Chapter 27 - The worth of a life

Carrying an unconscious woman almost twice his size and probably twice his weight was by no means an easy task. He only managed to carry her in his arms like that for a short distance before he was literally incapable of continuing.

He dropped the elf - her name was Lyaera, right? - against a tree then slumped with his back against it, trying to catch his breath. The sounds of the Warsong harvesting lumber was now a bit more dim behind them, but he could still make out their savage yells through the thick trees... And he was certain it wouldn't be long before they began to take down the trees in that area as well. 'Great. Just bloody great. Stuck with an unconscious, injured elf woman who wants to kill you as a horde of bloodthirsty orcs cuts the forest down after you. Why don't I try to steal Gorehowl off Grommash's bloody hands next time? That sounds like the next step on my brilliant ideas.'

She is an enemy. She tried to kill you. Kill her now while she is defenseless. Or leave her behind to meet her fate in the hands of the orcs.

Dalrus gritted his teeth. It was bad enough when the voices just tried to bring him down, but now their friendly little suggestions were starting to seriously get on his nerves. 'Not a chance. I won't leave her to die.' Then, with renewed determination, Dalrus looked around to see if there was anything he could use in this situation. There was no way he could actually carry her all the way out of harm's way. He'd have to treat her wounds, then hope she'd calm down enough to be reasoned with so he could help her escape.

In a rare stroke of luck, he spotted a huge hole at the base of a tree hidden under a small earth mound. The mound was completely hollow, and the tree hole was large enough he could fit in there with his fallen companion. Dragging her inside of the spot without worsening her injury was tough, but ultimately, he succeeded in pulling her in there before covering the hole with leaves and branches.

He then spared a moment to think about his next step. 'Come on, be smart about this.' He thought to himself. 'If someone runs into those two corpses back there, they will know who did it, and most importantly, where they went. Get off your lazy arse and clean your tracks.'

With a low moan of protest, the young rogue closed his eyes, then focused on his hearing for a few moments. The only sounds he heard were the Warsong pillaging the elves' buildings in the distance. No sound of anyone coming their way for now, at least.

Cleaning their tracks was no easy task. Dalrus was quite proficient in moving without making them - not that he could have concerned himself with that as he carried so much dead weight earlier - but getting rid of the trail in a way it would look natural was tricky. If he wasn't careful, a sloppy cover-up would be just as good as bright markings pointing at their direction.

It took him a while - longer than he was comfortable with, considering the noises he was hearing from the elf camp were starting to grow louder and closer - but finally he had performed an adequate enough job. The orcs were still dead where they had been left. Dalrus didn't even try to hide them; each was more than twice the weight of the elf he had carried earlier, and perhaps three times his size considering their bulk. He doubted he could even budge them. Instead, it was best to make it look like the elf had killed them, then escaped through the trees to cover her tracks. Hopefully, this would dissuade anyone from chasing after them. Satisfied, Dalrus made his way back to the hiding spot under the hollow tree, where he faced his next task.

He pulled the branches and leaves off the tree hole, slipped through the entrance and covered it back up again, which filled the little cave with darkness. He closed his eyes and leaned against the muddy wall so he could adjust his eyes to the lack of light and catch his breath for a moment. 'Okay, Dalrus, you got this. You already know how to cut people up, how hard could patching them back up be?'

He opened his eyes again. Fortunately, the rogue in training had excellent night vision, so he could see the elf well enough in the dark hole they were hiding in. He knelt down beside her, then proceeded to fiddle with his belt for a moment so he could pull out a little pouch he kept on the back side. The pouch was about as big as both his hands together, and within were four patches of clean bandages and five different bottles with multi-coloured liquids.

Dalrus pulled out the smallest bottle there, which contained a deep yellow fluid. 'Who would have thought I'd ever use it like this?' He mused as he uncorked it. Within the bottle was a paralyzing toxin. A spoonful was enough to make one's body entirely numb in a few minutes. Usually, by coating his weapons with it, Dalrus could make an opponent falter as they lost sensitivity on their limbs in battle, thus leaving them open for a counter attack. Today, however, he was spilling just a few drops over the tips of throwing daggers - which were significantly smaller and thinner than his other weapons. He would have to use them as surgical instruments.

