Land of the Shattered

The hawkstrider collapsed under him in a heap as if its legs were but twigs, sending the blood elf hurdling into the dark purple earth face first. He lay on the ground for some time, dazed as he took shallow breaths, glancing over at his mount. The bird's eyes fluttered several times, and it weakly chirped at him before the black orbs shut one last time, the feeble legs lying still at least.

Sulgaranosh felt tempted to join the hawkstrider, to simply give up and let the inevitable embrace of the end take him now. How fitting it was, he thought, for his passing to occur in a land that had been all but drained of its life energies. The very soil of the place tore away from itself, causing entire peninsulas to frequently shear off and fall into the infinite depths of the twisting nether. All that continued to live naturally in this land were the most radical and adaptive creatures. Things of both nightmare, and yet almost an odd kind of beauty-the respect that something had actually managed to live in this wasteland.

He pushed himself to his feet, mustering the little physical strength he could control. Without another thought for his passed companion, he began to continue his journey west. As his pace evened out, and he began to manage the stubborn limp that had occurred from his fall, his recent memories began to flood his mind.

Kael'thas... The man that had given Sulgaranosh hope during the most dire of times. Perhaps not his true birth father, but he was every bit what the elf expected one to properly be. He lead by example, always showing the most respect for his own kin while at the same time displaying the wit, know how, and pride of his people. Kael'thas, whom led his people out of the dark age, to become the valiant, stalwart people of-

Blood elves. That was what they were called now. In the name of their fallen kin; their family and friends. It was to be a title of honor and respect to the people who had lost so much, but continued forward...

But he could bear it no longer. Sulgaranosh had come to Outland-the ancient continent of Draenor-to follow his prince and serve his kingdom-his people-proudly. But tales of the exotic lands far away quickly ceased to be reality in the priest's mind. Outland instead turned into a nightmare, a place of false promises to a shattered people and a vacuum that would in time destroy itself and most likely Azeroth in the process.

The elf began to pant, his legs burning intensely and his feet feeling as if they had been standing upon coals for days. He half sat, half fell against a rock, laying beneath its eerie, dark violet shade. For a cycle still yet understood, portions of Draenor would be completely devoid of any natural sunlight. Instead, it would be enveloped in the bright yellow glow of a nearby galaxy, shaped like that of a raindrop. But in the cursed lands of Netherstorm, the raindrop's light failed to pierce the dark clouds that enveloped it, only giving off the dimmest of candlelight to the region.


That is what this place is...a burned out candle, long gone cold and dark...

After weeks of trekking across Outland, Sulgaranosh had come upon the awe-inspiring fortress of Tempest Keep. Each of the four ships the most secure of holds in their own, the main one, the Eye was the one that moved the blood elf the most. He recalled being brought there by servants of Kael'thas for the first time, his jaw very well hanging loose for the entire flight there. But Sulgaranosh was even more struck by seeing his prince, the man hard at work with his advisers, planning out construction of new manaforges and drawing up new maps-literally recreating Draenor in his powerful and Quel'thalassian view.

But the dream did not last.

The priest looked high into the sky and thought he saw an angel dropping down to take him finally, to pull his soul out from his wasted body. He was complacent enough. He had lived his part to its fullest. He was...done.

But that was as much a dream as the towering manaforges were. The angel began to take form as it neared him, and Sulgaranosh quickly realized it was not one, but three winged figures nearing him. And they were not servants of the nether, but rather, blood elves such as himself. Servants of-

He blinked his eyes open wide, realizing just what had come upon him. He stumbled to pull himself up-to make haste away from them-but he only fell yet again, a hot flash of pain shooting up his leg. He fell just in time, as a silver and red pike split the rock next to him almost in half, a piece crashing to the ground next to him.

Above him stood an armored Sin'dorei, the signet of Quel'thalas a shining, bright gold on his chest. His eyes were ablaze with dark green energy, his fury evident on his face as well.

"Traitor! You seek to betray your people and bring about our downfall! Should you not serve your kin in life, do so in death as an example to the rest!" The man screamed fanatically, his voice dripping with both radicalism and insanity. He raised a shortsword high into the air before bringing it down towards the priest in a sweeping motion, seeking the vulnerable flesh of his neck.

Sulgaranosh winced, but heard not the parting of flesh and bone, but rather, another scream rising out from his would-be killer. The three figures moved quickly, steel and arrow moving wildly around him, the sound of battle enveloping his senses completely. And then just as suddenly the sound of footprints-no, clawprints approaching him filled his ears.

"Thisssss one....braaaaaach!...will explaiiin, he will!"

The priest felt the vice-like grip of sharp talons on his arms and legs, and then all became black to his view, his final gaze that of the barely visible raindrop high in the sky.