Post by faroth on Mar 23, 2009 10:12:38 GMT -5
Memories
Mirahna Dawnseeker, blood knight of the Horde, walked through the main hall of her home in Silvermoon City with slow, lingering steps. She seemed almost in a trance as her gauntlets fell to the floor shortly from the doorway, allowing nimble fingers to unbuckle the pauldrons from her breastplate. She dropped them without slowing, ignoring the heavy thud of their landing. Breastplate and bracers followed suit at the end of the hallway.
The elf entered her bedchamber, pulling her shirt off and feeling the cool air on her bare skin and her silver hair tickling her back. She sat in a chair of beautifully carved wood to unfasten her boots before removing them, sliding her bare feet across the lush carpet beneath her before her belt and greaves were removed as well. As the fair skinned woman crossed the room, she removed her breeches and threw them onto the lavish red quilted bedspread, trimmed with silver and gold designs that intricately intertwined with one another, before making her way into the bathing room. Using the magically powered steam pumps filtered through her home, she filled the tub with hot water and stepped into the bath. It had been a long few weeks and the journey home from the Forsaken's capital had been tiresome, making the hot bath all more inviting. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she sank into the water, feeling tension relax from her muscles. Finally, her mind began to sift through her thoughts, reviewing everything that had happened.
“War has been declared,” she said quietly. She sank further into the bath, letting the water embrace her until her ears submerged, sealing off the sounds of her home in a muffled veil.
At the same time, she sank back into her mind, closing her eyes and putting herself back to the subterranean throne room of the Undercity alongside others of the Horde, all rallied under Thrall's leadership in support of the banshee queen, Sylvannas Windrunner. When Mirahna was younger, she had admired the ranger for her deeds in service to Quel'thalas, and more for her brave defiance when faced with the wrath of the death knight, Arthas Menethil. Mirahna had renewed her admiration for the woman's tenacity when she learned that the banshee had managed to break free of Arthas' control, leading others to do the same and form the Forsaken in defiance of the Lich King.
* * *
She remembered the dank air and sour smell of the sewer-city beneath the capital of what had once been Lordaeron. They had defeated the dreadlord Varimathras, who had staged a coup against the banshee queen that had resulted in civil war within the Undercity. The dread lord had gathered a following of Forsaken, most notably the Grand Apothecary Putress, who wished to eliminate not only the Scourge, but all living things on Azeroth as well, leaving only the Forsaken. Sylvannas had narrowly escaped to seek aid from the Horde and Thrall had responded, leading them on an assault that ended with Varimathras' death and preventing him from opening a portal to allow his master entry to the world.
The victory was short lived, though, as the Horde's forces found Alliance soldiers, led by Lo'gosh, now known to be King Varian Wrynn Stormwind, entering the throne room. The king stood tall and defiant of all who opposed him, his features stern but exuding confidence rather than the confusion he once held. The man's armor was blue and finely crafted with gold trim, the pauldrons and belt displaying his kingdom's symbol of a lion. The swords he carried seemed larger than a human should be able to wield in one hand, but the king carried one in each, both sharpened and handled with skill.
“I was away for too long,” the king proclaimed. “My absence cost us the lives of some of our greatest heroes. Trash like you and this evil witch were allowed to roam free, unchecked.” The king shook his head, fury boiling within him. “The time has come to make things right. To disband your treacherous kingdom of murderers and thieves. Putress was the first strike. Many more will come. I've waited a long time for this, Thrall.”
The warchief stared back at the human, his blue eyes narrow and the Doomhammer firmly gripped in his hands. Mirahna thought she noticed a hint of regret in his features, but a determination to stand firmly against the Alliance's attack.
“For too long have the Horde been left unchecked. We allowed their territories to prosper and in return for our generosity, they plotted and planned our demise. Peace? Useless...”
As the king continued to speak, Mirahna seemed to lose track of what he was saying as she spotted another man among the Alliance forces. He stood tall and stared directly at her, their eyes locked on one another. He had defined features, even under the beard and mustache he currently wore, framed by dark black hair that had grown longer and less kept. The human wore silver plated armor, also with gold trim like Wrynn's, but somehow it seemed even more regal. The armor almost seemed to shine with an unnatural radiance, the paladin being blessed by the Light. He held a familiar longsword in his right hand and a shield bearing a silver hand in the left.
The two stared at each other for what seemed like minutes when it was mere seconds, seeking answers for their respective allegiance's actions. She desperately wished she had answers for all that had happened, but too much was happening too fast, as though events had begun as a pebble on a mountaintop, rolling through the snow into an unstoppable avalanche.
“Let us see what battle brings!” The king's call for an attack brought Mirahna quickly to her senses and she joined the Warsong forces in their charge. An orc was bound for the paladin she had been staring at and she shoved her shoulder into him to push him away, refusing to let anyone else engage the man in combat. The blood knight drew her great sword back, feeling heavier than usual in her hands, and brought it forward to crash against the man's shield.
“Did you know?” The paladin’s stern face looked past his shield, his own sword held back from striking.
“Know what?” Mirahna was caught off guard by the anger behind his voice. She pressed against the shield, her head swirling from the chaos around them. The man pushed her back, his sword coming around and locking with her own.
“The experiments! The women and children mutilated and used to develop the Forsaken’s Blight! How could the entire Horde not have know?”
“Feneril, I swear I didn’t!” She knocked the sword aside and half heartedly thrust for his stomach. The man easily parried her attack and stepped in, slamming her shoulder with his shield. Her body was rocked by the strike, harder than she expected, causing her to stumble back. Still, the paladin seemed unwilling to close in to press his advantage.
“Then how? How did a Horde ally do all this unnoticed? Unchecked!? If the Horde didn't support the Blight, are their leaders simply incompetent? Don't lie to me, Dawnseeker! The Light will judge you for your part in this betrayal, regardless. Tell me the truth!”
Her eyes burned as she fought back tears. To accuse her of having a part in Putress' experiments, or even of turning a blind eye to them, was unthinkable. She thought he knew her better, thought he trusted her. Her legs began to feel numb as the weight of his accusations pressed in on her and she found them difficult to move. She looked to him again, weapon ready and realized he still wasn't closing in. His face seemed pained as he stared at her, as though she had personally betrayed him and yet he still didn't want to condemn her. The paladin seemed to be battling with himself as much as the Horde.
She started to move towards him to try and reason with him, perhaps to end the battle before it got worse, but found she physically couldn't move her legs. Looking down, she found them encased in ice, as were everyone else's. Others in the room hacked at the ice to free themselves while those that were trapped near each other continued to awkwardly trade blows, unable to rely on their footwork to aid them.
“Varian, no! Stop!” The human mage, Jaina Proudmoore, appeared in the room, responsible for halting them with the spell. “It didn't have to be like this,” she said quietly. Mirahna looked from her back to Feneril as the mage teleported the Alliance forces away. The blood elf stood in shock, looking to the others around her for answers of what to do as the spell broke. Thrall merely walked to the steps of the throne room, taking a seat, his sullen face shaking back and forth.
“It ends like it began. All that we fought for in this world is lost. The hopes and dreams carried by my father and mother...by Doomhammer...Gone. If only you were here now, old friend. You would know what to do.”
Though the Alliance had retreated under Jaina's actions, the room felt empty with no cheers of victory nor feelings of joy from the reclamation of the city. Saurfang approached Thrall, placing a hand on the black plated shoulder.
“I know what he would do. He would tell you what I am about to tell you; Lead your people, Thrall. Let's go home, old friend.” Thrall nodded and responded to Saurfang, but Mirahna didn't hear his words. She had turned away from them, her face contorted as her hand came to her eyes. She could only think of the warmth on her cheeks as tears fell past her defenses.
* * *
Mirahna pushed herself up from the water and wiped her eyes as fresh tears had begun to slip down her face. Wiping her cheeks, she exhaled slowly, trying to regain her composure. Perhaps she wasn't cut out for a life of combat after all, if more battle and endless war was all it gained. Growing up, she had only wanted to be a historian, a scribe of the details of the past, uncovering long forgotten lore and reminding the people of its lessons.
