Wintergrasp

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

Page | 2 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

Page | 3 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

Page | 4 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.

Page | 5 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,

Page | 6 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.

Page | 7 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.

Page | 8 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.

Page | 9 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.

P a g e | 10 “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.

P a g e | 11 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

P a g e | 12 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

P a g e | 13 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.”

P a g e | 14 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

P a g e | 15 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

P a g e | 16 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

P a g e | 17 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.

P a g e | 18 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.