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Departed
Book Six, Part One
Relief flushed throughout my body, so overwhelming that I paid no mind to Jaina's obvious scoff of disbelief. "She obviously has something important to share," King Wrynn surmised.
"My name is Grace Fulstorm," I began. "I'm a rogue in SI:7. I've just arrived from an assignment in the Plaguelands, and I can say first handedly that…" I winced, trying to come up with the best method of informing the king without crossing the line. "I'm not sure how much you know about the Scourge, my King…"
"I'm well informed," he answered, attempting to coax me on.
I hesitated. "They've infested the Plaguelands. An entire army has already wiped out a group of paladins and warriors. I'm afraid we must act now before our race is truly in danger."
The king, eyebrows still creased, looked me over contemplatively. Without a glance at his advisors, who by now were stirring in their seats, he leaned forward more intently.
"Miss…Fulstorm, you have first-handed witness of this, you say?"
I nodded. "I shouldn't be alive talking to you, but I survived so that our people would be warned."
King Varian Wrynn nodded slightly, caught in thought as he then scanned the superiors seated around him. His blue eyes again found mine. "I thank you, Miss Fulstorm, for the timely warning. Your concern I shall address with my peers."
I frowned. "My King, hasn't there been enough talking? Can't the Alliance send reinforcements? I'm sure the Argent Dawn isn't vast enough to…"
"You have to understand that the human race is simply one piece to the Alliance. We have our allies' opinions and concerns to consider…"
"I'm fairly certain they'd all agree that getting wiped off this realm by a mass of zombies isn't in our best interests," I cut off rather rudely, I'll admit. The king, however, didn't waver.
"There is much you don't understand about matters such as these, child. Large movements of warfare require time, planning, finances…"
"It all has to start somewhere!" I uttered, nearly pouting. I could feel the defeat before it came, sense that my argument no longer mattered.
"I appreciate your concern, Miss Fulstorm. Your worries shall be addressed. In the meantime, respect your king's wishes and return to SI:7."
Entirely speechless for getting shot down, I nearly gaped at the group before me until I was able to gather myself enough to clip my mouth shut and bow awkwardly. Without any more options, I turned around and walked out of the War Room.
The entire way to Zen's place, I made no attempt at communication. My mind was whirling again, recalling what I had witnessed before being transported to Stormwind. Dennis' unwavering expression, conveying his conviction of no regrets, wouldn't leave my mind. The Light he had concentrated on his hands before I was taken away left white dots dancing around just out of my eyesight.
I would clench my eyes shut in an attempt to keep it all out, but then his smile would be there, waiting for me to feel a pulse of guilt blast my temples.
And what was I to do about it? I was at a dead-end. One rogue couldn't do anything else to fight the plague hovering above us.
"I'll be back later," I finally muttered as we arrived at Zen's doorstep. I was surprised the words even came out to make sense, I felt so distant from reality.
"Grace, you look terrible," Zen mentioned. "You need some rest."
"No. I need to tell my mother," I corrected, finding it hard to swallow as I pictured my mother's fearful face. It was a death terribly close to the family; Dennis was so much like a son, a brother…
"Would you like some company?" Zen asked.
I shook my head. Zen prodded no more. Once he disappeared into the apartment, I set off. Each step made it harder and harder to continue to my mother's house. This would be even harder, I knew, than it was to keep myself together at the cathedral. This time, my audience would know my pain, would understand, and would expect me to grieve.
I stared at the front door for who knows how long. I could hear the clatter of dishes as mother washed the plates used during lunch. Matthew must have been lighting the fire to begin preparing supper. They chatted cheerily, considering the house's empty state; ever since Lucas, Dennis and I left…
My hand lifted, hovering over the weathered door as I gathered enough courage to bear the horrible news. The skin was pale, knuckles more prominent than I remembered as my blue veins branched off them.
It had to come at some point. I rapped on the door, wincing with every punch on the hollow surface like they were stabs at my heart. In moments shorter than I had hoped Matthew was opening the door, a huge smile on his face until he noted my appearance. "Grace?"
