Sparks and Embers – A World of Warcraft Story

Note: This is a World of Warcraft story based around the actions of my player characters during the recent narrative event, the Burning of Teldrassil. A basic understanding of World of Warcraft’s world is recommended when reading this, though I will leave a map of Darkshore below for others who may be interested.

Burning of Teldrassil map

Furthermore, I’d recommend reading the first volume of my World of Warcraft Character’s Lore as it features the backstories for many of the characters you’re about to see.


“Zeverys. Thank you for joining me.”

The blood elf demon hunter inclined her head before sitting down awkwardly in the chair across from the druid. He smiled amicably across the table towards her, and she relaxed a little. “Kritigri,” she greeted him.

“I believe I still owe you a drink for the Broken Shore,” he chuckled.

Zeverys was certain that the night elf could have saved himself well enough from the three hulking felguards that had cornered him that day, but she was never one to turn down a free drink. She cast her fel gaze around the Legerdemain Lounge. People of all races sat together and murmured quietly. In the weeks that had passed since the Legion’s defeat, many were still coming to grips with the newfound peace. “What do they even serve here? I admit, this isn’t one of my more frequent locales…”

“Nor mine,” Kritigri admitted, and Zeverys noticed how he was somewhat hunched over in his seat in an attempt to meet the height of the table between them. She stifled a smirk. They’d chosen this inn due to its neutral location in the centre of Dalaran. They had not considered that the place had originally been made to accommodate humans.

“How much longer do you think it’ll be possible to talk like this?” she asked.

Kritigri sighed. “Forever, if I had anything to say about it. But I’m sure some new spat will tear the factions apart once more.” He eyed her curiously. “What do you intend to do now that the Legion is defeated? Will you pledge yourself to the Horde’s efforts?”

It was a big question, but he put it to her so easily. She was caught off guard. “I… suppose I will go to my Warchief.” As if she hadn’t spent every waking moment pondering this.

“Sylvanas,” the druid huffed. He could barely keep the sneer out of his voice. The druid may not have hated the Horde as a whole, but Sylvanas… that one definitely seemed to leave a sour taste in his mouth.

“She was my Ranger General, once. In another lifetime,” Zeverys mused.

“I imagine she is much changed since those days.”

“As am I,” she retorted. Kritigri glanced at her anew, taking in her tall horns, her ruby tattoos and the eerie green that glowed behind her blindfold. He opened his mouth as if he was going to ask a question, but then averted his gaze and frowned. “What?” she prompted.

He looked at her hesitantly. “Is there really no cure to your vengeance and hatred? To live out the rest of your days as-”

“Virizard,” she said. The druid stiffened. “That’s what you were truly going to ask about, wasn’t it? Your brother?”

“How do you-”

“I have fought beside him. He is an exceptional demon hunter.”

“So it’s true.”

Kritigri’s long estranged brother Tolidar had appeared before him one night, not long after the armies of Azeroth had begun their campaign on Argus. The mage had spared no time on pleasantries, nor deigned to make note of their thousands of years of separation. All he had told Kritigri was that their brother, Virizard, long ago captured by the Legion in the War of the Ancients, was alive, was a demon hunter, and was cleaving his way through Argus. It was quite an evening.

“Where can I find him?” The question had passed the druid’s lips before he’d even had a chance to consider it.

Zeverys tilted her head sympathetically. “I do not know. After our return from Argus, he stole away, saying only that he needed time to recall who he was and if he had a place on Azeroth after all these years.” She frowned. “Rather irresponsible, if you ask me. He wasn’t exactly expendable within the Illidari.”

“Darnassus,” Kritgiri muttered. “He’ll have gone to Darnassus. To Teldrassil. He’d want to see the new bastion of night elf civilisation for himself.” He nodded to himself. “Zeverys, would you-”

At that moment a courier arrived, out of breath and wild eyed. “Archdruid,” the young night elf spluttered. She saw Zeverys and her eyes widened in alarm. “I have… sensitive information.”

Kritigri spotted the royal seal on the courier’s letter. His heart sank. “Zeverys,” he began, turning to address her. “It appears-”

But the blood elf was already marching away.


Teldrassil.

The Horde were marching on Teldrassil.

His home.

Kritigri slammed a surge of astral energy into an orc beserker and then turned to evaluate the situation on the beach. He had emerged from a portal into Darkshore, not far from the ruins of Auberdine. He had turned to the mage. “You told me I was needed to defend Ashenvale!” he had roared.

“Ashenvale has fallen! Defend the World Tree!” was the only reply he had gotten before the portal snapped shut again.

And now, it seemed that Darkshore was falling, too.

Kritigri snarled, advancing on a troll and an undead who were closing in on a wounded sentinel. The druid had only ever killed the Horde in defence, and whilst that was true of this situation also, he found himself empty of the quiet remorse he usually felt at snuffing out life. Seething, he threw his arm into the air and called down a beam of lunar magic onto his foes. The undead fell apart like a badly made toy while the troll yelped, shielding his eyes and slapping senselessly at the newly raw flesh on his arms. While he was distracted, the wounded sentinel twisted on the floor and threw her glaive at his throat, killing him instantly. By the time Kritigri reached her, she had died of her wounds.

“Why?” he hissed over her body. “Why are they attacking us now? Why, when we were so close to a lasting peace?”

He knew, obviously. He’d visited Silithus and investigated the emerging Azerite in the area. He knew what power the mysterious new material held, and that there would be opportunists who would seek to destroy the Alliance with it. But he also knew that Azeroth was dying, and that in times like these the Horde and Alliance often came together to overcome whatever existential threat was upon them. So why-

“Brother! Watch out!”

Kritigri snapped out of his reverie just in time to notice the rogue that was almost upon him. He twisted out of the blood elf’s lunge and elbowed him in the throat, dropping him to the beach. The druid pinned him there with a foot and put his hand to the squirming rogue’s head, slowly roasting it with solar energy until the squirming stopped, and the fel green eyes dimmed.

Not a very druidic move. Not one he was proud of. But not one he had time to contemplate right now.

