There before her sat the daunting task which she yearned not to partake in. Her lab was covered in the corpses and remains of those that had been found in a makeshift grave outside of the small medical camp here on this wretched island. Putting her face into her hands, she gave an exasperated sigh. The druidess leaned back in her chair and looked over to what stood before her. Hours of work documenting, sorting, and then properly identifying the remains of the fallen.
She got all the tools she knew too and then began meticulously combing the medical records of those who had made their way to the island. Say what you will of the Horde and Alliance, their recent conflicts had resulted in much better record's keeping then previously.
With a mask over her mouth, goggles covering her eyes, and her hair tied back in a pony tail she started the grim work of measuring teeth, hip bones, skull fragments, and more. The mass grave left before her a reminder that this world was still far from done healing its wounds. With the first corpse upon her table the compassion that came with being a doctor gave way to the harsh realities of needing to get the morgue dealt with as quickly as possible
A wide set of shoulder bones, even if the flesh was scorched beyond recognition, little more then a pile of bones. Male, Human, dental records seemed to match those of a Samuel Wyldell, age 43. He had been a Sergeant of the infantry division dispatched here. Survived only by a daughter, aged 21, the druidess began drafting her letter.
They had all been the same, yet so different, each letter straining to take away a bit more of your soul as you conveyed to those who would never have a father, mother, brother, sister, daughter, son come home.
Dearest Isabelle,
My name is Doctor Alnarra Elsora K'Shinar Stargrove writing on behalf of the Alliance Military on the date of 05, October, Year 32. It is with great sadness that I must inform you of the death of your father, Samuel Wyldell, at the hands of a yet unknown assailant. You may collect your father's remains at the address listed below, I will ensure that they are handled with care on their journey back home. You have my sincerest condolences.
- Doctor Stargrove
After the letter, her next least favorite task, filling out the death certificate with the time of confirmed death as well as her signature and ensuring that it was placed in the proper files. For a matter that was so sensitive, it at the same time seemed so clinical and without thought. Each of these people had a life, a family, a place they belonged, and now here she was tagging and bagging them as little more then one more in a line
She moved on to the next, quickly finding an identifying tattoo, a Gery Thommasi, age 36 of Sentinel hill, serving as a senior medic. The humans were always the most difficult to identify, made all the more difficult when records weren't quite correct or lacking in details. Much the same a letter to family or next of kin and a death certificate quickly made their way across her desk.
Her lab coat had gotten dirty with blood and charred remains as she had to often times dig through the scarred and unrecognizable flesh in order to identify the owner. Next up the short stature of the victim helped narrow it down and before long a small surviving family trinket helped Alnarra determine the victim was a Walda Brewgranite, Age 71, a corpral and engineer from Khaz Modan.
Each culture had their own unique approaches to how a burial should be handled; however, there was no time for such things now. She would leave the ceremony to the priest and family afterwards, she had to press on, a job to do for certain.
The job never got easier, Cormac Jepsin, a 20 year old Private out of Lakshire, barely old enough to leave his home and now he lay as little more then a pile of ash, bone, and charred flesh on some cold metal table on a far away island. The druidess long ears sagged as she went about carefully documenting and measuring to ensure that the individual in question was indeed matching what was on record.
Such horrific means of disposal often wipe away the traditional means for identifying remains and even more so take away the dignity of the dead. The long ears of the next victim gave Azun Blazepyre, age 117, a corporal and battlemage from Tranquilien a more easily identifiable form even amongst the charred remains. Bowing her head slightly it in a way reminded her horribly of her own wifes mortality, what fate awaited her, would she have to bury yet another that she loved?
The tides of war had made it more common place to stumble into those who before might have been considered rare was now more common. And so when the next corpse presented as more green even amongst the black it became easier to identify them. Kima Goreclaw, Age 23, a private who had come from razor hill.
It was perhaps the hardest letter of the bunch to write. With Sin'dorei, humans, dwarves, there was a cadance to the writing, she felt as if she could communicate in a sympathetic manner to the family of the deceased, but with the orcs she was never sure. She did not know if they wished sympathy or assurances that their loved one had served with honor. Regardless she tried her best and soon another envelope sealed, another tag on a delicately wrapped set of remains.
As the hours dragged on and the druidess stunk not only from what she had been working with but her own sweat, she managed to identify Llwellyn Marsh, a Half-Quel'Dorei man only 19 from Dalaran. The sight of such a young individual, dead on a table was a bitter reminder. Not unlike the young Cormac before, Llwellyn too had been taken away at a young age in a horrible manner. It was greater then a tragedy.
The scent of burnt flesh and fur gave away her next set of remains. Rolson Dunwhich of Stromwind. A medic and a man cursed with the worgen disease which her people had been responsible for bestowing. A deep sense of regret filled her at the notion that so much pain must come as a result of her people's doing and now as some final insult it would be yet another Kaldorei wrapping him up to be placed to rest one final time.
Small and green, it made Alnarra worry for a moment that perhaps it had been her newly met friend, but teeth and piercings soon proved such an assumption incorrect. Kylia Gripgear of Ratchet, a 29 year old young medic who surely had only been doing her part now joined the bitter remains of the fallen. She wasn't sure how to write to goblins either, did they want to know about insurance? Compensation of some kind? The druidess shook her head, it was not something she could be responsible for.
And then the final corpse gave her pause, a Kaldorei woman, serving as she had, a medic, a Kaldorei. When she put the name with the corpse she realized that the two had served together for a short stint during the war in Pandaria. Shaking her head, while for the past corpses she could not muster the strength nor the will to bless the dead, she broke her short lived tradition.
"Goddess, I ask you to watch over Elinara Braodarrow, who served you without fear and without question. Guide her to her place among the stars"
With the last of those corpses having been named, having at least been restored the honor and dignity of a proper burial she finally sat down, and staring over at the now cloth wrapped remains of her sister Kaldorei she openly wept, a fear and a sadness that it could just as easily have been her.
