This is a short story I made regarding the Fall of Stormwind in my map Warcraft: Apocalypse
For a short story on the Fall of Dalaran, go here.
I looked at my blade, one last time. Gleaming in the sunlight, I knew we were all dead.
I was a noble Knight of Stormwind once, many fell to my blade. I was proud, I was a warrior.
Me, and only one thousand others, stood there.
The field was crimson, the ground was moist with blood, a heavy stench of disgust and rot filled the air.
We stared, face to face, at the uncountable undead legions.
One Knight tried to run, and he was shot in the back by a Scourge Marksman, falling off his horse and breaking his neck. A coward's fate.
Just then, the Scourge, in all their might, charged at us. It was the last stand of Stormwind.
I let out the roar of a lion, we charged and the air was filled with dust, and sounds of the clinging of our armor.
Blood flew into the air, horses, dead and alive, screeching. Abominations plummeting to the ground and crushing a group of ghouls, or a Knight flying into another.
We were all volunteers to hold off the undead as long as we could so the villagers of Stormwind could evacuate. We knew we would die, but we had already lost everything. This was our chance to do something worth dieing for.
The battle was gruesome, the already blood-tainted ground became more moist. I looked around, all I could see was corpses, I was the last one standing.
Not the last one alive, but definitely the last one standing. I looked down to see a Knight crawling to me in his dieing moments, literally cut in half by an Abomination cleaver. I prayed to the light for him as his eyes closed and his head dropped to the cold earth, dead.
I knew more would come. I wasn't leaving, I wasn't going to run. I looked at the horizon, the sun was setting, and I could see small figures.
The ground rumbled, The Scourge trampled over bodies as they rushed forward. A Death Knight approached me, he lead this army.
My horse, her name was Courage, for she had much, just as I did.
Courage was dead, I was on my feet for much of this battle, I mourned for my horse, praying she was with the light.
On my feet I gripped by sword, holding my shield high.
"Put that down, fool, and we might
let you run." said the Death Knight menacingly.
I lowered my shield, and simply smiled.
"Go to hell." I said.
I threw my sword at the Death Knight, a lucky shot, plunging right through his skull, falling to the ground, dead.
The Skeletal Archers shot at me, I saw a thousand arrows piercing me, ghouls ripping me apart and eating me alive, though I felt none of this. For I was too busy asking myself something.
Am I a hero?