Not all dreams come true

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

Jalem:

What a fool he had been. He hadn't led just himself to death he had led those who believed in him and who would follow his dream with him. Lordaeron would not rise again today, and he would not be the man to do it...

"Keep them at bay Brothers! The Light will bless us for our sacrifices! Think of our Allies who live because we die, know that we will be heroes! Our names will rally the Alliance!"

His eyes burned with hot, fresh, tears. No one would notice though. Blood and gore covered his face, besides who would turn to look at their Commander in such a time as this? Anger and shame burned in him and he lashed out again and again, smashing into the Forsaken who dared to assault his line. It was hopeless. How can you defeat an enemy without number, who never tires, and who knows no fear? What fear do the dead have of death? Thoughts of glory had clouded his vision, and now they would all pay.

He pulled back from the front, men crowding to fill the gap he left. The ground was slick with blood, and there was barely any ground left that wasn't covered by some body. Night Elf, Human, Gnome, and Dwarf. They all lay dead. Even a Timbermaw Shaman had come to his call, eager to repay the blood debt his tribe owed him. His eyes landed on the once noble man, now covered in gore and dead in a heap, gone forever. He pulled his canteen to his mouth and took what little water left from it.

They had put up a good fight, and they would continue to until they died from the Forsaken or exaustion. They had willingly stayed behind to make sure the rest of those who came with them could survive, could bring the few they rescued from Tristfall home. They put themselves in a semi-circle, their backs to a wall. No retreat. Hours ago the Forsaken had engaged them. Those had been the worse moments, the most terrifying moments of his life. Infernals rained down, Fire rained from the sky, huge chunks of ice bashed mens brains open. The Gnomes and Night Elves made short work of the Warlocks and Mages, but the effect had been devastating. Since then they had been fighting almost non-stop, the torn and battered banner of the Alliance was their only hope. As long as it stood, they would fight. Sighing he thrust himself back into the battle...

Another hour ticked by. Constant attacks with only short breaks. His men looked at him firmly with pride. They were prepared to die, and proud to do so. He thought of the numbers and winced. What was once seventy five strong men was now no more than twenty. So many dead. So many more to die. He backed from the front again, trying to catch his breath when they came with more than they had ever before. There was no one left to silence their arrows. No one left who had enough energy to keep the soldiers in good spirit and health. And in a moment, he watched as their last bit of salvation fell. A sole spear found the banner bearer, only a boy of fifteen. He may of marched to Lordaeron a boy, but he would die a man this day. Not a cry, not a word. With his last bit of life he thrust the banner to the sky, as if trying to keep the banner up. His eyes were already clouded, he was dead before he hit the ground. Jalem ran to take his place, his hands grasping the heavy wooden banner before it hit the ground. He raised it as high as he could throwing his mace to the ground and pulling out a shortsword.

"The Banner stands my Brothers! The Alliance stands! Though we may die now the world will know one thing: Lordaeron will prevail! Light bless us all! Elune bless us all!"

The men gave one last defiant roar. One hand after another let go of their weapon, their legs falling out underneath them. Twenty...thirteen....eight...five. Death approached, yet the banner stood. Four. It was all that mattered to him. Three...two...one.

It was over.

As the axe smashed into his chest and his life poured through the wound he saw so many things. His Father giving him his first Mace. His Brother and him swimming at the pond near Brill. His Mother's warm smile. The first time he met Ruria in Darkshore. That first kiss with Menteria. Josephin crying on his shoulder. His undead Brother's eyes pleading him to end his torment. Mackenzee's eyes when he healed her of her wounds. So many memories flooded him, all good.

'I have failed you Lordaeron. I have failed you Mother, Brother, and Father. The Calimdorn line comes to an end now. Light Bless my soul, and redeem this fallen nation.'

His thoughts faded to black after that. His eyes grew weak as he fell back. He could see the sun, how beautiful it was. He could see the banner, falling to the earth. It reminded him of a wounded gryphon falling to the ground. So much pride and honor in a single object.

Light blinded his eyes. It was over. The Light would be his redemption afterall.

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

Buthaleirus:

News of a foe finally fallen sent the Officer's quarters a buzz.

"Could it be true?" Buthaleirus thought to himself. "Could the golden pinkskin be finally be dead? Could he be defeated?"

Grabbing the latest causality list from the passing tauren, he read through the names. Hoping intelligence had gotten the names of the fallen alliance.

