“Knights, at the ready! Riflemen, hold the line! The Undead will be here any moment! Do not falter! Do not flinch in the face of death men! We are the first line of defense against all that would destroy our world! Here is where we make our stand!”
As Duke Lionheart’s voice rings out through their base, Jaina can’t help but be grateful for the old Paladin’s presence. She’s already done her own speeches, of course. She’s already made her own impassioned pleas to their troops to fight with all they can today. But there’s no denying the authority and strength that the Paladin’s voice carries, even in his advanced age.
She might be the leader of this particular line of defenses, but he is their battlefield commander, the one who will be fighting from the front right alongside their knights and footmen. Jaina, as always, must fight from the back. She is a mage after all, and it is what they do.
… Ah, but admittedly, her mind keeps becoming distracted by thoughts of the night she spent with Shandris and Rognak. She doesn’t know how to feel about it, truth be told. Luckily, she’s had more than enough to focus on of late in preparing this defense, but right now she has a moment to herself and finds her mind wandering back to that night.
She’d let Shandris seduce her all too easily, truth be told. And she couldn’t say what the relationship between her, the Sentinel, and the Orc Chieftain would look like going forward. But at the same time, Jaina couldn’t really bring herself to regret it. She had… enjoyed herself. It had been a singular bright spot on an otherwise hellish time of late, and for that… for that Jaina would not censure herself for letting it happen.
Ultimately, she-
“Lady Proudmoore.”
As Duke Lionheart comes up alongside her, Jaina pushes down her thoughts once more, bottling them up nice and tight and focusing on the matter at hand. Staff held in her grasp, the female mage nods to her stalwart second in command.
“Sir Lionheart. Thank you for your words. I have no doubt that the soldiers are bolstered by your bravery and courage, just as I am.”
The aged Paladin chuckles at that, shaking his head.
“Sometimes it seems as though I may not have many battles left in me, my Lady. Perhaps this one shall be my last. If it is… I can only hope that I instill some of the principles of honor and duty in the men that were instilled in me so long ago by Lord Uther.”
Jaina manages not to flinch at the mention of Arthas’ mentor. Indeed, Uther the Lightbringer had lived a long and storied life, and been mentor and teacher to many a paladin, not just the last Prince of Lordaeron. At his invocation, she finds herself letting out a shuddering breath and glancing to the side.
“I wonder what he would think of what we are doing here today. The lie we’ve had to tell the troops.”
Duke Lionheart’s bushy brow furrows at that, and the grey-haired Holy Knight shakes his head as he dismounts from his steed just so he can place a hand on Jaina’s shoulder.
“My Lady… we have told them no lie. They may not know the full breadth of our allies’ plans, but they fight for our new home, as we all do. That… that is no lie.”
Jaina bites her lower lip. He’s right of course, but it still itches at the back of her mind. This defense of Nordrassil… is nothing but one great big trap. According to Cenarius, Archimonde and his forces cannot hope to be defeated in a standard siege. The Legion alone is endless, but the Scourge provide them with even more of a force multiplier.
Instead… all this is, is a delaying action. All they’re doing is holding the Defiler’s armies off long enough for preparations to be made up at the tree. Ultimately, Archimonde is supposed to break through their defenses, shattering their fortifications and pushing on towards the Horde’s camp further up the mountain. They’re set up to lose, solely so that the Demon Lord will not realize anything is amiss.
Jaina understands the plan. She even accepts that nobody save for the leadership of all three forces can know what they’re really aiming for. She knows more than most about the corruptive influence that the Legion and Scourge have on mortal minds. It won’t shock her if they turn out to have several spies who try and stab them in the back over the course of the fighting today. Cultists, one and all.
For that reason, no one can know that they seek to entrap Archimonde and kill him by blowing up Nordrassil while he’s right next to it. Not until it’s too late for him to stop it.
But that still means some of her people will die today not even knowing what they’re fighting for. Still, Duke Lionheart is right. They fight for a better tomorrow. That much… that much is not a lie.
“Lord Uther would be proud of all that you have achieved since coming to Kalimdor, Lady Proudmoore. Wherever he is now… I believe he looks upon us with a smile.”
Jaina lets out a shuddering breath and nods at the aged Paladin’s words. However, when she opens her mouth to respond, a trumpet sounds from the edge of camp. A trumpet that signals the start of the enemy’s attack.
In a moment, Duke Lionheart has left her side and hopped back up on his mount. Drawing his blade, he gives Jaina a single nod before wheeling his horse around and making for the front lines.
“For the Alliance!”
A cheer starts up among the soldiers, as he joins them just in time for the Scourge to come crawling out of the darkness and up the mountain. Jaina, meanwhile, feels her own heart soar at his battle cry. Maybe it’s a little out of date, maybe it’s a little out of place… but Duke Lionheart is an old man… some allowances can be made.
