Interlude in Oribos
As told by Raydian, Huntress of Silvermoon, apprentice of Vul’Ta of Sen’jin.
Where could Ringo be? I feared as much for the life of my companion of so many years as I worried about not getting the arrows he was retrieving. The assault on Elysian Hold had gone on so long I was down to a dagger and a single arrow to defend myself and the wounded around me. Ringo and I had teamed up long ago in Tanaris, and we’d been through many tough battles, but never against dark angels with seemingly endless numbers.
The terrified aspirant shook as I pulled the dagger from his ribs, and poured the last of my healing potions onto the wound. Hopefully I wouldn’t be needing one myself.
“Move to cover and rest.” I told him, “You still need some time for it to completely heal you.”
He staggered to his feet, taking the dagger covered with his own blood from my hand. “I cannot rest while the others fight for me… for Bastion. Thank you Hunter.” I learned later that he was slain minutes after leaving me. Behind me I heard the familiar clickety-clack of a giant scorpion skittering across flagstones.
“Ringo! Thank heavens.” He had four arrows in his left claw that hopefully meant survival for us, and the dozen wounded surrounding us. Just in time too as a dark winged figure was following about forty yards behind him, and became the unfortunate recipient of my last arrow. I could hear a confrontation on the upper platform. I couldn’t see what was going on, but at least it seemed to be drawing the combatants away from us. Maybe the worst was over.
“Steward hurt!” came the plaintive chirp from behind me. “Please help steward!” I turned and at the edge of the platform was Beiper, a steward who tended to the flowers of Elysian Hold and had for millennia. She was clutching her stomach, trying to stem the blood that trickled out onto the stone floor. I ran over and pressed a bandage against the wound. It wouldn’t be enough though. As I cradled the dying little owl against me I called to Ringo, holding the empty healing potion vial in the air. He knew instantly what it meant, and ran off to scavenge the fallen, looking for a full one.
It was my first day in Bastion, several months before. My sister had summoned me to help her organize the fight against the Forsworn on behalf of the Kirin Tor, who had pledged their aid to the Kyrian. I was sitting on a bench, feeling completely out of place among the angelic Kyrian who said nothing, but stared at me like I was some sort of strange insect who had landed in their garden. That’s when I heard that same sing-song voice chirping behind me, but in a much happier tone.
“You have ears like me!” she giggled, “Beiper bring you juice for make happy!” and handed me a cup of juice that smelled and tasted like all the colours of the rainbow. Even Ringo perked up and came as close as a scorpion could to smiling. She was just the sweetest little thing.
Now though, she was shaking in my arms. Cold from the loss of blood, and terrified as she felt her own life slipping away. I tried to comfort her, telling her that Ringo would return soon with medicine. I implored her to hold on. She shook even more as she looked at me, but she was crying as she struggled to speak.
“I was supposed to live forever!” she sobbed, “Beiper so sad…”
Before I could reply she let out a soft little hoot, and her head rested lifelessly into the crook of my arm. A thousand of my lifetimes spent in gentle service, ended by the sword of the Forsworn, just like so many other innocent temple tenders who had been slain while begging for their lives, BY YOUR PEOPLE!
“Why are you telling me this now? That battle was long ago and…” Uther said, sounding exasperated, and a little hurt. “You don’t understand what I was…”
“I’m not interested in your excuses Lightbringer!” I said, with disdain soaking through the honorific as I spoke. “I didn’t come here to listen to them. I don’t care what they are!” He walked backwards slowly across the floor as I walked forward to match him. Most on the upper floor of Oribos had stopped to watch the encounter. I continued my tirade as he stepped back. “In the moment after that innocent creature died in my arms, I saw the shadow flying above me into the distance and knew it was you. It suddenly became clear to me how much of the tragedy I’d ever witnessed, my parents crushed under the rubble of Silvermoon, my sister risen into undeath to serve your corrupted student, and now the very heavens being ripped apart and eternity being stolen from selfless servants who threatened nobody, and it all comes back to you. “Noble” Uther! The one this whole strange city speaks in hushed tones about.”
Uther stopped suddenly as he nearly fell into the open void that ended in the screaming horrors of the maw. You’d think there’d be a railing or something.
“You belong down there.” I said. “Holding the Dark Lady’s torch, and begging forgiveness from every innocent soul she rescues until you were the only soul left.”
He looked down, avoiding my gaze. “Why don’t you push me in then?”
“To prove a point, Uther. If you were truly the noble one I thought you were. The one who I could not pass by your memorial without stopping to bow. If you were truly that man of legend, and not a coward. You’d make the choice yourself.”
I stepped onto the nearby pad with Ringo, and we left him behind. It was time for us to take the portal back to Orgrimmar, and reality.