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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
From Warrior to Death Knight, Therantris has faced (literally) all the tragedies no one would ever want to face.
*Based off the game World of Warcraft

Submitted: July 22, 2015

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Submitted: July 22, 2015



Walking through the streets of Stormwind, Jaina felt a cold breeze. During this time of the year, the breezes seemed normal, but this breeze felt tired, eerie, lonesome- almost like the desolated ghosts of Northrend embracing themselves to her. People told stories and rumors of her heartless self, but she knew she still had compassion that warmed her heart, and that's what led her to follow this mysterious breeze.. the silent cry, almost. As she followed the eerie breeze through the opening of the Dwarven District, it carried a cry. It was not a young cry, wanting food or attention from its caregiver, but it was a lonely cry, yearning for warmth. Jaina stopped and sighted out where the sad cry came from, around the corner of the Canals, and her heart stopped when she discovered it. A lonesome Night Elf. But this elf carried a dead, grey aura. A Death Knight. He was Death Knight- no wonder he carried this aura. The Death Knight was hunched over against a tree, head in hands, and silently weeping. Or so he thought he was silent. She took note of the thrown sword across from him. Must have been his doing.

Why couldn't anyone hear him? Why did she only feel that breeze? Why didn't people stop when they walked by him? So many questions reeled through her mind as she sorrowfully on looked the Death Knight. She could not stand this, couldn't stand someone looking so... sunken. She walked toward him, conjuring up some water, and wondered what caused someone to be so dispirited. Jaina approached him, knelt down and lightly put her hand on his shoulders. He quickly looked up and tried to hide the pain that was plastered on his face, but failed. Might as well let her sit down with him. I mean, no one else had bothered to take interest in him.

When she saw his face, her heart broke. He had dry tears splotched on his face; new ones leaking out. His eyes are what made her want to cry. They held no sign of joy. No sign of hope. No sign of some kind of life. Instead, she saw war, anger, sadness, and loss. Saw the wars that he fought, the loss that he faced, and the anger that faded into nothing. Faded into the dull light of his eyes.

He's almost given up.

She gently sat beside him as he watched her, and handed him the glass of water. He looked at hequizzically and hesitantly took the glass of water.

“Hey soldier.” Jaina quietly said. She already knew he wasn't alright, and wasn't bother going to ask. She again placed her hand on his shoulder and he halfheartedly looked at her, surprised at the compassion that she displayed in her eyes. Was this really the loggerheaded-mage that everyone talked about?

He held back more tears that she provoked and choked out, “Hey.”

“What is your name, buddy?” she asked, wondering if it was appropriate to say 'buddy'.

 He looked away and sighed, like he was ashamed of his own name, “Therantris.” he finally answered.

“What a wonderful name.” Jaina quipped.

He only scoffed at her attitude, slightly smirking as he disdainfully said, “Right.”

She didn't feel offended by his tone, she shouldn't. He's in a lot of distress. “Not anyone is looking as sunken as you are. Tell me, Death Knight, what is making you upset like this?” she apologetically asked. Therantris trembled and let his head hang down before beginning his not-so-heroic tale.


Tweet tweet!

“To the Outlands with this plume-plucked job.” Alrion grumbled upon waking up to the obnoxiously loud bird outside.

“You better get up or you'll get barked at,” his lovely wife half-laughed, due to her half-awake state.. He glared at her for two seconds, but sluggishly got up. He walked to the stash of clothes, got his uniform out, threw it on the bed, and hopped to the vanity area to freshen up.

About ten minutes later, after the shower, he smiled at the smell of pancakes. O, wonderful pancakes. The warm buttery smell definitely woke him up. He threw on his uniform, though quite neatly, and bounded downstairs in a fit of hunger.

 He came up behind is busy wife and swept her off her feet, spinning her around. “What is that SMELL?”  he yelled in glee. The squeal of delight she let out was enough to make his whole day. Could life get any better? “Today we're patrolling our village. Our tiny human village. Why are we the only elves here?” he joked as he plopped her down.

”But nothing happens here..” saying as she lazily flipped a pancake.

Alrion winked at her and said, “Because of us.”

She only rolled her eyes and shoved a plate of food at him. “Whatever. Eat up, soldier!”


“What was her name?” Jaina asked.

Therantris cringed and grit his teeth before letting out another sad sigh, “Renda.” Jaina immediately regretted her asking upon seeing his reaction.

Before her even seeking forgiveness, he waved it off. “It's fine.”


“Have a good day!” Renda called out as he headed for the door. Alrion flashed a quick smile before heading out.

“Checkmate, mate.” Tyran coyly said as he knocked the King piece off the board. Tyran was Alrion's best friend. He was a Rogue, so no doubt he was cunning at a game like chess. He had black hair that had a sheen to it- probably another concoction he made up- a well-chiseled face, a long nose, was very quick, but was a bit shorter than Alrion, being a Human, of course.

“Bah!” Alrion yelled out. “How can you beat me every time?” shooting him a sad look.

"Rogues.” Tyran shot back, winking. Alrion sighed and stood up.

