Chapter 5
SHRIKE NEEDED TO FLEE.
Her body ached from the fighting, from the elemental spells that she and Rhakra had called down on Forsaken forces that had come for them. She passed their charred corpses on the ground and got back to the pond. She knelt at its edge, cupping her hands in the water and splashed the cold liquid on her face.
Shrike's face tensed as the heat was drawn from her face, and she did the same with her limbs. She used a little bit of her limited elemental energy to bring the water to her, covering her body and armor to clean the gore, ichor, and blood. The cold waters caused her body to tense just as her face had, but soon they relaxed as the heat was drawn from her muscles.
SHRIKE NEEDED TO FLEE.
She could not face what was coming; she knew Velariene had at least a half-dozen Deathstalkers within the Coterie when they fought together during the War of the Thorns; that many Deathstalkers coming from all angles could quickly kill her. Then there was that terror; that Forsaken without the jaw, his tongue wet and slabbering with ichor. He was a monster of a fighter, supernatural in both speed and strength.
Shrike knew not the creature's name but knew that he was going to be the greatest threat to her. He was unlike the other deathstalkers she had encountered before - no, he attacked from the front and applied pressure while his compatriots would surround her. With he and all the others of the Coterie - she steeled her mind, attempting to quiet the seemingly insurmountable anxiety that gripped her.
SHRIKE NEEDED TO FLEE.
Her mind and body screamed at her that she could not win this fight - they were not up to this daunting task. Gro'kar stood against the oncoming tide of the Coterie, and he was among the greatest warriors that she knew. If she did not flee, if she chose to stand and fight, she would die in vain; her task would remain incomplete.
She would die in this place on the Darkshore, less than a mile away from a prison camp. If she perished here, she'd have achieved little progress in her war. She chose this war based on her morals and ethics and yet honor dictated to her that she stand and fight and die just like Gro'kar had. Perhaps, she thought, that is precisely what would happen. Would Gro'kar welcome her among their ancestors if she did? Would he shun her if she ran on this day?
SHRIKE NEEDED TO FLEE.
And yet she rose from her kneeling position, turning towards the direction of the prison camp. In that camp were those that defied the Syvlanas' will - not just Rhakra's brethren and comrades, but Night Elves and Humans and Worgen and all the Alliance races that stood against the tide but found themselves overcome by the powerful, aggressive waves of the Horde.
The Night Elves and Gilneans suffered greatly during the War of the Thorns, and it was for them that Shrike was exacting this. Those innocent people - men, women, and children - cut down as if they were animals being hunted for sport. Astranaar had burned ahead of the warhost, but it was their responsibility and rested on their shoulders… it was the Horde's shame to bear.
SHRIKE NEEDED TO FLEE.
She dug her heels into the ground and checked her axes and armor. The leather was cut in some places, her axes were beginning to dull, but they were both serviceable. She wished she had Gro'kar's ax to use - to wield his mighty strength and blade. When she died here, she knew that he would greet her among the ancestors; that they both died with their honor intact.
No, Shrike might not have had Gro'kar's mighty ax or strength, but she had his spirit with him. Even as a gentle breeze flowed by and cooled her wet skin, she felt a heat deep within her. Her heart began to beat hot, heavy blood through her veins. She felt Gro'kar's anger and rage flow through her; with it, she could not go astray.
SHRIKE NEEDED TO FLEE.
She would be alone in this desperate fight, but then again, no shaman is ever truly alone. Each shaman, bound to the set of principles and beliefs and training, was not alone for the Sibling Spirits were always with them. Despite her depleted elemental energy, she reached out and called to them: Brothers, sisters, I need you now - come to me and help me face this terror! She did not hear their voices, but she felt their power. She grasped at it, clinging to tendrils and wisps of energy that she felt surge through her. Just let me hear your voices…
The Sibling Spirits did lend their voices to her ears but merely gave her more and more power. Shrike gripped each one that was offered and provided, reaching out into the night with her mind. She felt power course through her as her elemental energy was replenished. The Siblings did not speak with her - perhaps that was a sign that she should run?
SHRIKE NEEDED TO FLEE.
Yet as she saw Velariene and her two shaman compatriots crest over the hill, she did not flee. No, the Siblings were with her - strangely, they still did not speak to her, but she knew they were with her elemental energy began to surge through her. She focused her vision, allowing the power to spike within her to gain a greater understanding. Each quiet step, each minor rustling of leaves - every sense was focused. It was then she realized there were not a half-dozen Deathstalkers within the Coterie now, but a full dozen - including the monster and Velariene.
It did not matter, for she strode forward away from the pond. She chose a spot; it was at a slight incline, where the bodies of the former Forsaken soldiers lay. She reached into the earth, calling upon that elemental energy to create stalagmite spikes to impale the already dead soldiers. She took several deep cleansing breaths until she finally heard all the Deathstalkers stop around her… and Velariene called out.
"Nazkura the Disgraced," she yelled out, her raspy voice echoing between the trees. "I shall not even ask you to surrender, but I do come bearing a gift."
Shrike needed to focus her vision on Velariene, but she saw her reach into a saddlebag and reveal an Orc's head - though she barely recognized it as Gro'kar's. The interceding months between his death and now had not been kind, and the rotting flesh was barely hanging on. Velariene threw the head forward, but Shrike merely braced herself.
