[RiktheRed21]

The day was grey and dark. Tevond Velmon rode under the crackling clouds on his blonde palfrey over verdant hilly plains, impatiently allowing the tired beast to trot. A useless thing, he though to himself, I ought to make a spell-mount that will not tire as this one does. As a mage of the kingdom of Lordaeron, Tevond certainly had the ability to research such a thing, but the war prevented it. Damnable orcs. Of all the wars to get involved in, it had to be with orcs... Tevond despised the green-skinned creatures. Not because they threatened his land or his kinsmen, but because they were his ticket to fame and fortune. And of all the ways to get money, this was the worst in his book.

The palfrey slowed its pace further as the town came into view. Tevond gave a cry of contempt and spurred the beast on, to no avail. He came to a stop, and dismounted. "I'm certain I can find better horses than you," he said to it, "Stay out here and get eaten by orcs for all I care!" He gesticulated wildly, filling the air with flames. The animal whinnied and ran off, afraid. Tevond grumbled about its sudden burst of speed and moved on at a brisk paced toward the ruined town.

Considering his life, Tevond thought himself rather unlucky. He had been born in a hamlet outside the 'great' town of Andorhal to poor farm workers. He had grown up to gain an affinity for magic, especially the arts of fire. His parents were proud to see their son learn such great things, until they discovered where he'd learned it all. Spurned for thievery. The mages were the thieves! They set unfair prices and cheated me... He remembered his parent's scorn well. It was a lesson that he could only trust himself. Even his friend Rupert had betrayed him. We were supposed to be a team, you and me. You teach me to steal and I teach you magic, that was the deal. Their deal had benefitted the both of them, until Tevond was found out. Then Rupert was too cowardly to keep up his work. After the second betrayal, Tevond had dedicated himself to becoming rich and famous, so when he was grown, he could teach his traitorous family and friends their lesson. So he had given himself to the mage Bartholomew Davids as an apprentice, so he could begin on his path. Davids had been a fair teacher, stern, but fair. Tevond respected him, but did not love him. In time, he outstripped his master. Then the refugees had started arriving.

The town approached Tevond slower than he liked, but his legs were sore and growing tired. In his boredom, he summoned a magic mirror to check his face. He liked keeping his looks in check when he could. In the enchanted glass, he saw his flat figures staring back at him. His face was tall and thin, but flat as a plate. His nose barely stuck out at him in the reflection. His long, but well-combed brown hair fell down to his shoulders, two smaller strands fell in front of his face, which he found interesting to look at, so it pleased him to keep it in order. His dull brown eyes also seemed to follow the flat theme of his face. They didn't pop or attract attention, but deep in them he saw the hunger that he knew would take him to the top of this world. This face may seem ordinary at first glance, but before I am done, this face will be the greatest in Azeroth!

Before he knew it, he had arrived in the town, and let his mirror vanish into thin air. A man in the steel and blue plate of Lordaeron approached him on an armored black horse, which carried its burden with grace and beauty. "State your business, mage," the knight said.

"I was sent by Khadgar to summon you lazy lot to the Black Morass. He says the war's close to done, but the Dark Portal's still standing." Tevond hated being a message carrier. Khadgar hadn't in fact sent him personally, but he thought his business sounded more important that way.

The knight seemed unimpressed. His stoic expression changed not at all as he said, "Very well. You may have food and lodging in the inn. I will deliver your message to Lord Redhelm as soon as he is available. No doubt you will be called before him with the details of Khadgar's missive on the morrow." When his words were done, he trotted off back to his post. Tevond glared after him. The sound of food and lodging appealed to him, so he followed his nose to the inn. Looks like another lot of pious pricks I have to serve. All I get are scraps now. Someday they will be feeding out of my hand. Tevond ruffled his hair and chuckled at what a sight it would be to have a line of knights in some fancy court waiting to eat his scraps.

[RiktheRed21]

Tevond lifted his heavy eyelids, only to be blinded by early morning light drifting in from a slightly opened curtain. He shielded his pounding head from the vile light and practically hissed with contempt at it. I hate mornings…, he thought with a sleepy anger. Another pounding drew his attention to the wooden door on the far side of the cramped bedroom. Slowly, he regained his senses and called out, “What is it?” A woman’s voice replied, “It’s time to haul ass! We’re moving out of this place!” Tevond groaned when he realized the voice belonged to his rival, Marianne Rivers. The girl thinks herself to be my superior. Ignorant woman! He slipped out of bed, his head continuing to beat as painfully as if it were a drum. Tevond was regretting that last round of mead he’d had to toast the victory in the ruins of Stormwind.

