elrendar River. Their ride to the abandoned village was silent. Suncrown was in ruins: ashes and creeping mold dominating the once-great pillars and halls. The pair tethered their steeds - shaggy yak and the blood knight’s charger. As they paced cautiously up the cobbled street, Nanulak grumbled in anxiety and exasperation.

"Any signs of her?," she asked the blood elf as they rounded the remains of a courtyard. Aenistian's eyes flashed with anger. He slapped his hand to his forehead, hissing, "for the light's sake, be quiet! Are you trying to get us killed?". Nanulak narrowed her eyes and made no response. Whispers - of course. The town was abandoned and the earth barren, but the troll was around here somewhere. If they could hear it, it could hear them.

They crept on to the end of the lane. Nanulak pointed at the tall building ahead. Keeping her robust voice quiet, she suggested, "let's check that one. If nothing else, the top floor will give us a good vantage". Aenistian nodded. "I'll keep watch at ground level. If you see anything, yell for me. I'll run up to join you".