She stood up and stepped from the bath, wrapping a towel around her before she began to dry her hair. She took a seat before the mirror and brushed the long silver locks until they were untangled. The elf woman looked at herself in the mirror when she was done, simply examining her features and wondering who she would have been if things had not gone wrong at every turn of her life. The blood knight stood and turned from that alternate self that would never exist and tossed the towel aside as she went to her closet and pulled out a lavender robe made of the finest silk. She pulled a burgundy robe over it before she left her room, going through the large house and pouring a glass of wine to take with her to her study.
There, she went to the window and pulled back the curtains, looking out at the street where others of the Horde went about their business of trade and crafting, or simply talking to friends in the street. So many were fortunate to avoid the wars of this world, to stay away from the Alliance and the Scourge as long as they could. But Mirahna knew she didn't have that option. As a blood knight, she was able to help hold back the darkness that would sweep over their city, and she would not turn from that responsibility.
However, that had been her conviction to destroy the Scourge and the Lich King himself. Now that darkness included the Alliance forces that once again sought to wipe the Horde from Azeroth's future. As she took a sip of her wine, she frowned.
“Fools, all of them. The Alliance blames the Horde for their problems when they're responsible for most of the world's suffering to begin with. It was the Kal'dorei who brought the Burning Legion here to begin with, and then banished us across the Great Sea. It was a human that brought the demon driven orcs to Azeroth. They were betrayed by one of their own then, and again by their own prince. And yet they blame us? Damn the lot of them,” she thought to herself. She looked down as she felt something rubbing against her leg, finding an orange tabby stroking its back against her.
“Hello there, Telthias.” He smiled as the cat hopped onto the windowsill and leaned into her scratching fingers. She looked outside and sighed again, her anger draining from her thoughts.
“How did we get here, Telthias?” Her pet had no answer, but she didn't need one. She remembered the events of that day in Northrend too clearly.
* * *
The battle at the Wrath Gate had gone well once Saurfang the young had led the Horde to join the fray, riding into the midst of the undead to fight alongside the Alliance under Bolvar Fordragon of Stormwind. With their added strength, the living had pushed back the undead and Fordragon and Saurfang approached the gates of Angrathar.
“Arthas! The blood of your father, of your people, demands justice! Come forth, coward, and answer for your crimes!” Bolvar's words echoed through the valley before the gate, heard even by those further back.
“He’s rather sure of himself, isn’t he?” Mirahna glanced to her companion, standing straight with her hand on her sword pierced into the frozen ground.
“The Light is with us,” Feneril had answered. “We shall prevail this day.”
Despite his reassuring words, Mirahna noticed the human tense as the gates opened. She drew her sword when she saw the black armored figure of the Lich King come forth.
“You speak of justice? Of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave and the true meaning of fear!” A shiver ran up her spine as the dead rose to their feet around the Lich King as he approached the leaders of the Horde and Alliance forces.
Fordragon, she had to admit, remained well composed until Saurfang charged forth. His attack was fast, but the world seemed to slow as the legendary cursed sword, Frostmourne, shattered the orc’s axe and left him on his back. The warrior went still as his soul was drained into the evil blade.
The Horde, and even Alliance, seemed shocked by the ease of his defeat, but Bolvar prepared to press an attack.
“You'll pay for the lives you've stolen, traitor.”
“Boldly stated. But there is nothing you can-” An explosion rocked the rear flank. Mirahna looked back to see a green cloud blanketing the forces there, screams erupting from their ranks.
“An attack from behind?”
“Impossible,” Feneril replied. “Naxxramas is cut off from lending aid!”
“Still, the Scourge seems to have-“ the elf was cut off as a strong voice filled the valley.
“Did you think we had forgotten? Did you think we had forgiven?” The Grand Apothecary appeared on an overlooking cliff, declaring the hour of the Forsaken’s revenge before two catapults launched more bombs filled with the Blight he had created. The knight’s blood ran cold as she heard his proclamation. “Death to the Scourge! And death to the living!”
Chaos erupted among the soldiers trying to flee the deadly fog that seemed to fell their allies in moments. Mirahna was separated from her allies and joined the retreat with others of the Horde, racing to escape the Forsaken’s betrayal while avoiding being trampled by the others escaping the horrible battlefield. As she raced alongside the armies, she looked to the sky to see the forms of red dragons flying towards the battlefield. They had come too late.
* * *
Later reports had claimed that Arthas had seemed wounded by the attack, but it wasn't enough to overcome the sense of loss. The younger Saurfang was dead, and Bolvar as well. Many more, perhaps hundreds, had been killed by the Forsaken betrayal, spurring the retaliation from the Alliance that had led to the battle in the Undercity weeks later.
“I understand their need to seek justice, Telthias, but justice was done. Varimathras was behind the Blight, controlling Putress. Both the dread lord and the apothecary are dead. Isn't that enough?” Telthias replied with a meow and a yawn before hopping off the windowsill and going to curl up on a chair. “We had no idea what the Forsaken were working on, what they were planning to do with it, but they blame us all as if we mixed it ourselves.”
She took another drink of her wine and turned from the window, walking across the study to a bookshelf where she trailed her fingers over the various tomes of history.
“And things had seemed to be improving. Thrall had met with Wrynn not so long ago in Thermore, though it wasn't exactly the best meeting. Still there was enough of an uneasy truce that I was able to enter Stormwind.”
* * *
Mirahna was self conscious as she stood at the head of the ship setting sail from Stormwind Harbor. From a distance, she didn't look terribly unusual in her plated armor, a blue steel with red trim. Across her back was her great sword, but that wasn't unusual either. Even her long pointed ears weren't cause to draw attention to her, as other high elves traveled on the ship with the Alliance forces bound for Northrend. Yet, still eyes were on her from everywhere; night elves, dwarves, and humans alike gawked at her since word had spread of the slight green glow in her eyes, remnants still showing of the taint of fel energies that had gripped her people. She wasn’t the only race from the Horde to have come as an ambassador of good will to the Alliance, furthering the unification of efforts against the Scourge in Northrend, but the Alliance forces were still uneasy to have a representative of the Horde sailing with them.
“How quickly they forget we were allies to the humans not so long ago. Until they betrayed us.” she thought, frowning out at the waves.
“You’ve gathered quite a bit of attention, my lady.”
Mirahna turned to see a dark haired man in silver plated armor trimmed with gold. She didn’t respond, but stared questioningly at him.
“I am Feneril Fincahre of the Shard of the Silver Hand.” The paladin put his hand forward. Mirahna gripped it, shaking his hand and finding her voice. She felt a bit childish not knowing how to greet him, despite the circumstances and looks from everyone else. What sort of ambassador was she if she lost her tongue at “hello?”
“Mirahna Dawnseeker of Silvermoon. I guess I’m an unexpected sight for this ship.”
“Indeed. Seeing a representative of the Horde makes some of them nervous. The wounds are still fresh for some. It makes peace a difficult concept for them, afraid of betrayal from you and your allies. I understand you came to Stormwind as an ambassador of good will for relations between the Horde and Alliance?”
“I did. The foolish resistance to an official treaty has gone on for too long. The Horde wishes for peace. I hoped I could find a way to make your leaders see that. And if I can see more of the way people of the Alliance see things, perhaps I can better understand how to approach that peace. I guess you could say I want to see both sides of the world. Even if one is stubborn as a mule.” The man merely smiled at the elf's veiled insult, drawing a response of a smile from her as well. She wondered how he might react, partially hoping he'd be offended and leave her alone. “What about you? Do you seek peace with the Horde or are you simply speaking with me to determine the risk of betrayal?” Mirahna wasn't sure if she could, or should, trust the man, despite his friendly demeanor. Her people had been betrayed by the humans once too often.
