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Holy Light of the Moon (Racebending Contest)

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Cerryan Vyel is a devout Sin'dorei Paladin of the Holy Light. In the time since the Scourge's assault on Quel'thalas and the slow rebuilding of Silvermoon, Cerryan has played the role of Blood Knight, freedom fighter, anarchist, exile, crusader, hero, and more. Above all things he is dedicated to the pursuit of peace, not for any faction but for the whole of Azeroth, and to standing for those who cannot fight for themselves.

This is not his story.


“Another wave! Form up and brace for impact!”

Cerrian Vayelle hadn’t heard the order. The Kal’dorei’s glowing eyes scanned the black, felscarred landscape for the wounded amongst the corpses of heroes and demons in the miserable little corner of the Broken Shore that he and his allies found themselves defending. He closed his eyes, reaching out to the healing light of Elune above to lift the fallen to their feet and continue the fight against the surging ranks of demons marching relentlessly towards the Temple of Elune, the once resplendent center of worship to the priest’s beloved Goddess. The structure was twisted and warped now, a corrupted mockery serving as the great enemy’s seat of power on Azeroth and an affront to Elune, neither of which could stand while Cerrian drew breath.

His breaths were weary and ragged, as it happened. The day had turned quickly for the priest and his company; a mission of suppression amongst the ancient ruins of his ancestors to prevent the summoning of demonic reinforcements had become a bitter defense of those ruins. The wicked agents of the Legion that his group had come to stop were defeated with minimal injury, as the Alliance heroes had been operating on the shore for many weeks now. Unanticipated was arrival of scores of demons not from a summoner’s spell but by foot, in droves, from encampments much further off from where they now fought. The demonic forces seemed to be rushing towards the Tomb from all paths leading out from it, and Cerrian’s allies were unfortunate enough to be on one such pathway.

He could feel holy energy surge through him as his ritual neared completion, only a few seconds left in the delicate blend of spell and prayer before those who had fallen would be blessed with another chance to fight for their world. His face was caressed by warm light that sent rogue strands of moonlight-silver hair aloft and made his purple robes billow gently, and his soft eyes opened slowly just in time to focus on the burning green meteor hurtling straight at his unblemished face.

Moments before his fiery demise, a wrenching pull on his shoulder drags him behind a wall of shields, and a dour looking Night Elf wielding a finely wrought Mithril greatsword stares down at him as an explosion of green fire illuminates the warrior’s silhouette. Another wrenching jerk brings Cerrian to his feet, followed quickly by a cuff on the shoulder. “Your eagerness to aid others is admirable, but maybe keep an eye open to look after yourself with? We’re pressed hard enough as it is, the last thing I need is-”

A heavy impact and panicked shouts interrupted the warrior as the shield wall behind them broke against the onslaught of a new wave of demons. The warrior moved with swift grace, filling in the space made open by the two knights that had been thrown back. His blade sang out as it slashed and pierced demon after demon, its bearer holding back the tide long enough for one of the soldiers to return to his place. The other laid on the ground, moaning weakly at his injuries until pain suddenly numbed and faded. Cerrian smiled at the Human, helping him to his feet and pressing the soldier’s sword back in his hand. A curt nod was returned as the knight hefted his shield and traded places with the Kal’dorei warrior, dumbfounded for a moment at the number of bodies their commander had left before he withdrew.

“I’m sorry, Anteris.” Cerrian immediately went to work closing what wounds his commander had sustained in the last attack. “We’ve lost so many that we need up and fighting, and I can’t maintain that kind of ritual when combat surrounds us.”

“Focus on those who are still fighting. Keep them fighting. We’ll do what we can for the fallen after the battle is won, but first we need to get there. Keep yourself alive until then, or their souls may be lost to us forever.” The warrior didn’t wait for a response, leaping heroically back into the fray the second his wounds were healed. Shrieking screams could soon be heard across the shieldwall, and no small number of severed demonic limbs could be spotted in the air.