“Brother!” the call came again, this time without the warning. Kritigri lifted his eyes to see Jerrek standing at the edge of the forest, bow in hand, his face wrought with concern and pain. He took one step towards the beach and tilted downwards, crimson spurting out from behind him and onto the grinning orc that had struck him down.

Jerrek!” Kritigri roared, and shifted into cat form to sprint towards him. The orc raised her axe, but before she could complete her kill a nightstalker leaped out of the woods and sunk its teeth into her throat, tugging aggressively left and right. Kritigri felt relief and hope blossom in his heart, and pressed himself even faster to reach his youngest brother. He shifted out of cat form as he skidded to a stop to examine the wound.

The gash was deep, and blood was pooling around his brother at an alarming rate. But the cut had not reached the bone, and while Kritigri was no priest, druids had their own ways of mending wounds. He’d never been all that adept at healing, but he forced himself to soothe, to feel the beating heart of the forest, to call upon the essence of life found within the boughs and branches around him and to channel the essence back into his brother.

It worked. Flesh knit itself together before his eyes, and his brother’s breathing became steady once more. “By Elune’s grace,” he breathed, and slumped down next to him.

His brother groaned and sat up, pale from loss of blood.  “Thank you,” he managed. He cast about him, and his nightstalker came slinking up to him with his lost bow in her bloody jaws. He scratched her affectionately behind the ears, and she dropped it into his lap. “Nala,” he said to her. “You have saved me again. Please keep watch while I recover.” Obediently, the nightstalker faded back into the trees.

“Brother,” Kritigri muttered. “I had hoped you remained in Silithus, with the rest of our misguided forces.”

Jerrek gave him a rueful look. “I was on compassionate leave.”

“Compassionate… Jerrek, what happened?” But his brother’s downcast eyes told him all he needed to know. “Wyllum… your falcon. Jerrek, I’m sorry.” He meant it. A hunter’s bond with their beast was legendary. “Was it quick?”

Jerrek gave a taut smile. “Old age. The old bird lived longer than he had any right to, anyways. But enough idle talk.” His face hardened as he glared down the beach. “We’ve Horde to kill.”


Zeverys dashed between two sentinels, cutting their throats faster than the eye could follow. Alliance blood was indistinguishable from her red garb and ruby tattoos as she darted from foe to foe, a crimson blur on the battlefield. She felled those she vaguely recognised, likely from working together to defeat the Legion mere weeks ago. But unlike some of her order, she hadn’t forgotten her roots. Yes, she was a demon hunter. But she’d been a blood elf first. And so when her warchief had called upon her to join the assault on Darkshore, she had hesitated nary a moment before diving into the fray.

She did not hate the Alliance. She didn’t even think they deserved to die in such a manner. But as her warchief said, they could not be trusted to maintain a presence on this landmass from where Azerite was burgeoning like a plague. They had to nip this arms race in the bud, before a lasting war could truly begin. As a demon hunter, Zeverys was all too used to making hard decisions, and bargaining the value of individual lives against the greater good.

This wasn’t personal. This was necessary.

And the kaldorei had exiled her people and left them for dead all those years ago. Admittedly, that made the job easier.

ZEVERYS!

This roar of outrage came as she was stepping over yet another spasming sentinel, and she might have written it off as some old ally recognising her from Argus. But something in the voice spelled a deep, rending betrayal, and so she turned.

And met Archdruid Kritigri.

In moments he had crossed the battlefield to meet her, and she stood, emotionally disarmed, all of her resolve to fight for the Horde fleeing before the betrayal in his face. “Archdruid-”

“Why?” he implored her. The rage in his face contorted into sadness, bewilderment. “I expect it of them-” he pointed to a screaming orc in the distance – “But not you! I thought the Illidari saw above these petty squabbles? Wasn’t defeating the Legion your goal? To bring peace to Azeroth?”

Zeverys found herself fumbling for words. “I… it is! Your people abandoned us!” she spat clumsily.

It took him a moment to grasp what she meant. “Thousands of years ago! You weren’t even born then, were you?”

As if that exempted her from being affected by their exile. She scowled. “That’s not the only reason…” she saw the fury on his face, and stopped. “You know what? I don’t time to explain this to you. We have our reasons, that’s all you need to know. I’ll explain later, if I can. Now step aside, you’re in my way.” She moved to shoulder past him, but he placed himself in her way. She locked eyes with him. “Move.

He shook his head. “If you were betraying me alone? Sure. But how many more sentinels are you going to kill if I let you pass? How many more of my friends will you butcher for your fallen Ranger General?”

She snarled and whirled, ready to storm away. As she turned, a vine gripped her by the ankle and slammed her to the ground. Before she could yank herself free, more sprung up and began to curl around her.

He’s attacking me. After all the battles we’ve fought together. She immediately reprimanded herself for the thought. She was hardly blameless. But still, for him to turn his rage on her…

Having maintained her grip on her warglaives, she used them to hack at the roots around her. “Is there really no cure to your vengeance and hatred?” she sneered, repeating his words back at him. In return, thorns sprouted from the roots and began digging into her, scratching agonisingly across her flesh.

He’s going to kill me.

Not if we kill him first, a voice growled back at her. Reluctantly, she gave herself to the demon within.


Kritigri continued to will the roots to tighten, the thorns to sprout sharper, ignoring the part of him that was screaming from within. For Darkshore and Darnassus, he repeated to himself, for the sentinels she has killed, for the homes she intends to claim. Tighter, tighter.

Zeverys was darkening.

Too late, Kritigri realised she was transforming. His roots fell away, scorched and withered. A hulking demon now stood before him, warglaives in hand. It was still Zeverys, but her petite blood elf form had given way to a towering, muscled beast wreathed with a smokey darkness. He watched in horror as she unfurled herself, glowered at him… and charged.

Upon later recollection of the fight, Kritigri would admit that he was dead for sure. She was faster than him, within melee range, and empowered to frightening levels by the fel energies that coursed within her veins. He’d unsheathed his staff just in time to parry her first blow, while the second cleaved it in two; this was no Scythe of Elune. The next few moments of their duel had seen the archdruid darting around, getting some weak blasts of solar, lunar or astral magic in while he spent most of his efforts evading her otherworldly agility. Eventually, though, she followed him into a building and pinned him against the side of a wall. She raised her glaive, going for the throat.

