(This is a 2 in 1 story containing Ignitheus’ experience in Darkshore and efforts at the siege of Lordaeron. As such, it’s a long narrative.)
Ignitheus gazed over the war zone in front of Lordaeron’s entrance as he stood on the walls’ balcony. Staff sheathed to his back, his body was cloaked in flames with shoulder pads that ignited with volcanic spikes. In place of a fleshed out face, a hood and his burning skull obscured it. His eye sockets filled with fire within them bore into the conflict that reined down below. Scarlet and dark violet robes covered the entirety of his body, with gloves and footwear in the same color scheme.
Normally, he was a bright light in any cave, but today was different. They were mere embers. Discouraged. At another time, conflict like this with chaos ensuing was entertaining to watch and get involved in. But here? It was pointless. The Alliance outnumbered the Horde tens of hundreds to a mere few hundred. Even the war cry ‘For the Horde’ didn’t sound reassuring. For the most part, Ignitheus held no loyalty to Sylvanas, the current Warchief of the Horde. When the call to arms was sounded, however, both he and his unit, The Relentless Dawn, had little choice but to go.
“I should not even be here. Not after-...”
***Darkshore – Several days ago***
The sky was red and orange. Ashes fell from the sky like snow. Teldrassil was burning in the far distance opposite of Darkshore’s coastline. There were screams of pain and terror of both the dead and dying. The captured Kaldorei’s wailing in grievance and pleas for the Horde to rescue their relatives. Ignitheus looked around to the nearby forces of the Horde. This act against the tree, out of nowhere, stunned nearly half of them. He couldn’t tell if the expressions were of awe or displeasure. The other half cheered and roared in their “victory” and turn of events away from the initial goal: to capture Teldrassil as a foothold. Not to burn it.
There was no honor in this.
Ignitheus was a pyromancer, and in all his years of warfare, this was one tree fire he did not find an appeal to. In fact, it angered him. So many unnecessary deaths of civilians from Darkshore and Teldrassil combined. Despite Saurfang’s control over half of the troops to capture civilians, Sylvanas’ half instead had cut down most of what they tried to save. The distant screams of civilians from the top of the tree as they burned alive hit Ignitheus to the core. It made him realize something that only made his views in the war far worse.
Sylvanas’ Horde assault on Darkshore was the same in comparison to Arthas’ Scourge during the Fall of Silvermoon, and the grand tree’s destruction was similar to the loss of the Sunwell. Darkshore was ransacked near entirely. So was Quel’thalas. The attack on Teldrassil was like removing a large percentage of the Kaldorei race. The same for his own people.
***Ruins of Lordaeron – Present time***
Ignitheus shook his head. He felt nothing could gain from this war. Especially not from remembering Teldrassil. His emotions overtook and broke him upon returning to Orgrimmar after Darkshore’s assault. He couldn’t risk that happening again. Not here where his attention to survive was needed. He needed his mind off of this and carried himself to the war zone. With a small group of three, he traveled to the outskirts of the battlefield. If he couldn’t save people on Darkshore, perhaps he could here. Forsaken, anyway.
Hurriedly, his group of one Orc warrior and Troll priestess rushed from one abandoned home after another for any survivors, but with no luck. They found none but fresh corpses splayed in corners. Someone else was cleaning these homes before they got here... and just as the trio returned outside, the hairs on Ignitheus’ arms rose as he felt something electric whisk behind him.
The Orc saw the enemy before Ignitheus did; charging towards a Dwarf shaman with blade and shield up. The troll began counterattacking a Lightforged Draenei with holy fire. For Ignitheus, a Worgen caked in fel casted fel-fire bolt in which Ignitheus was able to deflect. What caught Ignitheus’ main attention, however, was a Forsaken’s head strapped to the human’s hip. Now he was pissed.
Ignitheus turned his staff into a large scythe covered in fire and slashed upwards to send a crescent of flame surging towards the warlock. He heard an exclamation in Common, which he assumed was a curse, but pressed on in his assault. The warrior to his side was electrocuted by a bolt of lightning and crushed by earth, but not before lopping the dwarf’s head off in the last ditch effort before dying. The priest’s body spilled along the floor in her own blood. Now he was beyond pissed.
Slashing a cut from side to side in front of the remaining human and Draenei, a wall of orange fire rose skyward. Ignitheus backed away and sheathed his scythe as he heard an exchange of Common and a yell. He dashed forwards and jumped through the flames and grasped both the human’s and the Draenei’s unsuspecting faces. “Burn to nothing,” he whispered. Fire erupted from his palms and combusted both enemies as it rushed along their skin and underneath their armor; roasting them alive until they were nothing but charred bodies.
Ignitheus pushed the corpses aside just as two additional troops, one plated and the other leathered, rushed forward from afar. A third was overconfident and rushed to his blind spot. Reacting in time, he unsheathed his scythe and slashed horizontally through the clothed Draenei. It would have been a clean cut if it hadn’t been her blade accidentally finding its mark on his shoulder. He growled through pain and turned his rage onto the incoming pair. Erupting once more, he extended his arms out to the side and dived into the ground feet first. A batch of fire swerved and slithered across the scattered burning ground like a snake, and stopped at the plated enemy’s feet. He stretched his hands out, grasped around the human’s ankles and forcefully pulled the plated man into the ground with him; his body burning through the intense flames. A chuckle slipped the pyromancer’s maw.
As Ignitheus rose back out in front of the remaining enemy, seeing fear flush through the woman’s face, a dagger was thrown to his leg before fleeing. It hit its mark, but not without the warlock creating a set of demonic fiery chains and throwing it at the retreater. The binding coiled around their body, which seared against her leather equipment. The pyromancer gave a final tug to pull and drag the writhing the human to the ground towards him, unsheathed once more, and slashed his scythe at the body to end their life.
Ignitheus turned back and walked to the human warlock he had cut down. He knelt to the forsaken head and ripped it free from the belt. He placed it on the ground, ignited it in flames and whispered a prayer. He scanned through the scorched warzone he created, then stood back up and took his leave back to Lordaeron.
Perhaps he will find entertainment in this war after all.