He took his time dressing, choosing a robe of red silk, upon which he set a pair of shoulder mantles to give himself a more powerful and broad look. He fixed his hair before a small looking glass, spending a decent few minutes working the tangles and getting his front strands just right. When he finally appeared presentable, he nodded to his reflection and grabbed his long wood and metal mage staff. When he opened the door at the far end of the room, he was met with a splash of water, which soaked his robes. Blinded by the wetness and the shock, he took a few seconds to notice the laughter of his colleagues; fellow mages who had apparently been ready to leave for some time and had decided to play this prank on him. He seethed with red-hot rage at their insolence. His body heated up, and steam rose from his damp garments alongside the laughter of the cadre of mages. None laughed harder than Marianne, who held one of two empty buckets. The sight of her enraged Tevond further, and he shoved past the mages to the staircase, into the tavern below.

At least the barkeep won’t laugh at me, I’m far too good a customer for that. Although I ought to burn him for cheating me last night…Tevond glanced at the bar counter, where the barkeep himself stood, polishing a wineglass. He grinned at Tevond as if to say, ‘Thanks for the coin, fool!’ Even in Tevond’s own thoughts, he was looked down upon. He began to emit smoke from his sheer anger. “Hey, take that magic outside, buddy! I got a business to run,” the barkeep called out as he stormed out the door. The road was freshly pressed dirt. The sound of building and life could be heard all around. They called the town Goldshire. It certainly didn’t look very golden to Tevond, especially not with so many people around. Knights and mages and peasants and whatnot, all looking at him with judgment, so much judgment.

He stormed over to the nearby lake and hurled a fireball at a murloc in the distance. The creature burst into flames, and ran into the water in panic. A fisherman beside Tevond backed off with a shocked expression on his face. Tevond liked that. If he couldn’t be respected, maybe fear was a better way. He’d have to try it out more often. He heard the sound of footsteps approach from behind as he gazed out across the water. “You are sooo dramatic, Tev! It was just a bit of water, nothing to rage about.” Marianne’s voice was as childish as ever.

Tevond spun around on a foot, and glared at the woman angrily. He didn’t even consider her a woman grown, she was so small. She was human, but just barely five feet tall. She donned mage’s robes with some grace, and plenty of pride and dignity, but she had a mocking look on her face that made her seem far too childish for Tevond’s liking. Her hair was brown like his, though, and her eyes were plain, so he sort of felt like he could connect with her need to show off and act out. Sort of.

“You are nothing but an ignorant child,” Tevond began, trying out his new fear tactic, “You are lazy and arrogant, and pride yourself with poking fun at others. Why you would ever see yourself as worthy of a mage’s robe, I have no idea.” He ended his speech with a snort of smoke and awaited her reaction. “You’re right about something, Tev,” she replied, “I do pride myself at getting under your skin!” She jumped at Tevond and pinned him with a bear hug. He wriggled to get free of her grasp, but she was tougher than he was. Finally, just as he was ready to burn her to escape, she released him, and he fell on his rear end into the early spring mud. He seethed again, got up, and brushed off his robes with what dignity he could muster.

Marianne talked after a brief moment of silence Tevond savored, “Khad’s calling mages and knights to join him in those ‘Blasted Lands.’ I heard it would be a great honor to join him.”

“Oh? And you think a bastard like you deserves any honor?” The words were meant to harm, but it was true that Marianne was a bastard. Her mother had been some poor wench that had her maidenhead taken by a knight some years past. She had taken the name Rivers since she was born by a riverside. She said, “I think everyone deserves a chance at honor. A test to prove one’s worth. Even if I’m not meant to be a hero, I can still try.”

Tevond stood in silence. He had to admit, her determination was inspiring. “Well, I can’t have you upstaging me. I’m going too.” Her face lit up like some happy lantern. “Oh, good! I was hoping you would! Look at us, a few years back, we were nothing but a bastard and an orphan, lost in this big wide world! Now, we will be heroes!” Tevond liked that. He liked that very much, indeed. He actually had to smile.

[RiktheRed21]

Tevond had something new to complain about this week. Last week the rain poured day and night, and left the ground muddy. He had been forced to stay inside with his books, unable to polish his pyromancy without getting his robes soaked. This week, however, the clouds had lifted, and the sunlight was so intense that he couldn't last an hour in his robes without becoming drenched in sweat and delirious from dehydration. Meanwhile, Marianne had been frolicking about as gaily as usual. Well, not really frolicking, more like she had a bounce in her step. She seemed happy enough on her merry adventure. It made Tevond all the more unhappy, only now, he was unhappy in himself.

