A Hero's Death

Biara sighed, placing the crystal on the worktable before her. Her apprentices looked at the object with concern, the three Sin'dorei standing around the Magistrix as they worked together on a complex energy matrix within the stone. Their work had been going on for several hours now with little progress and all of them were feeling frustration.

Biara turned to head towards another nearby table, intent on obtaining a few spell components to further enhance their efforts when she stiffened suddenly with a gasp. The air around the Magistrix began to crackle as magic built, and her eyes closed as she concentrated.

“Mistress Dayfire?” one of the apprentices asked hesitantly. “Is something wrong?”

Without opening her eyes, Biara responded, her voice tense, “Someone is pressing against the wards of this Spire. Many someones. They are seeking to penetrate our defenses. I....can't hold back their spells alone...there's too many...”

Somewhere deep within the structure of the Spire, something gave a deep <thud> as if a heavy weight were falling away. The sound was followed a moment later by the tinkling sound of bells heard in every room of the building, urgent and continuous. All around the Magistrix apprentices stiffened, their eyes widening in alarm.</thud>

Biara shuddered, her eyes opening and focusing on the Sin'dorei nearest to her. “They've broken through. Portals are opening within our home. We are under attack.”

She brought her arms up and spoke the words to a spell. A moment later she murmured into the air, and her voice echoed throughout the Spire, transported to every room magically.

Enemies seek to breach our House and home. To arms! To arms! For the glory of Quel'Thalas!

*******************

A pair of eyes opened at the sound of Biara's voice, their bloodshot whites surrounding dilated pupils that stared into the distance without seeing. As the voice of the Magistrix repeated the message, the eyes locked on the ceiling, suddenly seeing.

The dwarf stirred, the first movement he'd made in weeks, his breath coming from his broken and battered body in a short gasp as his consciousness began to return to him. Voices swirled in his mind, urgently battling with one another.

“There is battle! War! Rise up and strike down the enemy! Bathe in blood one last time!”
“I've seen enough! I came here to die, to find an end against the witch's sister. Not to run through this spire on a rampage.”
“What end is this, to die in a cell on a sickbed? Is this how you wish to go into the hereafter? As a sickly weakling, unable to even lift a hand in your own defense?”
“The witch promised! She promised I could fight a true opponent, that I would die with the honor I’ve earned in my years of war!”
“And how will she fill that promise if she is laid low? How will anyone stop the legion when they are not prepared to fight with their own strength? Do you think she will keep her promise once she is gone, once she's been laid low by weaklings who swarm against her?”
“She PROMISED! SHE PROMISED ME! I WILL DIE IN BATTLE AND SHE WILL CARRY ON THE FIGHT!”
“Then go to her. Show her true war. Meet your end knowing that someone is there to take your place, prepared to fight the final fight against the legion one day.”
“Show her the truth of war...show her strength.”
“Strength...”

The dwarf had not been chained; there had been no need since he had been comatose for so long. No one considered that he would awaken, or that he would be in any condition to fight after living on broth for so long. His stout body, so torn by battle, still worked well enough when he focused his rage within it. As it sailed through the air, the wooden door of his cell burst into splinters, destroyed by his mass.

Grungivaldi tumbled into the hallway, his face a mask of rage, battlelust flowing through his veins. It was the only thing that kept him going as he headed towards the nearest guard post, and the weapons that awaited him there.

********************

Biara flinched as a blast of fire snatched up the apprentice standing beside her and threw the elf into the wall of the chamber. A rumbling blast followed the flame, echoing through the stone chamber. She snarled, pointing a finger and arcane magic lashed out across the room, throwing the Quel'dorei spellcaster that had assaulted them down to the ground, his body a smoldering ruin.

All around the room battle raged, Quel'dorei attackers pouring through portals on several floors of the spire and invading her home. Her personal guard fought back to back, desperately trying to force back the invaders so that the mistress of the spire could rally her defenses. Blade sparked against blade as combatants fought in deadly melee only feet from Biara, and explosions echoed within the room as Quel'dorei Archmages launched attacks on her conjured water elementals, blowing the creatures to bits.

The Spire shuddered as several floors below one of Biara's alchemy labs exploded, the materials inside lighting up from the magical battles that raged within the building. Everyone in the room stumbled, many falling to their knees as smoke filled the chamber. Biara looked around desperately, realizing her guards were vastly outnumbered as more enemies poured in through an adjoining hallway. With portals opened, they could reinforce their position and move in before any defenses within the city could come to aid her.

