This is gonna be a doozy.
About a year ago, Tanria was alive and helping to lead a campaign into Hillsbrad to try and prevent bad things from happening to Stormgarde with the Undercross Collective. During all of that, she got herself tangled up with an undead rogue who would not stop trying to seduce her. It became this giant mess that served as the catalyst for why she ended up getting killed (which was also a catalyst for why the Collective dissolved.) and raised as an undead draenei. (The rogue and her had some chemistry while she was still alive, but after the whole being raised as a undead, she hates his guts.)
There was scene during all of this that Tanria had this rogue against the ropes and had the opportunity to dispose of him, but just as she was about to, someone from the Collective contacted her over the communicator (wasn’t even planned. TIMING!) and she ended up leaving him alive because she needed to attend to that since it was an urgent matter.
Basically if she could do it all over again, she would’ve ignored the communicator and burned the rogue in holy fire.
favourite faces for favourite mythic ladies: Diomede with Muriel Beal
I have never met Briseis, but I might call her sister. We have shared a warrior (or we have been shared by warriors). I know her name because it’s always on the tongue of these men, always quick to be mentioned, in whispers, in anger. I know that she is golden, just as I am darker. Sometimes Achilles touches my hair and looks distant. Sometimes he says “sleep elsewhere.” Most nights he doesn’t.
Does he miss that golden girl? (He’s golden - did they look alike? Like siblings? Like gods? When I think on this girl I imagine her an impossible beauty, a rival to Aphrodite, and that is why he misses her. I know I’m making up my own stories to fill the wide spaces, but there is little else for me to do with my time. I have so very much of it, and yet, when I look ahead, hardly any at all.)
"If Agamemnon tried to take you as well," Achilles says to me one windy night, "then I’d kill you first." It isn’t for me. He isn’t sparing me cruelty.
Achilles speaks never in terms of love, but in terms of rage, of broken pride, of frustration, of things deserved and treaties broken. I know that he doesn’t fight to get this girl back: she is not a wife to him. She is nothing more than me.
I think on Briseis sleeping in the bed of another soldier and I wonder if she thinks on me, on who is sharing the bed of her Achilles. I wonder if she calls me sister, even without knowing me.
Ah, you must be misremembering.
In fact, your sister died in the same battle. No one could say how it happened, how she tripped, how she fell behind, how you wound up alone.
What happened next, though, everyone remembers quite keenly. The little Anchorite named Tanria died in that same battle. Whoever emerged next, the woman they called Judgment, was someone darker, someone crueler, someone infinitely more savage than even the orcs.
Reports came soon after of a woman in tattered robes stalking the wilds of Draenor, killing any orc that dared wander there. Rumor became fact, as orcish tribes began seeing hunters and warriors they had sent out impaled on spikes and trees. Fact became legend, as orcish mothers would try to discipline young children with the idea that Judgment was somewhere out there and would come for them if they did not behave.
But strong as she was, she was but one woman. The Horde processed through the Dark Portal and history changed much as it had, until the Exodar crashed on Azeroth. No one knew how she had gotten on or who she was when she rose from the wreckage and set off into the wilds, as if on a mission.
But it was known, from that point forward, that the stories of Judgment, the Woman in Black, would once again haunt the orcish campfires as one by one, they disappeared."
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
That was the only thing on Tanria’s mind as she navigated throguh the Overgrowth—away from the killing fields of Forward Point. It was a double-edged sword, navigating through the dense brush of high grass, weeds and large, thorny vines that obscured the night sky and any light the Pale Lady would’ve casted down below in the Barrens. The draenei could only take comfort in the fact that she was not discovered yet.
But she had not yet found her friend. Though she knew Kanas was more than capable of taking care of himself, she also realized, from when they spoke last, that the Fourth War continued to haunt him. And that the wilds of the Overgrowth were not so different from the jungles of Krasarang where he had been assigned to for the past six months. There was no doubt he was begining to have flashbacks of that time. That place.
She had to find him soon.
All hell broke loose as soon as the dead, charred body of the Alliance official hit the ground—the one thing that kept the Alliance and the Horde from turning on one another yesterday. Whatever restraints the Vanguard had were cast aside as they rallied their own in retaliation against the Horde. As soon as the fighting broke out, the draenei broke out into a full sprint back to Forward Point—the sniper following not far behind her.
No. She wouldn’t fight here. She wouldn’t take part in violating the ceasefire.
The men at the Forward Point were confused to see the two of them return, and were even more alarmed as they were sounds of battle off into the distance. Where they grey flag of neutrality once stood, there were flames as battle broke out between the two sides. Beside her on the hill near the wooden watchtower, Kanas was busy kicking up dirt in anger, the fustration clear in his voice. “… the hell with this. We DO NOT NEED TO REIGNITE THE WAR!”
Tanria, by contrast, looked much more calmer. Resignation was clear on her face, though she looked just as disappointed as the sniper. “It is an inevitability. Still, with how recently this had concluded, you would think people would wish for a bit of peace.”
"…. yeah. Well people are apparently mighty stupid," Kanas muttered as he stomped at the ground. "More than half of our boyas are missin’ limbs, eyes, ears… or are broken spiritually. I get the anger; I really do. But this’ll help nobody in th’ long run."
Tanria shook her head. “…Hah. Some people and their bloodlust.” The smile on her face was twisted and grim, though even that began to melt away as the tiny specks out in the fields grew in size and numbers. Her eyes went wide as she began to take several steps back, recognizing the clear red and black insigina of the Horde on one of their banners. Around her, the other men at the Point began to realize what was happening—the price that the Vanguard paid for their retaliation was about to felt upon the entire camp as many ran for their weapons with fear on their face.
"They… by the Light.."
Even as she was moving back, Kanas was still frozen in place. Eyes wide as his hands instinctively went to his weapon.
"Kanas!" she screamed. "KANAS!"
He shook his head as if getting himself out of a daze as he turned to face her. “Tanria?”
The battle had come to Forward Point as spells and steel flew in every direction. Cries in Common and Orcish threatened to drown out her voice as she began to retreat back, dodging stray fireballs and arrows as she made her way towards the overgrowth of thorns and trees. “East into the Overgrowth!”
When she saw the sniper nod his head in affirmation, she only thought about reaching the brush. If I can make it here, then they won’t find me…
“The Mysticism of Tanria” was commissioned by the creator of the character of the same name. Here are a few words they used to describe Tanria’s personality:
“She keeps her face hidden in shadow to hide her identity, and her robes cover the multitude of scar and injuries that she had procured during her long years of service. She does not speak much about herself and tends to keep many secrets. She is paranoid, quick to expect a fight and tends to expect the worse-case scenario. Yet those that are able to work past her defenses find a woman who longs to reclaim the things that she lost in war.
If there’s anything she’s renowned for, it’s her tenacity and her unwavering will. Surrender is never an option for her, and she will fight tooth and nail against her foes rather than roll over and surrender.”
The words that I tried to balance here in the music are mysterious yet proud. The flipping between major and minor chords at the onset of the work produces the feeling of unease that one may expect upon meeting someone who “…keeps her face hidden in shadow to hide her identity…” The pride comes in later, after Tanria’s mysterious nature melts away into a more robust and glorious conclusion. The mystery of Tanria returns as the final notes in the harp pose a sonic question rather than produce a solid answer.