Campaign related stories
Return of Kazramath: the council meeting
Written by Lotheridan.
The wind howled fiercely that evening in the Blasted Lands; there was a storm coming soon, of that there was no doubt. A single man draped in a richly embroidered cloak of black and gold wandered through the ruins of what was once Nethergarde Keep of which only one large building stood tall but even there time started to chip away at the damaged foundations that kept it standing. Not long would it remain that way but for now it served its purpose, a meeting held in obscurity.
The darkened halls of the keep were only barely lit by small torches hidden away in crevices as to not arouse any suspicion of it being used. The man navigated through the darkness as if it was his home and soon found himself on the second floor. Only when he approached the door that would lead to the central chamber of the building did darkness give way to the blinding light coming from a magically lit torch. He waved his hand and the torch dimmed until only the embers were left smoldering.
“Ah, you have arrived at last,” a deep voice called out from within. The cloaked man gave no response to the greeting and quietly made his way inside. There was a single table at the very back of the room with eight chairs placed around it yet only six were occupied from what he could see. It was hard to discern who exactly was seated as the only source of light near them came from a candle lit at the heart of the table. He made his move towards one of the empty chairs and seated himself, smiling ever so politely to the others.
There was variety of people gathered around it. His eyes went around to each, carefully inspecting everything. Each person he’d seen before, but they all wore something distinctly different to last time they met. There were the two dwarves, a male dark iron and female bronzebeard, senators who held prestigious positions in the Ironforge Senate. Even now they were bickering amongst each other about senate affairs, giving him no regard as he arrived.
There were the other two humans aside from himself, both male, who each held a respectable position. The marshal and the lord, of which the latter used a cane to nervously tap against the creaking floorboards. The void elf clearly seemed agitated by the constant tapping, her focus shifting as if told by someone to look elsewhere and be on her guard. And lastly the night elf priest who he’d been quite close with for some time now. It was only he who inclined his head respectfully.
He pulled the hood back to reveal his gaunt features that looked especially ghastly and unnatural in the candle’s dim light, the greying hairs did not help his case either. Most noticeably there was a single scar running up on his right cheek, a constant reminder to a battle fought long ago. A wave of his hand was given towards the elderly marshal who stood up from his chair, clearing his throat loud enough so that even the dwarves stopped and looked at him.
“Esteemed council members,” he began. “We have gathered here to discuss a few important topics that must be addressed. First of all, a mandatory update on how affairs go in your respective branches.” He gestured towards the two dwarves, though it was only the dark iron who stood up, his burning gaze going around those gathered before eventually it lingered on the marshal.
“Aye, ever since the unfortunate tragedy that was Stormblade’s demise we have been hard at work bringing more of the senators on our side should we need to confront one of Thunderbraid’s caliber again. Dwarven politics are a fickle thing, you must know, and as much as your pawn tried to help it was all for naught.”
“On the contrary, he made things worse for us. He ought never have been exposed in the first place, marshal. Perhaps discarding him before the Lionheart got a chance to see his daughter would have been the wiser choice.” The female chimed in, scowling at the sour memories the topic.
“We’re not here to bicker about the general, senator.” The marshal reminded her sternly, though it was obvious that a nerve was struck by calling him out. He turned his attention to the lord who stopped the incessant tapping of his cane when all eyes turned on him. The lord inclined his head and placed the cane on the table instead.
“My fellow council members,” he said, his voice trembling. He was holding back a severe stutter he suffered from. “As you have heard-- The operation to retrieve the-- The artifact was not a success. I lost my wife in the process and-- and--” The lord lifted a hand to his shaven jaw, fingers twitching along the skin and then towards his throat. “The orbs are out of our reach. However, we are compiling more evidence to confront the Lionheart should the time arise for it.”
“As if that ever worked out for us, eh? Maybe it’ll be your head they come for next when it inevitably blows up in your face.” The dark iron said with a mirthful chuckle, the other senator seemed to agree with the notion. The night elf shook his head but gave no comment towards it. Instead he sought to change the subject and turned to the marshal.
“On to other matters, marshal, how goes the creation of the new unit? Have you come up with a name yet? I’m afraid the “Sword of Wrynn” is already taken somewhere, if I’m not mistaken.”
“No name as of yet,” the marshal growled in response, it was evident that all these jokes at his expense were anything but well received. “I’m bringing forth the final plans next month, fortunately for us the hostilities between the Horde and the Alliance makes it all the more likely that they will agree. What about the weapon, Twilight Lord?”
The night elf grinned and sent a fleeting glance towards the man with the scarred cheek, then looked back to the marshal. His glowing eyes thinned just a little bit to barely be noticed. “He is still recovering, gaining his strength. It won’t be long now before he will wreak havoc upon our enemies and herald the return of our Masters.”
“Won’t be-- be long?” The stuttering lord called out mockingly, “That is the exact same answer as last meeting and that has been two-- two months now. How do we know you’re not playing us as well?” There was murmuring coming from the two senators who spoke up as well, “Aye! When are we going to see that weapon you’ve recovered from them?”
“Please, be quiet now.” Each council member rose their brow as they gazed at the void elf who kept her eyes trained on the candle that flickered irregularly just as a gentle breeze found its way inside through a crack in the ceiling. “He wouldn’t like us to bicker. Not now. The voices say so.”
“Remind us why we have an elf on the council who cannot even pay attention to half the things we’re saying?” The bronzebeard called out accusingly, finger pointing towards the female elf who scratched her left ear and clearly hadn’t noticed she was the topic of conversation now.
“Through her we will gain new allies from the void elves, senator.” The marshal said, though it was obvious there was more than he would let out. It was the dark iron who picked that up quickly enough, standing on his chair with burning eyes fixated on the marshal. “And what else?! Don’t play us for fools, we’re on the council but we’re still not privy to all information. Spit it out, or are we just as disposable as all your other failures?”
“Sit down, dwarf,” snarled the elderly man in return.
“No, no. I’m not sitting down until you’re telling us everything. We want to be in on this plan of yours before we risk anything further.”
The cane slammed on the table as the stuttering lord spoke up for the marshal. “He told you to-- to sit down, so sit down or swear I will--”
A long, drawn out “Enough!” came from the scarred man but it was the ear piercing screech of the void elf just as he spoke that silenced the heated argument from the council members. She clawed desperately at her ears, so much that her nails scratched open old wounds from times when this had happened before. The candle’s light momentarily turned a purple hue instead of its usual orange glow.
“We are all here for a single goal, are we not?” He asked as soon as the void elf stopped and only erratic sobs came from her. There was something unnatural when he spoke, the shadows that danced behind the council members shifted uncomfortably and sent a chill running up the spine of all but the Twilight Lord who seemed pleased with the turn of events.
“We wait for our Masters to return, we prepare for that. There are obstacles in our way such as the Lionheart that most of you have encountered before. So our task is simple, no?” The man glanced around the silent council members, they did neither nod or shake their head. Each captivated by his haunting speech. “We will wipe them out, and I have a plan to do just that.”
The wind howled fiercely that evening in the Blasted Lands; there was a storm coming soon, of that there was no doubt. A single man draped in a richly embroidered cloak of black and gold wandered through the ruins of what was once Nethergarde Keep of which only one large building stood tall but even there time started to chip away at the damaged foundations that kept it standing. Not long would it remain that way but for now it served its purpose, a meeting held in obscurity.
The darkened halls of the keep were only barely lit by small torches hidden away in crevices as to not arouse any suspicion of it being used. The man navigated through the darkness as if it was his home and soon found himself on the second floor. Only when he approached the door that would lead to the central chamber of the building did darkness give way to the blinding light coming from a magically lit torch. He waved his hand and the torch dimmed until only the embers were left smoldering.
“Ah, you have arrived at last,” a deep voice called out from within. The cloaked man gave no response to the greeting and quietly made his way inside. There was a single table at the very back of the room with eight chairs placed around it yet only six were occupied from what he could see. It was hard to discern who exactly was seated as the only source of light near them came from a candle lit at the heart of the table. He made his move towards one of the empty chairs and seated himself, smiling ever so politely to the others.
There was variety of people gathered around it. His eyes went around to each, carefully inspecting everything. Each person he’d seen before, but they all wore something distinctly different to last time they met. There were the two dwarves, a male dark iron and female bronzebeard, senators who held prestigious positions in the Ironforge Senate. Even now they were bickering amongst each other about senate affairs, giving him no regard as he arrived.
There were the other two humans aside from himself, both male, who each held a respectable position. The marshal and the lord, of which the latter used a cane to nervously tap against the creaking floorboards. The void elf clearly seemed agitated by the constant tapping, her focus shifting as if told by someone to look elsewhere and be on her guard. And lastly the night elf priest who he’d been quite close with for some time now. It was only he who inclined his head respectfully.
He pulled the hood back to reveal his gaunt features that looked especially ghastly and unnatural in the candle’s dim light, the greying hairs did not help his case either. Most noticeably there was a single scar running up on his right cheek, a constant reminder to a battle fought long ago. A wave of his hand was given towards the elderly marshal who stood up from his chair, clearing his throat loud enough so that even the dwarves stopped and looked at him.
“Esteemed council members,” he began. “We have gathered here to discuss a few important topics that must be addressed. First of all, a mandatory update on how affairs go in your respective branches.” He gestured towards the two dwarves, though it was only the dark iron who stood up, his burning gaze going around those gathered before eventually it lingered on the marshal.
“Aye, ever since the unfortunate tragedy that was Stormblade’s demise we have been hard at work bringing more of the senators on our side should we need to confront one of Thunderbraid’s caliber again. Dwarven politics are a fickle thing, you must know, and as much as your pawn tried to help it was all for naught.”
“On the contrary, he made things worse for us. He ought never have been exposed in the first place, marshal. Perhaps discarding him before the Lionheart got a chance to see his daughter would have been the wiser choice.” The female chimed in, scowling at the sour memories the topic.
“We’re not here to bicker about the general, senator.” The marshal reminded her sternly, though it was obvious that a nerve was struck by calling him out. He turned his attention to the lord who stopped the incessant tapping of his cane when all eyes turned on him. The lord inclined his head and placed the cane on the table instead.
“My fellow council members,” he said, his voice trembling. He was holding back a severe stutter he suffered from. “As you have heard-- The operation to retrieve the-- The artifact was not a success. I lost my wife in the process and-- and--” The lord lifted a hand to his shaven jaw, fingers twitching along the skin and then towards his throat. “The orbs are out of our reach. However, we are compiling more evidence to confront the Lionheart should the time arise for it.”
“As if that ever worked out for us, eh? Maybe it’ll be your head they come for next when it inevitably blows up in your face.” The dark iron said with a mirthful chuckle, the other senator seemed to agree with the notion. The night elf shook his head but gave no comment towards it. Instead he sought to change the subject and turned to the marshal.
“On to other matters, marshal, how goes the creation of the new unit? Have you come up with a name yet? I’m afraid the “Sword of Wrynn” is already taken somewhere, if I’m not mistaken.”
“No name as of yet,” the marshal growled in response, it was evident that all these jokes at his expense were anything but well received. “I’m bringing forth the final plans next month, fortunately for us the hostilities between the Horde and the Alliance makes it all the more likely that they will agree. What about the weapon, Twilight Lord?”
The night elf grinned and sent a fleeting glance towards the man with the scarred cheek, then looked back to the marshal. His glowing eyes thinned just a little bit to barely be noticed. “He is still recovering, gaining his strength. It won’t be long now before he will wreak havoc upon our enemies and herald the return of our Masters.”
“Won’t be-- be long?” The stuttering lord called out mockingly, “That is the exact same answer as last meeting and that has been two-- two months now. How do we know you’re not playing us as well?” There was murmuring coming from the two senators who spoke up as well, “Aye! When are we going to see that weapon you’ve recovered from them?”
“Please, be quiet now.” Each council member rose their brow as they gazed at the void elf who kept her eyes trained on the candle that flickered irregularly just as a gentle breeze found its way inside through a crack in the ceiling. “He wouldn’t like us to bicker. Not now. The voices say so.”
“Remind us why we have an elf on the council who cannot even pay attention to half the things we’re saying?” The bronzebeard called out accusingly, finger pointing towards the female elf who scratched her left ear and clearly hadn’t noticed she was the topic of conversation now.
“Through her we will gain new allies from the void elves, senator.” The marshal said, though it was obvious there was more than he would let out. It was the dark iron who picked that up quickly enough, standing on his chair with burning eyes fixated on the marshal. “And what else?! Don’t play us for fools, we’re on the council but we’re still not privy to all information. Spit it out, or are we just as disposable as all your other failures?”
“Sit down, dwarf,” snarled the elderly man in return.
“No, no. I’m not sitting down until you’re telling us everything. We want to be in on this plan of yours before we risk anything further.”
The cane slammed on the table as the stuttering lord spoke up for the marshal. “He told you to-- to sit down, so sit down or swear I will--”
A long, drawn out “Enough!” came from the scarred man but it was the ear piercing screech of the void elf just as he spoke that silenced the heated argument from the council members. She clawed desperately at her ears, so much that her nails scratched open old wounds from times when this had happened before. The candle’s light momentarily turned a purple hue instead of its usual orange glow.
“We are all here for a single goal, are we not?” He asked as soon as the void elf stopped and only erratic sobs came from her. There was something unnatural when he spoke, the shadows that danced behind the council members shifted uncomfortably and sent a chill running up the spine of all but the Twilight Lord who seemed pleased with the turn of events.
“We wait for our Masters to return, we prepare for that. There are obstacles in our way such as the Lionheart that most of you have encountered before. So our task is simple, no?” The man glanced around the silent council members, they did neither nod or shake their head. Each captivated by his haunting speech. “We will wipe them out, and I have a plan to do just that.”
Return of Kazramath: the dream's aftermath
Written by Lotheridan.
The sun set over the mountains to the west, heralding the dusk over the Blasted Lands and the ruined Nethergarde Keep. In front of the ruined barracks sat a man clad in dark plate from head to toe, with mask hiding his features from the rest of the world. The man kept his eyes set on a paper crane that rested on the palm of his hand. It was a small thing that brought a sense of warmth in this unnatural cold he found himself. It took him everything to not open the crane to read the message within, something he’d done at least a dozen times since that evening where it was left beside the drink meant for someone who’d never claim it. The dead watcher.
There was little time for him to reminiscence on how he felt as the soft footsteps of Klaus Terath approached him. The nobleman had traded in the golden and white robes for a darker attire, but elegant nonetheless with a hood covering most of his face in shadows and only barely showing the scar along his right cheek. He smiled and dipped his head to the armoured man in greeting, “We are not getting sentimental, are we?” The question was asked with a kind and collected ring to it yet it was easy for him to hear how the tone was nothing more than an illusion. Klaus did not tolerate such emotional attachments in his subjects, he knew that well.
“No,” came the curt response from him. Moments later he crumpled the paper crane in his fist, much to the lord’s amusement. He gestured for his subject to follow him into the barracks. They both were quiet for most of the distance until the nobleman addressed him once again.
“You are to observe and learn, nothing more.” A meaningful nod came in response for he was told this before. The council had made arranged a new meeting in light of the failure to contain the Lionheart in the dream. There was a lot of frustration and he wasn’t even near any of the other council members to be aware of that. Now he’d be facing them up close when lord Klaus had to explain himself to them.
The pair passed through the final hall after they got up the stairs and took the door on their left. There was no door separating the hall and the grand room at the very heart of the barracks itself. Lord Klaus stepped in first, filled with determination as he made his way to the large table where the rest of the council was waiting on him. There was the marshal, the cripple nobleman with the stutter, the twitchy void elf ranger, the two senators and the kaldorei priest - the twilight lord. The empty seat from before remained vacant still.
“My lord,” the marshal began as he stood up from his chair. He looked from Klaus to the armoured observer and kept his glare locked on him. “You know that you are to come alone to these meetings. Who is this? Why did you bring him here?” The rest raised their brows and turned to look at the stranger.
