Hi everyone, I first want to say thanks to those who took the time to read my first short stories, or rather the first short stories I’ve ever made public. It turns out the single short story I wrote about Vyra was not enough. I have too much in my head that I need to get out especially about her past.
I’ve decided to rebrand her story to just Tales from Azeroth: The Death Knight What follows is Chapter 1 of her story. I plan to add more chapters over time, eventually weaving in the original short story as the second to last chapter in her series.
I have had so much fun with these characters in my head. Especially writing for Darion. I try to imagine how he would speak when he’s not screaming which let’s face it is most of the time. I’ll also be dropping Chapter 2 here at the same time since I just finished revisions. I’ve literally been staying up late at night working on them.
Thanks again, I love you all.
Chapter One
Suramar City lay under siege. The Nightborne resistance led by Thalyssra, with the aid of the Horde and Alliance, had cut through to the front gates into the Grand Promenade. Elisande’s forces and her legion cohorts were slowly being beaten back inch by inch. The sky burned with felfire, a hideous green mixing with the deep purple and pink hues of night fall. The city’s dome towers were alight with distant explosions of fel and arcane magics. The fel clouds circulating above, cast an insidious glow over the Nighthold palace.
Gul’dan is up there, plotting something.
Vyra Stormsong led her unit towards the main gate— nine sentinels in scarred armor, the moon and glaive sigil stitched to their cloaks. Among them, two of her oldest friends, Maelyn and Nadyea. Once upon a time, beneath the boughs of Teldrassil, they fought imaginary monsters as children. Now, they fought them for real.
They moved in silence, glaives and bows drawn, their footfalls quiet. “We’ll meet Captain Selara’s unit there and see what’s what. Hold formation. Eyes sharp.”
They crossed into a ruined plaza scorched by some explosion. The air was thick with sulfur and the faint stink of fel. Ahead, the sharp crack of a spell broke through the quiet. A lone human appeared, running, flinging firebolts behind him. He ducked behind a broken column, robes singed, staff nearly splintered. He cast a giant fireball, launching it into a felguard, engulfing it in flames. The mage noticed them and flashed a grin.
“Ladies, I could use a little help here!”
Vyra raised a hand, signaling toward the collapsed house near the human. A pack of imps rampaged through, slinging fire bolts of their own, but the Sentinels dodged effortlessness through, making it behind cover.
“Well met!” he called out. “If you’re planning to save me, now’s a wonderful time!”
“Less talking, more shooting,” Maelyn said, loosing an arrow that took an imp in the eye.
The human laughed at that, “Archmage Modera used to tell me the same thing.”
Vyra’s glaive flashed, cutting through a felguard’s shoulder. The rest of the Sentinels joined in, blades and arrows cutting through the remaining demons. One by one each imp fell from the sentinel’s arrows. Nadyea vaulted over one of the felguards and sliced its head with her glaive. The mage muttered another spell, sending a burst of frost that froze the last felguard solid. Vyra kicked it over, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces.
Silence fell around them once more.
The mage straightened his robes, brushing dust from his sleeve. He grinned at Vyra, twirled his hand and took a bow. “Thorwyn of Dalaran, master of the elemental arts, at your service.”
Vyra eyed him up and down. He had a rather kept and clean look for someone in a warzone. “Why are you out here alone?”
“Not by accident, I can assure you,” Thorwyn replied. “Khadgar sent me — well, us — a contingent of mages to aid the resistance. We were supposed to reinforce this quarter.”
Maelyn frowned. “Supposed to?”
Thorwyn gestured to the burning streets. “A rather large Abyssal took a liking to this area, I was separated after we got hit. The wicked thing knocked me out cold into a ditch. Woke up to a horde of imps getting ready to cook me alive. It took a little improvising to get myself out of that one.”
Vyra pointed at the demons around them. “You fight well for someone improvising.”
He grinned. “Flattery from a night elf, I’ll take it. Mind if I tag along until I find my friends?”
Vyra turned, scanning the ruined street ahead. “Fine. Stay close. And keep quiet.”
“I’m very good at one of those things,” Thorwyn said as he sheathed his staff across his back.
