As the ash flew and swirled around her in the wind, Lanuria Dawnblade stood, watching the city burn. She didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even breathe until a piece of ash landed in her eye, causing her to snap back into reality and curse loudly.
The city was burning.
She knew things were going badly, with the earthquakes, with the cultists screaming their prophecies, with Thrall leaving, she knew things were only going to get worse before they got better, but the Ranger didn’t think it would get this bad.
An orc screamed out, something about blood and thunder, she could barely make it out over the flames that flickered near her and the screams of the citizens who ran past her, shoving the elf as they made their way out of the warzone that was now Orgrimmar. She could barely hear the call to arms from the new Warcheif but she already had her bow drawn, she already had an arrow notched.
The elementals seethed as they came from the rifts, shooting flames and sparks from their body. She watched a forsaken magister catch a flame in his chest and fall backwards, crying out as the flames overtook his body. The stench of the burning live-again corpse made Lanuria shudder and hold her breath as she ran forward, desperate to escape the smell that brought back a flood of emotions.
The elementals fought bravely, if not mindlessly, against the Horde forces. Lanuria, Ranger Captain of the Argent Crusade, Champion of the Naaru and Hand of A’dal, who had fought countless demons and thousands upon thousands of Scourge, felt powerless against these creatures. Even with all her titles, her medals and badges, pins and accomplishments, she felt like such an insignificant gnat compared to the might of the earth at her feet. The ground shook, knocking her off her balance, causing her arrows to go astray and the heat of the fire elementals caused sweat to drip from her brow, obscuring her vision. How she wished to be back in Northrend, in the biting cold, where sweat and heat were but a memory of long summer days!
The elementals came still, fire and rock, the heat and the earth mingled together to break the windows of shops, to catch the roofs on fire and to bring down even the most harden of warriors. She watched troll and orc, forsaken and tauren fall next to one another as a rock elemental took a swing toward the group and smelled the stench of searing flesh around her as citizens were trapped in their burning homes. She heard the pleas for help, the pain of a woman cry after her husband who picked up whatever weapon he could find to fight off the attackers, the agony of a child having to leave behind his favorite toy and his home as his father carried him away in his arms.
She blocked it all out.
There was no time for her to let emotions get the better of her. She had done this thousands of times before. She became the stoic, emotionless fighter that not many had seen before. In the battlefield, she was not longer Lanuria, lover of sweets and wife of Varendil, but Ranger Captain Lanuria Dawnblade, Silvermoon Sureshot. She kept a straight face underneath the heat of the fires and pressure, but when a moment came for the gathering to catch their breathe, she saw her husband aiding a young orcish woman who was trapped in a fire, tending to her wounds with Light magic which came off in waves around his hands.
She cracked a smile at him before she ran back to the front lines, arrow notched.
As the ash flew and swirled around her in the wind, Lanuria Dawnblade wouldn’t sit back and watch the city burn.