Some hard test

"Hey hey hey it's dangerous in your profession to keep written stuff on yourself buddy."

Stropovitch sighed. It was definitely a mania with these humans, to be snide. He closed the notebook and straightened up with a crunch of armor.

"It's like the letters you send. Note you can't do otherwise, huh huh huh."

Stropovitch didn't even give his colleague the honor of a scowl. All that mattered was the girl he had to rescue from the Defias. If to infiltrate their ranks he had to put up with a few idiots, he'd do it.

"Van Cleef knew you'd join us in the end. You're pretty well known in the business, but you've been stubbornly sticking to jobs that only buy you a crust of bread on the way home. Don't worry, buddy, you made the right choice. Gold is the only thing in Van Cleef's wake! On the other hand, don't blame me, but just for appearances' sake, we'll have to put you to the test."

Stropovitch raised an eyebrow half a millimeter.

"Yeah, test your 'morality', you know. If the boss is happy, you're in. What I meant by 'don't blame me' is that, until you're in, you mustn't know where the Den is."

His eyebrow lowered.

"You're terrible, nobody can know what you're thinking, you've got a face like a statue... Come to the boat at the beach, I'll blindfold you and plug your ears."

The warrior estimated the time spent on the sea at one hour, listening to the oars strike the water without haste and the wind ripple the small sail and creak the ropes. Where they disembarked, a westerly wind brought the smell of wet, slimy death. Stropovitch knew the smell. It was that of the old haunted lighthouse west of the Dagger Hills. He could guess where the hideout was.

They climbed a fairly steep slope, then the ground changed under Stropovitch's hooves – gravel crunched – and the atmosphere grew colder. No open door, no passageway, nothing: the entrance to the lair was to be found in one of the abandoned mines to the west of the hills. A place that had been searched a thousand times by the Stormwind authorities. Supposedly...

A rope was wrapped around his waist and he was hoisted up a few meters. A little flat... a gentle descent... a wooden deck... gangways, platforms, stairs... the cheerful hubbub of a bunch of curious lads... his blindfold was removed.

In front of him, on the upper deck of a huge ship, Van Cleef and some twenty human and goblin pirates stood looking at him with delighted eyes, exchanging comments.

Stropovitch was surprised by the captain's appearance. Van Cleef was a tall, impressively built man, but older than he thought. Above the red scarf that covered the lower part of his face, his eyes were riddled with wrinkles, and his hair was graying. Van Cleef was a man in his fifties. He was dressed all in black leather and carried two well-crafted swords – another adept at two-weapon combat.

The captain approached the draenei and extended his hand. Stropovitch hesitated – it was not his habit to shake hands. Just as he was about to resign himself and make a gesture, Van Cleef crossed his arms and said provocatively: "That's good, because I don't trust anyone either."

Amidst the laughter, one of Stropovitch's eyebrows furrowed half a millimeter.

"I like cautious people. But I also like people who are efficient and kill in cold blood."

Stropovitch deduced that the test would check both abilities.

Van Cleef was staring straight at him, and you could tell from his voice that he was smiling.

"The Brotherhood is based on these two principles: efficiency and cold blood. Here, for your first test, is a little victim of our latest maritime campaign."

The crowd parted to let through a bound and gagged man who had been left his uniform as captain of the Menethil-based Stormwind fleet.

"We've put him in a chilly jail, but he's still vigorous, and having faced him personally I can tell you he's good – which is why I captured him! Sir Venders, the blue creature you see before you has come from Outland to join our ranks. If you kill him, I swear on my honor to set you free. As for you, Stropovitch, I order you to kill him."

Stropovitch didn't believe for a second that all the candidates had to meet such challenges. Van Cleef was taking advantage of the draenei's reputation to put on a show for his men, who were as hysterical as children at the Darkmoon Fair. The warrior shuddered, but reflexively restrained it. He'd never gotten used to killing. And yet, for the past two years, it had been all he did. Sometimes criminals, often innocents, in all cases living beings like himself who clung tooth and nail to their existence, as mediocre as it was, and who died with this atrocious horror in their eyes.

At least this time, there was a little girl to save. He could still tell himself that it was worth executing a poor human who had fought for his country. At worst, if that pretext wasn't enough, the warrior would swallow his remorse and bitterness. As he always did.

Venders was stripped of his bonds and gag, and his weapon was thrown to him. The draenei and the human were surrounded by a growing crowd of pirates. Van Cleef, also standing back, crossed his arms and stared at the two men.

Venders didn't utter a word once his gag had been removed. He grabbed his rapier, stood up with clenched jaw, and instantly assumed a proud, upright stance.

Stropovitch had already faced the rapier. He disliked this type of fencing, based on light wrist movements and a whole arsenal of feints. If Venders fought calmly and with all his physical and psychological resources, the fight would be tough.

Venders assumed the waiting posture, knees bent and flexible, rapier pointed at the draenei – if the latter ran straight at him, he'd be dodged, feinted and pierced.

Stropovitch sighed. He usually waited for an attack, but now the other was waiting for him and wouldn't give in.

I've got to get him out of his routine.