"You shall soon understand why I am now called Shrike."
The attacks came quickly - before Shrike could even finish the sentence. The monster came first: disappearing from Velariene's side once she had called out to Shrike. From the layperson's sight, he was near invisible, but Shrike's senses were heightened - she felt his presence as he moved forward. His movements were lightning quick as he bounded and closed the distance between them in mere seconds. True to form, he appeared to the naked eye a moment before engaging, two wicked daggers in hand.
A flurry of dagger thrusts and cuts came at Shrike; she barely had time to respond, stepping backward and barely managing to parry the blows with her axes. She let him get in close, a tactic forming in the back of her mind to lower their guard. She began to feign struggle, going as far as to allow several of the monster's blows to strike her armor and cut right through her chainmail - creating chinks in her armor.
The other Deathstalkers revealed themselves at what seemed to be opportune moments while the monster with no jaw relentlessly assaulted her. One Deathstalker came from the right, which she managed to barely dodge, but another came from her left and cut through her leather armor and into her flesh.
She growled as she surged elemental energy within herself; she channeled it while beginning a kalimag chant that called the winds to her axes. The incantation hastened each movement, a flick of her wrist becoming a swift uppercut, a small movement of her arm becoming a wide arc to push her attackers back to create space for themselves. She made one such sweeping cleave with both her axes and while the monster managed to jump backward in time, the other two Deathstalkers were not so lucky - her axes bit into their armor and flesh, tearing into their bodies.
Turning her attention away from the monster, she pivoted and took several quick steps toward the deathstalker to her left. Ichor leaked from the deathstalker's body as her axes had bitten deeper than Shrike had initially thought. The axes, still empowered by the wind, moved with such grace that the deathstalker barely knew what hit him - the Orc shaman took one great slice off of the deathstalker's right arm before following up with the other ax, biting deep into the deathstalker's shoulder. Shrike put a stable foot on the deathstalker's chest, pushing him away.
When she heard him fall to the ground, she stomped her foot and summoned a stalagmite to impale him - finishing the job. Shrike listened to a groan of pain and then his final 'breath' before turning on the second wounded Deathstalker. She charged at him like a storm, lightning beginning to crackle from her axes, and more Deathstalkers moved in to stop her attack. Yet they were too late - she buried an ax into the Deathstalker's skull. She summoned another stalagmite, impaling him in one swift stroke before turning just as quickly.
The monster was on her in a second and three more Deathstalkers a moment after. Even empowered she was, she could not shrug off the jabs and thrusts and slashes of the oncoming daggers. If Shrike parried right then, she felt a stab to her left, if Shrike backed away she felt them all surging forward, if Shrike advanced she felt them coming up behind her. Each of Shrike's movements was countered and checked near flawlessly by the deathstalkers. She was doing everything she could to keep them back - dodging, parrying, deflecting the blows, ripostes… but all they did was delay the inevitable. She was becoming overwhelmed.
She managed to kick the monster back for a moment, creating space between them. She summoned more elemental energy, throwing her hand at one of the deathstalkers and slamming him with an earth shock while bringing one of her axes down hard on a Deathstalker - crippling one of his arms. She saw him cravenly attempt to flee, but she pursued; she needed to take every opportunity to thin the Coterie.
Shrike began a brief chase after the wounded deathstalker; he was determined not to meet death again. As she was running, she felt the monster's presence just behind her. She reached the wounded Deathstalker, shoulder-checking him to send him tumbling to the ground. Shrike stopped short, mumbling a quick chant to summon a stalagmite and end this deathstalker, but she was tackled by the monster before she could finish. The spell broke, the wound deathstalker surviving by a mere few words. He skittered away while the monster stabbed his wicked dagger into her shoulder and then another between her ribs. She roared and cried out in agony as she summoned the strength to push him off.
She pushed herself off the ground, bleeding in several places. She was losing strength in one of her arms and soon became limp. Her chest heaved, her breathing labored and pained, as more Deathstalkers closed in around her - even Velariene herself. She looked past her, seeing the two onlooking shaman who had never joined the fight. She spat black blood to the ground, preparing herself.
Her vision was blurry, and she knew that the only reason she was still alive was the Siblings' energy that was coursing through her. She grits her teeth, biting back the pain as she threw herself at one of the Deathstalkers. Her movements were sluggish, but she called on the spirit of fire to enhance her attacks and set herself ablaze. She lunged and slashed with all her might - wounding her victim.
She turned on her heels and called out to the Sibling Spirits - she pleaded with them for more energy. She ran forward as fast she could charge, desperately attempting to find another victim. Her world was spinning as her vision blurred even more, and she huffed and gasped for air. She felt a surge of elemental energy as she made one final attempt to grasp at the power still yet keeping her in this fight.
Yet it was all for naught; Shrike should have fled.
She felt a sharp sting in her spine; as she looked back, she felt another sharp pain to her abdomen, the wicked blade sliding into her stomach. Shrike felt Velariene's soft, cold touch around her neck as she gently gripped it; Shrike felt the kiss of Velariene's lips placed softly on her ear as she whispered into Shrike's ear. "The Darkwolves will not be spared."
Shrike's vision turned to black as she felt her limbs fail her, and blood dripped over her lips. She coughed and sputtered as life seemed to fade from her.
Her mind completely emptied as her heart took a final beat.