Mun-Li leaned her spear against the side of the dilapidated stable that Foxrun was using as a camp. Around her buzzed insects and conversation which, thankfully, did quite a bit to drown out the cries of the wounded. There were a lot of wounded.

She sighed and sat down on a pile of hay, unstrapping the bulkier pieces of her armor to as to hopefully get some rest. It would be a long time until sleep took her.

She dreamed of smoke, fire, and suffering. Gyrocopters dropping their cacophonous payloads that sent dirt, stone, and body parts into the air. The smell of sweat and iron and earth. The pleading of a dying man before she drove her spear into him, ending his life with mercy.

Mun-Li was no stranger to war. She was a devotee of it. She had judt forgotten how bloodthirsty the rest of the Alliance forces could be. They seemed to revel in the bloodshed, going goremad and becoming a vicious whirlwind of malice and hatred. In those moments they seemed not so far removed from the Horde they hated so much.

Mun-Li woke and sat up. She meditated. She could not bother herself with why others were here. Why was she here? Why did she fight?

For everyone. She fought so they might not have to.

For Foxrun, for Stormwind, for the Alliance.