Battle is joined at long last, with Jaina immediately sending messages off to Thrall and Tyrande about the Scourge’s arrival. The responses she get promise aid will soon arrive… and to be fair, it does. Wyverns and Hippogryphs come flying down the mountain with orcs and night elves riding them. They assail the undead from the air, tossing down explosives and shooting arrows in equal measure.
The first wave of attackers are dealt with to little fanfare. Nobody breaks, the line remains strong, and there’s not a single casualty among Jaina’s forces. As she looks on from afar, focused on channeling her arcane magic into helpful weather conditions such as blizzards and the like to slow down the undead, Jaina feels her heart surging with hope.
For a brief moment, she even wonders if it might be possible to stop them here and now… but of course, that’s a foolish thought. The next wave of Scourge comes rushing up, and battle is joined again within moments. And then the next. And the next.
It is an endless tide. Jaina knew it would be, of course. She was there in Dalaran the day before the Mage City fell, gazing down upon a tide of Scourge as they came to besiege the city. She’d been stood beside the Grand Magus, ready to fight… and if necessary, die beside him. But Antonidas had sent her away that day. He’d sent her to Kalimdor at long last and died trying to defend all that he had built from Arthas.
Now… now Jaina was finally, at long last, getting the battle versus the Scourge that she had desired to be part of all that time ago. It was true what they said. Always be careful what you wish for. The first few waves of undead coming at them up the mountain find no purchase against their defenses. They strike at the fortifications, but together, humans, dwarves, and gnomes push them back. With the Wyvern and Hippogryph riders providing air support, it certainly looks to be going well. Until quite abruptly, it isn’t.
The first sign that anything is going wrong is when a massive, shrieking Frostbolt comes flying through the air from behind enemy lines, striking one of the wyvern riders center mass. With a dying screech, the wyvern falls to the earth, it and its orc rider savaged by the undead below it before anyone behind the defensive line can even think about helping them.
Then, the one who cast that Frostbolt comes gliding forward.
“Fools! Insects! The Legion has come to subjugate our world! Succumb to the icy chill of death! Let none survive!”
A Lich. Jaina’s sharp intake of breath is matched by the bone-chilling feeling that Rage Winterchill’s presence causes on the battlefield. No one wants to fight a Lich… but he’s but the tip of the spear. He’s the least of their worries, and his presence only serves to show just how bad this is going to get before the end.
For a moment, Jaina fears that some of her soldiers will lose their nerve and cut and run. But in the stillness that follows the Lich’s pronouncement, a sudden light blazes to life at the front line. Duke Lionheart holds his sword, glowing golden with the Holy Light atop his mount and points it at the Lich.
“By the Holy Light, I shall destroy you, abomination! Knights of Lordaeron… charge!”
The Lich just cackles and floats forward, even as Duke Lionheart leads a charge of their remaining calvary out from the fortifications. This was all part of the plan. After all, both she and the aged Paladin knew that the Defiler’s forces would have opponents who would easily be able to destroy their walls and break down their defenses if they were allowed to simply approach unopposed.
It wasn’t enough to simply hold the line, because if they did that, then the line could be destroyed in mere seconds with them having no time to react. Instead, with Duke Lionheart’s help, they’d created a contingency plan, preparing a small strike force that would be able to move quickly and avoid being swarmed or overwhelmed by the undead as they darted out to deal with any particularly dangerous individual threats that cropped up.
Winterchill certainly counted as one of those. Teleporting herself forward, Jaina reaches out with her magic as Duke Lionheart and his knights bear down on the Lich. The cackling, arrogant Lich has his skeletal hands raised in response, fully preparing to stop them with his own magical might.
… Which is why Jaina casts Counterspell right before his magic can properly coalesce. The spell that the Lich has been crafting fights her every step of the way, but Rage Winterchill himself is not expecting it. The Lich’s expression contorts in surprise and fury as his head whips towards her… for all of a moment before Duke Lionheart’s blazing sword, barely containing the power of the Holy Light he can call upon, swipes it right off of Winterchill’s body.
The Lich falls dead in an instant, and Lionheart and his knights cut through the undead who try to block their escape route, wheeling back around and returning to the relative safety of their fortifications to much cheering and celebration. They’re heroes in that moment… the greatest warriors that anyone has ever seen.
Of course, the Scourge don’t stop coming after that. Not for anything. The death of Winterchill does nothing to prevent waves upon waves of undead from endlessly rushing their fortifications. Probably because the Scourge don’t really need a commander to properly direct them. The mindless undead continue forward without needing to be told to charge or anything like that.
… Or perhaps the death of Winterchill does nothing because it is in itself only temporary. Within less than ten minutes, there’s a cackle as more frost magic flies across the battlefield and a familiar Lich returns to the front lines.
“Crumble and rot! Ashes to ashes! Dust to dust!”