Lord Klaus moved to his chair much to the marshal’s chagrin. It was the dark iron senator who slammed his fist on the table first, angered by the nobleman who failed to follow the rules. “First you fail to deliver on your promise, and now you think you can just bring in anyone you want to this meeting? Have you lost your damn mind, Terath?!”
The armoured figure stepped behind his patron, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t need to say anything to show that he’d not hesitate to draw it should one of them try anything. Klaus raised his hand in a gesture for the others to calm down. The void elf brought her hands to her ears right before he spoke to them.
“Fellow council members, please. I brought him here to watch over me since I am aware some of us here don’t need much to turn to violence when they are angered. I--”
“Angered? Enraged seems a more appropriate term for my fellow senator,” the female dwarf uttered with the dismissal of her hand. While the other did not bother to control himself, she tried to have the decency to speak calmly to the accused one. It was just barely controlled as the hatred shone brightly in her eyes. “I hope for your sake your explanation will be sufficient for us all.”
Lord Klaus bowed his head to the senator, then turned to the marshal. “Dienes, you are aware of what happened before they were sent off and when they returned. You saw the condition of some worsen after every… incident inside their dream. Do you disagree that this method is ineffective?”
Marshal Dienes narrowed his eyes and simply stood there, refusing to sit down just yet. “We are not here for you to ask questions to us, Terath. Yes, I could see it, but what matters is the result. You promised us that you would wipe them out. Or have you forgotten? The only death was the watcher I entrusted to you. You not only failed to deliver on your promise but you got one of our own killed. How do you answer to these accusations?”
“Oh, have I?” He questioned with a smirk that showed there was more going on than he let go. The rest of the council bar the two elves leaned forward like rabid dogs waiting to jump on their prey. “I said they would be wiped out, yes, but I did not say they would die the first time. This was an experiment. Their souls were sent into the shadowlands to be harvested with each ‘death’ there. Not only did it do that, but what happened there was to sow the seeds of discord in their ranks. Find their weaknesses and exploit them. To break them.”
The dark iron pointed a finger threateningly at the nobleman. “You lie!” He blurted out, the fiery eyes glowing brighter as his anger boiled up again. “It did nothing! We’ve heard the reports, they’re back to things as usual. There’s no discord, there’s no lasting damage. You FAILED, Terath.”
“No.” The man said sharply with the void elf curling up in her chair. It was as if she was afraid for something to happen to her, something that’d make the voices go louder in her head. The night elf placed a hand on her shoulder to soothe her, then turned his eyes back to Klaus Terath with an amused smile.
“They may recover now, but I found their weakness. Next time they will not recover. And then you will face a disorganised, broken group that will be picked off one by one. By the time they realise what’s happening you will be there to deliver the final blow. Then there is nothing left of the Lionheart and all is as it should be, no?”
The two senators murmured to one another and the marshal slowly sat back down on his chair. There was doubt, of course, it was hard to figure out what Klaus wanted from all this. Eventually he nodded once, “Very well, Terath. We’ll grant you a final chance to rectify this mistake. Take the time you need, but next time there’ll be no way out for the Lionheart. Are we clear?”
“Perfectly,” he said with a warm smile sent his way. The two dwarves received one as well though they were less happy to receive the mockery from the nobleman. They looked back to the marshal with the woman speaking for the two of them. “How many chances do we all get, marshal? He gets another chance, the twilight lord gets another chance. We need to deal with this as swiftly as possible.” She turned to the night elf, “Where is Kazramath?”
With a mirthful chuckle the elf raised his hands into the air. “Closer than you think, but he needs more souls. He needs to regain all his strength and more.”
“Ain’t that convenient for you, elf.” She barked at him, clearly all the waiting left her nervous, anxious. They’d spend a long time preparing for this but the constant delays worried her that something more was happening she was not made aware of. “What aren’t you telling us, hrm? You plan to have him feed on our souls?”
The twilight lord leaned forward and smiled at her. “No, of course not, we are allies.” There was a pause and a glance thrown in the direction of the armoured man behind lord Klaus. “But must I remind you that he’s been defeated before? Do you not want to be completely certain that we can use him without the risk of defeat? One small misstep and all our plans could come crashing down.”
“Alright, that’s enough.” Marshal Dienes intervened with a grunt, eyes turning to the night elf. “I don’t trust you, and not many of us do, but you are right. If we want to use the dreadlord as a weapon we must be certain that he is near invincible. We’d shed our disguises and be on the run forever should he fail.”
“Thank you, marshal,” the elf inclined his head and leaned back against his chair. There was some more muttering coming from the two dwarfs who eventually gave a reluctant nod before returning to their seats.
The nobleman with the cane stood up and shook his head, he’d been listening in silence since the talking began. “Th-they took my wife from me, and-- and we’ll just let them have their way? Unacceptable, marshal. This is-- is not how w-we repay loyalty and you know that. I’ll have m-my workers continue their… their task on Outland as requested, but expect no further support from me otherwise.”
“Aye, it seems your faith in those with hidden agendas is great, marshal.” The dark iron smirked and stood up as well, followed by the other senator. “I suppose this meeting is concluded, then. We’ll be back for the next one, but don’t expect us to enjoy being here until we see results.”
A sigh and a nod came from the marshal. “Indeed, this meeting is over. You know your tasks, continue them and we’ll see about those results next meeting.” He glared towards lord Klaus who sat there quietly with the same amused smirk on his lips, then got up himself. “Terath, you’d better show us results soon or you’ll be replaced.”
The silent watcher looked as the council members departed from the room one by one until only himself, lord Klaus and the twilight lord remained. They didn’t need to exchange any words, simply a meaningful nod was enough. Whatever went on in their heads was a mystery to him, one he wanted to unravel in due time. For now, though, all he could do was observe as was instructed to him. The nobleman turned to him and smiled as the night elf left them on their own.
“Wasn’t that insightful?”
“You’re not being subtle, my lord.”
“I don’t need to be, for they need me more than even they realise.”
He gestured for him to follow quietly as they, too, left the ruined barracks. A brief farewell was exchanged between them as their paths split, then the armourclad man sat down at the same spot as before the meeting. He’d held onto the paper crane, or what was left of the shape and looked at the writing inside.
“See you on the other side.”
The sun set over the mountains to the west, heralding the dusk over the Blasted Lands and the ruined Nethergarde Keep. In front of the ruined barracks sat a man clad in dark plate from head to toe, with mask hiding his features from the rest of the world. The man kept his eyes set on a paper crane that rested on the palm of his hand. It was a small thing that brought a sense of warmth in this unnatural cold he found himself. It took him everything to not open the crane to read the message within, something he’d done at least a dozen times since that evening where it was left beside the drink meant for someone who’d never claim it. The dead watcher.
There was little time for him to reminiscence on how he felt as the soft footsteps of Klaus Terath approached him. The nobleman had traded in the golden and white robes for a darker attire, but elegant nonetheless with a hood covering most of his face in shadows and only barely showing the scar along his right cheek. He smiled and dipped his head to the armoured man in greeting, “We are not getting sentimental, are we?” The question was asked with a kind and collected ring to it yet it was easy for him to hear how the tone was nothing more than an illusion. Klaus did not tolerate such emotional attachments in his subjects, he knew that well.
“No,” came the curt response from him. Moments later he crumpled the paper crane in his fist, much to the lord’s amusement. He gestured for his subject to follow him into the barracks. They both were quiet for most of the distance until the nobleman addressed him once again.
“You are to observe and learn, nothing more.” A meaningful nod came in response for he was told this before. The council had made arranged a new meeting in light of the failure to contain the Lionheart in the dream. There was a lot of frustration and he wasn’t even near any of the other council members to be aware of that. Now he’d be facing them up close when lord Klaus had to explain himself to them.
The pair passed through the final hall after they got up the stairs and took the door on their left. There was no door separating the hall and the grand room at the very heart of the barracks itself. Lord Klaus stepped in first, filled with determination as he made his way to the large table where the rest of the council was waiting on him. There was the marshal, the cripple nobleman with the stutter, the twitchy void elf ranger, the two senators and the kaldorei priest - the twilight lord. The empty seat from before remained vacant still.
“My lord,” the marshal began as he stood up from his chair. He looked from Klaus to the armoured observer and kept his glare locked on him. “You know that you are to come alone to these meetings. Who is this? Why did you bring him here?” The rest raised their brows and turned to look at the stranger.
Lord Klaus moved to his chair much to the marshal’s chagrin. It was the dark iron senator who slammed his fist on the table first, angered by the nobleman who failed to follow the rules. “First you fail to deliver on your promise, and now you think you can just bring in anyone you want to this meeting? Have you lost your damn mind, Terath?!”
The armoured figure stepped behind his patron, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t need to say anything to show that he’d not hesitate to draw it should one of them try anything. Klaus raised his hand in a gesture for the others to calm down. The void elf brought her hands to her ears right before he spoke to them.
“Fellow council members, please. I brought him here to watch over me since I am aware some of us here don’t need much to turn to violence when they are angered. I--”
“Angered? Enraged seems a more appropriate term for my fellow senator,” the female dwarf uttered with the dismissal of her hand. While the other did not bother to control himself, she tried to have the decency to speak calmly to the accused one. It was just barely controlled as the hatred shone brightly in her eyes. “I hope for your sake your explanation will be sufficient for us all.”
Lord Klaus bowed his head to the senator, then turned to the marshal. “Dienes, you are aware of what happened before they were sent off and when they returned. You saw the condition of some worsen after every… incident inside their dream. Do you disagree that this method is ineffective?”
Marshal Dienes narrowed his eyes and simply stood there, refusing to sit down just yet. “We are not here for you to ask questions to us, Terath. Yes, I could see it, but what matters is the result. You promised us that you would wipe them out. Or have you forgotten? The only death was the watcher I entrusted to you. You not only failed to deliver on your promise but you got one of our own killed. How do you answer to these accusations?”
“Oh, have I?” He questioned with a smirk that showed there was more going on than he let go. The rest of the council bar the two elves leaned forward like rabid dogs waiting to jump on their prey. “I said they would be wiped out, yes, but I did not say they would die the first time. This was an experiment. Their souls were sent into the shadowlands to be harvested with each ‘death’ there. Not only did it do that, but what happened there was to sow the seeds of discord in their ranks. Find their weaknesses and exploit them. To break them.”
The dark iron pointed a finger threateningly at the nobleman. “You lie!” He blurted out, the fiery eyes glowing brighter as his anger boiled up again. “It did nothing! We’ve heard the reports, they’re back to things as usual. There’s no discord, there’s no lasting damage. You FAILED, Terath.”
“No.” The man said sharply with the void elf curling up in her chair. It was as if she was afraid for something to happen to her, something that’d make the voices go louder in her head. The night elf placed a hand on her shoulder to soothe her, then turned his eyes back to Klaus Terath with an amused smile.
“They may recover now, but I found their weakness. Next time they will not recover. And then you will face a disorganised, broken group that will be picked off one by one. By the time they realise what’s happening you will be there to deliver the final blow. Then there is nothing left of the Lionheart and all is as it should be, no?”
The two senators murmured to one another and the marshal slowly sat back down on his chair. There was doubt, of course, it was hard to figure out what Klaus wanted from all this. Eventually he nodded once, “Very well, Terath. We’ll grant you a final chance to rectify this mistake. Take the time you need, but next time there’ll be no way out for the Lionheart. Are we clear?”
“Perfectly,” he said with a warm smile sent his way. The two dwarves received one as well though they were less happy to receive the mockery from the nobleman. They looked back to the marshal with the woman speaking for the two of them. “How many chances do we all get, marshal? He gets another chance, the twilight lord gets another chance. We need to deal with this as swiftly as possible.” She turned to the night elf, “Where is Kazramath?”
With a mirthful chuckle the elf raised his hands into the air. “Closer than you think, but he needs more souls. He needs to regain all his strength and more.”
“Ain’t that convenient for you, elf.” She barked at him, clearly all the waiting left her nervous, anxious. They’d spend a long time preparing for this but the constant delays worried her that something more was happening she was not made aware of. “What aren’t you telling us, hrm? You plan to have him feed on our souls?”
The twilight lord leaned forward and smiled at her. “No, of course not, we are allies.” There was a pause and a glance thrown in the direction of the armoured man behind lord Klaus. “But must I remind you that he’s been defeated before? Do you not want to be completely certain that we can use him without the risk of defeat? One small misstep and all our plans could come crashing down.”
“Alright, that’s enough.” Marshal Dienes intervened with a grunt, eyes turning to the night elf. “I don’t trust you, and not many of us do, but you are right. If we want to use the dreadlord as a weapon we must be certain that he is near invincible. We’d shed our disguises and be on the run forever should he fail.”
“Thank you, marshal,” the elf inclined his head and leaned back against his chair. There was some more muttering coming from the two dwarfs who eventually gave a reluctant nod before returning to their seats.
The nobleman with the cane stood up and shook his head, he’d been listening in silence since the talking began. “Th-they took my wife from me, and-- and we’ll just let them have their way? Unacceptable, marshal. This is-- is not how w-we repay loyalty and you know that. I’ll have m-my workers continue their… their task on Outland as requested, but expect no further support from me otherwise.”
“Aye, it seems your faith in those with hidden agendas is great, marshal.” The dark iron smirked and stood up as well, followed by the other senator. “I suppose this meeting is concluded, then. We’ll be back for the next one, but don’t expect us to enjoy being here until we see results.”
A sigh and a nod came from the marshal. “Indeed, this meeting is over. You know your tasks, continue them and we’ll see about those results next meeting.” He glared towards lord Klaus who sat there quietly with the same amused smirk on his lips, then got up himself. “Terath, you’d better show us results soon or you’ll be replaced.”
The silent watcher looked as the council members departed from the room one by one until only himself, lord Klaus and the twilight lord remained. They didn’t need to exchange any words, simply a meaningful nod was enough. Whatever went on in their heads was a mystery to him, one he wanted to unravel in due time. For now, though, all he could do was observe as was instructed to him. The nobleman turned to him and smiled as the night elf left them on their own.
“Wasn’t that insightful?”
“You’re not being subtle, my lord.”
“I don’t need to be, for they need me more than even they realise.”
He gestured for him to follow quietly as they, too, left the ruined barracks. A brief farewell was exchanged between them as their paths split, then the armourclad man sat down at the same spot as before the meeting. He’d held onto the paper crane, or what was left of the shape and looked at the writing inside.
“See you on the other side.”
World at war: mourning
Written by Alêxia.
“How could this happen?!”
The orc’s voices bellowed around the room as his fist slammed down on the wooden desk, nearly splitting it in two, clear rage in his eyes. Peering down at him from the right stood the familiar Dark Ranger, her red eyes fixated on him, and at his left stood a tall troll, hunched over with his arms folded. In contrast to the Ranger, however, his eyes were fixated on the ground with a sense of sadness with in them.
The Ranger placed her cold hand on the orc’s shoulder.
“This anger will get us nowhere, Warlord.”
Her hand was swiftly slapped away as he turned to point a finger at her. “Do not patronise me. If it wasn’t for that banshee of a Warchief we wouldn’t even have been here and my son would still be alive.”
“Watch your mouth, orc,” her words spat back at him and silence hung in the air.
A moment passed until the silence was broken by the troll.
“Thar’zog. I know dis be a tryin’ time for you, but you have to be strong. We all need you more than ever now. Let us think rationally and make da best plan of action.” As he finished he offered the Orc a small nod. The Warlord’s eyes darted between the two and he took a breath before turning back to his desk and slumping in the chair.
He raised his eyes to meet those sat opposite him.
At the far right sat a female tauren, her face in a state of worry as her large hands were wringing a wreath of flowers. Next to her was a larger male tauren who watched her wringing before placing a hand on top of hers in comfort, his expression frowned yet stern. Next along perched a sin’dorei, dressed in an extravagant robe with her long blonde hair tied stylishly off her face, legs crossed and her green eyes meeting with the Dark Rangers red. She seemed the most unaffected by the current situation. Following the sin’dorei sat an awkward looking goblin supporting a scarf with a cigar half hanging out his mouth. He shifted about on his stall looking across at the others. Finally, at the very end of the line sat a fragile looking undead, her thin hair falling over her face, and although she sat hunched and motionless, a deep ferocity could be felt from her. The group sat in silence.
