This is war
This is war
((Vyara was indeed at the Battle for Lordaeron. She was even in the big BlizzCon diorama! Yes, I’m thinking of the 30 Seconds to Mars song in the title.))
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Three arrows, one after another, straight into Vyara’s shield. The first just landed in one of the side spikes, the second broke off a spike before burrowing into Vyara’s arm, and the third hit dead-center. Instinctively, she ducked behind the shield, and then it half-exploded in a shower of molten metal and sparks. Furious, Vyara spun around and let her flail collide with the gnome mechano-strider that was attempting to devour her shield, and was rewarded with another explosion of metal, sparks, and smoke.
Smoke, blight, ruins. That was all the battle was so far.
That had been a terrifying way to wake up. Far too early in the morning, before sunrise, only a few short hours after Vyara had gone to bed, a call came through Orgrimmar. All able-bodied soldiers are to report to the portals. The Alliance march on Undercity. Of course, she grabbed her armor and answered the call, and only an hour later, was racing through the back corridors of the city of the dead.
The druids. Vyara could smell them long before she figured out where they snuck around, and at least one found her when she sneezed at the smell of dog-like fur. A worgen druid emerged from the shadows, all claws and fangs, and quickly became all bloody fur on the sharp spines of Vyara’s shield. As she shook the remnants of the beast off of her, she realized that the extra weapon had been a good choice- and instantly forgot as a call for help came from around the next bend.
It was a mad flight, eerily reminiscent of trying to evacuate Silvermoon so many years ago, knowing not everyone would escape, but desperate to save as many as possible. We have portals to Orgrimmar. Get out. The Alliance are coming, save yourself. Get out, we can’t protect you if they break through. The Dark Lady commanded us to evacuate the city. Whatever it took to save as many as possible, and Vyara couldn’t help but be reminded of Silvermoon. Even though she knew she was now saving many of those who had been the first victims of the Scourge.
The fields and forests around the Undercity made Vyara’s stomach drop like a rock. Everything was destroyed by fire and war machines, and it looked like a wasteland. Brill was clearly in ruins, judging from all the smoke. Massive siege towers spat boulders at the walls, and around her, Vyara was keenly aware of her fellow Relentless Dawn beside her.
And then the order came. Slay them all.
Crashing into battle was something Vyara was far too accustomed to. She could sense the others alongside her- a flash of Karthuro’s demonic transformation, Velethos roaring as he sent a human flying by sheer size advantage, Tarenor the blazing beacon of Light frying anything in his path- and little Vyara, a cannonball of Light, heavy plate armor, and fury. Dimly, she could see the battle around her, the noise turning into a familiar rhythm. The crunch and hiss of an exploding blight canister. The crackling bang of a siege tower. The low whump of a glaive thrower. The…
The mind-shattering screech of a banshee scream.
For a moment, the Horde soldiers all looked up and watched in awe. Despite how long Vyara had spent in Northrend, despite all her years of war, she’d never before seen a banshee transform like the Warchief just had done. Even from afar, clearly there was destruction left in the purple wake, and judging from the skeletons who had joined the fight, this was too dire a circumstance to waste potential soldiers. Right?
Vyara shook her head, feeling a twinge of a bad memory. Silvermoon. Fallen elves in front of her, raised to serve the Scourge, turned right back against the very elves they’d died to protect. Every lost Silvermoon soldier was one more Scourge soldier. This felt too familiar-
The moment of pause was enough. A worgen, nearly twice the size of the small elf, crashed into Vyara and knocked her over. She fell through a whirl of dirt, mud, several colors of blood, and blight gas, until the worgen fell over choking on the green smog and Vyara forced herself back up. She grabbed for her shield, wincing at the sudden new aches and pains and growling at her shredded tabard and scored armor. Grabbing a gas mask had indeed been a smart choice.
Battles almost took on a rhythm of their own. The orders of advance, retreat came quickly enough that neither Vyara nor any of her fellow elves were overly aware of what they were doing. They moved with the flow, and the flow took them to parts of the outer keep and worst of all, a poisonous dark-purple energy.
Void.
The traitors were here.
Screaming in fury, Vyara crashed into the ren’dorei ranks, bowling over a few delicate-looking archers with her shield and sheer force of will. Something grabbed at her, and for a moment, she stared at the tentacle wrapped around her knee in detached horror. She hacked it off, freeing herself, and punctuated the movement with a kick to the void-infested traitor who had tried to pin her down. Another crashed into her, spreading waves of pain across several ribs, and she applied her shield to the face of a third tentacled monster. In return, she got a wordless scream of agony- and then three arrows right into her shield.
Time slowed down in battle. Vyara saw a column of Light out of the corner of her eye- Tarenor was still standing and fighting. That green mist wasn’t blight- must be Liralys trying to heal someone. Was that another fireball, from Raith? Vyara’s elves were so far still all there around her, even if now she was wondering how much longer they’d hold out.
The final order to retreat, to get out of the city as the vats of blight exploded. Still running on adrenaline and fury, Vyara followed the rest of the soldiers, watching a few Forsaken running with their lab supplies, a troll carrying another smaller troll slung over his shoulders, a goblin running like hell with a bundle of dynamite and an open can of goblin cola. More arrows whisped above their heads, one occasionally finding its mark with a sudden scream. And the explosive hiss of blight vats, slowing their escape.
The retreat was nothing short of a “drop everything and run” fire drill, and not until Vyara fell into a pile of broken armor on the deck of the airship did she realize she was exhausted. Every last muscle burned, her left elbow was entirely hot liquid pain, breathing was irritatingly painful, and dozens of small scrapes itched. The aftermath of a battle was always a torrent of pain and emotion, held back until it was finally safe, and many of the other Horde around her seemed to be experiencing the same thing.
As Vyara wandered through the makeshift triage bay that had sprung up atop the main gate of Orgrimmar, she found a barrel to sit on and crashed into a half-sitting, half-crouching position. Nightmares stalked the back of her mind, she wasn’t sure where her fellow Relentless Dawn were or if they’d even survived the battle, but one thing was clear.
This was war.
I’m a Mother Fuckin Blazing Beacon of Light yall
