Wintergrasp

by Taylor Vincent

The storm is coming, Varendil thought as he pressed his body against the

embankment. The shell detonated against the ground over his head, and the

shrapnel flew harmlessly past the priest’s body. A Forsaken running for cover behind

him wasn’t as lucky, however, and great twisted bits of steel sliced through his

already technically lifeless body, which then fell even more lifelessly to the ground.

The priest turned away from the hillside to face the carnage. The landscape was

littered with wreckage, bodies, and Alliance arrows. One Horde demolisher stood

defiant against the incoming fire, hurling its own payload back at the Alliance guns.

Infantry darted out from behind the behemoth of a vehicle to try to find a safe place

against the hillside like Varendil had. From his little alcove, the priest threw healing

spells at the soldiers in the line of fire as well as magically shielding those between

sources of cover so that they’d get knocked around if a shell went off, not flayed.

Another elf, a mage, next to the priest in the alcove shivered a bit and peered up at

the older priest. “Y’know, it wasn’t always this rough,” Varendil said.

The first time, the roughest part took place before the actual battle. The

priest had been minding his own business and killing elementals when a mob of

three Alliance came riding by and saw the easy target. Luckily for Varendil,

Discipline priests don’t die easily, and while he had to pull every card from his

sleeve so fast he got paper cuts, he’d managed to escape and evade the group until

he ran across an orc shaman sitting serenely on the ground, surrounded by totems.

He actually ran right past the shaman, and as his pursuers approached, the orc took

a deep breath, stood, and with a sudden motion of his hands electrocuted a human
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so severely that he actually started to burn as he collapsed to the ground. The other

two, a dwarf and night elf, quickly turned around and ran off.

Varendil walked back up to the shaman, leaning forward and panting heavily.

With a gentle wave of a leather-clad hand, the shaman urged air forth and into the

priest’s lungs. Varendil coughed for a moment, surprised, but felt refreshed.

“Thanks,” he offered to the orc, who nodded.

“The storm is coming,” he said.

The priest looked at the sky, confused.

“They gather to attack. We have minutes,” the shaman added, then turned to

lumber into the fortress up the hillside. Varendil quickly followed.

This time, the priest was working his way up the same hill on the southeast

side of the fortress, but the approach was much tougher. The demolisher fired, and

a horrendous sound could be heard from the direction of the ramparts, at which the

crew of the Horde vehicle cheered. An orc in Kor’kron armor next to Varendil, one

the elf knew from previous battles here, howled “FORWARD!” and the priest

shielded him as he turned the corner and charged up the hill, Varendil and several

other Horde soldiers in close pursuit.

The tower at the corner of the fortress wall had crumbled and fallen, pieces of

stone littering the ground before a length of damaged wall. The demolisher fired

once more and took another chunk out of the top of the wall. However, a gun on the

wall returned fire, and an explosion rocked the hillside as the demolisher burst into

flames, a tauren and a pair of forsaken bailing out of it as it collapsed on the

battlefield. Without the vehicle drawing fire, the infantry were sitting ducks on the

field, and everyone scrambled toward the walls of the fortress. A pair of night elven
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archers on the same platform as the fortress’s gun fired down at the Horde soldiers.

One arrow bounced off of a shield Varendil threw up at the last minute, while

another caught the throat of a Blood Knight, who dropped dead before the priest

had any time to react. An elven Death Knight stepped nonchalantly over the body

and reached out, dark magics pulling the first elf from the platform and down before

him, where she screamed before he cut her down. The second archer then took aim

at the orc leading the charge, but he whipped a throwing axe at her and she was

forced to dive behind cover. The mounted gun fired back on her behalf, however,

blasting Varendil’s magical shield and a bit of flesh off of the Kor’kron, who

stumbled and fell. Varendil stopped, channeling a heal toward the orc before

grabbing his hand attempting to pull him up. The second part didn’t work as well,

however; the orc was in plate and the priest in as good a shape as your average

man of the cloth. The orc began to pull himself to his feet when the next shell hit a

few feet away, sending the priest flying several yards with a cry and landing in the

snow.

