A/N: This story is loosely based on actual roleplay between two characters in the game World of Warcraft. The storyline is original work, but the setting, places, and many of the characters are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment. I received no payment for this narration.
Readers may also be interested to know the morning glory was not a randomly selected flower. It blossoms for only one day, then withers, mirroring the situation of two celestial lovers in Chinese mythology, and the two heroes of our story.
"Umm..." the young man began awkwardly. The red-haired woman turned to see the warrior she had aided earlier, and smiled.
They were both starting their career as adventurers in the small valley of Northshire. Several of the Defias bandits had surrounded the warrior in the vineyard north of the Abbey, and were slowly working their way through his standard-issue armor. Several long cuts and the bodies of a few of the Defias were evidence of the events of the battle so far. The remaining bandits gaped as they watched the warrior's wounds close, unaware of the white-and-violet-robed priestess standing partially hidden by a tree, several yards behind the warrior. Some turned and fled when he set his stance and took a firmer grip on his bloody blade. They had been quickly felled by a golden flash of light. The rest turned to face the warrior and his wicked sword. Despite inflicting several more wounds on the young man, none of them walked away from the fight.
Back at Northshire Abbey, the warrior nervously shifted his feet. "Umm..." he started again, "these are for you." The priestess was suddenly facing a handful of morning glories held up by the warrior. "Thanks for helping me earlier."
"Anytime," she replied pleasantly, accepting the flowers. "I had been asked to gather some grapes, and those ruffians would have been tough for me to handle alone."
"We make a good team, don't we?" he laughed, finally relaxing a little. When she nodded, he took a deep breath and continued. "Well, since we seem to work well together, why don't we stick together for a while?" He stuck out his hand, stopped to consider the contrast between his calloused palm and the much smaller and softer hand of the priestess, and offered it again. "Darion McKay," the warrior stated simply.
"Well met, McKay. My name is Dawn Whitereyn."
"Dawn Whitereyn," croaked a voice. "Wake up. You've been sleeping long enough." The undead woman slowly sat up and considered her withered hands. All at once, memories of the past several months – time spent in the thrall of the Lich King - crashed down on her, and she fought the urge to scream. The voice issued a hoarse chuckle and explained, "Don't worry, that happens to pretty much everyone. I am Undertaker Mordo. I'm here to help you re-orient yourself to our world. You'll find everyone here was in a situation similar to yours, so quit feeling sorry for yourself and go put your talents as a..." Mordo paused to check a clipboard. "...priest to good use. Welcome to the army of the Lady Sylvanas Windrunner. Now get going."
Dawn stood on partially rotted, yet surprisingly steady legs and found her way out of the crypt. A short path led to a decrepit village inhabited by other members of the Forsaken – those who had been slain, raised by the Lich King, and later freed by the Banshee Queen. Dawn's robes, a trophy from one of her past quests, were in surprisingly good condition, and she could easily recall most of the spells she had learned over countless seasons of adventuring. A few skirmishes with the nuisances plaguing Deathknell and a short conversation with the priest trainer confirmed her observations. Dawn turned to leave and was halfway to the door when the dark cleric called her back. "There is one other thing you should probably attend to before you leave, priestess." Dawn eyed the trainer and waited impatiently for him to continue. "Your name," he said finally. "'Dawn' is hardly a fitting name for a Forsaken, now is it? Your letter of introduction to Dark Cleric Beryl in Brill will address you with the name which will go on your permanent record. Choose carefully."
Carrying the writ with the recommendation, Mara rode swiftly eastward toward her new destiny.
Dawn sighed as she watched the elven riders pass by near where she and McKay were steadily winnowing the raptor population in the Wetlands. A shrill screech from the beast the warrior was currently contending with jerked her attention back to the combat. An intricate gesture and a few muttered words sent a bolt of holy energy at the raptor, weakening it enough for McKay's enchanted axe to finish the job. After carefully cleaning the blade and snapping it into place across his back, the warrior walked over to his friend. "Good thing these animals aren't much of a challenge. What's the problem?"
Dawn shook her head. "No problem, really. I was just thinking things would go much faster if we had mounts." She thought back to the graceful, loping strides of the elves' riding cats and added, "Maybe a saber like those elves have. They're beautiful, aren't they?"
