A tired, burned, angry Kaldorei walked the streets of Stormwind. In his calloused and cut hands, he was passing out supplies to the refugees that had made camp in the streets. By the stockades. By the memorial of his king, and by the embassy. By the streets that led to his own home here, in the capital...by the water that in other parts of the world ran red with blood, and the reflection of the fire they escaped from.
He pushed his silver hair out of his eyes as he handed a refugee family a pack of waterskins and a blanket, nodding almost mechanically at their thanks. A bit of glitter fell from his hand into his hair. There’d been too many thanks today...he just wanted rest. But duty was a new driving force.
Before, it had just been for the sake of caution; the Legion was pushed back, for what seemed indefinence. So many had been lost in the ranks of those sieges, of his dream, the suramar capital--the realm of Hel, a tomb of a titan’s essence...and the forsaken planet of the Draenei itself. Both Alliance and Horde needed to replenish that stock of soldiers, and he’d been plucked to be so.
…..so many to the dream. Renferal, who had participated in so many sieges in the Alterac mountains. The mighty spirit of the bear, sacred to so many who’s sole want was just to protect their allies...a world tree, lost to corruption...Ysera. Anaruus Shadowguard gnashed his teeth with feelings of betrayal, and hate, as he began to take off some of his armor, setting down the blue and silver pauldrons. The tabard of a golden lion came after, sitting atop them.
How many druids had fought for that, that bore horns or tusks? That revered the same desire to see life bloom, from their nooks in Mulgore and the Isles? That had let the home of the alliance druids burn.
Burn. Not just leaves, or branches, but temples. Homes. People. How many last cries had he heard? He had lifted so many atop his back to safety, but fires claimed whoever was left behind. That orange glow of seeing Teldrassil burning would never let the newfound hate in his heart be extinguished. He dragged the pad of a thumb across his teeth, still feeling as if they were coated in the blood of those he’d fought on Darkshore’s shores. He felt the dullness of his incisors..so many had he fought…
Effortlessly he melded into that most feral of forms, still dripping with blue glitter of a moonwell, infused with Ashamane’s blessing. A rough tongue grazed on the areas hidden by armor, where the blue fur had lost its sheen to bare skin and scarring. A little awkward to tend to wounds with 12 inch fangs, but he made do.
There were orders to march once again soon, word among the higher ups concerning for a huge battle...something bigger than darkshore...For now, though, the druid spent his time back home, enjoying the calm before the storm.
Before he’d feel his claws tear past ribs and into hearts.
Before feeling the life pass from those that had taken it from innocents.
Before he knew he’d lose himself in the hysteria of war.
He’d have his revenge.