The first time, it had been a Dark Ranger, not a Kor’kron. With cold precision

and a complete lack of emotion she hollered orders at the members of the Horde as

they scurried to the walls to defend against the Alliance attack. Guns were mounted

on platforms on either side of the main gate into the fortress, and both guns were

blasting a convoy of Alliance siege machinery working its way up the road to the

ramparts.

Alliance soldiers on the ground huddled beneath the guns, blasting at the

Horde cannons with rifles and magic, while Horde fighters hopped down to engage

them. The guns themselves functioned well in anti-personnel duties, but they were
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trained on the oncoming catapults and siege engines, thundering steadily toward

the battalion of gnomish and dwarven vehicles. Varendil himself was keeping to the

eastern platform and providing protective and healing magic to the Horde soldiers

on the ground. A troll engineer expertly manned the cannon beside him, shells

issuing forth from his cannon like clockwork. As the priest sent a bolt of healing light

down to ricochet between the infantry on the ground, he turned and watched one

round burst from the cannon and arc cleanly into a hulking Alliance steam tank. The

gun on the tank whirled around and stared back at the priest, who began edging his

way behind the cannon. As he turned to take cover behind the wall, the tank fired,

its payload obliterating the wall he intended to use as cover and sending the priest

himself tumbling down the stairs leading to the platform.

The blood elf came to a moment later and crawled back up to the platform.

He peeked over the edge to see that the debris and shrapnel had knocked the troll

from the platform to the ground below and neatly carved him into far too many

pieces for mortal healing. The steam tank had called its shot a success, and swung

around to fire at another target, the blast obliterating one member of a squad of orc

and tauren grunts being led by a familiar-looking orc shaman. Varendil winced and

looked up at the cannon, which remained on the platform and even seemed

relatively unscathed apart from the troll blood. He pulled himself up into what

remained of the gunner’s seat and peered out through the crosshairs. The tank had

kept rolling after firing, so it was no longer in the sights. Varendil looked down and

pulled on one lever, which caused the machinery to groan and swivel reluctantly to

the right. Another quick throw of a different lever brought the sights down to land

squarely on the tank, but Varendil thought about gravity and feathered the gun

back up just a bit. He held his breath, and squeezed the trigger to fire.
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The cannon reeled, a spectacular noise accompanying the firing. As the gun

rocked back toward its original position, Varendil watched as the shot arced down

and hit the siege tank. The body was unhurt, but the explosion tore the turret of the

vehicle clean off and sent it twisting through the air before crashing through a patch

of ice and sinking into the water. Varendil howled and cheered madly before noticing

that the gun’s auto-reload still worked and he could fire again. He clutched the

controls and grinned.

Varendil woozily came to, eyes blinking open wide once he saw that all snow

before him was red. As his vision began to come back into focus, he saw that most

of the blood was from the arm of the orc he was still holding. It had emptied itself of

blood because the actual body of the orc was still back where Varendil had left it

forty feet away. The priest sighed in relief and nonchalantly tossed the arm away

before pulling himself back to his feet.

Varendil Dawnblade was not a typical healer, but he still held a high value on

life. On his last major trip into Icecrown, every death of someone under his

command had bit him deeply. It’s why he didn’t do that anymore, why instead he

took groups of recruits at Light’s Hope Chapel and taught them not to be heroes,

not to get themselves killed like his squad had. But here, fighting for this fortress,

things were different. Death came randomly and instantly, and it wasn’t a healer’s

job to prevent death, but to concentrate on saving what he could. Besides, there

was no time for grief, which became apparent as the priest had to quickly run out of

the way of a siege engine that would have neatly pancaked him. He quickly put the

giant construct between himself and the still-thundering cannon of the fortress,
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running around its side when a hatch on the vehicle opened and a thin blue arm

yanked him inside and set him down before closing the hatch once more.

