Doradrassil addressed other night elf Wardens stationed in the Blasted Lands, a copy of Justicar Dawnfield's war declaration in her hand on loan from Mallory.

 

"Wardens…we are called upon when the needs are most dire, when the fate of us all hinges on a single victory or defeat. No one has called upon us today because…they don't have to. We all know what's at stake. No one called upon you. But here you are anyway. We've all fought orcs in this late wartorn period, the last thirty some-odd years. But now we face a new breed…a breed that some reports suggest may be led by Grommash Hellscream, and a breed that knows nothing of us."

 

Her eyes narrowed. "They speak only the language of savagery, ignorant that we speak it too. So teach them! Show them the viciousness belied by our forms! Not so long ago, a different Grommash met us for the first time. Do any of you remember what he did?" She grinned wickedly, flashing her fangs. 

 

"He had to go get more demon blood…to work up the nerve to face us!" 

 

She raised her voice to a shout. "Show them why!"

 

The other Wardens' heads perked slightly at her shout, startled. They were accustomed to hushed whispers among each other, not a rousing battle cry. Doradrassil did not relent, but paced, patting the umbra crescent on her hip. "I'll bet on my umbra crescent over a dozen of their Iron Star cannons any day. Soon, they'll find out why.

 

"Younger Wardens like myself grew up hearing the legends, the stories. They say a single Warden can turn the tide of a war." She grew quiet, contemplative, letting this sink in. "Do you wonder why? Legends begin for a reason, of course. And legends will begin today. They will fear us, and rightly so. No, not all of us will come back alive, but they will buy each of our lives at a devastating, punishing price. Their survivors will lose sleep; check over their shoulders for us; shiver and wonder if it's the cold, or the brush of a Warden's cloak. And when sleep draws them in at last, their dreams will be marred with the blurred rush of green, silver, gold…" She grinned again. "And fangs." 

 

She unhooked her crescent and wielded it before them. "Today, a new generation learns the legend of our effect on war. They say one Warden can turn the tide." She spun the umbra crescent in her hands, drawing herself up to her full height.

 

"Show them why!"

 

And she was gone.

Author Rann
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