I wrote this story around 2009-ish out of love of a Blood Elf priest that I played as throughout the Wrath of the Lich King expansion of World of Warcraft, a game I loved for many years. Figured I may as well throw it up here for people to read.

The girl’s blonde ponytail bounced to and fro as she skipped cheerfully down the slope, a large wicker basket in one hand.  Her other hand was filled with pieces of dried meat that she’d swiped from the kitchen table before leaving her parents’ farmhouse a few minutes earlier.  She generously tossed one of those pieces over to her small terrier, Cricket, who ran happily alongside of her.

The girl casually noted the sun’s low position over the eastern sky, and a slight frown briefly marred her angelic features.  It was still early morning, and already noticeably warm.  Humid too.  Summer wasn’t far off.  And if there was one thing that could take the fun out of picking berries, it was a summer’s heat wave.  But at least the heat wouldn’t be a problem this particular morning, and so the girl shifted her gaze back to the grassy field about her as she began scanning for patches of wild berries.  There!  She found a patch, moved over to it, and deftly began picking out the ripe, red berries.   Within minutes, every edible berry had been harvested.   Almost half of them even made it into her basket; as opposed to her, or Cricket’s mouth.   

She continued her berry gathering, plucking the occasional Arthas’ Tear blossom when she came across it- her mama loved those pretty violet flowers!  She didn’t worry too much about the giant bats, darkhounds, and whatnot as she worked- that’s what she had Cricket there for, after all.  Her basket was scarcely half full when Cricket caught a scent, barked once, then took off running over the next hill.

The girl’s free hand reflexively wrapped around the handle of her belt knife, and she sprang to her feet, ready to flee if need be.  She heard the terrier barking away moments later.  She was intimately familiar with Cricket’s mannerisms, and upon hearing the terrier’s fresh outburst, relaxed.  Cricket’s bark wasn’t the frantic yipping it would have been if she herself was frightened by whatever she’d found.  Rather, it was more the blustering, growling kind of bark that small dogs make when they detect an un-threatening intruder daring to invade their domain.  The little girl dropped her hand from her knife and sighed.  Probably not even a ghost or something interesting.  Still, she figured, what could it hurt to check it out?   Her childish curiosity piqued, the girl trudged up the hill after her dog.  A minute later she’d caught up to Cricket, who was still barking away, and looked around. 

“Okay girl.  What’s got your dander up?” she asked the terrier.  Scarcely had the words left her lips when she the body.  Startled, her first impulse was to scream and run for her papa, but she was a big girl, fully twelve years old, and she was made of sterner stuff than that!  And so she choked off her scream, took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and looked again.  The body was that of an adult, though male or female she couldn’t determine, as the body was clothed in elaborate violet and crimson robes, which were now torn and bloodied.  No flies had gathered around the body, so it hadn’t been there long.  Then she noticed the wounds themselves.  They were still bleeding slightly!  Behind the body, the girl even saw the trail the person had made in getting to this spot.  Flattened grass sprinkled liberally with dark red droplets of blood led right to it.  A thought crossed the girl’s mind then and instantly she ran to the body.  Seeing that the person lay face down, she put her hands on the person’s shoulder and rolled him…her over.  The person groaned from the movement.   A man’s groan.

“You’re alive!” she exclaimed.  Then she saw the man’s face, his and prominent, elongated and pointed ears protruding from his hood.  “And you’re an elf!” she exclaimed again, officially going from simply startled to completely amazed.

What seemed like a million thoughts rushed through the girl’s head then and what she should do next.  All of these she discarded in the blink of an eye as she opted for the most obvious solution to most any problem in a child’s world- run for mama and papa.  And so back through the foothills she ran, with Cricket hot on her heels.

“Papa! Papa!” she called, the instant she was within sight of the big, wooden farm house.   Her father, who’d been hacking away at a large, dead stump nearby, stopped and turned toward her, wiping sweat off his brow.

“Papa come quick!  There’s a man down the hill aways.  He’s hurt bad and bleeding a bunch!  I thought he was dead ‘til I got up close and rolled him over.  He’s an elf, too!”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down there, Sweetheart,” the farmer said.  “Who’s hurt? What happened?”

The girl took a moment to catch her breath, then quickly, but concisely, recounted what she’d seen while picking berries.

“And he’s still alive you say?” the girl’s father asked.

“Heard him moan, so I’m guessing so, papa,” she replied.

“Undead can moan too…” her father grunted.  “Guess I’d better take a look.  Wait there a moment, let me get a couple things, then you can lead me to this bloody elf of yours.”

The girl watched in breathless excitement as her papa calmly plucked a couple of clean linen cloths that were hanging out to dry on the clothes’ line, grabbed his axe, then a couple of rods he’d been whittling down to make broom handles with, and walked back over to the girl.

“Alright, Sweetheart, lead the way.”