The blade stopped a millimetre from his jugular.

The demon form melted away, but her grip did not soften.

They stood there for what felt like hours, her glaive to his throat, his gaze meeting hers. Behind the blindfold, it was impossible to gauge what was going through her mind.

Eventually, she removed her glaive, and simply walked away.

He did not follow.

The sounds of war grew more and more distant, until it became apparent that the fight had overtaken him, moving towards Lor’Danel. Kritigri pushed himself from the wall, hissing at the pain from his wounds, and realised his fight with Zeverys had taken him to the ruins of Auberdine. Around him sprawled the fresh corpses of too many sentinels, and not enough Horde. Wincing, he limped out of the battered inn, and continued limping towards the sound of battle until he had reached the coast. Here, the murlocs of old had long since been driven away by roaming adventurers, leaving only a few crawlers to skitter aimlessly across the beach, oblivious to the cataclysmic events happening around them.

Kritigri continued to limp down the beach. He could no longer hear the sound of battle.

A portal appeared a ways from him and Tolidar stepped out of it, with Jerrek on his shoulder. The youngest brother had overexerted himself after taking his wound from earlier, and Tolidar had clearly decided to pull him from the fight before he became another casualty of war. The pair were arguing – Jerrek was shouting that he should be fighting until the Horde killed him, that this was desertion, that Tolidar would burn for this. The latter brother was quietly but firmly overriding his brother, telling him that he’d been put on evacuation duty, that as far as he was concerned Jerrek was just another lost soul that needed rescuing, that he wasn’t going to leave his brother for dead even if he had abandoned him all those years ago.

“My brothers.”

Jerrek looked up in surprise. Tolidar met his gaze and said grimly, “They have taken Darkshore.”

Kritigri nodded. There was no more room in his heart for horror. He put his grief to the side. “Then take me to Darnassus. I would make sure that their occupation costs as few lives as possible.” Quietly, he feared for Virizard. He had seen no sign of his long lost brother in Darkshore.

“I’m coming too,” Jerrek cut in.

Tolidar nodded sombrely, giving in to his youngest brother. “We’ll all go. I’ll-”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the sound of a blast. Slowly, so slowly, Kritigri turned to the source of the explosion. A trebuchet had launched a firebomb into the bough of the World Tree.

Before he could comprehend this, another blow landed, and then another. The flames took hold with frightening efficiency.

“No,” Jerrek breathed.

“They’re… attacking Teldrassil?” Tolidar asked of nobody. “But why? What strategic advantage would that earn them? Don’t they know there’s only innocents left in the tree?” His voice pitched higher. “Elune, do they not know there’s innocents left in the tree?!” He immediately turned to begin working on a new portal.

Kritigri sank to his knees.

“NO,” Jerrek shouted. Nala appeared by his side and whined softly, but nobody heeded her.

A massive branch came loose and began its slow descent to the waters below.

The flames were enrapturing.

“Virizard is in there.”

It wasn’t until Jerrek snapped his head towards Kritigri that he realised he had spoken.

“Virizard’s dead,” Jerrek squinted.

“He’s not,” Tolidar replied dismissvely. “Kritigri, what do you mean? Why is he in Teldrassil?”

“He abandoned the Illidari,” the druid said, his voice hollow, his mouth dry. “Where else would he be?”

“The Illidari?” Jerrek snapped. Neither brother replied.

“We have to do something,” Kritigri muttered, but his body would not move. Jerrek’s own body suddenly slumped down next to him.

“Brothers,” Tolidar said, “I am sorry. I cannot lose any more of you.” And then he vanished, transporting himself to Darnassus and leaving no portal in his wake.


Zeverys stood on the coast of Lor’Danel, her warglaives jutting from the sand, watching with a hollow feeling in her gut as the World Tree burned before her. She could feel its heat from here. It took an effort to stand with the aches that the druid had given her, but she felt she owed him this much. To ache and endure at least a fraction of how he must be feeling right now. If he was even still alive. For his sake, she hoped not.

She did not exactly feel ashamed by her actions. The plan had never been to burn the World Tree or to kill innocents. Indeed, she was quite concerned by the actions her warchief had taken here today, and she did regret that it had come to this. But she had come into this conflict believing that she was serving the greater good, and if she had to see this through to the end to justify her bloodshed today, then… so be it.

“Look what you’ve done to my tree.”

Zeverys whirled – nearly falling – to see a night elf demon hunter approaching her. He had sooty black hair pulled back in a braided tail, and his bare chest bore his glowing purple scars to the world. Zeverys glanced around, but she had been standing here for hours; the rest of the Horde had all left to celebrate, or flee.

“Slayer,” she greeted him. “I had not thought I would see you again.”

“Nor did I, to be honest.”

“Are you here to kill me?”

“I should, shouldn’t I?” he unsheathed a warglaive and studied it for a moment, before snorting and replacing it. “I think not. Demon hunters should not concern themselves with the affairs of squabbling children.”

“So… the deaths that have occurred here mean nothing to you?” she asked carefully.

“Not nothing,” he admitted. “I am far removed from my people, and you and I have seen worse horrors than this. But it is still daunting.” He beheld the burning tree for a moment, and shook his head. “There’s more at play here. I have my suspicions as to what motivates your warchief.” Zeverys winced as he said it. “And, truth be told, my King.”

She eyed him. “Truly?”

“Truly. Or maybe I’m just hoping for some other existential threat to justify these scars and the nagging demon inside my head.” He shrugged. “Who knows. Either way, nothing good can come of demon hunters turning their glaives on one another due to a spat between some undead whore and a chastened boy king. Personally, I’m headed to Silithus.” He grinned. “There’s some bugs to kill down there, that’s for sure. Coming?”

Zeverys felt something odd then, something she’d felt before. It was as if she had come to a crossroads in her life, and her destiny was pulling her in two different directions. She turned once more to the tree, still burning all these hours after the Horde’s onslaught. And she measured her Slayer once more, in all his disturbing amiability. He hadn’t always been like this. Not for the first time, she wondered if the Legion hadn’t driven him mad.

It wouldn’t be the first time, the voice in her head leered.