“Well? I made you all Lieutenants for a reason. Now is the time to start acting like one. What are we going to do?” The orc spat at them.
The tauren raised his hand politely.“Warlord, we have already sent Blade and Nima to find out who exactly these Alliance are so we can track them and make them pay for what they have done.”
“And then what?” The orc spat once more.
The tauren looked along the line to his other Lieutenants. The sin’dorei peered back at him, rolled her eyes and uncrossed her legs. “We will lure them into an ambush. Give them false information and they are sure to bite. Lead them away from the main Alliance forces and attack them there. It is the logical option, Warlord.”
The warlord grunted in response, his breathing still heavy and full of rage.
“I don’t care about logic, I care about results. I want three of you out there to make sure they suffer. Rahmaul, Delmecia and then…”
“I will go.” The Forsaken’s voice sounded hoarse and raspy as her words fell out her mouth. “I have been wanting a chance to test the new plague spewing shredder we have been working on.” She gestured to the goblin sat next to her.
“Yeah boss. They won’t stand a chance up against that. I promise.” The goblin gives the warlord a grin, in which he receives a scowl in response and immediately recoils back into his seat.
“Fine” His voice bellowed. “The three of you get this done. And remember, I want the one who killed him brought back to me alive so I can make them suffer.” The three nod in response. “Good, now leave”
“Warlord, if I may ask...” The female tauren hesitantly questioned as she stood. “When will you be laying him to rest?”
Thar’zog’s eyes met hers, and he paused. “Before the week is through.”
The tauren nodded back at him. “Please do let us know as the rest of the unit have asked if they can come and show their support. He was a loved member of the unit, a friend to them all as much as a son to you. They care. We all care.” She nodded once more.
Thar’zog’s eyes shifted slightly, a glimmer of sadness in them before he responded, a voice softer than before. “Thank you Kayla. I will. You may leave now.”
With that they all left the room, leaving the Orc to fall back into his seat as let out a hacking cough and brought his head to his hands.
“How could this happen?!”
The orc’s voices bellowed around the room as his fist slammed down on the wooden desk, nearly splitting it in two, clear rage in his eyes. Peering down at him from the right stood the familiar Dark Ranger, her red eyes fixated on him, and at his left stood a tall troll, hunched over with his arms folded. In contrast to the Ranger, however, his eyes were fixated on the ground with a sense of sadness with in them.
The Ranger placed her cold hand on the orc’s shoulder.
“This anger will get us nowhere, Warlord.”
Her hand was swiftly slapped away as he turned to point a finger at her. “Do not patronise me. If it wasn’t for that banshee of a Warchief we wouldn’t even have been here and my son would still be alive.”
“Watch your mouth, orc,” her words spat back at him and silence hung in the air.
A moment passed until the silence was broken by the troll.
“Thar’zog. I know dis be a tryin’ time for you, but you have to be strong. We all need you more than ever now. Let us think rationally and make da best plan of action.” As he finished he offered the Orc a small nod. The Warlord’s eyes darted between the two and he took a breath before turning back to his desk and slumping in the chair.
He raised his eyes to meet those sat opposite him.
At the far right sat a female tauren, her face in a state of worry as her large hands were wringing a wreath of flowers. Next to her was a larger male tauren who watched her wringing before placing a hand on top of hers in comfort, his expression frowned yet stern. Next along perched a sin’dorei, dressed in an extravagant robe with her long blonde hair tied stylishly off her face, legs crossed and her green eyes meeting with the Dark Rangers red. She seemed the most unaffected by the current situation. Following the sin’dorei sat an awkward looking goblin supporting a scarf with a cigar half hanging out his mouth. He shifted about on his stall looking across at the others. Finally, at the very end of the line sat a fragile looking undead, her thin hair falling over her face, and although she sat hunched and motionless, a deep ferocity could be felt from her. The group sat in silence.
“Well? I made you all Lieutenants for a reason. Now is the time to start acting like one. What are we going to do?” The orc spat at them.
The tauren raised his hand politely.“Warlord, we have already sent Blade and Nima to find out who exactly these Alliance are so we can track them and make them pay for what they have done.”
“And then what?” The orc spat once more.
The tauren looked along the line to his other Lieutenants. The sin’dorei peered back at him, rolled her eyes and uncrossed her legs. “We will lure them into an ambush. Give them false information and they are sure to bite. Lead them away from the main Alliance forces and attack them there. It is the logical option, Warlord.”
The warlord grunted in response, his breathing still heavy and full of rage.
“I don’t care about logic, I care about results. I want three of you out there to make sure they suffer. Rahmaul, Delmecia and then…”
“I will go.” The Forsaken’s voice sounded hoarse and raspy as her words fell out her mouth. “I have been wanting a chance to test the new plague spewing shredder we have been working on.” She gestured to the goblin sat next to her.
“Yeah boss. They won’t stand a chance up against that. I promise.” The goblin gives the warlord a grin, in which he receives a scowl in response and immediately recoils back into his seat.
“Fine” His voice bellowed. “The three of you get this done. And remember, I want the one who killed him brought back to me alive so I can make them suffer.” The three nod in response. “Good, now leave”
“Warlord, if I may ask...” The female tauren hesitantly questioned as she stood. “When will you be laying him to rest?”
Thar’zog’s eyes met hers, and he paused. “Before the week is through.”
The tauren nodded back at him. “Please do let us know as the rest of the unit have asked if they can come and show their support. He was a loved member of the unit, a friend to them all as much as a son to you. They care. We all care.” She nodded once more.
Thar’zog’s eyes shifted slightly, a glimmer of sadness in them before he responded, a voice softer than before. “Thank you Kayla. I will. You may leave now.”
With that they all left the room, leaving the Orc to fall back into his seat as let out a hacking cough and brought his head to his hands.
world at war: aftermath
The portal closed behind them with a whirl and the tall sin’dorei muttered a demonic spell sealing away the portals whereabouts. She stood for a moment before turning to reveal her fel-burnt face, skin peeling and blistered.
“They were too strong. They are not just your average Alliance footmen.” She hissed as she surveyed the rest of the group.
“Del. Zulji’s lost his arm! It’s gone.” spoke one of the trolls as he held his brother in his arms, his voice panicked and flustered.
“Vorak, mon. Why chu be so dramatic? You know it grow back.” Zulji grinned up to his brother.
Vorak blinked at him before standing up and leaving him to fall to the ground. “Then why chu act all hurt, mon. Chu just lazy, is all.”
“If you two could stop fooling about, we have bigger issues.” Delmicia spoke, now hunched over the large tauren who had a gaping wound through his chest. “He isn’t responding, we need to get him healed asap.”
Vorak immediately ran over to the tauren and hovered his hand over the wound. He closed his eyes and a string of water left from the palm of his hand, snaking into the wound and circling around the taurens body.
“How far are we from camp?” Zulji spoke as he tied a piece of cloth around his severed arm.
“It shouldn’t be too far, just north of here.” the warlock said, brushing the hair off of her burnt face. “I didn’t expect them to be that prepared. I thought we had the upper hand by it being an ambush. Let’s just hope the others were more successful.” She tilts her head to the sky exhaling.
As the silence settled, it was swiftly broken by the sound of a wolf howl. Before long a grey wolf was rushing towards the group.
“I guess she be back.” Zulji commented nonshalontly. “About time as well.”
As the wolf arrived to the group he was followed by an Orc who jumped down from the trees above. She was decked in leathers and fur, a single thick braid coming from her head and a gun across her back. She shook herself off before stroking the wolf affectionately, and finally her eyes met the tauren.
“Is he dead?”
“Don’t be stupid, Shonzi.” The sin’dorei spat. “Vorak will have him up in no time. Although he will no doubt be out of action for some time.”
“Zul, I need chu help to close the wound.” Vorak’s hands continued to snake water into the tauren’s wound, and he was swiftly joined by his brother who places his hands out in a similar fashion, however his began to glow a fire red.
The orc pulled herself up from the wolf to look at the sin’dorei. “So if he is out of action does that mean we are down to four Lieutenants?”
Delmicia shook her head back at her. “More like three. I’m pretty sure his mate will not want to leave his side until he recovers. That is the problem with allowing relationships in the task force. They rely too much on each other. I did say this to the Warlord already.” She frowns returning her green gaze to the healers.
Shonzi folds her arms following her gaze to the trolls. “The Warlord. He isn’t going to be happy about this. We have failed him, again.”
Delmicia brought her eyes back to Shonzi as she snorted a laugh. “Oh my dear girl. Who said this was a failure? It all went exactly to plan.” She gave her a sligh wink before looking back to the healers again.
“They were too strong. They are not just your average Alliance footmen.” She hissed as she surveyed the rest of the group.
“Del. Zulji’s lost his arm! It’s gone.” spoke one of the trolls as he held his brother in his arms, his voice panicked and flustered.
“Vorak, mon. Why chu be so dramatic? You know it grow back.” Zulji grinned up to his brother.
Vorak blinked at him before standing up and leaving him to fall to the ground. “Then why chu act all hurt, mon. Chu just lazy, is all.”
“If you two could stop fooling about, we have bigger issues.” Delmicia spoke, now hunched over the large tauren who had a gaping wound through his chest. “He isn’t responding, we need to get him healed asap.”
Vorak immediately ran over to the tauren and hovered his hand over the wound. He closed his eyes and a string of water left from the palm of his hand, snaking into the wound and circling around the taurens body.
“How far are we from camp?” Zulji spoke as he tied a piece of cloth around his severed arm.
“It shouldn’t be too far, just north of here.” the warlock said, brushing the hair off of her burnt face. “I didn’t expect them to be that prepared. I thought we had the upper hand by it being an ambush. Let’s just hope the others were more successful.” She tilts her head to the sky exhaling.
As the silence settled, it was swiftly broken by the sound of a wolf howl. Before long a grey wolf was rushing towards the group.
“I guess she be back.” Zulji commented nonshalontly. “About time as well.”
As the wolf arrived to the group he was followed by an Orc who jumped down from the trees above. She was decked in leathers and fur, a single thick braid coming from her head and a gun across her back. She shook herself off before stroking the wolf affectionately, and finally her eyes met the tauren.
“Is he dead?”
“Don’t be stupid, Shonzi.” The sin’dorei spat. “Vorak will have him up in no time. Although he will no doubt be out of action for some time.”
“Zul, I need chu help to close the wound.” Vorak’s hands continued to snake water into the tauren’s wound, and he was swiftly joined by his brother who places his hands out in a similar fashion, however his began to glow a fire red.
The orc pulled herself up from the wolf to look at the sin’dorei. “So if he is out of action does that mean we are down to four Lieutenants?”
Delmicia shook her head back at her. “More like three. I’m pretty sure his mate will not want to leave his side until he recovers. That is the problem with allowing relationships in the task force. They rely too much on each other. I did say this to the Warlord already.” She frowns returning her green gaze to the healers.
Shonzi folds her arms following her gaze to the trolls. “The Warlord. He isn’t going to be happy about this. We have failed him, again.”
Delmicia brought her eyes back to Shonzi as she snorted a laugh. “Oh my dear girl. Who said this was a failure? It all went exactly to plan.” She gave her a sligh wink before looking back to the healers again.
Antagonist related stories
thar'zog: The Warlord and the demon
Written by Lotheridan
With a thud the felguard fell on the ground, joining the rest of his demonic comrades in death. The dead, blackened ground of Argus that once teemed with life now served as the final resting place for those who had corrupted it. Dozens upon dozens of the demon filth littered the path that lead towards the den of their overlord. There was still more fighting going on in the background as flashes of magic and ringing of steel sounded clearly in the canyon below. Warcries belonging to Horde heroes resounded in the old Warlord’s ears, a smile crept on his scarred features. They would manage just fine without him as he delved into the lair of their nemesis alone.
He pressed on through a large tunnel where the bodies of not only the Krokul and Lightforged were hung, but of the Alliance and Horde who faced the terrible Pit Lord and lost. Some of those Horde forces once belonged in his warband, they had sacrificed their lives so that the rest might live. Now, it was his turn to repay those sacrifices. In the corner of his eyes there was movement, creatures skittered away as soon as he laid eyes upon them. Too big to be critters, but too small to be considered a threat to his mission. The Warlord ignored the beasts and soon reached the end.
The orc’s heavy footsteps crushed a skull once belonging to one of Argus’ inhabitants as he entered a large courtyard of sorts deep within one of the planet’s mountain ranges. He was surrounded by its jagged peaks and many lethal rock formations. It was haunting and in the backdrop one could only scarcely see Azeroth. Home. The Warlord lifted his crude axe up on his shoulder and bristled to the sound of rocks falling down the slope of one of the mountains. A dark chuckled followed from somewhere ahead.
“Are you so eager to die, Giantrender, that you approach me alone?”
“No more of my men will die by your hands, demon. I have come here to fulfill an oath to them. Today we will be victorious over you and your lot.” The older orc’s burning red eyes looked around. Grey ash the same colour of his skin fell down around him as somewhere nearby one of the many volcanoes rumbled and erupted, spewing its fel corrupted ashed into the air. It made his sight that much more trickier to find the large Pit Lord who dwelled here.
“An oath? The only oath you should have taken was to join when you had the chance. It matters not, your pitiful warband will fall to my might. You have failed before, you have bled before my might and now I will end your miserable life.”
The ground cracked as the Pit Lord moved around, though with the ash and limited light the orc could only briefly spot the immense tail slither over the ground and behind a rock formation. He held a tighter grip on his axe, knowing that battle would soon be at hand. The last one before they left the demonic hellscape behind forever.
“I will end your life, Silgaroth, and bring peace to the many honourable souls that fell before you. Your accursed reign will come to an end by my axe, and mine alone. Nothing you will do will save you from this fate.”
“Nothing? Have you forgotten how I brought you on your knees before, orc? Have you forgotten that I nearly wiped you from existence, but you lived because I was generous. And now you return, having refused your only offer to live. No, you will not kill me. When I am done with you, the rest will come. Your friends, your son. I heard the latter especially has been enjoying himself here on Argus.” Another chuckle erupted from the shadows. The demon implied something ominous.
“You... dare speak of my son? You will -never- touch him! Lok’tar ogar!” The orc let out a mighty roar and rushed towards the rock where the Pit Lord last moved. As he charged the demon revealed himself as his large wings blew away the ash and fel burning eyes narrowed upon his challenger. He was immense, so much that not even five grown tauren stacked would reach his face. It didn’t matter to the old orc who led his final charge that would determine the fate of his warband, of his family.
With a thud the felguard fell on the ground, joining the rest of his demonic comrades in death. The dead, blackened ground of Argus that once teemed with life now served as the final resting place for those who had corrupted it. Dozens upon dozens of the demon filth littered the path that lead towards the den of their overlord. There was still more fighting going on in the background as flashes of magic and ringing of steel sounded clearly in the canyon below. Warcries belonging to Horde heroes resounded in the old Warlord’s ears, a smile crept on his scarred features. They would manage just fine without him as he delved into the lair of their nemesis alone.
He pressed on through a large tunnel where the bodies of not only the Krokul and Lightforged were hung, but of the Alliance and Horde who faced the terrible Pit Lord and lost. Some of those Horde forces once belonged in his warband, they had sacrificed their lives so that the rest might live. Now, it was his turn to repay those sacrifices. In the corner of his eyes there was movement, creatures skittered away as soon as he laid eyes upon them. Too big to be critters, but too small to be considered a threat to his mission. The Warlord ignored the beasts and soon reached the end.
The orc’s heavy footsteps crushed a skull once belonging to one of Argus’ inhabitants as he entered a large courtyard of sorts deep within one of the planet’s mountain ranges. He was surrounded by its jagged peaks and many lethal rock formations. It was haunting and in the backdrop one could only scarcely see Azeroth. Home. The Warlord lifted his crude axe up on his shoulder and bristled to the sound of rocks falling down the slope of one of the mountains. A dark chuckled followed from somewhere ahead.