The door opened fully, my mother's figure coming into view as I leaned into the doorframe, my fingers now clutched. She always had a knack for reading me; she froze, a look of horror on her face as her hands fell from her apron. "No," she stated with defeat, a hand gripping my forearm. "My son..." Wincing in both pain and dread, I shook my head.
"Not Lucas," I choked, forcing myself to look into my mother's eyes. "Dennis is gone, mom, he died…"
Her face hardened, and I saw Matthew shift uncomfortably in his position, gaze falling to the floor. "Oh, no," she whispered, sorrow painting her words and lining her face. Tears pricked against my will in the corners of my eyes, and before I could even cover the trail with my hand, my mother's arms were around me in a fierce hug. "I'm so sorry, Gracie."
A strangled cry burned my throat as another pang of guilt took over my body. This wasn't supposed to be about my grief, and yet there my mother was comforting me. And again I found myself broken, now crying in the arms of a mother who would always put my feelings before her own.
When I left, she didn't even warn me about my own close calls with death as she normally did. I departed silently, eyes drooping with tiredness as I entered the gates of Stormwind. I didn't feel any better once I arrived at Zen's; I went straight into my bed, ignoring Zen's form as he leaned against the counter patiently. Sighing, I collapsed in my bed, noting that I didn't feel any better for letting it all go. Now I was drained, tired, sore, defeated, and miserable.
I slept until the following afternoon. When I did open my eyes again, I hung my head as I sat up, attempting to gather myself enough to move out of bed. Once I felt composed enough, I stood on my creaky bones and shrugged on my rogue gear silently.
Zen caught me before I reached the door. "You're going on assignments today?"
I sighed in weariness. "What else am I supposed to do?" I asked hopelessly, emotionlessly.
"Don't act like that," demanded Zen in a whisper.
Ignoring the request, I continued to Officer Jared's office.
He seemed cautious in doing so, but Jared allowed me to escort one of the rogue trainees on a red five-man mission. It was another assassination.
I remember seeing a group of Undead charge our five rogues, their bones grinding as they galloped toward me with growls of hunger. I remember drawing my daggers with my own hunger for blood.
I became a force to be reckoned with. Nothing quenched my thirst for vengeance. In two days I had completely destroyed hundreds of their despicable kind with revenge on my mind.
It was my fury that pushed me past feeling anything. Killing was nothing when the other option was undeath. Dennis' sacrifice would not be in vain, I promised myself.
The second full day was the memorial for those lives lost in the Plaguelands. Zen and I dressed silently—I wore a simple clothe dress, white in color; I tried not to think about what kind of silly remarks Dennis would have made at seeing me in a white dress.
My hair was down for the ceremony—I remember because as we walked up into the massive threshold of the cathedral, the wind tussled my tresses and invaded my line of sight. From magic or mother nature herself, flower petals fell to the floor like snow. The white and gold within the building was nearly blinding, and if it wasn't from my blurry vision from crying, I would have had to squint to see.
It was a ceremony consisting of mostly priests and paladins—their respectful banners decorated the halls. The leaders of each lead in the memorial, their golden garments signifying importance.
"Today, we gather to celebrate the lives of a group of noble, holy men and women, who valiantly fought against the powers of evil on this earth…"
I shuddered. It was very difficult to concentrate. Not when these auras around me held such resemblance to my best friend's, whom I would never get to see again…
The speeches blurred by. "We pray that the holy Light embrace our departed and welcome them into the warmth of honor and nobility…" I nearly choked on a sob, my arm flying from my side and hand clutching Zen's arm. He didn't seem miffed; his hand grabbed my own, my vice grip softening the slightest.
Day three, I caught glimpses of Arthas' plans consisting of another attack within the Eastern Plaguelands. I ran to Officer Jared, notifying him immediately of the looming attack on our towers.
At first, he was wary in believing me. And once I did convince him that I was fully confident that what I saw was happening, it didn't mean he was going to consent to my request.
"We have to send reinforcements," I prompted quickly. "The Lich King knows it's an easy take. If he gets control of all four bases, he'll easily take the rest of the continent." Jared said nothing, his eyes still looking me over contemplatively. "You have to listen to me," I begged, crazed aura contradicting my low rumble. "He's planning a siege."
