To Serve And Protect

Class today was fairly uneventful, everyone seemed relaxed and at ease, and I was no exception. People were beginning to sink into the routine of things. Even I found myself slowly warming up to the others in the class. Things were going alright for a while as I idly scribbled something meaningless on my parchment just to put words on the page.

We were only ten minutes into class, and everything in the room had an aura of comfort and familiarity about it. I was even beginning to grow accustomed to the daily prompts. Things were going well.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

Two city guards rushed into the class chamber, silvery plate armor clanking loudly as they ground to a halt in front of Textweaver Gounis. Both of them were fully encased in battle plate, the sturdy, practical armor trimmed with Stormwind’s distinctive gold accents, with deep blue tabards draped loosely over their armor. Their faces were concealed behind their full helms, but it was clear they were in a hurry, their muffled panting seeping through the air vents in their helmets. Each one carried a massive polearm, one end flourishing into a sweeping crescent-like axe blade, while the other tapered down into a puncturing point. These weren’t patrolmen, they were soldiers.

I looked up from my parchment, annoyed at first as their abrupt arrival broke my concentration, but my irritation quickly subsided as I heard what they had to say.

“There’s been an incident in the trade district. Several lie dead, and many more are injured. Prince Anduin has requested the aid of any and all available healers to stem the tide of wounded,” one spoke hurriedly, his voice ragged and muffled by his helm.

I had been training my entire life for a moment like this, but at the time, I was surprisingly meek when it came to showing my enthusiasm. I had just been called to battle, to either heal or fight, but I just sat there for a time as the guards argued with Textweaver Gounis about procedure and protocol. It seemed I wasn’t the only one, as many of the other students remained seated as well, even the priests, who’s charge in life was to answer the call of those in need, to heal the injured, to cure sickness, to care for others.

It was a good minute before anyone stood up. I glanced over to where I heard the shuffling of feet coming from as someone rose to their full height, and was immediately taken aback at what I saw.

A stout dwarven warlock had risen to answer the call, her deep purple robes embroidered with bone white skull emblems flowing with her every movement as she sauntered up to the front of the room, all eyes on her.

She had an aura of implacability about her, of confidence and assurance as she came to a stop before a city guard, the top of her head barely reaching his stomach.

He just looked down at her, backpedaling as inconspicuously as he could, glancing over to his friend. Even though his face was shielded from view, I’m sure that he was desperately pleading for backup.

It was a sight to see, watching this massive armored figure practically shaking in his armor before this tiny little dwarf. To be fair though, warlocks tended to have that effect on people, this aura of intimidation, but this was something else altogether. She had hutspa, I’ll give her that.

“M-Ma’am, we requested the aid of healers. Priests, paladins, t-the like. We have no need for warlocks at the moment,” the guard’s slightly more composed friend managed to stutter out.

The warlock swiveled her head around to meet his gaze, and instantly the other guard froze, petrified with fear as her eyes blazed with malevolent green light. He spasmed violently for a split second, before collapsing to the ground in a heap of metal, accompanied by the terrible metallic din of his armor crashing against the tiled floor.

Textweaver Gounis, along with the rest of the class looked on in abject horror, while the other guard slowly realized what had just happened.

What happened next, is something that I’ll never forget. It only reinforced my belief that even those who seem evil, may in fact have more to them.

It was nonetheless terrifying.

The diminutive dwarf swished her hands around in a strange motion as verdant flames engulfed her in a cocoon of green energy, her fluid movements bending the fire around her. Abruptly she slammed the ground forcefully, her open palms impacting the floor with such force that  the pristine white tiles shattered like glass. The fel fire coalescing around her condensed into a lance like column of flame, before surging forward, straight towards the broken form of the motionless city guard.

The spear of flames dispersed into much smaller tendrils of fire that slunk in through the vents in the dead soldier’s helmet, almost like he was breathing it in. Not a second later, his unmoving form radiated an alien aura of green energy as he was restored to life, quite literally brought back from the dead. Deep, ragged breaths filled the room as the aura subsided, the dwarven warlock rising to her feet and putting her hand on her hip triumphantly. She wore a delightfully smug expression as the guard’s breathing leveled out, finally getting to his feet.

