A lone night elf walks the path from Darnassus to Winterspring day after day. To both the Alliance and the Horde, her presence is closer to legend than reality. The reports of her existence are only fleeting and obscured by the blinding snowy plains in Winterspring or the strange shadows cast by the demonic presence in Felwood. Even in once tranquil Darkshore, shadows have been playing tricks. The Horde's presence there, even when pushed out by force, still lingers in discomforting ways.
Those that have claimed to see her have all said the same. Some of the good-hearted members of the Alliance offered aid, as she appears emaciated, laboriously moving along her path fraught with exhaustion. She stands shorter than the average night elf, thin even by the naturally slim stature of her people. Supposedly, she carries something heavy with her she will not leave out of her sight, even for a moment. Whatever it might be, even those that claim to have seen her can only so much as speculate.
The rumours became stranger as weeks went by. Some have claimed to see her use druidic magic, but only fleetingly. That alone was enough to dissuade a number of smirking guards who heard adventurers claim to see her - a druid slowly walking from destination to destination when they know what variety of beasts they can embody to quicken the pace.
Over the months, the reports became increasingly rare. Those that thought they saw her for a moment themselves blamed it on a lack of rest or some trick of the light. Eventually, the lone walker was forgotten, just one of the many stories and fables of the world of Azeroth that fell away to obscurity.
However, the story was much more than myth. The walker is very real, walking her route in perpetuity, her path and purpose known only to her. This is the tale of Ariane Mossweaver, the Bearer of the Dead.
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Ariane allowed herself the privilege of a small campfire along the beaches of Darkshore. She wouldn't look south; to see the ruins of the once thriving, joyful place of Auberdine levelled by Deathwing's fury and savaged again by the Horde-supported undead forces was too much to bear. The focus for her still lay on yet another tragedy.
Across the water burned the still-glowing embers of Teldrassil, the whole island still lit in the fires which fed on the tree-city of Darnassus. No boats carry anyone across anymore. It's all but cut off, alone and isolated from the rest of the world. Her people live as refugees, scattered throughout the human kingdoms, or desperately fighting for territory in what used to be exclusively night elven land.
She placed her meal on the campfire. She felt uneasy. Even the sight of fire make her heart beat faster.
The means to reach Darnassus were much more difficult since the attack. Her only method was to confiscate the boats the refugees travelled by to flee the conflagration. Some of those boats lay scattered on the beach, and were relatively undamaged. As a druid, she could have taken the form of a sea lion, easily traversing the waters, but in her mind she had to take the form of a night elf. Her mission was one she deemed so important to her people that to take another form during its duration wouldn't give it its proper honours.
After having travelled across the water to the abandoned port of Rut'theran village, she walked towards the heart of Darnassus itself. Sometimes, she almost forgot what transpired here, and for a brief, wonderful moment she would think she was about to come upon the beautiful, stunning growth of trees and the proud city of elves that inhabited them, a people that did not conquer nature but instead lived alongside it. A world of stunning hues of green and purple, lush and quiet, a bastion of serenity and beauty.
Instead, she walked to devastation. When she blinked, she could still see the horrors. Her eyes, black now through her priestess' ritual, had the images flicker in her mind at every quiet moment. Memories would wash over her anew every time she entered Darnassus.
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"Mossweaver!" a fellow druid called. "The fires are taking the Craftsmen's Terrace! If we don't-"
A great bough of the Howling Oak finally shattered, falling upon the desperate druid, silencing her calls for aid. For a moment, Ariane envied her. It seemed almost a mercy to not have to witness this devastation further. Yet there were many more calls.
"Ariane! Ariane, quickly!" a priestess called, holding the body of a fallen night elf. Blood covered the once pristine robes that marked her as a priestess, splotches of red marring the pure white. "The Temple Gardens were struck, and the injured require aid immediately!" The priestess placed the body on the ground and started to tend to the night elf's wounds, although to the druid it was clear the efforts were far too late.
She ran off towards the Temple Gardens as instructed. As she approached and crossed the bridges that led to that section of Darnassus, she hesitated. The druid crushed by the oak called for aid in the Craftsmen's Terrace - was this the more desperate need?
In front of her lay bodies scattered by the destruction of the Horde's catapults. Just ahead a huge stone slammed into the ground before her feet, right where she would have been if she had not waited a moment to consider her options. Flames shot from the trees ahead, the gardens so quick to catch alight. A place of such peace and calm, immediately hitting a fever pitch of panic. The gentle purple hues of Darnassus were so abruptly replaced with the reds and oranges of burning pitch, the night sky's stars obscured by billowing smoke. Everything that was Darnassus felt like it disappeared, all in a matter of moments.
A weak cry for help came from beneath a burning tree. A night elf extended a hand towards her, severely burned by the flames. It woke her from her musings, and returned her to the world of panic that was all around her. Rushing to her side, she called upon the forces of nature to heal her wounded sister. Skin regrew where burns had run rampant, and new life coursed through her veins. "Thank you, sister," was all the night elf could muster before pushing herself up and fleeing for the portals.
To her right, another victim breathed his last, just out of reach of Ariane. Had she made the wrong call? Could she have saved him first, and come back for the woman after? Was that blood now on her hands for a poor decision? Further, could she have been of greater use in the Craftsmen's Terrace? How could she know?