In the time they had spent on the planet Draenor, their company had gained a significant amount of territory, and Honor Hold had sprouted up in a moon's turn once the peasants had arrived through the Dark Portal. Tevond found it rather surreal to look up in the sky, and know that the stars were not the ones he had seen his whole life. To think his home world was a countless distance from him now was too much to imagine. He tried to think of other things instead.

He had kept himself distracted with his studies, magic exercises, and the constant assaults from the orcs. Tevond was a decent fighter when it came to magery, and he had found Marianne to be a fantastic compliment to his own style. The amount of deaths within the Kirin Tor had allowed him a change in wardrobe. He had traded his faded old silks for magewoven black robes with silver trimmings. He looked at his image in a large looking glass as part of his morning routine, and liked his new look. Marianne occupied the room beside his, and every morning, she would wander out in her splendid white-trimmed gold dress, bathed in morning sunlight from her open window. Tevond was stunned every day to find that he longed for her.

Each day, his longing grew more intense, until he finally asked if she felt the same way. He had been unsure of what her response would be. She had never before given a hint of dislike for Tevond, although she enjoyed mocking him for a jest, but he had never certain how much she enjoyed his company. When he asked, she said, "Well, of course I love you, Tev! Here I had thought you knew that by now." He was stunned again. This time, it was from a mix of shock, uncertainty, and lust. He nearly lost his composure, almost making a move to take her back into her room, but his instincts halted him. She and I are soldiers. We can't make love here, not in the middle of a war. He didn't say anything, but he did not have to. She kissed his cheek and walked past him to the mess hall, where he joined her after his shock wore off.

He sat now in the library, buried in his books, but the words were nothing but scratches on the page. He thought only of Marianne. Later that day, he joined the other soldiers for the weekly report. Elven scouts from the north had reported a large Orc force amassing for an attack on the Dark Portal, to begin the invasion of Azeroth anew. As a result, the high command had decided to prepare an attack on the fortress of Auchindoun to cut off the army before they reached Honor Hold. This assault required volunteers from the garrison to pull off. Tevond was reluctant to put his name forth when the meeting had broken, but when he saw Marianne sign up for the assault, he was filled with dread. Light, I never knew I could care this much for someone, he thought silently. He gulped down the bile of his fears, and put his name forth as well.

[RiktheRed21]

Tevond had never been a devout man, but when the orcish fleet appeared out of the mists on the horizon, he found himself muttering a fearful prayer for protection. He had never been afraid to die, although he wouldn’t find it fair to meet his end before his name became well-known, but this time, he had something else to worry about. Someone else, that is. Marianne stood beside him as he mouthed his prayer, clutching his hand tightly like a lifeline. The comfort was welcomed; he squeezed back to reassure her that he had not lost his wits. Her face was pale, and her clutching hand was bloodless. Her fear did not diminish her beauty, however. If I am to fight for someone other than myself, she is better than any. I must see to her safety at all costs…

More billowing white and red sails popped out of the grey covering on the slowly narrowing river. It would continue to get narrower until they reached the fortress where three rivers met. The Alliance fleet sailed closely-packed, elvish destroyers in front to protect the transports. Tevond had hoped his fire might help to deter the Horde fleet, but the other ally ships were too close to get an accurate blast in. All he could do was watch and wait. And pray.

If those destroyers sink, we might have to land early, he thought to himself. The water was becoming increasingly shallow, but he hoped the high command had thought to give the captains instructions on landing procedures should the waterway become blocked by debris. A loud racket of cannon fire deafened Tevond. He found himself moving to cover his ears, but Marianne’s hand was unmoving, so he ceased his attempts to protect his ringing ears. Marianne herself was taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. A nearby footman was losing his lunch over the railing of the transport ship, which made Tevond’s breakfast curl in his gut. A splash brought his attention back in front. A missed shot had landed beside the destroyer directly in front of them. The green river water churned with ripples from cannonballs. The destroyers returned fire with their bow cannons, but they were too few to deter the juggernauts blockading the river. Their countless cannons filled the air with smoke, sound, and metal.

A few loud cracks heralded the first destroyer to be hit. Off to the left side, (Tevond recalled it being called portside), the hull of one of the vanguard ships was cracked. The ship slowed as water began to fill its bow. The transports behind it were forced to turn off, slowing the entire line and causing the right side of the fleet to be over-extended. A few more hits, and the ship sunk bow-first into the murky green shallows. The crew were abandoning quickly to get to shore and rally for an attack on the fortress. Tevond heard the captain shouting orders, which were eventually passed along the ship to the foredeck where he and Marianne stood. “Prepare for landing!” the crewmen shouted. Tevond passed on the message with a brief yell, and braced as the ship pitched to the left.