The next step was to inspect just how bad her wound really was. He wanted to avoid this moment as much as possible, but... There was no running from it anymore. Slowly he curled his fingers around the edges of the elf's tunic, then he pulled her vest up to her chest - just at that spot where it got more... Voluminous. Fortunately - or unfortunately, as his juvenile mind told him - her wound was fully exposed at that point. Dalrus winced. It did not look pretty.

A jagged piece of iron was sticking out of her side. It looked like a chipped tip of a spear. Dalrus couldn't even imagine what would make a piece of a speartip break off and bury itself against her body like that, but he supposed he should be glad it wasn't the entire thing, otherwise she'd be dead. The cut was about three inches wide, and congealed blood surrounded the wound. He couldn't tell exactly how deep the pointy end had buried itself inside of her since the blade was broken, but he hoped it wasn't too deep. The iron was as thick as his thumb, and as wide as his throwing daggers. Dalrus took a deep breath. "Alright... Let's do this."

He opened a bandage and laid it over the ground next to him, then placed both his daggers on top of them. First things first; he needed to clean her wound. Dalrus pulled a second bottle from his pouch, this one full of a bright red liquid; a healing potion. Those could perform miracles in battle, he had heard... Unfortunately, the one he had in his possession could do little more than cure little cuts and bruises. His master Silvius, however, had taught him even the cheapest of healing potions could be used to clean a wound perfectly. So, he uncorked the bottle and poured its contents around Lyara's wound. He watched as the congealed blood was washed away, along with some dirt and bits of her tunic that had gotten stuck inside. His eyes shifted to her unconscious face, but so far, Lyara showed no signs of being bothered or waking up from her slumber. 'OK, so far so good. Time for step two.'

Dalrus took in another deep breath through his nostrils, then slowly exhaled through his mouth in order to calm and steady himself. He then took hold of one of the poisoned daggers and placed his free hand over the skin around her wound. Her violet flesh was surprisingly tough to the touch. He half expected her to be a lot... Softer.

'Yep, that's totally what you should be focusing on right now. Because clearly you didn't get enough of her the other night.'

With an internal roll of his eyes, Dalrus held his breath and stabbed the elf just underneath her wound. He felt her entire body tense, and heard a short gasp coming from her... But alas, she did not wake up just yet. He waited a few moments for the poison to spread. Although he was using it as an anaesthetic, the venom was potent and she would probably be numb around her entire waist for a while. Dalrus lowered the first dagger and pulled the other one, which he used to slowly scrape the skin around the wound in order to loosen the flesh that had healed around the iron. He was glad she was poisoned and unconscious, because that would probably be a maddeningly painful experience.

Dalrus was surprisingly calm throughout the whole ordeal. Maybe because he was so focused on what he was doing with his hands - the task of removing the mortal weapon out of her - that he didn't have any room to grow nervous by the situation they were in. For the next hour, the rogue proceeded to slowly scrape and loosen her flesh and muscle while constantly pouring healing potions and adding a little more poison every now and then to renew its effect until, finally, he managed to dislodge the broken spear tip from inside her. It was a very hard task, since the weapon had lodged itself in between her ribs and was probably scraping her lung. On top of that, it had a jagged edge like a saw, which only made pulling it out even harder. The worst thing, however, was stopping the bleeding after the spear tip was out. He was reminded of one of his lessons with master Silvius...

"Tell me, boy. When do you think a dagger deals the most damage?"

"When you stick the pointy end through someone's chest?"

"Ideally, yes. But I'm not talking about a fatal blow. I'm talking about raw, blunt damage. Rending flesh and wounding your foe."

Dalrus pondered about that. "When you hit a vital organ, then?"

"Hah! Well, you're not wrong. But the truth is, whenever you get stabbed by any weapon - be it a dagger, a sword, an arrow or whatever - you'll receive the most damage not on the way in, but on the way out. Know why?"

The boy had scratched his head in puzzlement. "You mean the damage doesn't come from sticking sharp pieces of steel inside someone?"