"Grace, your talents as a rogue are very promising," Jared began opaquely, "and I've always trusted you in the past. But if I request that Rillhelm send a troop…do you realize how suspicious that will look?"
"Rillhelm knows of my ability," I defended.
"But the other leaders of Stormwind do not," added Jared. I shifted in my position, nearly ready to leave by myself if I had to.
"Since when has SI:7 worried about what the rest of the class leaders think?" questioned Zen's smooth voice. "Jared, you and I both are well aware that the consequences faced would be far more overwhelming if news arrived that an attack came and we did nothing."
I vaguely recalled my induction into SI:7, and how Jared had basically persuaded Zen to allow my passage. Now, Zen was obviously equipping his own tricks to convince Jared.
Apparently another qualification to be a rogue was eloquence—yet another trait I surely didn't have.
"When does he plan on attacking?" Jared finally asked.
"Tomorrow at sunset. 'When darkness always prevails'," I quoted from my memory.
"Okay. I'll have troops ready to depart at noon. Though I can't promise any certain number. Grace, if this attack never comes…"
"You can take back my SI:7 badge," I promised.
Neither Jared nor Zen liked that comment very much.
When noon finally did arrive, Zen and I met Officer Jared at SI:7, and the rogue's face was hard to read.
His aura, though, was frigid with stress. "I've got your troops," he answered our unspoken question.
"How many soldiers?" asked Zen.
"More than I anticipated. The king was…mildly amused when I mentioned Grace's insistence."
"Of course he was," I grumbled. "The only reason he's sending aid is because he doesn't think his men are in danger." I shook my head in pity. "No one thinks we're in danger."
"Whether he believes you or not, he's giving you your army," Jared said. "They gather at the Keep."
All three of us arrived at the designation, where rows of men and some women rallied up for a battle.
"The mage sector refused to send any aid," Jared explained as he shuffled us through the ranks. "You have a dozen or so warlocks, but only because those are the non-ranked locks that have nothing better to do. Most classes were voluntary recruitment, the paladins especially…they've lost so many already…"
"Lots of warriors," commented Zen.
"They're fearless, what can I say," muttered Jared matter-of-factly. "There's a few priests, even more rogues…"
As if on cue, Zen's old friend Cole arrived out of the crowds, patting his friend on the back. Robert, the apprentice I knew all-too-well, shadowed his mentor.
"I couldn't let you two have all the fun," commented Cole with a grin. While Zen chattered a bit with the other rogue, I turned toward Jared. "How many total?" I asked, attempting to estimate the numbers before me but unable to concentrate.
"Roughly a hundred and fifty," Jared finally answered. "I wish Stormwind could lend a druid or two, but you'll have to hope the Argent Dawn pulls through for you on that one."
I nodded. In less than an hour our army was indiscreetly parading through Stormwind and heading toward the Eastern Plaguelands as quickly as possible. Before we hit the gates of our city, Brae had found me and Zen, a smirk on his face as well.
"You too?" I asked.
"My serums are far too helpful for me not to go. I'm hoping I can save some of our own before they…you know."
I nodded. "I'm glad you're coming, Brae. Word gets around pretty quick within these walls."
"Some of us have been waiting for an opportunity to fight."
Zen was the next one to bother me along the way. "Are you okay?" he asked carefully near dusk. We were still moving, about halfway to our destination. By the looks of things, our resting stop wouldn't be a long one…once it did come.
"I'm okay," I assured, stretching my back to rid of the discomfort. "Thanks," I finally muttered. "For believing me."
"I know you have no reason to lie about these things." We continued walking a bit, allowing the fallen leaves below us to crunch beneath dragging feet. "Do you think this'll be enough?"
I exhaled audibly, weary because the question had sifting through my mind as well. "I'm not sure how great his numbers will be in the Plaguelands, but I can assure you that he isn't anticipating any sort of a fight. And I haven't caught any of his thoughts on the matter…I would cross over if his emotions peaked at all…"
"In realization," Zen surmised.
"His creations in the Plaguelands are developing, and could prove to be worthy adversaries. I'm hoping our presence will be a big enough surprise to push him back."
Our band stopped to rest once before finally arriving at Light Hope's chapel in the Plaguelands. It was under the cover of night, and the leaders of the Argent Dawn currently stationed at the chapel were thoroughly confused in our arrival.
