He was forgetting something. Not like he could do much about it at this point, though. All of Stormwind's paladins who hadn't yet been dispatched to fight the Legion were assigned to patrol the streets, bringing calm to the tense populace. They were all dolled up in knight's regalia, which, ironically, was all bright golds and blues. Everyone else in the city-state who could afford the black mourner's attire had donned it.
Hair neatly combed back under his helmet, Horace watched grieving citizens file to and from the keep. Inside, he knew, was the casket of Varian Wrynn, High King of the Alliance. Former king now, since, by the end of midday, he would be officially succeeded. He couldn't imagine what the new ruler was feeling at the moment. An entire world on fire, a father dead, and now excessive amounts of power dumped on his shoulders without warning. Hopefully the Horde would pipe down long enough for the Alliance to process that.
Next to Horace rode his mentor, Sir Arthur the Faithful, grim in his duty. Neither had spoken all day; this was not the time to whisper worriedly like a couple of salty old fishermen. He saw children shaking in fear as they hid behind their mother's skirts, prompting him to thank the Light for not having to endure this when he was young.
They stopped outside the orphanage when a young girl ran up to them and grabbed the hem of Horace's cloak. Her big brown eyes stared up at him wetly in the mid-morning sun. She was clearly seeking something, anything, to comfort her. From the sanctuary's threshold, the matron mother called for her, but it fell on deaf ears.
At a loss for words, he reverted back to the standard greeting, "Blessings of the Light to you, child." It was a pitiful offering at best, but what could he tell her? That the Burning Legion wasn't really coming? Anyone who looked at the horizon these days could see that that was a lie.
Beside him, Sir Arthur dismounted, passing the reins to his squire. To Horace's surprise, he removed his helmet, cradling it in one hand while the other came to rest on her shoulder as he knelt. "Do not fear," he told her, managing a small smile. "By the Light's grace, we shall overcome." Moving from her shoulder, his hand swept across her forehead, a shimmer of holy power trailing it.
The little girl gasped, wide-eyed wonder mixing with her fear. Meeting the knight's eyes once more, she nodded, then scrambled back inside the safety of the orphanage. The matron mother waved at them.
Behind the slits in his helmet, the young paladin was beaming with pride for his mentor. The man was everything he aspired to be: strong, compassionate, and just. He inspired Horace, motivated him to be better, try harder.
Just as they had resumed their route, a messenger galloped up to deliver summons to the Keep's war room. The coronation had been performed, but had skirted around all the pomp and circumstance that usually mired the event as information of new attacks poured in. Everyone of officer rank was to report in for further instructions.
Horace's heart was practically pounding out of his chest. This was really happening, then. He was going to war. He searched his mentor's face for any of that reassurance from earlier, and found it blank. In the back of his mind he wondered if the man was also afraid.
"Ser Arthur reporting for duty," the paladin barked as soon as his name was called. Horace stood at attention behind the superiors, pressed up against the wall with the other squires. He was one of the older squires, having just reached adulthood; a good chunk of them were barely into their teens. Stalwart resolution held them still, even if their insides were jelly.
Horace listened to the briefing intently, his heart fluttering as the new invasion points were listed off. It nearly stopped altogether when he heard, "Westfall."
No. No no no no no. His whole family was there. How fast could he feasibly reach the farm? The Saldean's land was fairly close to the Elwynn Forest, but if he took a gryphon from Stormwind he could fly over the mountains and cut travel time in half and what was he thinking? He couldn't just up and leave to go face a horde of demons by himself. There would be knights dispatched to Westfall, and they would ensure his family would make it. Taking a deep breath, he tuned back into the conversation.
"... but our main focus is Sentinel Hill. We cannot afford to lose such a vital outpost-"
Screw it, he had to say something. "Sir!" He made sure to salute, though at this point it didn't matter. "What about the civilians? They need to be evacuated."
Sir Arthur fixed him with a withering look that nearly made him back down. The whole room was staring at him, including Commander Shadowbreaker. Then it hit him that he had forgotten his vocal augment. His voice sounded so grossly feminine and ugh, every person in the room had heard it.
