I felt all the muscles in my stomach knot together, constricting, cramping. It had never dawned on me until that moment that I would have to one day kill another being, a person, a creature. To take a life! Would I ever be able to sleep again if I killed someone? Granted, I'd also never been in a situation where it would be a case of either me or them who walked away to live another day. Still, that insight did nought to lessen my anxiousness.

I watched, bug-eyed as the three figures drew nearer, oblivious that intruders were just over the curvature of the ramp. I flicked a look at our Kirin Tor colleagues, their stances demonstrating their experience in such encounters. And Araellor, well, he'd proven time and again that killing was practically second nature to him. As if he'd been born to do it. Regardless of our recent run-in, I was very grateful for his expertise.

Then I looked at Felenn. She was the epitome of a very calm and collected individual. Almost regal in her poise. Whereas I was absolutely bricking it! I didn't have time to ponder on her lack of fear, however, as the three figures crested the ramp.

In a flurry of cross bolts and frost and arcane expenditure, the battle was over before it had barely begun. A woman and two mage hunters lay in a pool of blood. I watched in utter silence as that pool spread, its trajectory heading back down the ramp from whence they came.

The smell of sulphur and burning flesh assaulted my nostrils. I gagged. Felenn was immediately at my side, rubbing my back. I had no idea if some of the magic had been from her; it all happened so fast. I certainly knew not even a spark had emanated from my fingertips, and I couldn't help but feel ashamed, cowardly and relieved.

Araellor just gave me a quick look, then turned and led the way down the ramp, with Garret and Aden following closely behind.

"Stop!" Felenn quietly said to me. "Do not feel that way, Klara. This is all new for you - this place, the circumstances, the threats. Do not punish yourself. Killing is not an easy thing to do, in any situation."

"But...but you..."

"This is not about me. Now, take some steadying breaths and let's join the others."

Her words, while kind -ish, did not make me feel any better. She was right, though; we had to stay close to the team.

We encountered more ascendants and mage hunters, and again, they were all dispatched with considerable ease by our three male colleagues. I confess it did hearten me a little to see Felenn had not fired at the enemies. At least in that, I wasn't alone.

However, the next stretch of our journey into the Nexus presented a very different challenge. Ahead of us, several blocks of ice were blocking our way. And within those blocks – were people. At first, I thought it might be the missing magi. I felt a surge of hope that we'd located them. Quite how we were going to rescue them, though, was another matter. And we had no idea how long they'd been frozen. Or if they even still survived within their icy confines.

Araellor, however, did not appear as enthused and signalled for us to remain at a distance. He crept forward, his steps lithe, quiet, sure. He stopped in front of the first one, peering through the ice.

We all remained motionless, tense. Ready. I was tightly wound, holding my breath. Then I felt something skitter over my boot. I looked down to see a crystal spider circling my feet.

And I shrieked.

That was all it took. The ice in front of Araellor splintered then shattered revealing a creature which I couldn't quite determine as human or elf. Neither could I say it was alive – yet it moved! It caught our intrepid hunter off guard and brought its dagger down, piercing the armour on Araellor's chest. Suddenly, bolts of magic were fired at the attacker, and after a few direct hits, it fell, twitching, next to our fallen hunter.

Without thinking I ran forward and knelt beside Araellor. His eyes were blazing, full of anger as he scrambled to reach his crossbow.

The sound of breaking ice filled my ears. All the frozen people were being freed from their icy sarcophagi. And they were on the attack!

Araellor pushed me out of the way, sending me sliding across the ice on my backside. He turned swiftly and fired his crossbow, successfully impaling two attackers. They dropped to their knees, but they still had some fight left in them.

Garret and Aden were blasting the enemies with barrages of frost and fire, first slowing their advances then causing fire damage over time, slow and painful, the flames eating into flesh. From over my head came a fast and furious flurry of arcane shots which knocked the attackers back and drove them to their knees. Felenn had joined the fight, helping to clear the path. She delivered the final blows along with more cross bolts from Araellor.

Then the hunter shouted my name. A warning! I turned to see another de-iced enemy coming at me swinging a sword. Without thinking I drew from my inner banks and sliced into him with a frost bolt the size of a giant cleaver. It propelled him backwards, cutting diagonally into his chest leaving an enormous gash, exposing his innards. He landed in a crumpled heap. Lifeless. Finished.

I was trembling from head to toe, studying my hands as if they were infected by some flesh-eating scurvy. Again, Felenn was at my side, checking that I was all right. I'd never felt so small in my entire life. So pathetic, So naïve.

"You're fine, Klara. You did good!" Felenn tried to assure me.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the fur-covered boots heading my way; the deliberate stride, purposeful, intent. I just knew I was going to get another roasting from Araellor. I felt like I was six-year-old again, waiting on my father giving me a row for being disobedient.

Araellor knelt beside me and grunted at Felenn. Grunted! She immediately rose and crossed over to check on Garret and Aden.

I sat waiting, my eyes just staring at the ice on which I was sitting. Looking anywhere other than the hunter. I even looked over at the man, or whatever it was, that I'd just killed. A slop of guts hit the ground, the soft hiss of warm flesh on the icy floor reaching across to me, letting me know I caused that. I was responsible for all of that last assault. I held my breath, waiting for the snarling baritone to condemn my actions.

"Well done," he said.

I still didn't look at him. I was convinced it was sarcasm, a scornful prelude of his contempt for me.

"Seriously, Klara. That was a great shot."

I dared glance up to meet his eyes. Try as I might, I couldn't control my emotions. I wanted to stay angry, to be the incensed woman from earlier when he'd given me a row, but I had just killed someone. That, plus my idiotic reaction to a spider had almost cost the company their lives. I started to well up.

