Bess Blackhoof

Siege

The Azarite War Machine swept across the field, destroying the siege towers as Anduin Wrynn, boy-king of the Alliance, in his glistening armor lead the march from atop his grand warhorse with that wolf ever at his side.

“Prepare the blight! Let it rain down upon their armies!” Sylvanas Windrunner ordered from her place on the wall.

“There must be another way, Warchief,” Saurfang objected.

The Dark Lady turned away. “This is no time for sentiment, High Overlord. War demands that we take a more direct approach.”

Bess could not believe her ears. Their own forces were down there! This was madness! She looked to Saurfang with questioning eyes, and the old orc turned to the druid. “I don't care what you have to do, get as many as you can out of there.”

Bess bowed her head and placed a clenched fist against her chest. “Consider it done.” She leaped from the wall, snatching only a gas mask from a nearby Goblin, and charged into the green fog. The blight clouded her eyes as she hastily strapped on the mask. Probably should have made sure this fits... Bess reached for the closest fallen soldier, threw him over her shoulder, and ran for the nearest patch of fresh air. She took a moment for her eyes to clear and saw a young Human, probably a fresh recruit who had never seen a real battle, and she half-sighed half-growled before running back into the mayhem, picking up as many barely alive bodies as she could and returning to the clear spot. Her giant hooves thundered across the battlefield; stag form would allow for more speed and maneuverability, but she could not carry as many victims and the mask would most definitely not protect an equine snout. She said a silent prayer to An'she and Mu'sha as she hefted another pair of fallen from the clouds of poison, glancing upwards to see a great warship looming above the field. “Ohhhhhh shit..” She unceremoniously dumped the bodies, regardless of which side they were on, and took off toward the walls of the city as a wave of ice swept the blight away quite literally on her heels. Baine's call of retreat rang in her ears as she pressed further into the city. She tore the mask from her face as she caught up with the rest of the Horde armies, wheezing out the bit of blight that got past the seal. She turned her tear-streaked eyes to the Son of Cairne. “Where... where is Saurfang?”

Baine's eyes narrowed as he turned to the Dark Lady. “Where IS Saurfang? You abandoned him to die out there!”

“It is the death he wanted,” Sylvanas replied as she took the throne of Lordaeron. “If that troubles you, you're free to join him. Or you can tend to the living.” Her glowing red eyes cast downward to the sputtering druid. “The choice is yours.”

Baine snorted and hung his head in defeat as he helped Bess to her feet before turning back to Sylvanas. “For the Horde.” The Tauren made their way to the waiting airship while Anduin demanded Sylvanas' surrender. Not long after, the city was flooded with blight and the Banshee Queen appeared on the airship with a smirk. Bess regarded her with a glare but kept her mouth shut and retreated to the lower deck. Saurfang was right. There is no honor in this. Perhaps there is no more Lordaeron for the Alliance to capture, but the ends do not justify the means.