The Locket

 The druidess looked down at the small wooden locket that hung from her neck, going to hold it in her hand, rubbing against the wood grain. The small coffin shaped object had virtually become part of her at this point, the leather maintained and kept while the wood was kept oiled and pristine. It was one of the few objects that Alnarra was careful to clean every morning, and the one object she never let herself lose. 
Opening it and staring down at the picture behind the bit of glass, her mind drifted fondly back to that day. 

It was a chilly spring morning, she could still remember her youngest complaining that a trip to Hyjal was silly because they had some school related event they wanted to attend, but Alnarra had been insistent. Trips to the capital of their people weren’t unheard of, but it wasn’t often that the entire family had time to take a trip together somewhere. Rumblings in the south of collapsed Quilboar tunnels and angered silithid dens were already starting to make their way around the cities and towns of the Kaldorei. 

She knew her two oldest had already gotten requests from the sentinels and circle alike to be prepared to move out in the next few months, and she could not be sure of the next time she would have all of them together in one place. So, she had decided to commission an artist in Hyjal to paint the whole family together, a family photo that she could keep on the mantle like any proud parent might. 

Kissing at her mate’s cheek, the five night elves would use some of the sabers that they raised there on their farm and make their way through Northern Ashenvale, what today is called Felwood, but at the time was a bright and life filled segment of forest. The flowers were just starting to come into bloom and the animals had all come from their dens as the winter months were ending. 

It was not a trip unfamiliar to any of them, traveling to Hyjal in fact was far from anything new or grand. If anything, they often had to travel there to buy or sell goods at a market, or to ensure some piece of paperwork was seen to and taken care of. Alnarra had been up there just last week to pick up a bundle of herbs to help soothe the stomach of a few ill sabers. But this was a different time, there was no talk of trade or ill sabers instead just a family of night elves catching up with each other. 

Talgrath, her oldest son, was explaining how excited he was to begin learning some new healing magics from his Shan’do. He, like his mother before him, had gone before the circle to learn about druidism, and more then that studied to become a doctor, having set up his own little clinic in the hills of Azshara. Myrodin, her middle child, had been spending some time with Kaldorei sentinels to help learn how best to document scouting notes and relay that information back to command. Alannah, her youngest, was soon to graduate from the academy in Ashenvale to pursue her own interest. Alnarra had hoped she might choose a little rebellion against the status quo and look into druidism as she had, though their father Veraldan had encouraged she put her skills as a huntress to use with the sentinels. 

For every inch of frustration that might come with raising a child, there were boundless moments of joy, like this, where she could see all three of her children and her mate trek through the quiet hill side to the shores of the lake that nestled itself by the great world tree Nordrassil. 

The druidess could still remember the scent on the air as the artist had asked the five of them to all take a seat on a small bench, how she had spent at least fifteen minutes trying to help her middle child get his hair into the ponytail he wanted. Pulling out a small napkin to wipe away some pollen from her mate’s cheeks and trying to make the whole thing look as professional as possible. 

After all, getting such pictures was not an easy affair. These artists often had months if not years of commissions lined up and getting a spot in the queue was frankly a tedious effort on the best of days. Still Anarra had been patient, and ever thankful that they had managed to get their spot in queue before her children ended up getting called away to whatever may be brewing. 

They sat there for what seemed like hours, holding their pose as the artist worked diligently to capture every feature, every nuanced detail. But when the family gathered around to look at the work put on display, it was apparent the wait had been well worth it. It was almost realistic in its details, and perhaps a bit of arcane magic had been used to help liven the poses, though that would be everyone’s little secret. 

The picture was something the druidess treasured even in that moment, having a few smaller copies made so that she could place them in picture frames. Little did she know of course in that moment, there beneath the boughs of Nordrassil, it would be the last time all five elves would be together. 

In the coming months, what to the Kaldorei, would become known as the War of the Shifting Sands would start. Alnarra’s children would all do their duty to protect the Kaldorei people, marching off to war. She and her husband would remain behind to provide the sentinels and circle with sabers for the war effort, only to receive word that the lives of all three of her children had been claimed at the attack on the night elven base of operations at Southwind village. 

