Chapter 1: The Siege

Mistakes have been made yet I can't help but ask why?
How come we are the ones who have to see our loved ones die?

Present Day

As blades of steel clashed and the sounds of battle echoed across the horizon, and as fierce magic incantations lit the evening sky in an exquisite blend of shadow and light, the Ranger could not help but admire the splendor of the scenery that lay before her. The familiar stench of death still lingered in the air. She knew the scent quite well; after all, she once had fought along side the wretched monsters. But that was long ago, and she never dwelled for long on the past.

The siege had lasted for hours now, and it seemed neither side had the upper hand. Oblivious to the Scourge, the Drow Ranger had been summoned to man the defenses. She was well of renown amongst the ranks of the Sentinel and feared by the Undead. Her appearance depicts a frail, weak looking Elf but in reality, it is a mere illusion, masking her true deceitful traits. Cunning, yet skillful, the Drow ranger is a suspicious looking character to the ordinary eye. Alas, her true motives lay unknown. Her intentions for the Sentinel seem unclear, but nevertheless, the Sentinel accepted Traxex, reluctantly, into their midst.

Traxex knew the battle was far from over, yet already fatigue was slowly taking its toll. It had been tedious reaching the Sentinel outpost unseen, and her stamina had all but faded. Weakly, the Ranger reached for an arrow from her quiver and aimed it with great care. She drew an arrow back into the bowstring as far as she could, and slowly put her surroundings into focus. Silence suddenly gripped the thundering voices of war, and ceased it to be. Her mind focused solely on her unsuspecting prey. Her entire environment seemed to blur in her vision, but the path between the predator and the prey, had become sharper and more distinct.

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Its shadow loomed over the feeble Elven swordsman. Its fangs glistened with freshly spattered blood, and its claws basked in the dying rays of sunlight, giving off an eerie shade of orange, which to the Elf's eyes appeared almost, of blood. It closely resembled a reanimated corpse, however, devoid of flesh and heart. The mindless Ghoul clumsily swiped his hand towards the Elf, who attempted to deflect the oncoming strike with his shield. The shield of wood was torn asunder, and left the swordsman running in panic. Trembling fiercely, he turned to face the beast once more. His eyes had grown wide with horror, and his grip tightened on his blade's hilt. Both anxiously waited for the other to make the first move. The Ghoul began to foam at the mouth and slowed its breathing dramatically. The Elf on the other hand, frantically searched around him for someone to lend aid, but his efforts were in vain. He was alone, and there was not a soul in sight. Before he could react, the Ghoul leapt off the soft earth and towards the Elf. In a last act of desperation, he raised his sword vertically upwards. However, it was far too late. Its claws had sliced through the rusty blade, and shredded the delicate leather fabric of his tunic. With one swipe of its arm, it dug through flesh and bone with ease. He shrieked with agony as torrents of blood began gushing out of the gaping wound in his chest. He dropped the remnants of his sword onto the moist earth, and slid onto his knees, beneath which had gathered a pool of his own blood. The Ghoul licked its lips, and quickly made another slashing motion, this time towards the Elf's skull with its razor sharp claws. Bones crunched under the immense pressure of its force, and it was then that the Elf silently dropped onto the earth. The creature's jaws suddenly snapped wide open, and it dug his fangs deep into his victim's throat. The Ghoul jerked his head back abruptly, severing an artery in the process. "Must... Feed", it spoke in a crude language, as it heartily devoured its meal.

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The arrow slid delicately off her fingers, and gracefully soared through the air. Moonlight deflected off the arrowhead in a lustrous sheen, and like a shining beacon into the night, the arrow pushed against the darkness. It viciously cut through the blanket of darkness, with the sound of its flight echoing past the denizens of the darkness. It flew past dozens, perhaps more, but intricately following its carefully planned trajectory. The arrow accelerated faster and faster, until it seemingly dematerialized in the air around it.

Just as the Ghoul crunched yet another bone from the lifeless corpse that lay beneath it, it sensed a slight disturbance around it. It could hear the gentle sound of a foreign object soaring in the wind in its midst, gently humming, as it went past. Repeatedly, this strange spellbinding hum could be heard, growing louder and more melancholy with time. The Ghoul ceased to feast upon the remnants of its meal, and stared blankly into the open space around it. It seemed mystified, yet intrigued of this captivating tune. Before it could partake in relishing this mystical melody any longer, the arrow head appeared in a flash before it eyes. Before it had a chance to react, the razor sharp point bore through its skull vigorously. A blackish blue colored blood spattered onto the ground, melding into the crimson pool nearby. The Ghoul dropped lifeless to the floor, but its expression remained perfectly preserved, a testament to the profound joy and confusion it felt before its untimely end.

