The paladin was moving quickly but methodically. He slipped his foot into the heavily plated boots and tied the straps around his greaves tightly. He fastened them as swiftly as he could while still taking great care, knowing that armour too tight could cause him to lose mobility, and armour too loose could slip and fail to protect the right areas. Either way, a mistake could be the death of him. It was important to do things right.

Dice rolled up to his foot and pinged against the shining, perfectly polished armour. It came from a woman trained as a rogue; a blood elf, just like him. Of course, this was a camp full of blood elves, an off-shoot of Lor’themar’s honour guard meant to ensure the path he planned to follow through Kun-Lai Summit was cleared of potential threats. “Little help?” she asked, lounging on the other end of the tent.

“I’m afraid I have more important matters to attend to than playing dice,” captain Redzone responded, finally finding the perfect degree of tightness for his boots. He looked up, seeing her flip her daggers gracefully in the air and catch it without so much as a look. “I take it from your attitude you won’t be coming with me.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. Veli Evertrail was Redzone’s second. If judged off combat prowess alone, she’d be ranked among the best. However, hotheaded and difficult to lead, she struggled to find promotion over the rank and file of Silvermoon’s army. “I’ll be waiting here. Must… guard the bunks, or… establish control over the precious resource of wine.”

“Very well,” the captain replied. He began to fasten his legplates with the same degree of exacting precision.

“You’re not going to demand my compliance? No show of force, threatening demotion? Come on now, what’s the point of a captaincy if you don’t pull rank every now and again?”

“It’s not a direct part of our mission. The Pandaren village was attacked off route. I cannot in good conscience put our soldiers in the line of fire for something they had not signed up for.” The left leg plate was fitted perfectly. Redzone took a moment to ensure there was not so much as a smudge on the spotless piece of armour. Had the plate been in the sunlight, it would reflect so strongly as to be almost blinding.

“How much of this is what we signed up for?” Veli asked, struggling to reduce the edge in her voice that had gotten her into trouble when speaking to officers before. “Garrosh cares little for any in the Horde that aren’t frothing, battle-raged orcs! He’s all but told us! We’re second-tier and treated as such. We’re little more than cannon fodder. Garrosh… Garithos…” she said, referencing the human Grand Marshal in charge of Kael’thas’ elven force in the third war who treated them with similar contempt.

“I understand the plight of our people,” Redzone said honestly. “And I understand your objection to the coming battle. It’s not our fight. It’s not our war.” The right leg plate shined with what little light found its way into the tent. Pristine. Flawless.

She smirked, flipping another dagger, catching it behind her head just to show she could. “Yet, here’s the knight in shining armour. Once more, unto the breach!” she said in mockery.

“They’re innocent villagers. I am a paladin,” he said as if the title alone was explanation enough. In many ways it was. He attached his breastplate next. It was positively glowing, so much so it almost appeared to generate light rather than reflect it.

“And I’m a rogue,” she said. “We tend to look out for ourselves.”

“I never asked for more than the task we were given.” That much was true. She tried to find a moment in which he pushed beyond the expectations demanded by the Horde, but failed to do so. In the meantime, he heaved the pauldrons of his armour onto his shoulders, a piece that made him look very much the part of the knight in shining armour in which Veli tried to say he was in jest.

Growing frustrated, the rogue took a more direct approach. In many ways, she was trying to convince herself. “You shouldn’t fight. You shouldn’t even go out there. It could get blood elves killed, and for what? For the Horde to still see us as weak? A defeated people in the mind of Garrosh’s orcs? Elves are not meant to be seen as secondary.”

“I agree,” he replied. “But only with everything you said after ‘you shouldn’t fight.’ The villagers are not Garrosh’s army. They have not treated the elves with disrespect.” His gauntlets were next.

“I won’t go,” she said flatly.

“I never asked you to.” Putting on his helm, he looked almost like a caricature of a moral, powerful hero. Picking up his mace and shield, he walked out of the tent and into the chill breeze of the mountainous region of Kun-Lai Summit.

Redzone had no intent to even so much as address his troops. His full armour would attract their eyes enough, and the image of him wearing it would be a clear message of intent. They had all heard the pandaren visitor’s desperate plea for assistance. The Shadow-Pan monks were already preparing to hold the line at the gate of Serpent’s Spine, the great wall that stretched across Pandaria. Each of the blood elves in the encampment knew exactly where the paladin was heading.

Sinvar Sunbane, an experienced warlock, saw him leaving. “Is this a call to arms, then? Is it demanded of us that we fight and die for the glory of the Horde that cares little for us?”

“No,” Redzone replied laconically.

“Just you’re set to die, then!” he said, throwing up his hands.

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“If I die, but I manage to save but one villager, then I would have served the light and what it stands for. What do you stand for, warlock?”

Sunbane grimaced and looked down, no longer wishing to meet the gaze of his captain as he marched off.

A symbol appeared above Redzone’s head. One of the mages, Belna Sparkguard, had cast a spell of arcane intellect on him as he walked off. “Use that to give you some sense!” she called after him, getting a few laughs from the other blood elves. Redzone didn’t so much as turn his head to acknowledge the slight. Stoically, he went down to the gate.

He walked forward. The rest walked away.

---

Redzone stood at the gate as the Shadow-Pan opened it for the villagers that were pouring out of the nearby village. They had been attacked by the Yaungol, a people similar in stature and ancestry to the tauren that had allied with the Horde. To the villagers that saw the gates open, the paladin that stood waiting to protect them was a shining beacon of hope. He raised his shield, whispered for the light to guide him, and stood resolute as the first of the Yaungol came over the ridge. Shadow-Pan monks stood at his side, but they were few in number.