“Are you so eager to die, Giantrender, that you approach me alone?”
“No more of my men will die by your hands, demon. I have come here to fulfill an oath to them. Today we will be victorious over you and your lot.” The older orc’s burning red eyes looked around. Grey ash the same colour of his skin fell down around him as somewhere nearby one of the many volcanoes rumbled and erupted, spewing its fel corrupted ashed into the air. It made his sight that much more trickier to find the large Pit Lord who dwelled here.
“An oath? The only oath you should have taken was to join when you had the chance. It matters not, your pitiful warband will fall to my might. You have failed before, you have bled before my might and now I will end your miserable life.”
The ground cracked as the Pit Lord moved around, though with the ash and limited light the orc could only briefly spot the immense tail slither over the ground and behind a rock formation. He held a tighter grip on his axe, knowing that battle would soon be at hand. The last one before they left the demonic hellscape behind forever.
“I will end your life, Silgaroth, and bring peace to the many honourable souls that fell before you. Your accursed reign will come to an end by my axe, and mine alone. Nothing you will do will save you from this fate.”
“Nothing? Have you forgotten how I brought you on your knees before, orc? Have you forgotten that I nearly wiped you from existence, but you lived because I was generous. And now you return, having refused your only offer to live. No, you will not kill me. When I am done with you, the rest will come. Your friends, your son. I heard the latter especially has been enjoying himself here on Argus.” Another chuckle erupted from the shadows. The demon implied something ominous.
“You... dare speak of my son? You will -never- touch him! Lok’tar ogar!” The orc let out a mighty roar and rushed towards the rock where the Pit Lord last moved. As he charged the demon revealed himself as his large wings blew away the ash and fel burning eyes narrowed upon his challenger. He was immense, so much that not even five grown tauren stacked would reach his face. It didn’t matter to the old orc who led his final charge that would determine the fate of his warband, of his family.
ellynthia: a somber reunion
Written by Lotheridan.
It was on the border of Eversong and what was now called the Ghostlands. Many years it took the Dark Ranger to finally come to terms with what she had become. The old faces she met since becoming one of Sylvanas’ Rangers all shunned her for what she’d become, they called her a monstrosity that never should have been raised from the grounds again. They said that her family had suffered enough. That her daughter suffered enough. Little did they know that she died for her daughter when the Scourge came to ravage their lands.
Ellynthia remained in the shadows as that was where she felt most comfortable these days. A suspicious glance was given to the sky where once Argus lingered threateningly, now but a red star that shone brighter than any other. How she wished that it was still there and that her mind could be focused on other matters. It took a moment of respite for her to realise that her daughter was still unaware of what happened to her. A final string that connected her to a life that now hated her.
A song echoed through the woods, its words unclear at first until the source came closer. The Ranger’s ears perked up and she moved further back, the blood red eyes sought for the voice. A voice that was so familiar and brought what little good left in her out again. She snarled and her features hardened, determined to not become weak when their meeting was so close.
Then finally she appeared from behind one of the bushes. A young adult with raven black hair that almost reached down to her waist. The elf’s features were soft and kind, a smile rested on her lips though it was not one of happiness. No, she had come to this particular spot in Eversong to remember someone. A single rose was held in her hand and she knelt down before a small rock where words were etched in its surface. It was a simple ceremony, one that the lady kept going for several years now to remember her dead mother.
Ellynthia closed her eyes and sighed, pulling the cowl up to her nose to hide the horrific scarring from that night. After all she came here to meet her daughter, not to terrify her. Silent steps made their way to the unsuspecting girl who placed the rose gently down and ended her tragic song. A song that her mother sung for her every night since she was born. A reminder of happier times and the loss that was still felt dearly.
“Syralia,” she began, her hoarse voice causing the other elf to jump up and turn around frightfully. She bore no arms yet stood defiantly towards the dark figure that approached her. There was nothing to indicate she recognised her mother even as she closed the distance between them quickly.
“Who… who are you? Why have you come to Quel’Thalas, Forsaken?”
Those words stung. Forsaken. Yes, she was one of them but something inside yearned for recognition of her past life. In her heart she was still a daughter of Quel’Thalas, and she hoped that her daughter would see that. Reluctantly she pulled down her hood to reveal the same black hair that they shared. The shadows cast on her features vanished just like that, making her look that much more recognisable. Then finally the cowl was lowed as well to reveal the rest of her face, and just barely covered up the missing tissue that stretched over her throat and even up a bit to her chin.
“M--... No. No, this isn’t you.” The girl said, taking a few steps back and nearly stumbling over the rock. The sight of her mother made her eyes well up as a mix of happiness and sorrow washed over her. Ellynthia’s heart broke as she saw how it teared at her daughter’s conscience to see her. Even more so that she sought to move away from her rather than towards her.
“Syralia, please.” She begged, the voice cracking somewhat as she struggled to hold back long buried emotions. The Dark Ranger took another step towards her, raising a hand to show that she meant her no harm.
“No… no, go back. My mother died. You’re a--... A disgrace that wears her face. Go away, leave me be!” She had made up her mind and Ellynthia closed her eyes. Her own daughter did not wish to be with her, she did not even want to listen to what she had to say. That only string to her life severed itself as quickly as it had taken notice. Syralia turned and ran, unable to hold back the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
The Dark Ranger clenched her fists tightly. This wasn’t the reunion she had hoped for, she was a fool for thinking it would have gone differently. She glanced towards the rock, reading the words carved upon it.
“Wherever you have gone,
In Darkness or in Light,
Wherever your soul rests,
Know that my love will always burn bright.”
It was on the border of Eversong and what was now called the Ghostlands. Many years it took the Dark Ranger to finally come to terms with what she had become. The old faces she met since becoming one of Sylvanas’ Rangers all shunned her for what she’d become, they called her a monstrosity that never should have been raised from the grounds again. They said that her family had suffered enough. That her daughter suffered enough. Little did they know that she died for her daughter when the Scourge came to ravage their lands.
Ellynthia remained in the shadows as that was where she felt most comfortable these days. A suspicious glance was given to the sky where once Argus lingered threateningly, now but a red star that shone brighter than any other. How she wished that it was still there and that her mind could be focused on other matters. It took a moment of respite for her to realise that her daughter was still unaware of what happened to her. A final string that connected her to a life that now hated her.
A song echoed through the woods, its words unclear at first until the source came closer. The Ranger’s ears perked up and she moved further back, the blood red eyes sought for the voice. A voice that was so familiar and brought what little good left in her out again. She snarled and her features hardened, determined to not become weak when their meeting was so close.
Then finally she appeared from behind one of the bushes. A young adult with raven black hair that almost reached down to her waist. The elf’s features were soft and kind, a smile rested on her lips though it was not one of happiness. No, she had come to this particular spot in Eversong to remember someone. A single rose was held in her hand and she knelt down before a small rock where words were etched in its surface. It was a simple ceremony, one that the lady kept going for several years now to remember her dead mother.
Ellynthia closed her eyes and sighed, pulling the cowl up to her nose to hide the horrific scarring from that night. After all she came here to meet her daughter, not to terrify her. Silent steps made their way to the unsuspecting girl who placed the rose gently down and ended her tragic song. A song that her mother sung for her every night since she was born. A reminder of happier times and the loss that was still felt dearly.
“Syralia,” she began, her hoarse voice causing the other elf to jump up and turn around frightfully. She bore no arms yet stood defiantly towards the dark figure that approached her. There was nothing to indicate she recognised her mother even as she closed the distance between them quickly.
“Who… who are you? Why have you come to Quel’Thalas, Forsaken?”
Those words stung. Forsaken. Yes, she was one of them but something inside yearned for recognition of her past life. In her heart she was still a daughter of Quel’Thalas, and she hoped that her daughter would see that. Reluctantly she pulled down her hood to reveal the same black hair that they shared. The shadows cast on her features vanished just like that, making her look that much more recognisable. Then finally the cowl was lowed as well to reveal the rest of her face, and just barely covered up the missing tissue that stretched over her throat and even up a bit to her chin.
“M--... No. No, this isn’t you.” The girl said, taking a few steps back and nearly stumbling over the rock. The sight of her mother made her eyes well up as a mix of happiness and sorrow washed over her. Ellynthia’s heart broke as she saw how it teared at her daughter’s conscience to see her. Even more so that she sought to move away from her rather than towards her.
“Syralia, please.” She begged, the voice cracking somewhat as she struggled to hold back long buried emotions. The Dark Ranger took another step towards her, raising a hand to show that she meant her no harm.
“No… no, go back. My mother died. You’re a--... A disgrace that wears her face. Go away, leave me be!” She had made up her mind and Ellynthia closed her eyes. Her own daughter did not wish to be with her, she did not even want to listen to what she had to say. That only string to her life severed itself as quickly as it had taken notice. Syralia turned and ran, unable to hold back the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
The Dark Ranger clenched her fists tightly. This wasn’t the reunion she had hoped for, she was a fool for thinking it would have gone differently. She glanced towards the rock, reading the words carved upon it.
“Wherever you have gone,
In Darkness or in Light,
Wherever your soul rests,
Know that my love will always burn bright.”
The Unit: Failure
Written by Alexia.
“So...you failed, Rahmaul?”
The large orc sat behind a long wooden desk that was stacked with papers, arms folded, a scowl across his face. The dark room was dimly lit with burning torches causing shadows to hang up the walls like drapes of cloth, Horde banners adorning each corner. Hovering behind the large orc a figure could be made, elven with a hood hiding most features and a bow attached to her back. She stood silent, her gaze fixed on the group and her presence ominus.
“In short...yes.” Spoke the gravelly voice of a giant tauren who sat opposite the orc, his size making the chair and desk seem minuscule. Next to him sat a female tauren, smaller in size, yet still far larger than anyone else in the room. She supported a large scratch mark across her face and snout, and seemed to be wringing a wreath of vines in her hand, a clear expression of worry across her face. As she spoke her voice is less booming and has a softer touch.
“We did what we could, Warlord. They outnumbered us severely, and we were in the heart of Alliance territory. We were lucky to get out alive.”
The orc narrowed his eyes at the tauren, her words seeming to soothe him.
“And what took you so long? It was meant to be a swift mission. I let you handpick the fastest of the unit-...” The orc was cut off by a piercing voice from below the table, as a green head appeared next to Rahmaul’s, scarf around his neck and a cigar hanging from his mouth as he spoke.
“I’ll tell ya what happened, boss. I was working at a steady pace. Nearly had the rock in my hand, I did. Then the big man here starts shouting and hollering to get it done quicker. Now you’re a man that understands how I work. These things take time to...Hey!”
The tauren huffed at the goblin, ushering him aside with his large hand. “He is talking rubbish, Warlord. If he had worked faster, instead of talking so much, we would have been out of there before the Alliance had arrived.”
The goblin shouted out in protest, pulling the cigar out of his mouth. “No. That’s bull. I am one of the best there is. I was going at the right pace…”
“You were milking it, Zasnik” The tauren bellowed in response.
“Quiet!”
The dark ranger’s voice echoed around the room causing silence to settle, her red eyes peering at the two of them from over the orcs shoulder. “We care not for your squabbling. We care about the missions failure and ensuring it doesn’t happen again!” Her words hung in the air like a dense wind.
The orc let out a hacking cough before gesturing behind those sat in front of him. “What say you two?”
The group directed their focus to the back of the room.
Standing one side of the door was a slender nightborne, decorated in lavish garments, his long hair slicked back off his head and deep glowing runes across his face. On the other side stood a hooded figure who leant against the wall, arms folded. His features were undetectable apart from pointed ears that came out the hood, and deep green eyes that stood out in the shadows.
The hooded figured shrugged at the question, offering no input to the discussion, much to the dismay of the orc who grunted in reply. The nightborne stepped forward, using his extravagant staff as a support. His voice dry and factual.
“An error of judgement is all. We did what we could but unforeseen circumstances meant we were unable to complete the task. No one here is to blame. The Alliance are, and we should direct our attention to such. We may have failed the Dark Lady this time, but it was already a failed mission. As Mayla said, we were in Alliance territory with Darnassus a stone throw away. We stood no chance.”
He paused for a moment, allowing his speech to settle. The room remained silent. “I suggest we take rest and refocus ourselves on the next task. Dwelling on this failure will only waste our time.”
As the final words fell from his mouth, he gave a satisfactory nod and stepped back to his former position, a small smirk forming across his face. The group returned their gaze to the Warlord, and the large orc nodded slowly in thought. A moment passed before he spoke again, his voice surprisingly calm.
“Go and rest, all of you. We will discuss this further at another time. You are dismissed.”
The group acknowledged his command and gradually left the room, the shadows up the wall leaving with them, until the orc was left alone at the desk, the dark ranger’s eyes peering down behind him like daggers.
“The Dark Lady will not be happy about this loss, Warlord. We must ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
The orc let out a hacking cough and grunting in response
“So...you failed, Rahmaul?”
The large orc sat behind a long wooden desk that was stacked with papers, arms folded, a scowl across his face. The dark room was dimly lit with burning torches causing shadows to hang up the walls like drapes of cloth, Horde banners adorning each corner. Hovering behind the large orc a figure could be made, elven with a hood hiding most features and a bow attached to her back. She stood silent, her gaze fixed on the group and her presence ominus.
“In short...yes.” Spoke the gravelly voice of a giant tauren who sat opposite the orc, his size making the chair and desk seem minuscule. Next to him sat a female tauren, smaller in size, yet still far larger than anyone else in the room. She supported a large scratch mark across her face and snout, and seemed to be wringing a wreath of vines in her hand, a clear expression of worry across her face. As she spoke her voice is less booming and has a softer touch.
“We did what we could, Warlord. They outnumbered us severely, and we were in the heart of Alliance territory. We were lucky to get out alive.”
The orc narrowed his eyes at the tauren, her words seeming to soothe him.
“And what took you so long? It was meant to be a swift mission. I let you handpick the fastest of the unit-...” The orc was cut off by a piercing voice from below the table, as a green head appeared next to Rahmaul’s, scarf around his neck and a cigar hanging from his mouth as he spoke.
“I’ll tell ya what happened, boss. I was working at a steady pace. Nearly had the rock in my hand, I did. Then the big man here starts shouting and hollering to get it done quicker. Now you’re a man that understands how I work. These things take time to...Hey!”
The tauren huffed at the goblin, ushering him aside with his large hand. “He is talking rubbish, Warlord. If he had worked faster, instead of talking so much, we would have been out of there before the Alliance had arrived.”
The goblin shouted out in protest, pulling the cigar out of his mouth. “No. That’s bull. I am one of the best there is. I was going at the right pace…”
“You were milking it, Zasnik” The tauren bellowed in response.
“Quiet!”
The dark ranger’s voice echoed around the room causing silence to settle, her red eyes peering at the two of them from over the orcs shoulder. “We care not for your squabbling. We care about the missions failure and ensuring it doesn’t happen again!” Her words hung in the air like a dense wind.
The orc let out a hacking cough before gesturing behind those sat in front of him. “What say you two?”
The group directed their focus to the back of the room.
Standing one side of the door was a slender nightborne, decorated in lavish garments, his long hair slicked back off his head and deep glowing runes across his face. On the other side stood a hooded figure who leant against the wall, arms folded. His features were undetectable apart from pointed ears that came out the hood, and deep green eyes that stood out in the shadows.
The hooded figured shrugged at the question, offering no input to the discussion, much to the dismay of the orc who grunted in reply. The nightborne stepped forward, using his extravagant staff as a support. His voice dry and factual.
“An error of judgement is all. We did what we could but unforeseen circumstances meant we were unable to complete the task. No one here is to blame. The Alliance are, and we should direct our attention to such. We may have failed the Dark Lady this time, but it was already a failed mission. As Mayla said, we were in Alliance territory with Darnassus a stone throw away. We stood no chance.”
He paused for a moment, allowing his speech to settle. The room remained silent. “I suggest we take rest and refocus ourselves on the next task. Dwelling on this failure will only waste our time.”
