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obv may need some Heavy Editing and rewriting at pre-patch but seeing as everyone else is posting their bfa stories:

It was early in the morning when Irieth awoke to a banging fist against the door. She sat up, eyes darting not to the ramp leading downstairs, but to the cot near her bed. Her daughter, for now, remained peacefully asleep.
 She heard the door open, her wife's incredibly fake-polite greeting downstairs-- "oh, yes, hello, it is good to see you, my dear, how are things?" --and she slowly turned, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing her feet against the ground.
 For weeks, now, it had been routine that Irieth would sleep during the night and watch the baby during the day, while her wife slept during daylight hours and remained nocturnal. It had been their routine when their son was an infant, too. The grey, early dawn light told Irieth that she still had some hours to sleep before Aryanne would come to bed.
 She brushed her hands along her scarred face, groaning, and shoved a mewling cat away from her leg with her foot. She was about to stand when she heard Aryanne downstairs speak a little too loudly, horrified, "what?"
 Irieth pushed up immediately, moving to the ramp and peering down at the doorway. A neighbour of theirs stood at the open door-- an ancient female with long, moss-green hair and crinkled eyes spoke grimly. "It's just I knew you have a child there, I thought it important to come here first--"
 "When? How? What happened?" Aryanne's tone had gone from coolly disinterested to frantic in a matter of seconds. Irieth could detect the tremor of fear in her voice. She turned, heading quietly down the spiral ramp, listening.
 "The Horde, a few hours ago-- there was time to evacuate some people--"
"Some people?!"
"I'm sure that--"
"What happened?" Irieth asked quietly as she pushed by to the doorway. She felt Aryanne shove right past her immediately, a hand clasped over her mouth as she darted back into the house. She heard a clatter of vials and drawers opening.
 The woman-- Amberleaf? Dawnleaf? Irieth could not remember --stared up at her for a moment, wrinkled face twisting into faint distaste for the old sentinel. There may have been an incident where Irieth may have called her a number of names. Irieth could not remember. Irieth may have been drunk. "It's Teldrassil," she eventually said.
"What about it?"
"The Horde. They burned it down." 

For a time, Irieth did nothing. She only stared at whatever-her-name-was as the ancient elf-- potentially older than she was --started with vague disgust at each scar on her face, at each twisted, marred burn, and entirely missing eye. Irieth did not have the time to consider it, nor feel self-conscious. There were no thoughts going through her head, no emotions rising in her chest.
 Where was the anger? The sadness? They were feelings that Irieth had come to known too well when she received bad news, and yet, now, there was nothing. She only took a deep breath as she heard the woman resume speaking.
 "They've been up and down Kalimdor for days, murdering people, setting villages on fire--"
 "Which villages?!" Aryanne cried from within the house, alarmed. More drawers were opened, and Irieth could hear rushing water behind her.
 "I don't know? They were marching along Feralas and Ashenvale, the last I heard of them, and now I suppose they've taken Darkshore and Teldrassil."
 Fuck, was the only thought that came to Irieth's mind after a very long time. "Thank you for telling us," she said a bit hollowly as she shut the door, locking it with a click without bothering to wait for an answer from the woman.
 When she turned, she saw Aryanne scrambling back and forth around the house, spilling water onto the floor from a bowl. She had several vials in her arms, muttering incessantly. Irieth took a very long breath. "I'll go out and find them, where ever they are," she said quietly, beginning to move up the ramp. "You need to stay here with Nari."

Fifteen minutes later, Irieth was fully armoured. Her sentinel armour-- purple, warm and protective --with the shield of Isfaloth on her back and Halfyr's axe by her belt. She loomed over Aryanne, the highborne's face streaked with tears as she took a piece of long, curled, silvery hair from a vial and placed it into a bowl of water.
 Isildrien was the first to be scried. Her fate would tell them the fate of Aberwick, too, a town in Dustwallow that, so far, had been shielded from the horde with a thick mist that surrounded the village. 
 With a sprinkle of arcane powder, the bowl began fizzing up into thick, pink suds, overflowing onto the table below. Aryanne waited, shakily incanting and stirring the water with a wand. Eventually, the bubbles began to clear to show the image of their daughter.
 She stood on the edge of a pier, staring far out into the sea where a distant sun began to lazily lift above the water, painting the skies reds, yellows and pinks. She was accompanied by several other villagers, preparing boats-- some sailing out into the water already and casting nets out into the ocean.
 Irieth heard Aryanne let out a soft sigh of relief, dismissing the image after watching Isildrien stand on the dock for some long moments. "She's alright," she narrated, as if Irieth had gone blind in the last few minutes.
 Which, she may as well have. She had not spoken further since going upstairs.