A single tear of respect rolled down Butha's cheek.

"Only partially true." Butha continued his silent respects. "Jalem would never be defeated."

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

Nesune:

She had come as quick as the news was carried, completely exhausting three gryphons on her madcap flight toward the remaining bastion at Chillwind. Three different gryphons, and she had barely given the handlers time before taking the next available back into the skies. The dirt and sand still stained Nesune's ritual gown, in a way almost fitting for the purpose. There would be no such immaculate needs, should the news prove true...

Some hours' ride saw her on a borrowed horse near a recent battlefield, the corpses of the fallen still - mercifully - undisturbed by scavengers. Or by the plague. She barely brought the stallion to a sudden halt before dismounting, almost leaping onto the ground to search amongst the dead. The frown was on her face, so common at such a place, pausing to look at the faces of the fallen - or what remained of them. Cursing, she reached into the belt pouch hanging from her waist, pulling out a rune and began to chant.

Power surged through her, in the manner she was once taught in Dalaran. She didn't care of the display, or what attention it might attract from the shattered kingdom's savage inhabitants. All she cared was finishing the invocation. The words echoed out in the melodic chant of the Quel'dorei, tone for tone what she learned at their knees in the fabled city of magic. Coming to a cresendo, the rune in her hand began to glow with a light to rival the sun, then shattered into dust to carry on the wind. Wincing at the pain and ignoring the sticky crimson flowing from the wound on her palm, she made a gesture, and the rift appeared before her.

She knew how the portals worked, at least more than in theory. A rift was created, cutting through the Nether from one location to another, bridging the gap. Most of the students prided themselves on the gate itself, not its underlying physics. They didn't care what safeguards the Kirin Tor had put in place on the spells, to ensure the energies from the Nether could not enter into the rift. It was all point A to point B for them, not the infinite, dizzying array of chaos between them, was all that mattered. She knew better. And she knew how to circumvent it.

The rift was as usual, the far side showing the sanctuary in Stormwind's tower. Nesune moved to enter the rift...

...there. It was a world leeched of all color, of all... life. She still held color, when she looked to her flesh and her gown, but they were muted, bleached. It was as if something fed on essence itself, leeching it away from the environment and all else. Behind her, fallen Lordaeron and its plagued colors could still be seen, as well the tower room in Stormwind through the other rift. With her will and a gesture, both rifts sealed off, leaving her to this alien range.

The grey world seemed a twisted reflection of the battlefield she had just left behind. The shadows were more oppressive, the wind keening a dirge as it blew. She let her senses go, focusing on the one task at hand. She stepped amongst the fallen, ready for any sign.

Perhaps minutes, or an hour. Or maybe a year had passed since she began. She knew she could not find it. She found where it should be, with his body there. For a brief moment at first, she thought she felt it, that precious spark within it. She could even delude herself into seeing it with her eyes, a palpable aura surrounding his body, flowing through it. But... no. She had found his body almost at once, when she began, and nothing had shown her his spirit was there. If she had simply had more skill with the dead... but her skill was with other matters. She could not bring him back any more than a lich could live again.

"Lordaeron... the Alliance..." she started, talking to the corpse. "There's a dark shadow on this day. You... you were one of our lights, knight. You were one of our greatest in number. Now..."

Nesune stood up, shaking her head as she closed her eyes, wiping a trickle of salty tears from her cheeks. Sparing another glance to the body, her chest shuddered as she made the gesture, reopening the rift leading back into the battlefield. Pausing at the rift, she looked back a final time, holding her breath. "The Light have mercy on us," she told him, wiping away another tear. "The Lightbringer shepherd you to a better place, knight." Shaking her head, she stepped through the rift, closing it behind her.

Some hours later a diseased mongrel trotted through the field, tearing at the corpses of the fallen - save one. Trying for its meal, it found a pressure it could not pass, the body warded from harm. Next to it, a block of ice rest, no amount melting from its slick surface. Within, though, was something unusual. A solid block, yes, but a flame flickered, the size of a candle flame being pushed by a gentle breeze. It remained burning, inside a block of unmelting ice.

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

Kash:

Kash stood against a wall in the Undercity, watching a few Forsaken in a heated conversation. He ashed his cigar once or twice and moved over to hear them.

"It was I who dealt the killing blow," one boasted. Another shook his head, clearly disagreeing.

