Chapter 4: The Painful Memories of the Past

Why are we the ones who are tormented so? Will I finally achieve peace at last?
Why are we the ones to suffer, the ones who must bear the suffering of our past?

A cloaked figure stood alone in his private chambers, deeply immersed in meditation. Wearily, he clutched his staff of oak, hoping to somehow ease his pain. These past few days had taken their toll on this poor soul's health. Memories were all he had left of his love, memories that brought back feelings of sorrow. He tried his best to conceal the grief he felt over her loss, but failed miserably. He had always envisioned of how their lives would be led in happiness and joy, and how they would grow ancient together. He could almost imagine standing alongside her, gazing at the sun setting for the last time. His fingers intertwined with hers, with a calming breeze flowing past the luscious green forest canopies of Ashenvale. They would take a moment to let the serenity of it all sink in, to soothe their aches and leave their minds to a blissful contentment. The calm of it all being a refreshing change from their troubled lives, which would finally end in an peaceful slumber for all of eternity.

Yet, a scenery of such grandeur and splendor only paled in comparision to the perfection that was his beloved Tyrande. Her figure, sleek and slender, would seem so elegant as she gracefully fired volleys of arrows upon the wretched undead. With beauty unmatched and prowess over archery paralleled to only a few, many looked upon her as a symbol of grace and strength combined. Her dark blue strands of hair would dance playfully in the wind, hypnotising any onlooker into a mystical feeling of awe and wonder. As her nightsabre growled fiercely on the battlefield, Tyrande aimed her bow and arrow in such a lethal manner that it aroused feelings of fear and despair in her foes.

His name was Furion Stormrage, once demi-god and Prophet of the Night Elves, now a broken shell of a man. Subjected to the eternal torment of losing what he had held most dear, life itself had grown all but meaningless to him. He had discreetly chosen to let his soul slowly wither away into the cold depths of the nether for there was nothing worth fighting for anymore. Shackled to the constant whims of the elder's council, he had lost all perspective on freedom itself. His will was not his own anymore ever since, yet Tyrande persuaded him to pursue his dreams. They had been shattered long ago, yet he pretended as if nothing was ever wrong. Sorrow was tearing him from within, but he hid his feelings from his brethren in order to ensure that their hopes would thrive for another day.

But now, she was gone and would never come back. He had been helpless to save her, or atleast that's what Furion constantly tried to force himself to believe. Yet the sad truth of it all was that he knew that it was own inability to act on the spur of the moment that had resulted in the perishing of his loved one. He sighed heavily and immersed himself in a deep meditation once more, hoping to connect with his ancestral spirits to seek guidance.

Ancient spirits, I seek your guidance for I fear I may have lost my way. I fear that I have lost my way and there is no path to be found. Send me a sign so that I may continue to aid my brethren for yet another day. My health is already failing and I sense that my passing is growing ever closer. Please, light the path for it is our darkest hour. If there is no chance for me then atleast guide those that have long since gone astray. The undead threat goes stronger with every one of us that falls, so I implore your guidance. Guide them, before it is too late... even if it is too late to save my soul. I care not whether my soul perishes in a peaceful death, but grant me the desire I hide away in my heart. I wish to be reunited with her, if it is not too much to ask.

A tear streamed down his wrinked face as he mouthed his silent prayer. The thought of never being able to lay eyes upon Tyrande was too much for the old man. Hundreds, if not thousands, were slaughtered daily but this was the first time that it had brought so much grief. Solemnly, he rose to his feet and placed his staff gently on the ground. More tears descended down his cheeks and seeped into the crevices of the ground beneath. At that precise moment, someone stepped into his chambers.

"Shando Stormrage, Lady Traxex and Lady Moonfang have managed to thwart the undead threat from the Darranas outpost. Anu' Durah, we have reigned victorious!" said the emissary hastily without a moment's pause for taking a breath.

Furion irritatedly responded, "Very well Thr'ax. You may leave now."

"Are you not excited, Furion?" inquired Thr'ax with a hint of surprise in his tone.

The Prophet sighed heavily and replied impatiently "As always I am, but tell me, were there any casualties?"

Thr'ax answered in a melancholy and mournful voice, "Several archers succumbed to fatal injuries and the undead taint. Also, a few of the protectors were crushed by the raging meat wagons."

Furion slowly closed his eyes and dismissed the messenger firmly, "Very well. Leave."

Thr'ax pouted just a tad bit right then, but let his sense of honor best his broken pride. The Night Elves were a naturally proud race afterall, and an overflowing pride could be found in each and every one of them. In some, this molded into such an obscene amount of arrogance that it inevitably fostered in them a feeling of superiority over all other beings whom they merely dismissed as "inferior". They bowed to no one, not even their own archdruid. Ignoring the rudeness of Furion's strange urgency, Thr'ax left the chambers without saying another word.