“You gonna be alright, the two of you?  Or would you like for me to come too?” a woman called from inside the house. 

“If it’s truly just one elf out there like Alicia says, I’m sure we’ll manage,” the girl’s father replied.

“Well, be careful then,” she called.

“Yes, mama!” Alicia answered as she and her father walked away.

Upon seeing the elf for himself, Alicia’s father breathed a sigh of relief.  The elf was indeed alive.  As opposed to being just plain dead, or worse, undead- the latter category being something that populated entirely too much of these Eastern Plaguelands. 

“Well, he’s sure the worse for wear,” Alicia’s father grunted, carefully examining the elf.  The elf in question was currently unconscious and breathing erratically.  He was also going into sporadic convulsions.  Suspecting the cause, Alicia’s father pulled out his belt knife and cut away some of the elf’s robes to get a better look at the wounds that cris-crossed his body.  They were made by a blade, he recognized almost immediately.  The cuts and gouges were too neat and precise to have been done by either beast or by the terrain.  He scrutinized one of the nastier looking gouges, low on the elf’s side, sniffing at it.

“Poisoned blades,” the farmer muttered distastefully.  Only rogues were so twisted as to pollute honest steel with poison.

“We need to get him back to the house fast,” the farmer said.  “I’ll get this poor elf ready for travel.  You run on ahead back to Mama.  Tell her to get out that little jar of anti-venom those Argent Dawn folks gave us awhile back.”

“Yes papa,” Alicia replied, and turned away.

“And tell her heat up enough water for a bath,” the farmer added.

“Yes papa,” Alicia replied, but didn’t move.  Instead she kept her eyes on her papa, waiting expectantly.

“And tell your Mama to get some rags ready for bandages.  Lots of them.  Now go!  Quickly now!”

Alicia nodded, then took off running.

Her father wasted no time in preparing a litter for the elf out of the cloths and wooden rods he’d brought along.  Next he carefully rolled the elf onto it, shoved the handle of his axe through his belt, and scooped up two ends of the litter.  As he moved out, he said over his shoulder, “Sorry if this trip hurts, elf, but I didn’t really know for sure what I was walking into, coming down here… with all the holes you already got in you though, I guess being dragged up and down a couple hills won’t make much difference, eh?”

The farmer got the elf back to his home in less than half an hour, though it seemed longer as he wound is way up and down the hills.  The elf had long since stopped thrashing around.  Instead he merely twitched a finger or hand, or shook his head every now and then.  His body was fighting the effects of the poison, or just as likely poisons, and was obviously losing. 

Once he got to the house, the farmer set the litter down and scooped the elf up carefully in his arms.  His wife opened the door for him.  He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw, right there in the middle of the living room was the tub, filled with steaming water.  A pile of clean, white linens was neatly folded nearby on a table, along with a pitcher of water, and the jar of anti-venom.

Moving over to the tub, the farmer carefully deposited the elf into it, dirty, blood-soaked robes and all. 

“You don’t need to get those filthy robes off?” Alicia asked breathlessly as the water immediately began turning reddish-brown.

The farmer shook his head.  “If I did that now, before the water loosened everything up gently, all I’d do is rip open whatever wounds may have started clotting already- cause him to bleed even worse than he is already.  You won’t be around for that part anyhow, young lady.”

“Oh, papa,” Alicia sighed, rolling her eyes.  “Under the circumstances, seems like his modesty wouldn’t be that important- besides, I know what he’d look like anyway.”

Her father, about to brush aside her protest, stopped sharply and glared suspiciously at her. 

Alicia, in the middle of handing her father the jar of disgusting-looking green goop labeled ‘Anti-Venom’, froze, seeing the expression on his face.

“What?” she asked.

“And you’d know this how?”

“Mama told me,” Alicia replied with all the innocent casualness only a child could have.  “Men are about like horses, cows, dogs, and any other male animal.”

Alicia’s father breathed a quiet sigh of relief.  Then he actually chuckled.  “Well your mama’s right, mostly,” he said, glancing wryly over at his dear wife, who was now hiding her face behind her hands, as her chest and shoulders heaved up and down.  “But that don’t make it the same thing.  You will respect this man- this elf’s privacy unless his life is clearly hanging in the balance.  Am I understood, young lady?

“Yes, papa.”

Alicia’s father nodded.  “Now, go on outside and finish weeding your mother’s garden so she can help me clean this elf’s wounds.”

She nodded and left the room.  Her parents meanwhile, gingerly worked at the elf’s gear and clothing.  The easy stuff was first.  His outer cloak, his belt, upon which numerous ornate pouches were attached, along with a dagger’s sheath- now bereft of the dagger.  Then Alicia’s father unfastened his large, gemmed pauldrons, surprisingly light for their size.  The more layers the pair removed, the smaller and more fragile the elf seemed.  Various bits of jewelry, rings, a pendant, and bracers were also removed.  Now they could see the elf beneath the once-splendid clothing.  He had a narrow face, almost delicate features, and long hair that was so black it shone with a blue hue to it.  A neatly trimmed goatee grew down his chin.  And of course he had the unusually, almost ridiculously long eyebrows that elves all seemed so fond of growing, almost like dwarves with their beards.  His eyes had yet to open, but Alicia’s father had seen elves before, and knew they would likely be deep blue.   Had he been human, the farmer would have put his age somewhere in his late twenties.  Being an elf of course that was likely nowhere near his true age.