McKay barely hesitated before his mouth widened into a grin. Twenty-two seasons of slaughtering Defias, murlocs, gnolls, and even ghosts had done nothing to diminish the boyish exuberance dancing in the warrior's azure eyes. "Then let's go get one. Darnassus is only a couple short boat rides away."
"Just like that? I thought you wanted to help the dwarves clear out this swamp." Dawn gestured widely to the area around them.
"We're almost done here anyway," he replied as he hefted the bag of pelts they had gathered. He nearly dropped it again when the priestess rose up on her toes to deliver a quick kiss on the cheek by way of thanks. Watching her retreating form as the fiery-haired priestess started back toward Menethil, the young man was glad his skin was sun-darkened enough to cover his blush.
From the dock at Rut'Theran Village, the elven home-tree Teldrassil rose up out of sight. After overhearing the couple wonder aloud how to reach Darnassus, one of the nearby Sentinels instructed them to walk through the glowing portal at the top of the small hill. McKay started to object, but swallowed his protests and followed Dawn, who was already halfway to the spot indicated by the elf.
Grumbling about "unnatural creations" and trying to smooth down the hair on his arms, the warrior looked up as the priestess gasped in amazement. The Elven capital city was just as wondrous as the pair had heard. A gently curving bridge led to a gleaming white building on their right, while the buildings on their left seemed to have been grown from the very wood of the Great Tree. Wisps darted in and out of the foliage, stopped briefly next to the humans as if they were studying them, then rushed off again. A bear with strange markings on its fur lumbered past them, and glanced over when McKay reached up for his axe. "Peace, friend," it growled. "No harm will come to you here." The warrior jumped, then relaxed again when Dawn started laughing.
"That's a druid," she explained. "Some have the ability to change into animals." McKay looked unconvinced until the bear suddenly stood up and shed its fur, revealing a tall, purple-skinned male.
"Correct, human." The night elf bowed to the pair. "I am Toren Windsong, a follower of Ysera the Dreamer. You seem to know a bit about our culture, but you look somewhat lost in our fair city. Can I be of assistance?" After hearing their ambitions for acquiring riding cats, the elf shook his head. "I'm sorry, but the animal handler won't allow just anyone to purchase one of her animals. She loves them all, and will only sell one to a person who is recognized for being a strong ally of Darnassus. The best way to accomplish this is to complete quests for our people. To the east along the road is a town where we offer training to our youth. That would be a good place to start, if you wish to prove yourselves."
The humans thanked Toren and set off to restock their supplies before starting toward the small village of Dolanaar.
Shortly after arriving in the small town of Brill, Mara located the cleric indicated by the priest, introduced herself, and handed him the parchment. Beryl quickly perused the contents, then handed it back to her.
"Everything seems to be in order. You're fortunate – not many retain this much of their abilities after falling. Can you find your way to Undercity?"
"Who could miss it?" the priestess replied with as much politeness as she could muster. "It's the fortress dominating the horizon, right?"
Beryl laughed so hard he fell into a coughing fit. When he recovered, he nodded and added, "There is a weekly gathering in the Royal Quarter where the Dark Lady addresses the newly risen. It just happens to be today. I suggest you attend. Even someone with your abilities could learn something."
As the sun set over the Ruins of Lordaeron, a score of aspiring adventurers stood in the circular chamber which served as the command center of the Forsaken. Those foolish enough to move up past the first step to the dais quickly realized their error when Lady Sylvanas' lieutenant, a hulking dreadlord named Varimathras, turned his gaze on them. When the last of the sun's rays had faded outside, Varimathras raised his arms for silence, turned, and bowed to his queen.
The Banshee Queen began on a low voice, but her words filled the ears of those gathered. "Look at yourselves." She paused a moment. "Walking corpses, animated by magic and strength of will. You are little different from the scourge abhorred by the rest of Azeroth. How can the living tell the difference between one of you and one of Arthas' mindless zombies? What sets you apart? Most of you were human once. Do you think Stormwind will have you back as you are now? They have not forgotten what you did before I found you – those who survived to remember, anyway. In their eyes, you are no better than the monsters who serve the Lich King, and they will treat you with no more respect. The guards of Stormwind have standing orders to kill any of you on sight. As far as they are concerned, you are already dead."
