After the World Tree was set aflame, she was on the front lines - she would dare say she was instrumental - in cowing the Undercity in an attempt to bring Sylvanas to heel. You’d think one would be pleased to switch plague and desolation for the rolling hills and gentle meadows of Stormsong Valley, but soldiers were not meant to languish in a quiet, calming place like this. The bumblebees and pretty butterflies were an affront to her skills as she watched over town hall meetings in backwater Kul'Tiras.
She almost didn't tend to the latest signal fire coming from a nearby town. To settle petty rivalries
between grain farmers felt so beneath her, but there was sadly little else to do. Riding on a steed provided to her by the people of Boralus, she headed towards Brennadam.
The pillar of smoke she saw billowing into the sky from just over the hills, however, told of a very different story from her expectations. Perhaps there would be some action after all. And with that action comes heroism, and with heroism, payment.
The Alliance to some is a calling. For Northeast, it’s a means. She had tried mercenary work in the past, only to find it to be dangerous, unreliable, and fraught with betrayals and backstabbing. A soldier for the Alliance, however, could reap the benefits of a powerful, wealthy regime. The armies of Stormwind were perpetually at war, and while they loved to tell their tales of heroism and virtue, she would be there for what truly drove soldiers. Not love of the king or pride in one’s faction, but personal advancement and a heavier purse. It’s not her fault that pillaging and plundering tended not to find their way into the rousing songs and calls to arms that the military wing of the Alliance so proudly sang.
Of course, what she was doing for the Alliance was still right, by the standards of the priests and paladins that would espouse their virtues on the rest of the military. After all, she was rushing to save a village that by all accounts seems to be on fire at this very moment. She would ride in, stop the fires with a wave of her staff and a blast of cold and be the hero of the day - even if she detested frost magic. The difference between her and the blessed fools of the light is that while they would raise their hands to salute, she would extend hers out for payment. Just as the farmers of Westfall didn’t till the fields out of the goodness of their hearts, she simply needed to earn her living. An act of goodness is still good, even if it comes with a benefit.
Travelling over a hill and finally coming into view of Brennadam, she discovered that perhaps that payment would have to be more than she was anticipating. The entire town was being ransacked, under heavy assault by forces of the Horde. Goblin bombs had been set off around the major buildings, spreading chaos just as surely as the flames. Orcish thugs and troll skirmishers had overwhelmed the town’s defenses, ransacking the streets and killing indiscriminately.
Fortunately for Northeast - and for Brennadam - it was a market town, a hub for trading, goods, and food. A town of wealth. A town, in her mind, worth her time to save. That, and when it's Horde troops, she could bring out the fire that burned within her soul and sought release at every waking moment.
A goblin tinkering with a bomb on the outskirts of the town was the first to feel her wrath. Absorbed in his work, clanging away with a wrench and hoping to fix his makeshift explosive device, he didn’t even notice Northeast had cast a simple spell to ignite the fuse. He was blasted to pieces by his own device.
Two female trolls witnessed the death of the goblin mechanic. Thinking they could sneak behind Northeast and get the upper hand, they flanked the mage as she walked into town, heart calm and pulse steady. However, these were no rogues. Their movements were obvious, and Northeast saw through their plan clear as the bright skies in Elwynn. Casting a barrier of pure flame around herself, it easily deflected the spears that inevitably came her way. Before they could ready a second wave, a pillar of flame engulfed the first, not even giving the troll a chance to scream, let alone run. The other, terrified at the prospect of such a grisly end, fled immediately. A ball of fire from the mage’s hands hit her square in the back. She screamed, trying in vain to pat out the flames, alive, but barely. Northeast could see there was little fight left in her after the first blast. It wouldn’t be worth casting a second and wasting her energy to put some troll out of her misery.
She wrinkled her nose. The smell of burning flesh was always an unpleasant one.
As more Horde fell in heaps of ash in her wake, the defenders of the town began to rally. Small groups of adventurers had begun to join in the fray as well. A warlock casting powerful shadow magic was aided by a draenei hunter working impressively in tandem. A gnome slipped in and out of the shadows, tinkering with the goblin explosives, defusing them before their deadly payload went off. Paladins healed the wounded and swung mighty hammers at those Horde that dared remain. It wasn’t long before the invaders had to bid a hasty retreat.
“You there! Mage!” called a man from a group of hardy Kul’Tirans, three foot soldiers and two riflemen. “The Horde stole a cache of gold from the town treasury! They’re escaping out of the western exits - we’ve got to catch them before they regroup with their forces and pilfer all what we've worked for!”