After an eternity of loud blasts from Alliance and Horde cannons on either side, and tedious squeezing through a long line of transports, Tevond’s ship finally landed on the left bank to rally with the other ships as they unloaded their passengers. Thousands of men and women disembarked from hundreds of ships, and unpacked tents in spots marked by their officers. As Tevond pitched the tent he summoned with a pocket-rune, he heard his three tent-mates discussing the voyage.

“If I’m reading this map rightly, we landed too close,” said Paul, the bulky warrior from Westfall. His platemail gleamed in the afternoon sunlight brilliantly, thanks to his constant efforts to keep it well-polished.

“If you ask me,” replied the smaller footman named Dale, “We’ve landed too far away from the fort. I can’t even see it from here.”

“That’s because of all the fog off the river,” Marianne interjected, “The sun’s hot enough to evaporate the water, but once it starts to set, you’ll be able to see it just fine.” The three of them kept on discussing the plan for battle as Tevond finished setting the tent. Once he had finished, he invited them in to unload their gear. He separated Marianne so they could talk.

“Are you alright?” he asked, “You seemed pretty shaky on the ship.”

She smiled and replied, “I’ll be fine. Just get a bit nervous before every battle. Those ships were pretty ruthless.” She rubbed his arm reassuringly, and gave him a kiss on the lips before walking off to unpack her bag. The next few hours were spent unpacking, awaiting orders – which were to stay put and be ready for an attack – and eating reluctantly after their reminder to remain vigilant.

By the time they ate, the fog had lifted as Marianne had anticipated, and the spires of Achindoun poked out of the horizon. Each tower glowed a violet light, which contrasted with the red sunset sky beautifully. Marianne wondered aloud, “The orcs couldn’t have built something so beautiful, could they?”

“I don’t know. The orcs are conquerors, it’s possible they wrested the fortress off some other people,” Tevond answered.

“Those green-skins have a lot to answer for,” Paul growled. His family had been wiped out by the orcs during the first war, and he had taken to torturing the prisoners whenever the officers weren’t present in the dungeons under Honor Hold. Tevond found the practice off-putting, but didn’t want to confront the man about it. Paul wolfed down his meager meal of meat and bread, chased it down with a cup of ale, and stalked off to practice his sword work.

Tevond and Marianne practiced their pyromancy by the torchlight later that night. They were quite evenly matched, and they came out of their duels covered in ashes and scorch-marks. They made for the riverbed to clean off their robes. Marianne sat by the water in naught but her smallclothes. Tevond watched her, very aware that her body was arousing him. He shook off his thoughts and washed his robe. Not now, not until the war is done.

Lying awake in his bunk, Tevond couldn’t help but think on how the war would end for him. Would he live through it? Or would his life end a disappointment as he most feared? He was haunted most by the thought of Marianne’s fate. He worried that he might lose her before he truly had her. He didn’t want to risk regretting never having her for the rest of his life, but he also knew that the dangers of it could be the end of them anyway. After his long, restless night of inner debate, he slept for a few hours, hoping his indecision did not cost him with fatigue the following day.

[RiktheRed21]

The attack came in the middle of the night. Tevond jerked to consciousness at the sound of yells and the clank of metal. The smells of battle filled the air: smoke, sweat, and urine. Panic at a surprise attack is what causes the largest amount of casualties. The tent was already on fire. Tevond inhaled smoke, and rushed out of the tent coughing. His comrades were outside engaging in combat with orcs baring red iron armor and large axes made for lopping off heads. Paul had a pair of corpses strewn at his feet, various limbs and organs bloodying the dirt around his feet. A third orc hacked at him with an overhead strike, which deflected off Paul’s shield. Tevond took the opportunity to hurl a fireball at the orc as he recovered. The blast seared his chestplate, melting through to burn the green flesh beneath. The orc lost his footing, and Paul’s sword removed half his head. Marianne and Dale were both handling an orc off to Tevond’s left. Marianne channeled a stream of ice to slow the orc as Dale hacked at him with a pair of swords. The orc quickly fell and died, bloody and well-frosted. Tevond strode over to Marianne.

“What’s the situation?” he asked.