Commander Shadowbreaker cleared his throat, visibly irritated at being interrupted. "If civilians can make their way out of Westfall, then they will. Between the tragedy at the Broken Shore, and the departure of the bulk of our forces, we have no one to spare for an escort. Knights and gryphon riders have already been set to patrol the area, and will find any stragglers. It is in the Light's hands now."
Rage boiled up in his gut. "No!" he shouted. "We are the Light's hands, and those people will die if we don't act."
Sir Arthur hissed, "Enough, boy!" but was ignored.
"You can't run off to rescue people who may not even be alive!" Shadowbreaker insisted. "Now stand down!"
"No." He tensed his muscles, ready to make a break for the door. "No matter the chances, there is never anyone under the Light who is not worth trying to save." And so he ran. He barely avoided smacking face-first into a tall, blond-haired young man about his age who was standing in the doorway. It took him a few seconds to register that holy crap, that was the new king he'd nearly mowed over. How embarrassing.
Armor? Check. Sword and shield? Check. Now all he needed was a gryphon. Horace never had much of a penchant for stealing-his mother had always, without fail, caught him right before he filched an extra treat from the cookie jar. How he was going to manage stealing an eight hundred pound bird with four legs was beyond him, so he decided to simply ask for one. The stable masters eyed him suspiciously as he came barrelling up the ramp.
"Please, I need a gryphon," he panted. "It's urgent."
The dwarven woman sized him up, folding her arms across her chest. "Prove it, girlie."
He made a frustrated noise, both at having no proof and for being called that. In what was a desperate and completely stupid move he blinded the three keepers with a flash of Light. By the time the spell wore off, he had mounted an armored gryphon and taken to the skies, yelling over his shoulder, "I'm not a girl!"
Heading south and west, the journey took about two hours, as opposed to six on horseback. Flying so fast and without protective goggles made his eyes burn and water incessantly. It was the longest trip of his life, fear for his family's safety a heavy weight in his heart. He didn't come across any refugee caravans as he flew by the border between Elwynn and Westfall.
The sky had grown dark from smoke. In the distance, he could see massive, arching gateways with demons pouring out, and began to wonder if maybe he should have thought this through more. It was too late to do much about it, however, plus he needed to save his family, no matter what. Yet had he paused even for a split second to glance behind him during his flight, he would have seen he was not alone in his quest.
The proto-drake was the first to catch up, its big blue maw slightly agape to vent the frostfire inside it. On its back were two very familiar faces. "Saskia, Natalie!" he cried. Despite his words being lost to the wind, they waved at him. His mount shied away from Saskia's scaly friend-Darcy? Darbie? He wasn't quite sure-who probably saw the bird as a snack.
Another gryphon flew up alongside him, this one bearing a very angry-looking Sir Arthur the Faithful. Horace pumped his fist into the air, so relieved he could cry. Now, he at least stood a chance of making it out alive.
They followed Horace's lead, swooping down toward the Saldean farm. Or, what remained of it, anyways. The field burned, all that dry grass and dead earth becoming perfect kindling. In the midst of it all, a gateway had emerged from the earth. Its dark, twisted spires reached up towards the heavens as eredar worked to power the portal it contained. At the front of the house, demons were closing in. Fending them off was the bulk of the adult workers, armed with whatever they had, which was mostly pitchforks and hammers.
Horace's gryphon shrieked as they came in to land, raking its talons down the back of a felguard. Green blood erupted from the hulking beast's wounds as it spun around, lashing out at its attackers. Together they dove to avoid the blade, then rushed towards its legs, hoping to bring it to its knees so he could make the killing blow. Darcy got to it first, taking its tiny head clean off with one side-long bite. The drake spat it out as the rest of the body toppled, using frostfire to burn away any tainted blood in his mouth.
The young paladin went next to the imps surrounding the defending farmers. Shield raised, he thrust his sword forward, piercing one imp in the stomach. Another shot at him with a blast of felfire; he shut his eyes and let the Light suffuse him so that the flames washed harmlessly over his body. He used the remaining time before the spell ended to fight the third imp, parrying a swipe of its jagged claws. Ducking under its arms, he bashed the fiend with his shield and sliced it open while it staggered back.