Varendil panted and shook slightly. Blasts from cannons he was used to,

nearly being run over by friendlies he wasn’t. He looked up to see the familiar dark

ranger that had pulled him in. He grinned at the recognition, but she rolled her

eyes. A voice called out from the front of the vehicle.

“Sorry about that! I saw a body in a pool of blood and didn’t expect it to get

back up, and I’m new to steering this thing…” it said.

Varen scrambled to peek into the driver’s compartment and saw a bulky,

plate-clad orc crammed into the seat. “Brux!”

“Wha- Champion Dawnblade?! Wow, now I’m really glad I didn’t run you

over!”

“Jackass, you’re driving us past the wall we’re supposed to be crushing!” an

undead-sounding voice called from the turret.

“Gah!” Brux said, and swung the vehicle back around toward the wall with

the ever-so-problematic gun turret. The siege engine shook as its gun fired

repeatedly at the wall, then shook harder as the Alliance gun started firing back.

Varendil stumbled back to his bench opposite the ranger.

“Looks like it’s us two against the world again, eh?”

“Us four this time!” Brux called from the controls.

“Don’t get nostalgic. I’d prefer you concentrate on keeping us alive. Even

your mediocre healing skills might make a difference here,” the ranger said.

“Yeah, insult me. Saved your hide last time,” Varendil replied.
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Said skills had, in fact, saved her hide. Varendil had continued to fire from the

walls at the approaching Alliance vehicles, though his lack of experience and the

damage to the gun meant the turret’s movements were erratic and the shots often

a bit off. Noting the difficulty, the ranger ascended the stairs to Varendil’s platform.

“What the Nether’s wrong up here? You’re scaring our guys on the ground,

they’re worried you’re gonna hit the wrong targets,” she said.

“And you are?” he replied between clenched teeth as he tried to get the gun

to aim steadily.

“Ranger-Captain Maiandra Shadowfall, and answer the question.”

“Well, for one, this thing’s gunner’s in a dozen bits and pieces on the ground

below,” Varendil said, pausing to fire another round that blasted an Alliance catapult

to bits. The priest cheered loudly, but the fallen elf didn’t react. “For two, half the

thing’s functionality went with him. For three, I’ve never done this before.” He fired

again.

“Then get off the bloody thing and let someone who…” Maiandra said before

trailing off. She grabbed at the priest’s arm and hauled him out of the seat despite

his protests, then dove with him down the stairs. Varendil tumbled from her grip and

continued down another flight before landing on his stomach on the fortress floor.

The round hit a moment later, immolating the gun and blasting its platform right off

the wall of the fortress. The ranger leapt down the remaining stairs and scooped up

the nauseous elf, turning to retreat further into the fortress when another salvo hit

and the gates to Wintergrasp Fortress burst open. A squad of Stormwind

commandos that had awaited the blast charged through the doorway, expecting

scattered and bewildered Horde infantry. They weren’t expecting a priest with

enough wherewithal to mentally blast the squad with horrifying shadow energy.
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Most of the humans went running in terror back out the door, but one pushed

through it and drove a sword into Maiandra, who screamed and swiped desperately

at him with a dagger before falling. The human turned to slash at the priest, but his

blade met resistance a foot out from where the elf’s body should have been and

bounced off the shield, flying free from his hand. Varendil clucked disapprovingly

before slashing upward with his spellblade into the human’s face. He screamed and

fell.

The remaining humans had regrouped and were running back in the broken

gate when a burst of fire up from the ground torched the squad en masse. A

Forsaken mage laughed from his position halfway up the stairs. Varendil shielded

him and yelled.

“Guns! Next gate! Go!”

The mage threw up a quick salute as he turned and ran, teleporting up to the

platform on the second layer of defenses. Varendil stood and channeled a strong

heal at Maiandra, who coughed and awoke the moment the heal hit. Noting the

oncoming Alliance vehicles coming through the gate, he stopped to help her up.