They moved on together through the remaining ruins, warped by fel fire. Withered bodies lay scattered, and some were stacked onto a pile. It appeared someone had tried to clean up the carnage. The Sentinels moved like shadows, the same way Captain Selara trained them in Teldrassil. Thorwyn followed, complaining about how depressing and dreary everything looked. They came upon the remnants of a fallen horde wyvern, its rider missing.
“The poor thing,” Thorwyn pointed out. “Should we bury it?”
Vyra made the gesture of a mouth closing with her hand. “No,” she whispered. “And keep quiet.”
Another hour of stalking until they arrived at a crater filled with demon and nightborne bodies, covered in ash, some still smoking. Vyra gave the hand signal for them to go around. They crossed over into the midst of an abandoned alliance camp that had been set up on the remnants of a ruin’s foundation. Half broken columns still rose up like old fingers in certain spots.
“Ah, a place to rest our heads. I’ll summon us some cinnamon rolls.” Thorwyn began weaving a spell in front of him until he stopped suddenly.
The air around them began to tremble.
A deep rumble rolled beneath them, shaking the stones. “Something big,” Maelyn said.
The dirt road on the other side of the encampment split open. From it rose a fel abyssal, molten cracks glowing between plates of black stone. Every step it took left trails of green fire.
“Oh look, he’s back and angrier than ever,” Thowyn drew the staff from his back and planted it into the ground.
“Can you slow it?” Vyra asked, eyes fixed on the monstrosity.
“Slowing demons is my specialty, when I’m not unconscious of course,” he said.
He whispered a spell, and frost exploded outward in a wave. The ground froze, ice spreading across the rubble until it reached the abyssal’s feet. The creature roared, swinging an arm, but its movement was clumsy, limbs dragging under the growing frost. “Mind the ice, ladies!”
“Now!” Vyra shouted.
The Sentinels struck. Arrows whistled, shattering through glowing cracks in the demon’s chest. Vyra’s glaive sliced low, cutting into one of its molten arms. Maelyn, Nadyea, and Valena, went for the legs, hacking at the joints until sparks and smoke burst forth. Ilyssa vaulted atop its head, standing on its shoulder and started stabbing it in the face. The rest of the sentinels fired arrows into its exposed joints.
“You all might not want to stand inside of this one,” Thorwyn yelled.
“Sentinels retreat!” Vyra whistled, the signal for the rest to follow her. They disengaged, moving back behind a column near the mage.
Thorwyn lifted his staff, calling down a blizzard. Ice and hail crashed against the abyssal’s body. The temperature dropped around the demon in mere seconds, dissolving the fel-flames and freezing half its body.
The abyssal struggled, breaking off chunks of its own frozen body, roaring in fury. Vyra and her sentinels re-engaged. She darted under its reach, her glaive piercing deep into its core, sending smoke pouring out. Maelyn struck from the other side, opening a fissure that split the creature’s chest. Its arm swung wide catching Nadyea in the stomach.
Thorwyn flung a giant spike of ice into the demon’s head. “Finish it!” he yelled, his voice hoarse.
Vyra leapt, driving her glaive straight down through the glowing wound. The abyssal let out a sound like grinding metal and burst apart in a shower of molten rock.
For a long moment, only their breathing filled the silence. Ilyssa took a knee, holding her chest trying to catch her breath. Vyra rushed over to check on Nadyea who’d just managed to sit up. She had a few scrapes on the side of her face, but otherwise appeared alright.
Thorwyn leaned against the half-collapsed column, panting. “Revenge at last. Brilliant.”
Maelyn smirked. “Not bad for a human.”
“Your compliment is appreciated," Thorwyn said.
Vyra gave him a curt nod. “You did well, mage.”
“And you, Vyra. I’ll tell you what, this battle is for sure going into my autobiography.”
Nadyea stared at him blankly, still favoring her stomach from where the abyssal struck against her chest armor. “Of course you’re writing about yourself… mages.”
They pressed southward through another set of broken avenues. Not long after, Thorwyn slowed, pointing ahead. Through the smoke, shimmered the violet glow of arcane wards. A cluster of robed figures moved behind the barrier.
“My people,” Thorwyn said, letting out a nice long sigh. “They made it.”
Vyra nodded. “So, this is farewell then.”
He hesitated. “It appears so, what will you do?”
“We’ve orders to meet our sisters at the main gate,” she said.
Thorwyn smiled faintly. “Ishnu-alah, Vyra and to your Sentinels. Perhaps if we all survive this, we’ll see each other again.”