"Horace!" He whirled around to find his mother and father running up to embrace him.
"Oh, my baby, you're alright," Emma Lin crooned, kissing one of the few clean spots on his helmet. "We heard about the Broken Shore-we were so worried you were with them."
"I'm alright, mom; my friends and I are going to get you out of here." Wiping his sword clean with his cloak, he asked, "Where is everyone else?" There was a disquieting lack of homeless people.
"Inside the house," Feng Lin replied.
Natalie, Saskia, and Sir Arthur had hacked their way over to the Lin family, their mounts not far behind. The tide of demons had slowed for the time being, but it wouldn't be long before the next wave hit. All of them were bruised and filthy, but otherwise unharmed.
"Can you create a portal to Stormwind?" Horace asked Natalie.
The mage nodded. "I can't maintain it for long, though."
"It'll have to do. Go inside the house, it's the safest place to-" Feng never got to finish his sentence as an infernal, hurtling down to the ground, took out the roof of the two-story structure. Those who had been staying there came out screaming in fright. "Nevermind." He raised his voice. "Stay put! We will protect you!"
Sweat beading on her brow, Natalie began to summon the portal. Meanwhile, Saskia was keeping the civilians in place, using Darcy as mean, hungry-looking coercion in case someone tried to bolt.
The infernal towered above the farmstead, its massive feet making craters in the earth with each step. Sir Arthur led the charge against it, Horace right by his side. It roared, kicking at the oncoming attackers. Arthur's hammer smashed into one foot, sending bits of flaming rock in all directions. Just like before with the felguard, they went for the legs first. With all their combined might, it still wasn't enough.
That was when the druids came in. There were three of them, swooping down as owls before two assumed the form of a bear, and one returned to its night elf body. The spellcaster let out a cry, beckoning the earth to aid her. Roots shot out from the ground, slithering up the demon's leg to pull it over. Meanwhile, the bear druids raked deep gashes into its rocky flesh. Horace let loose a battle cry as it was forced down, dashing towards the head to sever it.
It was a poor choice, to say the least. The hand of the infernal hit his sword arm as he swung the blade, yanking it forward and taking the armor clean off. All that remained was a nasty burn on his exposed skin. Not even his chainmail undershirt stopped the flames from searing into the flesh. While-hot pain lanced through him, a scream of agony escaping his lips.
Sir Arthur replaced him as executioner, his father catching him as he staggered. He struggled to breath normally as he was half-walked, half-carried to the portal Natalie was pouring every ounce of her mana into. They were the last to go through, with Natalie dashing in behind them and sealing the passage shut.
Their destination ended up being the top floor of the Mage Tower. Horace saw Saskia taking care of her exhausted girlfriend, handing her water and holding her so she could sit up. Crammed into the corner were Darcy and the two gryphons, who would have one hell of a time getting out of there. The druids were absent from the scene; Horace could only hope that they had simply gone on to fight more demons.
He grit his teeth and whimpered as Sir Arthur tried to use the Light to mend his arm. After a minute with no progress, the man gave a frustrated sigh. "I'm a fighter, not a healer. He needs a priest." Standing, he helped to lift Horace onto his feet again. It was a long, slow walk to the Cathedral, with many shaken refugees following. They needed the solace of the Light's presence after what they had been through. He was laid out flat on his back for the priest, whom he recognized as Brother Sarno, to tend to him. The healing stung just as badly, making him tremble, yet he managed to stay silent. Real men didn't made a peep when they were wounded. On top of that, he still didn't have his vocal augment, so each sound was high-pitched and very much not him.
Though most of the burned area mended well under the Light's touch, a bandage was wrapped around it to protect what needed to be left to his body to manage. The whole ordeal rendered him so exhausted he couldn't bring himself to move at all, his almond eyes growing bleary. Not long after he was helped out of his armor and wrapped up in a warm blanket, he was slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep.