Endings

Sometime in the past…

Izarre stood in her full plate once again before the gates of Shattrath. Today it was she who would stay behind. She adjusted her armor and kissed a woman goodbye. The gates would soon break and the orcs would flood the city. She looked back at the fleeing Draenei and smiled to herself. It was then that she saw her, a small girl of no more than twenty crying and clinging to an older man. Izarre moved through the crowd towards her. She kneeled in front of her and slowly undid the band holding the star to her brow. Without a word she tied it to the girl’s brow, ran her plated hand over her cheek and stood to return to her position. She turned, smiled at the girl, and gave her a little wink.

As the gates begun to break she turned towards the hundred strong unit of Vindicators behind her.

“This, is what we’ve trained for. This is the day we’ve lived for. Each and every one of us was hand-picked by the prophet because we are the very best of the Vindicators. Each one of you owes me an hour. That’s one hundred hours our people will have to flee paid for with the blood of this squadron and one hundred more for every squadron here. This is NOT the last stand of the Draenei. Let the orcs feel the righteous fury of the Vindicators. Let their filthy blood curdle at the sound of our battle cry. Let their fel-eyes be blinded by the wrath of the Light.”

The sound of hoof stomping stone and sword beating on shield rang out from her unit and spread through the city blocking out even the sound of orcish catapults hitting the city walls. Izarre turned and slid her helmet on. The gates could no longer hold the barrage of catapults and the battering ram of the orcs. Moments later they cracked and fell on the ground, followed by the first charge of savages. “Now!” she yelled out, her order followed by one hundred hammers of Light which blasted through the first charge or orcs and out the gate in a blinding flash. Izarre gripped her Vindicator mace with both hands and charged forward. The fall of Shattrath had begun.

 The present…

Izarre stood with her fellow Servitors at the barricade put up outside of Brill. As she gazed out over the field between them and the Forsaken capitol in silence, as did the majority of the Alliance army. The images of the elven home burning was the only thing she could think about. She hated this. She hated this war and yet, it was the only way that she could keep her new home safe. It had to be done. In all her years of combat she had never been laid siege to a city. She had never been an invader. She didn’t like the feeling. She watched as a lonely orc followed by a troll crossed the battle field. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope that a flag of truce would be raised. A flag that never came. Soon, the sound of dwarvish artillery and the swing of catapults filled the air. In the distance she heard the battle cry of a single orc. “This is it!” Knight-Liutenant Arnost yelled, drawing his sword “May the Light see us another dawn! Forward!” It had begun…

 Sometime in the past…

Izarre panted heavily as she completed the swing that crushed the skull of an orc. She had lost track of how many days they had been fighting. Her armor was battered and it’s crystals broken. She was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds and likely internally as well. It was only the memory of her family and her faith in the Light which kept her going. Their numbers were now few and they would all fall to exhaustion or orcs soon. Still, she turned to meet her enemy. With each one that fell we told herself “One more…just one.” She lifted her hand at a charging orc, letting out an orb of Light and turned to face another. The young orc looked like one who had barely gone through his first hunt. He fought with the vigor and recklessness of youth, flailing a jagged spear around, fueled by fel blood and rage.

On any other day, this orc would have have been no more of a challenge than a savage talbuk but today wasn’t a normal die. Izarre was spent. She dodged his initial charge with the help of her armor and returned it with a sloppy swing of her mace. She missed, barely, her mace knocking one of the orcs tusks off. It took her tiered arms too long to recover. She felt the hit as spear hit her armor and the sharp pain as the blade pierced her torso. Her hands let go of the hammer and moved to grip at the spear as she fell to her knees.

Blood gushed from her chest and lips. She turned to look behind her. With a swinging arch and the last of her strength she lit her war mace with Light and hurled it at the passage behind her. As the mace hit, it exploded, collapsing the passage. She had paid her hour, several times over. She had bought her people hope with her blood. She smiled, thinking about her children and collapsed, the Light extinguished from her eyes.

 The present…

The alchemist camp the Servitors were sent to destroy burned around them. Their mission was complete. It was time to retreat back to Brill and see what High Command had planned for them. "KAGH! LOK-NARASH!" rang out near the Servitors location. Izarre turned in time to see a large contingent of horde warriors led by a large orc and a druidic bear charging their location, their numbers likely doubling their own. She heard M call the retreat and making sure that the rest of her companions had begun to flee, she begun to run. Not stopping, Izzy aimed her arm canon over her shoulder and attempted to slow the front line of the charge with a bolt of chain lightning, not bothering to check if it struck. Every second counted. She continued to run, following her companions. Then she felt it. A sharp pain in her back which spread through her entire upper body. She fell forward a jagged orcish spear thrust through her spine and chest. She tried to move. Her legs didn’t respond. Her metallic hand clutched at the ground as she pushed herself up on her side. She looked towards the group of advancing horde in time to see their leader, an old, experienced orc, missing a tusk draw his axe. Blue blood gushed from her chest and lips as she tried to claw away.

It was then that she heard it. The sound of breaking barrels and the screams of both alliance and horde rising from the battle field. Both Horde and Servitors turned at the cries, watching as a mist of green arouse in the distance. They watched as a barrel crashed on the ground behind the advancing Horde unit. Within seconds the pursuing members of the Horde begun to fall in the green haze, writhing, chocking, their flesh melting from their bones. As both Horde and Servitors watched they rose as skeletons and charged their former allies. Some tried to flee, others fell to the expanding plague. Izzy’s eyes shifted back to the Servitors. There was less than a minute before everyone was overrun. She lifted her hand and swung it violently in an arch in front of her sending a gust of wind towards the Servitors lifting even the heaviest of them and blowing them back a good two hundred feet away from the camp. With the last of her strength her hand swung up. A wall of flames formed between the Servitors and the extending plague. Fire would keep them safe from the plague. Fire would stop them from doing anything stupid. Looking at the Servitors through the wall of flames, she smiled. Her family was safe. It was all that mattered. She smiled as the Light faded from her eyes and she fell on her side.

 The Shadowlands…

Izzy felt her soul leave its body. She watched as the Servitors fled to safety. She watched long enough to see her fallen body not rise with the plague. It was likely designed to act on the living. They would have time to raise the corpses after the Alliance invasion failed. It was time to go. It was time to find the peace she had longed for. She let herself go towards the Shadowlands. She could feel both time and space fading into those lands she had visited before. She saw herself, smiling, reaching out to her. She smiled back. She could see her family behind her other self. She reached out, their fingers touched, and Iz’ahare, after 22,743 years died.