Next, Sheil. Their son had not spoken to them since Argus, since the Cenarion outpost in Silithus was destroyed with little to no warning. They'd sent letters that were never returned, and so scrying was the only way to keep in contact with him.
 It was not uncommon behaviour for him, nor was it surprising. Irieth had gathered he lost many friends, but she was grateful that he hadn't been caught under Sargeras' sword. 
 She watched as Aryanne took another vial, and lifted a strand of black, curly hair into the bowl. The image this time showed not Sheil, but a large, black saber walking through a forest. He was accompanied by others; a smaller, white panther stalking by his side, a doe behind them, and a younger elf-- a male, only a child --riding the doe. All of them looked exhausted, their movements sluggish.
 They watched their son and his group for a long time, neither speaking, as they approached the path to a derelict village. There was no fire to be seen, but black smoke billowed high into the air from smouldering wood.
 With a nod to each other, both cats split up. They only saw Sheil, now, sprinting along buildings, sniffing and hounding, nudging at broken corpses on the ground. When he was approaching the body of a fallen orc, he turned and lifted his head suddenly, turning and sprinting back to meet with the other druid to find a priestess, still in mooncloth robes, with her legs under a half-collapsed building.
 They watched as they shifted forms, as they called the doe over to help them get the priestess out. They watched as they healed her, spoke to her, and set her on the antler-druid, and continued searching the village.
 Grimly, and at last, Aryanne dismissed the image. "I'm glad," she said quietly, but Irieth was only able to nod her quiet agreement. She knew, deep down, that she was proud of her son.

And, finally, Aurelle. Irieth had an idea that Aryanne was dreading checking, and left it to last. Aurelle was on Darnassus, stationed in the temple of Elune. She had a good chance to come out alive, at least-- the priestesses would aid everyone in getting out, if it be portals or boats to Darkshore. She tried not to consider that Aurelle herself may have gotten too caught up in saving others to save herself.
 Aryanne dropped the last strand of white hair into the bowl and cast arcane powder inside it. Once again, it fizzled into massive, overflowing suds, and Aryanne stuck her wand into it. She stirred, and stirred, and stirred some more-- but the pink bubbles did not fade away, and sure enough, didn't show any images.
 She continued, incanting intensely. Slowly, Irieth set a hand on her shoulder. "They could be warded," she said quietly. "All of them that came from Teldrassil, for safety, aye?"
 Irieth doubted her own words. She only hoped that her wife did not. The mage shifted, turning in her seat and rubbing her forehead with a long breath. "What do we do now?" She asked.
 "I'll go out there and see what's happened, and ask if anyone's seen her or where the other refugees are. What's the closest anchor you have to Teldrassil?"
 "Elunaar," she responded, then paused. "What about Nara and her son?"
 "I'm sure they'll be alright," Irieth said with a faint grimace, taking her wife's hands and lifting her out of the chair. "I'll be back soon, aye? I'll get a portal back and I'll bring Aurelle with me when I find her."
 Aryanne nodded and turned, drawing portal runes out on the floor.

Irieth moved to open the door. She wasn't able to step outside before a bright pink hippogryph landed on the porch in front of her, jumping from the roof. "SHALLA'THOR?!" She shrieked directly into her face.
 "You can see him later--"
 "I'm sure he is," Irieth frowned, leading the ever-loud Aethril inside and shutting the door behind them. "I need you to fly with me to Teldrassil, I'm sure you were overhearing the news."
 She wasn't sure if Aethril was listening, the hippogryph bounded to Aryanne and nuzzled the top of her head with her beak, trilling quietly. Aryanne slowly stood, petting the bird, frowning Irieth's way. "I need you back here, you understand?"
 "I'll be--"
 "I need you. Nari needs you. Just find Aurelle and come home, okay?"
 Irieth shut her mouth and nodded numbly. She knew there were very little that the Horde could do to her that the demons hadn't done already. She knew, through Oliver's own words, that she would live forever. Irieth was quite confident in that, even if it were an arrogant thing to say-- Oliver, of course, had been correct in his previous future-predictions.
She kissed her wife's forehead and stepped through the portal.

Elunaar, as she remembered, was idyllic. A village straight out of a storybook, that would have been painted lovingly with watercolours. Irieth barely noticed at first as she swung up onto Aethril's saddle and the portal hissed shut behind her, but as soon as the taste of ash caught in her mouth, she realised the village was beyond repair.
 "Fuck," she hissed to no one in particular, sending Aethril to walk forward. "Stay alert."
 The two sentinels that would have been guarding the village were long gone-- she was fairly sure, in fact, that one of them was laying dead somewhere near by, but she dared not to look for too long. 
 It smelled of blood and rot-- how long had it been since the battle took place? There were giant boulders laying in the ground with crushed orcs beneath them, long dead and long rotting. Did they have catapults here, somehow?
 "Bad!" Aethril squawked loudly. Irieth, for now, ignored her, only hushing her quietly as they paced along the remains of the village.
 There was dried blood on the mouth of the moonwell, both violet and red. Slowly, she dismounted, scooped some of the glittering water into her hand and wiped it across her head and the back of her neck with a long breath.
 Although she didn't have time to waste, this was just as important. Anhagath was her closest friend, and if he or his wife or-- Elune forbid --his children lay dead, she had to know. She spent a long time walking the village with Aethril, murmuring quiet prayers and gentle apologies to the deceased elves. She hoped, each time she came by a blood-streaked elf, that they had somehow survived and were only waiting for rescue.

