“Alright men, steady…”
General Leda Savagedawn, now commander of both the Warwalkers and Cairne’s Horns, leaned over the edge of the doorway into the city. They were standing ready, a few of the larger Tauren carrying a boulder to themselves, but most had teamed up with their backs against the large rocks, ready to heave them over the side. Her tawny brown eyes watched the doorway carefully; she didn’t know if allies or enemies would be the first to emerge. The only contingency in the backup plan was to not harm any civilians – Asterius was adamant on this point. Inside the city, screams echoed and the rhythmic stomp of mail boots nearly drowned them out. Wait… was that? Leda peered in closer, nearly slipping to her death on a loose bit of rock. There was something in the shadows of the gates – the movement had caught her eye.
“Ready yourselves…” she called out behind her. The movement continued, several more figures joining the original one. “And…”
From behind the flung open gate of Ironforge ran a single gnome, dressed in the tiniest set of armour she had ever seen, frantically waving a flag – a black flag. While she may not be the smartest of Tauren, Leda knew what a white flag meant, but black? Over her shoulder she sought out Iyo, motioning with her head for him to join her, ignoring the straining muscles of her men as they tried to remain ‘at the ready.’
“You rang?” Iyo boomed, leaning casually on an outcropping of rock.
“What does a black flag mean?” She asked out of the corner of her mouth.
“Hm… “ he scratched his beak and then after checking through his carefully organized bag, pulled out a spyglass. “Ah ha, just what I thought,” he nodded to himself, “here – look.” He held it up for his sister to peer through, chuckling as she exhaled forcefully, trying to get his arm feathers from crawling up her nose.
Through the glass she could see the flag clearly – its symbol vaguely familiar. “It’s your new battle standard,” Iyo clarified, seeing her mental struggle and pointing at the strip of cloth she wore across her chest. Her fist clenched and Iyo stepped back at the growl which formed in his sister’s chest, which – to be honest – sounded odd coming from a Tauren, but nonetheless was startling.
“What did they do to our Tree? He would never give up his tabard willingly,” she asked, through clenched teeth, her fingers wrapped around her mace in a death grip.
“Either way, our orders are not to harm the citizens. I hear marching, which must be the Syreen army. Let’s concentrate on them first and deal with the gnome later, ok?” Leda nods, resuming her post leaning far over the ledge. The little middle-aged gnome with the tabard had scurried off and from the shadows of the gate followed by half of the Dwarven guard, taking positions inside the frame of the ancient gate. Once the guards had moved, citizens poured out of the gate like a river released from its dam. There were dwarves and gnomes everywhere, frantically trying to keep hold of their most precious belongings and their family members at the same time. Children were crying, women were screaming and somewhere a goat bleated over it all. Bringing up the rear – behind the frantic citizens, were frantic Dwarven guards, who joined up with those waiting at the gates, making a stand at the top of the hill to their beloved city.
From above, Leda and the Horde troops waited, listening hard to place the echoing sounds of the enemy’s boots. Gripping her mace, she thrust it into the air with one hand and again, her troops picked up their boulders or shoved their shoulders against one, ready for the command. At the sight of the very first black helmet, the General’s mace lowered, massive boulders quickly following it. But the command was too early – the Syreen split and marched around the fallen rocks, ignoring the few of their brethren they had managed to hit. They continued their march toward the Dwarf’s last stand and the citizens that lay behind them.
Panicking, Leda clenches her jaw and brings about her shift – feeling her fur grow out, her knees bend backward, her nose grow into a snout and her fingers painfully are replaced with claws. Disoriented by the pain echoing in her mind, she jumps down from the ledge, landing on an outcropping of rock above the city. Hoping to distract the relentless Syreen, she roars, shaking the trees to their roots and birds from their perches within them – the echo can be heard as far as the Burning Steppes. Far above her, atop the mountain in which Ironforge was built, the snow rumbles as it is dislodged from its slumber.
The enemy doesn’t falter for a second and continues marching toward the massively-unprepared reserve guards. In one last ditch effort, a massive horned, tattooed bear jumps down, in the middle of the Syreen, she manages to distract a few – yet the rest continue marching. Standing up on her hind legs, General Savagedawn manages to push over half a dozen before the unending white consumes her.
Back up on the ledge above the city, her twin brother watches. He appears calm, weighing his options – Iyo didn’t expect the snow to come rumbling down the mountainside quite so fast. But it did. Below them was a vast expanse of white, ending only at the little bridge to Kharanos. Here and there, the Moonkin could see black spears, axes and the odd black helmet sticking up from under the snow. Of his sister – he saw nothing.
The troops stirred behind him. A few of those who had come with the twins from Thunder Bluff were obviously concerned for their commanding officer. The Warwalkers, which she had inherited from Asterius appeared to have accepted the viciousness of the war and merely stood waiting for the next order, wherever it may come from. But Iyotanka was not much of a leader – Iyo was a watcher, an observer, a chronicler, if you will. Behind his calm façade, his soul was screaming to save his twin – the sister who had saved him countless times since they had left Feralas. The sister who had given everything for his training and now had possibly given her life to fulfill the orders she had been assigned.