“Time to go, Captain.”

The ranger stumbled to her feet and the pair sprinted back to the wall and

the warded teleportation pad that waited there for any member of the Horde on the

retreat. A catapult pursued them, fire issuing forth from it toward the two. Varendil

shoved the ranger onto the platform first and shielded himself as the flames began

to wash over him, the shield glowing as it held the fires at bay just long enough for

the shot from the mage’s cannon to hit the vehicle, knocking it on its side and away

from the priest, who sighed and teleported to safety.

On the other side, he dropped to sit against the wall. Maiandra approached

him, examining her mostly-mended injuries. She peered down at him, face softening

only a little. She hesitated before speaking.

“Why did you save me?” she asked.

He shrugged. “You remind me of my wife. Plus, the idea of someone getting

run over by one of those machines scares the crap outta me.”

Varendil winced as the vehicle took another hit from the Alliance gun. The

Forsaken gunning began cursing loudly before explaining that the gun wasn’t

working anymore. Varendil pulled him down out of the turret so the thing wouldn’t

simply collapse on him, and he slumped in the now cramped interior of the vehicle.

“Brux, I don’t want to be stuck in a box until after I’m dead. I have a daughter

I have to keep away from boys.”

“You’ve a daughter, Champion Dawnblade? I didn’t know that. How old is

she?” the orc asked.

“Seventy-five,” Varendil said. At the stares he received, he shrugged. “Hey,

like my wife says, she can date once she’s married.”

“I really hope you’re a better healer than you are a father,” the Forsaken

spat.

“Of course I am,” Varendil replied. “I’ve been doing it longer.”

He didn’t tell them he’d been healing for five years and being a father for

only about six months; they didn’t need to know that part.

“Hang on, kids! This thing still has one form of attack!” Brux called back, and

the tank suddenly smacked into something and stopped, sending the three

passengers flying a bit.

“What did you do, orc, just drive the thing into the wall?” Maiandra asked.

“Best way to work the ram, ain’t it?” he replied.

“Oh, great. Hang on, everybody,” Maiandra said.

The vehicle rocked as the ram pistoned against the wall. The passengers

groaned, tried to hang on, pulled themselves back into their seats, and then it went

again. Between rams another bit of Alliance artillery hit, and a huge dent pushed

into the passenger’s compartment right beside Varendil’s head. He winced.

“Are we going to die?” he asked.

“Probably,” Maiandra said.

The ram drove into the wall one more time, and then an ominous cracking

sound was heard. Brux blinked, then tried to hurl the machine into reverse. “Oh,

boy. That last shot wrecked reverse, kids.”

Varendil shot up from his seat and ran to the back of the machine, pounding

at the door as he tried to find the latch. “Letmeoutletmeoutletmeout—“

Maiandra yanked him back just as the earth rumbled and a twisted

cacophony of noise accompanied the collapse of the wall atop them. As the noise

stopped, she smacked him on the side of the head. “You really rather be outside

with rocks falling on you or inside a big steel cage?”

“Shut up,” he said.

“Well, now what?” the Forsaken asked.

He was answered as with a shrieking of steel against steel, the tank began

moving, knocking everyone to the floor and making them close their eyes and cover

their heads as they felt the rocks move around them. Eventually, it stopped, and

Brux peered out the viewport. “I think… they moved us,” he said.
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Varendil pulled himself free from the ranger and slowly opened the door.

Looking out the back of the vehicle, he saw the hole in the wall they’d made, two

demolishers rolling into the fortress as well as numerous infantry. He whooped in

triumph and turned back in. “Everyone out, we’ve taken the walls. Get your

complimentary magic shields, go forth, and slice up some Alliance.”

Brux howled a warcry. “All right! Enough driving this thing!” He grabbed his

mace and shield and barged past the other three, Varen shielding him as he hopped

out the hatch and sprinted toward the action. The Forsaken pulled a leather hood

on, grabbed a pair of daggers, and followed suit. Varendil then shielded himself and

hopped out the door, holding a hand out to help the Dark Ranger down. She rolled

her eyes and took the offered hand to help her down out of the wrecked siege

engine. “You’re an ass,” she said.

