A warrior in Azeroth

As I watched the enormous blue dragon carcass lying defeated at my feet but still ripling with magic, my thoughts started drifting away. Why was I doing this? I had earned various names under the common people. Bounty hunter. Adventurer. Hero. Why did I continue this enless fight to rid Azeroth of its villains? Why was I doing this?

Looking around to my comrades, I swiftly encountered their answers to my question. Some fifty yards away I saw my lifelong friend and priest Ji'ral sitting in a circle with other priests from various races, and two elven paladins. They were praying to the Holy Light together. It was their healing that had kept me alive during combat. Their prayers did not only repair any physical damage, they also mended my spirit that was devastated by the near-mortal blows and the raw arcane energies slashing through me like razors. The goal of these wise men and women was clear. They preserved the world of Evil, in name of the Holy Light. They were Good incorporated.

A few yards further I saw a shamanistic Troll and Orc meditating together. Two of my kind, Tauren druids with their natural shapeshifting powers, let their minds flow away on the recitating words of the shamanistic ritual. Their heals lacked the spirit fortifying quality of prayers, but instead connected me to Nature. They made me feel as strong as an ancient deep-rooted tree, able to withstand the most furious storm. During the battle they had also unleashed the wrath of nature on our enemy. I knew why they were with me. Nature had called, and they had answered.

Next, my eyes caught two young Orcs, a hunter and a shaman. They were searching the terrain, looking for the totems and arrows they had lost while fighting our fierce opponent. It was crystal clear why they had been there. They didn't have a clue.

I picked up my sword and reached for a grinding stone in my backpack. I had cleaned my sword right after battle, unsure of the effects of cutting deep into a powerful dragon's flesh. I saw that it was severely damaged and focused my mind on the blade. During this trance state caused by the concentration, the memories of years ago invaded my conciousness.

I rode home on my grey kodo, with a red sun sinking into the sea behind me. I had been to Ratchet to put our savings in the bank, and was eager to see my family again. When I saw the destroyed tents and bloodstains on the ground, something inside me died. Long ago, I had been singled out by our tribe as a Warrior to protect our village, our society, our world. And I had failed.

I watched around again, wondering what purpose the others had for being here. Near Malygos, some sorcerers where discussing the impact of his downfall would have on Azeroth. I saw a Blood elf hunter, patting his bear, listening to an undead mage trying to convince his troll colleague that the Kirin Tor would have to do something in order to restrict the use of magic. An Orc whom I had seen using some far darker spells than the usual firebolts strongly disagreed. Magic is a basic right of everyone capable of wielding it, was his opinion. A paladin with an impressive mace, adorned with golden figures, nodded. These magic wielders had come here because they had been ordered to by their masters, or because they had sought to retain their powers that were gradually taken away by Malygos.

My eyes then fell upon a bunch of persons searching the body of the fallen dragon. And Orc wielding two huge axes was talking to a thin Blood Elf who was examining some magical artifact with his slim fingers. A Tauren and a Troll in shimmering black armor, so-called Death Knights, were cutting off tokens to prove their slaying of the Spellweaver, while an Undead warlock was sliding his fleshless fingers over a robe, looking for hidden powers. I saw an Undead rogue moving around silently, checking the ground for spoils of war. These more shady persons also had a very clear intent. They had come to strip Malygos of his worldly possessions, ready to sell to the highest bidder or take what they could use. They would turn to the authorities of this world and ask for recompensation. They were out for profit.

And I? I was looking for redemption, but I knew that I would never find it. With every blow I suffered at the hands of the enemy, I paid for my errors. With every evil I crushed in this world, their deaths were avenged. But I would never be redeemed. I would always remain a warrior.

I sheathed my sword, swung my shield on my back and yelled at my brothers in arms: "Time to get moving, guys! Open that portal to Dalaran!"