 None of them had been left alive.

 The buildings were streaked with deep, jagged marks left by-- presumably --the shredder that lay fallen over a goblin. She checked inside each one, with a grimace, stepping carefully into abandoned living rooms and carefully traversing through bedrooms, calling quietly out for survivors.
 No one responded. Even Aethril stood in tense silence, alert, watching the horizon, not daring to attract more Horde.
 Houses empty, people dead, Irieth waited to check Anhagath's home last. It seemed wrong to wander through without an actual invitation, but she had to check. Just in case. For anything.
 The home was open, but silent. She checked the kitchen quietly before moving upstairs, creeping along quietly and peering in through rooms. Kal's room was empty. Anhagath's room was cluttered, but empty. Bron's old room was empty. No one in the bathroom. The place seemed to have been looted already-- she noticed some wardrobes lay open and clothes were missing.
 She hesitantly checked Nara's room and paused, slowly pacing to the wide-open window and running a plated gauntlet through the white curtains billowing out in the wind. She tried not to stare out at the village for too long, at the blood and the gore and the deceased. She tried not to take note of the smell. She tried to bite back tears.
 What the fuck was going on? Was this revenge for the Alliance attacking Bilgewater goblins in Silithus? Why take it so far as to murder and burn everything in sight, including a new World Tree? She couldn't stay for long in her friends and his family's abandoned home for too long-- particularly because Aethril was squawking nervously below --and instead turned to exit the building and swing up onto the hippogryph.

She left with the hope that they were still out there somewhere.

A part of Irieth hoped that the journey to Darkshore would have taken longer. She dreaded having to go and find out what happened, dreading the news if her daughter were dead or alive. It seemed like only seconds had passed when they left the remains of Elunaar and landed in Lor'danel.

 It was... miserable.

People were either dead silent or sobbing hysterically. Many were nursing wounds-- burns, broken bones --or were shouting names, trying to find where their friends and families were. Irieth tried to close her heart to it, to ignore it while she still could in favour for finding her child.
 As she dismounted she caught sight of it-- Teldrassil in the distance, glowing with orange flames and inky-black smoke raised into the sky. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. With Nordrassil still healing, the night elves wouldn't be immune to disease or poisons anymore. The druids wouldn't be able to access the Dream. Some hadn't even gotten over the loss of their immortality yet.
 Irieth stared for a long time. When she breathed in, she tasted nothing but smoke and blood. The inn first, she decided, pacing away inside the open building.
 There were more people inside, and presumably upstairs, being seen to by a herd of exhausted, burnt and blood-soaked priestesses. It wasn't the priestesses that caught her eye at first, however-- it was a trio of elves sitting in a corner dressed in rags.
 Her crew, sans one. Thysea, an old female with sharp features looked tiny and frail while tears streaked her face. She held Irieth's nephew, Caldrien, whose leg was twisted at an odd angle. Although he was injured, Irieth was vaguely relieved that he was still alive. He was all she had left of her foster parents and brother. 
 Finally, Fadriel. He looked unharmed except for the old scars he'd recieved in Auberdine. He sat away from the pair, head in his hands, shoulders shaking.
 Kahara was missing. Kahara, who had helped to save many lives when Auberdine burnt to the ground, was not there, or around the general premises. Irieth knew that if they were in Darnassus at the time, Kahara would have tried to help people evacuate, too.
 She didn't want to assume the worst. She hoped the sailor was still out there, somewhere, helping others.

She instead moved to a priestess, who gazed at her tiredly. "We have many injured already-- I'm afraid you'll have to wait unless it's very, very serious," she whispered. Not unkindly, but stressfully. Her eyes were bleary.
 Irieth shook her head slowly. "No, I-- I'm looking for my daughter. Aurelle Wavelight? She's a priestess."
 "I've not seen her," the priestess replied with a grimace. "She was helping someone get to the portal, the last I saw of her, but we've been too busy here to make a mark of everyone who's missing. Take a look around, however, there's more priestesses elsewhere in town."