As the final words fell from his mouth, he gave a satisfactory nod and stepped back to his former position, a small smirk forming across his face. The group returned their gaze to the Warlord, and the large orc nodded slowly in thought. A moment passed before he spoke again, his voice surprisingly calm.
“Go and rest, all of you. We will discuss this further at another time. You are dismissed.”
The group acknowledged his command and gradually left the room, the shadows up the wall leaving with them, until the orc was left alone at the desk, the dark ranger’s eyes peering down behind him like daggers.
“The Dark Lady will not be happy about this loss, Warlord. We must ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
The orc let out a hacking cough and grunting in response
Member related stories
deeds of the shadows
Written by Montero.
Regina sat in the old derelict barn, turned into a Makeshift Infirmary for those wounded in the siege against the Bulwark and any skirmishing to come, such as the one she had just partook in. The wounds inflicted still stung, but the pain was minor after the healing skills of her comrade Tallat. She looked up as the Draenei was talking with Carcaròth in front of her, but paid little heed to their conversation.
Reaching into her bag she pulled out an empty vial with her right arm, her eyes gazing to the most prominent wound of the night. She peered at her arm, pale and weakened, the previously blackened veins now returned to their normal colour. She had almost lost her arm due to a corruption curse applied by a Warlock of the Sanguine Eye, one she had not caught the name of yet. If it wasn't for Tallat, she'd have no doubt lost her one remaining good arm: A terrifying thought.
Her eyes gazed over to the empty vial, once containing a lethal experimental poison... Now empty, the toxin located inside the body of the Warlock who cursed her. She had tested her poison only once before in Lordaeron, against a Sin'dorei Paladin in Caer Darrow. That Paladin had scorched her face, the pain lasting for many days... And in vengeance, she had struck his open wounds with her experimental poison. Now today she was struck by another spell, and had once more responded in vengeance with a poison she knew the others would frown upon if they saw the results... She had yet to observe the results of either of her victims yet, but she knew from initial testing it would be painful and in time, lethal. Perhaps they'd survive, but it'd be a painful experience...
And then her eyes switched to the ceiling of the barn she was sitting down in, thinking to the Forsaken Apothecaries that dwelled in this region. Her eyes switched once more to the empty vial before settling down on the floor, her brow furrowed. Was she becoming as bad as the enemy she fought, the one who had plagued their way through Azeroth, the one who burned down Teldrassil? She had created a painful poison, designed to secure a kill after the fighting ended. Was this no different to the Forsaken Apothecaries who brewed their plagues in the depths of the Undercity?
She let out a small sigh, tucking the empty vial back into her bag. There was no point dwelling any further on her morality. She knew she was continuing to walk a dishonourable path, but it was necessary for Azeroth to see peace... Most importantly, it was necessary to keep her friends on the right path. The glory and honour to be claimed in Lordaeron would be reserved for the rest of the Alliance, they would do the righteous deeds and receive all the fame for the job, to be seen as Heroes in the eyes of the people... but the dishonourable deeds would continue to be shouldered by those who work in the shadows, unknown to any but themselves. Better it was her to walk this road than those she cared about.
Regina sat in the old derelict barn, turned into a Makeshift Infirmary for those wounded in the siege against the Bulwark and any skirmishing to come, such as the one she had just partook in. The wounds inflicted still stung, but the pain was minor after the healing skills of her comrade Tallat. She looked up as the Draenei was talking with Carcaròth in front of her, but paid little heed to their conversation.
Reaching into her bag she pulled out an empty vial with her right arm, her eyes gazing to the most prominent wound of the night. She peered at her arm, pale and weakened, the previously blackened veins now returned to their normal colour. She had almost lost her arm due to a corruption curse applied by a Warlock of the Sanguine Eye, one she had not caught the name of yet. If it wasn't for Tallat, she'd have no doubt lost her one remaining good arm: A terrifying thought.
Her eyes gazed over to the empty vial, once containing a lethal experimental poison... Now empty, the toxin located inside the body of the Warlock who cursed her. She had tested her poison only once before in Lordaeron, against a Sin'dorei Paladin in Caer Darrow. That Paladin had scorched her face, the pain lasting for many days... And in vengeance, she had struck his open wounds with her experimental poison. Now today she was struck by another spell, and had once more responded in vengeance with a poison she knew the others would frown upon if they saw the results... She had yet to observe the results of either of her victims yet, but she knew from initial testing it would be painful and in time, lethal. Perhaps they'd survive, but it'd be a painful experience...
And then her eyes switched to the ceiling of the barn she was sitting down in, thinking to the Forsaken Apothecaries that dwelled in this region. Her eyes switched once more to the empty vial before settling down on the floor, her brow furrowed. Was she becoming as bad as the enemy she fought, the one who had plagued their way through Azeroth, the one who burned down Teldrassil? She had created a painful poison, designed to secure a kill after the fighting ended. Was this no different to the Forsaken Apothecaries who brewed their plagues in the depths of the Undercity?
She let out a small sigh, tucking the empty vial back into her bag. There was no point dwelling any further on her morality. She knew she was continuing to walk a dishonourable path, but it was necessary for Azeroth to see peace... Most importantly, it was necessary to keep her friends on the right path. The glory and honour to be claimed in Lordaeron would be reserved for the rest of the Alliance, they would do the righteous deeds and receive all the fame for the job, to be seen as Heroes in the eyes of the people... but the dishonourable deeds would continue to be shouldered by those who work in the shadows, unknown to any but themselves. Better it was her to walk this road than those she cared about.
Tales of the city: Carcaroth aélin
Written by Carcaróth.
It was a beautiful day in Stormwind. A gentle breeze wafted through the busy streets as the sun edged ever so slowly across the afternoon sky. In a peaceful world, a day like this would be the perfect opportunity to spend time with one’s family and just enjoy life.
But to Carcaroth Aélin, the notion of a peaceful world had never seemed as distant as it seemed now, a mere day after he had returned from the siege of Lordaeron. A siege that ended not with the promise of peace, but with the promise of continued war. The only question now was when and where the next strike would fall. It was a question that had plagued Carcaroth ever since he returned to his home. Once again, he found himself returning to Stormwind after fighting in the war, and once again he was unable to truly lower his shoulders and be at peace. The knowledge of what he had seen, what he had experienced… and what was almost assuredly coming next? How could he not constantly think about it?
Thankfully, Carcaroth had a wife who knew him. As soon as Saleisha saw how Carcaroth was having trouble with getting his mind off the war, she came up with something that she knew would do him some good. The next thing Carcaroth knew, he was walking through the streets of Stormwind, flanked by his family and tailed by Kcavin who was carrying what had to be a heavier load of supplies than a man his age should carry.
Aidan and Emily were both snoozing lightly in their baskets, which were floating along at waist-level beside their parents. They were kept suspended in the air through the magic of their mother, whose penchant for making things float was well-known to her husband – and anyone else who knew her even remotely, for that matter.
“Hurry!” Sam urged his parents. He was in the front of the little ‘convoy’, and if it had been up to him, they would have reached their destination several minutes ago. Despite his light frustration with the pace at which his father and mother were walking, however, Carcaroth knew the reason for his eagerness and his good mood; both of them had made it back from the war. Today, they were just a family going out for a walk. But there was also another reason for Sam being so eager.
“He is such a good little boy,” Saleisha said with a soft smile as her hand gently squeezed Carcaroth’s. He nodded, even smiling a little himself.
“I see where he gets it from,” he replied.
Until recently, the Stormwind City Outskirts had been of little import to most people. After the Legion’s fall on Argus, however, the area suddenly became the site for a brand-new district of sorts where allies of the Alliance could come and gather in its brand-new embassy. After the burning of Teldrassil, the outskirts were given yet another purpose – housing scores of displaced refugees from the kaldorei lands. They were the reason why Carcaroth and his family were out for a walk today, and why poor Kcavin was burdened so heavily as he trudged along, doing his best to keep up. He would never admit to being too old for heavy duties like this, but he still let out a sigh of relief when he was finally able to set down the supplies. Then came the task of passing them out to the refugees.
Sam was by far the most eager to get started. Refugees and sentinels alike could not help but stare at this little ball of energy as he bounced across the grass with blankets and bags of fruit. It didn’t take long before they warmed to his enthusiasm, and he was even allowed to pet one of the nightsabers. Saleisha walked over to watch over their son, bringing along the snoozing twins in their baskets as well so that Kcavin and Carcaroth could focus on delivering supplies to the refugees, a task that both of them were more than eager to do. Carcaroth in particular could feel sorrow gripping him as he saw just how many refugees there were, and this was hardly all of them. He could see kaldorei of all ages; some were huddling together for warmth and comfort, others were crying in despair over the loss of their homes and loved ones, yet others were seething with anger and bitterness towards the Horde and their Banshee Queen. Carcaroth was glad that Saleisha thought to bring him here; it pained him deeply to see the kaldorei in this state, and he wanted to do what he could to alleviate their suffering.
Delivering the supplies took a while, even with Kcavin and Carcaroth both working together to do so (Sam was having too much fun with the nightsabers to help). When Carcaroth handed off the last blanket to a mother and her child, the late afternoon was starting to head into the evening. But as Carcaroth gazed around the refugee camp, he could see that Sam and the others weren’t quite ready to leave yet, and he felt relieved. He didn’t feel ready to leave either. He wanted to do more, to say more. And yet, there was nothing to do and nothing to say. He couldn’t even tell them that the monster responsible for the atrocity had been put down. Sylvanas Windrunner was still alive somewhere, probably plotting her next scheme already.
“You seem perturbed, child.”
Carcaroth blinked and directed his gaze at the elderly elf who had just spoken to him. It was the first time Carcaroth had even seen a visibly aged night elf – the man’s hair was long and greyed out, and his skin was wrinkled. But his eyes were sharp, as sharp as any other night elf Carcaroth had met. He was sitting down, warming himself by the campfire with a blanket tucked around his shoulders.
“I’m – I guess I am,” the human admitted, scratching his neck absent-mindedly.
“Sit,” the elf said. “Let me hear your woes.”
Carcaroth hesitated. “With respect, sir – “
“I am no sir,” the elf corrected sternly. “I am just an old man who wants you to have a seat.”
Carcaroth looked around, eyebrows furrowed. Then he slowly went to sit beside the campfire as well, looking at the aged night elf somewhat doubtingly. The elf either did not notice or decided to ignore this.
“You fought in Darkshore?” he said, setting his sharp gaze into the human once again. “And Lordaeron?”
“I did,” Carcaroth said lowly. His eyes did not meet the elf’s, but fixed themselves upon the crackling fire instead.
“Good,” the elf continued, nodding his head slowly. “Good. You must be happy to be home again.”
Carcaroth shifted a bit uncomfortably where he sat. Was this old man being bitter for losing his home? Was he genuine in his inquire? It felt as though any response would be inappropriate, so Carcaroth simply nodded and remained quiet. There was a pause as neither of them said anything, but the human could tell that the old elf was still looking at him. It made every passing second of silence more and more unbearable.
“I’m Carcaroth,” he said, just to break the silence between them. The elf smiled back at him.
“My name is Felrian,” he replied. “I lived in Darnassus.”
“Yeah…” Carcaroth muttered, having figured as much. “I live here, in the city. With my wife and children.”
“I saw them too,” Felrian said, a wrinkled hand stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Your little boy gave me this blanket. He ran off before I could thank him, so please do pass on my gratitude to him.”
“I will,” Carcaroth said. “He was very eager to come here. He likes to help.”
Felrian chuckled heartily. “What a wonderful child. He will grow up to be a great man, I can tell.”
Carcaroth’s lips curled into a smile, but he remained quiet. I hope he will get the chance to grow up. Even thinking those words made his stomach turn. How many kaldorei children had been denied that chance? How many mothers and fathers had been claimed by the fires?
Felrian regarded him with raised eyebrows for a while. Then he spoke again. “I was in the city when it happened, you know.”
“Pardon?” Carcaroth said with a frown.
“When the fire started. I was in the city.” Felrian was no longer looking at him. Now it was he who gazed into the campfire. “We thought the Horde were coming to take the tree. There were loud noises, and smoke… and heat. We didn’t know it was a fire at first.”
Carcaroth swallowed, averting his gaze again. “It must have been horrible,” he said eventually. “I can only imagine – “
“Can you?” Felrian said suddenly. He looked at the human, but not with anger or sorrow. He seemed curious, more than anything. “You seem young. Were you born yet when the Horde came to Stormwind, the first time around?”
“I was not born in Stormwind,” Carcaroth said quietly. “I am from Lordaeron.”
Felrian nodded slowly. “I see. You must have been glad when the Alliance marched to reclaim it.”
“Part of me was.”
Another pause. Then Felrian finally spoke again. “Was?”
“I was… I’d pretty much given up,” Carcaroth explained. “I have a family here now. A home. But when I learned that we were taking the fight to Sylvanas, I… yeah, I was glad. And when we went up there, to oust her from her seat of power, I fought with all my might to help make that happen.”
Yet another pause. Felrian kept quiet, looking at the human paladin with a neutral expression.
“But now… look, I know what it’s like to flee from my home,” Carcaroth said, more to the campfire than to the old elf. “I know what it’s like in the days after. The confusion. The anger. The sorrow. The…” He took a deep breath. “… helplessness. But it’s not my home anymore. My home is here now, with my family. There is nothing left for me in Lordaeron except… memories.”
Felrian started to nod slowly. Then he began to shuffle closer to Carcaroth, until they were seated right next to each other. The human raised an eyebrow, looking at the old elf skeptically.
“You don’t recognize me,” Felrian said. His sharp eyes were looking straight into Carcaroth’s.
“I – what? I don’t – “
“I told you, I was in the city when the fire started. I was trapped in my house – a big burning log, right on my doorstep. The smoke was getting thicker, the flames were getting bigger… I thought I was a dead man, so I just sat down and started waiting for it.”
Seeing the confusion still on Carcaroth’s face, he continued. “Next thing I know, someone’s gotten the log out of the way and is scooping me up, carrying me. I was coughing the whole time so I didn’t get to ask the man’s name, but I did get to see his face when he dropped me down by the portal before he sped off to save someone else.”
His face cracked into a bright smile. “I meant it when I said that your son will grow into a great man. Like his father, he just runs off before I get to thank him.”
“I – I don’t know what to say,” Carcaroth stammered.
“I am sad that my home is gone,” Felrian continued. “I grieve for my lost brothers and sisters. I wish to see the Banshee Queen brought to justice for her crimes. But I also feel gratitude – gratitude that I am still alive, and that we kaldorei have allies who will take us in and fight for us when we are at our lowest point.”
The elf’s extended a wrinkled hand towards Carcaroth, who eventually took it in his own after a moment’s hesitation and gave it a firm and respectful shake.
“Sylvanas may have burned our tree, but we still have hope,” the old elf said, a clever glint in his eye. “Elune will guide us. And now, I do believe your family is waiting."
Carcaroth looked over his shoulder to see Saleisha wait for him with Sam dozing off in her arms. He nodded and moved to stand, but the old elf still held on to his hand as he did so. "Take good care of your family, Carcaroth.”
“Thank you, Felrian,” Carcaroth said. He smiled earnestly. “I will.”
It was a beautiful day in Stormwind. A gentle breeze wafted through the busy streets as the sun edged ever so slowly across the afternoon sky. In a peaceful world, a day like this would be the perfect opportunity to spend time with one’s family and just enjoy life.
But to Carcaroth Aélin, the notion of a peaceful world had never seemed as distant as it seemed now, a mere day after he had returned from the siege of Lordaeron. A siege that ended not with the promise of peace, but with the promise of continued war. The only question now was when and where the next strike would fall. It was a question that had plagued Carcaroth ever since he returned to his home. Once again, he found himself returning to Stormwind after fighting in the war, and once again he was unable to truly lower his shoulders and be at peace. The knowledge of what he had seen, what he had experienced… and what was almost assuredly coming next? How could he not constantly think about it?
Thankfully, Carcaroth had a wife who knew him. As soon as Saleisha saw how Carcaroth was having trouble with getting his mind off the war, she came up with something that she knew would do him some good. The next thing Carcaroth knew, he was walking through the streets of Stormwind, flanked by his family and tailed by Kcavin who was carrying what had to be a heavier load of supplies than a man his age should carry.
