Sheanor has a minion!

Shadow Cat the Raja

Sheanor Siali
The Vengeance of Blaise
Unforgiving, Cold, Ambivalent



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The young night elf grabbed all evacuees she could find, hoping to save as many as she could. The world around her burned, her world. Smoke billowed out in thick clouds across the usually picturesque view above her. The attack from the horde was a surprise, but Sheanor knew her duty was to save her people above all else. Darnassus was her home, is still her home. Every face she pulled from the dark smoke were her people and her family. She had known them for centuries, but suddenly their lives had seemed so brief as flames licked at the edges of the city. With each soul evacuated, her mind turned to hope. Darnassus would not fall; she would be sure of that.

Fire.
Smoke.
Death.

The smell knocked her to her knees as her heart ached. She had heard the firing of siege engines, but never thought the Horde would be so merciless as to destroy the world tree. The flames spread without prejudice, engulfing battlements and clinics alike. Pools of water hissed and evaporated, ancient stone being engulfed in fire as the spiraling vines ignited. The reality became clear to her soon enough; the city would fall, and the world tree would become ash.
The elves were going to lose their ancestral home.

Through the pain came anguish as the elf helped whoever she could. Sheanor would not leave her home or her people; even if that meant burning to ashes with it.

She ran to aid a merchant in a nearby structure; it was unrecognizable under the hungry flames. As she forced the door open the flames fed eagerly upon her flesh. A flash of heat rushed up her arm and up to her face as white hot pain surged through her body. Sheanor had been in countless battles, but no spell or sword strike matched this agony. She tried to call out to Elune, one last prayer, but her words did not leave her. Maybe her voice was lost to the smoke as the night elf wept.

What more must the Horde take from us?

Sheanor, surrounded by her burning home, could only feel alone. The distant cries for help having now been smothered by the all-consuming flames, it almost felt peaceful. The night elf looked to the moon, barely visible through the smoke, as she sent a silent prayer.
“Mother, I defended our home, yet it still fell. I have failed you, but I need to stay here. May my body become the ash that can bring about new life.”

As the flames licked at her remaining untouched flesh she felt a firm hand pull her from her final resting place. In an instant, she sat on the floors of the Slaughtered Lamb Inn, in pain but alive.

Alive.

A portal closed in front of her and behind it stood a dark haired gnome, the Guild’s warlock, Poppy.

“Gears and sprockets, are you hard to find!” The gnome’s wide eyes scanned Sheanor in surprise and concern. Even the untrained eye of the warlock knew the burns were too severe to heal completely. “How are you feeling Shea?”

Sheanor couldn’t do anything but lie there, her mind having been ready to accept her death, but her friends had saved her. She didn’t know how she felt. Her whole life, the one thing she swore to defend had fallen to ash. The only thing she felt was that she was to be there, to fall alongside it. It had been her final purpose, a purpose that had suddenly vanished with the appearance of a portal.

As friendly, and rather furry hands waved over the night elves body, Sheanor recognized them as Glide’s; an excellent healer. Washing cleansing waters upon the wounds, the monk’s healing was always Sheanor’s favorite, although she would never admit it was better than the druidic arts. The pain within her arm and face dulled, but she did not feel the wounds fully mend. Slowly, as her vision cleared and she could breathe freely again, Sheanor timidly began to speak.

“Why am I alive?”

Poppy sighed and turned to face a woman Sheanor had not been able to identify through her foggy sight. “Jaynis, I helped.” The warlock slunk to the bar and ordered a pint; even with Darnassus burning and Stormwind having become a sanctuary to evacuees, this hell hole of a pub was still running.

Jaynis sat alongside Sheanor and began to gently bandage her wounds.

“You’re alive because both the Guild needs you, and your people need you. And…your friends would miss you,” Sheanor flinched as a bandage tugged at her torn flesh. “You’re more use to this world alive Sheanor, and you know that.”

Jaynis finished bandaging the wounds and asked Glide to continue healing. Sheanor stared at the ceiling the healing waters soothed her wounds, but her heart was still torn. Nothing could mend the fissure left by the horde.
Specifically…the chasm in her heart left by the Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner.

“You must sleep.” The Panderan said softly, still tending her wounds while looking rather concerned. “Your home has been lost, but through living you can fight another day.”

Sheanor nodded in agreement, the waters clearing her mind long enough to embrace sleep. Glide smiled and carried Sheanor to the nearest bed. The healing waters returned to the elf and calmed her thoughts. “Sleep now…” Was the last thing Sheanor heard from the kind Monk, and with that, the stricken night elf fell asleep. While sorrow and anger tore at her heart, Glide knew she had to keep Sheanor resting…at least for now.

In time, they would all tend to the injuries of the heart in their own way.
While some injuries would never heal, there was still a battle to be fought.
The one responsible for this atrocity would soon know how the flames of vengeance felt.

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Story by Tasha, edited by Frode
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