Ashes And Arrows: The Bright Fire

A novel involving my former WoW character Ashe and her adventures.

After the horrid destruction of Kezan caused by Deathwing tearing through the heart of the world we know as Azeroth, Âshe finds herself in the great Horde city of Orgrimmar. A stranger to these lands and with her entire family perishing to Deathwing's destructive power, she has sworn to carry on the legacy that is her family, many generations of proud Hunters. She soon find herself drawn to help heal the lands hurt by the Cataclysm and gets involved in a long journey, taking her far and wide to areas she could only dream of.

I want to point out, while there is ALOT of lore and actual facts from World of Warcraft involved in this story, there WILL be inconsistensies, seeing as it is still fanfiction, so do not take it serious.

Disclaimer - The name Ashe is in fact not stolen or nicked from League of Legends. I've had the name for roughly 10 years, ever since I started playing World of Warcraft back in Vanilla Beta.


23. The Fallen

 The sheer gore and horror of a battlefield can be difficult to describe in mere words. You have to face and experience the brutality involved to completely comprehend the situation and environment. Everyone taking part in a war, both willingly and involuntarily, will forever remember the pain, the suffering and the horrifying images related. Such torment is not easily forgotten nor ignored.

 The Humans were overwhelmed by the strength of the Orc numbers and their reinforcements were nowhere to be found. The Captain had fallen and the call for retreat had sounded. But this victory did not come without it's losses. Countless Orcs had fallen to the tenacity of the Humans. While Orcs were bigger in both size, strength and force, the slightly smaller Humans were more cunning, agile and strategic. The Humans had quickly organized a strong defense against the horde of merciless brutes coming at them. While their adaptable minds where fast to take a hold of the situation, even in the best of circumstances, they never stood a chance against the Orcs.


 "History? What kind?" Ome was quite curious as to what could have aspired between the two. Targok scoffed lightly. "Story for another time. Right now we have a bigger problem. We need to get moving." Nate and Santian nodded in agreement and proceeded to unsheathe their weapons and exit the armory. Ome and Targok followed after, both with weapons drawn and ready for engaging the enemy. The long corridors in the underground were only being being guided by very scarce torches hung on the walls every few yards. The dark and dank stones around them were glistening with the blood of the guards Santian and Nate had to get through to reach Targok's cell. The Heroes didn't pay any attention to the corpses around them and gently stepped over them without issue, leaving them to rot as they passed through the long, dimly lit hallways. As Nate and Santian guarded the entrance, Ome led Targok to the surface. The lighting struck Targok's eyes more than he expected. It stung slightly, but quickly dissipated. "We must move quickly if we are to find Âshe in this nightmare." Nate looked to Ome. "What does this friend of yours look like?" Ome smiled. "She's a red haired goblin, has her hair in bunches for the most. She wields a long bow, carved of the finest wood, an old heirloom of her family. She also carries a huge blue polearm,  near triple her size." Nate stood still for a short moment and stared at Ome, so did Targok and Santian. Ome looked at all three of them, with a curious expression on his face. "What?" Targok broke the awkward silence with an enormous laughter. Completely overwhelmed by laughter, he finally stuttered out a proper sentence. "Can I just point out how funny it is that you know all of this?" Nate and Santian shook their heads. Ome all of a sudden realized what was going on and responded slightly blushed. "What? No, not like that! Damn it Targok, I was just trying to give an accurate description." Targok finally got control of himself. "Right, sure, let's say that's the case then." Still giggling to himself, Targok followed Nate and Santian heading towards the remaining soldiers fleeing. Ome followed after and punched Targok's shoulder in a brotherly manner. "Well, at least I amuse you."


 Kevin's breathing was fast and heavy. He had to get through two dozen soldiers to find the General. He fought tooth and nail to get here and time. And yet, he was still too late. He had found the General next to a Grunt protecting him despite the loss of half an arm. Dedication and loyalty like this was hard to come by, especially in these times. Ruk'Thar was coughing up blood in large chunks. Kevin knelt down by his side. A spear was planted deep and solid through his chest, impaling him on a nearby wall. The blood had been flowing for several minutes before Kevin's arrival. Kevin sighed heavily. "I'm sorry General. This wound is beyond any shamanistic healing by now." It took the remainder of the Generals strength to raise his hand and place it on Kevin's left shoulder. The two shared a long lingering look. "You did what you could. Victory is assured and Hellscream will be pleased. Relay the news to him. I'll see you.. on the other side." And with those words, Ruk'Thar took his last breath as General in the Warchief's army. Kevin felt a pain he had not felt in years. It had been a long time since anyone close to him had passed away. Kevin's fingers felt tiny closing the eyelids on the big Orc sitting in front of him. The Grunt had knelt behind Kevin and took his own axe, placing it in the General's left hand and closing it tightly around the shaft. The grunt uttered only a single sentence. "Gol'Kosh, Dabu." Kevin looked up at the Grunt and translated. "By my axe, I obey." Kevin could feel a few tears slip and looked back at the General. "10 years, I served as your adviser, great Ruk'Thar. And when you needed me the most, I was not here to protect you." Kevin wiped his face. "What is your name soldier?" The Grunt stood tall and saluted. "My name is Gra'tak Wolfsbane." Kevin saluted in return. "Arrange for the retrieval of the General's body for an honorable ceremony. Relay the information to the mages back at the portal area. They will take care of the rest. And when this is over, I will see to your reward, Gra'tak." The Grunt saluted once more and sat off in a sprint in the mages general direction. Despite the loss of his arm, he was surprising energetic. 


 Âshe woke up in a dizzying haze. Everything around her was blurry and she was struck by an immediate pain spike in her leg. The wounds from the duel with the soldier had become infected. She instinctively grabbed a hold of her leg and cried out in pain. From nowhere a soothing voice attempted to calm her down. "Now now, don't move too much or you'll interrupt healing." Âshe's vision slowly started coming back and the blurred picture in front of her revealed a kind face. A female troll, with long blue hair merged with small bones hanging to just below her chest. "Who are you? And where am I?" Âshe tried to make sense of her surroundings while trying to deal with the pain in her leg. The small hut was made of nothing but wood held together by tightly knit pieces of string. Very makeshift and rushed. "Introductions can wait. Right now I need to focus, so please stay still." Âshe tried to remain calm for the duration of the ritual and eventually the pain dissipated. "There we are. Feeling better?" Âshe managed to pull herself into a sitting posture and had a better look at the hut. The walls were littered with skulls, totems and various tokens and charms. Âshe brushed a hand over her leg. The wound was completely vanished, as if there had never been one to begin with. "Thank you. That's quite the job you did. Most healing leaves scars for life, but I can't even see a scratch." The troll smiled. "Well, I do have a lot of experience. It has it's ups and downs." Âshe smiled back. "What is your name, shaman?" The troll stood up in full size, towering high over the small bed Âshe was currently inhabiting. "I have many names and callings. Most of which I despise. You may call me, Miss Manatide."

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