Aidan and Emily were both snoozing lightly in their baskets, which were floating along at waist-level beside their parents. They were kept suspended in the air through the magic of their mother, whose penchant for making things float was well-known to her husband – and anyone else who knew her even remotely, for that matter.
“Hurry!” Sam urged his parents. He was in the front of the little ‘convoy’, and if it had been up to him, they would have reached their destination several minutes ago. Despite his light frustration with the pace at which his father and mother were walking, however, Carcaroth knew the reason for his eagerness and his good mood; both of them had made it back from the war. Today, they were just a family going out for a walk. But there was also another reason for Sam being so eager.
“He is such a good little boy,” Saleisha said with a soft smile as her hand gently squeezed Carcaroth’s. He nodded, even smiling a little himself.
“I see where he gets it from,” he replied.
Until recently, the Stormwind City Outskirts had been of little import to most people. After the Legion’s fall on Argus, however, the area suddenly became the site for a brand-new district of sorts where allies of the Alliance could come and gather in its brand-new embassy. After the burning of Teldrassil, the outskirts were given yet another purpose – housing scores of displaced refugees from the kaldorei lands. They were the reason why Carcaroth and his family were out for a walk today, and why poor Kcavin was burdened so heavily as he trudged along, doing his best to keep up. He would never admit to being too old for heavy duties like this, but he still let out a sigh of relief when he was finally able to set down the supplies. Then came the task of passing them out to the refugees.
Sam was by far the most eager to get started. Refugees and sentinels alike could not help but stare at this little ball of energy as he bounced across the grass with blankets and bags of fruit. It didn’t take long before they warmed to his enthusiasm, and he was even allowed to pet one of the nightsabers. Saleisha walked over to watch over their son, bringing along the snoozing twins in their baskets as well so that Kcavin and Carcaroth could focus on delivering supplies to the refugees, a task that both of them were more than eager to do. Carcaroth in particular could feel sorrow gripping him as he saw just how many refugees there were, and this was hardly all of them. He could see kaldorei of all ages; some were huddling together for warmth and comfort, others were crying in despair over the loss of their homes and loved ones, yet others were seething with anger and bitterness towards the Horde and their Banshee Queen. Carcaroth was glad that Saleisha thought to bring him here; it pained him deeply to see the kaldorei in this state, and he wanted to do what he could to alleviate their suffering.
Delivering the supplies took a while, even with Kcavin and Carcaroth both working together to do so (Sam was having too much fun with the nightsabers to help). When Carcaroth handed off the last blanket to a mother and her child, the late afternoon was starting to head into the evening. But as Carcaroth gazed around the refugee camp, he could see that Sam and the others weren’t quite ready to leave yet, and he felt relieved. He didn’t feel ready to leave either. He wanted to do more, to say more. And yet, there was nothing to do and nothing to say. He couldn’t even tell them that the monster responsible for the atrocity had been put down. Sylvanas Windrunner was still alive somewhere, probably plotting her next scheme already.
“You seem perturbed, child.”
Carcaroth blinked and directed his gaze at the elderly elf who had just spoken to him. It was the first time Carcaroth had even seen a visibly aged night elf – the man’s hair was long and greyed out, and his skin was wrinkled. But his eyes were sharp, as sharp as any other night elf Carcaroth had met. He was sitting down, warming himself by the campfire with a blanket tucked around his shoulders.
“I’m – I guess I am,” the human admitted, scratching his neck absent-mindedly.
“Sit,” the elf said. “Let me hear your woes.”
Carcaroth hesitated. “With respect, sir – “
“I am no sir,” the elf corrected sternly. “I am just an old man who wants you to have a seat.”
Carcaroth looked around, eyebrows furrowed. Then he slowly went to sit beside the campfire as well, looking at the aged night elf somewhat doubtingly. The elf either did not notice or decided to ignore this.
“You fought in Darkshore?” he said, setting his sharp gaze into the human once again. “And Lordaeron?”
“I did,” Carcaroth said lowly. His eyes did not meet the elf’s, but fixed themselves upon the crackling fire instead.
“Good,” the elf continued, nodding his head slowly. “Good. You must be happy to be home again.”
Carcaroth shifted a bit uncomfortably where he sat. Was this old man being bitter for losing his home? Was he genuine in his inquire? It felt as though any response would be inappropriate, so Carcaroth simply nodded and remained quiet. There was a pause as neither of them said anything, but the human could tell that the old elf was still looking at him. It made every passing second of silence more and more unbearable.
“I’m Carcaroth,” he said, just to break the silence between them. The elf smiled back at him.
“My name is Felrian,” he replied. “I lived in Darnassus.”
“Yeah…” Carcaroth muttered, having figured as much. “I live here, in the city. With my wife and children.”
“I saw them too,” Felrian said, a wrinkled hand stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Your little boy gave me this blanket. He ran off before I could thank him, so please do pass on my gratitude to him.”
“I will,” Carcaroth said. “He was very eager to come here. He likes to help.”
Felrian chuckled heartily. “What a wonderful child. He will grow up to be a great man, I can tell.”
Carcaroth’s lips curled into a smile, but he remained quiet. I hope he will get the chance to grow up. Even thinking those words made his stomach turn. How many kaldorei children had been denied that chance? How many mothers and fathers had been claimed by the fires?
Felrian regarded him with raised eyebrows for a while. Then he spoke again. “I was in the city when it happened, you know.”
“Pardon?” Carcaroth said with a frown.
“When the fire started. I was in the city.” Felrian was no longer looking at him. Now it was he who gazed into the campfire. “We thought the Horde were coming to take the tree. There were loud noises, and smoke… and heat. We didn’t know it was a fire at first.”
Carcaroth swallowed, averting his gaze again. “It must have been horrible,” he said eventually. “I can only imagine – “
“Can you?” Felrian said suddenly. He looked at the human, but not with anger or sorrow. He seemed curious, more than anything. “You seem young. Were you born yet when the Horde came to Stormwind, the first time around?”
“I was not born in Stormwind,” Carcaroth said quietly. “I am from Lordaeron.”
Felrian nodded slowly. “I see. You must have been glad when the Alliance marched to reclaim it.”
“Part of me was.”
Another pause. Then Felrian finally spoke again. “Was?”
“I was… I’d pretty much given up,” Carcaroth explained. “I have a family here now. A home. But when I learned that we were taking the fight to Sylvanas, I… yeah, I was glad. And when we went up there, to oust her from her seat of power, I fought with all my might to help make that happen.”
Yet another pause. Felrian kept quiet, looking at the human paladin with a neutral expression.
“But now… look, I know what it’s like to flee from my home,” Carcaroth said, more to the campfire than to the old elf. “I know what it’s like in the days after. The confusion. The anger. The sorrow. The…” He took a deep breath. “… helplessness. But it’s not my home anymore. My home is here now, with my family. There is nothing left for me in Lordaeron except… memories.”
Felrian started to nod slowly. Then he began to shuffle closer to Carcaroth, until they were seated right next to each other. The human raised an eyebrow, looking at the old elf skeptically.
“You don’t recognize me,” Felrian said. His sharp eyes were looking straight into Carcaroth’s.
“I – what? I don’t – “
“I told you, I was in the city when the fire started. I was trapped in my house – a big burning log, right on my doorstep. The smoke was getting thicker, the flames were getting bigger… I thought I was a dead man, so I just sat down and started waiting for it.”
Seeing the confusion still on Carcaroth’s face, he continued. “Next thing I know, someone’s gotten the log out of the way and is scooping me up, carrying me. I was coughing the whole time so I didn’t get to ask the man’s name, but I did get to see his face when he dropped me down by the portal before he sped off to save someone else.”
His face cracked into a bright smile. “I meant it when I said that your son will grow into a great man. Like his father, he just runs off before I get to thank him.”
“I – I don’t know what to say,” Carcaroth stammered.
“I am sad that my home is gone,” Felrian continued. “I grieve for my lost brothers and sisters. I wish to see the Banshee Queen brought to justice for her crimes. But I also feel gratitude – gratitude that I am still alive, and that we kaldorei have allies who will take us in and fight for us when we are at our lowest point.”
The elf’s extended a wrinkled hand towards Carcaroth, who eventually took it in his own after a moment’s hesitation and gave it a firm and respectful shake.
“Sylvanas may have burned our tree, but we still have hope,” the old elf said, a clever glint in his eye. “Elune will guide us. And now, I do believe your family is waiting."
Carcaroth looked over his shoulder to see Saleisha wait for him with Sam dozing off in her arms. He nodded and moved to stand, but the old elf still held on to his hand as he did so. "Take good care of your family, Carcaroth.”
“Thank you, Felrian,” Carcaroth said. He smiled earnestly. “I will.”
Live for peace
Written by Thunderbraid.
Grannd Thunderbraid near threw himself from his ram as it came to a sliding stop outside the large dwelling inset into the wall of Ironforge’s second depth.
His childhood home. Where he grew up, he took a brief glance up at the many balconies attached to the three-story building, towards one room in particular that had light, before hurrying up the stairs to the iron door that was opening, the matronly dwarven lady greeting him with a sad smile.
“Grannd, you got my message?” She asked, her voice only slightly shaky, and he couldn’t blame her. The two dwarves that were her employers and best friends were wasting away in front of her and there was nothing she could do. He admired the matron immensely, she was braver than many soldiers he knew.
“I did. How is he?” Was the quick, earnest reply as he removed his helmet, the metal plates locking it in place retracting backwards with repeatedly clinks, he regarded the woman who had helped raise him and his brother. All business for now.
She shook his head, “I think he is leaving us, Grannd. He asked me… In a moment of lucidity… To bring his boys to him.” The normally stoic and strict dwarf paused and halted as if struggling for words. She was always very careful when discussing his father’s deteriorating mental state.
Grannd grimaced. His boys. His brother was dead, killed in a collapse during the Cataclysm. His father had known, of course, attended the funeral, gave a speech, but since then he had only gotten worse. If he now thought Drong was still alive…
The Mountain King shook off the black curtain dropping down in his mind’s eye, and declared; “He’ll pull through. He always does.”
The woman watched the dwarf she had helped raise for a long moment, and bowed her head, “As you say.”
Removing bits of armour as he went, handing them off to a younger, more spritely attendant who was following him, Grannd made his way through the expansive house that constituted where he grew up. And his stride slowed as he looked around. It was dark, there were candles lit, fireplaces active… But still it felt dark. Like the stone itself was reacting to the grim state of the two who had owned it for two-hundred years.
The attendant left him with a wave of his hand, now minus his shoulderplates, gauntlets and the bulkier parts of his chest and leg plates, he made his way up flights of stairs towards the top floor, pausing briefly at the second to look down the darkened corridor, towards where his room was. He continued on his way.
When he came to the double doors that led to the master bedroom, he paused for a moment, and leaned to listen. He heard nothing.
Carefully, he took a hold of the handles and slid one of the doors to the side, stepping into the room. And he stopped himself as he smelt that smell he had experienced on so many battlefields, infirmaries, other houses.
Death.
It made him feel sicker than he expected it to, even if he had been preparing for this moment. And he instantly felt foolish for declaring his father would pull through to the matron. How would he know any better than her the situation? Being away constantly as he was, fighting countless battles and killing hundreds to keep this very house safe.
And death had come regardless, as it always managed to.
He moved to the end of the grand bed, on it’s right side his father lay. The once mighty warrior was emaciated, he had been fed well and cared for with the best magic and alchemy, but that could not stop the inexorable march of time.
A great grey beard, carefully braided and immaculate, spread out across the top of the covers. The elder Thunderbraid was propped up with many pillows, but green eyes that Grannd’s mind told him were still sharped looked towards him.
With seemingly great effort, his father brought up his hand and made a beckoning gesture, “Come a bit closer, my son.”
So, it seemed he was in a moment of lucidity, Grannd thought to himself as he obeyed and moved down the side of the bed, “You summoned me and I come, father.” He replied.
“You are a great son.” Was the quiet reply, the voice held just that hint of strength that had so characterised his father in his mind, but it was weak and raspy now. His chest was barely rising and falling. Then he looked to the still open door, “When is your brother joining us?” There was a hint of a proud smile, there was utterly no malice behind it. Just obliviousness.
Grannd remind silent for a few moments, before he replied; “He’s too far away, father. Fighting.”
“Ah…” Came the reply, a sad look crossing the old dwarf’s expression, “Fighting? Are you fighting, too?”
“I am.”
Despite the quietness of the sigh, it still hit Grannd like a sledgehammer. It was a sad sigh, a pitying sigh. He had never heard this before, but why not? Why-
“You’re always fighting…” There was another tilt to the voice that Grannd had only heard twice before, at the funeral of his son, and his brother. Grief.
“Always fighting,” His father continued as the once-General watched on in stunned silence, “Always there’s war… It took my brothers and sisters, it took my parents…” The elder’s eyes teared up, “It took my grandson…”
Grannd took in a sharp intake of breath, trying to still his heart as it leapt several beats. The last time he had come to visit, he had left in barely contained fury after his elderly father had lamented that his grandson was too lazy to visit him, when he had been dead since the Horde’s invasion of Khaz Modan. But now in this moment, his father now realised Grannd’s son was gone.
“We…” A faint wheeze, but no cough came, though the Mountain King reached for a half-full glass of medicinal water on the side table, but he stopped when his father continued, “We thought you were the explorer, you know?”
Another pause, no reply, the old dwarf continued, “Always going off on your own, climbing mountains, running from yetis and bears, making your own maps of imaginary places.”
With herculean effort, the old man brought his hand up to rest on his son’s arm, “Now look at you. How are your soldiers? They still… Fighting, the good fight?”
Grannd winced. Many of his soldiers were dead. Killed by the Legion. His brigade was gone, there were too few to justify its existence. He himself had said so when he recommended the colours be withdrawn from service. He decided to nod, and again that sad gaze met him.
“More parents and children to be lost…” The old dwarf wheezed out, and again it felt more like Grannd had been hit by a Pit Lord sized warhammer rather than words, such was the pain in his gut.
His father’s head lulled, and Grannd brought up a hand to steady him, and he had to lean in close to listen to the rasping words that still came from the elder.
“I promised. I wanted to die… When there was peace…”
Ulforth Thunderbraid closed his eyes, gave a last breath, and then went still.
He was gone, Grannd had seen enough people die to know. But still he waited.
And waited, “... Father?”
No response. He had passed on. He had died whilst war raged beyond the mountains once again, and could well rage within those mountains as well.
With a hand he barely stopped from shaking, Grannd brought it up to rest on the still chest, passed the expansive beard. Slowly, the hand clenched into a fist, brought up and back down to gently tap against the chest.
Then slowly, with reverence, Grannd lowered his father down so he was lying on his back, bringing thin and weak hands that were once muscular and strong up to lie across Ulforth’s chest.
The Mountain King backed away from the bed, and drew up into a military salute, for no other reason than he had no idea what else to do. He held the salute for a length of time he didn’t keep, before relaxing and slumping, turning towards the door. Preparations had to be made-
He stopped and went still as he looked at the figure that stood in the doorway. Supported by a flawless metal walking stick, dressed in a simple but masterfully woven white nightgown, his mother watched the still form of her husband unblinkingly as Grannd watched her. Then she moved, making her way over, hunched and like she carried a great weight.
His mother loved gardening. She had worked on her family farm before moving to Ironforge to marry his father, and she had missed that life so much she had gone to great efforts, with her own money, funding an underground conservatory to be built in this very house where she could indulge her passion and grow plants and herbs from across the world that were both beautiful and useful.
She had loved Teldrassil. Grannd had taken her there a few years ago. She had wanted to go again before she passed on. She couldn’t now, and the elderly dwarven woman hadn’t taken it well.
He continued to watch her, and opened his mouth as she made her way to the opposite side of the bed from him, slowly but with purpose, but she spoke first. Her voice was weak like his father’s, but still carried a hint of strength. But it’s tone was so sad. Grannd had endured a lot, but if he were honest with himself, his heart nearly broke now in that very moment.
