A day in a life of an Azerothian hero
Poglavje

Let's meet the elf

Ustvarjeno: 11.7.2019

Some might say that to be a hero you need to be praised by everyone, to be famous, rich, have fans and all the love you can get. But I know for a fact that it isn't so. My life was never easy, nor will it ever be. Why? Because I chose the path I'm on, I chose the path of an Azerothian hero.
Sure, I could have married a nobleman or a rich man of any lineage. But I was never one to look where someone came from, as long as they were a decent person. Though, to be completely honest, it did bother me if they were green, undead, too short and had tusks. Call me racist, but I just couldn't find a place in my soul for orcs, goblins, trolls or the undead.
To settle down, have a family, be a lady and all that, was never on my agenda. I wanted to matter. To be with people that wanted to protect our world, our Azeroth. To shield it from the invasion of the Burning Legion and other forces that wanted to undo its peace and harmony. I wanted to be among the Azerothian heroes. One that was fighting on the Alliance side and its noble goals.

I was born to the world of Azeroth a few hundred moons ago. As a young night elf child, born to the Elune’s grace on a starry night, I was one of the many that year who came to see the Light. It was a really prosperous year for the race of the night elves. In the next few decades our population grew drastically. For night elf standards that is. Right after the end of the great war of the Ancients, there weren’t many new-borns. But the years of peace seemed to be turning that. I was graced with the name Dragoony of the Silverwing Sentinels, a name that was supposedly chosen by my father and his prophets. Silverwing Sentinels were the clan my mother belonged to. The Sentinel protected the forests of Ashenvale from the monstrous beasts called orcs and goblin mechanoids, who cut down trees after trees with no regard to the destruction of the flora and fauna. All they saw were resources for their war machines. Sadly because of constant war at the borders with land of Azshara. (Once the name of the highborn night elf queen, so beautiful and powerful that none dared to confront her. But because she was power hungry, she was twisted to the dark side and allowed the Burning Legion to enter the world of Azeroth. After her downfall, she vanished beneath the sea where now stands the Maelstrom, and became the place where Old Gods reformed the sunken highborn into creatures called the Naga. With Azshara becoming the leader of this new twisted and corrupted race.) I never really knew who my makers were. But throughout my youthful years I heard stories that my mother, along with her trusted nightsaber tiger companion Bluemoon, was a great huntress. She defeated many a horde in her days, but unfortunately the war took her away from this world right after I was born. Her nightsaber was slain brutally by one of the goblin mechanical shredders, as he was saving a pack of wild saber cubs. The big metal constructs were manned by goblin engineers. One hand had a saw blade used to quickly cut trees and logs, and the other had metallic fingers for grasping big chunks of wood or to crush stones and skulls.

Mother wanted to avenge the death of her companion and rushed to the battle field with other Sentinels at her side. Her arrows flew true and pierced many wicked hearts. The battle was going on for almost a week. But one fatal afternoon my mother was outnumbered and struck down with a battle axe. Her elegant long blue hair waved in the wind as she fell to the ground. Her face covered in her own and the enemy’s blood, a mixture of thick black and crimson. The Light in her eyes was fading with every passing moment and her purple skin shade was turning pale white. Her spirit left the field on that murky afternoon and returned to the ancient halls of the ancestors. Fortune was on the side of the night elves this time around and the wounded and tired warriors returned to Sentinel’s quarters for a long deserved rest and healing. Local priestesses and druids hurried about to heal whoever they could. They even tried to resurrect the fallen, but to no avail for most bodies were too damaged and spirits already gone.
My father was supposed to be a druid, but not many remember him. For most children in the night elf community it was hard to know their fathers. Most of night elves in the city of Darnassus, the great city on the world tree Teldrassil, were female. Male night elves were usually on druidic journeys in the emerald dream, magi in the quarters of magic capitol of Dalaran or tended to other political matters. Females were the ruling and driving force of the race. They were wardens, sentinels, priests in the temples of Elune, caretakers and any other job you could think of. Even our gracious leader Tyrande is the high priestess of Elune.

After the death of my mother, Silverwing Sentinels were left with an infant. They rarely got new-borns to take care of, as they were too busy protecting their borders, so they sent me to a small secluded and well protected village on the great tree of Teldrassil called Shadowglen. Which was where most of young night elves were, at some point in their lives, sent to study. They were mostly sent there as children, since it was rumoured that the village awakened hidden skills and potential in them.