“The orcs are deep into the camp,” Marianne replied, “The commanders called out for a defensive formation a minute ago. I tried to wake you, but the orcs…”

“Never mind that, we need to gather with the other troops,” Paul interrupted. He sprinted towards a pack of orcs as they charged a wall of shield bearers in the direction of the center of camp. Tevond conjured his battlegear and made to join the fray. The next half-hour was a blur of fire, steel, flesh, and piles of corpses. He and Marianne took positions on the high ground while Paul and Dale supported the shield wall on the low as the orcs began to charge in with wolf riders. Tevond hardly had to aim at first, when the groups were closely packed and the number of orcs beyond count. After a few attempts to break the wall, however, the orcs began to diminish in number and became less organized. Once the last charge broke against the line once more, a huge fireball hurdled towards Tevond and the other mages on the hill. Tevond grabbed Marianne and pulled her to the ground just as the fireball passed over them. The spell exploded on impact with the base of a watchtower a few feet away.

“Tevond, look out!” Marianne screamed as a second spell careened toward them over the battlefield. This time, the mages blinked away to avoid the spell. Tevond crash-landed at the foot of the hill, right behind the shield wall. Marianne was nowhere to be seen. Tevond lifted himself to his feet and looked out across the dark field, and saw a line of dozens of warlocks, all hurling large fireballs at the camp. One hit to his right side, vaporizing the footmen holding the line. Paul charged headlong at the warlocks, and before Tevond could call for him to stop, a fireball melted his shield arm off. Paul’s screams joined the chorus of agony that took flight over the burning camp, but not for long. A warlock walked up to him, and crushed his sword arm with a boot while thrusting a fiery blade into his throat. Paul’s screams petered into gargles and chokes as the flesh of his head and neck burned away.

Tevond was smart enough to realize that the line would break completely in a few minutes, if not seconds. He ran toward the center of the camp, keeping his eyes open for Marianne. For a long terrifying moment, he couldn’t spot her in the crowd of retreating soldiers. Dale appeared beside him for a while, his swords both either bent or chipped where they had cut through orc armor and red with blood where they had pierced orc flesh. Another fireball burst into a watchtower, blowing the roof into several pieces, and causing part of it to collapse. A brick hit Tevond in the shoulder, and he nearly stumbled and fell, but Dale caught him, dropping one of his swords to do so.

“Don’t you go dying too, mage,” he said as he pushed Tevond back onto his feet. After another minute, he spotted Marianne. Tevond moved faster than he thought he could to reach her side, Dale following, muttering curses in his heavy mail. Tevond tapped Marianne on her shoulder when he reached her, and she smiled at the sight of him. “Hey there, you. Thought I’d lost you.” The three of them ran together until they reached another shield wall. This one was larger than the last, but it was still being bombarded by fireballs. Tevond heard a commander shout, and heavy cavalry charged the warlock line, scattering them. Tevond hurled his own fireballs with Marianne beside him throwing chunks of ice. Their dance of red fire and blue frost seemed beautiful on the dark and bloody battlefield. Once the warlocks had scattered or died, more wolves began to charge the cavalry. Now the Alliance soldiers were being scattered, as the wolves darted around the heavy horses, the riders hacking the knights to ribbons. In seconds, the scene shifted from glorious counterattack to bloody massacre. More fireballs landed, but this time, they fell from above. A dragon flew over the Alliance line, burning everything in its wake.

Tevond and Marianne were nearly burned by the dragon flame, and trampled by the fleeing footmen. They were taken away from the battle by the crowd. The dragon turned in their direction, and burned a huge swath of land before them. They turned off away from the camp, and the battle. They ran for nearly an hour before the slaughter and horror faded away behind them. When they finally found rest and refuge in the forest nearby, the shouts of terror and pain had become muffled whispers in the distance.

Tevond, Marianne, Dale, and about half a dozen other survivors gathered together, breathing hard after their long run to safety. In a few minutes, the group was divided by an argument of whether they should all flee or return to the battle. Tevond and Marianne sat together on a stump, quiet while the others argued. Dale was all for returning, but he was too battered and ill-equipped to rush back into the fray. In the end, most ran back to fight again, but the three comrades and one man who named himself Carl the Blade were left alone at the edge of the woods.
“Should we go back?” Marianne asked, “If we don’t, we could be punished as deserters…”

“The camp will be lost. There won’t be anything to go back to,” declared Carl.

“I think it is best we return to the fleet,” said Tevond, “If we can’t go to the camp, at least we can tell the sailors what happened and get out of this place.” The others agreed with him, and they walked along the river to reach the landing site. However, once they reached a hill overlooking the beachhead, they saw much of the fleet burning as well. They discussed the situation further, and decided they had no choice but to march back to Honor Hold alone. They began to move, but made camp once they were well-hidden in the woods. Tevond slept with Marianne in his arms. Despite the terrible turn of the night, he did sleep soundly and comfortably for the first time in months.