“How’s that for healing?”

Her commanding yet soothingly smooth voice filled the room, silencing any who dared to question her talent. Both guards found themselves nodding dumbly as she sauntered past them, and out the door, holding herself high as she left the rest of us sitting there in stunned silence.

I glanced around the room, taking in the myriad of confusion and awe painted on everyone’s faces in for a moment, before shaking myself out of my dazed stupor.

What in the name of the Light just happened …

I had very little time to attempt to wrangle my racing mind before the same petite dwarf poked her head back into the room, looking at all of us expectantly, and shushing us back into silence with her very presence.

“Well? Yer aywiss at the coo’s tail. We’ve got lads to save, so hike up your knickers and heid doon arse up!”

Even now, several hours after all of this transpired, I have very little idea what she was saying. Dwarves had quite the thick dialect at times. All I knew was that she wanted us to get going, and I wasn’t going to argue after what I’d seen.

Seemed the rest of the class shared my sentiment, for as I rose from my seat, so too did most everyone else, barring the mages who were of no use when it came to healing magic.

The city guards simply stared on, pleased that so many new healers were rallying to the cause, but still struck dumb by the dwarf warlock’s imposing presence, despite her stature.

She disappeared out the door as soon as she saw we were mobilizing, and in a few seconds, I too was striding down the stone hallways of Stormwind academy, nearly a dozen priests trailing me. We hurried to the front of the building, dispelling the arcane seal of pulsating pink energy that served as the building’s front door, and proceeding outside as calmly as we could.

It was readily apparent that things were bad. Columns of thick black smoke were drifting high into the sky above the blue tiled roof tops of the trade district. It wasn’t long before I was sprinting down the cobblestone streets of the city, my veritable entourage of priests behind me struggling to keep up with their long, flowing robes.

(Pants rule.)

But the warlock was nowhere to be seen, even as we rounded another corner, coming ever closer towards the disaster zone. I began to hear the crackling of flames, and as I turned another corner onto the main street of Stormwind City’s trade district, a wall of intense heat slammed into me, black smoke whipping past me forcefully.

This was no ordinary inferno, the searing residual heat in the air far too intense to be natural. Someone had conjured these flames; someone had purposefully committed arson, and people had died because of their actions.

The crashing waves of heat smashing into me as I pressed on into the burning trade district matched the mounting fire burning inside me the more and more I thought about what was going on, genuinely angry at the situation.

After a few more moments of struggling against the overwhelming heat, I felt a wave of cool air wash over me as one of the priests behind me encased me in a shield of holy magic, dispelling the unnatural heat slowing my advance. I glanced back, shooting the priest in question a grateful look, and he nodded back approvingly as the rest of the troupe threw up shields of their own. We pressed deeper into the raging inferno, fiery tendrils deflecting off of our shimmering shields of light, the golden radiance emanating from us cutting through the thick black smoke like a candle in the night.

But still no sign of the warlock who had spurred us to action. Had she … tricked us? Lured us into a hopeless blaze just to revel in our agonizing screams as we were charred to ash? Terrible, doubtful thoughts flooded my mind as I attempted to squint through the thick black smoke, scanning the crumbling wreckage of buildings that were alight, searching for survivors.

Several of the priests split off, vanishing into the black haze as flashes of golden light split the veil of blackness sharply. I glanced over to the direction they had trudged in, able to make out the silhouettes of several priests mending the wounds of several more blackened outlines as another flash of light cut through the thick haze. I left them to assist the band of survivors they had happened upon, turning my attention back to searching for survivors of my own, the remainder of the group of priests -around four- trailing behind me.

That’s when I saw her, as I turned my attention back to the raging inferno in front of me. I’d never seen anything like it before, or since, and even now I’m in awe as I recall the image in my mind.

Green flames, almost as fluid as water sliced through the thick black haze, devouring and seemingly absorbing any normal flames they happened to touch. The curtain of deep orange hellfire bashing itself against my shield disintegrated, fizzling away into smoldering embers as it was replaced by several searing columns of crackling felfire, a terrible sense of dread washing over me as I was caught in their green glow, the smell of sulfur assaulting me even through my shield.