She ran off, and Varen surveyed the action. Another siege tank had shoved

theirs clear before moving to the gate to the heart of the fortress. Horde agents had

made their way to the guns and disabled them, and now the engine and

demolishers had a clear shot at boring a hole deeper into the citadel. Only Alliance

infantry stood in their way, and they were held up by Horde forces. He watched a

troll take several arrows to the torso and fall, however, and knew he didn’t have

time to enjoy the scenery.

The first time, when the gates to the inner fortress blew open, the Horde was

ready. The soldiers with shields had lined up, covering one another, before the steps

leading into the interior vaults. The archers and spellcasters stood behind them,

sending volleys at the doorway. However, the Alliance led with a siege engine,

which absorbed a lot of punishment before it finally broke down. It was then that the
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catapults and demolishers came speeding through. Two Alliance catapults, speedy

little vehicles, bore down on the Horde lines. The flames issuing forth from the

machines forced the lines to part, and Horde scattered, several falling to the flames

before Varendil could reach them with his healing arts. He ran up behind Maiandra,

who picked off the driver of one of the catapults with a well-placed arrow, then

turned and sliced up an advancing night elf with her daggers. Varendil threw a heal

at a Death Knight who had fallen to the ground, and when the dwarven rogue

attacking the knight looked up at his healer, the priest grinned and blasted him with

a few bolts of Holy energy. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but it bought enough time

for another arrow from Maiandra. The Death Knight hopped to his feet and charged

in again.

A Forsaken with engineering knowhow had managed to blast the other

catapult onto its side, where axes and magic had gutted it thoroughly. The Horde

lines started to reform. For a moment, there was relative peace as the casters fell

back, the soldiers in plate and mail coming to the front. They had a moment to

prepare before the Alliance charged once more. Demolisher barrages preceded

them; the rocks fired blasting holes in the Horde formation just as the Alliance

closed. Varendil shifted out of the way of a body rolling past him and hurled a bolt of

magic at a human who attempted to push through the hole. The human tripped,

landing on the priest’s outthrust dagger. However, the momentum of the body

knocked the blade from Varendil’s hand, and he was forced to leave it. Another

warrior, a draenei, swung at him, and he tried to duck beneath the swing, but

simply ended up falling. The draenei lifted his mace to drop it on the priest, but two

shimmering, ethereal forms leapt from behind him and knocked him away from his
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quarry, biting harshly at his armor. Varendil quickly stood and blasted the warrior

until he lay still. The wolves turned around and ran back toward their master.

The priest’s gaze followed them until he saw him. The shaman, the shaman,

was leading a group that had outflanked the Alliance force. They had their own

demolishers, the machines firing and knocking the Alliance vehicles about, dropping

one to pieces and knocking another on top of its own support troops. The troops

coming from behind – Kor’Kron, Defiler, Warsong, even some Blood Knights – hacked

into the rear of the Alliance group. Immediately the battle turned, and the Alliance

forces began panicking, scattering, and routing when they weren’t falling under

Horde blades or magic.

Within a few minutes, it was over. A few stragglers of the Alliance persisted in

corners of the fortress, but most retreated or fell. As the action waned, Varendil

cleaned himself up a bit and found the aged shaman that had led the flanking force

that won the day. The orc noticed his approached and bowed. Varendil, a bit unsure

of himself, saluted.

“That’s twice you saved me, and only once I saved you today,” the priest

said. “I owe you. I’m an enchanter and tailor, I’d be happy to make you some

spellthread—”

The shaman shook his head. “It is war, it matters not. We are not here to

keep score amongst ourselves,” he said calmly.

Varendil nodded. “I guess not. We won, that’s what’s important.”

