World of Warcraft: Fan Fiction

The home of some open Fan Fiction of my own as well as links and reviews on other Fan Fiction from around the World of Warcraft.

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Lights Breach

His green eyes watched tentatively as the heather that grew up through the cracks withered and decayed within seconds of being encircled by the haze, nothing could survive the plague not even the hardiest of men could confront the silent murderer. Lancar pulled on his father’s arm, “come father we must hurry. Please father!” Kastra was already several meters away from Lucas by now her only focus was to flee with her son who clung to her for dear life, Valeran was far from oblivious to his surroundings even for a boy his age he knew that something was amiss. Villagers were dashing helplessly for the main gate many had fallen and were being trampled by those that were still carrying themselves on both feet, Kastra clung to Valeran as she darted in between the maddened people of Durnholde her slender body was easily suited to sliding in between dithering folk. As the crowd thickened her pace slowed, she could here shouting from up ahead, “move to one side or be struck down, flee for your lives!” The voice was unfamiliar but was laced with confidence, no not confidence – arrogance. Instantly she assumed that the voices were of the egotistical Imperial Guard from the city of Stromguard, they had been becoming frequent visitors of the villages and towns recently attempting to prove their worth to the other forces of the Alliance, yet she could still see nothing but the desperate people in front of her.

“To one side I say!” Shouted a middle aged bearded man who stood beneath the main gate, “I shall not tell you again peasants. To one SIDE!” His rage and impatience took the better of him. His gloved hand rose swiftly, crackling with energy, before his conscious mind could comprehend what he was doing the air around him lost every bit of warmth from it, the air itself moved towards the oncoming mob of fleeing villagers with a force comparable only to gods. The unsuspecting villagers who were attempting to escape with their lives were hurled backwards, some fell and were pushed into the oncoming legs of those behind and others were launched into the air several meters from the ground. The force was so great that many were not even aware of what were happening let alone still conscious upon the time they returned to the ground and were able to place themselves in the realm of living.

A silence followed the mage’s actions; his comrades simply stood in awe of the magic’s that had been unleashed before their very eyes. Clad from head to toe in purple and gold the soldiers that lay by the mage’s side where hefty in comparison to him, clearly warriors sent to protect the man, not that it seemed he required it. As the last of the villagers stumbled and fell from the front of the gate the mage and his protectors began to walk forward toward the rabble of undead filth that were madly ripping the everything possible apart. Many town’s folk had decided to remain, scared of being caught up in the mob and trampled to death or too weak to move, they laid helplessly watching as these monsters destroyed everything they held dear, for the moment the undead seemed to be ignoring the majority of those that laid await in their homes, doorways and ditches. Those that were not engaged in battle with the mounted soldiers of Durnholde had spotted the mage and his comrades and began to make their way to see to it that they did not interfere; skeletons wielding savage blades, ghouls with fleshing handing from their bones and giests whom crawled sadistically across the floor toward them.

“I am Lord Beltane of Dalaran, high Magi of the Kirin’Tor,” the mage said boastfully to those that eagerly made their way toward him and their ultimate demise. “You and your master shall perish for the intrusion you have made on the living and the destruction you have wrought upon these lands. Mark my words that by the end of this day you shall rue the day that you crawled out of your graves!” The mage grew angry at the sound of his own words and as consequence the power within him had surged, his eyes had begun to glow a subtle blue and his body had begun to produce a blue aura. He begun to raise his hands towards the foul creatures that were now close enough to see the dried blood on their appendages, with dedication he uttered several words of power and nothing shy of missiles of lights spat from his hands towards his enemy. One by one they began to fall, body parts flying off in all directions, bodies collapsing to the, floor yet more came, trampling over their dead comrades, more came.