The Wrath Gate: Dragons
"Death to the scourge! And Death to the living!” screamed the banshee queen, resplendent in her high elven armor. The poison tipped arrow nocked into the bowstring gleamed in the reflected light.
Hundreds stopped, turning to look at her and her guard. The words froze on the air, paralyzing thoughts as the orcs and humans realized exactly what it meant. The Forsaken, so long second class citizens, had played their gambit, forcing the allied troops into a wedge between the Wrath Gate and their own reinforcements, now turned traitor.
“By the Light.” whispered Bolvar, a veteran of the second war and beyond. His command chilled the bones of all who heard it. Whispered with the last breath of a dying man, he uttered the word that sealed their fate.
“Run.”
Talia charged. Taking off from the undead ranks to intercept the fleeing foes. She let her fingers curve about the ornate hilt of her runeblade, and felt it's power shudder through her body. It was right - this control. She had grown as a servant of Arthas, but his dominion had crumbled, leaving her masterless, leaving nothing to fill that void, until her.
Sylvannus, the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, had taken her in - had accepted her servitude. The Queen had turned her, honing her strikes into a dagger through all that would not accept the Forsaken. Now, almost a year later, Talia's speed was unrivaled, and her abilities with sorcery dwarfed those taught by the Lich King.
She stopped and held the rune-encrusted broadsword aloft in one hand, calling forth the dark binding matter that wrapped everything in the world together. Wrenching it free of it's natural order, she corrupted the ground beneath the alliance troops, and the screams soon followed. Skin boiled, armor melted, and savage battlecries turned to last utterances.
But even such a mighty Death Knight couldn't overcome the entire force. A number of the orcish contingent broke away from the spell, charging the undead lines. Talia kept her sword aloft, waiting for the closest foe to approach with blood fury deep set in his eyes. He ran right up to her, swinging his axe like an executioner. It came down more slowly than the blades at Light's Hope, and it was a simple matter for her to sidestep the downward strike and parry back, taking the man's weapon hand off mid-wrist.
The orc, undeterred by the crippling wound, threw himself upon her, screaming betrayal and rage. She bounded back, trying to clear distance between them even as she struggled to hold her blade in one arm. Raging without end, the orc struck her with a ham-fisted strike upon the shoulder, and her cowl fluttered back.
The ears and color was that of an old high elf - still young with immortality. The eyes though, were not the lambent blue of her brothers and sisters. They were not the acid green of the Fel-tainted Blood Elves. Hers, instead, shone bright silver - a color that was only seen in one race upon Azeroth.
“Dra-” the orc began to stammer, but his chest burst outwards under unholy magic before he could utter the second syllable. That was not a secret to be revealed this day.
Sylvannus' eyes bored into her back, and Talia bowed her head to replace the cowl. Sylvannus didn't need that particular trump card today - but when she did, it would be ready.
Good, my servant. Now slay the rest of this rabble.
“Yes, my queen.”