Not too far off, the Drow Ranger merrily drew another arrow from her quiver and stretched it across the bowstring. She began focusing solely upon her target once more, when a rustling of leaves in the forest behind the Drow suddenly caught her attention. Her long, narrow ears could sense even the most subtle noise, detecting even the slightest of sounds from miles away. The moment she heard the sound of footsteps, she immediately turned towards to the overgrowth behind her and took careful aim with her bow and arrow.

"Shan'do faralah (Fear not) Lady Traxex, it is just I, Messenger Thra'x. I come bearing a message from Lady Moonfang." said a trembling voice from the woods.

Soon after he spoke, the silhouette of an Elf became visible in the midst of the thick cluster of trees. He wore a brightly colored leather robe adorned with a ring of leaves bound around the neck. Messenger Thra'x appeared stunted in height and rather hefty in size as compared to other Night Elves. He shifted uneasily in one spot as he awaited the Drow's response.

"Speak," said the Drow in a voice that brought chills to the bones.

The messenger desperately tried to avoid eye contact with the terrifying Drow. Even though they fought for the same cause, most the Night Elves did not accept other races and creeds lending aid, especially those of such unholy nature. The Ranger's black hood hid nearly her entire face, but her intensely glaring eyes could be seen past the crippling darkness. Her bloodshot eyes bestilled fear in his heart, and he felt as if they were tearing a gaping hole in his throat. The Drow's entire being brought a feeling of horror and dread to all those that fixated their gaze on her. No matter how hard they tried, something about her pale blue appearance compelled to continue looking her way. Their minds would refuse them the liberty of looking past. It is said by many that those who gaze at her long enough, see a dark mist beginning to shroud their vision. A mist so dark that it envelops the holy rays of moonlight and is said to even enshroud the gleaming rays of sunlight at its strongest. As fear is induced, the heart stops beating and a silent, yet painful death results. As a shiver ran through his spine, the messenger quickly shifted his gaze towards the cliffside. While stuttering Messenger Thra'x spoke, "Lady Moonfang...requests you to hold down the rear side of the outpost, while she proceeds to launch a frontal assault at the Scourge encampment."

"Acknowledged," spoke the Drow coldly, "leave."

Thra'x gave an obedient bow, and hastily dashed into the forests. Wasting not a moment, he fled into the trees as fast his legs could carry him. As he ran, his body seemingly melded into the forest composure. She wondered if this trick was perhaps a mere play on her eyes, or perhaps it was yet another one of the Night Elves' inherited traits.

Almost as if it were a sign of an omen to come, thunder began to rumble loudly in the skies above. The moon had now risen high above the lands and gleamed in an eerie mist. The playful shadows of the night had begun to appear, restoring an odd feeling of comfort in Traxex. A lone wolf howled in the distance, bringing back old memories to the Drow's mind, some painful while others scarring. Those scarred memories had afflicted great distress on her; nevertheless, their effect on her sanity grew worse as the days went past. The Drow kneeled once more and concealed herself in the forest surroundings. Her body appeared to meld in with the environment itself, perfectly camouflaging her in the streaks of green surrounding her. She took sharp aim with her bow in one hand and strongly clasped an arrow in the other.

Hordes of Ghouls, Necromancers, Abominations and countless Skeletal Warriors stormed through the battlefield. With every Elf that fell, the Undead grew stronger. The Drow's eye caught a group of four Necromancers that appeared to be overpowering a lone wizard. He leeched off their magical essence desperately trying to weaken their innate spells, but he was no match for the spells of shadow engulfing his soul. He collapsed onto the ground, desperately clinging onto the throes of life, for he was apparently on the verge of breathing his last. The Drow despised Necromancers, and their ritualistic ways. Necromancers were considered dark entities that possessed great power, however, were unable to tap into their hidden potential. Few could discover this hidden nexus of energies that lay locked within their own soul, but even fewer could muster the strength to control it. Many lost the last vestiges of their sanity trying to learn of what they knew not. With intense training, these Necromancers were taught to manipulate this hidden power of theirs. Soon, they became unstoppable creatures of magic of whom only a few could pose a threat to. The Drow stared intently at the battling Necromancers, taking note of their every move, and watching their every step. She drew three more arrows from her quiver, and took a deep breath. She slowly slid the four arrows through her fingertips, and pulled them further back on the bowstring. Her grip on the arrows tightened, and her crimson red eyes glowed intensely. She jerked her head backwards and let her hood gently slide off thee back of her neck. Her lustrous dark blue hair fell behind her in wavy locks.