“How much have they taken?” Northeast asked.
The man, clearly the captain of the small band, raised his helmet slightly off his head to get a better look at the mage. “Does it matter? It’s the town’s treasury! These people worked for years to build that up for themselves! Come on, then!”
For Northeast, it fit the bill of a task worth completing. A good deed, and an assurance of a reasonable payment. Surely they would provide for her a hefty sum if she returned the treasury to the town. She looked at the man and nodded. “For the Alliance!” she said with the vigour of one who truly meant it.
The soldiers and the mage hurried in the direction of the stolen loot. It wasn’t far out of town before they caught up with the band of Horde thieves, slowed as they were by the weight of the treasury. They had clearly piled gold into a mining cart they found in the town, and were gradually pushing far away from the guards and danger. It was slow, methodical work, but they had made good progress - right up until they had reached a bridge with a steep incline. The two orcs that had taken the brunt of the pushing were clearly exhausted, although still being rebuked by the undead that watched over the operation. Two trolls stood as sentries as a blood elf, bow in hand and lynx at his side, scanned the landscape.
The captain urged them to duck low, just behind a hill. They watched the band, counting their soldiers and coming up with a plan of action. They outnumbered them seven to six, but the orcs were clearly at a low ebb of their physical strength. To Northeast’s amusement, the undead appeared to be a priest. A former holy woman, turned undead, and now a thief. She quietly wondered what mental leaps the monster took to reconcile stealing from a town as an act of good or justice with the light she so cherished. She thought that rightfully it belongs in the hands of the Horde, perhaps? Sylvanas has greater need of the riches, maybe? Just as she always knew; the morals of soldiers, light bound or otherwise, were malleable.
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“Mage - do you follow?”
She had realized the captain had been discussing a battle plan, and she had missed the entirety of it while musing on morality. Fortunately, time did not seem of the essence. The Horde had managed to get the cart stuck on the lip of the bridge, unable to properly lift it over.
“Loud and clear, cap’,” she said. A mage’s job was simple almost undoubtedly; stay at a distance, and set the world aflame.
“Are we ready then, boys and girls?” the captain asked. “We’ve got to take this back - for the people of Brennadam! For the Alliance!” The captain roared in fury, charging towards the Horde. The riflemen followed, planting at a distance as the two other swordsmen flanked their position and drew the attention of the defending soldiers.
The orcs immediately fled, doubling back somewhere, likely where they had left their weapons to more easily push the cart. The trolls let loose their spears, one finding the heart of a rifleman before he even had a chance to fire. In response, the last gun-wielding Kul’Tiran fired a bullet right at the head of the more accurate troll, killing him instantly.
Northeast came over the hill, finding the blood elf in her sights. His lynx was already clawing at a swordsman as he tried desperately to ward off its blows with his shield. The hunter had managed to land a few arrows in the Kul’Tiran’s leg and arm as the beast worked with him in tandem. Unfortunately for the blood elf, he didn’t see the massive ball of fire that came straight towards his chest. Terrible screams of agony came after it struck, enough for the lynx to panic and turn towards its master. The swordsman took his chance and plunged his weapon deep into the animal’s flank in his final act of bravery as he, too, succumbed to his wounds.
As Northeast made short work of the other troll, the priest was locked in combat with the captain and the remaining swordsman and gunner. Bullets bounced harmlessly off a barrier surrounding the priest that proved impenetrable to their attacks, as the undead assaulted their minds and ravaged their bodies with a mix of light and shadow. Just then, the orcs reappeared over the horizon, brandishing axes and shields and heading towards the gunner. A lucky shot found flesh and felled one of the orcs before the other charged in and hacked into the Kul’Tiran.
As the priest sent another wave of shadow energy into the mind of the captain, causing him to fall over and howl in pain, clutching at his skull, the battlefield suddenly felt very empty. The blood elf was a charred heap, its pet lynx leaving a trail of blood as it went to die by its master’s side. The Kul’Tiran riflemen had both left this world, one with a spear through his chest and the other hacked apart by orcish axes. An orc and a troll lied motionless with bullets in their heads. The captain looked to be breathing his last in an undoubtedly painful way to be sent to the afterlife.
Northeast sent another ball of fire out towards the priest. This one shattered the shield, the remaining blast setting her robes alight. As she tried to bring up another barrier, the last remaining swordsman thrust, his blade piercing the rotting flesh of the undead’s stomach. It sent the priest to her second death. The attack on the undead left the Kul’Tiran open for assault from the remaining orc, however. An axe dug into his shoulder, and the man fell in a heap.
