As In Life, So In Death

*Blasted Lands, Present Day*

Avielle stood on a ragged outcropping of rocks overlooking the blasted plains below. Dressed in black and white hued armor that was reminiscent of the dresses she once wore in life, she held a runespear in one hand, the dry, dust filled winds of the Blasted Lands moving the small black and white pennant she’d affixed to the tip fitfully.

In the far distance, looking almost like ants in the heat haze of the dry, cracked earth, she watched as two armies clashed; the brutal orcs that had been pouring from the Dark Portal slamming into a slender line of elven defenders, the banners of Silvermoon visible in their bright golds and reds even from where she stood.

She squinted, her scourge-blue eyes narrowed as she watched the two armies fighting. The Horde forces were holding their own against the invaders, but it would be a costly victory she could tell. Even as she watched, a unit of Iron Horde orcs began to maneuver around the side of the conflict, moving into position to flank the elves and rout them from the field.

An emotion that no undead should feel began to fill Avielle as a thrill of fear shot up her spine. Not fear for herself, but fear and concern for those she had sworn to protect. Emotions battled in her, the need to hurt those who were causing her to experience the emotions battling with the feelings that came from what she could only call her soul.

Beside her, her deathcharger stirred, the undead horse moving closer as it sensed its master’s unease. It nuzzled her once, its fetid breath washing over her before it pointed its nose towards the distant battle and issued a very un-horse-like growl.

Avielle nodded, patting the beast before grabbing the reins, “Yes. We must go. We are needed now.”

With that she planted the spear in the ground beside her, hoisting herself up on her mount before taking up her weapon. She snapped the reins once and her undead mount eagerly surged forward, plunging down the steep, rocky hillside at speeds that a living person would cringe at.

It mattered little to Avielle, for today the dead rode to war.

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Vilreth Brightleaf gasped for breath, his arm aching already as he hued at another Iron Horde orc that stood before him. He and his retinue had been part of the forces sent from Silvermoon to bolster the Horde lines in the Blasted Lands, and although the fighting had only raged for a short time, it was fierce and unrelenting.

Around him other elves fought, lithe bodies twisting and turning as they deftly avoided the blades of their foes. Here and there an explosion rocked the battlefield as the Iron Horde unleashed its deadly technologies in an effort to level the playing field.

Just as it looked like they might repulse the initial assault, a warcry arose to the east of Vilreth’s position. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the elves there beginning to fall back, a wall of Iron Horde orcs pushing into their flank as the elves were out-maneuvered.

As he saw Sin’dorei falling, Vilreth knew that they were in serious trouble. He tightened his grip on his weapon, preparing to sell his life dearly.

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She rode like the wind, the dust of the Blasted Lands rising behind her like a red trail. Ahead of her, the Iron Horde orcs had made their first push into the Sin’dorei, at least forty of the creatures breaking against the flank of the blood elves. Avielle knew that time was short if she wanted to intervene; the Sin’dorei were brave fighters but they would rout if pressed too hard.

She flicked her reins and her horse gleefully picked up its pace even further, moving so swiftly that it risked breaking its scourge-fire covered legs. It cared little for such concerns though, instead eager to serve Avielle’s wishes; eager for battle.

As they dashed across the cracked earth, Avielle brought a horn to her lips, a long sorrow-filled note hanging in the air. Behind her the air shimmered, ghosts appearing around her and riding beside her on skeletal steeds, the dead of House Silverlight coming to the call of the heir of the House.

They rode on, a small wedge of the dead moving with grim purpose towards the rear of the orcs who themselves were flanking the Sin’dorei.

They never saw Avielle coming.

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Vilreth impaled another orc on the tip of his blade, fear pumping through his veins now as the Sin’dorei ranks become compressed from the pressure of attackers on all sides. Many would fall in the next few minutes, and unless something changed swiftly it would result in a defeat on the plains. They would never even reach the area near the Dark Portal to aid with the main battle.

Even as he thought this, a shrieking warcry echoed over the battlefield. In the distance, behind the orcs that sought to crush the flank of the Sin’dorei position, Vilreth saw a rider on a dark horse plunge into the rear of the orc lines. The beast surged forwards, its rider holding on as the obviously undead horse reared up, a spear in her hand glowing with foul magics and blonde hair flowing from her head. She cried out again, her weapon plunging down into the nearest orc and slaying him instantly, other undead around her stabbing viciously into the enemy combatants and instantly throwing their lines into disarray.

Vilreth paused for the briefest moment, his mouth hanging open in shock as he recognized the rider before the haze of battle tore her from his gaze.

“Avielle….”

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They were all around her now, the enemy forces stabbing at her from every direction. Her blade whirled through the air, the polearm giving her massive reach over her foes and the enchantments on it deadly to those it touched. Orcs fell, their blood mixing with the red sands beneath their feet as their bodies were trampled by her steed.

Swords stabbed out and her deathcharger cried out, its form pierced many dozens of times. It lashed out, crushing the skull of an orc and biting another before one of its legs was cut from beneath it. It screamed, not in pain but in rage, its fall flinging Avielle from her saddle.

She sailed through the air, her weapon high above her as she plunged down into the enemies in front of her, impaling one and sweeping the weapon around her body to clear some space to fight. Enemy firearms discharged, rounds striking her armor and bouncing off, another piercing her gut and causing a minor, easily ignored bit of damage to her form.