With the hot water having done its work on the elf’s main robe and undergarments, the farmer and his wife carefully peeled away the clothing to get at the numerous wounds, and just as carefully began applying generous amounts of the anti-venom to each and every one of them.  The elf reacted almost immediately.  He hissed in pain and began thrashing around violently, though weakly.  His eyes at last popped open, practically nose to nose with the startled farmer.   The elf’s eyes were a glowing emerald green!

“Blood Elf!” the farmer swore, jumping backwards.

For his part, the Blood Elf mumbled something in his native Thalassian, then collapsed in a shivering wreck against the walls of the tub.

The farmer’s wife looked from the wounded elf to her husband in bewilderment.  “Are you not going to help him now, Jonathan?”
              “He’s a cursed Blood Elf!  He’s one of the Horde Elves!” the farmer, Jonathan exclaimed as an answer.

Jonathan’s wife glared at her husband and pointedly took his place at the elf’s side, resuming the application of the anti-venom.  “And for that we should just let him die?”

“He’s of the same faction as those bloodthirsty, savage orcs, trolls, and the undead!” Jonathan yelled in exasperation.

“So you would say ‘yes’ to that, I take it,” his wife replied, still maintaining her relaxed, calm composure.

Jonathan huffed, and set his shoulders back grimly.  “Yes!  I say stop right there, and go fetch the closest Argent Dawn soldier, or better yet the closest Alliance-affiliated soldier, and have him collect this wretched Blood Elf.”

“So it’s a crime now for this elf to simply be a Blood Elf?  I apologize, husband.  I was not aware that the Alliance and the Horde were at war.  When did it begin?”

Jonathan’s mouth flopped open momentarily as he stammered and stuttered.  “We-well-uh… we’re not technically at war… but you know what the Horde did at the Wrathgate same as everyone else!  They can’t be trusted!”

“Again, you must know more than I, husband,” Jonathan’s wife said demurely.  “As I understood that event, the massacre at the Wrathgate was brought about by a traitorous rebel within the Forsaken camp, who unleashed a weapon upon both Alliance and Horde soldiers.  And as I heard it, that rebellion was crushed swiftly and quite ruthlessly.  Pray tell, in which part of those admittedly tragic events have I been misled?”

Again Jonathan fumed and glared down at his wife, who by now had coated the last of the Blood Elf’s wounds.

“You know as well as me what happened at the Wrathgate,” he growled.

“I suppose I do,” Jonathan’s wife agreed.  “Which is why I see no harm in doing whatever can be done to restore this poor thing back to health- he’s obviously suffered enough already.  The way I see it, to not help him would put us on the same level as the very people you despise so much.”

“You just told me how mama’s usually right…” a small voice chipped in from the direction of the front door.

Jonathan scowled fiercely and spun around.   There was Alicia, poking her head through the doorway, eyes cast modestly toward the floor.

“Doggonit girl!  Didn’t I tell you to get the hell outside?” Jonathan yelled.

Alicia’s eyes widened and with a quick intake of breath she withdrew her head from the doorway and slammed the door shut.

“Jonathan!” the farmer’s wife barked.  Now she was finally losing her cool.  Jonathan cringed and turned back to her.

“That was entirely uncalled for!  You told her to do the weeding outside, that’s it!  You had no call to be so…so orcish to her like that!”

Her use of comparisons was not lost on Jonathan, and his anger deflated in one long, slow, exhale.

“You’re right, Esther.  I’ll go apologize to Alicia now.”

“And when you come back in, you can help me bandage this man up and fix him up with something comfortable to sleep on.”

Jonathan nodded, and stepped outside.  At which time the Blood Elf opened his eyes again, and into the face of Esther.

“Thank…you…” he whispered slowly.

“So,” Esther mused.  “You’re awake.  And you speak Common.”

The Blood Elf smiled weakly, as though hearing an old joke.  “That is why it is called ‘Common’… yes?”

Esther returned his smile.  “I suppose so.”  Then her eyes narrowed slightly.  “Were you feigning unconsciousness this whole time?”

The Blood Elf shook his head slightly.  “Not…entire time…”

“Hm.  Well I’d say you can sleep soundly tonight at least.  Don’t worry.  You’ve nothing to fear whilst under this roof.  So…Blood Elf, have you a name?”

“My clothes…” the Blood Elf said.

