Author's Foreword:

Greetings, reader. I realize anyone who opened up this work is here to read the story and not my notes on it, but with so much time having passed since I originally devised the majority of this story, I feel there are a few things I should make a note of. I also realized my previous foreword was way too long, so I'll make it short and keep it that way.

I came up with the script for this story back before any expansions, so the world and situation presented here might be quite different from what the game shows nowadays. Looking for a map of the old version Azeroth might be a good idea to keep you on track, especially if you never had the privilege to experience it in-game.

This also means that there are probably several lore details that my story has got "wrong" when all that really is is me having written/scripted my take on something before official writers did, or before they changed it from what it once was. The elves' aging might be one such thing. In short, I view physical adulthood and social maturity as being two vastly different things for elves, with the physiological kind being the one addressed in this story. Having them physically grow up about as quickly as other humanoids makes a lot more sense than fifty-year-old babies and all that. And the social thing is something humans basically have too, they just set the line relative to their average lifespan.

And no, the opening to this story is not a retelling of a certain even from the Cataclysm. This one was first written years earlier, it has a very different purpose and resolution, and generally has nothing to do with what you saw in-game. Speaking of the opening, it's about time to get to it.

Druid of the Blade is now also available in audio-and-subtitles format on youtube, as read by myself. A link to the playlist:

watch?v=A8jJxwzjd98&list=PLgdyJzfe2DrkvGvWwtNrd5euULw2Pfo9h

Some say that writing down your thoughts helps you forget. I say it's a lie. Either that, or I am some kind of special exception in this matter too...by Elune I hate that phrase. If you're reading this, know that it wasn't meant to be read by anyone, not even myself after I've finished writing it. This is my last desperate attempt to try and forget, to rid myself of the nightmares that haunt me. What are my dreams about then? Fire. Always fire. The fire that made me into what I am. But that wasn't the beginning, it's just the point that connects it all. The beginning lies in my childhood, so that's where I will start. If you're still reading this, hear my tale.

I don't remember much about the first three years of my life, but I guess very few people do. My hometown was a fishing village called Auberdine. Contrary to popular belief, the only real fishermen in the town were random bypassers and travelers, not us night elves. As a child, I always liked to observe all the different people of several races moving around the pier and the inn, always some kind of business in mind. I remember I used to wonder why most of the townspeople were not at all excited to meet these strangers, and I soon found out the reason for that. It wasn't until I turned four when my parents finally told me that a great battle had taken place at Mount Hyjal only three years before I was born. They told me of the great tree, Nordrassil, and how our leaders had been forced to sacrifice it, and of the consequences of that event. Back then it seemed impossible to me that our race had once been immortal. I guess I should have considered myself lucky for not having been there to see it.

I've always loved the sea. I often spent entire days at the beach, swimming in the cool water and observing what was going on around me. Of all the people in the town, the only person I truly remember was the boy who was always sitting on top of a certain rock, fishing pole in hand. I don't know if he ever actually caught anything, I never saw him doing anything but waiting and sitting there like a statue. Even so, I always had a feeling that he was watching me.

Some months after I had turned four, I found the purpose of the large bell that was up in the lighthouse. It was the evening of yet another misty but peaceful day by the seaside. I was about to go to bed when I heard the bell. I looked out of my window to see that the townspeople were racing all around, some of them looking shocked, some were pulling on their armour to join the ranks of the town guard who were gathering up by the moonwell. One glance towards the forest froze me on the spot. There were maybe ten or twelve of them, and more poured out of the shadows. Furry, horned satyrs. Even my child's mind could understand that the guards were not ready for this. I witnessed men and women fall in battle, saw as the satyrs used their fel magics to raise mindless undead skeletons from the corpses of the slain...and then there was a bang at the door. I heard my father go to the door and yell something. Then there was a loud crash as someone broke inside, followed by a terrible scream. That was the last sound my father ever made. Mother came into my room, looking terrified. Two skeletons and a satyr followed her in, their weapons already coated in blood.

"Leave my daughter alone!", I remember her yelling.

As if talking to demons would ever do any good. What followed was not a fight, it was a slaughter. Then the demon and it's minions turned their views towards me. I was ready to faint on my bed. Then something strong clutched my arm from behind. The next thing I knew was that someone had just pulled me out of the window of my room. That someone was now dragging me along the pier, towards a boat. The townsfolk had arranged a boat to take civilians into safety, across the sea to Teldrassil. When my savior pushed me onboard, I saw his face. It was the same boy who was always fishing at the beach. Without another word, he turned around and hurried back into the night. A few moments later the ship's deck under my bare feet jerked sideways as it began its journey. I remember looking over the side as the flames appeared. One after another, the buildings that made up the silhouette of the town were engulfed in them. After a while, fire was all that I could see in the horizon. Unbelievable as it may sound, I have a faint memory that I let out an animal-like roar of helpless rage, one that belonged to some wild beast and not the little girl I was. And I felt something wake up inside me. Then came tears. My face, which bore no markings or tattoos of any kind, was quickly wet with them as I sat in the corner of the ship's deck. I think it took me an hour or two to fall asleep. I dreamed of fire.

I'm not sure what woke me up, was it the warm breeze of air, the shaking of the ship as it came to a halt, or all the sounds made by the people onboard as they started to disembark. I was still half sleeping when my feet hit the ground again. At first I decided to go with the flow of people, not really knowing what I was supposed to do. We walked right through the beautiful city of Darnassus, but I wasn't looking. My body was sore and my limbs numb. There was a cleaving, empty feeling in my stomach. But those, and my clothes that had gotten quite ragged during the last twelve hours, were the least of my concerns. By the time we reached the city's gates, there were hardly anyone of the people I had followed in sight. I was alone. Exhausted, I sat against a large tree just outside the gates, by the side of the road that led out of the city. Then my sorrow and despair overcame my will to go any further.

I lingered on the edge of consciousness for two full days. At noon on the third day, I heard a clear voice speak to me.

"You don't seem to be very well, child. Allow me to help you."

I opened my eyes to see a man crouching in front of me, his face almost at the same height as mine. Even though both his skin and his long straight beard were deep blue, they didn't mix into each other. The glow in his eyes was dimmer than any other night elf I had seen and it's color reminded me of brass rather than silver. He was wearing a robe that looked very complex, but not expensive or formal. It was wooden brown, with stripes and lines of green all over it. In his left hand, he held a long wooden staff that had a tiny branch growing on one end.

At first I thought I was dreaming and decided to ignore him, but then he repeated what he had just said. I looked him in the eyes for a long time. He had the kind of tranquil air to him that even a goblin would've trusted him.

"What is your name?"

I didn't even consider lying to him, even though he was a stranger.

"Cailea", I managed to mutter.