It was a thought for another time. Soon, another victim of terrible burns recovered enough by her healing magic, but for every one she healed, two more would cry out. She saved a priestess next, hoping she could heal the others. But for every one she helped, her energy waned. The choices of who to save became more desperate. Some had to be left. She couldn't bring herself to look at them. Tears left trails through soot that covered her face. Having to choose who lived and who died was a burden almost too difficult to bear.
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Eventually, she found her energy so depleted the realm of nature could no longer answer her call. She gasped for air that was so heavy with smoke it hardly replenished her. She stumbled towards the next, but found she could do little more than comfort her in her final moments. Although it pained her greatly, she knew she could be of no more use here, not now, not in this state. She fled for the portals out of this wonderful home turned savage hellscape.
She took a final glance back to see the Temple of the Moon still standing. Where was Elune to save them?
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It was quiet in Darnassus now. A few small fires smouldered underneath the ruins, the remnants of the Horde's attack still simmering. Gone were the voices of night elves and the songs of birds. Their home became a grave.
She did not wish to remain here long. She walked until she found the first body she could find. It was so terribly charred she couldn't identify it as a male or female. Her druidic magics allowed her to wrap the body in roots, covering it in enough amber to keep it together for transportation. It was a grim business, but a necessary one. Reverently, she placed what was left of the body in a pack to carry with her. Inside, she placed a few small items, whatever she could find that had not yet burned, as reminders of what Darnassus once was.
Why did this night elf have to die here? And why was it this person and not her? If she had stayed just a moment longer, found just a little more energy...
She shook her head. Those thoughts served no purpose, even though they plagued her every waking moment.
With great effort, she lifted the body and began to walk out of the city. Behind her lay many more bodies in various states of death. She swore she would return for them, too. But today, this was what - who - she could carry. And so she started her journey back to Winterspring. A journey she had made many times before, and will make many more times ahead.
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She brought the body across the water with her. She carried it across Darkshore, through the mountain passes of Felwood, and up to Timbermaw Hold. Furbolgs that would've attempted to stop most travellers were friendly to her, having earned their friendship in what felt like a lifetime ago. They learned quickly that she had no interest in causing them harm.
Finally, at long last, she would reach Winterspring. The cold was welcome, as the strain from carrying the weight that far was always incredibly taxing. Allowing herself a moment of reprieve, she'd stare out across the grand, empty landscape, the glint of the sun off the snowy hills making it difficult to see. Fortunately, there were many places of empty, open space for what she needed. Picking a spot was not difficult.
Shifting into the form of a bear, the only moment during her journey she'd allow it, she dug into the cold earth. The sharp, powerful claws struggled against the frozen dirt, but eventually she formed enough of a hole to place the body within it. Making sure to practice each action with great respect, she took pieces of Darnassus out of the pack and placed it with the body: a few leaves that managed not to catch fire; a piece of wood from one of the buildings in the terraces; a single, flawlessly crafted arrow found near the body.
As with every burial, she paused to think of who the night elf was. What were their struggles, their successes, their hopes. Each death was a tragedy. When considering the difficulty of her undertaking, most would undoubtedly think that the effort for each individual would be too great. Ariane could not think that way, however. Each was a living soul, and each deserved at least a proper burial. Of course, with each body laid to rest, the familiar sense of pain would come. The endless "what-ifs" and "why not me" that haunt those that survive. At least through her tireless mission, she could find some form of solace.
Morphing back into her night elven form, she spoke a short prayer to Elune to guide this soul in the afterlife. It was why she brought the bodies here, all the way to Winterspring. Every night elf is familiar with wisps. They are ancient spirits, deceased night elves who remain one with nature. However, Ariane saw no means for the souls of the night elves slaughtered at Teldrassil to become wisps, as the natural world of the island was set aflame. She needed to bring the bodies to a land where they could, hopefully, find peace in nature once more. Darkshore's elements still raged from the Cataclysm, Ashenvale is still suffering from the affects of war, and Felwood is a ruined shell of what it once was. Even Moonglade was the land of the druids, not a graveyard. The closest she could think of was the endless, cold plains of Winterspring - desolate and empty, but nature nevertheless. She had hoped that the spirits of the elves would see the change from unbearable heat to cold as a pleasant one.
If it worked, she was not sure. Wisps are strange, otherworldly creatures of which many questions are left unanswered. But she had to continue trying, just for the possibility of success. So she buried the body, covering it with snow, and said one more prayer to Elune to guide this elf in the next life.
She could not fail them twice.
The work complete, she set off once more, along the long path back to Darnassus. The journey was long and arduous, but if she could help the souls that reside there, it was worth the difficulty. Such was the duty of the self-styled Bearer of the Dead.
She knelt down and removed some berries from her pack she collected in Darkshore, just enough food to continue her travels. Allowing herself a rare reprieve, she sat and looked out over the landscape. Night had fallen now, and the sun set over the icy hills, the light of the moon giving the snow an eerie glow. It was beautiful. While not the most vibrant of places, she was pleased to bring the elves here as a final resting place.
As she looked out, a single light danced in the sky in the direction from which she left. It rose higher, meandering back and forth as if lost, shifting this way and that. She blinked, and lost sight of it. She desperately hoped she had not imagined the strange light, but hoped that, just maybe, a wisp was born from the body of one of the deceased she brought here. If it was just one, she would still feel all her efforts would be worth her time. Yet there were so many more to go.
She packed her bags and carried on.