During the cataclysm, she could only watch in horror and sadness as Alliance troops dragged her away to safety while her mate fought one desperate battle to make sure they all escaped a cultist encampment in the Twilight highlands. 

Now, this image, encased in a coffin-shaped locket, was all she had left of that life, a reminder of a different time. She had, over the years, slowly come to terms with a reality without her children, without her mate, but some days were harder than others. It was not possible for the Kaldorei to escape the past that intertwined itself with her life, not possible to push down and bury what had happened. But this little locket did help her for a moment, try to regain a sense of calm and composure. 

It was this locket that reminded her of all the wonderful moments, of all the happiness and sorrows that come with raising a family. It helped keep her grounded and reminded her of what it was she was fighting for in times that she forgot. During the third legion invasion, when she was helping with section 28’s operations, she would often turn to the locket asking the family that she had lost what she should do, what was right, what it was she might have forgotten. 

Her finger gently caressed the glass frame that kept the picture behind safe from the elements and ravages of time, a single tear running down her cheek even as a smile danced across her face. Taking a deep breath, she closed the little locket once more, stepping back into the role she played now, so different than before, but not so far from where she had been. So long as she kept that little reminder of her past close, she was never far from those that she loved, and they were never far from her. 

Five Minutes

 

Five Minutes, sometimes it only takes five minutes for a state of complete peace and serenity into chaos and more, the serenity washed away in a haze of violent and rapid changes. Today, it seemed, would be one of those days for a druidess devotedly working in her clinic.

Booty Bay was no stranger to odd events and strange happenings, if anything it was host to them on a regular basis. Alnarra had been living in the little bayside city long enough to know that a moment of peace was hard enough to come by on the best of days. So, when the opportunity came for the druidess to have a simple moment in her clinic without patients to run some research, she was practically giddy at the notion.

Her days were usually spent tending to pirates and the various strange diseases that they had acquired from either the city’s red-light district or a ‘siren’ they had met at sea. Beyond all that, the nightlife of the city left her with no shortage of patients needing small stitches or casts for their various ailments after bar fights and the occasional shakedown.

There were of course days that were decidedly more traumatic. It was when those patients needing organ or bone mending that go well beyond what simple first aid kits can provide that the kaldorei most often found herself calling upon a treant or two to assist her. On those days she would work until the wounded were stabilized and the dead recorded. She did not realize, today was going to be one of those days.

1832 Hours Booty Bay Standard Time (BBST)

The druidess sat quietly at a little makeshift table in the back of the clinic, it was one of the small areas where she could toy around with new substances and salves, to see if they might work. It was during these times that she got to experiment and play around with various new gadgets and gizmos; or, her favorite activity, sitting down to read a medical journal or two.

On her desk were a set of vials that she had shipped in from one of the world markets some months back. It was a small vulpera trading company that had promised her that the various salves and liquids helped work miracles, especially with patients suffering heat-related ailments. There was almost a blep of her tongue as she watched the reaction excitedly, her whiskers twitching as she prepared to take notes.

She listened to the little sizzle as the liquids mixed, practically giddy at the thought of finding a new way to treat sunburn or worse for many of her less… careful beachgoing patients. What’s more, she had a book on Dracthyr biology to look forward to. It was a species she was just beginning to come to know and more importantly one that she was excited about spending some time with. To her they seemed like a fascinating anomaly, an Azeroth native species older than even the oldest Kaldorei.

With so many Dracthyr coming in from the Dragon Isles, it was becoming apparent that special care would be needed for a species that had scales rather than fur or skin, and a unique anatomy. It was a challenge to the druidess, and one that gave her a little bit of hope that her skills were not wasting away in the little bayside clinic. Setting down the bottle, the woman stood to stretch and catch her bearings.