“I’ll look forward to it, Elune-adore.”
With that said, Thorwyn of Dalaran took a final bow and departed.
Vyra turned back to her warriors. “Fifteen minutes then we move out. We’re close.”
Maelyn dug a hole and built a fire, keeping it as low as possible. They gathered around, distributing the bread rations they carried. After some time, Vyra decided to speak her mind, something that had been bothering her for a while now. “Hey, how old are we?”
Her sisters answered with a mix of confusion, some swearing they were three-hundred, others guessing between two hundred and two hundred sixty. Valena followed up, “I don’t know, I feel like I’m at least four hundred and ten.”
Nadyea cut in, throwing her hands up, "Everybody’s wrong, we’re a hundred and sixty three. I’ve been counting. Selara put us all in the same trials by age.”
Maelyn flung a piece of bread at Nadyea’s head. “Lies, we’re a hundred and ninety at the minimum.”
This discussion continued for the rest of the break and none of them felt well rested after.
Their journey continued on the main road toward Suramar city. The sun was finally beginning its descent, distant explosions could be heard from beyond the city’s walls. Cracks ran through the stone beneath their boots — once polished marble, now blackened and pitted from siege fire.
The city’s main gate came into view — or what was left of it. Two towers leaned inward, their domes shattered. The great arch that once guarded the way to the Grand Promenade had half-collapsed in on itself.
The wide road leading to the gate was choked with rubble and corpses — demons, orcs, trolls, and humans. Two Draenei warriors and an undead priest were dragging the bodies, organizing them by race. They stopped to look at Vyra and her sentinels for a moment before continuing with their work. They eventually came up on shattered statues of ancient nightborne that had been used as cover during previous skirmishes. What appeared to be two blood elves tried to take cover behind one of them, but were incinerated by something. Their ashen forms were still in the same position.
Vyra raised her hand. “Hold.”
Movement flickered in the haze down the road — not demons this time, but humanoid.
“Alliance colors,” Maelyn whispered.
Vyra gave a short nod. “Keep your weapons ready.”
As they drew closer, the faint glow of armor and steel caught her attention. A ragtag looking group of Alliance emerged from the smoke — a human paladin in scorched golden armor overlaid with a Silver Hand tabard, a stocky dwarf hunter at his side carrying a rifle, and three weary looking warriors in full silver plate, trailing behind. All three knights wore the blue and gold tabard of Stormwind.
The paladin raised his hand in greeting. “More sentinels?” His voice was rough but steady. “By the Light, I didn’t think any of you were left out here.”
Vyra stepped forward, her glaive lowered. “Vyra Stormsong, I lead this unit. Who leads you?”
“Ser Gregorn from Lights Hope Chapel,” the paladin said. “What’s left of my command. The three Stormwind knights were randoms that we picked up along the way. This is Grannik of Kharanos,” He gestured to the dwarf, who gave a curt nod.
“Aye,” Grannik grunted. “What in the name o’ Magni’s beard happened to you lot?”
“The Legion happened,” Vyra said. “We’re looking for another Sentinel unit, led by Captain Selara. Have you seen them?”
Gregorn’s face hardened. He looked toward the broken towers near the gate before answering. “We passed their banner not long ago. Eastern side of the main gate.”
Vyra’s grip tightened on her glaive. “And?”
“They didn’t make it,” Gregorn said. “We cut down what was left of the demons there, but your sisters… they’d already fallen.”
Silence followed, except for Maelyn cursing under her breath. Nadyea’s normal care-free smile turned into a frown.
“Captain Selara, are you certain?” Deep down, Vyra already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from him.
Gregorn shook his head. “I’m sorry. They fought like hell from the looks of it. We found what was left of them near the wall. We moved their bodies together and wrapped them in blankets. It was all we could do, we had no Night Elves with us to perform your rites. I said a small prayer for them to the light. I hope that suffices.”
Vyra could only manage a slight nod. “Thank you, Ser.”
The paladin bowed his head. “We’re regrouping to the North in Shal’Aran. You’re welcome of course to join us, but if you intend on continuing south you should know what is ahead of you. A detachment of nightborne rebels are holding the gate. The Alliance and Horde forces have already pushed through the Grand Promenade. A rider informed us not too long ago that they were making a push for the Nighthold palace. I’d caution you, the area between here and the gate is still not that secure. Watch yourselves.”
