The bodies seemed to float in an ocean of blood. Ashenrock stood motionless in front of the gates that led into Thrallmar. The attack on Honor Hold had not yielded the results that they had wished for. Many lay dead or dying and the healers were doing all they could to repair the damage done. The horde was vastly outnumbered and had been pushed to the brink of defeat. If it weren’t for the sheer will of the individuals involved, all might have been lost. This area would need extensive cleansing in order to put the land to rest here.
That brought a dark, sad, chuckle to his throat.
These lands were lost to begin with. Cleansing them further would be like polishing the dirt from a clump of kodo dung. Rock wished Demonaro were with him at that moment. He would be a comforting force and a great help in the task that laid ahead.
He closed his eyes, knelt down, removed his helmet, and began to breathe deeply. He entered a mild meditative state, reflecting on the battle that had just ensued. Vivid recollections sprang to life in his mind’s eye.
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Ashenrock could not charge enemies quickly enough. By the time one of his allies had been freed from harm’s way, another two were close to their end. He roared out in vain, trying to fend off his assailants.
Suddenly he realized that he was a main target of their attacks. He felt the searing pain of swords, knives, axes, arrows, fire, ice, and every other instrument of terror tearing through his tough, ursine hide. He scrambled to retreat to the safety of the healers but as he inched closer to his solace, it seemed to drag farther away. He understood that his mind was telling him that he would not make it.
He looked into the sea of war and found a fellow Druid who was in desperate need of help. He set his sights on one of the assailants and made a mad charge at what he thought was a human rogue. When he reached the assassin he let loose with a terrible roar and swiped madly at the mob of Alliance in his way, throwing several of them aside. This freed his ally from her agony. “RUN DAMN YOU!” Rock bellowed as he turned to face the source of his torture. He was relieved to see out of the corner of his eye that his comrade had wasted no time in following his command, quickly assuming her cat from and retreating to the rear.
It was time for his last stand. It was becoming almost impossible to breathe anymore. He assumed his Tauren mold while consuming a healthstone, he then jumped high into the air and slammed into the ground, stunning anyone in a six foot radius. This bought him a sliver of opportunity to turn the tide on his attackers. He assumed his ursine form and once again bellowed a roar that made his enemy cower, if only for a moment. He the bashed the nearest warrior and then mangled a mage into the depths of oblivion.
As he turned to face the warrior again, he felt blackness closing in on him. He could no longer concentrate on his foes. A sharp pain raced up his spine and he realized that this was the end. With the last of his energy he roared into the air one last time and dropped like a deflated balloon to the ground bellow.
Gentle calmness washed over his body like a satin blanket during a chill winter’s eve. He now felt nothing but bliss. He waited for the gentle embrace of death to find him but was surprised to hear an angelic voice whisper in his ear “It is not your time, my son.” Ashenrock fell asleep muttering “Mother is that you?”.
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Rock slowly opened his eyes as he pulled himself out of his meditation. He REALLY wished his brother was with him right now. Questions needed to be answered.