Year’s End
The heroes stood in the shadow of the Frozen Throne, at the very top of the world, in quiet contemplation and perhaps disbelief. The raging ice-cold winds had died down, but the continuing snowfall worked to cover the blood, sweat and tears that had been spilled today, a small symbol, really, of the enormous sacrifices made both by the individuals standing here, and by those not so fortunate.
It was over. The three Scourge commanders were dead, the lich Lady Damnedfate the last to fall, her body turned to ash, carried away on the unforgiving breeze. And with her phylactery, the Crown of Domination, destroyed, her soul would not be returning to this world. No more would people remember the noble Thalassian woman she had once been. She would go down in history as one of the greatest threats to the world in recent times: she who aspired to be Lich Queen.
The battle over, and the campaign won, a portal was conjured and the way open to return to the Argent Vanguard. The heroes, some of whom had been working together for over 11 months, would collect their things and begin their journeys to their own individual corners of Azeroth. But, in what state would they find their homes? That would remain to be seen.
All over the world, cities were on lockdown. They had been for months, their gates sealed to the outside world, offering the last hope of protection for a people terrorized by death.
Inside the great cities of Zul’dazar, Ironforge, Stormwind and Orgrimmar but to name a few, the situation was dire. The streets overrun with refugees from miles around who had escaped their hometowns, farmsteads and outposts to seek out safety. Food was scarce, lodging was limited, and the mild temperatures of Fall had given way to the colder chill of Winter. A lack of clean water, un-plagued food and medical supplies had led to diseases from mild to severe, and both the medical tents and crematoriums were now over capacity.
And the entire time, the groans and growls of the undead could be heard just beyond the city walls.
For weeks now, the Scourge who had never been caught had been emerging and had surrounded most of these great cities. In other areas, they clawed at the Gates of Mulgore or those at the Thalassian Pass which lead to the land of Quel’Thalas. Local defenders had tried to fight them off, but their vast numbers and one, singular hive-like mind made them an adversary not easily disposed of.
“We can’na take much more of this!” exclaimed a Dwarven swordsman guarding the gates of Ironforge.
“How much longer can dis go on?” asked a Zandalari guardsman in Dazar’alor.
“We are warriors. We should not just be sitting here, watching them!” complained an Orc grunt in Orgrimmar.
Nerves were frayed and patience was wearing thin. To some, this seemed like the apocalypse. Rumours abounded about a coalition of champions who had set off to find the Scourge leadership. Some said they had made it to Northrend. Others claimed they had perished long ago. Others still were certain they had been turned, and with them the hopes of the world ever seeing peace again.
Then, all over Azeroth, a flash of lightning was seen, even in those areas which had a clear sky. A crackle of thunder then, followed closely by a quick but intense burst of wind, ice-cold, from the north, catching everyone off guard and diminished as suddenly as it had begun.
People looked up at the sky and back at each other, confused about what had just occurred. It took a few moments for them to recognize the silence that had followed. The groans and moans of the Scourge, which had been incessant for weeks, had stopped.
Local guards defending the gates and walls peered down, using spyglasses or binoculars, to try to understand what was happening.
The undead looked as confused as they were. The same ones who had been acting with singular purpose, looked at each other and around them. As if not understanding what had happened. As if not knowing where they even were.
As if no longer being controlled by some unseen, greater mind.
Commanders all over Azeroth came to the same conclusion, and wasted no time.
“They are no longer being controlled!” cried a Ranger-Captain in Quel’Thalas.
“They’ve become feral once more!” exclaimed a Shal’dorei magus in Suramar.
“This is our chance, our opportunity! Slay the ones you can, and drive off those who would dare threaten the Alliance!” barked a Commander in Stormwind.
All over the world, brave soldiers and heroes charged out over the city walls and gates and assaulted the still confused feral scourge that lay in wait. They easily carved their way through the crowds of undead, slaughtering dozens, hundreds in a matter of minutes. Those whose brains were too rotted to think for themselves fell easily. Others fought back but were quickly overwhelmed.
Battles waged on, the living overwhelmed with a renewed sense of hope.
Ghouls who could still think for themselves tried to escape into the woods or deserts. Some made it, disappearing into the darkness as night settled. Others were not so lucky, and experienced their true death at last.
A few hours passed, and the battles died down. Slowly and with caution, gates all over Azeroth opened to the outside world for the first time in months. Captains of the guard, commanders and soldiers ventured out with caution, torches lighting the way as the Sun had set just a short while ago.
Piles of undead corpses littered the ground for miles, but little movement could be seen, few sounds could be heard.
Following the guards, then, the peoples of Azeroth emerged from their sanctuaries. Some, citizens of those very cities, others refugees who did not know if their villages and homes still stood. All with the same look on their faces. Some laughed. Some cried. Others dared not breath. All felt relief.
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None would forget this terrible year. The scars, both physical and emotional, would run deep, not just for the citizens of Azeroth, but especially for those brave heroes, from all walks of life, who had come together to wage war on death. And who, against all odds, had won.
In Orgrimmar, a child emerged from the crowd, a wreath in his small hands. Finding a rogue nail on the wooden gate to the city, the child hung the decoration. The crowd was silent as they watched. Winter Veil would be upon them soon, and the people of Azeroth would finally have something to celebrate.