“We promised each other.” She began, allowing her stick to drop as he brought her hands onto the bed and began to ease herself onto it, every movement slow and calculated, but Grannd knew still caused her pain, he wanted to help her, but the last time he had tried he had gotten a severe tongue lashing, “We promised each other that we’d die when the kingdom was at peace.”
She looked up to her son with cool blue eyes, and he felt as if he was within the frozen wastes of Icecrown once again, and couldn’t even respond as she continued to speak, “Dying in battle, like those savages want to do. It’s useless. Pointless.” She caught herself from growing anger that would do her no good, and slowly sat cross-legged by the still form of her husband, now lying in state.
Her eyes teared up as she regarded him, and Grannd immediately moved around the bed with the intent to embrace her, but she brought up a shaking hand that halted him in his tracks where even a thousand charging orcs would not.
“My darling had no choice but to break his promise, I might soon break it as well.” She closed her eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath, “I do not have much time, my son. This… Illness of mine, it is fast catching up, magic no longer works, only my herbal remedies have some small effect.”
She bowed her head, reaching out with a hand to carefully arrange a stray braid on her husband’s beard.
“Live, Grannd. So you can pass on when there’s peace like he wanted to. Promise me.” She held out a hand to the side, and he reached to take it, firmly but gently.
“I promise, mother. But… You will be okay?”
She smiled over her shoulder, an impossibly sad smile, but he saw the strength, and was heartened by it.
“Go.” She didn’t answer, but it was a quiet command that he had to obey, he brought up her hand to his lips briefly, before letting go and departing.
---
I regret to inform you that your mother passed away last night…
Grannd Thunderbraid stared down at the letter in his hand, the bustling of the war camp on the southern side of the Thandol Span drowned out.
It was a good thing he wore a helmet.
"... SERGEANT!" He abruptly roared, the grief drowned out by the volume.
"Sir!" A nearby dwarf saluted.
"Get a team together."
"Sir?"
"We're getting this war started." Came the growled response.
Grannd Thunderbraid near threw himself from his ram as it came to a sliding stop outside the large dwelling inset into the wall of Ironforge’s second depth.
His childhood home. Where he grew up, he took a brief glance up at the many balconies attached to the three-story building, towards one room in particular that had light, before hurrying up the stairs to the iron door that was opening, the matronly dwarven lady greeting him with a sad smile.
“Grannd, you got my message?” She asked, her voice only slightly shaky, and he couldn’t blame her. The two dwarves that were her employers and best friends were wasting away in front of her and there was nothing she could do. He admired the matron immensely, she was braver than many soldiers he knew.
“I did. How is he?” Was the quick, earnest reply as he removed his helmet, the metal plates locking it in place retracting backwards with repeatedly clinks, he regarded the woman who had helped raise him and his brother. All business for now.
She shook his head, “I think he is leaving us, Grannd. He asked me… In a moment of lucidity… To bring his boys to him.” The normally stoic and strict dwarf paused and halted as if struggling for words. She was always very careful when discussing his father’s deteriorating mental state.
Grannd grimaced. His boys. His brother was dead, killed in a collapse during the Cataclysm. His father had known, of course, attended the funeral, gave a speech, but since then he had only gotten worse. If he now thought Drong was still alive…
The Mountain King shook off the black curtain dropping down in his mind’s eye, and declared; “He’ll pull through. He always does.”
The woman watched the dwarf she had helped raise for a long moment, and bowed her head, “As you say.”
Removing bits of armour as he went, handing them off to a younger, more spritely attendant who was following him, Grannd made his way through the expansive house that constituted where he grew up. And his stride slowed as he looked around. It was dark, there were candles lit, fireplaces active… But still it felt dark. Like the stone itself was reacting to the grim state of the two who had owned it for two-hundred years.
The attendant left him with a wave of his hand, now minus his shoulderplates, gauntlets and the bulkier parts of his chest and leg plates, he made his way up flights of stairs towards the top floor, pausing briefly at the second to look down the darkened corridor, towards where his room was. He continued on his way.
When he came to the double doors that led to the master bedroom, he paused for a moment, and leaned to listen. He heard nothing.
Carefully, he took a hold of the handles and slid one of the doors to the side, stepping into the room. And he stopped himself as he smelt that smell he had experienced on so many battlefields, infirmaries, other houses.
Death.
It made him feel sicker than he expected it to, even if he had been preparing for this moment. And he instantly felt foolish for declaring his father would pull through to the matron. How would he know any better than her the situation? Being away constantly as he was, fighting countless battles and killing hundreds to keep this very house safe.
And death had come regardless, as it always managed to.
He moved to the end of the grand bed, on it’s right side his father lay. The once mighty warrior was emaciated, he had been fed well and cared for with the best magic and alchemy, but that could not stop the inexorable march of time.
A great grey beard, carefully braided and immaculate, spread out across the top of the covers. The elder Thunderbraid was propped up with many pillows, but green eyes that Grannd’s mind told him were still sharped looked towards him.
With seemingly great effort, his father brought up his hand and made a beckoning gesture, “Come a bit closer, my son.”
So, it seemed he was in a moment of lucidity, Grannd thought to himself as he obeyed and moved down the side of the bed, “You summoned me and I come, father.” He replied.
“You are a great son.” Was the quiet reply, the voice held just that hint of strength that had so characterised his father in his mind, but it was weak and raspy now. His chest was barely rising and falling. Then he looked to the still open door, “When is your brother joining us?” There was a hint of a proud smile, there was utterly no malice behind it. Just obliviousness.
Grannd remind silent for a few moments, before he replied; “He’s too far away, father. Fighting.”
“Ah…” Came the reply, a sad look crossing the old dwarf’s expression, “Fighting? Are you fighting, too?”
“I am.”
Despite the quietness of the sigh, it still hit Grannd like a sledgehammer. It was a sad sigh, a pitying sigh. He had never heard this before, but why not? Why-
“You’re always fighting…” There was another tilt to the voice that Grannd had only heard twice before, at the funeral of his son, and his brother. Grief.
“Always fighting,” His father continued as the once-General watched on in stunned silence, “Always there’s war… It took my brothers and sisters, it took my parents…” The elder’s eyes teared up, “It took my grandson…”
Grannd took in a sharp intake of breath, trying to still his heart as it leapt several beats. The last time he had come to visit, he had left in barely contained fury after his elderly father had lamented that his grandson was too lazy to visit him, when he had been dead since the Horde’s invasion of Khaz Modan. But now in this moment, his father now realised Grannd’s son was gone.
“We…” A faint wheeze, but no cough came, though the Mountain King reached for a half-full glass of medicinal water on the side table, but he stopped when his father continued, “We thought you were the explorer, you know?”
Another pause, no reply, the old dwarf continued, “Always going off on your own, climbing mountains, running from yetis and bears, making your own maps of imaginary places.”
With herculean effort, the old man brought his hand up to rest on his son’s arm, “Now look at you. How are your soldiers? They still… Fighting, the good fight?”
Grannd winced. Many of his soldiers were dead. Killed by the Legion. His brigade was gone, there were too few to justify its existence. He himself had said so when he recommended the colours be withdrawn from service. He decided to nod, and again that sad gaze met him.
“More parents and children to be lost…” The old dwarf wheezed out, and again it felt more like Grannd had been hit by a Pit Lord sized warhammer rather than words, such was the pain in his gut.
His father’s head lulled, and Grannd brought up a hand to steady him, and he had to lean in close to listen to the rasping words that still came from the elder.
“I promised. I wanted to die… When there was peace…”
Ulforth Thunderbraid closed his eyes, gave a last breath, and then went still.
He was gone, Grannd had seen enough people die to know. But still he waited.
And waited, “... Father?”
No response. He had passed on. He had died whilst war raged beyond the mountains once again, and could well rage within those mountains as well.
With a hand he barely stopped from shaking, Grannd brought it up to rest on the still chest, passed the expansive beard. Slowly, the hand clenched into a fist, brought up and back down to gently tap against the chest.
Then slowly, with reverence, Grannd lowered his father down so he was lying on his back, bringing thin and weak hands that were once muscular and strong up to lie across Ulforth’s chest.
The Mountain King backed away from the bed, and drew up into a military salute, for no other reason than he had no idea what else to do. He held the salute for a length of time he didn’t keep, before relaxing and slumping, turning towards the door. Preparations had to be made-
He stopped and went still as he looked at the figure that stood in the doorway. Supported by a flawless metal walking stick, dressed in a simple but masterfully woven white nightgown, his mother watched the still form of her husband unblinkingly as Grannd watched her. Then she moved, making her way over, hunched and like she carried a great weight.
His mother loved gardening. She had worked on her family farm before moving to Ironforge to marry his father, and she had missed that life so much she had gone to great efforts, with her own money, funding an underground conservatory to be built in this very house where she could indulge her passion and grow plants and herbs from across the world that were both beautiful and useful.
She had loved Teldrassil. Grannd had taken her there a few years ago. She had wanted to go again before she passed on. She couldn’t now, and the elderly dwarven woman hadn’t taken it well.
He continued to watch her, and opened his mouth as she made her way to the opposite side of the bed from him, slowly but with purpose, but she spoke first. Her voice was weak like his father’s, but still carried a hint of strength. But it’s tone was so sad. Grannd had endured a lot, but if he were honest with himself, his heart nearly broke now in that very moment.
“We promised each other.” She began, allowing her stick to drop as he brought her hands onto the bed and began to ease herself onto it, every movement slow and calculated, but Grannd knew still caused her pain, he wanted to help her, but the last time he had tried he had gotten a severe tongue lashing, “We promised each other that we’d die when the kingdom was at peace.”
She looked up to her son with cool blue eyes, and he felt as if he was within the frozen wastes of Icecrown once again, and couldn’t even respond as she continued to speak, “Dying in battle, like those savages want to do. It’s useless. Pointless.” She caught herself from growing anger that would do her no good, and slowly sat cross-legged by the still form of her husband, now lying in state.
Her eyes teared up as she regarded him, and Grannd immediately moved around the bed with the intent to embrace her, but she brought up a shaking hand that halted him in his tracks where even a thousand charging orcs would not.
“My darling had no choice but to break his promise, I might soon break it as well.” She closed her eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath, “I do not have much time, my son. This… Illness of mine, it is fast catching up, magic no longer works, only my herbal remedies have some small effect.”
She bowed her head, reaching out with a hand to carefully arrange a stray braid on her husband’s beard.
“Live, Grannd. So you can pass on when there’s peace like he wanted to. Promise me.” She held out a hand to the side, and he reached to take it, firmly but gently.
“I promise, mother. But… You will be okay?”
She smiled over her shoulder, an impossibly sad smile, but he saw the strength, and was heartened by it.
“Go.” She didn’t answer, but it was a quiet command that he had to obey, he brought up her hand to his lips briefly, before letting go and departing.
---
I regret to inform you that your mother passed away last night…
Grannd Thunderbraid stared down at the letter in his hand, the bustling of the war camp on the southern side of the Thandol Span drowned out.
It was a good thing he wore a helmet.
"... SERGEANT!" He abruptly roared, the grief drowned out by the volume.
"Sir!" A nearby dwarf saluted.
"Get a team together."
"Sir?"
"We're getting this war started." Came the growled response.
opposing forces
Written by Valís.
“Fire!”
Valis winced as the cannon battery he was standing near let rip at the walls of Lordaeron, the dwarves manning them letting out whoops and cheers as they all hit their targets, and one pointed at an orc tumbling from the wall with gleeful laugh. The young mage watched a bolt of angry green go flying off into the air somewhere on the walls. Footmen surged forwards, ladders in hand even as covering fire from riflemen and archers continued, keeping heads down.
The sorcerer looked to a nearby captain with his winged helmet, who held a hand up to him, indicating he wait. Keen eyes of a hundred battlefields scanned the battlements for an opening the mage required for the attack. The greying veteran muttered under his breath, not even flinching as a nearby footman tumbled over with a barbed arrow in his throat. Valis jumped, first in shock, and then to help the fallen soldier, another sharp gesture from the captain halted him in his tracks, but then he saw the footman be dragged back by his fellows as a Night Elf in armoured robes moved up, her hands surrounded by coiling, life-saving silver light directed for her fallen ally.
He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself like his teacher had taught him to do, he was part of something bigger and he needed to stay focused. There were others to help the fallen, plenty of healers in this massive army. Bigger than anything he had imagined. The noise and press of bodies, the flashes of light and black dots in the sky. It was disorientating. He closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth.
He had been told they would win this battle, they outnumbered the Horde, they were united, they fought for a just cause, for just rulers against hated, vile foes. This battle was right. He knew that, but he couldn’t stop being nervous. He’d seen things he had a small hope he’d never have to see, but the world the way it was, there really was no choice for him. He had to.
Blue eyes opened again, as the captain barked his command, and Valis bent at the knees, disappearing in a flash of light blue. He would be the first one onto the walls, it was an honour, he was told, but also dangerous. The captain had told him they had chosen this section of the walls for a reason - The Horde were spread thin and there were few casters or healers here. It was a weak point that would be exploited.
He reappeared, a Forsaken clad in baroque, spiked plate whirled on him, pulling his sword free in one motion and unleashing a guttural roar. But for all his quickness, he was still surprised, the widened glowing yellow eyes told Valis that as he brought up his hand and unleashed his readied spell, with a roaring snap an arcane blast slammed forwards, impacting point-blank. Valis couldn’t help the wince as the undead came apart at the joints, scattering to the air and across the wall in a spray of ichor and armour.
To his right footmen began to pour up ladders previously anchored in place, he felt a brief clap on the shoulder from one who had seen the fate of the Forsaken, “That was their captain! Good job!” She grinned behind her helmet, before setting her eyes on a nearby orc and hurling herself towards her.
The rest of the wall spread out before him, he could see the siege towers at the gates advancing through the smoke, he could see the spires of Lordaeron’s keep, and it helped him rally as he finally had a proper look at what he knew they were fighting for. He advanced.
“Saber Company! Down to the streets! For the Alliance!” A dwarf lieutenant roared as he swung himself from a ladder onto the wall, brandishing a warhammer and joining the whirling melee behind Valis. As per the plan, the Alliance soldiers swept aside the thinned Horde ranks on the wall and filed into the tower to join the chaos that erupted in the streets below as the Lionheart and others surged through a collapsed portion of the eastern wall.
Valis took another deep breath and advanced. Three orcs charged him with roars of “For the Horde!”. He reached up and grasped nothingness, and they were halted in their tracks with surprised grunts. He swept his arms as if slamming a pile of books off a shelf, and off the wall the three flew.
As more ladders clunked into place further up, the sorcerer brought his hands clapping together, and a burst of cold air briefly made his expelled breath visible as white mist as he fired an expanding orb of frost down the wall, his aim being nothing less than to clear it entirely before the footmen began climbing en masse.
He watched the orb freeze half a dozen soldiers in its path, but before it could go further, a spark of green erupted into a gout of felfire in its path, countering his spell and dispersing the magic in an impression expulsion of magical force. He began walking forwards, beams of arcane lancing out to strike through the chests of the frozen soldiers and downing them one after the other as they hurled curses at him in their native languages.
There was a warlock here, that much was clear. Warlocks annoyed him. His mind flashed to a white-haired blood elf turning into a demon to attack Lotheridan several days ago, before coming back to the present. He halted in front of the smoke screen thrown up by the clashing forces that blocked his vision down the rest of the wall, and he began to separate the arcane from its opposite number to draw into his being and retrieve at least some of the power wasted on his orb.
The warlock was doing the same, the arcane and fel residue faded, and the remaining smog cleared in a gust of hot wind brought about by a trebuchet shot flying ahead to slam into the ruined city beyond the walls.
The caster opposing him was taller, also wearing a hood, but unlike his own it was armoured, and her face was obscured by an armoured faceplate. Blazing green eyes met his. He could not see her face, but her head tilted as she regarded him. Any attempt to gauge her expression at that moment was futile, but Valis could tell from her body language that she was tense, but calm. He willed his outstretched hand to stop shaking, but he had not had good experiences fighting blood elves, he couldn’t help it.