“Of course I’m with you, Slayer Virizard,” she said, inclining her head. She turned her back on the burning World Tree and followed her mentor down the coast. She did not look back.

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My World of Warcraft Characters’ Lore: Volume 2

Firstly, thank you everyone for the wonderful feedback on Volume 1! Such positive comments! Feedback of any kind is what motivates me to write more, so without further ado, here is Volume 2. And I promise, I’m all out of Night Elves.


Sisters of Light and Shadow

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In the verdant plains of Nagrand in a village named Telaar, two young draenei sisters played among the fields. The eldest was named Aeonaar, and she was often seen scurrying after her mischievous younger sister, Dionaar. They were too young to know of Argus or of the army of demons hunting their people, but they would learn soon enough.

The sisters were often schooled on the ways of the Light in Telaar, and soon enough the sisters had grown from children into studious young women. Dionaar grew out of her mischievous ways, and despite being the younger of the two sisters, she became the more promising pupil of the Light. She was awestruck by the benevolence and healing properties of the Light, and whilst Aeonaar was no novice, it was Dionaar who advanced through their class in leaps and strides whilst her elder sister struggled to keep up.

As the sisters grew, so too did orcish aggression against their people. The orcs had been corrupted by the Legion in one of their many attempts to break into Azeroth, and as a side effect, the draenei were being hunted in alarmingly high numbers. The sisters quickly found themselves becoming wartime medics, using the Light to heal their injured friends as they stood their ground against the orcs. During these times, Aeonaar found herself motivated by her younger sister’s talent and sheer determination to right the wrongs of the world.

Eventually, an orc by the name of Ner’Zhul would bring catacylsmic destruction to Draenor after ripping the fabric of the world apart too often with his portals. The world buckled, and parts of Nagrand exploded into the sky as the apocalypse wrought its toll on the ancient land. The draenei sisters held each other close as they waited for the end, but after many days and nights, the rumbling stopped. Cautiously, they emerged from their broken village to find that the world as they knew it was gone. The sky had been replaced with the chaotic energies of the Twisting Nether; the seas had fallen away into the abyss; the mountains remained stationary in the air, defying gravity. Draenor was dead. This new land would come to be known as Outland.

Aeonaar despaired, but Dionaar told her that it was a miracle of the Light that life still persisted on this broken shelf. Talbuk still roamed, and Elekk still thundered through the grassy plains. Nevertheless, what remained of Telaar was not safe. Dionaar had received a vision urging them to journey to a region that would come to be known as Zangarmarsh, where Prophet Velen was amassing their people. The sisters rallied as many of the surviving villagers as they could, and began the long journey. They would join with his band and journey with him for many years thereafter. During this time they would make the journey to Shattrath city, and discover the naaru that awaited them there, a being of pure Light which had come to them from the cosmos. Aeonaar was enamoured with the benevolence of this being, and she felt her connection to the Light grow stronger after spending time in its presence. As for Dionaar, she had met a handsome draenei leatherworker named Dalren in Shattrath, and despite her best interests to refrain from becoming distracted from her holy mission, fell completely in love with him.

Eventually, a plan was formed to venture to the Netherstorm and take control of an interdimensional craft named the Exodar, so that they might journey to Azeroth. Aeonaar, Dionaar and Dalren all volunteered to join the expedition, and they reached the Exodar with little opposition. As they assaulted Tempest Keep in order to seize control of the Exodar, however, they met resistence from the blood elves, and a stray arrow struck Dalren in the throat, and felled him.

Aeonaar had never heard her sister scream in such a way. Not even during the destruction of Draenor.

As they boarded the Exodar, the sisters dragged Dalren with them, begging the Light to heal his wounds, to undo the hole in his throat and restore his ability to breathe. As benevolent as the Light was, however, there were limits to its powers, and Dalren had already passed beyond the mortal veil. Aeonaar knew that their attempts were hopeless, but would not give up, for the sake of her sister. Eventually, however, it appeared that there were blood elves on board the Exodar, and that they had sabotaged the ship; Aeonaar’s attention was demanded elsewhere. Dionaar refused to leave Dalren’s side, even as the Exodar shuddered and began hurtling out of control towards Azeroth through the Twisting Nether. Before they crashed, Dionaar’s eyes found the stars, and she found herself fixating on the darkness between them.

When at last they crashed on Azuremyst Isle and began making an account of the survivors, Dionaar was nowhere to be found.

Aeonaar, Lightforged Draenei Holy Priest

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Aeonaar was deeply disturbed by the disappearance of her sister. She wished to search the island, and indeed search parties were sent out to look for her and others. But her expertise with the Light was needed here, to save as many of the injured as she could. It was agonising for her to refrain from joining the search for Dionaar, but she believed in the sanctity of life above all else. She couldn’t allow those around her to perish due to her own selfish needs.

She would never find her sister in those coming months and years. Her grief ran deep, but she never felt that she had erred in her decision to serve the holy Light and heal as many survivors as she could that day. Instead, she dedicated herself to the needs of her people and the peoples of the Alliance, who had provided her people with aid when they needed it most. Over the next decade she followed armies back into Outland to slay the traitor Illidan; she journeyed with them to Northrend to end the threat of the Lich King; she travelled the world as a healer after an all-too familiar cataclysm wrought tragedy across the world; she healed the casualties of the Alliance and, secretly, the Horde during their conflicts in Pandaria. She kept herself busy, all the while keeping an ear to the ground regarding the whereabouts of her sister. After the siege of Orgrimmar, Aeonaar decided to take some time and scour the globe in search of her sister, in an attempt to put her mind at ease once and for all.

She found nothing. If Dionaar was out there, she did not wish to be found.

Aeonaar might have had time to despair, had her people’s hunters not chosen that moment to finally break into Azeroth and launch an all-out invasion. She found herself called back into the line of duty, and as events unfolded she was given the opportunity to march upon Argus, her ancestral homeland, to bring an end to the Legion once and for all.