She looked around with bemusement at the mess of items she’d accumulated. The small ship in a bottle, a gift from one of her patients whose leg she had saved with Ironwood. The various potted plants, a combination of herbs that she had shipped in to help keep supplies stocked and in part to help liven the place up. The truth was that a sterile clinic was as bad for her mental health as it was her patients. She needed a place where they would feel comfortable and relaxed.

Cracking her neck, she started to make her way towards the window, looking out and seeing one of the merchant vessels pulling into the dock. The sailors looked giddy to be back on land for a small amount of time, or perhaps it was just that they knew what Booty Bay was famous for. Smirking, she tried to guess the ones in the crowd that she’d find herself treating.

1834 Hours BBST

Flexing her fingers she started to walk towards a small break area. It was a place to keep teas and snacks. She could not help herself; she was always a bit of a snacker, something that her wife knew all too well. Opening the little drawer, she pulled out a few crackers and popped them into her muzzle, happily munching on them as she wiggled the tip of her tail. They were those little fish flavored crackers, something Elynxdria had gone out of her way to find on her last shopping trip.

Giggling to herself, she broke out a small can of tuna, cracking it open and using the grace one might come to expect of a druidess in Saberon form. She used her finger to scrape the tuna out of the little can and onto the cracker. She was alone, she thought to herself. No one would care if she was using her finger instead of a spoon or fork! It’s not like she enjoyed such utensils either way, table manners were never her specialty. It was something her mother had spent years scolding her on.

She seemed to savor every bite of tuna loaded cracker as she went to twirl some nobs on a little stove, infused with arcane and some manner of gnomish technology that would give her a little fire. Setting a pot atop it, she began to wait for the pot to boil.

1835 Hours BBST

Tapping her foot against the ground, waiting to make tea was always the hardest part. She tried to keep herself distracted by humming a little tune to herself as she continued to snack on crackers and tuna. Occasionally she would take a moment to wipe that purple muzzle free of the various tuna juices. The tufts on the top of her ear twitched as she let her eyes lazily wander across the room, double checking that everything was in order.

She had been sure to do all the sheets for the cots to make sure they were clean, using plenty of sanitizing liquids. She had gone out of her way to restock a few of her first aid kits to hand out to the local bruisers, less they want to care for injured on their own time and of their own accord.  The little waiting area at the front of the clinic had been cleaned and the simple till on the front desk had been emptied, its contents taken to the bank.

Alnarra didn’t make much in the way of profit at the clinic, in fact, financially it was technically in the negative. But in a society as economically diverse as a goblin city, she thought it was important to ensure that everyone got care without worrying about financial burdens. The price list that she kept was more a suggestion, and more akin to a tip than a payment. She would take any money donated for care to the bank under an account specifically for the clinic.

Some of her more generous patients were the reason she had all of these new experimental salves and liquids, and she could not have been happier for it.

1836 Hours BBST

The pot was starting to boil, she could hear the occasional bubble rising to the surface with those extra sensitive ears. The tuna tin was empty, and she casually chucked it into a little garbage bin here in the makeshift break area of the clinic. Her ears deflated a bit, knowing with that can, she was out of tuna. But there was the bright side, she could see the results of the test she had been running! These little hills and valleys in the day were how she best functioned, how she remembered to stay grounded.

She had fought depression for years. With the death of her children, her mate, over the preceding 1,000 it was a beast with which she had an uncanny familiarity. Things were getting better, slowly, over time, and it was cresting those little hills after falling into the little valleys that helped her from finding a valley and trying to dig herself further.

The clinic work made her happy, a way to honor her eldest son, who had been a medic during the War of the shifting sands, a way to remember him when he was at his happiest. She went to open the little coffin shaped locket that stayed as a constant companion around her neck, looking inside, to see their faces again. It was a family photo the five of them had gotten when they went to visit Hyjal, all together. Her three children, and their father, all who had passed in the various brutal and bloody wars that the Kaldorei and alliance had fought. Bloody wars that she hoped might finally be at a close.

1837 Hours BBST

Whiiiiiiieeee

The kettle began to boil, the familiar whistle catching those sensitive Kaldorei ears. Sadly, it was not the sound which caused the druidess to rip her head towards the window.

