Orgimmar Was Burning by Ceryna
Posted: Sat Dec 26, 2015 9:46 pm
Orgrimmar was Burning
Ceryna - November 19, 2005
Orgrimmar was burning.
Ceryna stood inside the gates, staring at the fountain of flames
pouring from the roof of the Auction House, gaping at the
crumbling ruins of the bank, choking on the black, oily smoke
that covered the streets like a funereal caul. She had no memory
of how she had come to be here, or what had done this, but she
knew Orgrimmar had somehow fallen.
She moved numbly through the streets, wandering past houses that
had half collapsed, embers still smoldering in the devastation.
Every step she took kicked up clouds of ash, and shortly she was
covered in black soot, looking like a monochrome ghost in the
streets of a dead world.
She walked through the Drag, the smoke almost too thick to see
through, belching out of the Cleft of Shadow like a terrible worm
vomiting forth the end of the world. It was utterly silent, save
for her steps, the crackle of flames, and the occasional rumble
of shifting rubble. She stopped at what had once been the salvage
of company of Droffers and son, and knelt. Scooping a claw
through the ash, she plucked out a half-melted skull, jaw fused
open in a last, silent scream of agony.
Thrall’s Chamber was a crater, and Mannoroc’s armor was gone, the
tree on which it had been sitting nothing more than a blighted
cinder. Here and there Ceryna could see a twisted, gnarled
skeleton impaled on a jutting girder or one of the horns that
made the roofs of many or Orgrimmar’s homes. Thrall’s elite guard
had died.
The only building in Orgrimmar that remained undamaged was the
Skytower. Ceryna slowly climbed the ramp upward, trying not to
see the blood and fluids on the walls, and the messages in the
language of the demons that had been written there. She stepped
over corpses, corpses that had once been friends, now broken and
frozen in pain and terror. For a moment, she thought she
recognized a Forsaken girl, a slip, with no eyes, but the
familiarity faded.
At the top, she found Maledictus, nailed to one of the support
beams. She stepped toward him, and he jerked away, panicked. His
tongue flailed uselessly against his neck, leaving streaks of
ichor where it touched. His eyes were a mass of terror, and he
stared at her like a horse stared at a wolf. She backed away, her
eyes trying to fill with tears, and failing.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
She spun at the sound of the voice, almost sobbing with relief to
hear someone, anyone. The sob turned into a scream, when she saw
the massive form of Tichondrius settled on the edge of the tower.
Her knees weakened, and she collapsed to the ground, staring up
at him.
“Orgrimmar was just the beginning. Durotar was consumed in flames
in a matter of moments. The Legion rode to Thunder Bluff and
consumed it entirely, decorating Mulgore with the corpses of the
Tauren.
“Lordaeron fell the next dawn… from within. With the Horde
scattered and destroyed, the Alliance had nothing to protect
them. Yes… you have all protected them with your strength. They
fell to petty bickering, and we had them in a week.”
Ceryna sobbed, great, wracking jerks that pulled at her body like
merciless marionette’s strings, but no tears fell from her dead
eyes. “How…?”
Tichondrius laughed. “How?! How else, Ceryna?”
“We came through you.”
Ceryna sat bolt upright in her bed in Orgrimmar, clawed hands
clutching the sheet to her frail body, sucking deep breaths into
lungs that no longer needed air. There was no smoke. She peered
from the window, ignoring the stares of the other patrons. No
fires. Orgrimmar stood.
Had it all been a dream? She turned to look at Haagrym, the
hellhound that guarded her as she slept, and in its eyeless gaze,
she felt malice directed at her. She stepped back, afraid of
Haagrym for the first time, tasting the anticipation in its
being. Always before, its hate had been saved for her enemies.
Now, it seemed, its loyalty had been proven to another master.
She shivered, despite the heat in the Durotar air. No, not a
dream. A portent. A storm was coming… she had done a terrible
thing, and she feared the consequences more every day. But how to
undo it? She did not know how, not without killing, and she could
not kill him. Nor could she tell anyone, for they would cast her
out, and she could not bear to lose another family.
“Oh, Little Brother… I have doomed the world for your sake.”