The shaman snorted. “Won? No. They lost. They’ll be back. We have the

fortress for a while longer, that’s all. We are the target now. A bigger target, as they

have wounds to avenge. We haven’t won anything.”

The words rang true as Varendil and the other Horde soldiers prepared for the

gate to the main courtyard to fall. This time, however, they were on the other side,

and didn’t know what to expect. They had a similar setup, however – a pair of

demolishers behind a siege engine. The engine rolled back a bit as a pair of

payloads from the demolishers blasted the gates open. The tank flipped into its

forward gear and charged ahead. Varendil, Maiandra, and Brux waited behind it,

ready to run out beside the tank and lead the assault. Brux howled and turned the

corner, running up alongside the machine, and Varendil saw what waited for them.

While the Alliance infantry charged ahead, one squad remained on the steps

where so long ago the Horde had made their stand. Each member was armed with a

goblin-made rocket launcher. Varendil blinked, then watched them fire, a straight

line issuing forth toward the siege engine. He’d already ensorcelled Brux with what

magic protectives he could muster, and watching the salvo approach, he quickly

used his magic on Maiandra, then himself.

The rockets hit and shredded the front half of the siege engine. Brux,

insulated against harm, but not inertia, by the magics, was knocked immediately

out of Varendil’s line of sight. Maiandra screamed and dove for cover. A piece of

shrapnel the size of a hawkstrider smacked into Varendil, knocking him flat on his

back. He groaned, watching more Horde fighters charge past and over him until he

finally gathered the strength to sit up. Bits of metal and stone splattered with blood

were scattered in the doorway, surrounded by bodies of more Horde than Alliance.

Not seeing anyone familiar, Varendil stumbled ahead to try to heal what he could.

Two elven Death Knights were ahead, each swinging runeblades and blasting

foes with dark magics. Two night elves fell this way, then a human and dwarf.

Varendil healed one that was limping badly just as another rocket from the Alliance
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defenders caught the other squarely in the chest, blasting him into four somewhat

equal cuts of Death Knight which scattered. His partner in combat screamed and

dropped to his knees, stunned and beyond words. He started to sob and Varendil

simply stepped past him. Demolisher fire finally came from overhead, the rounds

striking the scattering Alliance rocket squad directly, and a series of ancillary

explosions rocked the courtyard. Varendil continued forward.

He watched an orc take a pair of swords from a human square in the torso,

quickly channeling healing power toward the orc, who felt the revitalization and

reached up to split the skull of the human with his axe, both then falling together,

dead. He heard the clanking of plate boots to his left side and turned, having barely

enough time to throw a barrier on himself before the dwarven paladin charged, a

blast of Light striking the priest before the dwarf’s warhammer did, sending him

twirling back several yards. As he skidded against the stone of the courtyard, he

saw the Forsaken gunner from the adventure of the siege engine earlier that day

come to the rescue, rearing up behind the paladin and dropping his daggers into the

dwarf’s shoulders. Varendil struggled to his feet, extending his arm to funnel Light

energy at his guardian assassin a moment too late – the dwarf’s warhammer hit the

Forsaken before the magics could, spraying blood and chunks of skull across the

stone even as the dwarf fell to his knees, the poison from the Forsaken’s blades

flowing through him. The priest nonchalantly blasted the dwarf with a bolt of

shadow, finishing him off, then moving on.

Two orcs were battling an enraged bear, stabbing at the beast’s hide

desperately while backpedaling. The bear swiped at one, knocking the greataxe

from the orc’s hands, then leaping forward and sinking his teeth into the soldier’s

neck, falling and crushing the body beneath his girth. Varendil shielded the second
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orc, and when the bear swiped at the remaining Horde fighter, he found no

purchase. The orc counterattacked, slashing with one of two axes and drawing

blood. The druid attacked once more, catching the orc and forcing him to stumble to

the side, but aflood of energy from the healer pushed him back up. The orc attacked

again, and his axe tore into the bear’s guts. Another slice to the neck and the druid

fell, reverting to a similarly bloodied elf. The orc looked back at his healer, but

Varendil was already busy channeling a wave of Light that bounced between a pack

of soldiers trying to advance under arrow fire. A few arrows arced over the Horde

fighters only to bounce harmlessly off of the priest’s shield. The archers turned and

ran, Horde soldiers in hot pursuit.