Many draenei, upon setting hoof on Argus for the first time in their lives or in millennia, found themselves overcome with sorrow. What had once been a jewel of a civilisation had crumbled to ash, to fel rock and hatred. Instead, Aeonaar found hope. The very fact that they were able to land here and take the fight to the Legion was a testament to the determination of the mortal races and their desire to bring peace to the world. Furthermore, they met with the Army of the Light, largely composed of a sect of Lightforged Draenei who were even more attuned to the Light than she and her fellow priests were. And it was with the power of this Light that they were able to fight and to keep their allies fighting, until they finally assaulted the Burning Throne and removed the Legion’s threat once and for all.

After the celebrations, Aeonaar received a summons from High Exarch Turalyon of the Army of the Light. He was looking for new recruits, strong in the ways of the Light, to join his golden army. He explained that the Legion was not the only threat to Azeroth, or to the other worlds of the Great Dark Beyond. The greatest threat was that of the Void, a direct antithesis to the Light that would devour everything in its path until darkness enveloped reality. To fight it, he would need all the help he could get.

During the trial to become Lightforged, a draenei was confronted with their darkest, most personal fears and regrets. In Aeonaar’s trial, Dionaar appeared, blaming her for the death of Dalren and scorning her for not searching the island for her sister before it was too late. Aeonaar nearly withered before her sister’s accusations… but eventually, her rational side won out. She reaffirmed her faith in the Light and its cause, and emerged from her trial changed. Her attunement to the Light was stronger than ever before. She had become Lightforged.

Dionaar, Draenei Shadow Priest

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When the Exodar crashed, Dionaar came to her senses before many others. As she got up, she heard a moaning coming from the far side of the room. Stumbling towards the murmuring, she found a dying engineer. Shaking off her dizziness, Dionaar knelt and did what came naturally to her: she called upon the holy Light to help her heal this injured soul.

The Light did not answer her.

Dalren’s dying face flashed in her mind, and she froze. She’d been unable to save him. Did that mean that the Light had now forsaken her? But that was cruel. She had tried her best. It wasn’t her fault.

Shaken, Dionaar tried once more to heal the dying draenei, pleading the Light to help her, begging it to. But it refused to answer her call. The Light was content to let this innocent person die because it no longer believed in her as a worthy conduit.

Years of learning from the Light, of putting faith in it and revelling in its benevolence, died then and there. Dionaar would never wield the Light again. She stormed from the Exodar and did not return.

What she did not know, would never know, was that the Light knew her faith had been shaken when her lover had died in her arms. It had denied her call in order to test her, to see if she would do anything to help the dying draenei on her own. When she did not, the Light decided she was lost, and roused another nearby priest so that they may help instead.

Dionaar fled to the edge of Azuremyst Isle and found an abandoned rowboat which she used to reach Darkshore. Knowing nothing of Azeroth, Dionaar was frightened to be alone in this alien land, but knew that she couldn’t face her sister or her people again, not after the Light had forsaken her. She forged a crude dagger and hunted herself a rabbit for food. She slept beneath the stars that night, plagued by memories of Dalren dying in her arms, waking up intermittently. Once, she awoke to the clear sky and found herself gazing into the void between stars, finding beauty for the first time in the darkness. She remembered the energies of the Twisting Nether in the skies back home, how they’d frightened her. It seemed foolish now. There was a beauty in that chaos. She’d simply been too afraid of a life without the Light to dare think it.

The next morning, she awoke to an ambush. Two figures, tall and with long ears and pale blue skin, assaulted her with blasts of holy Light. Alarmed, Dionaar swept up her hunting dagger, dodged the blasts of Light and threw it in desperation. It found the throat of one of the creatures. The other wailed, and fled into the early morning mists.

Dionaar had been assaulted by a pair of night elf priests who knew nothing of the draenei as a race, but had fought the demonic eredar in the third war, the draenei of Argus that had become demons. Dionaar knew nothing of this. She just knew that she’d been assaulted by a pair of native creatures wielding the holy Light against her. For the first time, it crossed her mind that the Light may not be entirely benevolent after all, if it was sending people to assassinate her. Flinching at the sight of the dagger in the night elf’s throat – her first kill – she retrieved her makeshift weapon and dried it off, before turning and heading south.

Eventually, Dionaar came across a roaming band of people of many races. They wore purple robes and introduced themselves as the Twilight’s Hammer, a group of people who wanted to make the world a better place using forbidden magics. A week ago, Dionaar would have turned her nose up at them, but since crash landing on Azeroth, her view of the Light had been changed somewhat. The prospect of wielding forbidden powers – perhaps more powerful than the Light – to do good was a path that seemed fitting for her. After some reluctance and much thought, she agreed to be tutored in the ways of shadow magic.

Over the next few years, Dionaar would slowly be converted into a willing participant of the Twilight’s Hammer cult. After years of a subtle warping of her mind, she grew to believe that the Hour of Twilight would indeed be a desirable outcome. No more life, no more love, no more grief. The Twilight’s Hammer took hold of her grief and expanded it, exaggerated it, turning Dalren from a lover into her sole reason to be, something the Light had wrenched from her. She would have continued down this dark path had she not run into her sister.

Aeonaar was in Loch Modan, seeing to the wounds of some warriors who had just clashed with Twilight’s Hammer cultists. Dionaar’s orders were to destroy this retreating band of fighters, and at this point, she had no objection – after all, before long all life was going to be eradicated. She didn’t know her sister was amongst them. But as she crested the ridge, she saw Aeonaar gazing down at the soldier she was healing. A look of intense care was on her face, a benevolence shattered when she looked up in alarm. Surveying the fighters, Aeonaar stared right at Dionaar.

Due to Dionaar’s Twilight robes and concealing hood, her sister didn’t even recognise her.

In that moment it was like a spell had broken in Dionaar’s mind. In a literal sense, the Twilight’s Hammer had been magically altering her perceptions and her way of thinking, and this had now been undone by the surge of love Dionaar felt for her sister. In another sense, Dionaar herself now realised that she’d been a fool. She immediately turned on her band and asphyxiated them with shadow magic. Taken unawares, they couldn’t do anything but struggle feebly as they suffocated.

When Dionaar had dealt with the cultists, she turned to her sister, only to find that she had fled. Dionaar didn’t think it wise to follow.