As the circle she’d cleared closed in around her again, her eyes widened, her mind racing as she parried blow after blow, viciously striking back at those around her. She lost her sense of time and place, her memories bubbling up as her spirit divorced itself from reality.

She saw around her not orcs, but the undead coming to claim her once more in Quel’Thalas. Those who fought around he were not dead, but living servants of House Silverlight, battling desperately to stop the Scourge from reaching those they were defending.

I have to stop them. They’re going to get to the children! I have to protect them at all costs!

She lashed out again, and her foes fell, her eyes showing her the shattered bodies of zombies and skeletons at her feet, refusing to see what was actually there. Blades lashed out at her, and she parried blow after blow, desperation growing in her mind.

They are breaking through! I have to buy them just a little more time! No matter the cost!

She hurled her body forward, slamming into the orcs and throwing them back. Many died around her, but there were more to replace them and as they stepped forward, one of the Iron Horde orcs plunged his blade forward, the weapon slamming into Avielle’s breastplate and severing the metal, sliding deep into her chest.

In Avielle’s mind, she suffered a fatal blow; the one that took her life originally. She saw a skeleton before her, its unending grin and empty eyes gazing at her as its sword slid into her chest, narrowly missing her heart. In that moment, despair set in.

I have failed. They’re breaking through! Run children, RUN!

Avielle was not in Quel’Thalas. She was not alive, and not fighting the Scourge. As the orc pushed the blade into her chest to the hilt, she screamed, the sound an echoing wail as her collapsed lung prevented her from actually speaking.

Her spear came up above her, the runes on it glowing brightly as her magic was unleashed.

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Vilreth parried a blow, narrowly avoiding being decapitated by the vicious strike. As he prepared to counter-attack his opponent, a shrieking banshee’s wail echoed over the battlefield loud enough to disturb him even from where he was. His gaze, and the gaze of many others, turned towards the source of the sound just in time to see the weapon in Avielle’s hand glow brightly with scourge magic, power blazing out of it.

A snowstorm erupted around her, the freezing cold winds alien in the parched desert. Razor sharp bits of ice and flakes of snow whipped wickedly around the center of Avielle’s battlefield, slashing into the orcs near her.

In a heartbeat, almost a dozen attackers were frozen solid, their forms encased in ice as the wail trailed out slowly into the desert. Vilreth used the moment to strike down the foe in front of him, grinning as the flank of the Iron Horde’s attack began to crumble.

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Avielle remembered who she was, where she was. Her weapon slashed out, shattering the frozen orcs around her into a thousand glistening pieces. She reached down, ripping the blade from her chest and casting it aside, blood gushing from her wound and staining the white of the fabric she wore. It mattered little; it would weaken her a little perhaps to lose some of her fluids but she was no longer alive and the blood would be restored either by taking it from the living or by the blood worms that maintained her veins.

She wailed again, robbed of her voice for a time, her weapon plunging into the back of an orc that turned to flee from her. More firearms discharged, the projectiles whipping through the air around her like angry hornets and doing absolutely nothing to stop her.

She stalked through the battle, a specter of death now, slaying at will as the morale of her foes fully broke and they began to rout. As they fled before her, she cut down those she could reach, always moving forward, the objective she had picked for herself only a short distance ahead.

She reached it quickly, what resistance that was presented to her on the broken orc flank petty at best. As she impaled the last of the foes before her, she grinned, planting her spear in the ground and turning towards one of the cannons the Iron Horde had set up along the rear of the battlefield.

With strength unnatural to a blood elf, Avielle bent down and heaved, sliding the cannon around in position, realigning its barrel with the rear of the rest of the Iron Horde lines. An orc charged at her, attempting to stop her and she side-stepped his blow, casually backhanding him and breaking his face with her saronite gauntlet.

She grinned, reaching down to grasp the cannon’s firing lever. She savored the moment, seeing the fear on the faces of those who were close enough to understand what she was doing, relishing in the sweet agony of the writhing orc on the ground near her.

And then she pulled the lever.

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The explosion rocked the battlefield, throwing Iron Horde orcs into the air like ragdolls. Vilreth cheered as the orcs in front of him began to break, the other Sin’dorei around him taking up the cry. The enemy began to fall back, additional rounds from a captured cannon battery slamming into their ranks.

As the orcs fled before him, Vilreth took a moment to pause and catch his breath. He surveyed the battlefield, seeing the Sin’dorei dashing after the now fully retreating orcs, leaving behind the dead from both sides that had fallen that day.

He paused as the battle moved on, seeing now the flanks where the orcs had been struck. Ice still glistened on the red sands, and smoke rose from the battery of cannons that had been captured along the flank of the enemy lines. That was not what caught his eye though, or kept his gaze riveted to the scene for many moments.

In the distance, he saw her. Avielle stood amongst the corpses of the fallen, the winds making her white cloak flutter, her spear held firmly in her hand. Gore covered her, most of it that of her enemies but some spilling from horrific wounds on her body. She stood perfectly still, motionlessly watching the aftermath of the battle, her unblinking, glowing blue gaze intent on the rest of the fighting.

Vilreth shuddered, seeing in her both the beauty of what she once was and the horror of what she was now. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her, bittersweet feelings flowing through him as he wiped the blood from his blade and sheathed it. She had quite possibly saved their lives, and acted heroically, but she had also shown that she was a monster. He was not sure what to think of her, what to think of the fact that she still walked the world.

When he looked back again, Avielle was gone.