Sylvanas waited for her words to sink in, then continued. "But we are not dead. We are the undead. We are the Forsaken. We are held together by magic and willpower, true, but our will is our own, and is not to be underestimated. It is the will of those who have endured death itself. We have escaped the enslavement of our spirits and once again walk free upon the surface of Azeroth. This is something the living can never hope to understand. Those who were your friends, your families... they have forsaken you. You have no home with them. This is your home now. You owe your allegiance to me now; to none other. Not the humans who abandoned you to Arthas, not even to Thrall. This is your family. Always remember that. Go now, and trust no one except our own kind."
"Where is your family, McKay?" the priestess asked innocently as they trekked from Auberdine to Astranaar. "I never hear you talk about them."
Darion McKay's smile faded as he thought about how to answer. Finally he blurted, "They're dead." Dawn's eyes widened in shock, then closed again as she uttered a quick prayer. None of the responses which occurred to her sounded appropriate – they all seemed like empty platitudes - so she put a sympathetic hand on the warrior's arm and waited for him to continue.
"The scourge attacked when I was a boy. My older brother locked me in the cellar, then he and my mother went out with the other townsfolk to fight them off. Most of the men were on the front lines after the Dark Portal reopened, so the ones who stayed behind couldn't do much against those abominations."
"Is that why you became a fighter? To get revenge?"
"What would be the point of that? My mother and brother would still be dead. I've seen what happens to the ones who swear vengeance. That's what happened to my father. When he got back, he charged off to the Plaguelands. I haven't heard from him since then. I would rather protect the ones who are still here. Instead of revenge, I swore not to let something like that happen to anyone else I care about." He reached up and gently squeezed the hand resting on his arm.
"You don't have to worry about me, McKay. I'm a tough girl, remember?" Dawn's fair skin clearly showed her blush, so she quickly extracted her hand and turned away. Her eyes widened a second time as she found herself facing the warrior again.
"I do worry about you, Dawn Whitereyn, and you're just going to have to get used to it. Got that?"
Her cheeks flushed with anger this time, Dawn pushed his hand off her shoulder. "Who do you think I am, some helpless little village girl? I've been out on the road just as long as you have. I don't know what overly-chivalrous notion you've gotten into your head, but you can get rid of it right now. I'm sorry about your family, but I'm not them. I am a priestess of the Light. It'll take more than a couple walking skeletons to bring me down. Believe me, I'll be saving your butt at least as often as you save mine." After the bulk of her fury had vented, she went on in a milder tone. "If you're too busy looking over your shoulder to check on me, you won't be watching whatever's in front of you. Either you can treat me as an equal, or we can go our separate ways right now."
McKay recovered from the initial assault enough to realize he wouldn't win this round with the spitfire standing before him. He apologized and gave what he thought was a sincere-sounding promise to give her more credit for her own prowess, inwardly resolving merely to be less obvious about looking out for her. Preferring to leave off on a good note, the young man ventured, "Can you blame me for wanting to save your butt? It's a nice butt."
The warrior chuckled to himself again a quarter mile down the road despite the sharp stinging which lingered on the side of his face.
The group rode swiftly over the smoldering ground between Blackrock Mountain and Flamecrest, covered with soot and grime, but smiling broadly.
Darion and Dawn had met up with a few others in the Burning Steppes and decided to work on clearing the infestation of black dragonkin, ogres, and orcs. Most of the encounters had gone smoothly, even after a troll had dominated the mind of one of their allies. The mage who had accompanied them simply turned his hostile teammate into a sheep until the troll's spell wore off. The spider lair, however, had proven to be somewhat more daunting. The creatures had been no more of a challenge to the party than any of the other obstacles, or would not have been had the priestess tasked to heal her comrades not been petrified by a fear of arachnids. Fortunately, the paladin was up to the task, so the adventurers survived the encounter relatively unscathed.
After bidding the others farewell and preparing a brief meal, McKay turned to study his partner. "So let me get this straight. You can face down dragons, demons, and me on a bad morning, but you're afraid of spiders? When did that happen?"
"I've never liked spiders," Dawn stated defensively. "They have too many legs, too many eyes, and a way of being where you'd least expect them, then jumping out at you. They're just creepy." The priestess started to mount up on her frostsaber, but stopped to wonder why the corners of the warrior's mouth were twitching upward. The hesitation turned out to be a poor decision. The one who had until then given every indication of being her protector did the last thing she expected – he dropped his newly acquired pet spider onto the hem of her robe.