To everyone's surprise, the draenei removed his left glove and threw it to the ground. Without drawing his weapons, he slowly advanced towards the swordsman. The latter expressed astonishment. Stropovitch stopped very close to the tip, at a distance where he wouldn't have time to dodge if the other attacked. The human was unsettled, hesitant – he'd only just realized that he didn't really know what these aliens were capable of. Stropovitch suddenly lowered his right hand to the weapon dangling from his left flank, in one swift movement. Venders was forced into an instant counter-attack. With lightning speed, the tip of the rapier sliced through the air to pierce the draenei's chest.

The assembly held its breath in disbelief. At the same time as his right hand was lowered, Stropovitch had raised his unsheathed left hand towards his chest, palm pointing towards the tip of the rapier, which had pierced it and been deflected in the palm's movement towards the sky.

With diabolical precision, the draenei had plucked the tip of the sword from the air and deflected it! And all at the cost of a minor injury.

The eyes of the audience were fixed on the draenei's pierced palm and hadn't even realized what had happened the next half-second: Stropovitch had nonetheless seized his weapon with his other hand and with one clean, swift and silent stroke had severed the captain's head, which hadn't even fallen from his neck yet. When the body collapsed limply and the head rolled off, the pirates opened their hallucinated eyes. Stropovitch, on the other hand, felt nothing but disgust, as he did every time he murdered someone.

Van Cleef applauded calmly, without immediate comment.

"Good! Executioner's efficiency. You outclassed him when men of this captain's caliber aren't to be found on every street corner."

I hope you assholes enjoyed the show.

"Now for the test of cold blood!"

The crowd parted again to make way for another bound and gagged person... in this case a little blonde girl with a watery face.

"Here's a child we were holding hostage to ensure a traitor's silence – but he doesn't have to know she's dead, does he? Kill her in cold blood and you're one of us."

Fuck it.

The draenei had two seconds to think. Around him, encircling him, were sixty pirates. He was on the deck of a ship, in the middle of a gigantic cave. Thanks to his stature, Stropovitch could see over the crowd that there were two piers, one on each side of the ship. Since he hadn't spent much time blindfolded from the mine entrance, one of the two piers led to the exit, the other further into the Den. No way to tell.

He sighed – or rather, he exhaled sharply through his nostrils. If he ran, he'd have no chance of survival. But he shouldn't kill the girl either.

Something was wrong. The nobleman who'd hired him was very clever, as his strategy with Jack had proved. Not the type to ask for no guarantees. But Van Cleef had a gold mine at his disposal with this girl. He could use her to demand regular ransoms, which the nobleman would pay him via an agent whose job it would be to first make sure the girl was alive.

Moreover, Stropovitch was not yet a member of the Brotherhood. It was strange that Van Cleef should reveal to him why he was keeping the girl – was he just passing on information to strangers? Or perhaps...

Stropovitch grabbed a sword. A forward step hammered on the ground, simultaneously a horizontal thrust so fast that the pirates saw only the air ripple.

The wig fell to the ground, the severed hair scattering in the air before settling slowly.

An exclamation ran through the audience. Beneath the fake girl's wig was a bald, green skull, made up from the forehead down to imitate human skin, with two pointed ears on either side.

The goblin straightened up, a cold sweat beading on his temples. He tore off his gag and groaned: "Damn, it's a good thing he passed the test, I was planning to avoid his attack if he fell for it, but I couldn't have, he's staggering boss, I didn't see it coming." He turned back to Stropovitch. "Hi guy, I'm Sneed, the chief handyman here, hey hey. You didn't spare my heart, phew, when will I calm down? I was afraid of inventing such a challenge just for this guy. You see, you guessed it, Van Cleef wasn't the type to sacrifice bags of cash like that. Hey boss, he's clever, he spotted the scam, didn't he! Boss?"

Stropovitch, Sneed and the pirates looked up at Van Cleef. With his scarf off, he was staring at the draenei with an extremely serious expression.

A stony silence immediately followed.

Stropovitch's blood froze. Van Cleef had suspected everything all along. He had sensed that the draenei's request for integration was suspicious. He wondered if it had something to do with the girl. Or worse! There had been leaks and Van Cleef knew he'd been contacted by Jack. Yes! Van Cleef surely hadn't just kept the girl hostage! One or more spies were surely watching the nobleman. Or the inn.

For whatever reason, Van Cleef was suspicious. And he'd tested him and unmasked him. He'd seen through the draenei's closed face when the girl was thrown at his feet, seen and understood the look on his face at the piers, read his final decision.

And now he was still looking at Stropovitch, and understood that he had understood. So he merely sighed and said phlegmatically:

"Kill him."

The pirates were stunned. Van Cleef insisted: "What? Kill him, come on. That's an order."

The pirates turned to Stropovitch and drew their weapons. "Sorry, mate," Sneed said.

Keep it under control. Velen, O great Prophet, I couldn't make your teachings my own, except for this principle. If I don't want to be dispossessed by the Stranger. If I don't want to lose consciousness and reason. Stay calm. I can survive only by making a massacre. Only by calmly making a massacre.