Exhaustion had rendered my body useless, but my mind was still functioning the slightest. Zen had me explain the premonition I acquired, and how necessary it was that we prepare for a battle within the twenty four hours.
The rest was a blur. At some point that night I had opted to go to sleep, too exhausted to even find a decent place to lie, and opting for a pew in the cooled chapel. Zen was talking one of the leaders of the Argent Dawn named Nicholas Zuerenhoff as I drifted. It was cold upon the hard surface of the pew, but Zen's warming aura only steps away, as well as the calming lull of his voice allowed me to slip away.
Apparently plans of action began as I slept. Before I woke up the following day the Argent Dawn had already acted. Zen filled me in as I sat up in the pew. My back was incredibly sore, my spine raw as I rubbed the forming bruise. "Overnight, the western tower's guards were evacuated. The Argent Dawn is hoping to keep the casualties to a minimum. Also helps with the element of surprise. We agreed—didn't want the flood of Stratholme to concentrate on the first tower they come to."
I nodded quietly, eyes still adjusting to what little light the stained glass did allow within the chapel. "When do we start moving into position?" My voice cracked due to the lack of use in the cool air.
"Not for a bit. I brought some bread and water. You need something in your system before we begin."
It was noon, I noted, as I ate with Zen near me. He looked incredibly weary, and a new flood of guilt was coming over me. "Did you get any sleep?" I asked softly. The other rogue blinked, as if not completely understanding the question, and then quirked a small smile.
"I don't need sleep."
Scowling, I shook my head. "You look terrible." Zen chuckled, nimble fingers flicking his short bangs off his forehead.
Others had left towards their assigned bases, only because a flock of Alliance anywhere was certain to draw suspicion. As Zen led me to our designated southern tower, he informed me that we had already caught the attention of another adversary over the night. As if to prove a point, he stopped and shook his head.
"What?" I asked.
"Do you feel anything around us…any auras that are…off?"
Frowning, I tried to concentrate on sensing anything around me. I felt the obvious absence of any Undead impurities; instead, there was a different kind of sensation. "What…" I looked around expectedly. "What kind of…?"
"Horde." Zen smirked. "They're curious. The silly Alliance abandoned all of their towers, and now they're preparing for an apocalypse known only to themselves."
"You think they'll try anything?" I asked, clenching my fists in an attempt at withholding my irritation.
"The Horde you detected were a couple of Tauren. Spies. Meaning they very well could be up to something. The Horde and Alliance are always vying for control of these towers. Perhaps they'll see it as a challenge."
"A challenge from a handful of troublesome cows is the last thing we need." I looked at Zen, really looked at him, for the first time in days—past the sagging eyes and crooked smile. I was momentarily floored by the intensity in his green eyes. Hitching a breath, I had to force my own eyes to the dirt at my feet to avoid his curious gaze. "If anything, we need their cooperation."
"Well, I'll leave that to you. Perhaps you can invite the trolls over for some evening tea." My jaw clenched so I wouldn't bite back with a scathing response. "That was a joke," Zen muttered as we neared our destination. "You've been taking things so seriously."
"It's how I was trained," I replied bluntly, trying with much difficulty to ignore Zen's pause of disbelief. I made three sturdy steps ahead before Zen's slim hand found my wrist, his yank effectively turning me toward him. I nearly fell into Zen, my momentum was so fierce.
His other hand locked around my opposite upper arm, leaving me no leverage to pry away; I was at the mercy of his blaring anger now.
It had felt like this another time, when Zen's irritation at me was so overwhelming he had to confront me about it. Seeing the disappointment in his eyes, feeling the aura around him heat up, didn't make it any easier to handle than it was last time.
"Grace."
Why was he so close? Zen's mouth was to my ear, although the otherwise intimate encounter was accompanied by no other soothing contact. He distanced himself from me, purposefully positioning himself close enough to feel but far enough to let it hurt.
"Please don't make this harder than it has to be," I whispered.
"Make what harder than it has to be?" demanded Zen. I swallowed audibly, refusing to acknowledge that I couldn't weasel out of this corner. "Grace, Dennis wouldn't want you living like this."
