My legs were taking me forward now; A sort of passive training my kind recieved during the Third War. When all senses told a Spellbreaker to turn around, he charged into the fray, perhaps not even knowing if he would live. And so it was, as I was right behind Vannaren, who so bravely had drawn his weapons and begun to move, that I realized this might be the last memory I was graced with. That terrible sound through the bowels of the portal was not unrecognizable... Though we had not known precisely what it was, a terrible foreboding churned within me. I could only hope.
As he ascended the steps gracefully, mightfully, and approached the portal, Vannaren let forth a vicious burst of sickly golden light, as if to mark his passage through the Twisting Nether. He looked back a moment, and, I think, regarded us all carefully. Vannaren cared for us all, truly he did. When we forsook Prince Kael and followed Voren'thal the Seer, Vannaren came to our sides through his concern for our well-being. There were times in the most harrowing fights, when I thought I would fall, that Vannaren was the only force to keep me alive. I have the utmost respect for him.
He stepped through without trepidation. I always paused at this point, and I could see that Livingsun did as well. I felt bad at this, because Livingsun has long been regarded as the most 'soft' of all of us. Tellivira and Aanden had no trouble hurtling through in pursuit, and Fallenblood urged me in as he passed, looking fearful.
On the other side, it was a gruesome sight to behold. There was Vannaren, the stalwart defender, on his own. And not ten yards before him was a mighty Pitlord. The Pitlord was flanked on both sides by blazing infernals, who were combatting the rallying armies of the Alliance and Horde. There was a staredown. Vannaren carefully thumbed through a massive book tethered to his belt by chain, eyeing the Pitlord and thumbing his blade. He reached a favorable passage, and, slamming the book shut, a great golden light sprang about him. We all knew this to be an omen for a battle he was going to take seriously.
Fallenblood let forth a volley of arrows, almost impossible for the eye to trace. A great wing hovered where the arrows should have hit, and the Pitlord laughed, an awful sound of dark mirth and true glee. Fallenblood could not be put off, though, and began to strafe while continually firing at previously uncovered spots. Livingsun nervously chanted, his hands trembling and swirling in flickering light. He let a bolt of holy flame descend from the sky, which entirely missed it's mark and engulfed a busy-fighting infernal. He cursed and tried to steady his hands. Tellivira ran to him and began to chant as well. She had always been like an older sister to him. I appreciated this of her, as I had never felt more than a fleeting friendship with the man, never a brotherhood. He seemed comforted by her presence, and recited his spell more confidantly, this time bringing the bolt of holy fire down into the Pitlord's back, who cried out.
Tellivira was throwing balls of volatile fire towarde the pitlord. She seemed angered, and as I looked to the trail of fireballs, I saw they were bouncing off the demon's thick hide. I had no time to keep looking. Aanden and I had to join this fight. I drew my weapons, an old Sun Forged Blade and a classic Sin'Dorei shield, and allowed myself to enter the fray. Aanden had pulled out his cruel-looking lance and was right beside me. I could not stop myself from grimacing.
We weaved through some of the Orcs and those damnable corpses from Lordaeron, who were screaming in their various tongues. It was a terrible sound to me. We came to the feet of the towering demon, and to Vannaren, who was stoutly blocking the titanic swings from the Pitlord's glaive. Aanden was searching for a weakspot, stabbing wildly with his lance, and in response the gargantuan demon stomped near him, barely missing each time. I quickly stole a nearby mage's spell as it sailed through the Nether, and from my fist burst a splash of ice, which caught one of the demon's legs and held it down.
It was very fast after that. Like a raging elekk, the hulking monstrosity began to trample and thrash about, flying into a frenzy at the hold I had put on it. I believe the captivity and death of Magtheridon has given all Pitlords a reason to fear being held down. One of the beast's massive hooves came down over Aanden, who in desperation tried to jump out of the way, but... I regret to say, he was trapped beneath it. Vannaren cried out, a sound of terror and of an almost paternal need to free a trapped child. He dropped his shield and blade - a terrible mistake. As dusky golden light flickered around his fingers, growing in intesity by the second. He thrust his fingers toward the struggling Aanden, but as the light was just about to spring forth toward his fallen comrade, Vannaren was caught in a mad swing by the ominous glaive, and simply ceased to be.
I cried out, furious at seeing Vannaren and Aanden fall. Something welled up within me, and with a flash of blind furor, I drew my fist into the air. The Pitlord laughed at my defiance, a deep rumbling that shakes me to my core til this day. They say my eyes flashed such a radiant green that day, they were like small suns, for I had stolen from the nether the power of Vannaren's final spell, and from my fingers, in the shape of 'the horns,' raged a burst of such awesome radiance, it was nearly blinding. Shackles of light bound the Pitlord in place, that he could not move. I stared at my hand for a moment, breathing heavily. Vannaren had conjured the might of that spell, I had merely released it! It was an odd feeling, that I would never cast such a knee-bending spell again. I had to fight the desire for more power.
I shook my head violently, then turned with urgency toward the two back the other way. They were staring at me. I cried out in my deepest voice, hoarse with the cry of earlier, "Go!! A portal, to anywhere!!" Tellivira nodded, and as she hurredly chanted, she looked more nervous and uncomposed than Livingsun had. I quickly surveyed the scene. Fallenblood was nowhere in sight, and I could only assume he had fled. The forces of the Alliance and Horde had withdrawn, perhaps he was with them? Tellivira's portal was nearing completion now, and I made my way to her. I became fearful when I heard the deep growl of the Pitlord behind me, then a sound like crystalline chimes shattering. I cried out for the mage to hurry, and she hastily finished the portal. It looked incomplete, somehow... But there was no time to lose!
I awoke, feeling dazed on the outskirts of a small outpost in the middle of the Hellfire Peninsula. The architecture was noticably Blood Elven. I looked about me and could not find any trace of Livingsun or Tellivira. I wasn't damaged at all, save for feeling like I had hurtled through a very unstable portal, so I stood up and approached the small encampment, full of questions and unrequited fears.
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