She aimed the arrows directly above her, and focused intensely once more. Blocking out the noise and disturbances around her, she pictured the pathway the arrows were to follow in her mind. Her tired eyes closed, and the Drow let the arrows slide further into the bowstring. She tried her best to mimic the technique taught to her so long ago. It was a naga princess who had spent hours on end teaching her how, but why, she did not know. The Drow was called naïve, yet skillful. The Princess saw certain potential in the Drow, and evidently as it turned out, she was right. The bowstring had been pulled to its greatest extent, and the immense pressure being exerted on the sides of the bow made it likely to split apart any second.

She held her breath, and abruptly let her grip collapse. The arrows ascended rapidly towards the sky above, gleaming in the moonlight. They intricately followed their path in unison, and perfect harmony. The gentle humming was heard once more as the arrows flickered away from mortal sight. The Drow watched as the arrows neatly curved in an arc, seemingly jumping over the moon, and rapidly descending towards the ground below. The Wizard was now screaming in agony as the Necromancers drained the very life out of him. Immediately, they sensed a disturbance in the air around it. The gentle humming had become a fierce "slashing". The arrowheads flickered in and out of vision, causing great alarm amongst them. The arrows danced in the air around them, encircling, and spiraling seemingly forever around them. All four began casting magical incantations to somehow counter the arrows that lay hidden from view. A blast of shadow erupted from one's staff, but landed on nothing but the empty air. The arrows glided through the air gracefully and darted around the victims, faster and faster, and fading in and out of the darkness more quickly than ever. Just as another Necromancer raised its staff, an arrow cut clean into its throat. The staff of another began to glow in an eerie green hue. An arrow suddenly materialized before it, and pierced through its soft, fleshy eyes. Before the fourth Necromancer could react, an arrowhead was thrust through its gut. The last Necromancer standing ran in panic to avoid death. The final arrow struck deep into its leg with sheer precision, tearing through a delicate tendon with ease.

The Ranger waved her right arm in the air, and beckoned with it towards the ground below. An abrupt rustling of leaves nearby soon signified an affirmative response. A volley of arrows hailed down onto the Scourge bastion below. Impaled by the overwhelming number of arrows, the Necromancer bled profusely, and died a painful death. The wizard stood to his feet and gave a bow towards the direction of the Drow. She smiled back, even though she knew he could not see her. The Drow Ranger's voice then rang out,

"Drive the wretched creatures back. You will not let the Protector fall! Today, we shall reign victorious!"

Fighting with increased morale, the archers fired rapid successions of arrows. The Undead numbers were steadily falling, and victory seemed imminent. In the distance, the moon pulsated in an eerie glow, and its light focused along a faint, crystalline path barely visible.

Lady Moonfang, no doubt.

The Undead had already begun to scatter. A loud trumpet sounded from the other side of the river. It played a melancholy tune, strangely pleasant, but the nature of the sound seemed, unearthly. To her ears, it felt an odd hybrid of a high pitched treble and a low gothic sound. Yet, as if to answer its call, the Scourge armies began to run hastily towards the sound of the trumpet. A nearby Ancient Protector dug its leaf covered limbs into the earth and wrapped its vines around a massive rock. The vines rooted themselves deep inside and gained a strong grip within the chasms of the stone. Soon, the vines retracted and raised the boulder out of the soil. As the Ancient pulled back its limbs in a circular arc backwards, the rock slowly ascended off the soil. Its arms then began to move forwards, pulling the massive rock alongside it. The boulder began picking up speed, and then the vines snapped free. The rock freely rolled through the air and was thrust at a nearby Ghoul. The impact pulverized the creature beneath, crushing bones and fleshy tissue underneath the immense pressure.

"Consider this payback, you monsters." said the Drow wryly.

Mixed emotions began to brim at the surface of her mind. Revenge, hatred, remorse, and loneliness were but a few of the feelings coursing through her mind. She had a thirst for revenge, yet sought a cure for the pain that drove her past the verge of sanity. Anger boiled through the Drow's veins when she thought of what she had done, and for what she did not do. Wrong choices had been made, ones that had brought about devastating consequences. Remorse and regret were felt for actions she wished to do, and for those she did not do. She longed to see her beloved once more, even it were for but a moment, even it were for just one last time. Traxex had not felt this helpless and afraid ever since she had fled her homeland in Winter Dark. She was all alone then, and even though she was surrounded by friends here, she could not have felt any less lonesome. Ironically, it was he that had driven away those feelings, and now, his passing away had brought them back.