“Your name is My-“ Esther started to say, confused, then realized the problem.  “Oh, of course!  I’m so sorry.”  She blushed, then looked around at the table, snatched up one of the larger cloths, and handed to the elf, pointedly looking no farther down than his face.  “Your clothes are filthy, to say the least.  This will have to suffice for now,” she explained as he draped the cloth over himself.

“Thank you…for putting that salve on my wounds,” the Blood Elf murmured.   “My name…is Dusk…wanderer…” 

“Dusk Wanderer?” Esther asked curiously.  He’d spoken so faintly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him.

“Likely Duskwanderer.  One word.  Probably his house name.”  Jonathan said from the doorway. 

Esther jumped slightly.  She hadn’t realized Jonathan had returned.

“Like Sunstrider, Windrunner, and whatnot,” he continued, looking down at the now certainly sleeping elf.  He frowned.  Somehow that name sounded familiar to him.  He’d heard the name in connection with something not long ago.  But what…?

“I apologized to Alicia.  She’ll be alright.  How’s our… guest doing?”

“If I had to guess?  I’d guess he’s already looking a bit less pale.  He just fell asleep- as opposed to passing out.  That’s probably a good thing.”

Jonathan nodded slightly, still studying the elf.  “Uh-huh…well… be careful.  He may be blameless of some of the usual Horde brutality, but he didn’t get those green eyes by being a saint.  Don’t let him touch you.  I don’t know how their magic addiction works firsthand, but from all I’ve heard, Blood Elves are practically vampires.  Even their own untainted kin have no tolerance for them, generally speaking.”

Esther rolled her eyes and looked over at Jonathan.  “Yes dear,” was all she said.

The rest of the day passed peacefully- the Blood Elf who called himself Duskwanderer moved barely a muscle, even when Jonathan finished bandaging his wounds, shaking his head in amazement as he did so.  All told, the Blood Elf had no less than four puncture wounds on his back, left side, and chest- at least two of which, by all reckoning, looked like they should have been fatal even without adding in the poison factor.  Then there were easily twice as many cuts- those mostly on his arms and thighs.  One cut had been to his hamstring though.  Jonathan wondered if the Blood Elf would ever be able to walk normally again, even if he did heal.  In the process of examining the elf, Jonathan had also discovered a nasty cut to the back of the elf’s head.  That too, could be fatal.  Not all head injuries killed immediately after all.

That night, before going to bed, Jonathan laid out a pair of woolen trousers, a good sturdy, leather belt, boots, and a knee-length tunic.  As an afterthought, he also laid out his quarterstaff beside the clothing.  It could serve as a crutch if needs be.  And truth be told, after that awkward moment he’d seen when he’d come back into the house earlier that afternoon, he more than half hoped the Blood Elf might somehow recover and just leave on his own by the time they woke up the next morning.  That would certainly make everything easier for everyone, he thought.

The Blood Elf was still there the following morning.  Nearly in the same position he’d been in when Jonathan had checked on him in fact.  And so, after checking on the worst of the injuries and changing out the bandages, the farmer went to work, business as usual, along with his wife and daughter.

It was likely the smell of supper that roused the elf, for it struck Jonathan as no coincidence that as the evening’s porridge was being spooned from the large kettle over the hearth and into their bowls that the elf croaked out from his bedding, “Any chance you have a bit of that to spare?”

“He’s awake!” Alicia cried in delight.

“And hungry it seems,” Esther smiled down at the wan elf.  “How are you feeling…  Duskwanderer?”

“Weak as a baby hawkstrider.  And yes, hungry.  That food smells wonderful. “

“Here you go,” Alicia smiled at him as she handed him the first bowl she got her hands on- which happened to be her own.

Duskwanderer smiled gratefully, and accepted the bowl with one hand.  “May the Light bless you always…” he said and moved to place his hand on her head as he said that.  He stopped abruptly however when he saw the farmer scowl and tense up, if only for a moment.

“My apologies…” he said, trying to ease the tension.  “Do your people not pray to the Light and lay hands on each other as elves do?”

“Oh we do,” Alicia answered first.  “Least me and mama do.  Papa’s not much of the praying type.  He says the Light tends to help them that help themselves mostly.”

Everyone chuckled lightly as Jonathan’s expense.  Even Jonathan relaxed a bit.  “I apologize, Master Duskwanderer, I guess I just didn’t realize that you… your people pray to the Light.”

A fleeting look of sorrow flashed across the Blood Elf’s face, but he looked up at Jonathan.  “No need to apologize.  Your surprise is not…without cause.  In the span of but a single human’s lifetime High Elves… the Blood Elves, have been virtually exterminated as a race.  These seemingly endless series of disasters, some of which have been wrought by our own kind, have had rather strong negative effects on the faith of many of those still alive.”

The four sat in awkward silence for a few moments as everyone focused on their porridge.  Then Jonathan took the initiative.  Setting his bowl aside he apologized to the Blood Elf for his behavior, realizing that he’d yet to even introduce everyone.  He rectified the situation then and there.