She nodded silently, only able to mouth a 'thank you' as if thorns were caught in her throat. The sentinel turned and marched back down the ramp, exiting the inn, refusing to-- for now --speak with her mourning crew. She had to find Aurelle first. She needed good news before dealing with the confirmation of what happened to Kahara.
 From the corner of her eye she spotted Aethril cooing at and comforting a few sobbing children who held onto her face, pet her wings, and sadly braided the horse-hairs along her tail. She smiled, weakly, and turned to a second group of priestesses. These ones were busy-- and none of them Aurelle --huddled over a male who had pieces of metal armour burnt into his skin. She stood, lingering close by, but not interfering.
 A priestess who was disposing pieces of bloody metal, removed from the man, moved over. "There's more priestesses inside if someone else has a serious injury," she said gently, eyes dark with exhaustion.
 "No, it's not that-- I'm looking for Aurelle Wavelight?"
 "I, ahhh," the priestess hesitated, fidgeting briefly with ruler-straight, midnight-coloured hair. "I must be honest with you-- miss?"
 She nodded mutely, only confirming her own gender.
 "We had but minutes to evacuate the whole city--"
 "--and although we haven't taken a list of everyone here--"
 Oh, fuck.
 "--we can be sure that many didn't make it out alive--"
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"--however, the last I saw of Aurelle, she was helping other people--"
 Fucking idiot girl...
 "--specifically that one, over there, in fact," she nodded to an older elven male, half-dressed in brown-green robes, nursing blistering burns along his shoulder and torso. "I'm sure he'll be able to tell you where she went. I hope she's alright."
 The priestess added this last part distantly before turning back towards the wounded man and moving to aid her sisters in trying to heal him. Irieth turned to the one she'd pointed to, frowning. He didn't look like anyone she knew, or anyone Aurelle had spoken of. Similar to Irieth's possibly-highborne neighbour, he looked older than she or Aryanne were. He had long white hair that had been half-burnt away with the fire that marked the rest of his body. 

Irieth was hesitant to approach, but she did. She found her feet carrying her towards him, frowning, staring down. The male was first to speak, looking up with tired eyes. "Yes?" He asked quietly.
 "I'm looking for my daughter," she spoke automatically, finding it easier to switch onto autopilot than to let emotions get to her. "Aurelle Wavelight-- she has white curly hair, no markings. A priestess. The-- others said she was with you?"
 He hesitated. He opened his mouth, shut it, and took a breath. "She helped me out of the fire," he explained quietly. "When-- we got to the portal, she told me to go through. There was fire everywhere. The portal shut behind me. I don't..."
 "Is she dead?" Irieth asked sharply.
 "I don't think she survived," he finished, softly.
 Between the scrying having no link to her, no one having seen her in the village, and the last person to see her alive thinking she was dead, Irieth knew that the chances were beyond slim. Her eldest child was likely gone.


If the male elf spoke further, Irieth didn't hear it. Her eyes flicked shut and the world around her was dampened. She found it hard to breathe, to think, as if both her ears and lungs were full of water.
 Had she been alone in her final moments? In pain? The thought twisted Irieth's gut upside down, of her daughter laying alone as fire and smoke consumed her, as a portal to evacuation shut before her eyes. Elune couldn't help her. Elune couldn't have helped any of them.
 She tried not to think of it. She tried, instead, to think of the time they'd spent together. She thought of her little hands reaching towards her to be picked up when she was a child, or of her studying in the library day after day. Of her learning to be a priestess. Of the time she learned how to bless them, and proudly blessed her and her wife.
 She found that these thoughts made it worse, that they clenched her heart and painfully squeezed it. Without realising, Irieth walked from the elf in silence and moved out the village, stepping across a short bridge to walk out into the woods.
 She did not hear Aethril squawking alarmedly after her and she further ignored her crew in the inn. She only walked on and on, through trees and grass, inhaling the scent of ash and only walking forwards.
Eventually, she felt her legs buckle from under her. She fell with a hollow thump and the clatter of armour down onto her knees and, with a gasp, she touched her own face, only now realising that tears ran across her scarred face.
 Irieth Wavecrest could do nothing more but sit in the grass, holding her face.

[Image: 7fb45eac798c64c9a12a2855cd239973.jpg]

Liked & subscribed lmao

No seriously fuckin heartwrenching, ty for sharing.

Holy shit Q_Q That tugged hard at my heart. Excellent wrting!

+1 like

some edits i gotta fix later with the patch:

-lor'danel is completely overtaken by the horde and the refugees are in stormwind
-the priestesses refused to leave the temple behind when it was time to leave
-tyrande is a fucking deserter bitch

-the beach BY lor'danel, apparently, is full of refugees going on boats and the Huntress will probably be apart of the fleet sending survivors back to stormwind, sans kahara who is super dead
[Image: 7fb45eac798c64c9a12a2855cd239973.jpg]

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