Grannik spat into the dirt. “If ye see any more o’ those bloody demons, tell ’em Grannik sends his regards.”
Vyra almost smiled at that. Almost. “I will.”
Ser Gregorn called down the light to heal their injuries before leading his group on. They disappeared down the road shortly after that.
The Sentinels advanced toward the gate in silence. The air was heavy, thicker, darker — every breath carried the stench of either flesh burning or decay. They passed over to the eastern side of the road close to the city wall. Then they saw them.
The fallen Sentinels lay together, organized in two rows of five. Captain Selara’s banner was half-buried in the dirt, its silver crescent soaked dark. Passed them, they glimpsed shattered glaives and broken bows amidst demon corpses. Two felguards were frozen into ash, probably from the work of Ser Gregorn.
Vyra knelt beside one of the fallen, whose cloak had been draped over her body. Maleyn knelt down too, brushing the moon and glaive emblem on their sister’s cloak. “Selara,” she said softly. “They fought to the last.”
Vyra bowed her head. “We were too late.”
Maelyn laid her hand on her shoulder, “Don’t do this to yourself, Vyra. We got here as fast as we could. They are in Elune’s hands now.”
“I know,” Vyra began. “It’s just… Selara was the one who was there for me after my mother died. I didn’t know how to wield my mother’s glaive, she’s the one who taught me.”
Before another word could be spoken, a shadow swept over them. Then another and another.
From the haze above, wings unfolded — vast and black. Doomguards descended in a roar of flame, landing so hard the ground cracked beneath them. Their blades pulsed with fel, but it was their eyes that caught Vyra’s attention. Pure hatred burned within them.
Maelyn’s voice shook. “Vyra…”
Vyra stepped forward, raising her glaive. “I see them.”
One of the demons smiled — a slow, guttural sound like stone grinding against stone. “More little night elves come to feed us.”
Vyra shifted into her attack stance, “You’re going to eat those words.”
The demons charged. Vyra whistled, she and her sentinels met them. Vyra ducked mid-swing, her glaive clashing with first one’s blade in a burst of sparks. Maelyn flanked, cutting at his leg. He knocked her aside with one backhand. Vyra rolled under his next strike and cut deep into his ribs.
Nadyea, Ilyssa, and Faelyn engaged the second doomguard while Valena and the others began filling the third with arrows.
Vyra leapt forward to attack again, but he deflected her glaive and shoulder-checked her into the ground. Maelyn rushed in again, blades flashing — too close. The demon dodged sideways out of her attack, impaling her with his claws.
The monster laughed, slinging her body away as if she were nothing.
“Maelyn!”
Vyra crawled to her sister’s side, pulling her close. Blood pooling beneath them.
“Vyra…I can’t,” Maelyn whispered, but her body went still.
Vyra’s eyes stung. “Elune-adore. Rest now.” She closed her sister’s eyes as Maelyn’s hand slipped from hers.
It was as if time had slowed. Vyra looked over to see Faelyn and Ilyssa laying on the ground, their eyes blank. One of the other Doomguards lifted Valena up by her throat and impaled her.
Nadyea jumped onto the back of the third, jamming her glaive into his jugular. He reached up, grabbing her by the head and snapped her neck.
No…this can’t be the end.
Vyra rose, slow and steady. The doomguard that had slain Maelyn turned to face her, grinning through jagged teeth. His laugh was a sickening choking sound.
She lunged, driving her glaive upward into the seam in his armor. The blade tore through flesh and bone until it pierced his heart. The demon roared, but not before his sword struck her chest.
Vyra fell with him.
The sound of the battle faded into nothing. She lay convulsing, eyes turned toward the sky above, choking on her own blood. Twisted ribbons of green clouds coiled through the stars. As her vision dimmed she caught the glimpse of someone in black armor, their eyes burning with an icy blue. They brought down a greatsword, shimmering with runes along the blade, splitting the second Doomguard’s head in half. More in the same black armor arrived, swarming the third. Then another knight in black arrived, riding a pale horse. Twin swords with the same eerily glowing runes sheathed across his back. His helmet was forged into the visage of a horned skull.
The last thing Vyra saw were those cold eyes staring down at her.
Her voice came soft, her final breaths. “I’m…sorry mother.”