She stumbled, falling to one knee as another blast rocked the spire. Rising up, she pointed, her magic lashing out and slaughtering several of the blue-eyed elven attackers. She began to back up, using the space she'd created to head for a far door. A third corridor branched off from the room and she bit her lip in anxiety as several of the Quel'dorei headed down that third passage. Beyond the opening, she knew that a door lay at the end of a disused corridor, a wall of ice sealing off the room that contained a powerful phylactery. If they breached the barrier....

She had only a moment to think the thought before an explosion echoed up that passage, shards of ice flying outward to fall on the stone floor. Out of sight of the combatants, a deep, evil laugh could be heard as the Lichling within the chamber was freed by her foolish enemies. Bodies on the floor in the room began to twitch as the creature applied its power, raising them as the undead. Biara scowled, retreating from the room as screams began to be heard amongst those still fighting.

“Fall back! House Dayfire, to me! Fall back to the grand dining hall!” she shouted. A few elves hurried through the door behind her, battle raging behind them. Far too few though, far too few.

Biara Dayfire ran, knowing the end would come soon.

*****************

It had been almost too easy for Grungivaldi to defeat the guards in the armory. Distracted by the attackers assaulting the spire, they had been unprepared for an assault from the detention cells. The dwarf had slain three guards with his bare hands, their military training nothing compared to the endless years of battle he had experienced. Their bodies had not even had time to cool before he walked to the weapons racks, eyeing his choices over with glee.

Slowly, almost reverently he reached out, taking up a finely crafted double-handed battleaxe. He could almost picture Kyliska Sunblade wielding the weapon, her lithe form laying her enemies low, the more bloodthirsty Dayfire sister dancing in battle in his mind.

He hefted the weapon, feeling its weight and holding it with his left hand. He grinned, his right hand reaching out and grasping a second similar weapon. He lifted both over his head, giving them a practice swing, feeling them as an extension of himself. His grin was a deathmask, fixed to his face as he kicked down one of the doors to the armory, heading towards the sound of battle deeper within the spire.

He went to meet his destiny. He went to destroy.

********************

The Lichling laughed, it's hollow voice echoing over the stiff forms of the dead in the chamber around it. The fighting had died down as it's undead began to overwhelm attacker and defender alike. The creature had caught a glimpse of fire red hair as Biara Dayfire retreated, and if it was capable of smiling with its skull-like face it would have. Revenge would come soon, and the mistress of House Dayfire would pay for draining it of power.

The creature drifted forward, a tattered book of necromancy in its hands. It was both a powerful tool of the scourge as well as its phylactery, and the book flared with power as the forms of the dead within the room began to twitch, rising in undeath. It would create an army, here in the heart of Silvermoon and then hunt down the Magistrix that had dared to torment it.

Biara Dayfire would be a banshee before the sun had set.

**********************

No foe stood before him. No blade touched him as the dwarf ascended higher and higher into the Spire. Quel'dorei and Sin'dorei fell before his axes, any who dared to challenge him meeting their deaths at his hands. With each kill, with each gout of blood that covered him, Grungivaldi could feel himself coming to life. His aged body moved more swiftly, his blows landed with more power, his rage grew ever greater. This is what he had been created for, what he had been forged to do in endless war. It was his only purpose on the face of Azeroth; to destroy, to be a thing of war.

As he ascended a final set of stairs, he came upon a chamber that had seen heavy fighting already. Three corridors branched off of it, and down one he could hear a raging battle calling to him with a siren song. Within the room though, an obstacle stood in his path. The dead of battle stood, waiting silently before the Lichling that floated in the middle of the room. The honored dead that had given their lives in battle, defiled by a creature that itself was simply a tool of the Legion in the end. Grungivaldi's fists tightened on his axes, his knuckles white with rage. The creature was defiling the honored dead, and stood in the way of a battle that he was meant to fight. It had to die.

The Lichling turned, pointing at him and laughing in its cold voice. The dwarf didn't waste time with a battlecry; the undead would not be phased by it and he was in a rush. He leaned forward and charged, his body bounding forward towards the waiting dead, his boots pounding loudly in the eerily silent chamber.

