Fires in the Shadowmoon

The two figures leaned wearily at the base of a great tree on the edge of a battlefield upon which they had spent the past 3 days fighting.  The stars were bright between intermittent plumes of smoke from the field below. The carrion birds had  wheeled overhead by the hundreds a few hours earlier, and now the massive funeral pyres of lit the mist shrouded valley with a strange ethereal glow, as if the ground itself was opening up to the hell fires beneath. 

The two warriors were a dark looking night elf and a stolid dwarf.  They both looked haunted and exhausted, but the dwarf rummaged in his pack, drew forth 2 pipes, filled them both, passed one to the elf and cupped the bowl of his pipe and lit it with somewhat unsteady hands.

The elf lit his pipe as well and said "Come let’s look at that scar Assassen."  Assassen wasn't really his name, but his dwarven name was barely able to be formed by non dwarven mouths so Assassen it had become.  He got the nickname because he took out 3/4 of an entire orc encampment in Ashenvale by himself...and the orcs began calling him the dread assassin...The druid liked that and gave the dwarf his name. 

Assassen shifted mumbled something about no need to worry, but the elf looked, drew a jar from his pack and smeared some ointment on the wound that started at the dwarfs left eyebrow and ended just to the left of his chin.  Assassen glowered at the Elf but said nothing. "T’will give you yet a bit more character there Ass, and another tale to tell."

"I've got all the character I can handle, heh" Ass said.  The pair smoked and set their eyes upon the fires blazing below on the battlefield.  They had lost a score of good men from their regiment and at least 2 or 3 good comrades in arms.   Battle victories were like suicide bombings...even when you win, you lose and there are always pieces to pick up...so there was no celebrating here...perhaps they were singing the praises of the warriors in Shattrath, but here, in the wreak above the smoldering field there were no cheers . 

"How long have we been campaigning now together?" the dwarf asked the elf. “Since the Burning Crusade made landfall in Outlands...four years?" replied the elf. 

"How long have you been campaigning now my friend?" the dwarf asked as he looked sidelong at his friend. 

"I don't know", sighed the elf, "in total, I've been at war for 800 waking years.  I was born on the shores of the lake where the well of eternity lay, my father was one of the first druids, my mother a musician and priestess.  Xavius captured her and tortured her and transformed her, my father went to find her and Archemonde caught him and gave him to the satyr to torment and experiment on.  I was 14.  I began serving as a druid warrior from that time.

When we stormed the Queens Keep in Zin-Azshari,  I helped to find and kill Xavius and ended the suffering of my father, my mother was already gone. I never saw her again and to this day I do not know if she died or if she lives transformed. My father I know is dead…he fell at my feet, the sword he gave me for my 11^th birthday pierced his heart. I never picked up a sword again.  I watched my homeland sink beneath the waves.  I have fought ever since, every waking moment outside the Emerald Dream...and that was over 10,000 years ago."

The dwarf looked at the elf for a long time rummaged in his bags and drew out a flask of Dwarven whiskey, took a swig and passed It to the night elf who took a long draught, and the dwarf said finally "You're a good man O".

"No" the druid replied "No, I have killed over a thousand men, no man can be said to be good having killed a thousand men. We fight for a peace that will be enjoyed by others, never by ourselves...We, the children of the stars brought this calamity upon the world...we thought that maybe, maybe we could shove all the evil that came through with the burning legion back into the portal...but it did not all go back...and it has spawned and awakened more evil...and it has changed us.  We kaldorai are antiheroes, we are simply trying to sweep back what we have brought onto this world, and we are failing miserably...but still we fight" 

“My friend”, began the night elf, “Why are you here?  What has brought you to be here with me for the past 4 years? This struggle I am in is unavoidable for me, for I must fight to undo what has been done, tho it be impossible, but you are not so burdened…why?”

“When I was young”, began Assassen, “I was page to the high kings guard.  They were sent along with a group of adventurers to redeem the princess Moira from Thaurissan and the dark iron dwarves.  I was brought as squire to the knights. We prevailed, but she would not return, she stayed with those awful dark iron and we have never seen her since.  She gave us a message for her father that she would one day rule in his place.  This sword I carry was given me by one of the adventurers; he always went about in his hooded cloak so I never saw his face, nor knew if he were elf man or demon, if man he was. Though I’m sure he took an arrow for me in the fight.” Assassen pulled the sword out of the sheath. It shown blue in the moonlight and one could see the pattern of leaves and water on its blade.  This was a well-made and very powerful weapon, it was an enchanted blade. “I’ve carried that all these years” said the dwarf.  “It’s a fine sword, well made and of kaldorian manufacture I’m sure” said Orious.  Assassen stared at the elf wrapped in his hooded cloak.

