The Argent Tourney grounds were a sight to behold. Colorful tents stood in every direction while heroes of the Horde and the Alliance joined in mock battles to test their might and skill in mounted combat. In the middle of it all, the arena was being constructed, though it was still just bare wood and foundations. And near one of the food vendors, Xanthelei, Hunter of the Hand, was strolling down the lane and enjoying the short reprieve from war.
He’d tried the mounted battles, but found them unenjoyable. With a quip about shooting things in the face, he’d waved off his guild mates’ attempts to get him back in the saddle and simply watched as they won match after match, eventually becoming Champions for their respective cities. And this was just fine for him.
But today, the usually cheerful atmosphere wouldn’t last. Just before Xanth could hand over coin for his spiced mead, the warning horns sounded at the southern edge of the camp. He was there in moments.
“What is it?” Xanth called as his gryphon Steelfeather touched down next to the Argent guards. One of them pointed to a dark mass up the hill.
“Scourge,” the High Elf replied, almost spitting the word. “They’re coming for us, but there’s also a Blood Elf squire out there. We need someone to find him before the Scourge and bring him back, while we fend off the assault here.” Xanth glanced around as his guild mates landed nearby and nodded. “We can do it. Just keep the Tourney safe.” He explained the situation as they climbed, and together they began searching the oncoming stampede for the boy. As luck would have it, Tyran, the guild’s best Paladin tank, found the boy first, and cleared the ground with a Consecration. Scourge crumbled as the others landed to begin the fight. Yvonne the Priest and Dorkan the Death Knight began throwing spells and steel as Xanth dove to meet them.
“Xanthelei, these are close quarters for you. Take the boy back to the grounds for treatment,” ordered Tyran between swings. Xanth nodded and scooped the frightened boy up, making small soothing noises at him. Even knowing this child would someday grow into another of his enemies, he urged Steelfeather to fly as fast as possible, over the jagged peaks rather than around them – anything to save a few precious seconds that could mean life or death for the boy. He flew past the Scourge lines, over the heads of the defending Argent Crusade peacekeepers and various champions who’d joined the fight, and directly into the Horde tent, dismounting as the guards rushed him. He held out the battered child to be taken for healing, then led his gryphon back out the door.
Before the two could take off again, a retainer for one of the Horde champions rushed out of the tent, grunting at him in Orcish. Realizing the Draenei couldn’t understand any of it, he uttered an obvious swear word and nearly jerked an Argent Crusader off her feet as she ran past. Xanth hesitated, wondering what this could be about, and watched as the anger melted from the Crusader’s face, settling into wide-eyed fear.
Xanth frowned. “What is the matter, ma’am? I don’t have much time,” he questioned, and she turned to face him. “He says there is a civilian out there, in the Scourge, alone. He-” She paused as the Orc grunted at her again, then nodded. “He said the mother of the boy you just rescued is out there still. He wants to ask you to find her and bring her here.” Xanth sighed inwardly, but just nodded and tapped Steelfeather’s shoulder, sending them into the skies. “First I save someone who will grow up to swing a blade at me, and now I’m off to save the boy’s mother, who is likely to have already done so. I’m going soft, Steel.” Steelfeather just cooed and flew on. “Let’s pick up Alvar. I’m sure we’ll be fighting more Scourge.”
It was a short detour to the Alliance tent, and in moments they were airborne again, with Alvar perched precariously behind Xanth on the saddle. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best that could be done with so little time. After a few minutes of circling the Scourge staging grounds, Xanth was about ready to give up the search when he noticed a small rocky outcropping near the western edge of the grounds. He nudged his mount toward it and, sure as the Exodar will never fly again, he saw her, Smiting any Scourge that managed to crawl up the rock.
They decended with a yell, Xanthelei and his ghostly feline, and began hacking through the scourge to the base of the rock. He shouted an order to Steelfeather to let the lady mount, and the gryphon grudgingly landed on the rock, just out of Scourge reach. The Blood Elf watched Xanth hack through undead with a dazed look, finally coming to her senses when he yelled at her to “get on the damned bird and get out of here!” She did so, and watched her rescuers fade into the distance as Steelfeather delivered her to safety.
It was an hour before Tyron, Yvonne and Dorkan found their friend in a small sea of dead Scourge. Alvar had succumbed to his wounds long before Xanthelei, and was no more. The Hunter himself was barely clinging to life, covered in open wounds and shattered chainmail. Yvonne and Tyran tried to revive him without success. “He needs a real healer,” murmured Yvonne, and they flew him and Alvar back to the Tourney grounds. But even with the best healers of the Argent Crusade praying and casting over his broken body, the undeath of the Scourge was slowly winning the battle. He was declared “truly dead” and burial pyres were ordered for him and his companion.
“No! I won’t have it!” Dorkan rushed to his friend’s side and opened a dark gate. The Death Knight glared around him as priests of the Light gaped in shock at him. “If’n ye can’t save ‘im, then I know some’un who can – and will!” The Death Gate swallowed both Draenei and Dwarf before fading away.
Not long after, Xanthelei woke with a splitting headache in a grey and decidedly warmer place than he expected. The only thing he recognized, in fact, was the red beard of his friend as he hovered like a mother hen. “I can almost hear you clucking, Dorkan,” Xanth chuckled weakly. The Dwarf chuckled back and helped him to sit up. “Where are we, though? I don’t recognize this place…”
“Aye, I wouldn’t ‘xpect ya to lad. This be Archon, where ye life were saved from the grasp of the damnable Coward-Prince.” Xanth shook his head to clear it and frowned at his friend. “What do you mean?”
“Ye don’t feel it? Th’ powar? Ye be a Death Knight now, lad. T’was the only way to save ye,” Dorkan replied matter-of-factly.
“…Shit.”
