#pebe-art

“Damn it!” She curses, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth quickly as she coughed some up in her helmet. Her hands rested over her chest and felt the overall damage. A cracked breastplate would explain why some of her ribs feel almost like dust now. Ciradel tried to regain focus, focusing on her stance again before drawing her moon blade again. Her breathing was ragged but as a Warden of Elune she must fulfill her duty before death!

Sylvanas simply took a glance at her before refocusing on the ritual once more, her attentions better spent on something far more important than Elune’s attack dog.

The Warden tried to move but found herself stumbling too much and ultimately fell to her knees. She tears off her helmet and coughs loudly while sucking in as much air as she could. Her hands gripped the grass beneath her and watched it slowly change colors from teal to black and grey. She felt the plants wither in her gauntlets and further inspection shows it all but ash in her hands. The sight of it, the smell of death that now permeated the air, it flashed images of her home before her eyes. The devastation brought on by the War of Thorn and the burning of Teldrassil ran before her very eyes. The faint screams and dying flames filling her minds and dulling her hearing before ultimately succumbing to the crushing weight of despair upon her shoulders.

“Poor lost soldier...” Sylvanas says, lowering herself to the ground and standing over Ciradel with a slight smirk on her face. “So hard you have fought for kin and nation, to stand for Elune only to watch her leave you to your fate. It reminds me so much of an old life I once had.” 

Ciradel looks up, but not with a face of fear or intense grief, she stares up defiantly to Sylvanas. Tears running down her cheek as her blood stained teeth gritted as she stares into the Banshee Queen’s scarlet eyes. “I do not fear you, banshee! Kill me and raise my body if you wish, but my mind and soul belongs to the Kaldorei! I will not forsake my people as you have yours!”

That smirk faded, and a dark look overcame the Banshee’s face before drawing her bow. “Then die braver than most, Warden.”

Ciradel prepared for the arrow to make it’s mark, and muttered her prayers before feeling something yank her from her armor collar with such a sheer force of speed that she had thought it teleportation! She quickly gathers herself and the situation, seeing the Banshee Queen almost yards away from where she originally was only centimeters from here the arrow was pointed at her head! 

Then, she saw her.

High Priestess of Elune: Tyrande Whisperwind.

The woman who brought back the Night Warriors to the Night Elves after their darkest hour, the one to have stood against Azshara when she sought to bring Sargeras to the world, and the woman who lead the Night Elves through the many wars and battles Azeroth has had over countless centuries. She stood over Ciradel, almost a towering presence now with the powers of the Night Warrior changed her appearance more now. A moon hovered above her head like a halo, as the markings she had received from her transformation now dazzled like stars upon a night sky, and runes of azure blue glowed across her arms and legs as she held her glaive in her other hand.

She let go of the warden, and gave it a wave and suddenly Ciradel felt her body completely healed of all it’s wounds! She looks up to Tyrande, whose black eyes stared at Sylvanas with a hatred rivaled only by Maev’s loathing of Illidan and of the Xaxa’s himself!

“Go.” She said to Ciradel, treating it less like a demand and more like something she was supposed to do, “Aid the others with repelling these deathless mongrels from these lands. Sylvanas is mine to rend justice upon.”

The Warden looked between the two, feeling these two near demigods were about to engage had her prepared to leave. She stood up quick and looked to Tyrande a final time. “Shaha lor’ma, Tyrande. Elune-Adore, an Andu-Falah-Dor!” Ciradel fled the scene to return to the other Wardens at the battle, leaving those two alone to their battle.

(Darnassian: ”Thank you, Tyrande. Elune be with you, and let the balance be restored!”)

 ______________________________________________________________

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut it with an axe, the two Elves who walked the path of vengeance were faced to face once more. Their previous fight back on Azeroth, where Tyrande had caught up to Sylvanas was interrupted and left unfinished until now. The peerless void filled eyes glared towards Sylvanas, returning the stare with a scowl as the memory of their last fight still burned in her mind.

“So. You found me once again. Did you wish for an award of some kind?” Sylvanas starts, opening her hands and closing them around twin shortswords of Quel’dorei design now warped to reflecting her darker attire now.

Tyrande took out her other Glaive from behind her, and did not hesitate with her answer. “Your head.”

Sylvanas nodded, removing her cloak and tossing it aside and shaked her head free of her cowl before smugly responding to her hunter: “Then come and try.”