As Furion's eyes closed, his mind drifted over the memories that haunted him every moment of his waking life. He could feel the world itself trembling beneath his feet, as his mind forced itself to the last moment he laid eyes upon her. His humble abode, the floors of elk and the oak-laden walls, faded away from plain sight. The deafening silence of the room was soon drowned out by the cries of war and echoes of battle. Rows upon rows of soldiers filled the empty space around him. The ground itself cleaved outwards and fashioned sleek hillsides and jagged cliffs. Trees sprouted from the ground, in contrast the the blighted ground which encroached the lands in the horizon. The sun descended into darkness once more, and the gleaming moon rose to illuminate the starry night sky.

From the murky, dark soil bust forth the ancients themselves, rising proudly to defend the Barrow Dens until their very last breaths. Their vines entangled gigantic boulders which they dug out of the earth itself and endlessly hailed massive rocks upon the legions of Undead that dared to defile their lands. Volleys of arrows rained upon the ranged support of the Scourge, impaling each and every creature that was unlucky enough to be caught in the midst of the piercing arrowheads. There, in the center of them all stood Tyrande Whisperwind on her ferocious nightsabre, aiming her bow and arrow viciously into the fray. Her nightsabre perched silently in the shadows, reflecting the dazzling rays of moonlight in its stark-white fur.

She whispered a fiery incantation to enchant her next arrow, and pulled it far back into her bowstring. The arrowhead burst into flames just as the arrow slid across her delicate fingertips. It trailed across the darkness, leaving a path of fire as it followed its trajectory. Upon contact with the cloak of a necromancer, it imploded in a fearsome blast, sizzling the tender flesh of the wizard-like being. She caressed her mount gently around the neck, and it responded with a loving, appreciative purr.

Just then, a wave of frost of incredible magnitude forced her mount several paces back. A dark entity of unimaginable fortitude of power stepped forth between the clashing armies. After casually tossing his cloak backwards, he thrust a skeletal appendage into the air and snapped his bony fingertips. At once, a layer of ice surrounded his entire being, and an icy mist began to swirl. It soon took the form of a crystal vortex, perfect in its crystalline structure and simplicity. The ice shattered into tiny little shards which swiveled furiously around him. The elves soon grew fearful and begun to retreat, but alas, their efforts were futile. One by one, these shards of ice bore into their skulls with razor sharp precision, fatally wounding them.

He dismissed the undead soldiers that had gathered around to gaze at this mysterious spectacle and turned to face the Priestess of the Moon. He was the Lich, Kel'thuzad. A master of manipulation of ice, and adept in the forces of the shadowy nether, he was bound to be a match for the elegant Priestess. Leaving not a moment to spare, Tyrande instinctively drew an arrow from her quiver and launched it towards the hovering Lich. The air suddenly chilled around Kel'thuzad, and before the Priestess could even blink, the air in front of him compressed to form a barrier of ice. The arrowhead harmlessly deflected off the hardened layer of frost and casually dropped onto the ground.

A frown formed on the Priestess's face, yet she continually pelted the Lich's barrier with arrows, hoping to somehow shatter this mystical icy shield. Irritated by her relentless efforts, the Lich closed his eyes and went into a deep trance. Tyrande seized this oppurtunity by enchanting her next arrow with the innate magics of flame and aimed it directly in the center of the icy block. As soon as the tip of the fiery arrowhead came into contact with the Lich's icy barrier, it melted and dissipated into an aura of mist. The arrowhead struck clean into Kel'thuzad's abdomen, breaking his intense concentration. Seething with anger, he fashioned a mist between his fingertips, which soon began to emanate a dark, shadowy energy.

"I'm going to savor every moment of this, Priestess." remarked the Lich snidely.

Tyrande retorted defiantly, "Elune shall watch over me, you vile creature of the shadow realm. If she wills it, may your demise be a swift and painful one."

Kel'thuzad responded irritatedly, "Spare me the formality of having to endure your self-righteous speech. I have much to do, so let us make this a bit quick, shall we?"

Tyrande's mouth broke into a cheerful smile, just before she began to fire her next volley of arrows in rapid succesion. The Lich mysteriously seemed to evade the arrows without even moving from his spot, yet their trajectory was an accurately and carefully planned one. Instead of fussing over this strange phenomenon, the Priestess began to blur out her surroundings, and focus in on her mind's eye. A holy shroud of light fused with the deepest confines of her soul, and the stars above began to twinkle uncontrollably. Bewildered by this bizarre show of the night sky, the Lich continued to channel his spell, expecting the worst to happen.

A single beam of white light suddenly shone upon Tyrande, enveloping her entire body in its brilliance. Fragments of the stars themselves suddenly careened towards the earth below at a lightning fast pace. Before the Lich had time to initiate a counter-spell, he was crushed under their immense force. With his energy suddenly drained, and his vitality quickly fading, he dropped onto the cold, hard ground. The stars themselves seem to continually crash upon the earth's surface, eradicating much of the unholy Scourge in the forceful impact.

Kel'thuzad lay on the ground, desperate to regain his lost energies. He focused on the nexus of energies of a necromancer that stood nearby, and began to feed off its spiritual essence. With a flick of its wrist, the necromancer dropped lifeless to the floor, and the Lich was revitalised once more. The white light cast upon Tyrande suddenly faded, and she quickly reacted by stretching another arrow across her bowstring.