“Jonathan, Esther,” Duskwanderer said the names slowly, nodding to each in turn.  “I will forever be indebted for your kindness.  And you, little Alicia…” he said, turning over to her, “Most elves of any heritage will agree that our kind are the most… blessed by the gods, but you, young lady, with your blossoming beauty, your unhesitating selflessness, and your grace, would outshine even our noble ruling families.”

Jonathan and Esther beamed at the praise.  Alicia for once, was rendered speechless, and could only stand there blushing furiously.

Changing the subject, Duskwanderer turned to Jonathan, “Off and on today, I’ve heard you chopping wood.  Yet I see your stack of firewood has grown no larger.  What is it you work on?”

Jonathan looked over at the pile of firewood then out the door ruefully.   “Tree stump.  An old dead tree whose roots are hogging up a lot of earth my wife could use to enlarge her garden. 

Duskwanderer nodded, but said nothing further on the subject.  Instead the talk turned to other things.   Duskwanderer discovered that this family had moved out here, to the outskirts of what was once Darrowshire, suspecting- rightfully so- that after so many years of plague, the cycle of death and decay was at last transforming into one of rebirth, as nature took its course over the land.  What once was the breadbasket of all Lordaeron and turned into a desolate, barren wasteland was finally becoming fertile again.  And ever the opportunist, Jonathan, a former soldier of Lordaeron and the Alliance, who’d fought in service of King Terenas II as well as King Wrynn, had decided to stake out his own little piece of Azeroth.

For his part, Duskwanderer, though not as talkative as his hosts, confided that he was a priest.  He’d been traveling to Silvermoon, his erstwhile homeland, when he’d been ambushed on the road by a pair of rogues.  He’d had no chance to fight back, really.  He’d scarcely had time to cast a couple life-saving defensive spells, then a spell of fear upon them, which caused them to flee in unreasoning terror for a short time- just long enough for him to escape their blades.  The real damage had of course already been done.  They’d stabbed and cut him with blades coated with all manner of devious and exotic poisons- a form of affliction even he was unable to properly deal with.  Oh he could heal the physical damage done, and he’d started to do so.  The cause of the damage- the poisons inflicted upon him- had continued to kill him from the inside out.

“Lucky we found you,” Alicia said, wide-eyed, after hearing Duskwanderer’s harrowing tale. 

Lucky for you she found you,” Jonathan added, smiling.

“One man’s luck is another’s miracle,” Duskwanderer said.  He opened his mouth to continue the idle chatter when his own phrase stuck in the back of his mind.  He found himself suddenly asking, “Jonathan, there’s still daylight left.   What do you say we give that stump a try?”

“We?” Jonathan echoed, dubiously.  “You don’t look anywhere near healed enough to do something so physically demanding- no offense.”

Duskwanderer smiled broadly, he bright green eyes twinkling.  “None taken.  And you are right.  I would not be up to swinging the axe myself.  Even at my best, these are not the hands of a laborer, or a fighter,” he said, holding his smooth, small hands out for inspection.

“Then how…what…?” Jonathan started to ask.

Duskwanderer continued to smile.  “Will you trust me?”

Jonathan sighed, and stared long and hard at Duskwanderer, then slowly nodded.  He said nothing, just stepped outside and over to his axe, which he scooped up on his way over to the stump.

In his native tongue, Duskwanderer murmured a soft prayer over his host, just as he began to hack away at the stump.  For several minutes, Jonathan hacked away at the roots, smoothly, systematically, in an unbreaking pattern.  When he stopped, he glanced over at Duskwanderer, a slightly puzzled look on his face.  Duskwanderer stood at the doorway, leaning casually against one side of the frame.  Alicia, followed by Esther, came out to watch.  Jonathan went back to work, attacking the numerous, thick roots even more forcefully, and with quicker motions than was usual for him.  Again, several minutes went by, during which time he broke though a sizeable portion of the roots anchoring the large trunk to the ground. 

“Ok, Bloo- Duskwanderer,” Jonathan finally said.  “What did you do to me?  I’m working longer, harder, and faster than I have since I was a teen.  I’m not winded, I’m not even breaking a sweat.”

“Just a little of the Light’s blessing is all,” Duskwanderer replied with a smile.

Jonathan grinned.  “Well hell, with this energy, I might just have this stump out of here tonight!”

Duskwanderer started to reply when suddenly a dark presence filled his mind.  A distinctly malevolent presence.  He frowned, scanning the grounds immediately around the farm.  He could not see them yet, but there were close….

“Get your family inside,” he instructed Jonathan abruptly.

Noticing the sudden change in Duskwanderer, Jonathan gripped his axe, warily, confused.  “Why?”

“Do it!” Duskwanderer ordered in a clear, strong voice.  “The undead are upon us!”