Silvius scoffed, then slapped the boy across the head. "Pay attention, boy! I said the MOST damage. Of course you can easily kill a person just by shoving a weapon inside of them. But the worst part comes when you pull the weapon out. That's when you're going to expose the wound and let blood flow unimpeded. A weapon also serves the purpose of plugging a wound and stopping the bleeding until it's removed. A person with several arrows sticking out of them is more likely to survive than someone who foolishly takes their time to pull them out without proper medical care. Understand now?"

"I guess. Can I get back to dinner now?"

As Dalrus lost himself in his flashback, he almost didn't notice the moment when he finished removing the broken weapon out of Lyara's body. It was almost as long as his fingers were, and it was covered in her deep, dark blood. Wasting no time, he tossed it to the side and emptied the healing potion over her now gaping wound before pulling out the rest of the bandages out of his pouch. He wrapped all three of them around her waist, using the fourth one to make a thick cushion against the wound to keep it closed. Now that the bleeding was not going to kill her, the next worst thing would be getting an infection - the third greatest cause of death in a battlefield, after blood loss and having slabs of iron shoved into vital organs.

Once the bandage was done, Dalrus took a step back and admired his work. The bleeding was not profuse thanks to the potions he poured against the gash. He pondered if he should stitch the cut... But alas, he did not have a needle, nor string. This really was the best he could do.

With a long, tired sigh, Dalrus leaned back against the muddy wall of their little underground cave and was suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion, not just physical, but mental as well. That had been incredibly tiresome. 'Bloody hell, I never want to do something like this again. Better stock up on healing potions for the future.' He thought to himself, feeling a shiver run up his spine. He ran a hand up his brow and was surprised to see he was covered in sweat. Looking to his side, he noticed it had gotten darker outside, with the moon's pale, silver light casting a faint shine through their hole's hidden entrance.

Dalrus closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly to calm himself and try to relax a bit. His hands were trembling, and he laid them over his lap. He couldn't allow himself to fall asleep, in case the orcs began to advance that way again... But then what would he do? Fight the entire Warsong clan just to save one elf who had tried to kill him earlier? But then again, he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to just abandon her and run away if things turned south. 'Ah, well. I'll figure something out if it comes to that.' He thought to himself.

However, luck appeared to be on his side once more. The orcs didn't even show any sign of coming that way. Throughout the entire night, Dalrus heard them chop up wood and pillage... But then again, that party was a raiding one meant to end the enemy camp. Eventually they'd have to retreat to resume proper lumbering operations. And so they did. By the time the sun rose, Dalrus left their hiding spot and confirmed that the Warsong had abandoned the elf camp... Or what was left of it.

There weren't even corpses behind. What hadn't been looted or chopped down had been put to the torch. The elven bodies had been gathered into a pile to the far end of the camp, then burned down. Dalrus wrinkled his nose at that horrible sight. They were little more than charred husks under that blazing inferno, and the smell was awful... But he had smelled worse before. He thought about searching for survivors or provisions, but a quick survey of the area quickly snuffed that flicker of hope. The orcs had been thorough before leaving. The only thing they hadn't taken were the huge piles of chopped up lumber presumably scavenged from the mortal remains of those ancient living trees the elves had all over their base earlier, and it was clear they'd be coming back to gather the rest.

He felt sick. This was even worse than when the undead attacked Gilneas... At least then, those things weren't people. They were mindless puppets being controlled by truly malicious, inhumane creatures bent on their destruction. But this... This was pure savagery. Dalrus had spent enough time hiding amongst the orcs to know they weren't animals. They could think, they had their own hopes and dreams and desires like anyone else. And yet... As he gazed at the charred land, the blood splatters, the broken weapons strewn all over the now dead grass, and the many maimed bodies... He felt a sudden wave of nausea flow through him, and his knees grew weak. Dalrus fell down on all fours, one hand gripping his mouth as he tried not to sob and hurl. This was just... Too much.

This wasn't survival. It wasn't a necessary battle for a greater good... It was pure, mindless, senseless carnage. These orcs... They really were no better than the demons, or the Scourge for that matter. So what did matter? Dalrus knew better than anyone how easy it was to end a life... And the previous day also taught him how hard it was to keep one going.