The dead made no sound as they were pounded down into ruin. They didn't cry out as his axes severed their unliving essences from their bodies. The only sound was his weapon striking flesh and the sound of the dead returning to the floor of the chamber.

The Lichling gave a hiss, pointing at the charging dwarf and casting a dire spell of fear over him, attempting to turn his mind into a mire of horror. To its utter surprise, Grungivaldi plowed forward, grinning insanely as he neared his foe. The dwarf had long since accepted his fate, and death held no fear for him now. He had fought countless thousands of times, and taken more wounds than any normal person could recount. Terror and fear held no meaning to him now; only the single-minded determination that his foe would fall and he would walk away the victor.

His axes flashed in the magical lights of the chamber as they rose up. The Lichling hissed once in defiance as they descended, neatly cutting the creature in half. Its death shriek almost overshadowed the sound of its phylactery falling to the floor, the book landing at the dwarf's feet.

Grungivaldi reached down to pick it up, and the dire wards Biara had placed on it lanced through him, sucking at his very life essence. He grit his teeth, reared up and kicked the book down an adjoining corridor.

“I'll die when I'm good and ready, witch!” he snarled. He hefted his axes on his shoulder, a smile playing across his face as the roar of battle intensified down the final passageway.

He hadn't missed the party after all.

***********************

It was hopeless. Biara knew it in her heart as she shouted, flinging spells outwards towards the elves that besieged her and her honor guard. Overturned tables served as barricades as she and her men held the northern end of the great dining hall. Far in the distance, she could see her sister Kyliska making her own last stand in a corner of the room, House Dayfire's banner standing proudly amongst the carnage.

Between them, a sea of enemies surged, fighting fiercely to take down the two heirs of the House and their remaining men. It was clear now that the Quel'dorei had assaulted the spire with the intention of destroying Biara and her sister, and they had spared no expense or effort to see the two Sin'dorei undone.

The Magistrix focused, bringing her magic forth and pointing. Arcane blasts pounded the enemies in front of her barricades, throwing down half a dozen enemies and tinging the air around them with the smell of ozone. For each enemy that fell, three more stepped forward to take their place; Biara's magic would hold them, but only if she could keep casting her spells uninterrupted. That was unlikely to be the case as a new portal opened in the center of the swirling battle and four Archmages stepped out.

Dressed in white robes, they hovered a foot above the ground, their faces wearing identically neutral expressions. As one they pivoted, facing Biara's position as if they could taste her magic in the air. The one closest to her hovered higher, speaking over the swirling combat.

“Biara Dayfire, you are hereby sentenced to death for the crime of crafting a mana bomb. You and your House are to be torn to ruin, that you will never again threaten the world with your magic. If your own people cannot see your insanity, then we at least can put a stop to it before it destroys us all!”

The other three intoned the same words, their mouths moving in unison as the lead elf spoke. Biara blinked stupidly for a moment, not comprehending what they had said. As realization set in, she began to shake with rage. She surged up onto a nearby table, her magic flaring up. She began to shout, punctuating each word with a blast of magic.

“I. AM. NOT. BULDING. A. MANA. BOMB!” she raged. Her spells flew across the room, impacting against wards that the four had conjured around themselves. Working together, they were far more powerful than any spell she could use to assault them; there was no way to win. Her sea green eyes met the blue of the lead Archmage.

He smiled sadly, “And so ends another failure of our once proud people. Fallen to darkness, you cannot even see how dangerous you've become. You are like a rabid beast, a danger to all. Like a beast, you will go to your end now.”

He brought his hands up, chanting along with the three Archmages linked to him. Magic began to gather in the room, and the combat died down as all eyes turned to the floating four as they prepared to end the battle once and for all. As the power grew and a sinister prickling sensation flowed through the air, a loud boom could be heard on the far side of the room.

A pair of double wooden doors burst inwards, shattered to splinters by a blow. Striding through the doorway, covered in gore with two axes gripped tightly in his fists, the dwarf Grungivaldi snarled in rage.

“No one kills the witch but me!”

***********************

It had finally come. He had finally found the ultimate battle. Hundreds of enemies stood arrayed before him, the scent of blood and death floated in the air like a perfume. Grungivaldi had come home at last, and his body was at last fully alive once more.