“I seek the end of the Scourge, to see justice in this world again. Horde or Alliance makes no difference to the undead, nor should it to any of us. There is injustice and evil in this world, whether it be committed by human, goblin, troll, dwarf, or orc. I don't see why we should treat any differently than the other for transgressions, nor should we lay blame before any are committed.”
“I see,” she replied, a bit surprised by the response. The paladins of the Silver Hand, in the past, had been less than open minded towards others, particularly races that openly accepted the use of magic such as her own.
“I sail under the banner of the Argent Crusade, led by Tirion Fordring. For now, we can put aside our differences and focus on a common enemy.” Mirahna sensed he was sincere, but felt there was something more he was holding back. “But if you wish to further peace between our factions, why sail to Northrend?”
Mirahna though about her answer for a moment, then smiled. “For justice. Arthas destroyed my home. He is responsible for everything I’ve lost.”
“I understand,” he replied. There was a long silence between them as Feneril seemed to fall into the past of his own memories. “I lost everything precious to me because of him as well. The Light shall prevail.”
“The Light,” Mirahna chuckled, as if there was some joke in his words. “There’s still so much of it I don’t truly understand. We thought we were wielding its powers by force until we learned the truth.” Mirahna felt as though she and the other blood knights were still only beginning to comprehend the true depths of the Light’s nature after having believed to have imprisoned a naaru to draw their powers from.
“Perhaps I can help answer some of your questions. We still have a long journey ahead of us.” The man leaned back to take a seat on one of the cargo boxes on the deck, looking to her with a warm smile.
“Yes, I suppose we do.”
* * *
Mirahna shook her head, pushing the memories of her time sailing to Northrend among the Alliance away. That had been one paladin, not truly allied with the Alliance so much as with the Argent Crusade, that she had spoken with on that ship. Any progress she had perceived was dashed when Varian Wrynn declared war. He was like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum because things hadn't gone his way. She understood Bolvar Fordragon had been close to the king, but the Horde had been betrayed as well, their forces killed alongside the Alliance. There was no reasoning behind Varian's hatred towards Thrall. He was simply a madman looking for the excuse to kill the enemies of his father.
The more the blood elf thought about the utter stupidity of Stormwind's leaders, the more angry she became. Her languid pacing had almost become frustrated stomps that drew Talthias' lazy attention to her. She finally left the study and went back to her bedchamber, changing into a simple white shirt that buttoned at the front, leaving the top buttons unfastened to a low V at the neck. She pulled on a pair of leather pants and knee high folded boots before making her way back towards the front door, picking up her sword on the way out.
Her people had known suffering as well, after all. The Sin'dorei's kingdom had been attacked by the Horde during the Second War, but all had been peaceful after the end of the conflict. Then a plague broke out in Lordaeron and soon the traitor prince was cleaving through Quel’thalas with his Scourge. Her father attempted to defend the city alongside others and died just as they did. Her mother was slain as they tried to flee the carnage, leaving Mirahna alone. The elf’s face grew stern as she walked through the city towards the combat training grounds.
“What right does the Alliance have to declare war on us? The orcs weren't in control of their actions, but the humans refuse to let go of their reckless hatred. Hell, the Forsaken are human themselves, even if undead. And even after the Scourge had ravaged Silvermoon, Kael'thas and his regiment had still aided the humans, only to be betrayed by them.” She stomped through the city's streets, making her way to the training grounds to let her body begin to work through some of the anger building within her.
As she walked, she thought of the further suffering she and her people had been through. The Alliance believed they had known loss, but they were fools. The Sin'dorei had suffered betrayal after betrayal ever since their own people banished them across the Great Sea and had then lost the Sunwell to the Scourge, putting them in constant pain afterwards. Kael'thas disappeared after the Alliance betrayed him and his men, stealing their most promising leader as well.
She remembered those days after the Sunwell's destruction and Kael'thas' disappearance. She, with a few dozen other survivors, had remained in the ruins of Silvermoon for weeks, fighting off the remaining Scourge that wandered the city and constantly at one another's throats as the pain drove them to the edge of madness. Mirahna shivered as she remembered waking up in her own sick after spending the night huddled in a corner convulsing from the withdrawal, pleading desperately with the dark room to make the pain go away or to let her find some magical artifact to ease the gnawing sensation in her stomach. The loss of the Sunwell was greater than anything the humans could ever imagine.
Her people had then been led to believe Kael’thas had found a way to satiate their hunger for magic in Outland. Mirahna had believed he was preparing a paradise for them and joined the blood knights to aid in finding their way to him. After learning the truth in Outland, she believed M’uru, the naaru they had been siphoning power from, was the reason the blood knights had suffered less from the fel corruption than others. She had fought ferociously on Quel’Danas to stop Kael’thas and save M’uru while others stopped the demon Kil’jaeden from entering Azeroth.
And after overcoming all that, one human king would see them all dead because of his own insanity. She drew her sword as she entered the training grounds and approached a training dummy, seeing the Wrynn before her. She moved forward with a slash from the side to hit the practice dummy in its “ribs.” A spin brought the blade down on his shoulder and she jumped back. In her mind, she blocked an attack and dodged another before spinning to the side and putting her back to the dummy. She sidestepped an imaginary attack and kicked out to hit a second dummy, sending it spinning. The wooden sword attached to it came around and she blocked it, ducking another attack in practice and caught it in the side. A quick strike sent it spinning again, but she parried the swing of the stationary sword and turned back towards “Wrynn” the dummy. A forward thrust drove the blade through the dummy’s stomach and she paused a moment, staring at it. She gritted her teeth as she pulled the sword free and took the “king’s” head off.
“Damn you, Varian Wrynn!” The blood knight held her sword low, panting for breath as she looked at the devastated practice target and sweat trailed down her forehead, hair clinging to her. Others gave out cheers of agreement, some proclaiming the king’s death and victory for the Horde.
“Curse the humans and the Alliance!”
“Let them come, we’ll crush them!”
“They’re no match for the might of the Horde!”
“Lok’tar ogar! Death to Varian Chin!”
“No!” Mirahna shouted, turning on them and glaring through blazing eyes. “This is the damn stupidity! They’ll hack into us while the Scourge fall over us all! How can we win two wars when every death in one bolsters our enemies in the other?” She sheathed her blade and clenched her jaw as she stormed out, cursing Varian again, and the humans as a whole. “They’re no better than the damned Scourge.”
The woman marched to the church of the Light the blood knights had built after M’uru had reignited the Sunwell, following the Light genuinely now. She unstrapped her sword and took a seat for a moment before sliding to her knees.
“What do I do? What can I do?” She lowered her head, hoping desperately for some answer from on high. “How can we possibly stop one war and win another at the same time? What can we do against such blind, reckless, hatred?” Light help me…”
The blood knight sat quietly for a long time, her shoulders slumped as the weight of ruin seemed to press down on her. She desperately prayed for guidance, the cold grip of hopelessness seeming to grow within her heart. Eventually, her head drooped, a defeated sigh escaping her lips.
“You only need to know where to begin.”
Mirahna’s eyes suddenly opened with a gasp as her memory of Arthas’ attack returned to her more vividly than ever.
* * *
The death knight prince walked through the shattered gates as though he expected a celebratory reception, his cursed blade in hand. All around her, ghouls and zombies attacked the high elves. The defenders fought valiantly, but were slain despite their efforts. Mirahna turned, seeing her father’s blade knocked from his hand by an orc, the green skinned warrior’s sword driven through his stomach and out his back.
“Father! No!” Mirahna’s mind reeled seeing the scene before her, but it made no sense. There were no orcs under Arthas' command, only the undead from Lordaeron. Yet the image before her did not relent. Everywhere she looked, the undead waned and orcs now slaughtered her people, tearing their bodies apart with terrible, powerful chops of axes and thrusts of spears.
The blood knight felt sick as every move she made proved fruitless, forced only to observe the butchering of everyone she saw until she noticed her mother running down a side street. In the blink of her eye, she was at the other end, watching as a spear burst through her mother’s chest from behind, raining blood over a young child she was trying to save.