Ever since I was a child, I had been told of the Burning Legion, of how green fire would rain down from the sky. Meteors, alight with verdant flames would smash into cities, and then the giant, still burning boulders would get up, and start walking. Dread Infernals, short lived constructs of brimstone and felfire, is what they were called. Cursed, terrible elementals, twisted and warped by demonic magic, standing dozens of feet tall.

There I was, gazing up at one, the indentations that passed for eyes in the oddly shaped rock that constituted its head burning with unnatural intensity. Its body was stout and stubby, with columns of warped stone, alight with fire crudely arranged and tethered to its center mass. They passed for limbs.

(Words cannot do this monstrosity justice. I scoured the Stormwind Archives for tomes relating to these abominations, and eventually found a suitable picture, which I’ve taped into my journal below.)

I backpedaled, the priests behind me doing the same as I instinctively recoiled in shock, my eyes widening in disbelief as I glanced at the figured sitting upon one of its shoulders.

It was her, the warlock.

She seemed completely fine with the plumes of green flames pouring out of the infernal, which by all rights should have been scorching her terribly, but the fire simply seemed to dance around her, as if it were afraid to harm her.

She looked down at all of us with a wry smirk, her face contorted into a strange mixture of triumph and extreme concentration, nodding to us silently as her fiery construct took a tiny step forward, cracking the ground beneath it as it knelt down before us.

It was only then that I realized what was happening, only then that I managed to shake myself from my dumbfounded stupor, idiotically thinking that I was about to be killed.

There, clutched in the huge golem’s hands, were dozens of unconscious, or otherwise incapacitated people. It gingerly placed them down on the cobblestone path in front of us, taking great care to allow them to hobble towards us, making sure not to crush anyone. Amazingly, the same immunity to fire the warlock enjoyed, the citizens also bore, and thank the Light they did. Their burns were already grotesque enough to make a grown man faint.

The priests behind me hesitated for a moment, before finding their conviction, and holding it close to their hearts as they rushed past me, bursts of luminous, golden light clashing with the green and orange glow of the fire around us. A circle of healing exploded into existence around the dozens of writhing civilians, blinding light dispelling the thick black smoke choking the injured survivors, as restorative magic flowed into them.

Through it all, I just stood there, gazing up at the warlock as she motioned to her infernal, the golem giving her a sideways look, before nodding solemnly and turning back towards the still raging inferno.

“Not everybodeh who looks like trouble is a rabble rouser yah know. We’re all just people, all in this together. Good luck,” she called back to us as her golem started to walk away. She was either very good at picking up on the way we acted around her, or we were just really bad at hiding our prejudices.

“Oh yeah, and if’n I happen to roast like a hog, make sure you get me name right on the tombstone.”

Thunderous, cracking steps resounded through the air as I watched her go, a mixture of sudden admiration and pure disbelief surging through me, rendering me completely immobile. Looking back, I was rather useless through the whole thing, but that’s besides the point. The silhouette of her rumbling golem quickly blurred and faded away into the black smoke, as I was left standing there, dumbfounded, her words resonating within me.

A tiny flicker of green light beneath me drew my attention as I glanced downwards, finally able to shake the sudden shock off. There, carved into the ground, and still smoldering with green fire, were three letters.

IDA

Ida the warlock. In my three days at Stormwind Academy, no one I’ve talked to who has been as perplexing, as scary, or as interesting as her.

The rest of the day went on as one might expect, as I helped the priests mend the wounds of any injured we happened across. It wasn’t long after Ida’s arrival and departure that shamans from Goldshire arrived on horseback, and began to extinguish the flames with their aquamancy. The blaze was easily quelled by their combined effort, but the damage was done. An entire section of Stormwind’s trade district was reduced to ash and rubble, but surprisingly, no one died.

There were a lot of civilians we found that day, just barely hanging onto life by a thread though, and I can’t help but feel like Ida had something to do with the lack of deaths that day. Whatever the case, she was just as valuable as any healer that day, whether or not my suspicions about her resurrecting the dead are true.

But … I haven’t seen her since. I’m sure a powerful warlock like her made it out alright, but what she said about her tombstone really worries me.

Surely she made it out … right?