He took a step forward, his boot scraping on the stone floor. His next step splashed through a puddle of blood, the sound of it energizing to the bezerker. He began to move faster, his eyes fixed on the floating Quel'dorei, the rage in his heart fixed on his face for all to see. Quel'dorei stood before him, and fell like wheat before a scythe. Blades struck him, and the pain was a distant thing to be realized later. Blood flowed, his and theirs mixing together like a fine vintage of wine, soaking his clothing.

His foes moved in what seemed like slow motion as his axes flew out, slashing them down around him. Spells blew away huge gouts of stone as he dodged, the splinters slicing through his skin. He grunted, ignoring the injuries as he rapidly approached his goal. One of his axes shattered, and he let the useless remains fall to the ground behind him with a clatter as he pushed past the last of the defenders before the Archmages.

The dwarf surged upwards, his last weapon held in both hands over his head, blood flowing from the razor sharp edge as he finally let loose a battleroar that was deafening in the room. Spells struck him in mid-air, arrows punched through his body as he flew, but still his axe came down over his head, arching perfectly into the very surprised face of the lead archmage.

Magic flared too brightly to look at as the weight of the weapon, followed by the dwarf, plunged through the shielding and split the Archmage nearly in half. Instantly the tension in the room shattered as all of the magic that the four magic users had conjured flowed freely. The other three fell to the ground with grunts as their bond was severed, looking at each other in horror. One of them looked at Grungivaldi, who lay bleeding on the floor beside their leader, his lifeblood flowing with each beat of his heart.

“W-why...? Why would you help her...?” one of the Quel'dorei asked.

Grungivaldi spit a wad of blood from his mouth and grinned. “Because the witch and her sister are the only ones who understand what it really takes to wage war. Because if you think the Legion is gonna wait for you to work as a team to defeat them, when you can't even do it with your own strength, then you're not worth havin' around. The witch knows what to do. She'll stand up to them. She will be a thing of war like me!”

The elf blinked in surprise, not even comprehending the words that the dwarf muttered through his labored breathing. The renewed fighting in the room died down again as a new sense of magical tension filled the air. All eyes turned to where Biara Dayfire and her honor guard stood. There, upon one of the dining tables, Biara stood defiantly. The loose magic that had been unleashed by the death of one of the four Archmages now hung in the air around her, hazing the air with its energy. Her hair curled around her like live snakes, and her eyes flared with blue light from the force of the arcane energy she had plucked from the room.

“And now you go to your deaths,” she purred softly. “Know that you have failed, and that your time has long come and gone. The Quel'dorei are no more, and only the Sin'dorei remain. I alone will decide what is good for my people. I alone will plot a course towards the future, using what tools I see fit to aid them. I am a Magistrix of this city, I am the law within this Spire, and I am the force that will see to it that threats like you never again threaten my beloved home. Die now in agony. Burn for me.”

Her magic lashed out, the light blinding as it vaporized the three confused and stunned Archmages. Secondary explosions flowed amongst the crowd of Quel'dorei as Biara's spells ended their portal prematurely. In the distance, a high pitched cry could be heard as Kyliska Sunblade lead her men on a final charge into the heart of the foes.

Grungivaldi watched the elves around him die and smiled, his vision dimming. His time had come and gone, and his wars were done now. Others would take up his burden. Others with the strength to defy the Legion to the end. Though not of his people, something of his people would live on as the witch and her sister fought for Azeroth tooth and nail.

The great warrior's eyes closed and he breathed his last.

*****************

The tomb was no simple affair, not with the funding of House Dayfire behind it. Carved from marble, inscribed with dwarven runes of power overlaid with elven magical wards, Grungivaldi was laid to rest with honor befitting one who had saved the Scion of House Dayfire and her family.

As the final stone was laid to rest, Biara reached out to touch the final resting place of a creature that had known only war and lived only for the fight. She spoke a word, and her arcane magic flowed across the structure, coating it with energy and sealing it forevermore. Within, the body of the dwarf would lay eternal, unravaged by time, his weapons and armor pristine and made whole by her artificers. It was her final gift to him, the one who had shown her what true power and sacrifice meant.

“Rest easy old foe,” she said softly. “You will never be forgotten. The lesson you taught me will always be in my heart.”

As she walked away, Biara could almost swear she heard a voice on the wind. She shook her head and smiled, heading back up into her spire to oversee the repairs there.

“Never stop fighting witch....never surrender...”