As he stood surveying the avalanche’s destruction, he remembered the night before they left Thunder Bluff for possibly the last time…
“Are you coming with me Iyo?” she had asked, staring up at the roof of the tent from her sleeping mat.
“Was there ever a question of me not coming along?”
“I suppose not.” Leda was quiet for a long while. Iyo thought she had fallen asleep and was almost asleep himself when she spoke again. “How am I supposed to do this Iyo? The only person I’ve ever lead is you, but even then it wasn’t really leading – it was more suggesting. I can’t just suggest for my men to put their lives on the line for the Horde. These are new recruits, they probably have families – mothers, husbands, oh god – what if they have children? What if I’m the leader who gets their fathers and mothers killed?”
“You’ll do your best Leda and what happens was meant to happen. Everyone has to die so that another can be born – everyone has their time.”
“You know I never believed that bull Iyo. Don’t start quoting Ishte again!” She growled in the dark. But even through her anger towards his beliefs, Iyo could feel the insecurities radiating off of her. He decided to drop it, bringing up their forced tutelage was probably a bad idea in the first place.
“I was barely a Scout and now… now a General?”
“Its war – they must be short on leaders. Compared to the Tauren you’ll be leading, you have lifetimes more experience on the battlefield. You’ll do fine Leda. Just do your best, I don’t think Cairne can ask for anything more than that.” He could hear her sigh from the other side of the tent.
“We should get some sleep. Lots of travelling tomorrow.” She grumbled. Iyo knew there was no use saying anything else. The topic was closed for discussion, but it didn’t stop him from feeling the apprehension his twin felt.
Steam drifted past his eyes and the Moonkin blinked a few times to clear them. Next to him, on the ledge above Ironforge’s gates were several mages and a shaman, frantically casting fire spells in an attempt to melt the snow. A large fire elemental plowed through, creating 6 foot deep paths, getting smaller and smaller as the cold dampened its fervor. Standing atop the snow were several undead and blood elves, methodically killing whatever Syreen they could find incapacitated by the avalanche. And underneath all the white was his twin sister.
The Moonkin braced himself, his clawed feet digging into the centuries old rock. His feathered arms raised in the air, he concentrates on the evergreens half buried in the destruction. As if waking from a long, restful sleep, the trees shake the snow off their branches, stretch their “arms” in the air and begin marching towards the gates. Above it all, the Moonkin stands, placidly controlling the firs like puppets as they safely place confused Dwarves on a ledge and throw the Syreen mercilessly into the distance. The undead and elves scamper out of the way as the massive, centuries old trees make their way to where the General fell – the location etched into Iyo’s mind. It was the deepest of the snow, nearly 10 feet deep, but the trees calmly filtered through the snow tossing Syreen over their “shoulders” as they encountered them. After what seemed like an eternity to her twin – Leda is found, still in bear form, struggling to breathe. Carefully cradling the large bear, an evergreen lovingly places her back above the city, next to its puppet master.
Completely disregarding the efforts below, Iyo jumps up, pulling an Ironforge banner down from the wall. Appearing calm and collected, he lays the banner down next to his unconscious sister and struggles to half-lift, half-roll her onto it, acting through instinct, his mind dominated by the shock which overtook it as he watched his twin engulfed by the avalanche.
“You, pick her up” he pointed at a large warrior, “and you,” now pointing at a large Orc. “We need to get her to Tree, to General Asterius.” Iyo’s voice was disconcertingly even and quiet as he gave orders. A blood elf woman stepped forward, having avoided the sight of battle, her medic’s robes were dirty and she was clearly experienced.
“Let me help, I kno-“
“No priests,” Iyo mumbled. “Leda hates priests. It has to be Asterius.”
“What about the rest of us mon?” asked Vanfi, the Troll shadow huntress who had joined them only on Asterius’ command.
“It’s not my concern,” the Moonkin replied, motioning for the Tauren warrior and Orc to grab the ends of the banner, effectively creating a hammock for his injured twin. “Let’s go,” he murmured as he slipped into the dark of the Dwarven city.
They checked the Tram and Tinkertown first, figuring the Gnome must’ve got ahold of Asterius’ tabard somehow, but there was no sign of him. The Orc, holding up the makeshift hammock at Leda’s feet, had suggested they find the seat of Ironforge – Asterius was likely to negotiate to save lives, especially if he went alone. The Great Forge sputtered and oozed as they skirted around it, making their way to what looked like the throne room.
“We’ve finished killing all the Syreen, Lieutenant Vanfi,” reported an elf, replacing his bow on his back. His self-confidence bothered Vanfi, but nonetheless the job was done. The Dwarven guards had teamed up with the Horde forces and extinguished the Syreen as they lay helpless in the snow. Even if General Savagedawn expired today, she had, with the help of General Asterius, saved the entire population of Ironforge.“What of the citizens Lieutenant? The Gnome King has returned and is requesting to speak with General Asterius.”
