Yngdír's Revenge

[Morvegil]

Before the second war, a High Elf family set out to travel to foreign lands - not for fortune, but for peace. They settled on the Steppes, close to the Blasted Lands. This is where young Yngdír grew and learned the hunt, his skill with the bow grew - as he was far too young to grasp the knowledge of magic and the arcane when his family left. Years passed, good years, now older Yngdír hunted the Steppes he knew so well alone on horseback - the place his family settled now a large village, more of a town really - and his mother and father have died. He is not saddened though, as they died in peace, and his brother Heldír was usually around when there was no-one else.

He was sitting on a rock when it happened, adding up in his head how much he'd get for the pelts he'd just skinned as a burning emerald flash burst in the sky, all he could do was watch as the burning rocks fell from the heavens. He watched the sky, for hours it seemed they fell, more and more of them - the earth shook beneath him as the great Gate opened, the portal was un-sealed! He, however, was ignorant to this. He felt only the quaking of the land, how far he wondered, how far does the shaking reach? His thoughts didn't last long as he saw the emerald flames burning the dusted sky at the point he'd make the village. In an instant he was on horseback, charging through the tall grasses, he could no longer feel the shaking of the ground nor hear the breaking of the sky - he had to get to his kin, it was all that mattered now.

Too late he arrived, he had been far and the journey was long. Smouldering ruins where sturdy homes once stood, the House of The Lord crushed and a burning rock at the foot of the throne, the statue of his faith taken or destroyed... he wept and fell, there was nothing he could do - nothing he could have done. It pained him also that Heldír wasn't there.

For eight days he burried the dead, there were not many people, but the corpses were scattered and hard to find. Just under one thousand graves were filled but his brother was not among them. It played on his mind that one of the many badly burned bodies could have been him, the limbs he'd found that had no body could be Heldír's, his nights were restless and he ate little... but the Legion was coming... as he sat in front of a fire he'd built, he heard their terrible war-cries, not cries of Orcs or wild-men, but of pure evil! He stood tall and looked far, and legions there were - if not for Stormgarde then they would surely have been on him sooner, he was sure.

The sound of thundering hooves came from his left, he turned to face it but reacted quickly to cover his face and eyes - a centaur he thought! But no, he was greeted by Heldír who had been scouting around the gate, he'd seen it open. He spoke of many things, and told Yngdír that he must leave immediately - that he must go to other lands before it's too late... he also said that he was heading into the gate. It was with heavy hearts that they parted, Yngdír fled for the refuge of Human lands, which were closer than his native home. Heldír to the gate.

For months Yngdír went on foot, the Humans were at first kind, in Darkshire mostly. By the time he hit Goldshire news had spread that 'Blood Elves' were allied with the Horde, Yngdír had heard nothing of this until he was part way through the Dwarven lands, Loch Modan, he spent some time there taking in the good air. The rolling grassland reminded him of the Steppes, but soon the Barkeep would not serve him, and the people frowned at and even threatened him - he moved on. Through the wetlands he went, wearing a hooded cloak and speaking to few people. He saw a Dwarf in combat, surrounded by many other Dwarves, they were darker in the skin and wore all black - Dark Irons he later found out. He helped the Dwarf - and as is the way with Dwarves, he helped Yngdír.

Loaded into the back of a cart, and taken the rest of the way in a barrel, it was uncomfortable and he didn't even want to know what the barrel was used for, it smelled foul! But the Dwarf did not betray him, and he soon felt the barrel he was in become moist, clammy... it was nightfall, he could tell by the silence of the people and the noise of insects scurrying, buzzing, chirping.. a swamp? He sneaked out of the barrel and swam from the docks to some hills, there he took a long look at where he was. He had been transported halfway around the world! He was in Dustwallow Marsh, and he was alone. He scaled the harsh hills to the West, and wandered them using the peaks as his guide - until finally he found an inn, that had been burned down. Just on the horizon he could see dusty planes, a deasert perhaps - the Barrens!

He knew it would take less than a day if he ran. He was tired though, and his pace was slow. By the next dawn he had reached the Barrens, he was exhausted and hungry - his thirst was violent. He staggered under the rising Sun, the leather on his back chafing and cracking under the heat. South he headed, toward the Angel. Her wings were outspread, and he felt as though she was beckoning to him. He didn't make it to the angel, but collapsed on the road. He saw the Angel in his dreams, though he was told he often woke up rambling about revenge. He was concious - he walked out the open door of whoever's hut he was in, greeted by the same burning Sun from before. He looked up and saw his angel, a great totem, the totem of Taurajo! The Tauren there had kept him, fed him and bathed him. They allowed him to enter Mulgore, calling him brother in their camps. He hunted there for a long time with the Tauren, they gained a mutual respect - and it is there he found Rascal, the wolf.

Yngdír and Rascal both ran errands for the people of Mulgore and Thunderbluff, but he knew he had to continue. As he left, the angel he saw gradually shrank unto the distance until she was eclipsed by his descent into the Thousand Needles. He met many more Tauren in there, but spent little time with them - they knew who he was and aided him when he needed, but he asked little. Wandering aimlessly among the great pillars until he eventually entered the Shimmering Flats, where he remained until the Goblins and Gnomes came, and the complete drying of the Flats. Eventually, there was little worth hunting on the Shimmering Flats for him, lack of water made the beast sluggish and slow to react, he began to move back.

His journey took him to the Northern Barrens, they told him much of the news from Silvermoon, and how his people had started using the name Blood Elf, he adopted the name to honour the fallen of his village. He was warned to avoid interaction with Humans, and the Alliance - as he was now on the same terms with them as the Orcs and Trolls. He was branded enemy. The Tauren cheiftains advised him well, and he embraced the Horde as his new allied brothers. Forgetting the good people of Loch Modan, and Darkshire. He set out once more, to Orgrimmar, his journey was easy as his hunting experience made the animals easier to elude, or to kill. There he was told that he could take a Goblin made Zeppelin to Brill, which is closest to Undercity - and from there he could find a portal to the Elvish city.

The Elven city of Silvermoon, he was greeted harshly by the upper class elves, they mocked him for the ragged leather he wore - his clothing was practical, he thought, not for show... he remained silent and walked on until he was eventually outside the vast city, he turned to the East and spoke to some more common townsfolk, they advised him to look for the Seekers, as they had 'eyes everywhere'. He went to the Fairbreeze inn, and met with the Seekers of Tranquility - the alliance was forged, and he has since been reunited with Heldír... but revenge is still his ultimate goal.

His body was since found, utterly destroyed and burned from perhaps within - the blade of his spear, broken, and the shaft with half the blade intact several feet from Yngdír's corpse in the chest of a common demon. Although his final revenge was never met, it could be assumed that Yngdír fell in a manner appropriate. The tip of his spear has not been found or recovered, but one might assume by the claw marks dragging away from where the battle may have been presumed to have happened, that it is stuck in the hide of a much greater evil.

Yngdír, is dead.