“You put a good game.” he complimented.

“Why thank you, my good sir.” Tyran rebounded.

Alrion bowed and walked across the tavern to the barkeep, and ordered two light glasses of grog.  He looked back at his dagger-wielding friend and called out, “Grog's on me!” Tyran cheered gleefully and continued to twirl a dagger around. When he returned to the table, he handed his friend a glass. Throughout the small drink, they told tales of adventure, training, family and all topics across the range. They could talk about anything, really. Tyran held Alrion's darkest secrets, and Alrion knew he could entrust him with them.


“That was the last time I ever saw him. Ever see that infamous dagger. That cocky attitude,” Therantris mournfully chuckled.

Jaina nodded and asked, “You never told me what you were before, if you don't mind my asking?”

Yet again, he waved it off. “I was a Warrior, surprisingly. Now look at me,” he said as he angerly gestured to himself.

Jaina gently tapped his shoulder and said in sympathy, “At least you're alive.”

He let out a sarcastic, hearty laugh, “Hardly.”


They had a very light buzz in their brains as Alrion gulped down the last of his grog. Tyran didn't finish it all, though. At that moment, a soldier busted in and yelled, “Scourge!” Everyone seemed confused. Why would the Scourge attack this dinky place? Then the heard the horn. The devastating horn. The horn that everyone dreaded. Alrion's first thought was Renda. Tyran seemed to notice his frightened look, as Alrion stared blankly at the wall.

Tyran slapped him back to reality with a, “Frothy Elf.. let's GO.”

When he came back, he frightfully looked at Tyran and said, “Renda.”  

Tyran looked at him and nodded, his eyes telling him to go to her. Alrion nodded, jumped to his shield and sword, and out of the tavern. He froze outside at the sight of hordes of Scourge skeletons, undead warriors and the like running about, destroying everything in sight with such ferocity. The way home would at least take twenty minutes, but with these hordes, who knows how long. Would he make it?

“Go! I got your back!” Tyran yelled, running ahead of him, throwing a dagger in the vertebrae of a skeleton.

Alrion nodded and fought his way to the path that lead him home; sword covered in drool and unidentifiable goo as he slashed and bashed his way through small armies. In his vision, he saw Tyran quickly disappearing and reappearing as he jabbed, slashed and threw any Scourge he could see. He was like a rabid Tauren experiment gone wrong- he was that ferocious. They both finally made it to the path, heavily breathing and laughing as they looked down the long journey. They both walked in silence, the occasional Scourge jumping out at them. It was actually quite surprising that hardly any Scoruge was on this path. Alrion couldn't keep worrying questions out of his head. Is she alright? Is she hiding? Can she defend herself?  Did she know they were here? After fighting the few zombies and tons of running, they finally arrived in the village, only to find it overgrown with Scourge. People were running. People were fighting. But most of all, people were falling dead. Luckily, he didn't see his wife among the dead or fighting, and at that, he let out a sigh of relief. He called out hername as loud as he could, and she screamed out his name in return. He wanted to laugh in relief and joy. She was alright! He found her voice and followed it. Broom in hand, Renda was viciously clobbering at anything that moved. Tyran ran in front of him.

“I'll go protec-” and was interrupted by a sword through his chest. Tyran looked at the bloody sword through his chest and looked up at Alrion, life slowly draining from his eyes and said with one last breath, “Finish.. the grog for me..” and fell to the ground.

 What just happened? How? Why didn't I move? Why aren't I moving now? These questions only swam around Alrion's head and he stared at his friend's dead body, the life finally gone from his eyes. It was like having a sword through his own chest. Something very close to him was gone. Slashed from his life, quite literally. Just like that, by the searing metal of a sword. Anger and tears flooded his eyes as he screamed at the damn Scourge, lunging at him and cutting its head off. He looked back and knelt down to the lifeless body of of Tyran. He held his hand, said a prayer, and harshly cried out. With a heavy heart and eyes, he stood up, took his dagger, and set it on his chest. He had no time to mourn. It was the right thing to do for rogues who fell in battle. Alrion wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run away. He wanted to go back to the tavern to finish the grog. He said another prayer, in Elven, and continued to his wife.


“I am truly sorry..” Jaina said with hooded eyes. This time tears were falling down his face.

“It's hard, you know? You don't know. Watching your comrade's life drain from his eyes right in front of you. It was like I lost a closer brother.” he croaked out behind strangled tears.

Jaina couldn't help it. She hugged him. She hugged him very tight. This action caused more tears to spill from him in her embrace. “Sshhh.” she cooed. He felt grateful. He felt grateful for her giving her shoulder for him to cry on. He needed someone to talk to.


Alrion finally reached his wife through the Scourge bodies he made fall. He hugged her and kissed her all over.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did you kno-” he blurted out in a flurry of worry.

“I'm fine! Look at me!” she interrupted. He smiled and hugged her again.

In that embrace, she hugged him as tight as she could and whispered,  “All you alright? I just saw the scene that played out. I am so sorry.. I knew how much he meant to you..” She also felt sad and hurt, he was an admirable guy. They all would hang out together and have the best of times.