Boooom

A massive explosion, near the dock, a plume of smoke and fire rising into the sky. The woman immediately flicked off the stove, whipped into her lab to grab that satchel and raced out the door in the direction of the explosion. Mistakes in shipping cargo were not uncommon, and as her mind raced with the possibilities of what was being transported as she ran down that long pier, it was then that she spotted with her silvery eyes a Neurbian flyer whizzing past her head.

Running faster, the source of the explosion soon became clear. A large portal, from which multiple Kirin Tor mages lay, likely having escaped the blast, the source of which must have been the other side. But the explosion was not all they brought through the portal with them.

A neurbian soldier, one she’d easily recognize from the campaign in northrend stood ready with his weapon to strike down the mages, who scrambled from their portal, clearly injured and not just by the explosion. The feline hissed, seeing the bruisers were already occupied with the flyers and other neurbians who had flooded through the portal with the escaping mages. The dockhands were terrified, not soldiers of any kind.

And so, the druidess, the doctor, and the former Kaldorei agent did the only thing she knew to do. The form she used, this Saberon form, had been developed specifically to allow her to keep her combat prowess on two legs while retaining that feral forms agility, strength and stamina. Grabbing an ironwood seed from her pouch she quickly concentrated on that druidic magic focusing on growing the seed faster than it was meant to.

In a matter of mere seconds her heart rate and breathing slowed as she focused, the Ironwood unfolding into a halberd. She charged the Neurbian without a second thought, conjuring up a vine to rip its weapon away. Leaping into the air the Saberon roared as she shoved the newly grown spear directly into the arachnid creature’s back, silencing it in those few moments.

With the threat eliminated and the bruisers tending to the other creatures which had come through the druidess quickly used the other part of her brain, trained in combat and emergencies, looking over the wounded there on the dock. Two were already most certainly deceased, little remaining of them but mangled corpses. Still, she leaned down and went to find a pulse, quickly determining there wasn’t one.

The three others looked to be in mixed shape. Two could stand and walk, if labored, but the third would need a stretcher. The woman went to rip a large white sheet from her satchel and then used two more ironwood seeds to make poles. Pointing to two dockside workers, she pointed to the poles, now intwined with the sheet and the injured man going to offer her shoulders to the two injured mages to help them limp back to safety.

She yelled for dock workers to follow her to her clinic, to do what any combat medic would do, protect and treat the wounded. The mage, which seemed in the best shape, glanced back behind them, sealing the portal and giving a wince as he exerted yet more energy. Coughing he tried to explain.

“The council…. Dalaran, moved to… Khaz Algar. Trap… attack. Neurbians everywhere…” The mage paused for a long moment “Rift was forming, city was collapsing, had to make escape.” The man panted as she simply nodded.

Who, what, when, where and why were questions for people far above her paygrade. For now, though she knew two things. She had three patients to treat… and the fragile peace that the Alliance and horde had worked so hard to maintain had once again shattered. The world was once again at war.

She tried to assure the mage that he needed to remain calm to conserve his energy, rushing the trio towards her clinic as fast as her feet would carry her. All the while those terrible little neuribian flyers would dive bomb her and the dockworkers, trying to get them to drop their precious cargo. Anger welled up in the druidess as she worked to get her patients to safety, glaring at the little bat like creatures as they swooped down.

Calling upon the powers that nearly every druid had been taught, but only a few had made a habit of mastering, the druidess went to stop for only a moment, turning to point that feline like muzzle towards one of the attackers and unleashing a purple blaze from her maw that would coat the small creature. The magic of the Fae, often gifted to druids through their teaching with sprite darters.

It was magic intended to directly combat the arcane, yet here it was saving arcane casters. The irony would surely not be lost on someone out there. Though with the path cleared and the dockworkers having gotten the most injured of the mages to the clinic, she let them know they could seek shelter here in the clinic. As she managed to get the other two mages in, she slammed the door to the clinic shut and went to take stock of things.