"Zen!" Both of us turned toward the call, to see Cole and Robert striding quickly down the path we had been taking. The rogue before me loosed his grasp, shaking his head to let me know our conversation wasn't finished. "Figured the two of you would know where the real action would be," Cole announced as the four of us continued walking.
"Actually, I'm guessing Zen's just trying to keep me away from the true danger," I grumbled. "This fort's the farthest out of the way."
"Old habits die hard," commented Cole with a smirk Zen scoffed his disapproval. "How's your rogue career going, Grace?" asked Cole.
"More challenging than anticipated," I answered honestly.
"That's why I'm in no hurry with Robbie here." Cole mentioned his apprentice as if he was a younger brother. "Preparing him fully before he sets off."
"I was well prepared," I stated, suddenly feeling the need to come to Zen's defense.
"Of course you were," Cole said. "I simply meant…Well, Zen is a very talented rogue…"
Once our group arrived at the tower, Cole and Rob split to the other present rogues. I stayed at Zen's side, all the while taking a good look at our surroundings.
The tower was small, and only two storied. A rickety paneling acted as a hangover on the second floor, good for ranged attacks—only a handful of soldiers could stand on it, though. The two stories probably held thirty or so people each, and approximately one hundred men and women were now stationed here. Hopefully under the cover of night our numbers still had an element of surprise. We needed them to hesitate, to second guess their motives so we could obliterate them.
Zen and I sat on the first floor as others began sifting in as close as possible to receive orders. "I don't like the idea of Robert being here," I grumbled as my eyes found the boy I spoke of. "One more mindless imp that could cost the fight."
"I'd rather have him where I can see him," said Zen. "I still haven't quite absolved him as of yet."
"For what?"
"His mistake nearly killed you," Zen answered shortly. "Cole admitted the details of that red mission. Both of them felt terrible, but…" He sighed. "And I wasn't there, either. I was your teacher, I was supposed to protect you, and I wasn't…"
"Don't blame yourself," I whispered. "Some things are out of our control." For a moment my mind flinched back to my last moments with Dennis. Unavoidable…
"The guilt doesn't leave."
I nodded.
Apparently Zen had managed to take charge sometime during the night as well. He stood to address the mess of others now awaiting directions intently. "I want to thank all of you for joining us today." He continued to explain the Scourge's route, as well as the chances we had at encountering Horde. "Defend the tower," Zen insisted. "If you fight on the roads, you deserve whatever's in store for you. If we find ourselves flanked by both Scourge and Horde…" A smirk lifted his paling skin. "Just await orders. This is serious, and the attack I can nearly guarantee one-hundred percent." His hands slid comfortably and rested at his hips. "But I'm sure you are looking forward to that."
A few men jeered loudly, obviously ready to use their training for a cause.
Zen managed to explain nearly everything about the strategies, and he finally looked at me. "Anything you care to add?" he asked softly.
"I'd explain the Undead," I muttered. "How lethal the bite is."
"Right." His fingers fiddled beneath his chest guard, finally pulling out a familiar bubbling potion. "They do bite. Although their claws aren't venomous, the bites are definitely deadly. You will turn, unless," he showed off the tube, "you see me. The bite will be painful. It," the rogue paused, nudging toward me once more. "Grace, you've experienced it. Care to share?"
My mouth opened to decline, but now a hundred pairs of eyes were on me. I stood uneasily, nervously trying to avoid stepping on hooves and legs. "Um…it's an internal fire that just…starts at the bite…and spreads. Through skin, muscle, and bone. It burns to the point of agony. I've survived twice now because of this serum. It's the only way to survive it." Zen nodded his approval, forcing me to continue. "So stay away from teeth. Through experience I can say a blow to the heart is the quickest way to finish them. And I'm not sure how advanced their warfare will be, but be on the lookout for projectiles, gases…the Scourge has been experimenting with different weapons."
After my little breakdown, I moved away quickly from the center of attention. Zen wrapped up, but my mind had wandered elsewhere. Little time was left before it began. Was our army going to present a challenge to the Scourge as they advanced, or had I simply increased the number of Alliance casualties suffered tonight?