"I admit, it was the most bizarre way to start a fight, but ... you delivered a first-class ending."

And somehow ... I laughed. Araellor laughed. Then Garret and Aden joined in. And finally, so did Felenn.

Araellor helped me to my feet, both of us still chortling. I brushed the ice from my coat and trousers. When I looked back up at him, I saw mirth in his eyes. And something else. Something I dared not contemplate. I quietly thanked him then moved over to join Felenn and the others.

The men took time to check the fallen. They foraged some of the weapons, tucking them into their waistbands or slinging them over their shoulders. Well, the armoury was of no use to the dead, so why not?

"Any idea who they were?" Felenn asked. I wondered if she, too, had first thought it may have been the missing magi.

Araellor shook his head. "Just unfortunate scavengers, I reckon. A couple of them were orcs."

I peered past him to one of the dead. His face was almost skeletal. "And that one?" I pointed.

"Undead," Garret answered. "That last one you nailed was the same."

"Undead? You mean scourge?"

The mage shook his head. "No, not scourge. Forsaken. They fight with the Horde."

"Forsaken?" I seemed to just be repeating what I heard.

"They fight for Sylvanas Windrunner," Felenn added.

Her eyes were moist, as if she was remembering something. Something tragic - and personal.

Then the penny dropped. "Wasn't she your Ranger General? The one Arthas..." I started but couldn't finish.

"Yes," she confirmed. "She somehow wrested Arthas' control and now leads the Forsaken; many of whom are the victims from Lordaeron."

I turned to face the one I'd killed and stared at the skeletal features, trying to imagine it as a human being. My stomach heaved. For all I knew, the Forsaken I'd murdered could have been a neighbour from Stratholme. A long-lost family friend. Or one of my friends' father or brother. My knees buckled and Araellor was instantly there to catch me.

I tried to push him away, but he held firm, ensuring I wasn't going to pass out. I gathered from the compassion in his eyes that my mentor had told him some of my history: where I came from and what my family had endured. I felt susceptible and exposed at that moment. Vulnerable and weak. And utterly foolish. I seemed to be faltering at the slightest thing. Granted the last incident was pretty frightening and upsetting, but for goodness' sake! I became annoyed with my less-than-competent behaviour and inwardly gave myself a pep talk to toughen up.

It was then I noticed the blood on Araellor's cuirass. The very thing I was accountable for and what led to the all-out assault from the formerly captive Horde. I instinctively reached out.

Araellor's eyes followed my hand, and then he grinned. "'Tis only a flesh wound."

"A wound is a wound, though," I replied. "Felenn, may I have some of your medicinal potions, please?"

The grin and corresponding flex of her brow didn't escape me, I knew what she was thinking, but she fished about in her little bag of miracle cures and handed me a vial, a small tub and some gauze. She then demanded the two magi's attention about something entirely random, leaving me to tend to Araellor.

"Loosen your chest-piece," I said. Without argument, he unbuckled the straps at his shoulder and waist, then lifted the cuirass enough for me to inspect his wound. I pushed up his undershirt and inspected the cut. He was right, it wasn't deep, but it still needed to be treated. I tipped some of the vial's content onto a piece of the gauze and softly dabbed around the cut. He flinched, drawing air in between his teeth.

"What! A big strong man like you afraid of a little saline?" I jested.

"It's cold," he replied, with a grin toying at the corners of his mouth.

"Baby!" I retorted. He laughed, the sound deep, somewhat hypnotic. I joined in his mirth. Next, I applied some of the ointment before covering the wound with more gauze. I pressed it against his chest and felt the steady drum of his heart. Smiling to myself I pulled his shirt over the gauze, ensuring the dressing remained adhered to his skin. Then I set his cuirass as it should be and proceeded to fasten the straps.

"There, you're fit for duty again."

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied with a nod.

He held my gaze for a moment too long, more than I was comfortable with, and I felt my skin start to prickle, a heated flush creeping up from my neck. Quickly, I turned away, collecting together the vial, the tub and what remaining gauze there was to return to Felenn.

I pushed myself up and joined the other three group members.

Seconds later, we were ready to proceed with our investigation, Araellor leading us once more, followed by the two magi, then Felenn and myself. Just as we started to move, Felenn nudged me playfully.

"You sure you don't want to be upfront now?" she teased.

My blush from moments before had not ebbed, but her comment made it flare again. "No, I'm quite happy here," I replied as casually as possible.

"Ha!" She giggled, then fell into step behind our colleagues.

As we moved cautiously along the winding corridors, my thoughts returned to the casualties we'd left behind. It still made my gut constrict to think that I might have just killed someone I once knew. Someone who had already suffered through the ingestion of some infected grain. A man whose life became forfeit, catapulted into the shadow of the living dead. The very name of those poor, unfortunate souls triggered a solitary tear to escape, with yet more welling up, ready-to-follow suit. I sniffed them back and let the one escapee trace down my cheek. A tear in commemoration for those who once lived happy, contented lives. Who'd worked and played, laughed and loved. The poor souls of Stratholme and Lordaeron.

Now the Forsaken.

___________________________________________________________________________

Alas, Klara reacted the same way I do when a spider crosses my path - but boy did her reaction start a chain of events from which there is no turning back. But I suppose it has provided a little 'closeness' between her and Araellor, eh? 

Still, it must have been difficult for her to even remotely consider that the souls they had just freed belonged, perhaps, to those who were once neighbours or friends of hers in Stratholme, before the cull. What do you think?