"Enough!" thundered the booming voice of the angered Lich

He waved both of his arms in a mystical fashion skywards, rapidly and repeatedly like clockwork. Mist rose from beneath his feet, and twirled around his entire body, ascending slowly while revolving around him. A flash of blue lightning cackled from his bony fingers, animating the mist that swiveled around him. It began to harden and take the crude shape of a large globe. In the palm of his left hand, an orb of shadow materialized of enormous power. The orb of shadow fused with the globe of ice, and began to dance frantically in circles, before a visible crack began to appear in the center.

The ice shattered to form jagged spikes, which hovered several feet above the ground. Rythimically they swiveled around each other, about a fixed point where the globe originated. Tyrande was seemingly thrust into a deep trance after gazing at this mystical splendor. They moved in perfect unison and harmony, mesmerising all who dared to look towards them. Slowly, they inched themselves closer to Tyrande and before she snapped back into reality, the jagged spikes rushed towards her. Her sharp reflexes suddenly took hold, and so she leapt gracefully off her nightsabre. Tyrande was left to gaze in sheer horror as the spiky icicles gutted her beloved pet. The Priestess had grown fond of that furry little creature and had even spent long hours taming it, yet now it lay lifeless and mutilated before her. She seethed with anger, but did not let her calm composure falter.

Tyrande instincitvely dove towards her bow and arrow set, narrowly avoiding an icicle that was ready to pierce her torso. She ignited an arrow with an enchantment and thrust it at the Lich, who prompty sealed the arrow in a globe of ice and let it fall upon the ground. The Priestess drew another arrow from her quiver, but no sooner had she placed the arrow across the bowstring, did she feel the ground beneath her collapse. Her leg sank deeply into a newly formed crevice, trapping her in place completely.

Kel'thuzad immediately smiled with glee and spoke to Tyrande, "Oh, this is delicious. What impeccable timing! Pity it has to end so soon, Priestess. I was just about to start enjoying myself."

The Lich prepared himself to cast his most powerful spell, the infamous chain frost. It is said that only a few have had the honor to have laid eyes upon such a magestic spell of untold power, and there are even fewer who have survived to tell the tale. Kel'thuzad cackled manically as he harnassed shadow energy from the surroundings themselves, multiplying its intensity tenfold as he drew out energy from his vital reserves. A mysterious glint in his eyes told Tyrande of the imminent danger she was about to come face to face with. Tried as she might, her leg wouldn't break free of the trench she was caught in. Upon closer inspection, she noticed something that sent shockwaves of terror through her mind. The harsh truth of realisation dawned upon her as she spotted a layer of frost that had begun to overflow out of the crevice itself. The Lich's bellowing laughter echoed across the battlefield, growing louder and louder in amplitude as time lapsed. Suddenly, time itself froze, as a ripple of massive energy tore through the air. A concentrated blast of frost erupted from his fingertips and propelled itself through the air, tearing even the ground asunder in its destructive wake.

She stared at her forth coming doom in sheer horror, as she was realized it was fruitless to even try escaping. In one last act of desperation, she pierced her thigh with an arrow that she had grasped in her hand. It cut delicate muscles and flesh with sheer precision, and shattered the tough bones of her leg. Yet still, she could not break free of the icy trench's grasp. She sighed heavily and gently whispered into the calming winds, "I've failed you my love. Forgive me, I'm sorry..."

Furion, sensing Tyrande's plea, suddenly turned towards the source of her plight. Fearing for the worst as he saw the rapidly approaching destructive icy spell, he raised his staff into the air and quickly mouthed out the words to a spell. However, he was far too late, and the trees that magically sprouted from the earth were too feeble to bear the weight of such an immense force. Torn to mere splinters by the harsh impact, the icy nova ripped past the trees and steadily closed in on Tyrande. She screamed in intense agony as the bitter cold tore through her flesh and blood. Shockwaves of blinding pain shot throughout her body. The bitter cold and numbness, a welcome to the agony that endlessly surged in her physical being. The devastating impact had left only remnants of her corpse, truly a testament of the malevolent Lich's fury.

Time stood still once more, as Furion gazed at his final memories of Tyrande. Like a curious child, he studied his surroundings, embedding these moments forever into his memory. He reminiscened over how pathetic and helpless he had been then, and of how he could have done so much more. As his eyes grew watery, he suddenly broke into uncontrollable sobs. The battlefield, the cries of war, the echoes of disaster faded slowly, and his humble abode came into focus. He was back home, but it was not the same. He was alone, and forever would be. His mind raced back through the painful memories once more, and he gazed intently into Tyrande's eyes, hearing her final words once more, "I've failed you my love. Forgive me, I'm sorry...".

He lovingly placed a hand in her dark blue strands of hair and stared passionately into her eyes, seemingly losing all concept reality in their midst.

Fret not my love, everything shall be restored as it was. We shall be reunited again soon, Tyrande, soon...