Tyrande lunged forward, slamming her galives against Sylavanas’s blades and used her weight to swing the other blade at the banshee’s arm. Sylvanas quickly ducked beneath the swing and pulled her blades down with her and moved in to stab Tyrande in her gut but watched her swing herself out of the way for another slash to the Banshee Queen!

The two Elves were caught in a dance of blades and swords, each moving to a different tune and song of battle and war. Tyrande heard and felt the drums of the Kaldorei beat and boom as thunder inside her mind as she swung and spun herself with the weight of her blades and body against Sylvanas. The Banshee however felt the solemn sounds of a lute strummed and played louder and quicker within her, her parry’s and dodges and counters constantly keeping the other on their toes the entire fight. Neither dared to use their magic for this fight, as this was an almost ritualistic tradition that both Elven women of their races held close to their heart. With every swing that cuts the Banshee, the Priestess felt a stab to the exposed flesh of her armor. With every missed slash of the short swords came the near death experience of the magical glaives coming towards her neck. While the music within them played to different tones and themes, it was the same song that began to control their movements in an almost entranced way.

It ultimately ended when Sylvanas pierced Tyrande’s midsection with her blades, watching the woman drop her weapons from over her head to the ground. It was over.

Sylvanas won.

That is, until Tyrande gripped her fists together and swung a hammerfist across the Quel’dorei’s face! Sylvanas immediately stumbled backwards from the sheer force of the swing before forced to stop when Tyrande stomped her foot down on top of hers and swung a right hook across her face! She pulled her arms up to guard her face from the next punch, but felt an uppercut to her gut nearly shook her entire armor!

Sylvanas forced her foot free, and quickly side stepped the next punch and quickly backed away from the Night Elf to formulate a counter. Unfortunately Tyrande was on top of her the entire time and refused to give her a moment of rest. The next swing slammed into a tree and the bark practically exploded off from the force of the punch! Her knuckles bloodied from the swing, she gritted her teeth towards Sylvanas who used her new powers to bind Tyrande in shadowy chains long enough to catch her breath. In that moment, she realized that the Night Elf still had her swords firmly implanted into her gut! Before anything else could be discovered, a beam of light blasted down from the sky and blasted the Banshee onto the ground! She rolled onto her knees, snapping her fingers as the swords faded away and her bow was summoned into her hands. She quickly took pot shots at Tyrande, who now dashed to grab her Glaives from the ground. She was quick enough to dodge most of the arrows but felt one firmly implanted itself into her shoulder! She let out a quick groan before rolling for her weapons and quickly wielded them to block the next volley of arrows and slashed one in half before charging at her once more.

Sylvanas quickly realized the position she’d be in again if Tyrande was to close the gap again, and transformed into her banshee form to fly out of reach! Just as she turned to fire a shot at the Night Warrior, she saw Tyrande had blasted herself at Sylvanas with a mighty leap and slammed herself into the other Elf and the two came crashing back down to the ground below! 

The air around them swirled with a blackish blue dust cloud, before it revealed Tyrande having impaled Sylvanas in her shoulders. Tyrande pinning her as the markings slowly faded, having expended much of her power to healing the stab wounds in her gut and that powerful leap. She kept herself over the Banshee by kneeling over her midrift. The Quel’dorei groaned in pain as she struggled to fight the Night Warrior off her body.

Tyrande leaned close to the pained expression of Sylvanas with a calm fury over her face, before speaking to her in a cold tone: “For Teldrassil, and Elune’s mercy be upon you.”

She pulled her glaive’s out from Sylvanas’s Shoulders, and impaled her in the chest with her weapons! The Banshee cried out, her hands trying to pull the blades out of her body while cutting her hands on the harsh steel of the blades. This pain forcing her to remember her final moments alive at the hands of Arthas all those years ago, forcing a boiling rage to swell within her at being reminded of such a hated memory. Her head rolled back as the pain shot through her body, her eyes burning with fury and pain as she looked back at the one who had done this to her.

In her eyes, she saw no joy nor satisfaction in this act. There was no pleasure in this act of vengeance. No glee or pride found in the Priestess’s eyes. Instead, she saw only pity. She almost saw a hint of regret behind her cold glare, as if she wished she didn’t have to end this life.

Sylvanas breathed heavily, her breathing ragged as she looked at the Night Warrior who kept the blades embedded into her body. She smirked up to the woman, feeling her blood escaping from her mouth.

“I... I suppose this is wh... where you take my head then? Well go on. Your trophy need only a swipe to claim. Ash karath, Tyrande Whisperwind.”