“Yes, Commander...” The silver-haired priest turned his attention on the line of defenders keeping the Legion forces from their destination. He wove arcs of healing light across the battlefield in an intricate web of channeled prayer, his will a conduit for that of his goddess. His allies struck back with renewed vigor, and before long the tide of enemies seemed to ebb before them. Cerrian allowed a small, thankful smile to cross his face as he prepared his mind to again reach out to the fallen. Before he could begin, a shadow was cast over the already dark, fel-warped sky, and a chorus of gasps and shouts was soon drowned out by countless piercing shrieks as the air above them filled with slavering felbats flocked more tightly than the priest had seen since the doomed first assault on the shores.

“Cover! Shields up, stay low! Archers!” Commander Anteris’ orders could barely be heard over the panicked screams and bestial cries. Soldiers attempted to flee in all directions as the mass of winged demons descended upon them. Cerrian grouped closely with the knights he had been fighting beside, their shields held to the sky as they worked their way towards their commander. He saw the fruitless attempts of a few archers and mages to thin the horde, a mere handful of the attacking number falling from the sky before there were no more heroes to resist. It was all Cerrian could do to keep those nearest to him shielded, and every few seconds he’d hear the gravely harrowing last gasp of one more soldier plucked into the sky by the relentless demons. They’d not made it halfway to Anteris, and Cerrian couldn’t even see him through the flurry of skyborne attackers. The silver-haired priest’s heart was beating out of his chest as he desperately searched, before he and those around him were slammed into the ground as a felbat sweeping overhead slammed into the shields above them. He was pinned under at least two of his own allies, face down in the black dirt and unable to hear anything but the rapid impact of blows against the shields and bodies that kept him immobile and the frantic pace of his own breath. Incapable of anything else, Cerrian whispered a prayer to Elune and prepared for his own horrific death.

This went on for countless, eternal minutes; the young elf lay trapped and traumatized as he waited to die as he’d seen so many of his friends and allies die before him. Still he prayed, his faith the only thing keeping him sane in those dire moments, until a low, humming shockwave seemed to cascade over everything around him. A new wave of monstrous shrieks and flapping wings echoed across the battlefield, and soon all was quiet once more. In that silence Cerrian knew that none of those piled above him still lived, and it was another many minutes before the weakened night elf was able to pull himself up between the battered corpses and shattered armor to reach the open air. In a shocked daze the priest took gulping breaths and stared blankly at the scene, looking with subdued hope for signs of life he couldn’t find in the haze. As his gaze travelled across the broken battleground and up into the sky, he felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach as he regarded the bleeding, burning world that now hung balefully above the horizon. He stared awestruck at the growing tear in the sky and the planet hanging sickly at its center, terror and realization building as he contemplated what this might mean. An end to the war, with the full might of the Legion a stone’s throw from Azeroth. The world he held so dear would be ravaged and picked apart as swiftly as those around them had been killed.

Cerrian tore his gaze from the skyline as the moans and cries of wounded soldiers began to fill the silence. Instincts bred from years of warfare accompanied by an unending stream of whispered prayer focused the priest as he dragged himself to his feet and mustered what energy he could to bring the first soldier he could find back to her feet, and then the next, and the next again until a small, ragged group was huddled together amidst the chaos and bodies. Cerrian helped a few others search for their commander, but Anteris could not be found alive or otherwise. The priest's heart sank further when the warrior’s sword was found half-buried in a pile of dead, none of which its owner. He stared at the blade in despair, but the last words of his dear friend echoed in his head.

Focus on those who are still fighting. Keep them fighting. We’ll do what we can for the fallen after the battle is won, but first we need to get there.

Cerrian fixated on those words, and a sort of anger grew within him. A righteous anger, directed at the wicked forces that had brought him to this point, that had brought his allies to their doom, that had wrapped the entire world in fear for the end. Divine energy surged around him, cascading the elven priest in silver as glowing wings of golden light unfurled behind him. He gripped Anteris’ sword tightly as he and his comrades watched a new pack of beasts come into view.

An end to the war, perhaps. But he couldn’t stop fighting. None of them could, not while there was still a fight left.

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