Did I sentence all of us to a Forsaken fate?
To keep my mind off the extremely sore subject, I opted to look around at the others. Some were eating—only hours remained until we would exhaust our energy. We weren't composed of only humans now: Night Elves, Draenei, Gnomes, Dwarves…many races belonged to the Argent Dawn.
One male Night Elf in particular sat across from me, his eyes finding mine as often as mine found his. I had never really gotten a good glimpse at the more exotic Draenei and Night Elf races except in books—certainly I had never encountered them this close in real life. I had read about them, studied their features, seen them from afar, maybe—but a living specimen, right at my fingertips, was so much more fascinating.
The daggers at his sides screamed rogue, but what caught most of my attention was his body that peeked from under his Argent Dawn tabard. His skin was almost reminiscent of a tone close to human, except in the nighttime the pale skin glittered with blue. The glow was especially evident in his eyes, brilliant in the darkness and perfectly adapted to seeing at night. His long hair was a dark blue that coincided nicely with the rest of his color, tied loosely behind his back to stay out of the way. He had the typical lean figure of an elf, his muscular arms and legs reminding me of Zen's body structure, although his pointed ears clearly assured the two had no relation. I felt compelled to look him over, in awe at the indescribable timelessness in his angular face. The Night Elf was magically handsome, even as he slouched against the tower's wall, silver eyes drifting to my own figure every once in a while.
At some point he got up to stretch, but instead of taking his usual position moved to stand at my feet. "I'm mildly surprised at the number of fellow rogues here to aid our cause," he began. His voice had a musicality to it, much like Zen's, but deeper. It seemed unnatural to be coming from such a fitted figure.
I chuckled at his remark. "My branch of SI:7 is odd. Despite the individuality of our class, we tend to stick together."
"Hm." The Night Elf rogue looked to the wall I sat against, then smiled at me. "My name is Taellor."
"I'm Grace." I shook his hand, noticing how his long fingers seemed to smother my own frail hand. With one motion I invited him to sit next to me, and he took it, fluidly setting himself in his same slouched position.
"Sorry to come off slightly odd, but…" he paused, looking into my eyes, "I have never seen a human with eyes such as yours."
"Oh?" I blinked, momentarily forgetting that I looked different at all. "Oh. My eyes. They're not natural. It's just another side effect of the Scourge."
Taellor frowned in confusion, his perfect blue eyebrows slightly ruffled. "Purple eyes from a bite?"
"That, or the anti-serum they gave me to rid of the poison," I explained poorly. "My second encounter with Undead venom was a poison gas. It required a different potion to reverse it, so the purple's origin is slightly unknown."
It was far more complicated to explain the gas, I decided, so I dropped off before I went on a tangent. Luckily Taellor didn't ask for details on the 'how.'
"Well, they're very spectacular," the Night Elf concluded. He chuckled, the sound more of a rumble in his chest. "I was considering many different reasons to your eye color. Even mixed race. But your ears seem pretty Human to me."
"Mixed." I quirked an eyebrow. "Half Human, half Night Elf?"
"Something like that. But I have never heard of such beings, so the likelihood, I suppose, was slim."
"Sorry to disappoint," I mentioned. "Nothing as exotic as a mix of races. Just an unfortunate encounter with an Undead alchemist."
"The true story is just as interesting," ensured Taellor. I found myself looking over his form again, noticing now how his dark veins along his hands gave him a more realistic edge. After a slightly uncomfortable pause, the other rogue nodded toward the setting sun we could view through the opening of a door. "Do you think this threat is real?"
"Yes." I knew that my quick and confident answer aroused curiosity in Taellor, but I didn't want to explain. "I know the Argent Dawn's working hard to fight the enemies of the Light, but the Scourge is getting smarter."
"You seem to know a lot about the Undead," observed Taellor as he looked me over. "For a rogue, at least."
"I've had some close calls with them," I answered. "How about you? Rogue working with the Argent Dawn?"
"I was orphaned at a young age, left to a Human paladin named Landon Redheart. He raised me as his son, even though I obviously wasn't going to be gifted with the Light. We moved up here while I was a preteen, and once I became of age, the local members of SI:7 insisted I work towards being a rogue." He paused to gather his story, and I found myself completely absorbed with the elf, with how the rumble in his voice told of his past. "Landon died last year, of natural causes, but he was an avid believer in this crusade. I will do right by his name."