With a shaky sigh, Alrion said, “I'll be fine.”

He led her inside, motioned to her, very quietly, to stay there. He scouted out their home, thankfully finding no Scourge. While upstairs, he heard a strangled scream from downstairs and bounded down. He didn't expect the sight he saw. Renda was pinned down on the ground by a Scourge zombie, but luckily, she kicked him off, and that's when Alrion attacked. He lunged toward the zombie and his sword went through it like a knife through butter.

“Phew, talk about a fight for dominance,” she joked. This wasn't a time for joking, so Alrion only shot her a dull look. She flinched at his insensibility, and after a moment of awkwardly standing around, they both slumped down on the couch with an audible sigh. Hopefully not any other Scourge attackers would bust in through the door. Just to his luck, three more busted in through the window instead.


His wife panicked and ran to the kitchen, bumping her leg hard against the table set next to the couch. Noticing the thump and her grunt of pain, one of the zombies ran after her. With Alrion distracted, he didn't notice her being followed by the stray zombie. After finishing off the two zombies, Alrion heard a high pitched horrendous cry come from the kitchen. When did she go in there?

“Oh, Father’s of Northrend...”  he said with wide eyes. He ran into the kitchen and into the terrible sight.

His wife, his very strong wife, was pierced right through the stomach, looking at him with eyes that said, “I tried.”

Time seemed to stop right there. This had to be a dream. Had to be. His wife could not die. Not like this! As soon as he realized this was indeed not a dream, he lunged at the smirking zombie, bashing its head very hard, and very brutal, until it was a pile of smashed goop. He then ran to his wife, plopping on the ground beside her, his tears already starting to form. She was breathing quite harsh as crimson liquid seeped out of her mouth.

“No. No no no no no, stay with the Light. Please!” he cried as he cradled her in his arms.

She slowly lifted her hand to his face and coughed up blood, whispering, “Don't let.. the death of me.. control your anger and control you..” She breathed one last breath and with that last breath, she mournfully said, “I love you so very much.”

And then she was gone. She slumped in his arms, hand intertwined in his. He blinked. That's all he could do.

“No. NO!” he yelled out. He was crying now. Sobbing. Yelling. Rocking back and forth, calling out her name over and over again. After that scene, he looked to the ceiling and screamed out. His screamed reeked of anger and loss. He didn't realize how loud he screamed, because four other soldiers ran into the heartbreaking scene. Everyone in the brigade knew how strong his love for her was, and with that in mind, they took off their hats and grieved only for a moment.

 It was only in that moment’s time until another soldier charged in and yelled, “Come on! We have to go! If we do not, we'll all die!”

Alrion only continued to rock back and forth sobbing into his wife. The soldiers all looked at each other, sadness also overtaking their eyes, and regretfully, ran to Alrion and tried to pull him away.

"No! Renda!” he wailed as he very harshly fought the soldiers as hard as he could. He shook them off and ran back to his wife. He couldn't leave her here like this, dead like this. The others grabbed him again, handled him quite brash, but he only tried to fight against them, letting anger overtake his reasoning. Time seemed to slow down... seemed to go silent. They finally managed to drag him to the door and he finally gave up. He cured into a ball and started to violently cry, calling out her name again and again.

The soldiers knelt down to him and all said a prayer. “She was a very good woman, fighter, and wife. She died in honor. Her death will not be forgotten,” one of the soldiers said.

Anger and all the negative washed over him and he called out her name, one last time. All the happiness and life seemed to drain out of him. He lost his best friend and beloved wife. How could anyone stand that? He was a soldier, he had to

He wiped his tears and stood up, thanking the soldiers for their help and sympathy. “Let's kill these son of ogres.” he said with a very dull voice as he looked at his wife and soldiers. The anger increasingly bubbled up inside him and he scanned the hordes of Scourge. He yelled and ran head first into the armies, losing all control, along with the other soldiers. He tried to keep her dying wish, not to let anger overtake him, but it was so hard. Too many mindless, drooling zombies ran all around him, one knocking him over. He then got trampled very hard, and very bad. He was alive, but in so much pain. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. It was like he was dead already. Dare he get up? No. Unbearable pain took him over. Still, he tried, and that was a fatal mistake. Upon seeing him move, a skeleton lunged at him and pierced him through his torso, and even though he tried to stop him, the sword went through him. With a yelp filled with intense pain, he was gone.

Before falling out, he faintly remembers a dark, chilling voice say, “Rise, and let the anger drive your destiny, my new Knight. Therantris.”

The Lich King.


Again, he had his head in his hands. The memory and feelings of losing his wife reeled back in, and not even tears hold what he was feeling inside.

“That's all I remember. I regained my memory after Tirion saved me. I lay my life in debt for that heroic Paladin,” he said as he sorrowfully looked to the sky.

Jaina looked up with him, patted his shoulder, and said, “You are a strong soul, Therantris. Even with your very tragic loss, you are still with us.”

With that, she stood up, saluted him, bowed, and walked off. Her respect for him was indefinite.

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