Fall of Quel'thalas

Agony.

All encompassing, all consuming anguish.

She thought at first that she'd fallen unconscious – so brief was the warm respite.

The tender kiss of death had been stolen away.

The Ranger-General showed up to the city's gates eventually.

It simply wasn't in the expected manner.

The stench was over-powering, as the first monstrosities lumbered into sight. Fleshy mockeries of the living shambled, shoulder-to-shoulder...the foremost of the gruesome army being freshly slain elves, along with a handful of...spirits.

One of whom was quickly introduced by the white-haired Arthas as the “former” Ranger-General. 

It seemed an age since she had last set foot in her former home.

At that, it had been quite some time...

The last time she'd seen these glittering walls, she'd been suffering from the curse of mortality.

It isn't fair.

They don't deserve this.

None of them.

I lit votive after votive in the tiny chapel that sat flanked by tall, pruned trees. At each flicker of a new flame's life, I saw the face of another friend...another Sin'dorei.

((I know this is really, really random, but I couldn't think of anything else to post. So here's Calynnia's story... Or at least a piece of it...))

Seven years past...

The little elf girl heard everyone screaming as she wandered out of the house. She couldn't find nanny, fake mommy or fake daddy.

"Nanny? Mommy? Uncle? Where you?" the little elf asked as wandered into the crowded, panicked streets. The little elf looked around, seeing the fear in the eyes of her people and wondered why they were frightened. Adults were never scared, or at least, they shouldn't. Yet, their eyes were clouded with it.

Night had fallen after Zsera’s visit. Their discussion of his dream was still fresh in his mind although nothing was fresher than the dream itself. He sat down within the small hut overlooking the Valley of Strength. It was not a home that most Sindorei would have been caught dead living in for it was Spartan in appearance; there was a bed, a table with chairs, a desk in front of a window. A few mementos sat upon wooden shelves; displayed tabards, honors, worn leather tomes, and a few weapons of sentimental value. There was no lavish furniture, treasures of gold, or displays of magic such as floating shelves or self sweeping brooms; instead of a hawkstrider outside there was a proud Frostwolf howler awarded to him for distinguished service to the Frostwolf Clan.