Melisande ran.
Knowing it was too late, all too aware of her exhaustion and the pain of a dozen minor wounds she ran.
She ran as she had for two days, since she had heard the rumours of Arthas' march on her homeland. From far to the south, through country already becoming known as the Plaguelands. The Ranger had slipped past those of the Scourge that she could, her bow and blades buying her passage where subtlety could not.
Now, as she crossed the borders of Quel'Thalas, Melisande knew she it had not been enough. Before her lay a blackened strip of earth, teeming with the risen dead, and she knew that the forces of Arthas must be nearly to her home.
Weeping for the corruption already becoming evident in her beloved forests she ran, skirting wide of the scar and its denizens. Hoping against hope she could yet reach Sivermoon in time, to aid in the defense of her homeland. Failing that, to die beside them.
Abruptly, a terrible sense of loss and grief tore through her, darkening her vision and sending her stumbling headlong into the underbrush.
"Melifayne" she screamed involuntarily. Knowing, without knowing how she knew, that her beloved twin, her other self, was dead.
Forcing herself to her feet, numbed by echaustion and grief, Melisande was not surprised that her scream had attracted attention. Shambling through the trees came three men in the uniforms of the Farstriders, though the rents in their uniforms and glazed expressions warned her that these were not here to offer their assistance.
With the ease of long practice, the Ranger strung her bow, and in a single smooth motion fitted an arrow and drew it to her cheek. Holding the bow drawn for a moment, she took careful aim at the closest, then loosed, another arrow nocked and drawn even as the first exploded into the Ghouls forehead, felling it instantly.
Calling on her heritage and training, the second arrow ignited with Arcane energies as she fired and tore through the Scourge soldiers ribcage just as the last reached her position.
Dropping her bow, Melisande drew her longsword and dagger. Just barely managing to dodge its powerful fist her sword dipped as she slipped to one side, neatly slicing the tendon in the monsters ankle and slowing it down. Enraged, it spun on its uninjured leg and launched a backhanded blow at the agile elf. Her dagger impaled its wrist at the same moment her longer blade slashed across, freeing its head from its body.
Tearing her dagger free she spat on the headless corpse at her feet; "For Melifayne" she whispered, and turned her gaze northward once more.
"You will do as you are ordered Melisande." Lor''themar Theron spoke coldly. "I am Acting Ranger-General and you are a Ranger. His Highness has requested that a scout be sent to ascertain the extent of Scourge activity to the South. You are the most qualified and least exhausted of the surviving Rangers, therefore you will go." His irritated expression softened slightly, "I am not insensitive to your loss, but do not make the mistake of believing you are the only one to have suffered. I will expect your report within the week, I trust I have made myself clear? Dismissed."
"Sir." Melisande gave a half hearted salute and stalked from the building, seething inwardly. Moving swiftly, she scarcely even noticed the shocked and bewildered survivors huddling in the ruins of Silvermoon, so disgusted was she by their apathy. Her fury her only companion, she started south at a steady ground eating pace.
Two days later found the Ranger in the mountains south of Tranquilien. The increasing numbers and strength of the Scourge soldiers had led her to this place, apparently the source of the infection that plagued he home. In the valley below, scores of undead swarmed over twisted structures. A strange city of blackened ziggurats and corrupt temples taking shape under the eyes of Spider like beings unfamiliar to her.
"Well", she muttered, "Lor'Themar will certainly wish to know about this." Rising from her crouch Melisande stiffened at the sound of rocks shifting behind her. "Oh damn." the Ranger cursed, whirling about, her bow at the ready.
Shambling towards her was a Scourge patrol, three rotting zombies closing with surprising speed, a strange ghostly being with them, and a skeletal figure who began intoning the words to a spell even as she dropped a trap at her feet.
As swift as thought Melisande drew an arrow and launched it at the skeleton, striking it in its bony jaw and spoiling its spell. Throwing herself into a roll she desperately sought to put distance between herself and the zombies, knowing that without room to use her bow she would be in serious trouble. Springing to the top of a rock with the agility characteristic of the Elven race, she spun to face her pursuers, launching another arrow at the sorcerer that kindled with Arcane energy as it streaked to its target, blasting a blackened hole in its skull and ending its spellcasting for good.
With an icy crackle, the first of the zombies set off her trap, a rime of frost expanding out and slowing their progress as they sought to maintain their balance on the suddenly frosty ground. Drawing three arrows from her quiver, Melisande silently thanked her sister who had taught her this shot, she drew and loosed in one easy motion, the three arrows unneringly sinking into the chests of the zombies, killing two. The third she finished off with a quick shot to the head even as she scanned about for the ghostly figure she had seen when she first noticed the patrol.
Without warning the Ranger was grabbed from behind in an ice cold grasp, an eerie wail stealing her strength. Desperately wrenching herself free she turned to face this newest attacker, falling to her knees in shock and horror as she saw the tormented features of the apparition.
"Melifayne?..." she gasped, tears of pain and grief running down her face, "Sister?"
The spectral figure reeled back as if struck, a dozen contrasting and conflicting emotions crossing her once beautiful face in moments, finally settling on fear.
"S-sister? Melisande? N-no, no. Mustn't, be here. H-he, sees, h-he knows" Looking around frantically, the spirit pointed to the north. "Y-you must go, m-must leave. I, I m-must obey the m-master. H-he c-commands me. Please, please s-sister. Please k-kill me"
Shrieking the phantasm launched herself at Melisande once more, pulling up short as the Rangers sword entered her ghostly breast. Faces mere inches apart, Melisande's torn by grief, Melifayne's strangely peaceful the spirit dissolved, her final words echoing in Melisande's ears.
"Th-thank you, sister"
To be continued