"It was my gun that killed him, clearly. The axe was just an afterthought."

"No you idiots, it was my patented fireball. Nothing kills paladins better!"

All three continued arguing with each other, each trying to take the credit for whatever they'd killed.

"Who is this that you're so proud of killing?" Kash asked, leaning in.

"That human officer... What was his last name? Calendar? Colander?" the Forsaken looked to his comrades, holding back a few sick chuckles.

"Calimdorn? Jalem Calimdorn?" Kash responded, flicking his cigar away.

"Yes! That was it. He died weeping, and he probably shat himself."

Kash stood straight and grimaced. He looked down at the three Forsaken, who had resumed their argument of who actually killed him.

Kash calmly reached forward and clamped his massive hand around the head of the closest Forsaken. After a sickening crunch, the former human slumped to the ground, headless. The other two reached for their weapons, but not before Kash had their throats in each of his hands.

"You pathetic pieces of $!@%," Kash spoke, low and filled with anger. "You did not deserve that kill."

Having returned the three Forsaken to the grave, Kash immediately set out to find the place his old foe had fallen.

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

Cenquel:

She flicked her thin hair from her pale face and stood defiantly atop the cliff face. The sounds of steel upon steel and the cries of dying men could be heard in the distance- her keen ears twitched before she placed her crimson helm over her face. With a sharp whistle that echoed through the air she called Frea'nalas to her side, and in an instant was atop the great nightsabre. They made a blur of the forest.

The scene that soon lay before her was macabre. Hacked bodies and mangled limbs lay upon the bloodied soil, turning the once serene area into a red nightmare. Cenquel's eyes swiftly scanned the area, and soon lay at rest upon a golden figure. Jalem Calimdorn was at peace among havoc. The ragged standard of the alliance lay at his side, his blood had ran onto the flag. Without a sound, Cenquel dismounted, removed her helm, and respectfully walked to the still figure. She knelt down before him and bowed her head.

"We all die, Jalem. Men turn to shadows, dust. But your idea will live on. For ideas are immortal."

With that, Cenquel lifted the alliance standard and placed it in his hands. The wind blew, and she was gone.
As she was riding away, a single beam of light split the clouds behind her to illuminate the passing of a legend into the next life.

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

Zaroth:

Sittting on the roof of Menethil Keep, Zaroth watches the activity below. People transacting business, changing ships, getting gryphons, just walking or fishing, and smiles.

Suddenly he is gripped by a piercing pain through his heart.
He's felt this before, but not this hard. He raises his head and searches the horizon for it. He knows it will be there. It always is after the pain.

He looks towards Lordaeron.......there.......there is the shaft of light....strong, bright, brilliant.....who ever the pally that died was, he was a strong and good one.

Zaroth bows his head and offers a short prayer.....then stands and salutes..............

[Jadey/Ala/Oria]

Alabaster

With soft clicking, the talons moved over the skull. Long lost of flesh, it held infinite interest to her. Every life was a precious thing, though she would refuse to say such in most company. Let them think what they would, let the masses believe they knew her thoughts bound by her rotten flesh.

"Telll me goblinn of thiss onee." A tome laid open before her, pages fresh and crisp in their crafting. Dipping her quill within ink dark as liquid pitch, she prepared to catalog what little he knew.

Puffing up his chest, the caretaker began. "Faced a many of your own, hatred yours through and through, this here is the skull of the most known warrior of the Light to ever disdain your Lady Sylvanus' halls--"

The elven eyes trapped in boney sockets slitted to fine lines, regarding the goblin at length until he hushed for fear of her. A drop of ink gathered oh so slowly upon the end of the quill, waiting ...waiting ...for her to write.

"The greatestt of the warriorsss of Light. You sayy this skull, thiss cranium is thatt of..."

He nodded proud and true. "Why that it is!"

Silence decended as she watched him. She moved not, frozen as if she had finally given up her ghost. His old heart began to thunder, then slow, then fade into boredom as he waited on her. The ink gathered into a larger drop, impending to fall.

Transfixed by the sudden stillness, he did not know what to make of it. But as the whip rounded his neck to squeeze away his life, she sighed deeply. Setting quill to parchment, she began to journey what she knew of Jalem. But this skull his? Hardly.

The goblin shivered and shook as Fieranda watched his eyes widen and become glassy.

"Howw I hatee liarsss. All knoww...of his lifee...and endd."