Massacre

‘Remember the sun on your face.’  It had been her dying wish. The words echoed in his head as the horse carried him north. His sun had been taken from him, and now that warmth was gone, hidden somewhere behind the storm clouds of his growing rage. His ‘Ella had been stolen by a man whose name he did not know, in an act of cowardice that was supposed to break him.

“Then, when the war began, people changed.

One day across the valley, we saw houses burning and people fleeing from their homes…I was a young girl, my parents thought the church was safe, because no-one would be killed in the church.

When we arrived, I could see that the older people were very sad, and upset. Everyone was scared – But nobody knew what was going to happen...”

Negal stood alone in the room, nearly kneedeep in the corpses of orcish warriors and other warlocks.  There was a traitor, today.

Slowly making his way through the corpses, Negal moved into the hallway.  Gul'dan would be the main target of a betrayal, and as he was now, he was certainly in no condition to protect himself. 

(A Comedy in One Part) 

Hoarkin jerked awake, almost falling out of his saddle.  Esdee was snorting and acting skittish.  Not the normal reaction his ram had when entering Stormwind, but the usual reaction at battlefields.  Gripping his reins tightly, Hoarkin glanced wildly about, looking for the danger.  Then he saw the body.

And the next one.

Pretty sure Yuta hadn't planned things this way when we rode off into the woods. She'd mentioned wedding plans, cuddling, and wandering in the woods – which would probably end up with me picking leaves off my butt. One of the minor hazards of being married to a druid. Instead of heading east or west toward our usual haunts we went north, into the mountains. Guess I should have said something, but I was silent as the dread slowly rose in me.