Author's Note: World of Warcraft: Legion, its characters and settings are all copyright Blizzard Entertainment. Used without permission or profit.
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Jof the troll shaman had completely missed the War Against the Lich King.
He had been fighting for a few years by then, but the elder shamans had decided that it was perhaps best that he stay behind. After all, even in wartime there were civilians who caught fever and women about to bear children. So he had never dealt with the Scourge or any of their horrors.
More importantly, he had never dealt with seeing such desecration of the dead.
He glanced over at Belidora, who was sitting a few yards away, her legs dangling on the edge of the cliff and her hands busy fletching arrows. She had gone with him on the mission that the draenei priest, Velen, had asked of them. He had mentioned that someone who had fought in the initial assault had better be the ones to go.
Jof and Belidora had both known that they should wait and gather more help, but the thought of waiting was untenable to either of them. Not if the reports were true.
So, they had gone back to that cursed plateau (aptly renamed the Screaming Cliffs), and had faced what they had been fearing ever since that worst day: the price for their failure.
The two had spent hours fighting their ghosts, both figurative and literal, and tripping over the areas completely paved with bones. They tried helplessly to release them to whatever afterlife existed. The blood elf would probably say it was the Light, but Jof had seen no evidence that it was at work there, or anywhere else on the accursed island. If it was the Loa Bwondasamdi, he had failed in his duty to even keep the Darkspear dead safe, much less the Tauren, blood elves, goblins, and orcs.
They at first avoided the powerful Feltotem until the frustration and hatred had become unbearable and they killed a few - not enough to lessen the pain, but a few.
Finally, they were forced to leave as exhaustion replaced the frustration and anger.
They really should have brought help.
Jof reached over and absently fingered the bow that he had picked up on their way out. It obviously belonged to one of his tribesmen - almost certainly someone he had known and grown up with - but he had no idea how to figure out whose it was. He picked it up and looked at it a bit closer. There was blood spattered across the wood. Why? Did it never rain on the Broken Shore to wash anything away? At least he could make sure it was not in the Legion's hands.
He set it back down and looked back out toward the sea. Desecration of the dead was a crime that made him feel ill. The cruelty and meaninglessness of it - the Legion did not need more undead soldiers, not when they had a limitless army.
Well, really, what had happened had made him physically ill. Thankfully Belidora had not mentioned that since it happened. Instead, she had silently helped him back up and they had continued on their journey back to Deliverance Point.
Really, the young huntress had been quite calm through the whole thing, in an odd reversal of roles for them. He had asked her quietly, about halfway back, how she dealt with it and she had said quietly, "I've done this before."
He guessed that had to be true.
"Did you see the memorial?" she asked quietly now, glancing over at him from her work.
He blinked slightly, then smiled sadly. "Ya. For Vol'jin," he said, then looked back out at the sea. He frowned. "It kind of sad. He need a bettah one than that. But at least someone sometime did somet'ing."
"Hey, you two," a voice behind them said. They turned around slightly and saw one of the Illidari - this one a blood elf, standing behind them. "Aren't you supposed to be on sentry duty?"
"The Archmage gave us the night off," Belidora said, a bit gruffly, picking up her fletching supplies again.
The Illidari huffed. "Lazy whelps."
"'Ey. We not bein' lazy," Jof snapped over his shoulder. "We been out on a mission. We be tired, mon. Leave us alone."
"Oh, you're tired? We all go out on missions. You don't know what sacrifice is," he started.
Jof rubbed his face. He was beginning to hate working with the Illidari.
Unfortunately, the sin'dorei continued with their seemingly favorite complaint, "I've sacrificed everything. What have you given?"
Jof started to get up, to just go pretend to work so he could get rid of the elf, when his friend hopped to her feet and stormed over to her fellow sin'dorei.
"That's enough!" she snapped, holding an arrow with its arrowhead already fastened on dangerously. She pointed it at his face, a few inches from the much larger soldier's nose. "Listen to me, you son of a bitch. We just spent the last five hours tripping over the bones of thousands of our comrades while trying to free their spirits from the Legion. Comrades that we fought beside and saw die in the first place. We didn't even go through most of the area that the Alliance was in, so Light knows how many dead are there."
It looked like the Illidari might say something, but she continued, "That doesn't even mention what else you had no part of. What about the tens of thousands of lives lost killing the Lich King? Avenging our people. Or all the other wars we've fought since then?"
She had to stand on her tiptoes to get close to his eye level. If Jof were not in so much of a bad mood, he would have found it hilarious. The poor unfortunate demon hunter just looked surprised, at least as much as they ever did. Unfortunately, that surprise turned to anger. "I missed it because I was imprisoned," he snapped.
"Sorry," she said, a bit of her anger fading, but she narrowed her eye at him. "But don't you dare suggest we have not sacrificed in this war. Don't you dare."
The Illidari frowned, but turned away and walked off.
"Beli?" Jof said.
"What?" she snapped, spinning around and glaring at the troll.
"Ju a pretty good girl," he said, smiling weakly.