I do own the rights to World of Warcraft or anything it involves. I hardly use anything from WoW. I use of my own creation. This story is only inspired by WoW. Please feel free to message me, leave comments, or review.
A warrior stands alone on the edge of a cliff looking down into a valley recently ravaged by a great battle. As he looks around, he sees corpses of many fallen beasts, monsters, enemies, and even allies littering the ashen dirt. Horrendous creatures laid silently next to those of familiar friends of his. Fires of the recent battle were still slowly burning out from the recent fight. A black banner with a reddish orange trim and icon in the center blew in the wind. It stood victorious over a relentless and almost unending army of undead beasts. The undead Banshee queen not yet among their lifeless corpses. As the warrior concentrated on the banner it began to repair itself and stand proudly in a bustling village. Smoke rising from chimney stacks atop of many homes. Fields of golden wheat surrounded the village as the grains gently blew under the rising sun in the distance. The warrior stood still remembering what his homeland used to look like as birds chirped in the distance. He was losing the ability to tell what was memory from what was reality. The warrior rubbed his eyes trying to stay focused on what was reality only to feel a scar. He gently ran his fingers along his scar from above his nose leading to his cheek and down to his jaw. It reminded him of every terrible act he committed under demonic rule and every monstrous beast he had slain. The screams of the innocent and screeches of the terrific monsters would forever haunt him. Then he heard something behind him gagging or choking. The warrior turned to see a soldier still barely clinging to life. Battered and bloody, the soldier reached an arm out to the warrior wanting help. There was nothing he could do but watch the orc take his final breath. As the soldier's arm fell to the ground lifeless, everything became silent once again. He took one last look at the soldier before looking back across the valley letting his eyes drift to a dense fog at the base of the cliff where his feet stood. Remembering what it used to be; a flowing river where he used to fish with his daughter. It was where his daughter gave him his lucky rabbit's foot that was attached to the handle of his left war axe. His grip tightened on his axes as he shook his head. He closed his eyes and drew a long breath whispering something, almost mumbling. Nova. As the wind began to pick up, the warrior stretched his arms out. He began to relax allowing the wind to take him over the cliff.