Distantly, the blood elves at the encampment had stood on the hill to watch their captain in his foolish sacrifice. They saw as the villagers streamed through, some carrying infants, others nursing wounds and limping through the gate. A spear was thrown just out of sight from beyond the gate, impaling a villager. The battle had begun.

The first of the Yaungol tried running past the paladin, focussed on the villagers he sought to trample. A shield made of the holy light itself slammed into his knee, nearly severing it from his body. He howled in pain, signaling to the others the danger of the brave defender holding the line. Two more rushed towards the paladin. One was struck by a hammer descending from the sky, dazing him, allowing the Shadow-Pan to pummel him with a barrage of fists. The other was knocked backwards as Redzone rushed forward, slamming his target with his shield. Still, a great number were still coming and the battle was far from over.

Back at the camp, a blood elf hunter watched as her captain fought brilliantly. Her pet, a dragonhawk that had travelled with her all the way from the capital, fluttered nervously around her, ready for battle. Was she to simply watch as her captain, who had treated them all with dignity and respect, be cut down before their eyes? She bit her lip nervously.

Meanwhile, Redzone took a glancing blow to the head from his spear, dulled by the plate of his helmet, but painful still. Calling upon the light, he healed his wounds and swung his hammer with renewed strength, crushing a Yaungol’s nose with a mighty blow and receiving a spray of blood in return.

Belna, the mage who had cast the spell on him earlier, thought it appropriate to comment. “It looks like the intellect I gave him earlier helped in his spellcasting! Didn’t make him smart enough to retreat, though,” she said, chuckling nervously.

“Shut your mouth. Shut your damn mouth,” said a warrior near her. Kraethis Sunstrider was an older blood elf, his face ravaged by the scars of many battles. He stood next to the mage, weapons in hand. He gritted his teeth, knowing the elves had chosen not to fight to avoid a conflict that wasn’t theirs. But to see his captain abandoned by those same people on the battlefield… He watched closely as three more Yaungol approached the paladin, seeing him as a threat to their success.

Redzone, surrounded, called once more for the light to protect him. Great wings of light shot from his shoulders, causing the Yaungol to step back in hesitation, albeit only for a moment. With renewed vigour, he crushed the ribs of one of his attackers and slammed his shield into another, but not without taking a powerful blow to the shoulder from the third.

A priestess, still at the encampment, found her hand surrounded by light as she watched the battle unfold. It seemed to urge her to use it to heal those that fought for good. Perhaps it was trying to guilt her. She clenched her fist tightly, trying to ignore it.

More Yaungol flowed through the gate. Redzone was taking hit after hit, his marvelous armour becoming dented and scuffed from the tireless blows of his many enemies. The swings of his weapon were looking laboured and weak, and his brave stand was looking as if it was finally about to end. A swing from a mace caught him in the shoulder, sending his shield to the ground. Calling upon the light for healing once more, a wave of holy energy came down to the battlefield - but not on the wounded paladin. He had used it to heal a monk that was in a dire condition at his side.

Just as a great overhand swing from a massive Yaungol was about to crush him, he raised his empty shield hand and called a protective circle of light to shield him. Suddenly, he was impervious to their blows, but the time it would hold was running out. Picking up his shield, he readied himself for his final battle. Five Yaungol stood around him, waiting for the light to fade so they could avenge their brethren. Entirely surrounded, he clenched his jaw, tightened his grip on his weapon, and braced for a glorious end.

“For the blood elves! For Silvermoon!” Kraethis Sunstrider had leapt into the fray, swinging wildly with two massive swords at the Yaungol. Having charged suddenly into the battle, he had not had time to even put on his armour. Swords flew wildly in a whirlwind, forcing them back.

Further supporting Redzone were great bolts of shadow and frost that rained down on the surprised Yaungol force. Another of his enemies was set alight by the fire of a dragonhawk that had entered the fray before being punctured by arrow after arrow.

Redzone was relieved as suddenly the healing of another had washed over him. He looked to see a blood elf priestess beseeching the light for favour on his behalf. His wounds closed and his body found renewed energy. His soldiers had arrived in force, united. There was nothing that could stop them now.

--

The following morning, the surviving villagers brought the blood elf army a feast of yak and milk to thank them for the protection. Shadow-Pan monks swapped tales of battle and glory with blood elf warriors and mages. Still, it was not all joy in victory. Sinvar, the warlock, had fallen to a Yaungol spear. They had lost one of their own in a battle that was not theirs.

One of the Shadow-Pan sat by Redzone, offering him a massive mug of ale. The paladin took it with thanks. “Why did you enter the battle without the support of your warriors?” the monk asked him. “It was brave, but…” The pandaren chuckled. “We thought it was foolish.”

Redzone sighed, weary from the fight and the loss of one of his own. “The name of our people, the ‘blood elves’. It comes from our losses at our home in Quel’Thalas. When Arthas came, he devastated our home. Slaughtered countless elves. We are so named by our history and our tragedy, a means to remember the trials we have endured. I couldn’t cause the death of another of our already depleted people by forcing them to fight in a battle they did not believe was theirs. Sinvar… he died a hero, not a conscript. He chose his path.”

“Ahh,” the monk said, nodding and taking a massive swig of ale. “So you had to remind them of the honour of a good deed.”

Redzone didn’t argue against it. “The blood elves must learn that we can choose our destiny. But we must choose the right one. The righteous one.”

The Shadow-Pan monk smiled and nodded in recognition. “And you led by example. Something to admire. Could even be a Shadow Pan,” he said with a bump to the paladin's shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling back. Looking beyond the pandaren’s wide form, he saw Veli, her arm wrapped in bandages, flipping a dagger that had clearly seen use the previous day. She gave him a nod.