World of Warcraft®

Nynra Lirann Lightheart looked to the longhouse behind her, frowning from under her hood. It had taken many years to perfect her runes and enchantments to prepare a proper ritual, but even then it was still imperfect. Anyone with a careful eye or powerful enough skill in the light could detect it, but she was adamant.

She missed home.

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"Loo' ou, gerl!"

The woman yelped as a bolt of holy energy whizzed past her head, searing hot. She frowned angrily at the neophyte; the man was just learning how to use the light. Her frustration turned to understanding and she offered him a kind, motherly smile. The man brightened and apologized profusely, but the woman paid little mind to it.

She left the man to his training and strode into the cathedral. It had been a long time since she could do this freely. So much agony her sister had caused, some people still mistook her for that demonic-like creature that was once her sister. The woman shook her head, clearing her thoughts of the memory. It would not do to dwell upon... her.

The woman walked up to the altar ahead, knelt down and began praying, head bowed in reverence to the light...

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She mouthed the words to herself. "Stormwind City". She missed the old home, a place that she once revered as a bastion of light and a beacon of hope against the darkness. Though her reputation as a priestess had come into question when her sister turned to the darker arts, she perservered, never falling to the touch of darkness. But a prayer was not always enough.

The damned priestess looked to her hands, the bone protruding from under her sickly green rotting flesh. She took the scroll from her pack and mumbled in a low tone, observing her body shift. It was a false image, but did what it could; her skin brightened and the bone became more difficult to notice, though she would still have to hide nearly her entire body to make sure no one learned of her curse. The priestess' hands shook, her anger getting her once again.

She remained a devout servant of the light, even in death. Despite the burn marks that lined her bones, she refused to leave her love for the Light. She prayed to it daily, speaking its name in reverence and adoration, and always healed with its touch. Shadow did not grace her fingertips, but instead fled from her when she struck at it, vengeful and angry. Especially at the shadow that her sister had become.

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It was in the frozen tundra of Nothrend that she had walked, scouring the icy wilderness for her sister. Despite what she had become, Nynra still loved her sister. Her demonic, insane, depraved, crazed and murderous sister. The Light taught her to forgive, and she would forgive her. She could not do otherwise. It hurt to leave her.

Then she saw her, fighting among scourge in Dragonblight. An armada that surrounded her. Nynra watched solemnly at first, observed her sister fight against the small strike force of undead. She expected her to beat back the ghouls without any issue whatsoever. But she was overcome. Something was taking her power from her, and she was growing weaker with each passing moment. The dark woman saw her sister and reached a hand out to her, pleading for her aid.

Nynra knew that day would come sooner or later. Her sister was growing mad in her power, and when the shadow would not obey, she forced other magic. Now her sister was powerless, taken by the spell that Fury and her other once friends had conjured upon her. She would fall to the fiends of death.

Nynra would not allow it. Family was family.

She rushed to the battle, charging at the undead armada, letting the fury of the light wreathe them in agony and searing pain. The blessing of the holy light rained upon the scourge, blades that fell from the heavens to impale them, splitting bone from soul and freeing their bonds of death. But she was not a fighter; Nynra was a healer, a defender, a medic.

And the dead do not need healing.

One reached her and gripped her, biting deep into her shoulder. Nynra cried in pain and struck him with a blast of holy energy, only for another to claw at her front. They swarmed her quickly, the priestess unable to keep up the fight. In hope, she looked past the devouring mass of rotting flesh to her corrupt sister, hoping she would help her.

Her sister grinned mischeviously and simply bowed before leaving, calling her soul-fed drake and fleeing on its wings.

Nynra knew little else after that. The ghouls and gheists had quickly torn her from the living world, yet she could still feel it… the chill of the wind around her, the sound of chanting and whispering, the call of the one true king.

She awoke to a ritual circle and a necromancer standing before her. The obedient servant of death knelt down to face the resurrected woman. He grinned a toothless smile and spoke in a harsh, rasping voice.

“Who is your master?”

Nynra looked to her new form; the rotted flesh that lined her being, the bones that were revealed from under them, and her eyes… in the reflection of the frozen ice around her, she saw those two dead yellow eyes staring back at her. She looked to the necromancer and spoke without hesitation.

“The Light.”

It was a quick brawl after that. She had torn the necromancer’s throat from his neck in a blind fury before fleeing into the cold wilderness. Her armor and weapons had gone missing, her skill vanished from her mind. The Light had abandoned her, left her to die in the north.

But she would not abandon it. A servant still, regardless of her state.

In her state of death, she went to the one place that would accept her; the Undercity…

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That was at least four years ago. Now, Nynra walked away from the Longhouse, her Razzashi raptor, Razi, following behind her obediently, a sad look on his tiny face as they left home. Nynra smiled reassuringly and patted the raptor, holding it lovingly and carrying him. She looked back to the Longhouse and reflected on the note she had left for the Greatmother;

“Greatmother Poni
I am sorry. The Light still calls to me, and I cannot deny its words. I must return to my old home, back to what my life once was. Do not worry for me; the hunters lie dead, save for a few strays, and I can hide my form within the city of Stormwind. I have skill in that, at least.
I must return home, back to the Light and to my previous life. I will find a way to be accepted; do not worry. Thank you for all that you have done. Tell the others I bid them farewell, and to you, our allies in the longhouse, your children and their future sons and daughters;
Light Bless You, and be with you always.
Nynra Lirann Lightheart.”

She called upon her nether ray and climbed atop it, Razi sleeping in her arms. Idly, she took gentle hold of the heart shaped locket around her neck, whispering a prayer to her family. With one last look to the Longhouse, she urged her mount onward, towards Stormwind and her old life. Back to the Light.