The Ranger-General had bought them time - but it wasn't enough.
Kharisa Silverdawn stood in formation with her brothers and sisters, waiting for death's inevitable march. Their arrogance faltered with every line of defenses the Scourge marched through - and now they knew, for certain, that none of them would live through this.
They were here to give the civilians time to evacuate.
This was the first Khary had ever seen of war - sure, there were skirmishes with the Amani, but she'd lived within the relative safety of Quel'thalas all of her life.
She'd expected some kind of glorious battle, and a part of her expected to somehow survive it. She still believed in her own immortality.
What she found was a slaughter.
Creatures - because they weren't people anymore - swarmed the gates. She watched as her comrades were slaughtered brutally, viciously - and yet the attackers did their best to leave the bodies intact. Khary couldn't understand why, at first. She didn't want to understand why.
She fought with every ounce of strength in her body, taking as many shambling corpses as she could with her. And yet they didn't kill her.
They took her, the stench of rotting flesh filling her nostrils as three ghouls held her still. A geist worked to free her from the confines of her plate armor, as a tall man - a human - stood before her. Blue runes glowed on his long, thin, sword, as he pressed the tip just under her breastbone.
She lost consciousness, then, as he pierced her heart, as she died.
But that was only the beginning for her.