#meeeemories

#magicalmarch day 1

The following event occurred at the pinnacle of the Scourge wars (so pre-DK Laz)

Lazrael’s fingers pressed against the dirt as he poked his head up and over the shoddily built trench that marked their resistance. His eyes swept their surroundings – dead trees, charred ground and a host of undead advancing upon them. He gave the slightest of grins. The heat of approaching battle always drew a surge of excitement – a chance to do his part, a chance to prove himself. His eyes darted to his left to where his sibling stood, watching as well. Allasticus bore his full armor, his posture unmoving as his eyes moved slowly along the throng of undead that approached.

“Focus” a grizzled voice sounded out behind him, a nudge hitting the back of his shoulder by a firm hand. “Yes Father..” he muttered, sparing the Paladin a look who stood behind him, glowering. He turned his head back forward, muttering something unflattering as the Patriarch moved away, through the lines of Silvermoon’s finest and towards Allasticus. Lazrael didn’t heed the enemy then, his eyes locked upon his sibling and his Father. A brief look of envy crossed his face as his fingers curled into the dirt.

He then felt another hand fall to his shoulder, this one more tender. The smell of armor grease, herbal scents and the faintest hint of ale permeated his nostrils. He gave a light grin and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Hardly the time, Leda, we are in the middle of a war you know” he said, turning his eyes to the braided blonde with a widening grin. Her fingers curled lightly against his armor as she leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper as well. “Shame” she whispered back “you don’t think the Scourge could hold off for another hour, yeah?” A tongue lashed out, licking hungrily against his ear before her lips brushed against his cheek. Lazrael, closed his eyes, fighting off the carnal urge from within. “We’re at –war-“ he whispered harshly back to her, fighting off the blood rush. “You’ll be the death of me woman..” he whispered, a smirk betraying his rough exterior.

She snickered against him, hand giving a firm pat to his pauldron before taking up her position next to him. Lazrael gave a wary glance behind him but their exchange had gone surprisingly unnoticed.. He gave a sigh of relief and just shook his head. “You’re a warrior, B’andtherion, act like one” he whispered to himself… yet his eyes betrayed him as he found himself exploring Leda’s curvature instead of focusing on the gathering undead in the distance.

“They’re advancing!”

The call drew him from his stupor, his eyes moving back to the field. The Scourge, in their thousands, advanced. Already he could hear the growls and gnashing calls of the swarm-like enemy.  The elvish battalion moved to their positions – those that wielded blades were at the front, dug in the trenches while those that wielded bow and arrow stood in several lines behind them. Call’s from the Commanding officers ran across the battle-lines. The archers would make the first blow. On each well coordinated command, they nocked their bows. Angles, wind, all of it went into each elvish mind before the order to fire was made. They let their arrows fly. Lazrael lifted his gaze over the trench to gauge the damage. Sickening sounds of pointed steel driving through rotted flesh could be heard even though the attack was still a fair distance away. Ghouls fell to the ground, projectiles protruding from their husks. Shuffling corpses were felled, their limbs still twitching but were soon trampled by more of the Scourge wave. The archers fired at will but for every enemy that was felled, two more took its place. Lazrael’s grip upon his weapon tightened his eyes going wide as he felt the fight coming closer and closer.

“Well this is gonna be fun, yeah?” Leda’s voice called out beside him. Despite the carefree sound to her voice, she looked focused, poised and ready with blades drawn. Countless others had mirrored her movements, ready to strike but Lazrael found himself staring at her only.

The command to charge was nearing. A hand was raised.

Lazrael moved towards her, his time was short. His free hand gripped the back of her head, spinning form so that his lips found purchase against hers.  She was surprised, but responded with equal enthusiasm. When the kiss ended he released her and winked. “Stay alive” he said to her firmly. “You too” she responded.

The hand was about to fall.

“Good luck.” Lazrael whispered into her ear. The roar “For the Glory of Quel’Thalas” rung in their ears, drowning out the “you too” that Leda rescinded back to him. The entire militia charged over the edge, barrelling into the Scourge without hesitation or fear. Claw met blade, tooth met shield as a horrible sound of screams echoed from the first fallen. The smell of flesh and blood began to permeate the air as bodies and limbs began to fly. Lazrael’s blades worked in unison – cutting through the nearest Scourge foe that they could find. A stab through the stomach of one followed by a sweep of his other blade had his foe decapitated and deceased permanently. He didn’t linger, moving onto a skeletal creature wielding a simple sword and shield. Its swings were mechanical but relentless as it made a swing for Lazrael’s shoulder. He lifted his blade up, forcing the boned arm of his opponent to the side before he swung and down with his free blade and removed the undead’s hand. Undeterred it charged and then stopped, its ribcage shattering beneath it.

Lazrael looked dumbfounded for a  moment. That was until he saw Leda behind it, her swords raised so the faces of them pointed to him – she had effectively “clapped” the undeath from his enemy. She grinned and spared him a wink before turning to charge into another fray of battle. Lazrael gave a snort and then moved with her. Side by side they fought, one moving intangibly with the other – Leda parried a blow for Lazrael, while Lazrael felled an enemy coming for Leda. Undead piled around them, limbs, blood, bone, all of it scattered about their feet as they danced and twirled in mesmerizing efficiency. So attuned were they with each other’s movements that they looked as if they were the same person.

Despite their ability, Lazrael could sense the intensity of the Scourge growing. The dead piling near them was that of their allies, their kin. Death throes and screams echoed around them. Lazrael then saw a large mass of flesh heading their way. The Abomination’s slow steps picked up speed as it swung its large meat hook towards them. Lazrael shoved Leda to the side and leaped in the opposite direction – the hook struck nothing but dirt. The undead didn’t let up, growling it readied to strike once more… that was until two sharp broadswords erupted from its abdomen. There was a confused look on the stupid things face before it doubled over and fell. Behind it stood Allasticus, eyes wild with frenzy as he charged ahead- not savouring the kill. Lazrael gave a smirk to his brother, though it went unseen.

A horn sounded. The call for retreat.

The order made sense. The undead were too many, their numbers to great and they were losing ground. Lazrael looked to Leda and jerked his head to the side, indicating that they should depart. She nodded and turned to move… but found herself parrying a blow from another undead. This one was heavily armoured as layers of thorium curved around its muscular structure. Orbs of lich-fire blossomed from the Deathknights pupils,  his runed blade swinging with such efficiency and force that Leda found herself on the defensive.

Then the tide of the dead washed over her. Lazrael felt arms pull him back, out of harms way. Silvermoon soldiers battled to give him cover though he tried to fight his way back to Leda, only to lose sight of her still battling the Deathknight . She was cut off from the group, cut off from support and as it would seem, all hope. He lost her then, her form gone as the wall of dead overwhelmed him.

“NO!”

He was dragged to the gates while blasts of arrows, unholy flames and fire burst from the fingers and bows of priests and Farstriders to give cover for the retreat. His protests went ignored, his attempts to escape were faltered. He wanted nothing more then to pluck Leda from the swarm, but those that pulled him back wouldn’t allow it. Once behind those gates, they were shut quickly.

Lazrael was left seated on the ground, staring at that gate.

“No…” he whispered, voice hoarse and weak. His fingers outstretched towards the undead, of which he could see were pulling back and readying themselves for the final assault.

She was lost to him

❝ remember when we didn’t have kids and we could sleep in and eat whatever we wanted and have sex anywhere in the house without being caught or tripping over toys? ❞