The orc charged the mage, the final two combatants in what turned out to be a brutal and bloody battle. Sending out a wave of frost magic, the orc’s feet became frozen in ice that had suddenly cut across the field, sweeping out from the mage. As her hands were brimming with fire, she had a moment to look the orc in the eyes. He must have known, then, what was to happen to him. His fate was being delivered to him in the form of a ball of flame. He did not beg, nor weep, nor protest; just stared, defiant until the end. What drove a being to such heights of loyalty and courage? What compelled someone to stand up to death, look it in the eyes, and meet it without trepidation? Perhaps she was wrong when she had thought about the plight of the soldier. This one was stealing gold, yes - but it wasn’t the gold that brought him back to the fight when he just as easily could have run. It was duty. Honour. Courage. That’s what brought his return.
And just the same, it was those admirable traits that set the events in motion to have him now staring eye to eye with a mage as she sent the fireball that would obliterate him. This one did not die instantly, yet he did not scream as the flames overwhelmed him. In the moment before his death, he raised his axe one last time. Honourable, irrelevant futility.
It was quiet after the last orc fell. Not even birdsong broke the silence as the animal life had fled at the start of the battle. Only the crackling of the remaining fires, caused by her own hand, made it any louder than a tomb. All alone, she walked to the cause of the fight in the first place; a mine cart full of gold and gems. The deposited wealth of a whole town.
It was more than she had ever laid eyes on in one place, truly. She’d have to return to the village just to get citizens to cart it back for her. And then what? What would they do with it? Save it further, placing it at the bottom of a treasury for it to serve no purpose other than to gloat to the other towns that lacked the same success? Perhaps some of those citizens, hauling back the gold, would have sticky fingers as well. It would hardly even go to the right places! What justice was there in that?
She considered just how much she could do with that gold. The enchantments on her robes and staff… lavish rings and necklaces of power… a swifter steed, to arrive at tragedies like the village before they got out of hand, and allowing her to be better suited to defend them? Perhaps if her abilities were better augmented she would've saved the lives of the unfortunate souls that gave their all for Brennadam. Would it not be better suited to be in her possession? Had she not earned it anyway? If it wasn’t for her, the village would have fallen completely. It was not only the best option to take the gold for herself, but the righteous and just thing to do.
She looked over at the still smoldering corpse of the undead priest. Such a perversion of her followings, using what was meant for good and turning it to evil. With this gold, she could fight against such dishonest actors. Northeast simply needed the means to do it, and that means lay in a cart right before her feet.
She sighed deeply and made her choice.
Using what remained of her reserves of power, she called forth a meteor to strike the earth just before her. Dirt and debris shot into the air, and a small crater was made from the destruction. Carrying handfuls of the gold to the crater, she placed them deep into the earth. When she had carried the whole of the treasury over, she covered it with the dirt it had churned up. Now, there was one final matter. She set the bridge aflame. As it collapsed, the mine cart went with it, tumbling into the river below. Any proof of her actions went with it.
---
She returned to Brennadam, looking weary and battered. Soldiers and civilians came to her, asking what had transpired. Finding a small gathering of people around her, she told her tale.
“We came upon a group of Horde fleeing the city. Bravely, we charged into the fray, hoping to slow their retreat. The Kul’Tirans that fought that day…” she looked to the sky, closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m afraid they’ll not return.” A wail came from the crowd, a grieving widow. “They fought bravely. They fought for this village. They are to be honoured for their sacrifice.”
“And what of the Horde? What of the gold?” came a voice, shouted down for the callousness of asking a question of money after such a traumatic event.
“They crossed the river just as we arrived. They managed to bring our treasury beyond the bridge as we battled, causing many Horde casualties. Unfortunately, they burned the bridge behind them as they passed. We were unable to apprehend them, although I can promise you we slaughtered all those that covered the retreat. I’m sorry... I failed you.” Northeast hung her head, causing a few of the citizens to give her pats on the back, thanks, and well wishes.
A member of the guard stepped forward. “You did what you could, defending this place. For that, you have our thanks.”
Northeast nodded solemnly. “I appreciate that. But for now, I wish to return to the battlefield. I’d like to pay my respects. If I may, could I borrow some sacks used for storing grain? If there are any mementos of the fallen, I would like to collect and return them.”
“Of course, anything!” replied the guardsman, asking another to come back with the bags.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be on my way, then. I wish I could have done more for this… injustice. But this world is not always full of good people.”