Mirahna blinked again as the orc fell upon the child with a strong cleave of his axe and found herself again watching Arthas’ steady pace through the chaos. The human’s hair darkened to black as tusks pressed out from his lips and he shortened. Muscles thickened as his skin turned green, again twisting the events of her people’s tragedy into the fault of the orcs. The dark armor shifted to the familiar black plate Thrall wore, Frostmourne becoming the legendary weapon the warchief carried as well.
“Orgrim Doomhammer,” she whispered. The orc warchief of the First and Second War looked at her with blood red eyes before letting out a roar as he charged her.
“For the Horde!”
* * *
Mirahna gasped as she sat up suddenly. She was on the floor of the church, sweating harder than she had during her practice session. Her breathing came in heavy gasps, heart thundering in her chest.
“By the Light,” she whispered, pulling herself upright. She stood shakily, her legs not wanting to support her, and fell into the seat again. “This is why. We would never forgive the Scourge for what they did to Quel’thalas. And yet the orcs did the same to the entire kingdom of Stormwind less than thirty years ago.”
She eventually made her way out of the chapel to head home, thinking about the vision. She entered her home with a sense of déjà vu as she walked through the hallway in a daze. She returned to her study where Telthias still slept and took a seat in the chair at her desk.
“Whether the king's hatred of the orcs is justified or not, to declare war now is still madness. Wrynn’s hatred will be the death of us all and the Lich King’s victory shall be solely on Stormwind’s shoulders.” She grimaced at the thought, still seeing no solution to stopping the mad king’s path and refusing to accept the vision's suggestion that the humans had a foundation for their venom towards the orcs and their allies through the Horde.
She looked to the parchment laid upon the desk, trailing her fingers over it before opening a vial of ink, smelling its scent.
“Take your time, sweety. It is important to care for your penmanship,” her mother’s voice sounded in her mind as though she were standing over her shoulder. “Mind the details, Miry. Everything is in the details...”
* * *
She remembered sitting in that very same chair in the study when she was just a child. Her mother was a beautiful woman with shoulder length silken red hair and a face that seemed eternally youthful. Her voice was melodious and a number of her friends had insisted she was more enchanting than any minstrel of the Alliance. Mirahna, her silver hair pulled back and braided, looked up to her from her writing assignment.
“What do you mean, mother?”
“If you want to be a historian, you must see all the details, not just the pretty ones. In war, history is written by the victor, but it is often blinded. A true keeper of lore, a real scholar, seeks the whole truth of the events before them.”
“So even the good guys can be wrong?”
“Yes, Miry. Nobody sees themselves as the bad guys. It’s all a matter of perspective.”
“Have we been wrong, mother?”
“Again, it’s a matter of perspective. Our forefathers decimated great expanses of our people’s homes out of arrogance. They killed many of their own people, using magic that was forbidden and punishable by death, just as we have forbidden necromancy. Were they wrong to do so? And when we came here, we built our city on the ancestral grounds of another people, declaring they no longer had a right to their sacred land. We killed them to take it from them. Was it right to do so?”
“I don’t…but those were trolls, mother!”
“And from the trolls’ perspective, we were wrong, invading monsters that wielded horrible evil in our magic. From our perspective, we did what was necessary. The trolls are brutal, cannibalistic, monstrous beings, both primitive and terrible. I believe we were right to drive them back, but I know that others may see us differently, and time may name us the villain. I often look at our deeds today and wonder if time will name us the wicked in our conflicts.”
“You mean with the war?”
“Yes, Miry. We've barely lent any aid to the Alliance, despite an entire kingdom's fall to these invading monsters. Will we be seen as the villains for letting them face this terror alone? Will our actions lead to even more deaths? This is what it will mean to be a true scholar of history, Mirahna. To see your own people today as they will be seen tomorrow.”
* * *
Mirahna looked at the parchment and ink, thinking about her mother’s words. Her mind wandering, thinking to her vision at the church. To see both sides; the Light had given her the first step in being able to do so. The orcs had destroyed everything in Stormwind, taken everything from Wrynn and his people, just as the Scourge had taken from Quel’thalas its land and cities. Every human settlement had been destroyed in the First War.
“And what has been done since then?” Mirahna pondered aloud to herself, though Telthias looked at her from his napping place. “The orcs weren’t executed, not even their leader. An act of mercy most wouldn't fathom as even considerable. Instead they are only imprisoned until Thrall unified them and now honors Doomhammer with Orgrimmar itself. The very orc that led the complete destruction of most every human settlement from the Capital City of Lordaeron to the forest of Elwynn. Then Grom kills Cenarius and Thrall names his hall Grommash Hold, refusing to claim any responsibility for Grom’s actions.”
She brought a hand to trail her lips as she thought about it.
“But if Thrall tried to have the Horde make amends for past misdeeds done under demonic influence, they’d still be viewed as tied to the Old Horde of the Legion, and he himself would be seen as weak. But the lack of effort is seen as callous and a disregard for the suffering of the Alliance from the humans' eyes.”
She sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair. The hatred for the orcs made sense, actually. She remembered when the Horde attacked Quel’thalas. Even then, her own people had blamed the humans, despite their own failure to supply aid to the war efforts, a decision her own parents often argued over. And now the Forsaken, once the same undead that ravaged Lordaeron with Arthas, had betrayed them all in Northrend.
“And all we’ve done is put Sylvannas back on her throne. We haven’t even investigated if there are more Forsaken following Putress’ cause. We aren’t even sure she didn’t know about the plague the whole time. At the very least, it was her that put Varimathras in a position to orchestrate this. Varimathras and Putress are dead, but nobody has been held accountable for allowing their actions.”
What was she saying? She tapped her chin as she thought about it, viewing both sides as best she could.
“But if I pointed the finger at Sylvannas, it would be treason against the Horde.” Would she be executed for speaking against the Forsaken’s leader? Exiled? She was suggesting the Alliance had a claim against the Horde as a whole, even if she felt it was a misguided one. If the Horde did cast her out, the Alliance still wouldn’t offer her safety simply because of her heritage. She would be alone against the world. However, if she could find Feneril again, surely Tirion Fordring and the Argent Crusade would accept her in their ranks.
“I wanted to see both sides of the world,” she had told him. The Alliance was wrong in this war, but the Horde had their fingers in the problem as well. There had been no answering for the negligence that allowed for the betrayal in Northrend. Her friends, her allies, had been killed by Putress as well and yet one demon and a single apothecary's death set all things right?
“I will see justice in this world again,” she said quietly, repeating the words Feneril had said to her on that ship. Mirahna dipped the quill in the ink and leaned forward towards the parchment.
‘In the year 624 of the King’s Calendar, war was declared in the former kingdom of Lordaeron. King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind, and soldiers of the Alliance, faced Warchief Thrall and Lady Sylvannas Windrunner, with soldiers of the Horde, after the Forsaken Putress’ betrayal at Angrathar, the Wrath Gate, in Northrend.
The declaration comes not as revenge for the loss of one battle, the loss of loved ones, nor of one betrayal. Instead, it comes from years of frustration and of justice gone undone. While the Alliance is guilty of misguided decisions, we must hold ourselves to a higher standard than we have within the Horde. We must seek justice within our own ranks if we are ever to be accepted in peace with others.
There are many questions to be answered from the depths of the Undercity, the halls of Grommosh Hold, the walls of Silvermoon, and the heights of Thunder Bluff. I hereby pose these questions, but it is up to not only the leaders of the Horde, but the peoples of the Horde, to find the answers to them.'
The next morning, Mirahna left Silvermoon City as the sun crested the horizon, her stallion, Suntreader, galloping at a leisurely pace. She knew it wouldn't be long until someone found the documents she had nailed to the church of the Light's door, posing the questions about the Horde and their involvement, or lack there of, in events that had allowed war to once again build between themselves and the Alliance. She didn't know what ramifications there could be, nor did she care. Mirahna Dawnseeker, no longer seeing herself as a blood knight, but as a paladin of the Light, set out once more for Northrend, and for the Argent Crusade.