Over the next few years, Dionaar would travel alone and help the Alliance from the shadows, saving lives with her forbidden magic in a much less direct way than she used to, when she could wield the Light. Perhaps she could never make amends for what she’d done, but she could at least bring some good into the world before she would inevitably be captured and executed for her past crimes. She felt like this was a fate she deserved, and resolved not to fight against her captors were it to ever happen.

When events on Argus reached their peak and Alleria Windrunner embraced void magic, however, those who used forbidden magics came to be seen as antiheroes more than criminals. After some consideration, a lonely Dionaar gingerly crept into the capital of Stormwind and sought out the new void elves of the Alliance. With them, she found a place in which she could control her powers and be accepted for who she truly was. It was the first time she’d felt at peace with herself since leaving Outland.

Author’s notes: The story of Aeonaar and Dionaar is a little more fleshed out and extensive than most of my other characters, so I felt the need to do something a little different for their story. This is why their story begins not as a focus on one character or the other, but as their journey as sisters.

Coming next: Various heroes of the Alliance

My World of Warcraft Characters’ Lore: Volume 1

Firstly, I’d like to apologise for the lack of blog posts from me lately! I’ve been concentrating my creative energies elsewhere. I can’t promise that this is going to change anytime soon, but in the meantime I do have quite a hefty creative post for you part one of many, and whether you enjoy World of Warcraft or not, I’m hoping it’ll be interesting to you.

I don’t RP much in World of Warcraft (although I’d like to), but I do like to give my characters a bit of backstory to motivate them through the game’s questing. All of this stuff is typically in my head though, except for a couple of times where I’ve tried to write short stories from their perspective. Turns out, writing inside someone else’s world is more difficult than creating your own. Anyway, without further ado:


The Night Elf Brothers

Kritigri, Night Elf Balance Druid

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Born shortly before the War of the Ancients, Kritigri had the unfortunate experience of watching the horrors of the war unfold during his adolescent years, ending with the Sundering of the world. Experiencing such devastation was not easy on Kritigri, and he spent many years after meditating in the wilds to try to come to terms with the amount of death and destruction that had torn apart his homeland. During the war, his younger brother Virizard had been captured by demons, and dragged back through one of their portals, never to be seen again – this had also taken its toll on Kritigri’s mental wellbeing. But after many years communing with nature and observing the regrowth of the wilds, Kritigri became inspired by the resilience of nature and pledged himself to the path of druidism. He sought out a mentor and spent many years learning to become a druid, and then worked with them for centuries in the Emerald Dream.

Shortly after the fall of the Lich King, the Emerald Nightmare grew alarmingly in strength, trapping the druids within it until they were freed by Tyrande. Kritigri awoke to a changed Azeroth. The Night Elves had formed a new civilisation named Darnassus in the boughs of a new world tree, Teldrassil, and had entered into an Alliance with a collection of younger races. Kritigri knew some of this from what his druidic peers had told him as they had entered and left the Emerald Dream, but this was the first time he had personally emerged from the dream in centuries. Oftentimes, he found it easier to work in the dream than to walk the imperfect waking world, but he could afford to dream no longer. A cataclysm was coming, one that would shatter the world anew and remind Kritigri afresh of the horrors he’d witnessed during his youth. During this troublesome time, he would vow to himself to never turn his back on the troubles of Azeroth again – as he had during the third war – and would, in time, become a venerated hero of the Alliance.

Writer’s notes: Kritigri is my main character in World of Warcraft, and therefore I’ve always considered his story to match that of the general player character quite closely. He’d save Mount Hyjal, stop Deathwing, fight the Horde on the beaches of Pandaria, etc. But writing this backstory up gave me an opportunity to give him a more unique personality to carry through those Blizzard-crafted storylines.

Tolidar, Night Elf Arcane Mage

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A mere child during the Sundering of the world, Tolidar’s early life saw much upheaval. His family were grieving over the loss of his older brother, Virizard, and his eldest brother Kritigri was growing more aloof by the day, wandering the forests of the newly broken world whenever he had the opportunity. Kritigri’s love for nature soured Tolidar’s own opinion of the wild lands, and almost spitefully he opted to remain indoors, spending most of his reclusive adolescent-hood in the family library. It was here that he discovered books relating the arcane magics and how to wield them, and before long he was experimenting with them, conjuring food for mealtimes, and generally showing off to his brothers.

It was around this time that Malfurion Stormrage outlawed the use of arcane magic.

A furious argument broke out between Tolidar and Kritigri. Tolidar argued that his use of the arcane was harmless, and that Kritigri’s amateur druidic powers were no different to his arcane ones. Kritigri tried to convince Tolidar to stop his errant ways, now punishable by death, as it was that kind of thinking that had drawn the Legion to Azeroth. In Tolidar’s eyes, however, Kritigri had become too much of a druid to see what this new law was doing to his younger brother – that it was taking away the only thing that gave him reason to be – and the argument ended with Tolidar storming from the household and going to live in recluse, where he would practice his arcane arts in private. He briefly considered joining the Highborne in Eldre’Thalas, but the betrayal of Queen Azshara was too abhorrent in his mind to be associated with even this other sect of Highborne. He had not forgotten the Legion’s assault of Azeroth, or the kidnapping of his brother.

Thousands of years later, Tolidar’s life changed wildly once again. The Cataclysm had erupted into Azeroth, and Malfurion had awoken from the Emerald Dream – along with Tolidar’s eldest brother, no less – and declared that the Highborne mages deserved another chance. For a time, Tolidar rebelled against this notion, but thousands of years in recluse had made him quite lonely, and after ages of trying to hide what he truly was, the prospect of being a part of something was too good to resist. Gingerly, Tolidar approached the mages and asked if he could join them in their sorcerous ways, but after a swift examination they declared that his magic was nowhere near refined enough, and that to temper his magic he must make better use of it. Years of stifling his arcane abilities had rendered them weak and rough, and should he wish to join them, he should help the Alliance in ridding the world of the cataclysmic threats and prove to them that the Highborne deserved this second chance, all the while honing his arcane talents. Reluctantly, he agreed. Over the coming years, he would find that he had a place among the races of the Alliance more than he ever had within his own people. Rather than returning to the Highborne, Tolidar opted to take up residence in Dalaran.