The Undead armies were running haphazardly in utter chaos now. In their confusion, they mindlessly fled in random directions. The remnants of the Scourge bastions were slaughtered underneath volleys of arrows and a shower of boulders. The tides of battle had finally turned, and the Scourge defeat was inevitable.

Clearing her head, the Drow Ranger drew another arrow from her quiver and scanned the horizon for any easy prey. Her sharp eyes quickly spotted a lone Necromancer on the field. The Drow Ranger began to chant slowly, but repeatedly "Anarelah Samashar!" As she exhaled her breath onto her arrow, a misty haze materialized and engulfed the arrow head. Soon, it began to pulsate a hazy shade of blue. The arrowhead began to crack and harden, until a layer of ice had formed across the surface. She took careful aim with her bow and brought her target into focus. As she let the arrow slide across her fingers, and it traveled towards the Necromancer, a gust of wind began to blow along its path. A layer of frost formed around the arrow, and followed it as it sped towards the Necromancer at a rapid rate. The Necromancer, sensing this mystical enchantment well beforehand, raised its staff to channel a counter-spell. Its staff was engulfed in an eerie green hue and the glow spread to the different parts of its body. This odd magic began to have a strange effect on the air around it as well. A strange scripture began to write itself with the rifts of wind itself. This text shone brightly in a stark white before a dark portal burst forth, and seemingly devoured it. Powerful shadowy enchantments could be sensed from this portal from large distances apart. Even the Drow Ranger shivered once she felt the presence of this strange aura of darkness. The portal suddenly dissolved, and an innate form of shadow magic closed in around the Necromancer. This innate magic appeared to be a crude form a shield in nature. Etched in this shield, was a strange marking. It appeared to be a fiery pentacle with a layer of a faint white light circumbulating it. The pentacle fit nearly perfectly in this odd ring, devoid of any flaws. Appearing demonic in nature, it suddenly had the Drow Ranger begun to worry.

As the arrowhead came in contact with this shield, the blue haze surrounding the arrow dissipated instantaneously. The shield flashed a sharp eerie green color, and suddenly the arrow was deflected off into a random direction. Upon landing, the soil around the arrow began to harden, and various crevices began bursting forth. As a layer of frost blanketed the soil, the Drow Ranger drew another arrow from her quiver.

The Necromancer below continually channeled his spell, and the shadowy magic began to encroach the ground beneath him. "Crucia la Silencia" chanted the Drow in a silent whisper, as she caressed the arrow clasped in her hand. Traxex pulled the arrow back into the bowstring as far as possible, and then gently released it into the air. The arrow rapidly sped towards the Necromancer, accelerating faster and faster. It struck the shield, and began to embed itself within. The shield flashed a bright green once more, but the arrow continued to burrow its way through. It fed on the powerful necromantic energies as it dug through the shield deeper and deeper. The shield around the Necromancer rapidly began to fade, and the Necromancer himself showed signs of exhaustion. The shield collapsed entirely, and the arrow pierced through flesh and bone. He cried out loud in pain as the arrow forced itself deeper inside. The Drow Ranger enchanted her next arrow with the power of frost and launched it clean into its chest. Numbing pain seized its entire body, and soon the powerful enchantments began to take hold. His breath slowed, and the blood in his veins stopped their course. His legs hardened in a layer of ice trapping him in place. The dying Necromancer clutched its chest around its wound and with its last ounce of strength it spoke to its assailant in a raspy voice,

"My death will mean little in the end. Ner'zhul grows stronger, and it is but a matter of time, before the Scourge's wrath... devours... you all."

He weakly coughed up blood, and his grip on the staff broke free. Just as the staff touched the soil, the ice enveloping his legs shattered. The Necromancer dropped to the ground, and succumbed to its fatal wounds. The aura of darkness vanished, and its essence of life faded away with the wind.

As cheers of victory echoed through the forests, the Drow felt not an ounce of joy. She cared not for the victory, or whether the Sentinel outpost had managed to hold out. Moments ago, life had been but a fragile thing on the verge of losing its existence, but she cared not. Life had no purpose, no meaning any more. Love was what kept her persevering through the hardships and traumas, but now, that was gone. Silent vows had been broken, and her beloved had died. She swore to reveal her undying love for him when the battle had passed, but her promise could not be kept. Tears streamed down her pale blue face, and sank into the evergreen earth beneath. A trickle of rain flowed down the thick cluster of tree tops as she lifted her hood to cover her face once more. She silently rose and treaded into the forests. As she solemnly walked, she quietly whispered,

"Fear, despair, love... When will they stop tormenting me so?

I'd always loved you... but now... you'll never know..."