Alicia squealed and rushed inside, followed by Esther.  Duskwanderer  shut the heavy wooden door behind them.   The moment they were inside, the sound of wood shutters slamming down to bar windows began to sound as well.

“You don’t need a weapon?” Jonathan asked as he backed up against a wall of the house, whipping his head left and right.

“I have one,” Duskwanderer replied.  “I wield the Light Itself.”  No sooner had he spoken than the undead were upon them.  Half a dozen skeletons and corpses nearly reduced to skeletons, armed with all manner of weapons came at the pair. 

Duskwanderer spoke, and visible bubbles of light surrounded both Jonathan and himself.  One skeleton swung an axe at Jonathan.  He countered fiercely with his own axe, then easily cleaved the skeleton in two.  At the same time, Duskwander cast a nova of holy light in a large blasting radius around them, turning the two closest undead to him into ash almost instantly, and burning the others further back.  To Jonathan’s delight, he discovered that the same holy nova of light that had damaged the undead, revitalized him, and he grew bolder.    He swung his axe at one undead severing its head from its spine.  Without waiting to see if the body would collapse on its own as a living creature would if decapitated, Jonathan deftly reversed the angle of his axe, striking a powerful, downward blow at the skeletal body with the blunt side of the axe.  The skeleton practically shattered. 

It was over in practically a minute.  Shattered bones and broken weapons lay strewn across the yard, but neither man nor elf was injured.

Jonathan looked around, wide-eyed, scarcely believing what had just happened.

“Holy sh… there were over…. And you just…” he stared at Duskwanderer.  “That was amazing,” he finally said.

For his part, Duskwanderer was less than impressed.  “I’ve done better,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But I am still weary yet from the poison of those cursed rogue blades.  That and without the benefit of my gear… dare I hope it is all intact?” he asked quietly, turning to Jonathan.

Taken aback, Jonathan stammered a bit, “Uh-well, ah sure.  I mean your robes are a mess, but your gear is all in the house at least.  Why?”

“I should like to examine it.” Duskwanderer replied.

“Okay,” Jonathan shrugged, and led Duskwanderer into the house.  He pointed to a back room where the Blood Elf’s gear had been cleaned and laid out to dry, then rushed over and hugged his family, and all three began talking at once.

Duskwanderer spent the remainder of the evening inspecting his gear and making minor repairs where he could.  Esther, who was a fair hand at stitching, was able to help him some in that regard as well.  Fortunately, as poor a state as his gear was, the numerous enchantments alone made his equipment invaluable to him.  As he next moved on to make sure that the various gems still properly set in their sockets as they should be, he turned to Jonathan, sitting by the fireplace.

“Where did those undead come from this evening?  I was under the impression the Plaguelands are recovering from Kel’Thuzad’s depravations.”

“And so they are.” Jonathan agreed.  “Say what you want about them, but the Scarlet Crusade’s patrols eliminated a lot of the undead in these parts.  But there are still pockets here and there, concentrations of undead that are just too thick or too powerful for them, or the Argent Dawn.”

“They’re the Argent Crusade nowadays,” Esther called out from the kitchen.

“Argent Dawn, Argent Crusade, whatever,” Jonathan said, rolling his eyes.  “Same folks.”

The two looked about to begin an entirely new argument on that line, so Duskwanderer jumped in quickly.  “And where would the bunch that attacked us tonight have likely come from?  The only undead stronghold I know of off the top of my head in these parts is in Stratholme, many miles from here.

“Well there’s Stratholme too…” Jonathan mused.  “The closest concentration I know of is Corin’s Crossing.  You know it?”

Duskwanderer cocked his head slightly in recollection.  “The name rings a bell.  I may have seen it on a map of Lordaeron at some point.  It is, or was a town of some size built along the central highway through the Eastern Plaguelands.  That would be about all I know of the place.”

Jonathan nodded.  “You’re correct.  Corin’s Crossing was located almost smack-dab in the middle of the eastern half of Lordaeron- and with reason.  It was one of the primary towns, along with Andorhol in the western half, used to store and ship grain throughout the kingdom.  Hence the reason Kel’Thuzad, that bastard, made it one of his primary targets to spread the scourge plague.

“I shall go there in the morning, and clear them out then,” Duskwanderer said quietly. 

All three members of the family turned toward Duskwanderer.  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Jonathan responded first.  “There’s way too many undead there to take on all by yourself.”

“Perhaps,” Duskwanderer acknowledged.  “I shall go there nonetheless.”

Jonathan as well as his wife and daughter spent several minutes arguing and pleading with Duskwanderer to change his mind.  But his mind was made up.

“You got a plan at least?” Jonathan asked.

“Yes,” Duskwanderer replied.  The three waited for him to elaborate.  He didn’t.

“Alright, so you don’t want to tell us about it,” Jonathan sighed.  “Is there anything we, or I can do to help?”