"That's very noble of you, Taellor," I acknowledged, patting his leg due to maternal instinct. For all I knew, this Night Elf was decades older than me, although his face bore no signs of age. After I didn't speak for a while, the man looked over in concern.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Oh," I sputtered, shaking my head. "I'm sorry if I stare. I-" I sighed at my abnormality. "I don't get out much. To finally see a Night Elf up close, it's…exciting. You're very beautiful."
Taellor smirked, eyes closing in humbleness as if he constantly received such compliments. It definitely took an edge of the awkwardness. "The Argent Dawn is very diverse. It's one of our best aspects. Unity through diversity."
"I wish the rest of us could think that simply," I mused. "It's our only chance against the evils lurking in the shadows."
"Grace, you see things more clearly than most Humans do," commented Taellor with a slight chuckle of wonder.
I giggled myself, subconsciously scratching at the scar lurking on my collarbone underneath all of my armor. You have no idea.
Dusk was closing in—if I didn't see the sun disappearing over the horizon, I could definitely see it in the silver of Taellor's eyes as it intensified in darkness. Most of us had taken our positions just outside the tower, seemingly calm even though I felt hundreds of auras shooting with impatience. Those of us with terrible advances in the dark—such as rogues or Night Elves that could shadowmeld—awaited as the first line of defense outside. Behind those was our lethal Light damage, paladins. Priests remained inside to monitor everyone's well-being, since they were highly susceptible to, well, any blow defter than a kick in the shins.
Druids and warriors awaited behind the paladins, ready to finish off the things that refused to fall. And finally, atop the second floor, was our couple of warlocks, another priest for supervision, and two hunters. The image made me smirk—one hunter was a Draenei, his bulky presence towering over the pair of Humans and taking up nearly half of the available space.
The darkness didn't hide the sensation of restlessness nestled within us, and even with the lack of daylight, normally a sure sign of hope, our soldiers were confident. We were throwing ourselves into their territory, and still we stood tall.
One of the druids in cat form rumbled a growl, claws scraping into the dirt below. I closed my eyes, stretching my senses outward until the darkness I knew too well etched at the edge of my consciousness. "They're on the move," I breathed, the information a hushed whisper on my lips, but it still reached across the field to every pair of ears listening. The screech of metal was my response as swords and maces were brought forth in earnest.
Cloaked in darkness, their masses looked even darker and easier to spot. I knew that as soon as I could spot them, Arthas would see our defenses.
What?
I gripped my daggers with extra strength, the knowledge of their substance the only thing keeping me from slipping into the enemy's consciousness. I couldn't lose consciousness here, in the middle of all this.
They couldn't have known.
"He's mildly surprised," I commented, more to myself, but others seemed relieved at the information.
"Do we stand a chance?" asked Zen's voice. His eyes, I knew, could make out the gruesome body of Undead fumbling toward us, though he couldn't fathom any estimate on numbers.
I swooned, straining with the effort of moving in and out of two different consciousnesses. "They look underdeveloped, although the soldiers are armed and protected. As far as numbers," I paused, shrugging, "I can't tell."
So the Alliance has a death wish. One of Arthas' generals—he must have been a general, because he rode a horse—raised his sword, an animalistic cackle whipping through the nighttime and settling on my spine. Who am I to disregard their request?
"Ready yourselves," I stated, the acidity in the words surprising even me.
Their ranks concentrated on the two closest towers—ours in the south as well as the northern tower. As they neared, different kinds of Undead came into vision. Abominations, their disturbing appendages swinging mercilessly, shook the earth as they galloped onward. Oozes, consisting of partially digested body parts and other nameless materials, left trails of slick sludge behind them that bubbled and fizzed. Skeletons sporting helmets and shields hissed at the enemy they were told to wipe clean. Zombies, sporting the most human qualities and yet cursed with the Plague's stage of decomposition, dragged their ripped flesh toward us.
They charged as we remained intact, waiting. When our forces did collide, it was as if Hell itself had broken through the earth.
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