"MCKAAAAAAY!" cried the terrified woman as she tried to kick loose the offending critter. It hung on tenaciously until the warrior was able to stop laughing and stoop to recover it.
A spider skittered across Mara's path as she made her way back toward the elevators in the Trade Quarter of Undercity. She stopped briefly to observe it, then continued walking, leaving a tiny puddle of ichor behind her. After having worked alongside the Nerubians to exterminate the living, their smaller cousins were no longer remotely intimidating to the undead woman. The spider was forgotten by the time she reached the surface level of the undead capital. In the distance, a rough voice announced the arrival of one of the zepplins. Mara ignored it – there was one more matter to attend to before boarding the craft. Turning left from the front gate of the city, the priestess started her journey to Hillsbrad Foothills. Along the way, lupine beasts and aspiring mages ocassionally moved to block her path. Some she struck down, others she simply rode past until they grew tired of following.
In the fields near Tarren Mills, she finally stopped to survey the area. Her eyesight was as keen as it had been in life, so it wasn't long before she found the particular plant she was looking for resting in the shade of a nearby tower. As she bent down to retrieve it, a feral growl sounded behind her.
Dawn turned from the dreaming glory she had been harvesting to face the maw of a slavering wolf. Running would do no good, she knew, because the beast was more than a match for her in speed. She readied her spells in her mind and prepared to fight. No sooner had she raised a shield of holy energy around herself than the wolf was facing the much sturdier figure of her companion. McKay never took his eyes off the animal as he swallowed a potion to harden his skin to the consistency of stone. "Finish picking your flowers. I got this one," he addressed the priestess standing behind him. Within seconds, the wolf had several streaks of blood marking its fur. After less than a minute, the corpse of the animal was covered in gashes and scorch marks from the various strikes and spells which had slain it.
"'Picking flowers' isn't just for fun, you know," Dawn reminded McKay, pointing to the empty bottle in his hand. "Where do you think that came from?"
The warrior tucked the container into his backpack, then turned to inspect the cooling body of the wolf. "Yeah, I just wish you would pay more attention to the area before you walk into situations like this." The effect of the stoneskin potion had worn off, but Darion's back stiffened suddenly as he realized he had probably inadvertently started another argument with the tempermental redhead. After hearing nothing for several seconds, he turned around, concern evident in his face. To his surprise, the priestess's shoulders were shaking in barely controlled mirth.
"It wouldn't be any fun if I didn't keep you on your toes!" she managed to gasp before collapsing into giggles. "I..." She took a gulp of air, then another before she could finally speak. "I wasn't worried. Even if that wolf had been a real threat to me, I have my warrior looking out for me, right?"
The use of the possessive pronoun caught Darion by surprise – a surprise he found strangely welcome. Setting caution aside, he decided to hazard a reply in kind. "I told you before, I don't want to see people I care about get hurt. Especially my priestess." The warm smile he was rewarded with told him the sentiment was welcome, so he moved over and started to put an arm over her shoulders, only to find she had moved over to a patch of lichen and started collecting the useful bits. Despite the unintentional rejection, McKay grinned as he worked the soreness out of his muscles. When he looked up to roll the stiffness out of his neck, he noticed the sun was close to the horizon. "Hey Dawn, how about we call it a day and get some supper?"
"Are you buying?" she quipped. McKay invariably spent his gold on parts for his gadgets. His latest addition to his collection was an admittedly useful gun which could pull concentrated bits of the elements from clouds floating around. Although she was fond of the small metal squirrel he had given her last Winters Veil, his tinkering was no more understandable to her than her alchemy was to him. They had long since agreed to respect each other's profession, but there was no denying Dawn usually carried a heavier purse.
"I'll do better than that," smirked McKay. "There's a new recipe I've been wanting to try. Meet me at the World's End Tavern in half an hour."
After washing off the dirt inevitably accumulated in the wilds, Dawn changed out of her armored robes and into one of her dresses a friend had once dubbed "civilian attire." She approached the tavern with a little apprehension. Darion's cooking was usually exceptional, but sometimes a particular dish disagreed with her. Her stomach churned uncomfortably as she recalled the dwarvish blood sausage. "Who makes food using spider guts?" she wondered for the hundredth time. Once she reached the entryway, however, she no longer doubted the quality of the new concoction. If the smell belonged to the food McKay was preparing, the meal promised to be quite enjoyable.