Mirahna Dawnseeker, blood knight of the Horde, walked through the main hall of her home in Silvermoon City with slow, lingering steps. She seemed almost in a trance as her gauntlets fell to the floor shortly from the doorway, allowing nimble fingers to unbuckle the pauldrons from her breastplate. She dropped them without slowing, ignoring the heavy thud of their landing. Breastplate and bracers followed suit at the end of the hallway.
The elf entered her bedchamber, pulling her shirt off and feeling the cool air on her bare skin and her silver hair tickling her back. She sat in a chair of beautifully carved wood to unfasten her boots before removing them, sliding her bare feet across the lush carpet beneath her before her belt and greaves were removed as well. As the fair skinned woman crossed the room, she removed her breeches and threw them onto the lavish red quilted bedspread, trimmed with silver and gold designs that intricately intertwined with one another, before making her way into the bathing room. Using the magically powered steam pumps filtered through her home, she filled the tub with hot water and stepped into the bath. It had been a long few weeks and the journey home from the Forsaken's capital had been tiresome, making the hot bath all more inviting. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she sank into the water, feeling tension relax from her muscles. Finally, her mind began to sift through her thoughts, reviewing everything that had happened.
“War has been declared,” she said quietly. She sank further into the bath, letting the water embrace her until her ears submerged, sealing off the sounds of her home in a muffled veil.
At the same time, she sank back into her mind, closing her eyes and putting herself back to the subterranean throne room of the Undercity alongside others of the Horde, all rallied under Thrall's leadership in support of the banshee queen, Sylvannas Windrunner. When Mirahna was younger, she had admired the ranger for her deeds in service to Quel'thalas, and more for her brave defiance when faced with the wrath of the death knight, Arthas Menethil. Mirahna had renewed her admiration for the woman's tenacity when she learned that the banshee had managed to break free of Arthas' control, leading others to do the same and form the Forsaken in defiance of the Lich King.
* * *
She remembered the dank air and sour smell of the sewer-city beneath the capital of what had once been Lordaeron. They had defeated the dreadlord Varimathras, who had staged a coup against the banshee queen that had resulted in civil war within the Undercity. The dread lord had gathered a following of Forsaken, most notably the Grand Apothecary Putress, who wished to eliminate not only the Scourge, but all living things on Azeroth as well, leaving only the Forsaken. Sylvannas had narrowly escaped to seek aid from the Horde and Thrall had responded, leading them on an assault that ended with Varimathras' death and preventing him from opening a portal to allow his master entry to the world.
The victory was short lived, though, as the Horde's forces found Alliance soldiers, led by Lo'gosh, now known to be King Varian Wrynn Stormwind, entering the throne room. The king stood tall and defiant of all who opposed him, his features stern but exuding confidence rather than the confusion he once held. The man's armor was blue and finely crafted with gold trim, the pauldrons and belt displaying his kingdom's symbol of a lion. The swords he carried seemed larger than a human should be able to wield in one hand, but the king carried one in each, both sharpened and handled with skill.
“I was away for too long,” the king proclaimed. “My absence cost us the lives of some of our greatest heroes. Trash like you and this evil witch were allowed to roam free, unchecked.” The king shook his head, fury boiling within him. “The time has come to make things right. To disband your treacherous kingdom of murderers and thieves. Putress was the first strike. Many more will come. I've waited a long time for this, Thrall.”
The warchief stared back at the human, his blue eyes narrow and the Doomhammer firmly gripped in his hands. Mirahna thought she noticed a hint of regret in his features, but a determination to stand firmly against the Alliance's attack.
“For too long have the Horde been left unchecked. We allowed their territories to prosper and in return for our generosity, they plotted and planned our demise. Peace? Useless...”
As the king continued to speak, Mirahna seemed to lose track of what he was saying as she spotted another man among the Alliance forces. He stood tall and stared directly at her, their eyes locked on one another. He had defined features, even under the beard and mustache he currently wore, framed by dark black hair that had grown longer and less kept. The human wore silver plated armor, also with gold trim like Wrynn's, but somehow it seemed even more regal. The armor almost seemed to shine with an unnatural radiance, the paladin being blessed by the Light. He held a familiar longsword in his right hand and a shield bearing a silver hand in the left.
The two stared at each other for what seemed like minutes when it was mere seconds, seeking answers for their respective allegiance's actions. She desperately wished she had answers for all that had happened, but too much was happening too fast, as though events had begun as a pebble on a mountaintop, rolling through the snow into an unstoppable avalanche.
“Let us see what battle brings!” The king's call for an attack brought Mirahna quickly to her senses and she joined the Warsong forces in their charge. An orc was bound for the paladin she had been staring at and she shoved her shoulder into him to push him away, refusing to let anyone else engage the man in combat. The blood knight drew her great sword back, feeling heavier than usual in her hands, and brought it forward to crash against the man's shield.
“Did you know?” The paladin’s stern face looked past his shield, his own sword held back from striking.
“Know what?” Mirahna was caught off guard by the anger behind his voice. She pressed against the shield, her head swirling from the chaos around them. The man pushed her back, his sword coming around and locking with her own.
“The experiments! The women and children mutilated and used to develop the Forsaken’s Blight! How could the entire Horde not have know?”
“Feneril, I swear I didn’t!” She knocked the sword aside and half heartedly thrust for his stomach. The man easily parried her attack and stepped in, slamming her shoulder with his shield. Her body was rocked by the strike, harder than she expected, causing her to stumble back. Still, the paladin seemed unwilling to close in to press his advantage.
“Then how? How did a Horde ally do all this unnoticed? Unchecked!? If the Horde didn't support the Blight, are their leaders simply incompetent? Don't lie to me, Dawnseeker! The Light will judge you for your part in this betrayal, regardless. Tell me the truth!”
Her eyes burned as she fought back tears. To accuse her of having a part in Putress' experiments, or even of turning a blind eye to them, was unthinkable. She thought he knew her better, thought he trusted her. Her legs began to feel numb as the weight of his accusations pressed in on her and she found them difficult to move. She looked to him again, weapon ready and realized he still wasn't closing in. His face seemed pained as he stared at her, as though she had personally betrayed him and yet he still didn't want to condemn her. The paladin seemed to be battling with himself as much as the Horde.
She started to move towards him to try and reason with him, perhaps to end the battle before it got worse, but found she physically couldn't move her legs. Looking down, she found them encased in ice, as were everyone else's. Others in the room hacked at the ice to free themselves while those that were trapped near each other continued to awkwardly trade blows, unable to rely on their footwork to aid them.
“Varian, no! Stop!” The human mage, Jaina Proudmoore, appeared in the room, responsible for halting them with the spell. “It didn't have to be like this,” she said quietly. Mirahna looked from her back to Feneril as the mage teleported the Alliance forces away. The blood elf stood in shock, looking to the others around her for answers of what to do as the spell broke. Thrall merely walked to the steps of the throne room, taking a seat, his sullen face shaking back and forth.
“It ends like it began. All that we fought for in this world is lost. The hopes and dreams carried by my father and mother...by Doomhammer...Gone. If only you were here now, old friend. You would know what to do.”
Though the Alliance had retreated under Jaina's actions, the room felt empty with no cheers of victory nor feelings of joy from the reclamation of the city. Saurfang approached Thrall, placing a hand on the black plated shoulder.
“I know what he would do. He would tell you what I am about to tell you; Lead your people, Thrall. Let's go home, old friend.” Thrall nodded and responded to Saurfang, but Mirahna didn't hear his words. She had turned away from them, her face contorted as her hand came to her eyes. She could only think of the warmth on her cheeks as tears fell past her defenses.
* * *
Mirahna pushed herself up from the water and wiped her eyes as fresh tears had begun to slip down her face. Wiping her cheeks, she exhaled slowly, trying to regain her composure. Perhaps she wasn't cut out for a life of combat after all, if more battle and endless war was all it gained. Growing up, she had only wanted to be a historian, a scribe of the details of the past, uncovering long forgotten lore and reminding the people of its lessons.