(Darnassian: “Do it, Tyrande Whisperwind.”)

Tyrande pulls a glaive out from her chest, and raised it over her shoulder. She looked down and took a deep breath, “Selama Ashal’anore.”

(Thalassian: “Justice for our people.”)

Just as she swung down, just before her blade could meet the banshee’s neck, she was interrupted by the Jailer’s minions and slammed off Sylvanas. She was pulled away, as the invading forces retreated and left Tyrande behind. She tossed her Glaive at them, but missed as they were too out of range for her. She watched them get further and further away, her breathing quickening as her anger soon boiled over, and she released a blood curdling scream as loud as she could that echoed across the realm!

Tyrande had won, but failed to finish off Sylvanas this time.

Hana walks through the now empty halls of her former kings home. The chilling halls and freezing air did not bothering her in the slightest, even ignoring the leftover ghouls and skeletons around the halls that chattered and gnawed on the bones of the long since deceased. She did not come her for a fight, for if she did, none would stop her. No, she came to visit this day. Holding flowers in her arms and hands and dawning her old Death Knight armor that was made for her.

That HE made for her...

She passes the remains of each of the former guardians of this dark fortress, each of their bodies decayed and almost dust or disappeared. Almost to the top, where the new King rests now, she takes a left into a hidden passage. There, she saw him.

Arthas lays on a slab of Saronite, dressed in a Lorderon noble outfit. His body not decayed in anyway, and looked as youthful and young when he wore that cursed crown and wielded Frostmourne. Above his head laid a giant pile of roses that looked to almost collapse on top of him at any moment! They instead cover the floors around him, a strong magic preventing them to ever fall onto the dead king, and continued to grow in spite of the cold and harsh weather. His bleach white hair tangled in some of the thorny stems as he laid there lifeless.

The death knight smiles, stroking the fallen prince’s face. “Hello my king. It’s good to see you again after so long.” Hana smiles as she puts roses in his hands for him to hold, and sprinkles petals into his face.

“I know I don’t visit as often as I used to, but I have a duty to the knights left behind in the Ebon Blade. Darius and I have been... closer since the last I spoke to you. I know it might be wrong of me to say this with you here, but I haven’t been this happy with a man since... well, for a long time my king.” She finishes the petals around the slab, and puts the rest on the mountain behind him. Her eyes scan his square face, feeling his beard against the back of her hand.

“So much has happened since you have been gone my liege, but I know you would be proud of us with everything we’ve been doing. Your children still strive to show power and wisdom to all before us, like your family had a long time ago. Even though many still despise you for your betrayal, even I have moments where I...” She stops herself, almost losing her smile to her anger and rage. Removing her hand from him and holding it in her other.

“Forgive me, I nearly misspoke to you. Before I make a mistake like that again, allow me to sing for you before I take my leave again. Will that be okay?” The silent falling of the snow around her was the cue for her to begin, and she sung a lullaby for her former master. A song that he loved to hear a very long time ago. Her voice carried all through the halls of Icecrown, bringing a warmth to the chilling cold. Even the dark flames almost turned normal for a moment, giving off warmth instead of despair.

Elira found Varric in the bar and drinking area of the keep, standing in front of the fire and staring into it. She quietly walks over to him, even though he would still hear her.

“Eli...” He starts, his voice gruff and thick with mourning. “Did I... Did I ever tell you the time Hawke was on a Merchant Guild’s hit list? Hawke’s uncle got into an investment scheme with a couple of Merchant Cast Businessmen. They took a lot of people’s coin in order to arrange the import of Wandering Hills from the Andresfels. A delicacy, I’m told. Their weird, foreign foodstuffs arrived... Alive. And one of them, true to it’s name, wandered off into the middle of the night.” Varrics head hangs low now, the last sentence barely a whisper.

Eli slowly walks closer to him, and held him tightly in her arms. Her arms wrapped around his back and pulled him to her gut. The dwarf simply rested his head against her and took a few seconds to collect himself.

“Shit...”

Elira backs away and raises his head up to meet her eyes. He gave a small smile in return, and continues with his story.

“The Guild... traced it’s shipments to Hawke’s Uncle, but as usual, he was so far in debt he couldn’t see daylight. So they went after Hawke instead. They sent guys from the local Carta to her Estate one night. Five big dusters, armed to the teeth.”