Why’d it have to be another one of them… He saw the elf’s eyes flick downwards towards the soldiers he had just killed, then back to him. They narrowed just slightly.
He paused. Was she judging him? Probably, most likely. Not that blood elves had any right to judge him after what they had done. He steeled himself and brought up his hand again, magic sparking at his fingertips. She’d put up more of a fight than the others, he could tell.
The blood elf was quicker on the cast, thrusting her hand forwards, a screaming bolt of green hurtled across the ten foot gap between the elf and human. Valis pulled aside the hand casting his offensive spell and brought the other up, a bright arcane shield bursting to life. The bolt crashed into it, scream cut short.
Not so bad. He could take those, but he had to be careful. He had learned that blood elves always had tricks up their sleeve, they might be arrogant and self-centred and selfish, but they were smart, and he couldn’t let his guard down.
This would be an ugly duel.
He responded to her opening attack, thrusting his hands forwards. Flurries of brilliant blue arcane missiles hurtled towards the warlock, her response was to bring up her other hand, projecting a shield of her own, less perfect than the almost spherical dome protecting him, but still effective. The roiling fel outright consumed the magic impacting with it, whilst she returned fire with her own smaller missiles, that were in turn caught on his still active shield, sometimes the projectiles impacted midair and exploded.
The air hissed and snapped and popped and whizzed, the stench returning as arcane and fel residue seemed to mix and combust in the air between the two dueling casters as they continued their attempts to simply outright brute force the other’s wards away.
He had to be careful, he repeated to himself again. Elves always had tricks he told himself again, she might be using brute force at the moment, but she was planning something. He had to act first. He could barely see the elf and she could barely see him, passed their respective shields. They located each other via sense, and that is what they aimed their attempts to kill at.
This was merely the first stage, they were testing each other. Sensing for the subtle shift in their mana capacity. None came, the difference being that though his reserves were barely drained, whilst hers replenished for every missile her shield consumed. With some sense of satisfaction Valis realised he would win any battle of attrition.
Abruptly, her barrage halted, and Valis tensed. She was going to try something. Who knows what was up that corrupted sleeve of hers. What twisted magics she would use to end his life.
He felt something ephemeral grasp a hold of him, well, not him, but certainly part of him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being targeted. But now he had his plan.
He blinked forwards with a flash of light blue. Reappearing behind the warlock whilst turning, hand clenching into a fist as he gathered power. But he never intended on releasing it… With straightened ears, betraying her alarm, the elf spun and brought her shield to bare.
He did not halt his casting, instead he reconstituted the energy into another blink, aiming to appear above his opponent this time, suspended in the air for a brief second before he began falling, again he summoned magic as if to attack, but it was another feint, and he relocated once more. To behind her, then in front, then above. Every time he did so the warlock spun to face him, glowing eyes widening within her hood as panic set in.
She dropped her shield and began swinging her arms around in wild, but still dangerous movements, waves of fel energy chased towards him as he reappeared and then disappeared again, and that was what he was waiting for.
Instead of appearing nearby to her for his next teleport, he chose a spot further back, near the tower that Saber Company had taken, the spell he was constantly making ready to cast for the last few blinks came to him easily, and with a quick thrust he sent a roaring ball of blue fire hurtling towards the warlock.
The elf threw herself to the ground, landing hard, and whilst he hadn’t hit her like he wanted to, he had an opening.
Valis blinked forwards once again until he was almost on top of her, bringing his hand up behind his head, clenched into a glowing fist as he prepared an arcane blast. But suddenly she moved, once again being quicker, and recovering swifter than he expected, a clawed hand lashed upwards, angry green returned into his vision and the flash of a forgotten duel ran through his mind. The point blank burst of fel energies sent him staggering back with a yelp, his shield crackling and flaring in protest. It protected him from the worst, but the physical impact was more than a little jarring.
Valis righted himself, gritting his teeth, he wound his arms backwards. The elf was doing the same after having scrambled to her feet.
When the two casters thrust their hands forwards, two opposing forces manifested in the form of beams of angry green and blue. The arcane and fel clashed between them, the distance barely five feet again, but soon became greater as the meeting of the two forces caused combustions and reactions in the air, forcing the two to either slide or step backwards until they were at least fifteen feet away from each other, still summoning and drawing upon their reserves to best the other in this contest of might, the beams waxed and waned, at one point they went closer to him before he returned the favour, then they balanced in the middle once again.
In a cruel twist of fate, they both realised at the same time they had arrived at another stalemate, and both sought to break it at once, she reached downwards whilst he reached to the side, from her hand sprung a snake-like whip of fel magic that lashed out below the now weakened but still channelled beams to try and hook around the mages leg and yank, whilst he seized a hold of her head with the arcane and sought to smack it against the stone next to her.
The beams cut off together as the warlock’s face met the battlement whilst Valis was flung off his feet and crashed onto his back ungracefully.
The elf recoiled with a yowl, her loosened mask came away.
The clashing of magic followed by their less than controlled impacts had taken its toll on the both, and they took time to push themselves to their feet. The warlock tugged down her hood angrily, freeing blonde hair, blazing green eyes thinned as she held one hand to her nose, pulling it away to see the blood on gloved, dirty fingers.
Valis’s own hood had fallen back, revealing the untidy red mop of hair often kept hidden. Somehow he had also taken a wound, a cut down his left cheek from some flying piece of masonry dislodged by the opposing forces the duelling casters had unleashed, and his left ankle smoked, burnt by the felfire and forcing him to favour his right leg.
Panting, the two faced each other. Hands clawing, green and blue sparks lighting, spells manifesting, the whirling sound of battle around them went unheeded.
And so they fought.
“Fire!”
Valis winced as the cannon battery he was standing near let rip at the walls of Lordaeron, the dwarves manning them letting out whoops and cheers as they all hit their targets, and one pointed at an orc tumbling from the wall with gleeful laugh. The young mage watched a bolt of angry green go flying off into the air somewhere on the walls. Footmen surged forwards, ladders in hand even as covering fire from riflemen and archers continued, keeping heads down.
The sorcerer looked to a nearby captain with his winged helmet, who held a hand up to him, indicating he wait. Keen eyes of a hundred battlefields scanned the battlements for an opening the mage required for the attack. The greying veteran muttered under his breath, not even flinching as a nearby footman tumbled over with a barbed arrow in his throat. Valis jumped, first in shock, and then to help the fallen soldier, another sharp gesture from the captain halted him in his tracks, but then he saw the footman be dragged back by his fellows as a Night Elf in armoured robes moved up, her hands surrounded by coiling, life-saving silver light directed for her fallen ally.
He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself like his teacher had taught him to do, he was part of something bigger and he needed to stay focused. There were others to help the fallen, plenty of healers in this massive army. Bigger than anything he had imagined. The noise and press of bodies, the flashes of light and black dots in the sky. It was disorientating. He closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth.
He had been told they would win this battle, they outnumbered the Horde, they were united, they fought for a just cause, for just rulers against hated, vile foes. This battle was right. He knew that, but he couldn’t stop being nervous. He’d seen things he had a small hope he’d never have to see, but the world the way it was, there really was no choice for him. He had to.
Blue eyes opened again, as the captain barked his command, and Valis bent at the knees, disappearing in a flash of light blue. He would be the first one onto the walls, it was an honour, he was told, but also dangerous. The captain had told him they had chosen this section of the walls for a reason - The Horde were spread thin and there were few casters or healers here. It was a weak point that would be exploited.
He reappeared, a Forsaken clad in baroque, spiked plate whirled on him, pulling his sword free in one motion and unleashing a guttural roar. But for all his quickness, he was still surprised, the widened glowing yellow eyes told Valis that as he brought up his hand and unleashed his readied spell, with a roaring snap an arcane blast slammed forwards, impacting point-blank. Valis couldn’t help the wince as the undead came apart at the joints, scattering to the air and across the wall in a spray of ichor and armour.
To his right footmen began to pour up ladders previously anchored in place, he felt a brief clap on the shoulder from one who had seen the fate of the Forsaken, “That was their captain! Good job!” She grinned behind her helmet, before setting her eyes on a nearby orc and hurling herself towards her.
The rest of the wall spread out before him, he could see the siege towers at the gates advancing through the smoke, he could see the spires of Lordaeron’s keep, and it helped him rally as he finally had a proper look at what he knew they were fighting for. He advanced.
“Saber Company! Down to the streets! For the Alliance!” A dwarf lieutenant roared as he swung himself from a ladder onto the wall, brandishing a warhammer and joining the whirling melee behind Valis. As per the plan, the Alliance soldiers swept aside the thinned Horde ranks on the wall and filed into the tower to join the chaos that erupted in the streets below as the Lionheart and others surged through a collapsed portion of the eastern wall.
Valis took another deep breath and advanced. Three orcs charged him with roars of “For the Horde!”. He reached up and grasped nothingness, and they were halted in their tracks with surprised grunts. He swept his arms as if slamming a pile of books off a shelf, and off the wall the three flew.
As more ladders clunked into place further up, the sorcerer brought his hands clapping together, and a burst of cold air briefly made his expelled breath visible as white mist as he fired an expanding orb of frost down the wall, his aim being nothing less than to clear it entirely before the footmen began climbing en masse.
He watched the orb freeze half a dozen soldiers in its path, but before it could go further, a spark of green erupted into a gout of felfire in its path, countering his spell and dispersing the magic in an impression expulsion of magical force. He began walking forwards, beams of arcane lancing out to strike through the chests of the frozen soldiers and downing them one after the other as they hurled curses at him in their native languages.
There was a warlock here, that much was clear. Warlocks annoyed him. His mind flashed to a white-haired blood elf turning into a demon to attack Lotheridan several days ago, before coming back to the present. He halted in front of the smoke screen thrown up by the clashing forces that blocked his vision down the rest of the wall, and he began to separate the arcane from its opposite number to draw into his being and retrieve at least some of the power wasted on his orb.
The warlock was doing the same, the arcane and fel residue faded, and the remaining smog cleared in a gust of hot wind brought about by a trebuchet shot flying ahead to slam into the ruined city beyond the walls.
The caster opposing him was taller, also wearing a hood, but unlike his own it was armoured, and her face was obscured by an armoured faceplate. Blazing green eyes met his. He could not see her face, but her head tilted as she regarded him. Any attempt to gauge her expression at that moment was futile, but Valis could tell from her body language that she was tense, but calm. He willed his outstretched hand to stop shaking, but he had not had good experiences fighting blood elves, he couldn’t help it.
Why’d it have to be another one of them… He saw the elf’s eyes flick downwards towards the soldiers he had just killed, then back to him. They narrowed just slightly.
He paused. Was she judging him? Probably, most likely. Not that blood elves had any right to judge him after what they had done. He steeled himself and brought up his hand again, magic sparking at his fingertips. She’d put up more of a fight than the others, he could tell.
The blood elf was quicker on the cast, thrusting her hand forwards, a screaming bolt of green hurtled across the ten foot gap between the elf and human. Valis pulled aside the hand casting his offensive spell and brought the other up, a bright arcane shield bursting to life. The bolt crashed into it, scream cut short.
Not so bad. He could take those, but he had to be careful. He had learned that blood elves always had tricks up their sleeve, they might be arrogant and self-centred and selfish, but they were smart, and he couldn’t let his guard down.
This would be an ugly duel.
He responded to her opening attack, thrusting his hands forwards. Flurries of brilliant blue arcane missiles hurtled towards the warlock, her response was to bring up her other hand, projecting a shield of her own, less perfect than the almost spherical dome protecting him, but still effective. The roiling fel outright consumed the magic impacting with it, whilst she returned fire with her own smaller missiles, that were in turn caught on his still active shield, sometimes the projectiles impacted midair and exploded.
The air hissed and snapped and popped and whizzed, the stench returning as arcane and fel residue seemed to mix and combust in the air between the two dueling casters as they continued their attempts to simply outright brute force the other’s wards away.
He had to be careful, he repeated to himself again. Elves always had tricks he told himself again, she might be using brute force at the moment, but she was planning something. He had to act first. He could barely see the elf and she could barely see him, passed their respective shields. They located each other via sense, and that is what they aimed their attempts to kill at.
This was merely the first stage, they were testing each other. Sensing for the subtle shift in their mana capacity. None came, the difference being that though his reserves were barely drained, whilst hers replenished for every missile her shield consumed. With some sense of satisfaction Valis realised he would win any battle of attrition.
Abruptly, her barrage halted, and Valis tensed. She was going to try something. Who knows what was up that corrupted sleeve of hers. What twisted magics she would use to end his life.
He felt something ephemeral grasp a hold of him, well, not him, but certainly part of him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being targeted. But now he had his plan.
He blinked forwards with a flash of light blue. Reappearing behind the warlock whilst turning, hand clenching into a fist as he gathered power. But he never intended on releasing it… With straightened ears, betraying her alarm, the elf spun and brought her shield to bare.
He did not halt his casting, instead he reconstituted the energy into another blink, aiming to appear above his opponent this time, suspended in the air for a brief second before he began falling, again he summoned magic as if to attack, but it was another feint, and he relocated once more. To behind her, then in front, then above. Every time he did so the warlock spun to face him, glowing eyes widening within her hood as panic set in.
She dropped her shield and began swinging her arms around in wild, but still dangerous movements, waves of fel energy chased towards him as he reappeared and then disappeared again, and that was what he was waiting for.
Instead of appearing nearby to her for his next teleport, he chose a spot further back, near the tower that Saber Company had taken, the spell he was constantly making ready to cast for the last few blinks came to him easily, and with a quick thrust he sent a roaring ball of blue fire hurtling towards the warlock.
The elf threw herself to the ground, landing hard, and whilst he hadn’t hit her like he wanted to, he had an opening.
Valis blinked forwards once again until he was almost on top of her, bringing his hand up behind his head, clenched into a glowing fist as he prepared an arcane blast. But suddenly she moved, once again being quicker, and recovering swifter than he expected, a clawed hand lashed upwards, angry green returned into his vision and the flash of a forgotten duel ran through his mind. The point blank burst of fel energies sent him staggering back with a yelp, his shield crackling and flaring in protest. It protected him from the worst, but the physical impact was more than a little jarring.
Valis righted himself, gritting his teeth, he wound his arms backwards. The elf was doing the same after having scrambled to her feet.
When the two casters thrust their hands forwards, two opposing forces manifested in the form of beams of angry green and blue. The arcane and fel clashed between them, the distance barely five feet again, but soon became greater as the meeting of the two forces caused combustions and reactions in the air, forcing the two to either slide or step backwards until they were at least fifteen feet away from each other, still summoning and drawing upon their reserves to best the other in this contest of might, the beams waxed and waned, at one point they went closer to him before he returned the favour, then they balanced in the middle once again.
In a cruel twist of fate, they both realised at the same time they had arrived at another stalemate, and both sought to break it at once, she reached downwards whilst he reached to the side, from her hand sprung a snake-like whip of fel magic that lashed out below the now weakened but still channelled beams to try and hook around the mages leg and yank, whilst he seized a hold of her head with the arcane and sought to smack it against the stone next to her.
The beams cut off together as the warlock’s face met the battlement whilst Valis was flung off his feet and crashed onto his back ungracefully.
The elf recoiled with a yowl, her loosened mask came away.
The clashing of magic followed by their less than controlled impacts had taken its toll on the both, and they took time to push themselves to their feet. The warlock tugged down her hood angrily, freeing blonde hair, blazing green eyes thinned as she held one hand to her nose, pulling it away to see the blood on gloved, dirty fingers.
Valis’s own hood had fallen back, revealing the untidy red mop of hair often kept hidden. Somehow he had also taken a wound, a cut down his left cheek from some flying piece of masonry dislodged by the opposing forces the duelling casters had unleashed, and his left ankle smoked, burnt by the felfire and forcing him to favour his right leg.
Panting, the two faced each other. Hands clawing, green and blue sparks lighting, spells manifesting, the whirling sound of battle around them went unheeded.
And so they fought.