She stood up and stepped from the bath, wrapping a towel around her before she began to dry her hair. She took a seat before the mirror and brushed the long silver locks until they were untangled. The elf woman looked at herself in the mirror when she was done, simply examining her features and wondering who she would have been if things had not gone wrong at every turn of her life. The blood knight stood and turned from that alternate self that would never exist and tossed the towel aside as she went to her closet and pulled out a lavender robe made of the finest silk. She pulled a burgundy robe over it before she left her room, going through the large house and pouring a glass of wine to take with her to her study.
There, she went to the window and pulled back the curtains, looking out at the street where others of the Horde went about their business of trade and crafting, or simply talking to friends in the street. So many were fortunate to avoid the wars of this world, to stay away from the Alliance and the Scourge as long as they could. But Mirahna knew she didn't have that option. As a blood knight, she was able to help hold back the darkness that would sweep over their city, and she would not turn from that responsibility.
However, that had been her conviction to destroy the Scourge and the Lich King himself. Now that darkness included the Alliance forces that once again sought to wipe the Horde from Azeroth's future. As she took a sip of her wine, she frowned.
“Fools, all of them. The Alliance blames the Horde for their problems when they're responsible for most of the world's suffering to begin with. It was the Kal'dorei who brought the Burning Legion here to begin with, and then banished us across the Great Sea. It was a human that brought the demon driven orcs to Azeroth. They were betrayed by one of their own then, and again by their own prince. And yet they blame us? Damn the lot of them,” she thought to herself. She looked down as she felt something rubbing against her leg, finding an orange tabby stroking its back against her.
“Hello there, Telthias.” He smiled as the cat hopped onto the windowsill and leaned into her scratching fingers. She looked outside and sighed again, her anger draining from her thoughts.
“How did we get here, Telthias?” Her pet had no answer, but she didn't need one. She remembered the events of that day in Northrend too clearly.
* * *
The battle at the Wrath Gate had gone well once Saurfang the young had led the Horde to join the fray, riding into the midst of the undead to fight alongside the Alliance under Bolvar Fordragon of Stormwind. With their added strength, the living had pushed back the undead and Fordragon and Saurfang approached the gates of Angrathar.
“Arthas! The blood of your father, of your people, demands justice! Come forth, coward, and answer for your crimes!” Bolvar's words echoed through the valley before the gate, heard even by those further back.
“He’s rather sure of himself, isn’t he?” Mirahna glanced to her companion, standing straight with her hand on her sword pierced into the frozen ground.
“The Light is with us,” Feneril had answered. “We shall prevail this day.”
Despite his reassuring words, Mirahna noticed the human tense as the gates opened. She drew her sword when she saw the black armored figure of the Lich King come forth.
“You speak of justice? Of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave and the true meaning of fear!” A shiver ran up her spine as the dead rose to their feet around the Lich King as he approached the leaders of the Horde and Alliance forces.
Fordragon, she had to admit, remained well composed until Saurfang charged forth. His attack was fast, but the world seemed to slow as the legendary cursed sword, Frostmourne, shattered the orc’s axe and left him on his back. The warrior went still as his soul was drained into the evil blade.
The Horde, and even Alliance, seemed shocked by the ease of his defeat, but Bolvar prepared to press an attack.
“You'll pay for the lives you've stolen, traitor.”
“Boldly stated. But there is nothing you can-” An explosion rocked the rear flank. Mirahna looked back to see a green cloud blanketing the forces there, screams erupting from their ranks.
“An attack from behind?”
“Impossible,” Feneril replied. “Naxxramas is cut off from lending aid!”
“Still, the Scourge seems to have-“ the elf was cut off as a strong voice filled the valley.
“Did you think we had forgotten? Did you think we had forgiven?” The Grand Apothecary appeared on an overlooking cliff, declaring the hour of the Forsaken’s revenge before two catapults launched more bombs filled with the Blight he had created. The knight’s blood ran cold as she heard his proclamation. “Death to the Scourge! And death to the living!”
Chaos erupted among the soldiers trying to flee the deadly fog that seemed to fell their allies in moments. Mirahna was separated from her allies and joined the retreat with others of the Horde, racing to escape the Forsaken’s betrayal while avoiding being trampled by the others escaping the horrible battlefield. As she raced alongside the armies, she looked to the sky to see the forms of red dragons flying towards the battlefield. They had come too late.
* * *
Later reports had claimed that Arthas had seemed wounded by the attack, but it wasn't enough to overcome the sense of loss. The younger Saurfang was dead, and Bolvar as well. Many more, perhaps hundreds, had been killed by the Forsaken betrayal, spurring the retaliation from the Alliance that had led to the battle in the Undercity weeks later.
“I understand their need to seek justice, Telthias, but justice was done. Varimathras was behind the Blight, controlling Putress. Both the dread lord and the apothecary are dead. Isn't that enough?” Telthias replied with a meow and a yawn before hopping off the windowsill and going to curl up on a chair. “We had no idea what the Forsaken were working on, what they were planning to do with it, but they blame us all as if we mixed it ourselves.”
She took another drink of her wine and turned from the window, walking across the study to a bookshelf where she trailed her fingers over the various tomes of history.
“And things had seemed to be improving. Thrall had met with Wrynn not so long ago in Thermore, though it wasn't exactly the best meeting. Still there was enough of an uneasy truce that I was able to enter Stormwind.”
* * *
Mirahna was self conscious as she stood at the head of the ship setting sail from Stormwind Harbor. From a distance, she didn't look terribly unusual in her plated armor, a blue steel with red trim. Across her back was her great sword, but that wasn't unusual either. Even her long pointed ears weren't cause to draw attention to her, as other high elves traveled on the ship with the Alliance forces bound for Northrend. Yet, still eyes were on her from everywhere; night elves, dwarves, and humans alike gawked at her since word had spread of the slight green glow in her eyes, remnants still showing of the taint of fel energies that had gripped her people. She wasn’t the only race from the Horde to have come as an ambassador of good will to the Alliance, furthering the unification of efforts against the Scourge in Northrend, but the Alliance forces were still uneasy to have a representative of the Horde sailing with them.
“How quickly they forget we were allies to the humans not so long ago. Until they betrayed us.” she thought, frowning out at the waves.
“You’ve gathered quite a bit of attention, my lady.”
Mirahna turned to see a dark haired man in silver plated armor trimmed with gold. She didn’t respond, but stared questioningly at him.
“I am Feneril Fincahre of the Shard of the Silver Hand.” The paladin put his hand forward. Mirahna gripped it, shaking his hand and finding her voice. She felt a bit childish not knowing how to greet him, despite the circumstances and looks from everyone else. What sort of ambassador was she if she lost her tongue at “hello?”
“Mirahna Dawnseeker of Silvermoon. I guess I’m an unexpected sight for this ship.”
“Indeed. Seeing a representative of the Horde makes some of them nervous. The wounds are still fresh for some. It makes peace a difficult concept for them, afraid of betrayal from you and your allies. I understand you came to Stormwind as an ambassador of good will for relations between the Horde and Alliance?”
“I did. The foolish resistance to an official treaty has gone on for too long. The Horde wishes for peace. I hoped I could find a way to make your leaders see that. And if I can see more of the way people of the Alliance see things, perhaps I can better understand how to approach that peace. I guess you could say I want to see both sides of the world. Even if one is stubborn as a mule.” The man merely smiled at the elf's veiled insult, drawing a response of a smile from her as well. She wondered how he might react, partially hoping he'd be offended and leave her alone. “What about you? Do you seek peace with the Horde or are you simply speaking with me to determine the risk of betrayal?” Mirahna wasn't sure if she could, or should, trust the man, despite his friendly demeanor. Her people had been betrayed by the humans once too often.
“I seek the end of the Scourge, to see justice in this world again. Horde or Alliance makes no difference to the undead, nor should it to any of us. There is injustice and evil in this world, whether it be committed by human, goblin, troll, dwarf, or orc. I don't see why we should treat any differently than the other for transgressions, nor should we lay blame before any are committed.”