“Stay here, take care of this farm.  Help restore this land to what it once was,” Duskwanderer said.  Then as almost an afterthought, he added, “I could use one of your horses, if you could spare it?”

Jonathan smiled.  “Why sure I’ve got a horse and cart.  I’d be happy to take you to within sight of Corin’s Crossing.”
              Duskwanderer looked warily at Jonathan.  “And you’ll stop when I tell you to, and give me your word to stay out of the town?”

“Yes.”

“Agreed then.”

The next day began quietly enough.  Esther made a large breakfast, recognizing that however Duskwanderer’s journey to Corin’s Crossing went, his stay with them was finished.  Jonathan went outside to get the horse and cart ready, and also to throw on his old chainmail hauberk, strap on his sword.  His kite shield of a blue field and depiction of a lion’s head in gold was also put in the cart, along with a crested helm he’d worn in his orc-fighting days.  He truly had no intention of walking into Corin’s Crossing with Duskwanderer, but he figured he should be prepared for a fight, just in case things didn’t go as planned. 

As for Duskwanderer himself, he donned his robes, clamped his bracers into place on his wrists, set his pauldrons comfortably on his shoulders, and put on the rest of his gear.  Then he sat down and prayed and meditated for a bit.  At last, when he was ready, he thanked the family for their hospitality, said his goodbyes, and made ready to depart.  Esther and Alicia each hugged him.  When Alicia looked ready to cry, Duskwanderer knelt down and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Do not fear for me, little one,” he comforted her.  “I promise you, all will be well.”

“Will we ever see you again?” she asked softly.

Duskwanderer hesitated a moment before answering.  “Yes.  We will see each other again.  She hugged him again, then turned and left the house.  Esther followed him quickly outside.

“I hope you weren’t lying to her,” she said, staring at the elf. 

“I did not lie,” he said.  “We shall meet again… if not in this life, then in the next.”  Then he hopped up on the cart and waited for Jonathan to say his own good-byes to his family.

When everything had been said, the two men rode off.   They rode in silence for the duration of the trip.  It was another warm day, despite the heavy, gray clouds that hid the sun.  On the main road- the same road Duskwanderer had originally been traveling on when he’d been ambushed, he was back in somewhat familiar territory.  On the back of a wyvern, he’d seen much of this territory in flight either to or from the Undercity, former capital of Lordaeron and current capital of the undead Forsaken. 

As they drew closer to Corin’s Crossing, Duskwanderer and Jonathan alike noticed the red-brown haze that clung to the ground like a fog, which was growing heavier by the mile. 

“The legacy of Kel’Thuzad lingers,” Duskwanderer observed.

“For too long,” Jonathan added, uneasily.

“Night always gives way to day, sooner or later,” said the elf.

It was early afternoon by the time the first silhouettes of the town became visible through the thick fog.  Just as quickly, the human and elf saw shapes, large and small, shambling around in the telltale way of the undead.

“This is where I leave you,” the Blood Elf said.

“I’ll head back a bit further.  Give you some room to do… whatever you got planned,” Jonathan said.  “But I won’t leave.  You might need patched up again.”

Duskwanderer smiled and touched his fingers to his brow in a faint salute to Jonathan, then turned toward the haze.

What followed, from Jonathan’s view, was a light show like no other; one that lasted off and on for the better part of three hours.  It was surprisingly silent, despite the fact that he knew most undead, especially those such as the ones still doomed to roam the Plaguelands years after Kel’Thuzad’s cursed grain had created them, lacked the vocal cords to speak, much less shout.  Still, he thought he’d hear Duskwanderer, and the typical sounds of combat he was used to.  A couple of times he thought he did in fact here the Blood Elf’s voice, shouting phrases in his native language.  That could have been his imagination however.  He was reassured though, with the constant light show; flashes of fire, blasts of light, like the nova he’d been inside of at his farm, fiery orbs and columns shooting in various directions, when not hidden behind the outline of some building or other.  At times he even thought he saw the Blood Elf priest’s outline inside a near-blindingly white orb.

Inside the town of Corin’s Crossing, Duskwanderer was putting his divine shield to frequent use.  Zombies and plagued beasts, ghouls and slime monsters came at him in numbers to great to count.  He smote them from afar, casting ribbons of holy fire amongst them.  When too many got too close, he cast a divine shield around himself, and incinerated them instantly with a holy nova. 

Being a Blood Elf, he wasn’t above using shadow magic, either.  He summoned his own minions to fight the scourged townsfolk, blasting the minds of more powerful monsters with shadow magic, and weakening them with his own devouring plague, so that by the time they were close enough to lay a hand on him, more often than not the plague had done its work, and they simply keeled over dead.   This was one reason Duskwanderer had not allowed Jonathan to fight with him.  He wasn’t so much worried about keeping the good-intentioned human alive- a constant divine shield would have done that.  But he knew from past experience how members of the Alliance reacted to some of darker aspects of magic. 