Suddenly the druid's arm shot out across the chest of the dwarf and a piercing green bolt flew from his staff...the two warriors leapt to their feet and there 40 yards away was a struggling form covered by living roots that had sprung from the ground at the druid's command.

A woman's voice sliced through the air in a staccato metre "Orious!!! I’m...going...to kick...your ass!!"

The druid dispelled his summoned roots and a young draenai woman in battle garb jumped from the ground and rushed up to him.  She stood a couple feet shorter than the night elf and a foot and a half taller than the dwarf...she stood with her hands on her hips and her hooves apart and proceeded to tell the night elf in no uncertain terms that he was going to polish her armor the next day for the impropriety of have cast that root spell upon her and pulling her to the ground.  Orious, yes that was the nightelves’ name, mumbled something about doing it himself next time and she swiftly kicked him in the shin.  The night elf grunted and said something about needing to hobble her hooves but stopped when she stomped the ground twice.  Then they all laughed at once and there were hugs all round.

"Lovetails what are you doing out here?  I thought you were making preparations for the move to Dalaran?" queried the Dwarf. "I have done that already and came out to see how my officers were doing this evening.  I'd heard the battle was a bitter victory and I suppose I was a bit concerned for you both.  Did we lose any of our folk?"

"Lots of warriors fell this day," Orious began, "We lost 2 of our own and 2 are in the infirmary.  Brol and Mert were hit by a fellfire barrage and took a lot of corrupted fire damage...Brian and Classy are with them across the hill in the main camp. They will recover, though I'd stay upwind of them for a day or so. We lost Brunor to a cleave from a Felguard and Tala fell fighting a winged demon...Val is lost, the ground just opened up and swallowed him whole right in front of us."  We managed a rez on Tala and she is sleeping it off in camp.  There wasn't enough left of Brunor to rez." 

Love shook her head and looked out at the glowing battlefield and sighed "There is no good in this you know, but it is what we must do...for good or ill lest all the worlds be overcome by the legion"  the other two nodded their heads in agreement and the trio began to pick their way back towards the main encampment.  Ass chuckled and said in a hoarse whisper "Next time you do that...make sure there’s a bit o mud...I like mud wrestling...hehe."  They both chuckled quietly but Love appeared not to hear their asides...although her gait changed a bit and they knew she was saying with the swish of her tail..."yea I'd bet you boys would like that...not a chance...hahaha"

Back at camp they met Brian and he said the others were ready to travel. Orious and Ass packed the rest of their gear into their panniers and saddled their mounts.  The dwarf had a handsome ebon gryphon while the night elf was preparing to mount his new blue netherdrake.  All that remained was a quick flight from Shadowmoon valley to Shat and then portal to Dalaran and the Kirin Tor offensive against the Lich King.

 Lovetails, however, lingered and gazed out over the length of Shadowmoon Valley, a place that 15 years ago, before all this began, had been her home.  But peace was a world away and an age gone by, her losses had been bitter, her husband missing, and all she knew was gone...only these hardened battle-weary men remained with her...why, she really did not know...why did they stay with her...why did they do anything??  But she was glad they were there, because those with no family make their own kinfolk...and they were a family, blood for blood, dwarves, elves and draenai...they were all each other really had...a somber thought on the edge of ruin.  She turned soundlessly and tightened the girth-strap on her violet netherdrake and swung up into the saddle.

Night was deepening when the trio and half a dozen others flew off to the northwest in the direction of Shattrath City and a portal to their new home.  They were joining the Shadow Walker clan in Northrend to begin their campaign against the scourge and ultimately against Arthas, one time prince of Lordaeron. 

Orious had a score to settle there, yes several hundred scores to settle with Arthas. Orious pocketed the silver-hand broach with a squeeze that caused the pin to pierce his palm a bit...yes there shall be pain and we are bringing it to you Arthas...we are most surely bringing it to you my prince.