“Tell him to come along; we’re on our way to him now.” The snow had nearly blocked off any entrance to the city, all but 10 feet of the gate was blocked by the avalanche. As she gathered her troops and attempted to pick the safest way down the snow into the city, a scream echoed throughout the empty city.
“NO!” he yelled. Iyotanka’s last hope of saving his twin was thwarted. Sitting in the throne of Ironforge, surrounded by pools of burgundy blood was their commanding officer. His eyes had drooped closed and he was slumped over, his arm pointing at … some kind of map. Strategy and defeating the enemy couldn’t have been furthest from Iyo’s mind though and in his grief, both over Asterius and Leda, he nearly stepped on it. “Go!” he motioned at the warrior and the Orc, who had set Leda down in a relatively blood-free corner. “No one gets in, you hear me? No one will see him like this.”
The Moonkin took a deep, grounding breath, bringing balance back to his own soul. He had to do what had to be done; Asterius had to be given a proper send off, in accordance with druidic tradition. Leda… no, he couldn’t think about Leda now. Iyo’s eyes darted over to where his twin lay, breathing sporadically and still unconscious. No, Asterius was first. Gently, he pulled the banner out from underneath Leda, brushing off some snow that still stubbornly clung to her long bear fur. The banner was draped over the body of his commander and friend and Iyo shifted effortlessly back into his birth-form to break the news to the approaching troops.
“What do you mean he’s gone?” Vanfi cried.
“I mean, he’s dead,” the large Tauren confirmed.
“I need to speak with the Tauren!” yelled Mekkatorque in Dwarven, from behind the tall Horde troops, jumping and angry enough that no one was paying attention to him to literally be spitting.
“Which Tauren?” was the reply, in heavily accented Dwarven - an orc, barely 3 feet taller than he was, with boar fat still clinging to his forehead, was standing next to him.
“You would be McGimli, son of Bloin then, I need to speak with the one who saved my people,” Mekkatorque answered, stamping his foot. “Take me to him now!”
“He’s dead.”
The procession was silent. Iyotanka lead, with Asterius’ body, laid out on a slab of wood and covered with the Ironforge banner, carried by the same Tauren and Orc who had bore Leda, following after him. Behind Asterius were the Warwalkers, Vanfi leading them and Pug and Leesha the Medic bringing up the rear. During the preparations, Leda had awoken and now led her own troops, Cairne’s Horns, behind the Warwalkers. She was unable to shift into her Tauren form and ambled along as a bear, breathing heavily even at a walking pace. Her lungs had been crushed under the pressure of 10 feet of snow and she lagged behind Pug and Leesha by quite a few yards.
They walked through the empty city, the Gnomish and Dwarven guards saluting as they passed by, to the gates, where several Trolls had to help hoist the body of their fallen commander up the steep bank of snow. But they continued on in silence, down the hill from Ironforge’s gate, following a path that had been blazed by the fire elemental merely hours before. Iyotanka led them down, into the wilderness and between two trees, signaled for the mages to blast away the snow. Asterius was to be returned to the Earthmother, back to where he came to restore balance again. A shallow grave was dug and the slab of wood placed into it.
“Asterius may have been my commanding officer, but he was first my friend,” began Iyo. “He was a druid committed to doing what was right, committed to bringing the Horde and Alliance together – a feat unimaginable to our leaders and yet he was successful today. Today he allied the Horde and the Dwarves against a common enemy, an enemy which we defeated thanks to his great plan." Here, he paused, took a deep breath and continued,
“Asterius dedicated himself to helping others, to saving lives. How many of us stand here today because of this great Tauren’s actions? And now he sacrificed himself to save a city, a city full of people whom he has been taught to hate and now, because of Asterius, we stand beside them and fight.”
Iyotanka pulled a white flower from his bag, which some identified as Peacebloom, and threw it in the grave. “Earthmother!” he implored, “We commit the druid Asterius’ body back to your bountiful paradise and ask that you nurture him, care for him in ways that we, the living, cannot.” The Tauren stepped back, gesturing for others to say their goodbyes.
“I always said you were crazy, you’d get yourself killed and I hate that I’m right,” Vanfi mumbled. “But you, you gave yourself for something you believed in and that is truly a hero’s death,” nodding, the Troll huntress salutes and after tossing a handful of dirt into the grave, steps back to join Iyo. Leesha, the blood elven medic, whispers her goodbye, tucking the stack of bandages she never got to use beside her General. Pug, mumbling and rubbing his eyes, bows his head before tossing in the General’s tabard, given to him by Mekkatorque beforehand. The Warwalkers gruffly approach the grave one by one, tossing in handfuls of dirt and snow. Cairne’s Horns follow their example and a horned bear is last to approach, unable to wipe away the tear on her cheek and unable to say any goodbyes.
Solemnly, the Warwalkers fill in the shallow grave and Iyotanka places a seed from a nearby tree into the mounded earth. “Let this tree be born out of Asterius’ death and the cycle continue,” he declares, finishing the ceremony. Dun Morogh was silent in response. The wind didn’t howl, the trees didn’t move, the birds didn’t sing. Quietly the procession walked back into the reclaimed city.