Writer’s notes: Tolidar required a bit more explanation as he’s a Night Elf Mage, but not a Highborne. Originally, he had no characteristics at all, and was simply a character I’d made to use my Warlords of Draenor pre-order boost on. But after making a Night Elf Mage named Tolidar on an RP realm who was struggling to enter an academy of magic, I realised that a similar story could be applied to my regular mage. This is my first time reconciling that RP character’s story with my boosted mage’s.

Jerrek, Night Elf Beastmaster Hunter

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The youngest child of four and born after the War of the Ancients, Jerrek did not suffer as his older siblings did. He did not witness the Sundering of the world and did not meet Virizard, the second eldest of his siblings who was abducted by the Burning Legion. Growing up in the aftermath of events he had never witnessed, he often felt like he didn’t have a part to play in shaping the world, like he didn’t fit in. As a result he was a quiet child, and while Kritigri was meditative and Tolidar was reclusive, both were at least talkatative when they were together, or argumentative later on. Jerrek simply observed.

One day, after a particularly explosive argument between Kritigri and Tolidar regarding the use of arcane magics, Tolidar stormed out of the house, claiming that he would never return. After some time, Kritigri left to meditate in the wilds, and Jerrek spoke up, asking if he could tag along. Seeing the opportunity to share his love for the wilds with his brother, Kritigri accepted. But while Kritigri rambled on and on about the types of plants and their roles within the ecosystem, Jerrek’s mind kept wandering. He enjoyed the atmosphere of the wilds, but didn’t find himself feeling any particular affinity with the flora around him. They were just… plants. What he did pay attention to, however, were the beasts that stalked the wilds around them. Jerrek had always had a way with animals, perhaps due to his quiet nature. Eventually, he began making his own expeditions into the wilds, where he would befriend the wildlife he found there.

Eventually Kritigri departed to learn the ways of druidism, and Tolidar didn’t seem to be returning either. Feeling isolated and a little abandoned, Jerrek turned to the Night Elven military to try and fill the gap his family had left in his life, hoping that as part of an army he might rise through the ranks and eventually make his mark on the world. Jerrek proved to have an innate talent for the bow, perhaps honed from his days hunting down food after Tolidar had departed. He also brought his prize falcon Wyllum with him to track and blind enemies in the field. Over the years, he would befriend many more animal companions that he could call upon in the field of battle.

Writer’s notes: Jerrek’s name in-game is actually Kritimal, a play on my username to include the word ‘animal’. This, of course, would not make sense in the lore, so I had to invent a new name for him. I believe Jerrek fits the bill. He is also my original PvP focused character, so I decided to include a military background for him.

Virizard, Night Elf Havoc Demon Hunter

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During the War of the Ancients, Virizard and his brothers came across a village that was beset by demons. Kritigri and Tolidar wanted to flee, run to the nearest band of Kaldorei troops and tell them that the villagers were being attacked. Virizard stood frozen, watching a young Night Elf child being eaten by a Felstalker while she was still alive. Her arms clawed feebly at the ground. No Night Elf regiment would be fast enough to save her, or her sister, who was frozen in horror some steps away.

Virizard told his brothers to run and get help, before turning to dash towards the village. He had no weapons or combat training. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He just had to try and help in any way that he could. On his way to save the frightened girl, however, a looming Felguard appeared, grinning down at him. It struck him over the back of the head, rendering him unconscious, before dragging him back to one of the Legion’s many conquered worlds through a dark green portal. It was the last his brothers ever saw of him.

Unfortunately, his story did not end there.

Virizard awoke in a cage barely large enough to contain him. When his eyes regained their focus and he cast his eyes around him, he initially feared that the fel-scarred world he was looking at was Azeroth. His fears were assuaged – and then replaced with larger ones – when he looked to the sky, only to see the Twisting Nether’s raging energies in place of Azeroth’s skies. The Legion had captured him, and many other elves, in order to fuel their soul machines. An eyeless Inquisitor gleefully informed them that they were being held on reserve until they were needed.

After some time, the attitude of the demons changed. They had lost the War of the Ancients, and failed to break through to Azeroth. They turned their rage on the prisoners, killing many, and torturing others. Virizard himself was tortured for many miserable years. Eventually his mind broke, and he became a gibbering mess along with many of the other Kaldorei prisoners. Finding no fun in torturing mindless husks, the demons turned their attentions elsewhere.

When a raid led by the Army of the Light appeared and emancipated Virizard and the other prisoners from their chains, Virizard’s broken mind believed it to be a trick. He fought against the Lightforged Draenei, who appeared to be a new breed of Eredar demon trying to abduct him. The Draenei subdued most of the prisoners, but Virizard managed to evade them, fleeing into the demonic wastes. He soon found a series of demon portals through which he hopped, from world to world, slowly regathering his senses until he regained his a portion of his sanity. How he evaded demonic discovery or capture during that time must be put down to pure chance.

There was no telling how much time had passed since he had been captured, nor how many years he spent hopping between worlds. When Virizard eventually realised what he’d done in fleeing the Army of the Light, he almost lost himself to madness once more. Instead, he turned to his dread into rage, and vowed to hunt the demons to extermination. Just how he’d do this remained to be seen. For now, he continued travelling between broken worlds, forging weapons out of whatever materials he could find, occasionally slaying some lesser demons or disrupting their forces.

Eventually, Virizard happened across a portal leading to Outland, and immediately he stopped. Throughout the years, he’d travelled across many scorched, dead lands. This one still had some life left in it, despite the fact that it existed in the Twisting Nether. For the first time in what may have been centuries, Virizard was able to feed himself on the meat of a living creature, as opposed to whatever fungal or lichen growth he could find left clinging to a fel-scarred rock. Furthermore, this realm harboured civilisations of people who weren’t demons. This was incredible.

Eventually, Virizard heard word of Illidan Stormrage, and his army of Demon Hunters at the Black Temple. Enamoured by the prospect of seeing his own people again – of seeing people who hunted demons with the same vengeance as he – Virizard made his way to Shadowmoon Valley, confronting the army and demanding to be given a chance of joining. The Demon Hunters accepted his request, but with a warning – each of them had a demon inside of them, and the process killed more than it transformed. Virizard wasn’t phased. He’d seen more than his fair share of torment in his life. This would be no worse.