The priestess was startled out of her speculations by a loud voice next to her exclaiming "Check out the comedy stylings of Perry Gatner! If you are ready to laugh, head over to the World's End Tavern!"
Inside, Dawn soon located the warrior and moved over closer both to get a better look at what he was cooking and to be heard over the clamor of the other patrons. "Dinner and a show, McKay? If you're not careful, I might think this was a date or something."
Darion straightened and wiped his hands on a towel. "Would that be a bad thing?" Seeing her shocked and slightly embarrased face, he quickly amended, "Actually, we're celebrating."
The young woman noticed for the first time her companion had also washed and donned a clean shirt and trousers. His short blond hair was combed, instead of sticking in all directions as it usually did whenever he removed his helmet, and his face was clan-shaven except a neat goatee. With a hint of caution in her voice, Dawn asked, "What are we celebrating?"
"Do you remember when we first met?" McKay inquired.
"Of course. That was..." She paused to figure the amount of time that had passed.
"...Seventy seasons ago," the warrior interrupted, brimming with excitement. "Even our mentors admit there's nothing more they can teach us right now. More importantly, the gryphon master back in Honor Hold said only the strongest adventurers could handle flying. I figure tomorrow we can go hold him to his word on that. But tonight," he set a plate down in front of the priestess, "we celebrate."
The cool night air washed over the crew of The Mighty Wind and its lone passenger. The zeppelin was almost halfway across short stretch of ocean between Orgrimmar and Northrend when the first hint of daybreak silohetted the landmass in the distance. In times past, the priestess would have watched her then-namesake bring life to the world. This time, she turned away from the pinkening sky and went belowdecks until the craft arrived in Borean Tundra.
After only one minor collision and a couple small explosions ("Nothing to worry about!" the captain had called down), The Mighty Wind shuddered to a stop at the platform inside Warsong Hold. Mara gratefully disembarked, walked to the southern balcony, and withdrew a small cobalt whistle from her pouch. She put the whistle to her cracked lips and blew, not at all surprised when she heard no sound from the device. Responding to a summons beyond the hearing range of most other races, the opalescent drake swooped down and landed on the platform next to his rider. Mara stroked her mount's neck, put one foot into the stirrups, and took a firm hold on the reins. At a word from the priestess, the drake launched into the air and angled southeast, effortlessly catching an updraft and soaring through the morning sky.
Darion roared vigorously, nearly panicking the coal-black gryphon he was riding back toward Shattrath City. The creature squawked in protest and turned one eye to the warrior, but held its course. A few yards to their right, a sleek white gryphon banked against a change in the air currents as its rider laughed at the exchange between her counterparts in flight. McKay opened his mouth to make a comment, but the words caught in his throat he saw the woman's long hair streaming behind her like a scarlet banner. He didn't notice the reins slipping from his hands, or the great bird respond to the lack of tension by dipping down toward the earth. He finally registered the alarm on the priestess's face and pulled the reins to one side, just barely missing one of the taller trees of Terrokar Forest. Determined to recover some semblance of dignity, McKay seized the reins and executed a series of aerial feats. Dawn watched as the dark gryphon drove straight up, then continued its circle by flying upside-down facing back the way they had come, diving sharply, and finally righting itself level with and only slightly behind the priestess. The warrior flexed his arm
"Impressive," she complimented the grinning young man. "How did you do that?"
"It's not too difficult, my dear. You just dig your heels in a little farther back than usual, and pulls up on the reins like this." The gryphon leapt off the rise and performed another backward somersault. "Let's give you a little more clearance, and you can try it," he offered.