He began to tire, slowly, but thankfully, the numbers of undead were dropping like hay before a farmer’s blade.  An occasional spell of healing protected him, along with his divine shield, and he kept at his deadly work.  Time flew by.  It felt to Duskwanderer as though he had been at his work the entire day.   At last however, as he roamed erratically throughout the town, he realized that he was alone.  All about him were hundreds of bodies or charred remains of the scourge forces.  Corin’s Crossing had at last been purged.  And he was utterly exhausted.  Getting his bearings, he slowly walked out of the town, and back to where he’d last seen Jonathan. 

Jonathan spotted the priest first.  It wasn’t hard.  He’d had a good idea where the Blood Elf was at any given time as it was, so once the light show hand ended, he’d kept scanning the area between there and himself.  Soon enough he saw the silhouette of the Blood Elf emerging, holy fire still emanating from his head and shoulders.

“Duskwanderer!  You’re still alive!  Jonathan cried in relief.  “Light be praised!”

“Indeed,” the Blood Elf said, a bit hoarsely.

“You look almost as bad as the first time I laid eyes on you,” Jonathan said wryly as he helped Duskwanderer hop onto the cart.

“Perhaps.  At least this time the blood and gore is mostly that of the scourge forces.  My clothing will truly have to be purified thoroughly after this…” Duskwanderer muttered.

The long ride back to the Darrowshire farm was uneventful.  Duskwanderer dozed throughout most of it.  Even Jonathan nodded off and on a bit- his horse knew the way home after all.  When at last they reached the farmhouse, Esther and Alicia ran to them, crying with relief that both men had returned safe and sound. 

For two more days Duskwanderer stayed with them, recovering his strength from the purging of Corin’s Crossing.  He might have stayed longer but it was on the second day that Esther spotted a large, draconic silhouette in the sky, far off in the distance.  She called to Jonathan, and together the two watched, restlessly, as the silhouette got bigger.  It was flying towards them.  Jonathan called for Duskwanderer, who’d been inside the house.  He came out and stood vigil as well. 

At a mile away, the three determined the dragon to be a red, and so lost a bit of their anxiety.  Duskwanderer in fact felt only curiosity and even a bit eager, as the red closed the distance.  At that point Jonathan called for Alicia, and together the four of them watched as the red circled the house lazily, getting lower and lower as it did.  By the time it landed, the four could see that the red was actually a fairly small dragon- given its race.  Likely it was still only a drake.

The dragon ambled over to the four, dipping its head, easily the size of Jonathan’s cart. 

“Greetings, humans.  Kingslayer,” the dragon rumbled.  His deep voice sounded like a massive drum.  The vibrations were felt through each of the humans, and the elf, before him.

“Greetings to you, Aritiastrasz,” Duskwanderer replied, bowing to the drake.

“You two know each other?” Jonathan asked, incredulously.

“We’ve flown together a few times,” Duskwanderer said with a smile.

“Nice of you to track me down, Aritia,” the Blood Elf said, turning to look up at the red drake.

“You were overdue at Dalaran.”

“I’m sure Vareesa didn’t miss the absence of one more foul Blood Elf,” Duskwanderer scoffed.

“Vareesa, no.  Others did. They decided that you were not simply being absent-minded in your no-show, this time.  A few magi scryed for your location and traced you here.”

“Yes, I was on my way to Silvermoon, when I got ambushed by a pair of human rogues.  This family nursed me back to health.  As a favor, I decided to deal with the closest of their problems- the undead at Corin’s Crossing.  I could certainly have used your help over there, by the way.”

Aritiastrasz cocked his head at the Blood Elf and flapped his wings.  “You’re alive now.  I’m sure you did fine by yourself.  Are you ready to leave?” 

Duskwanderer sighed.  “Yes… I suppose I am.”He turned to the others.  “Thank you again for all you’ve done for me.  I shall never forget your kindness.”

“We’re not likely to forget you either… Kingslayer Duskwanderer,” Jacob said, grinning as he shook the Blood Elf’s hand.

The women each hugged the elf, then at last stepped back.   The Blood Elf, in a rather good mood suddenly, cast a spell of levitation upon himself and floated up to the red drake’s back.

“Alright, Aritia,” he announced.  I’m ready.

He waved again down at the human family he’d grown so fond of as the red bunched his muscles, then leapt into the air and took off, heading for the Undercity.

The three on the ground continued to stare and wave up at the pair until they were out of sight.  When they finally disappeared in the western sky, Alicia looked up at her father with a curious expression on her face.  “Papa,” she asked, “Why did that dragon call Duskwanderer ‘Kingslayer’?”

Jonathan smiled down at her.  “Kingslayer is an honorific given to the band Highlord Tirion Fordring led into the Lich King’s citadel in Icecrown and killed him.  That’s where I’d heard Duskwanderer’s name before; he was one of that band…”