He was wrong.

When at last he emerged from his agonising transformation, he accepted his warglaives with pride. Never again would he be helpless against the Legion’s cruelties. It mattered not to him that he would never lead a normal life on Azeroth again. After millennia of torture, he’d even forgotten his coward brothers’ names…

Writer’s note: Out of all my characters, this might be the one that feels the most like edgy fanfiction. But I feel like that’s all in the spirit of what a Demon Hunter is. Edgy felves coming to angst you up.

Stalward, Night Elf Frost Death Knight

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The druid Kritigri didn’t come out of the Emerald Dream until the encroachment of the Nightmare forced him to. These are the way events took place in our timeline. But in another, he was convinced to exit the dream to defend Mount Hyjal against Archimonde’s attacks, and from then onwards he remained outside the dream. Some years after defeating Archimonde and joining with the Alliance, Kritigri joined a Stormwind expedition into Northrend to end the Lich King’s necromantic horrors forever. Kritigri saw undeath as a plague upon nature, and stood side by side with other champions as they invaded Northrend.

Kritigri died on the shores of Borean Tundra.

Some time later, Kritigri felt himself stirring. Ice coursed through his veins, and he awoke in the belly of Acherus, one of the Lich King’s floating necropolis fortresses. The Lich King’s voice echoed in his mind, telling him to make himself useful, to grab a weapon and join the other Death Knights in an assault on the Scarlet Enclave. Eager to obey, Kritigri tested his attunement to nature, and found that he was no longer able to call upon the wilds as he once had. Some deep part of him stirred in unease, but he shrugged it off and instead picked up a pair of swords. These would work just as well.

Kritigri descended upon the Scarlet Enclave, slaughtering villagers and delivering the Lich King’s will to the fools who tried to wield the light against him. He rode alongside Darion Mograine as they assaulted Light’s Hope Chapel, and fought against the light-crazed forces inside. He slew…. he slew…

The Lich King’s will abandoned him and all at once, he felt stained by the blood on his hands.

Mograine declared that they would stand against the Lich King as Knights of the Ebon Blade, and Kritigri knew that this was the only way he could possibly begin to make amends for what he had done. But still, the call of nature eluded him. Still, he wielded his swords with a deathly, necromantic power. These were the powers with which he had to fight, and now when he touched a leaf, it withered before his eyes.

So be it. He was Kritigri no longer. Kritigri had died on the shores of Borean Tundra. He was a new entity, forever changed by his raising into undeath. Kritigri took on the name Stalward, and made sure to always wear heavy armour in public so as to never be recognised by his brothers. They would surely be devastated were they to ever learn what had become of him.

Writer’s note: I was originally going to try and find a way to bring Stalward into the main timeline using the Infinite Dragonflight or the Bronze Dragonflight or something, but found that I couldn’t do this without taking liberties with the lore and turning from roleplay into outright fanfiction, which isn’t something I wish to do. Therefore, the world Stalward exists in remains the same as the regular one except the druid Kritigri does not exist. I chose to make Stalward my druid’s alternate self because I couldn’t pass up the cool factor of having a what-if Death Knight version of my main. Also, the Alliance expedition into Northrend is not the one that takes place at the beginning of WOTLK (as the Ebon Blade plot had already happened by then) but is one that takes place beforehand.

Coming next: Sisters of Light and Shadow, and Miscellaneous Heroes of the Alliance

The Studly Superhero

As I’ve already mentioned in a parallel dimension, I’ve been very into the whole superhero / graphic novel thing as of late. I’ve also been into LEGO games, and as anyone following gaming would likely know, they’ve recently released a new LEGO superhero game – LEGO Marvel Avengers!

So anyway, I’ve been playing LEGO Marvel Superheroes instead.

LEGO Marvel Superheroes is fantastic, four many reasons. It exceeds x-mentations on multiple levels, such as the light plot, comedic narrative, and Avengeful cast of characters. I remember already being impressed with the list, and then it scrolled down to reveal more… and switched portraits to show variable skins. The puzzles are easy, of course, and the sense of reward and accomplishment from the myriad of collectibles is essentially crack. This is the kind of game that I highly anticipate going for 100% completion in.

It does fall down in some places. Whilst the open world is reminiscent of PS2 games such as the Spider-Man movie adaptions, it is also somewhat bland. Many of the citizen side-missions are similar, some of them asking you to simply find a character and bring them back to the quest-giver… and don’t run too fast, or you’ll lose them and have to start over. And the flying feels odd, as well. I’ve not yet piloted any flying vehicles (which I assume exist based on other reviews), but flying characters control very strangely. They’ll sometimes take a moment to register that you’ve told them to fly higher or lower, causing you to press B twice and stop flying altogether – very frustrating in racing side-missions.

That being said, other than minor nuisances and a slightly bland open-world, this game is still worthy of hours of your time. The open-world, whilst not the richest environment in a video-game, is still a huge step upwards from older LEGO games like LEGO Star Wars, and not a bad time-waster or sandbox to romp around in with your freshly purchased super-villains.

The levels themselves are as well-constructed and as fun as ever. There’s always plenty of things to come back to in free play, a mode wherein you can switch to any character you’ve unlocked to utilise powers you wouldn’t otherwise have, to finish up some collectibles. Whilst that may sound like a chore, when the game has legitimately fun replay-value it turns out to be anything but. Story mode offers good comedy, fighting (although sometimes I just want to punch a guy instead of watch a 10 seconds KO animation), easy puzzles which give you a real sense of progression through the level. There’s 15 main story levels in all (I’ve done 10), split into sections with save points that allow you to hop off and take a break – I’d say about each of these sections is maybe the length of the old LEGO Star Wars levels, or perhaps a little shorter.

It’s just good fun. And it’s given me renewed motivation to play LEGO Lord of the Rings and LEGO Harry Potter, having not played the former due to having not seen the movies yet (I’ve now seen the first 2), and having given up on the latter due to the overly cheerful feel of the early Harry Potter movies being magnified a hundred-fold in the game. That might sound like a bit of an odd remark to make, and I can’t really put my finger on why it bothers me, but I’m sure that once I make it past that hurdle it’ll be smooth sailing.