Her head in her hands, Ceryna could not even summon the tears to
weep.
Ceryna - November 19, 2005
Orgrimmar was burning.
Ceryna stood inside the gates, staring at the fountain of flames
pouring from the roof of the Auction House, gaping at the
crumbling ruins of the bank, choking on the black, oily smoke
that covered the streets like a funereal caul. She had no memory
of how she had come to be here, or what had done this, but she
knew Orgrimmar had somehow fallen.
She moved numbly through the streets, wandering past houses that
had half collapsed, embers still smoldering in the devastation.
Every step she took kicked up clouds of ash, and shortly she was
covered in black soot, looking like a monochrome ghost in the
streets of a dead world.
She walked through the Drag, the smoke almost too thick to see
through, belching out of the Cleft of Shadow like a terrible worm
vomiting forth the end of the world. It was utterly silent, save
for her steps, the crackle of flames, and the occasional rumble
of shifting rubble. She stopped at what had once been the salvage
of company of Droffers and son, and knelt. Scooping a claw
through the ash, she plucked out a half-melted skull, jaw fused
open in a last, silent scream of agony.
Thrall’s Chamber was a crater, and Mannoroc’s armor was gone, the
tree on which it had been sitting nothing more than a blighted
cinder. Here and there Ceryna could see a twisted, gnarled
skeleton impaled on a jutting girder or one of the horns that
made the roofs of many or Orgrimmar’s homes. Thrall’s elite guard
had died.
The only building in Orgrimmar that remained undamaged was the
Skytower. Ceryna slowly climbed the ramp upward, trying not to
see the blood and fluids on the walls, and the messages in the
language of the demons that had been written there. She stepped
over corpses, corpses that had once been friends, now broken and
frozen in pain and terror. For a moment, she thought she
recognized a Forsaken girl, a slip, with no eyes, but the
familiarity faded.
At the top, she found Maledictus, nailed to one of the support
beams. She stepped toward him, and he jerked away, panicked. His
tongue flailed uselessly against his neck, leaving streaks of
ichor where it touched. His eyes were a mass of terror, and he
stared at her like a horse stared at a wolf. She backed away, her
eyes trying to fill with tears, and failing.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
She spun at the sound of the voice, almost sobbing with relief to
hear someone, anyone. The sob turned into a scream, when she saw
the massive form of Tichondrius settled on the edge of the tower.
Her knees weakened, and she collapsed to the ground, staring up
at him.
“Orgrimmar was just the beginning. Durotar was consumed in flames
in a matter of moments. The Legion rode to Thunder Bluff and
consumed it entirely, decorating Mulgore with the corpses of the
Tauren.
“Lordaeron fell the next dawn… from within. With the Horde
scattered and destroyed, the Alliance had nothing to protect
them. Yes… you have all protected them with your strength. They
fell to petty bickering, and we had them in a week.”
Ceryna sobbed, great, wracking jerks that pulled at her body like
merciless marionette’s strings, but no tears fell from her dead
eyes. “How…?”
Tichondrius laughed. “How?! How else, Ceryna?”
“We came through you.”
Ceryna sat bolt upright in her bed in Orgrimmar, clawed hands
clutching the sheet to her frail body, sucking deep breaths into
lungs that no longer needed air. There was no smoke. She peered
from the window, ignoring the stares of the other patrons. No
fires. Orgrimmar stood.
Had it all been a dream? She turned to look at Haagrym, the
hellhound that guarded her as she slept, and in its eyeless gaze,
she felt malice directed at her. She stepped back, afraid of
Haagrym for the first time, tasting the anticipation in its
being. Always before, its hate had been saved for her enemies.
Now, it seemed, its loyalty had been proven to another master.
She shivered, despite the heat in the Durotar air. No, not a
dream. A portent. A storm was coming… she had done a terrible
thing, and she feared the consequences more every day. But how to
undo it? She did not know how, not without killing, and she could
not kill him. Nor could she tell anyone, for they would cast her
out, and she could not bear to lose another family.
“Oh, Little Brother… I have doomed the world for your sake.”
Her head in her hands, Ceryna could not even summon the tears to
weep.