“They kick in the door, and she yells, “You’re just in time!” and drags them over to a game of Wicked Grace!” He chuckles at the memory for a moment. “You can imagine my surprise when they went along with it! Kitten even asked if this is how the game went! Shocked Fenris too! His shocked expression was absolutely hysterical!” He has a hard time keeping it a chuckle this time!

“They played two hands of cards, before Aveline and the city guard showed up to take them away. A couple even became regulars in our weekly games!” He chuckles one final time, before looking up to the inquisitor. “Hawke just had that affect on people.”

“Thanks Elira. I always wanted to tell that one.”

She smiles and gives him a nod, “Not a problem Varric. I’m more than happy to hear the many stories you and Hawke had together.”

“Loved to wolf chaser.” He gives her one last grin before looking down.

“I guess I’ve got some letters to write. Bethany should be told, and so should her uncle. Excuse me.”

With that, the dwarf leaves the inquisitor in the bar. After all Hawke had a very large family that loved her, and it seemed only fitting that they hear about how the dashing rogue fell in the fade by the one who tells her stories the most. The one he’s most worried about was Fenris.

Later, when Varric was alone and playing with his food, Eli walks over and joins him. She had a smirk that only someone like Varric would know.

Perry knew Cira for most of her young life. Her parents wanted her to be a warden, much like her aunt, but that wasn’t what she wanted.

It didn’t help that the warden’s personality and training was very harsh and brutal. No matter the time or type of day, 12 hours of straight training!

She liked her owl though, and her owl liked her back. She was one of the few people that it didn’t peck or bight, and allowed to be petted and patted.

This was one of the reasons that she eventually ran away from home to the Eastern Kingdoms.

Cira has always kept an eye on her. Always making sure she was safe from great harm. Even going through everything that was there on Khadgar when the two met!

She didn’t much approve of her love for the mage, but he made her happy. So she just let it be. Until he made a mistake that very well be his last!

The two would reunite at the burning of Teldrassil. (I wrote that here if you want to check it out!)

Cira would heal the burned and broken Perry, trying her best to comfort her in their darkest hour. Which was never her strongest quality, but the druid needed it now.

Peregrïn would meet Cira’s squad mates; Iwarela and Aradel, and would be looked after by them while Ciradel went to find Khadgar.

Perry, consumed by grief and sadness, wanted to join the wardens but was denied. A warden must not be clouded by emotions as they carry swift justice on the enemies of the Kaldorei.

Perry then wished to be a Night Warrior, but was convinced by Khadgar not to by the LAST SECOND. Since to become one for her, would mean giving up everything for vengeance.

Cira was relieved that Perry did not fall to vengeance, but her fear grew when she realized the Illidari might have a huge recruitment force now. Especially after everything that has transpired.

Cira trusted that Khadgar will look after Perry, since she and her fellow wardens had much to do with the coming nights. She gave Perry one last hug, and watched them off to return home.

“Nana!” Hana scolded, boiling water to make some tea for her sister. “That’s a bit much. It’s not her fault.”

“Your right Hana! How could I have forgotten how Saya couldn’t vent to her close sisters, or to someone who would listen?!? Or-”

“I get it Nana! Elune sake I get it. I messed up, and now I look like a Windrunner.” She huffed, finally having enough of Nana’s comments. “I don’t need your famous insight to remind me of this gigantic blunder of mine. I need help.” The demon hunter laid back in her seat, seeing only blurs in front of her.

Luckily, this was enough for Nana to stop her rant. For now. She walked over to the dresser and examined the bottle. Saya continued to try and focus to see like she used to, but no matter how close she moves her hand to her face, it’s just a dark blur to her. Hana finishes making tea, and hands two filled teacups to her sisters.

“Hey Saya... you drank the whole bottle right?”

“Yeah... Why?” She asked cautiously.

“Oh... yeah that was not what you should have done. Says you should only take a fourth.”

“What happens if she drank it all in one go?” Hana asked, now growing more concern for her sister.

“It ranges from six months of polymorphism-

“SIX MONTHS??? What could be worse than half a damn year looking like the lost sister of Sylvannas?!?”

“...Or permanent change.”

Everything fell silent, all until Saya fell back in the chair and fainted. This was a first, but so was transforming herself into this. Hana and Nana rush to her side to pick her up. Hana did more of the lifting.

“How much does she weigh? Feels like carrying a damn statue!” She complained.

“Really? Feels more like carrying a heavy chair to me.” Hana smiled, working with Nana to put her on the bed. “What do we do now Nana?”

“Simple.” She answered, looking up to her undead sister while taking out a paper.