“I see,” she replied, a bit surprised by the response. The paladins of the Silver Hand, in the past, had been less than open minded towards others, particularly races that openly accepted the use of magic such as her own.
“I sail under the banner of the Argent Crusade, led by Tirion Fordring. For now, we can put aside our differences and focus on a common enemy.” Mirahna sensed he was sincere, but felt there was something more he was holding back. “But if you wish to further peace between our factions, why sail to Northrend?”
Mirahna though about her answer for a moment, then smiled. “For justice. Arthas destroyed my home. He is responsible for everything I’ve lost.”
“I understand,” he replied. There was a long silence between them as Feneril seemed to fall into the past of his own memories. “I lost everything precious to me because of him as well. The Light shall prevail.”
“The Light,” Mirahna chuckled, as if there was some joke in his words. “There’s still so much of it I don’t truly understand. We thought we were wielding its powers by force until we learned the truth.” Mirahna felt as though she and the other blood knights were still only beginning to comprehend the true depths of the Light’s nature after having believed to have imprisoned a naaru to draw their powers from.
“Perhaps I can help answer some of your questions. We still have a long journey ahead of us.” The man leaned back to take a seat on one of the cargo boxes on the deck, looking to her with a warm smile.
“Yes, I suppose we do.”
* * *
Mirahna shook her head, pushing the memories of her time sailing to Northrend among the Alliance away. That had been one paladin, not truly allied with the Alliance so much as with the Argent Crusade, that she had spoken with on that ship. Any progress she had perceived was dashed when Varian Wrynn declared war. He was like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum because things hadn't gone his way. She understood Bolvar Fordragon had been close to the king, but the Horde had been betrayed as well, their forces killed alongside the Alliance. There was no reasoning behind Varian's hatred towards Thrall. He was simply a madman looking for the excuse to kill the enemies of his father.
The more the blood elf thought about the utter stupidity of Stormwind's leaders, the more angry she became. Her languid pacing had almost become frustrated stomps that drew Talthias' lazy attention to her. She finally left the study and went back to her bedchamber, changing into a simple white shirt that buttoned at the front, leaving the top buttons unfastened to a low V at the neck. She pulled on a pair of leather pants and knee high folded boots before making her way back towards the front door, picking up her sword on the way out.
Her people had known suffering as well, after all. The Sin'dorei's kingdom had been attacked by the Horde during the Second War, but all had been peaceful after the end of the conflict. Then a plague broke out in Lordaeron and soon the traitor prince was cleaving through Quel’thalas with his Scourge. Her father attempted to defend the city alongside others and died just as they did. Her mother was slain as they tried to flee the carnage, leaving Mirahna alone. The elf’s face grew stern as she walked through the city towards the combat training grounds.
“What right does the Alliance have to declare war on us? The orcs weren't in control of their actions, but the humans refuse to let go of their reckless hatred. Hell, the Forsaken are human themselves, even if undead. And even after the Scourge had ravaged Silvermoon, Kael'thas and his regiment had still aided the humans, only to be betrayed by them.” She stomped through the city's streets, making her way to the training grounds to let her body begin to work through some of the anger building within her.
As she walked, she thought of the further suffering she and her people had been through. The Alliance believed they had known loss, but they were fools. The Sin'dorei had suffered betrayal after betrayal ever since their own people banished them across the Great Sea and had then lost the Sunwell to the Scourge, putting them in constant pain afterwards. Kael'thas disappeared after the Alliance betrayed him and his men, stealing their most promising leader as well.
She remembered those days after the Sunwell's destruction and Kael'thas' disappearance. She, with a few dozen other survivors, had remained in the ruins of Silvermoon for weeks, fighting off the remaining Scourge that wandered the city and constantly at one another's throats as the pain drove them to the edge of madness. Mirahna shivered as she remembered waking up in her own sick after spending the night huddled in a corner convulsing from the withdrawal, pleading desperately with the dark room to make the pain go away or to let her find some magical artifact to ease the gnawing sensation in her stomach. The loss of the Sunwell was greater than anything the humans could ever imagine.
Her people had then been led to believe Kael’thas had found a way to satiate their hunger for magic in Outland. Mirahna had believed he was preparing a paradise for them and joined the blood knights to aid in finding their way to him. After learning the truth in Outland, she believed M’uru, the naaru they had been siphoning power from, was the reason the blood knights had suffered less from the fel corruption than others. She had fought ferociously on Quel’Danas to stop Kael’thas and save M’uru while others stopped the demon Kil’jaeden from entering Azeroth.
And after overcoming all that, one human king would see them all dead because of his own insanity. She drew her sword as she entered the training grounds and approached a training dummy, seeing the Wrynn before her. She moved forward with a slash from the side to hit the practice dummy in its “ribs.” A spin brought the blade down on his shoulder and she jumped back. In her mind, she blocked an attack and dodged another before spinning to the side and putting her back to the dummy. She sidestepped an imaginary attack and kicked out to hit a second dummy, sending it spinning. The wooden sword attached to it came around and she blocked it, ducking another attack in practice and caught it in the side. A quick strike sent it spinning again, but she parried the swing of the stationary sword and turned back towards “Wrynn” the dummy. A forward thrust drove the blade through the dummy’s stomach and she paused a moment, staring at it. She gritted her teeth as she pulled the sword free and took the “king’s” head off.
“Damn you, Varian Wrynn!” The blood knight held her sword low, panting for breath as she looked at the devastated practice target and sweat trailed down her forehead, hair clinging to her. Others gave out cheers of agreement, some proclaiming the king’s death and victory for the Horde.
“Curse the humans and the Alliance!”
“Let them come, we’ll crush them!”
“They’re no match for the might of the Horde!”
“Lok’tar ogar! Death to Varian Chin!”
“No!” Mirahna shouted, turning on them and glaring through blazing eyes. “This is the damn stupidity! They’ll hack into us while the Scourge fall over us all! How can we win two wars when every death in one bolsters our enemies in the other?” She sheathed her blade and clenched her jaw as she stormed out, cursing Varian again, and the humans as a whole. “They’re no better than the damned Scourge.”
The woman marched to the church of the Light the blood knights had built after M’uru had reignited the Sunwell, following the Light genuinely now. She unstrapped her sword and took a seat for a moment before sliding to her knees.
“What do I do? What can I do?” She lowered her head, hoping desperately for some answer from on high. “How can we possibly stop one war and win another at the same time? What can we do against such blind, reckless, hatred?” Light help me…”
The blood knight sat quietly for a long time, her shoulders slumped as the weight of ruin seemed to press down on her. She desperately prayed for guidance, the cold grip of hopelessness seeming to grow within her heart. Eventually, her head drooped, a defeated sigh escaping her lips.
“You only need to know where to begin.”
Mirahna’s eyes suddenly opened with a gasp as her memory of Arthas’ attack returned to her more vividly than ever.
* * *
The death knight prince walked through the shattered gates as though he expected a celebratory reception, his cursed blade in hand. All around her, ghouls and zombies attacked the high elves. The defenders fought valiantly, but were slain despite their efforts. Mirahna turned, seeing her father’s blade knocked from his hand by an orc, the green skinned warrior’s sword driven through his stomach and out his back.
“Father! No!” Mirahna’s mind reeled seeing the scene before her, but it made no sense. There were no orcs under Arthas' command, only the undead from Lordaeron. Yet the image before her did not relent. Everywhere she looked, the undead waned and orcs now slaughtered her people, tearing their bodies apart with terrible, powerful chops of axes and thrusts of spears.
The blood knight felt sick as every move she made proved fruitless, forced only to observe the butchering of everyone she saw until she noticed her mother running down a side street. In the blink of her eye, she was at the other end, watching as a spear burst through her mother’s chest from behind, raining blood over a young child she was trying to save.