What was even the point of it all then? Even if he kept on struggling like this... Inevitably, one day, he, too, would die... If this damned war didn't kill him before he even had a chance to grow wrinkles. Or a beard. He really didn't want to die before he could grow a big, thick beard like his father had... Or do more than just kiss a girl... Or at least get back home and see his family one more time.

Now you see how futile it all is. The very circle of life is meaningless. In the end, all will perish. All will be consumed by the void. You are no exception.

Dalrus sobbed. Just give up... It's pointless to continue to struggle. All you do is prolong your suffering. Just give in... And the pain will end. Let others feel this pain. Be the one to inflict this pain on them... Before they can do it to you. Start with that girl... It would be so easy. All you need to do is squeeze her neck as she is defenseless... Feel her life slip away through your fingers...

Suddenly, there was a loud 'cawk' from above, and that noise cut through Dalrus' thoughts like a knife. He lifted his head and looked up. There was a huge black raven spiraling down through the sky towards him. The bird landed graciously a short distance from where the youth was still on all fours, then folded it's wings and stared straight at him.

Looking into the bird's deep, dark eyes... Dalrus suddenly felt himself calming down. The bird hopped closer to him, it's head snapping from one side to the other as if examining the rogue. Then, it let out another loud, piercing 'cawk' and began to beat its dark wings once more. Dalrus watched as the bird took high in the air and flew away over the vast treetops.

"That bird..." Dalrus thought. Of course, wherever there was death... Birds like those would be inevitably attracted. Ravens, crows, vultures, buzzards… Looking around once more, Dalrus began to take further notice that he wasn't truly alone after all. There were more birds resting upon the tree branches surrounding the ruined camp. Furry little critters could be seen along the trunks and roots... And he could have sworn he spotted what appeared to be a huge white elk spying on him through some thick foliage before it hopped out of his sight.

Dalrus straightened his back and got up to his knees. He closed his eyes.

Yes... He could still feel it. That... Ancient, mystical presence that seemed to fill every little bit of that forest, from the tiniest nook of grass to the mightiest tree trunks. Even here, even now, he could feel the forest's life force flowing. The elves may be dead... But that wasn't the end. Life wasn't over. And besides... They weren't all dead. He had managed to save one, hadn't he? Someone who was in need. Someone who was lost in despair, lost in their fear... He didn't know what path she would choose once she woke up, but the important thing was... She was still capable of choosing a path to go on.

Even though that was just one, single life he had managed to protect... It was already enough to ease the burden within his soul. 'This is why I came here in the first place.' He thought to himself. 'Maybe I can do more. Maybe next time I can save more people... Or keep anyone from dying like this in the first place. But even if the carnage won't stop... Even if in the end, we are all doomed to perish... Even if it's just one, single life... It's still worth fighting for. It's still something worth protecting... Like my home. My family. Felrus... I hope you're alright, brother.'

Give up. It is pointless. You know it. He is already lost. They have all fallen in the hands of your hated enemies.

This time, Dalrus actually managed to smile before those dark, familiar words. 'Yeah, you're all talk, mate. But words alone aren't gonna be enough to make me lose hope.' He opened his eyes, and was greeted with the warmth of the rising sun casting it's glorious light over the entirety of Ashenvale forest. 'If the other option is to just keel over and give up on life... Then I choose to live it to the fullest with the little time I do have. Even if it's meaningless and insignificant for everyone else... For me, at least... It's all worth standing up again for.' With a soft grunt, he stood up. 'If nothing else, then just for the satisfaction of proving you wrong. By the way, we've been on this relationship for a while now and I never asked your name. I'm Dalrus, how are you?'

Nothing but silence.

Despite the grim reality that surrounded him... That fact was... He had managed to save at least one person. One person who, just like him... Had goals. Dreams. Aspirations. A will to live. Every life that had been lost the previous day was an irreplaceable tragedy... But that was why he had to keep on fighting. To prevent that pain... That horror from spreading and repeating itself.

He would do his part. He would not give up... And most importantly... He would not forget the weight that a life carried.