Varendil turned to look for wounded just in time to ruin the quick attack of a

gnome who’d leapt up to club him in the back of the head. The mace instead struck

him across the chin. He heard a loud crack and felt his jaw shift, immense pain

rushing through him, and the involuntary scream making the pain in his jaw worse.

He dropped quickly to the ground, and the gnome leapt atop him. She raised her

arm to strike again before freezing, her pupils shrinking into a look of terror. Varendil

hazily looked up from the ground to watch the felhunter leap over him and tackle

the gnome.

A Forsaken warlock pulled the priest to his feet, but Varendil couldn’t feel his

legs and quickly tumbled down once again. He heard the screams of the gnome as

the demon began to feed, but knew he was fading out quickly. He pressed a hand to

his chest, willing the Light into him, and felt his energy go to work, flowing to his

jaw, painlessly shifting it mending it, setting it back into shape.

He willed more power into himself and felt the haze on this thoughts clear. He

pushed himself to his feet, channeling more Light into himself, feeling his bruises
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lessen, his mind focus. The Forsaken knelt down and began feeding on the gnome

as well, the screaming fading to a gurgling noise, and then nothing but the sound of

teeth tearing flesh. He averted his eyes and began to move forward once more, but

stumbled again, finally feeling his trauma and exhaustion begin to set in. An arm

wrapped itself around him and pulled him back up, and Varendil turned to see

Maiandra at his side. She let go of him to pull her bow and send an arrow into a

human on Varendil’s blind side. She didn’t smirk, just said, “We’re even.” Varendil

nodded, then raised a finger to make a point before collapsing on the ground. A

now-bloodied and seemingly well-fed warlock walked over him before the priest

blacked out.

Varendil awoke at the gentle prodding of a plated hand.

“You passing out in victory is becoming a recurring theme, Champion

Dawnblade,” Brux said.

Varendil sat up. The orcish and elven soldiers strode slowly among the fallen

on the field, poking at them, checking for survivors. More Horde than Alliance bodies

were strewn across the courtyard, and noting the situation, the elf grabbed Brux’s

outstretched arm and pulled himself to his feet.

“I can help,” he insisted, refreshing himself with a burst of Light energy, then

pulling a torrent of mana from the area and beginning to inspect the bodies on the

ground for any sign of life. The first, a troll, had no breath or energy about him. The

next, an elf, was barely breathing, and Varendil quickly channeled healing magic

into the elf, who coughed up blood and began breathing. A Kor’kron with bandages

moved to the elf, and Varendil continued to the next limp shape on the ground.
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Dead orcish death knight. Dead troll shaman. Dead tauren druid and warrior.

Live, relatively, Forsaken. Live orc, dead elf. Live troll weeping over a dead troll.

Brux had moved on to help others, and Varendil finally worked his way to the steps

of the fortress vault, finding one more body. The color drained from the priest’s face

as he ran past the set of totems up to a familiar-looking orc shaman.

Varendil noted the dark veins of demonic energy on the shaman’s chest, the

telltale marks of a warlock’s attack. He stood, channeling a quick heal into the

shaman. No response. A blast of Light bolts into the orc. Nothing. He finally stood up

straight, a glow surrounding him as he prayed for revival. The heal went off.

Nothing.

A figure approached from the other side. “What. Did you miss the hole in the

back of his head?” Varendil looked up at Maiandra, then at the orc’s head. He saw

the blood in the orc’s hair, the unnatural profile of the orc’s head’s shadow on the

ground. Slowly, Varendil lowered his hands. The ranger sighed and walked away,

and Varendil simply sat down on the stone and held his head in his hands.

We haven’t won anything.