Two blade throwers and a half-built ship in Zoram'gar were burning in an unquenchable fire. A wagonload of supplies and the wyvern nests in Hellscream's Watch also blazed cheerfully.
Jeremy Slater really wished he'd thought to bring some smorcs.
He smiled cheerfully at the non-combatants nearby in the Watch and tossed them a casual salute. He and the other Crusaders wouldn't be bothering them, and the Hordies knew it--or at least, he hoped they did. He glanced over at Adinas, who stood by, wordlessly watching the skies for the inevitable reinforcements. Kyalin was somewhere around, he knew not where; one thing he'd learned about Wardens was that you didn't see them unless they wanted you to.
An undead mage had already shown up, tried valiantly to help his comrades, but had wisely chosen to retreat and regroup when he realized how badly he was outnumbered. Wily fellow; he looked familiar, this one, and not to be trifled with, if he was the one Slater had in mind.
"We should get out of here," Slater said at last. "Before they arrive in force."
But no sooner were the words out of his mouth than he was set upon from all sides--by guards and by frostbolts. The guards were no match for him, as the ones before hadn't been, but those frostbolts were problematic.
Slater fought slowly backwards, past the burning wagons, hoping to give his companions time to escape as they too nobly fought back against overwhelming odds (and succeeded in surviving, no small feat). The Horde pushed him back, shoved him down the hill, then shouted "Lok'tar ogar!" at him.
"We burned your fortresses, you dogs!" Slater shouted back. "For the ALLIANCE!" And he laughed a contemptuous laugh.
His hippogryph Valiant nudged him from behind, and he mounted up for his usual victory dance: three dive-bombings on the defenders, then away.
After the third pass, he turned toward Astranaar and safety--but at least one guard was unwilling to let him escape. Valiant let out an ear-rending screech as a javelin passed through his body, and Slater found himself falling, falling, his jaw clenched desperately against the scream that he knew would do nothing but make the Hordies feel good about themselves.
Surface tension is a funny thing. You would think that water would always be soft and welcoming, but hit it after falling far enough, and it can be like a rock. It was almost that when Slater hit it, and he saw stars.
The cold of the water seeped under his armor plates, dragging him down, stinging his open wounds. He would have chuckled if he'd had control enough to do so. So this is how I leave this world, he thought. Well, no offense, but the whole place was a raw deal anyway. Whatever You have in mind for me next, I'm looking forward to it.
And the world vanished in a swirl of blackness.