Mirahna blinked again as the orc fell upon the child with a strong cleave of his axe and found herself again watching Arthas’ steady pace through the chaos. The human’s hair darkened to black as tusks pressed out from his lips and he shortened. Muscles thickened as his skin turned green, again twisting the events of her people’s tragedy into the fault of the orcs. The dark armor shifted to the familiar black plate Thrall wore, Frostmourne becoming the legendary weapon the warchief carried as well.
“Orgrim Doomhammer,” she whispered. The orc warchief of the First and Second War looked at her with blood red eyes before letting out a roar as he charged her.
“For the Horde!”
* * *
Mirahna gasped as she sat up suddenly. She was on the floor of the church, sweating harder than she had during her practice session. Her breathing came in heavy gasps, heart thundering in her chest.
“By the Light,” she whispered, pulling herself upright. She stood shakily, her legs not wanting to support her, and fell into the seat again. “This is why. We would never forgive the Scourge for what they did to Quel’thalas. And yet the orcs did the same to the entire kingdom of Stormwind less than thirty years ago.”
She eventually made her way out of the chapel to head home, thinking about the vision. She entered her home with a sense of déjà vu as she walked through the hallway in a daze. She returned to her study where Telthias still slept and took a seat in the chair at her desk.
“Whether the king's hatred of the orcs is justified or not, to declare war now is still madness. Wrynn’s hatred will be the death of us all and the Lich King’s victory shall be solely on Stormwind’s shoulders.” She grimaced at the thought, still seeing no solution to stopping the mad king’s path and refusing to accept the vision's suggestion that the humans had a foundation for their venom towards the orcs and their allies through the Horde.
She looked to the parchment laid upon the desk, trailing her fingers over it before opening a vial of ink, smelling its scent.
“Take your time, sweety. It is important to care for your penmanship,” her mother’s voice sounded in her mind as though she were standing over her shoulder. “Mind the details, Miry. Everything is in the details...”
* * *
She remembered sitting in that very same chair in the study when she was just a child. Her mother was a beautiful woman with shoulder length silken red hair and a face that seemed eternally youthful. Her voice was melodious and a number of her friends had insisted she was more enchanting than any minstrel of the Alliance. Mirahna, her silver hair pulled back and braided, looked up to her from her writing assignment.
“What do you mean, mother?”
“If you want to be a historian, you must see all the details, not just the pretty ones. In war, history is written by the victor, but it is often blinded. A true keeper of lore, a real scholar, seeks the whole truth of the events before them.”
“So even the good guys can be wrong?”
“Yes, Miry. Nobody sees themselves as the bad guys. It’s all a matter of perspective.”
“Have we been wrong, mother?”
“Again, it’s a matter of perspective. Our forefathers decimated great expanses of our people’s homes out of arrogance. They killed many of their own people, using magic that was forbidden and punishable by death, just as we have forbidden necromancy. Were they wrong to do so? And when we came here, we built our city on the ancestral grounds of another people, declaring they no longer had a right to their sacred land. We killed them to take it from them. Was it right to do so?”
“I don’t…but those were trolls, mother!”
“And from the trolls’ perspective, we were wrong, invading monsters that wielded horrible evil in our magic. From our perspective, we did what was necessary. The trolls are brutal, cannibalistic, monstrous beings, both primitive and terrible. I believe we were right to drive them back, but I know that others may see us differently, and time may name us the villain. I often look at our deeds today and wonder if time will name us the wicked in our conflicts.”
“You mean with the war?”
“Yes, Miry. We've barely lent any aid to the Alliance, despite an entire kingdom's fall to these invading monsters. Will we be seen as the villains for letting them face this terror alone? Will our actions lead to even more deaths? This is what it will mean to be a true scholar of history, Mirahna. To see your own people today as they will be seen tomorrow.”
* * *
Mirahna looked at the parchment and ink, thinking about her mother’s words. Her mind wandering, thinking to her vision at the church. To see both sides; the Light had given her the first step in being able to do so. The orcs had destroyed everything in Stormwind, taken everything from Wrynn and his people, just as the Scourge had taken from Quel’thalas its land and cities. Every human settlement had been destroyed in the First War.
“And what has been done since then?” Mirahna pondered aloud to herself, though Telthias looked at her from his napping place. “The orcs weren’t executed, not even their leader. An act of mercy most wouldn't fathom as even considerable. Instead they are only imprisoned until Thrall unified them and now honors Doomhammer with Orgrimmar itself. The very orc that led the complete destruction of most every human settlement from the Capital City of Lordaeron to the forest of Elwynn. Then Grom kills Cenarius and Thrall names his hall Grommash Hold, refusing to claim any responsibility for Grom’s actions.”
She brought a hand to trail her lips as she thought about it.
“But if Thrall tried to have the Horde make amends for past misdeeds done under demonic influence, they’d still be viewed as tied to the Old Horde of the Legion, and he himself would be seen as weak. But the lack of effort is seen as callous and a disregard for the suffering of the Alliance from the humans' eyes.”
She sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair. The hatred for the orcs made sense, actually. She remembered when the Horde attacked Quel’thalas. Even then, her own people had blamed the humans, despite their own failure to supply aid to the war efforts, a decision her own parents often argued over. And now the Forsaken, once the same undead that ravaged Lordaeron with Arthas, had betrayed them all in Northrend.
“And all we’ve done is put Sylvannas back on her throne. We haven’t even investigated if there are more Forsaken following Putress’ cause. We aren’t even sure she didn’t know about the plague the whole time. At the very least, it was her that put Varimathras in a position to orchestrate this. Varimathras and Putress are dead, but nobody has been held accountable for allowing their actions.”
What was she saying? She tapped her chin as she thought about it, viewing both sides as best she could.
“But if I pointed the finger at Sylvannas, it would be treason against the Horde.” Would she be executed for speaking against the Forsaken’s leader? Exiled? She was suggesting the Alliance had a claim against the Horde as a whole, even if she felt it was a misguided one. If the Horde did cast her out, the Alliance still wouldn’t offer her safety simply because of her heritage. She would be alone against the world. However, if she could find Feneril again, surely Tirion Fordring and the Argent Crusade would accept her in their ranks.
“I wanted to see both sides of the world,” she had told him. The Alliance was wrong in this war, but the Horde had their fingers in the problem as well. There had been no answering for the negligence that allowed for the betrayal in Northrend. Her friends, her allies, had been killed by Putress as well and yet one demon and a single apothecary's death set all things right?
“I will see justice in this world again,” she said quietly, repeating the words Feneril had said to her on that ship. Mirahna dipped the quill in the ink and leaned forward towards the parchment.
‘In the year 624 of the King’s Calendar, war was declared in the former kingdom of Lordaeron. King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind, and soldiers of the Alliance, faced Warchief Thrall and Lady Sylvannas Windrunner, with soldiers of the Horde, after the Forsaken Putress’ betrayal at Angrathar, the Wrath Gate, in Northrend.
The declaration comes not as revenge for the loss of one battle, the loss of loved ones, nor of one betrayal. Instead, it comes from years of frustration and of justice gone undone. While the Alliance is guilty of misguided decisions, we must hold ourselves to a higher standard than we have within the Horde. We must seek justice within our own ranks if we are ever to be accepted in peace with others.
There are many questions to be answered from the depths of the Undercity, the halls of Grommosh Hold, the walls of Silvermoon, and the heights of Thunder Bluff. I hereby pose these questions, but it is up to not only the leaders of the Horde, but the peoples of the Horde, to find the answers to them.'
The next morning, Mirahna left Silvermoon City as the sun crested the horizon, her stallion, Suntreader, galloping at a leisurely pace. She knew it wouldn't be long until someone found the documents she had nailed to the church of the Light's door, posing the questions about the Horde and their involvement, or lack there of, in events that had allowed war to once again build between themselves and the Alliance. She didn't know what ramifications there could be, nor did she care. Mirahna Dawnseeker, no longer seeing herself as a blood knight, but as a paladin of the Light, set out once more for Northrend, and for the Argent Crusade.