There were three patients, two in moderate to severe condition, with one in critical. Her mind raced as she called upon her druidic magic once more, conjuring two treants to life there in the waiting area. It was a not all to uncommon at this point in her career, the assistance of treants in combat triage and medical aid. She quickly gave the summoned trees instructiosn to begin looking for broken bones, burns, and obvious signs of injury and blood loss. All the while she grabbed the mage on the stretcher and carried him to one of the cots, setting him down and starting to do a quick visual inspection.

Her silvery eyes scanned his body as she conjured a root to pull a gnomish arcane torch to her hand, opening his eyes and seeing they were nonresponsive to light stimuli she bit at her lip. She grabbed a nearby stethoscope, laying amongst a wealth of other gnomish inventions, listening for a heartbeat and breathing, trying to figure out just how far gone her patient was.

Letting a singular claw unsheathe itself she began slicing off clothing, looking for bruises or lacerations, and upon finding a large one on her patient's side she got to work. Druidic magic to encourage the damaged organs to start mending on their own, all while nimble fingers started to stich and hold together torn flesh. Her ears twitched as she managed to remove a piece of shrapnel, no doubt partly responsible for the injury.

It seemed like hours passed as she worked, finally managing to stabilize her patient and putting them on a gnomish device which would help them breathe. She had used ironwood stitches, planting them in such a way that they’d press under flesh and muscle to wrap, bind, and work at healing broken bones. It would be absorbed back into the body once the healing was completed, but for now it was working to help keep together some of the most shattered of the bones.

The treants, meanwhile had been tending to the other two, taking time to wrap up arms in cast and bandage smaller easier to manage lacerations. They were offered some potions brewed just that morning to help encourage their bodies to begin trending towards a more mended state.

The crisis was over for now, the bruisers had pushed back the fragment of Neurbian forces that had managed to sneak through, and all three of her patients were taking the time to rest. The two dockworkers had at some point left rejoining their compatriots, leaving the druidess alone with her treants watching over resting victims of a newfound war.

She sighed, now instead of experimental salves and concoctions covering her coat, it was blood. The sheets she had cleaned would need to be cleaned once more. The mana drain required to maintain the treants left her exhausted as she glanced out towards the window. The sun had long since set and mother moon now graced the sky. Dismissing the treants, she took a sheet and began the second phase of the job.

Scribbling down notes, she recorded the names of her three patients, the third and previously critically injured patients' name having been provided by the other two Dalaran citizens. She made her way outside, to the dock with a set of body bags, always deeply saddened to have to use such things. As luck would have it, another medical unit in booty bay had recovered the deceased.

Her ears twitched softly, a sadness at yet more death, though a quiet and fragment of joy at not having to do the paperwork or write the letters to friends and family. She let out a deep sigh and made her way back towards her clinic. Her tail dragged along the ground, the white tip now stained with dirt and what blood had escaped onto the floor below.

She returned to her little chair, watching the resting humans, pondering and considering what all this could mean going forward. How many more days would she have moments of peace? If war was once again on the horizon, would she find herself returning to battlefields rather than living a quiet life here in the bay? The druidess pondered all these things and looked over to her tea pot. Perhaps she should stick to water tonight.

Her mind was a blur, thoughts racing through her head. The mage who had first explained where they had come from would fill her in on the details. It seemed Dalaran had transported itself to a dwarven home of some kind far off the coast. He did not have the details, only that the orders had come down from the council. Upon arriving the city was immediately besieged by neuribian and shadow forces.

The details were sparse once the combat began, only that the mage and his companions saw an explosion that was coming from the council chambers and rapidly consuming the whole of the city. They managed to escape through a portal, but not before being pursued by the neurbian she had taken a halberd to earlier.

Taking this all into account her snout twitched as she closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do now, not in this moment, to avert or change the path of things. So, she wrapped her tail around her feet, threw her lab coat on the ground, and closed her eyes, ready to stir if any of the various gnomish devices monitoring her patients began to beep. Ready to once again shift from serenity to chaos. 

See this and more brilliant stories in the Warcraft Fanzine Issue One: Seasons of Change