IC: Lock and Load
((Cross-posting this from Valestiel's tumblr. I think this is proof that I PvP too much on my hunter. Also, gratuitous Harry Potter and Skyrim references because I like ALL the things! =P))
…Six months ago, at Warden’s Vigil
Valestiel cursed under the chainmail protecting the lower half of her face as a barrage of icicles rained against the parapet behind which she’d taken cover. She ventured to look over her shoulder, but was quick to hide herself away from sight once again as an odd assembly of arrows and missiles whistled through the air. This was no good. The contending forces seemed to have reached a stalemate with the rangers and healers from one side carefully guarding themselves behind the parapets, while the ones in the enemy side fought their way against the warriors holding the stairs. The catch was that from her position, Valestiel could barely risk to rise and snipe at one of the enemy battle priests without getting her head untimely chopped off.
Sweet Sunwell, military life was not for her.
She kept her bow at the ready, aiming for the small clear near the top of the stairs where the enemy offensive would be forced to step through, and occasionally fired arrows at the few warriors and scouts that managed to break through the first line and reach the top of the garrison, running outside the range of their battle priests.
Fools. She would never understand the rationale of risking your neck in hand to hand combat.
She heard the shrill screeching of her companion beast over the clanking of clashing armor and weapons. The creature seemed to grow more and more restless as the minutes passed, clearly not pleased at being forced to huddle next to the huntress when there was blood in the air, but at the moment being it was no use sending it to its death. Briefly, she let go of her bow to place a leather covered hand on the upper side of the shale spider’s body, attempting to calm it down. The gesture was received with a somewhat lower, contented screech; however, the tension did not leave the creatures’ body. Good. It would be ready to jump at the first throat she pointed to.
She had named the spider “Ever Cutting” in the oldest form of common. It was fitting. She had found it as little more than a hatchling flaying away at the rocks in Deepholm. In the weeks to come, it had quickly doubled in size and strength, as well as taking a liking for flesh and blood which was decidedly a plus for a combat beast. Goldenwing , her dragonhawk, had always been more given to show off its feathers than to go after the enemy’s blood. Sectumsempra, on the other hand, had a natural attitude for battle and was surprisingly bright for a being a spider. A shale spider, at any rate.
At the present, she realized that the moment to spring into action was drawing near. After the next round of magic missiles and arrows hit the parapet she watched as one of the Sin’dorei priests began encasing herself and the other healers in softly glowing sheets of light before leaping to her feet and calling upon a golden dome that would fend off any incoming damage for a short period of time. That was Valestiel’s cue to whistle at Sempra as she raised and narrowed her eyes trying to find one of the enemy healers. Within seconds she had spotted an elderly male cleric that had ventured too close to the front line. She breathed slowly despite the thunderous beating of the blood in her veins, and took her aim, not before placing a magical mark over his form so as to keep her target visible in the confusion.
That was all the time she had before all hell broke loose. She retreated from the parapet while trying to keep a good aim on the damned priest that was now trying to get outside of her range. Thankfully, Sempra had made its way unnoticed down the stairs and was now entangling the poor man in a cocoon of webs, effectively stopping both his movements and his chances to protect himself. A second later as the webs gave way, the Alliance cleric was faced with an angered shale spider flaying through his robes with razor sharp fangs. Valestiel took a moment to shoot a poisonous arrow at a nearby paladin that was engaging one of the Sin’dorei battle healers, and followed it with an arrow to his knee as she attempted to slow his advance. She was going to send another enchanted shot his way but stopped as the man was brought down by one of the troll mercenaries.
The huntress returned her attention to the fray below, laying a few traps in front of her and gingerly moving through them as she advanced towards the bottom of the stairs now that the melee had been fended off. She narrowed her one uncovered eye, scanning the crowd for her previous target who was now almost passed out in a pool of blood, pitifully trying to invocate the Light’s aid while Sempra harassed him mercilessly. Valestiel lifted her bow and aimed for the man’s chest, intending to finish him off, but her attention was drawn to a tangle of roots which sprung from the ground and pinned her companion beast in place. Valestiel saw the caster at once: one of the wolf women was making her way towards the man, confusion and terror painted all over her face as she tried to find the owner of the shale spider which she had just ensnared. As the she-wolf struggle to drag the man away from the battlefield, clearly after having been ordered to retreat, Valestiel lowered her bow with a moue of distaste. A sharp whistle, and to the horror of the cleric and his comrade Sempra was out of its bond, but to their outmost surprise, the spider obediently retreated back towards the Garrison rather than continue its assault.
Yes, a military life was not for Valestiel Sunmist.
As the luckiest of the remainders of the Alliance offensive retreated, the huntress looked around at their ‘victory’: a bloodied garrison filled with celebrating, equally bloodied Orcs and Trolls. The Sin’dorei priestess with a handful of other medics was tending to some of their wounds and her own as she limped through the ramparts. All around the keep, all that Valestiel could see were blood-bathed grounds. It was so void, the only thing she could think of celebrating was the fact that for all the blood everywhere, very little of it was hers.
The stench of blood and sweat became suddenly all too much as her adrenaline rush subsided, and Valestiel whistled for Sempra to follow her before making a run for her flying machine and rushing back to their main stronghold on the blasted Island. She was one of the first returning soldiers to jump into the portals back to Orgrimmar, from whence she made use of an engineering contraption to transport herself back to the tiny, frozen camp in Stormpeaks where she had set residence in the past few weeks.
At least there was no blood there.
Or death.
Or war.
At the moment, anyways.
Valestiel Sunmist was a survivor, but not a fighter. A military life was not for her.