Several hundred yards above the city, the priestess listened as McKay explained a few more details of the maneuver. "It helps to keep your eyes on your mount's neck if you start getting airsick. Don't know if you noticed, but I was about to throw up the first time I tried it." Dawn smiled at him, took a deep breath, then another, and squeezed her gryphon's flanks with her heels. Using the reins, she guided the bird up into a steep climb, then continued to pull its head up until it had completed the circuit. Letting out a victory yell, she pushed her mount into another somersault, and climbed again until she had the altitude to attempt a forward roll. The great bird was at the apex of a third backward somersault when the buckle securing the leather riding straps snapped off of the poorly-made assembly. Dawn desperately tried to turn her mount back to an upright position, but her movements only served to startle the beast and shake her loose from the saddle. She managed to catch hold of the reins with one hand, and frantically searched her pouch for a feather with the other in order to cast a levitate spell. The feather pouch was empty. She considered grabbing one from her gryphon, but she was dangling a full yard beneath it. The bird screeched in agony at the sudden weight on its neck and shook its head. The priestess's grip failed then, so she closed her eyes and said a quick prayer as she plummeted toward the stones far below...
...and opened her eyes again when she felt a strong arm catch her around the waist and settle her behind the ebony-feathered head of a gently descending gryphon. Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding until then, she leaned back against Darion's chest and heard his heart beating almost as fast as her own.
When the bird touched down on the ground, she started to swing one leg over its neck to dismount, but the warrior's arm held her firmly in place. "Don't ever scare me like that again," he whispered behind her. "I can't stand the thought of losing you. I'd rather lose my right arm than see anything happen to you."
Dawn tried to soothe her nerves by jesting, "At least I would be able to heal your arm."
"Is that right?" he laughed. "Well, good thing I have two right now, because you're not getting away!" With that, he drove his gryphon back into the air. A shriek of surprise echoed off the towers of Shattrath City, followed by one of delight.
Mara shook away the memory, only to have it replaced by one in the more recent past – one she was hoping she wouldn't have to face.
A shriek of pain echoed over the Plains of Nasam as the priestess clutched her arm. Gritting her teeth, she forced out the spell which would heal her, then turned her attention to the zombie who had slashed at her. A few more incantations left it a smoking husk on the ruined field. Quickly, she refreshed the spells on her and McKay to remove diseases, in order to prevent either of them from
Nearby, the warrior was surrounded by slain minions of the scourge, but his efforts had done little to thin their ranks. He glanced up at the sound of Dawn's voice, but grinned when he realized she had the situation in hand and had refocused on healing him. He started slashing the walking corpses around him with renewed ferocity, aiming to reach the priestess and retreat from the bloody field until they could find reinforcements.
The lich on the dais had other ideas. "Minions, servants, soldiers of the cold dark..." it rasped. "Obey the call of Kel'Thuzad!"At the sound of their master's voice, the fallen ghouls left in the warrior's wake rose up and began to advance again. Darion spun to face this new threat, but in doing so lost sight of the priestess. The blood rushing in his ears prevented him from hearing the spellcasting from her location, so he didn't notice when her voice started coming out as a wheeze.
The sudden onslaught of the newly risen scourge forces opened several more injuries to Darion which required Dawn's immediate attention. Letting the cure disease spell on herself lapse, she concentrated on healing spells to enable him to keep fighting. The battle went on longer than she had anticipated, and a burning sensation in her lungs made speaking increasingly difficult. Finally it was all she could do to maintain a renewal spell on him. When the sword of one of the the beleaguered warrior's two dozen opponents emerged from his throat, Dawn put her last ounce of strength into her most powerful healing spell. Halfway through the recitation, the priestess's voice and legs gave out completely. She watched helplessly as Darion McKay's lifeblood spilled out onto the ground, then sight faded from her eyes. Only the sound of her own pulse remained.
*Tha-THUMP...*
An image of the two of them sharing a picnic basket on one of Nagrand's floating islands flashed in her mind.
*Tha-THUMP...*
Laughing at each other as they tried to get a chicken in Westfall to lay an egg.
*Tha-THUMP...*
Warming themselves by a campfire at the end of a long day.
*Tha-THUMP...*
Whirling around to try to catch him with a snowball in Alterac Mountains.
*Tha-THUMP...*
Lips formed the words the human's voice could no longer speak. "I'm sorry Darion."
The priestess never discovered who found the warrior's body and gave it a proper burial in the graveyard near Valiance Keep, but she said a silent prayer of thanks for the person as she knelt and laid the flowers on Darion's grave. At last she stood, resentful of her inability to weep. As she summoned her drake to leave, the wind danced through the leaves of a handful of morning glories left in remembrance of her warrior.