Again, Duke Lionheart and his knights ride forth. Again, Jaina tries to provide them with support. Unfortunately, this time the Lich is ready for them… ready for HER. Her Counterspell doesn’t go off, and the killing of Winterchill isn’t half as smooth as it was the first time. With a wave of his hand, he unseats half of Lionheart’s calvary from their horses and almost hits the Paladin himself.
They manage to kill him again, but not without losing a dozen knights… something that they have in very short supply by this point.
That’s around the point when the battle turns against them. More and more Scourge make it all the way to the fortifications, and some even make it over the walls and palisades, clawing and biting and howling in unnatural rage and fury as they seek to deprive the living of… well, their lives.
The third time that Rage Winterchill arrives, Jaina knows that their part in this battle is almost lost. She opens her mouth to call Duke Lionheart back to her, but before she can he rides out one final time, only a handful of his knights remaining.
However, before he and Rage can truly meet each other in combat for a third time, a voice rings out across the battlefield.
“Slow… much too slow. Must I do everything myself? My goals within my grasp… I shall not be held back. Not by little pink-skinned gnats, nor by the incompetence of my subordinates.”
The ground itself shakes as Archimonde the Defiler strides up the mountain, towering over everyone on the battlefield. Rage Winterchill immediately begins kowtowing to the Archdemon, making his excuses… but with a single swipe of his clawed hand, he sends the Lich back to his phylactery. A temporary death, but all the more chilling for how little Archimonde seems to care.
For a moment, Jaina meets Duke Lionheart’s eyes across the battlefield. The Paladin sets his jaw… and gives her a single nod before turning back to face their enemy.
“DEMON! FACE ME! I AM SIR LIONHEART OF THE SILVER HAND AND I SHALL BE YOUR UNDOING!”
Archimonde just laughs as the Duke charges forward. Meanwhile, Jaina… Jaina closes her eyes for just a moment before they snap open again, blazing with purpose.
“Fall back! Fall back!”
As Duke Lionheart and his remaining knights encircle a laughing Archimonde, Jaina cries out to her remaining troops, all of whom immediately begin falling back, fighting off what undead are still assaulting them in order to rush to get to her. At the same time, she begins to gather her magic to her, grimacing as a circle begins to light up at her feet before expanding outwards.
Still laughing, Archimonde swipes his hands back and forth with contemptuous ease. Not even Lionheart’s blazing sword, blessed with the Holy Light, can scratch his demonic flesh.
The knights, perhaps the last Knights of Lordaeron alive at this point depending on the state of the lands they’ve left behind, are killed to the last… and it’s just enough. As Duke Lionheart and his Knights fall, as the aged Paladin meets his demise at the end of the Defiler's claws... it buys Jaina just enough time.
Archimonde comes striding into the base unopposed, blasting through their fortifications like they’re absolutely nothing.
His eyes blaze with malevolence, even as he reaches out for them, some words on his lips… but a moment too late. The mass teleport finishes, and Jaina and her surviving forces are sent away. It leaves Archimonde’s path forward clear until he hits Thrall and his Horde… but then, that’s rather the point. It’s come at a great loss… but Jaina’s forces have done their part. Hers is not quite finished yet, but all of the others…
“Rest now. You all did well.”
And then she begins pulling potions from her pouch and drinking them, regenerating her mana as she peers off into the distance where the Legion and Scourge armies are now closing in on Thrall’s base.
The Battle for Mount Hyjal is just getting started.
“Knights, at the ready! Riflemen, hold the line! The Undead will be here any moment! Do not falter! Do not flinch in the face of death men! We are the first line of defense against all that would destroy our world! Here is where we make our stand!”
As Duke Lionheart’s voice rings out through their base, Jaina can’t help but be grateful for the old Paladin’s presence. She’s already done her own speeches, of course. She’s already made her own impassioned pleas to their troops to fight with all they can today. But there’s no denying the authority and strength that the Paladin’s voice carries, even in his advanced age.
She might be the leader of this particular line of defenses, but he is their battlefield commander, the one who will be fighting from the front right alongside their knights and footmen. Jaina, as always, must fight from the back. She is a mage after all, and it is what they do.
… Ah, but admittedly, her mind keeps becoming distracted by thoughts of the night she spent with Shandris and Rognak. She doesn’t know how to feel about it, truth be told. Luckily, she’s had more than enough to focus on of late in preparing this defense, but right now she has a moment to herself and finds her mind wandering back to that night.
She’d let Shandris seduce her all too easily, truth be told. And she couldn’t say what the relationship between her, the Sentinel, and the Orc Chieftain would look like going forward. But at the same time, Jaina couldn’t really bring herself to regret it. She had… enjoyed herself. It had been a singular bright spot on an otherwise hellish time of late, and for that… for that Jaina would not censure herself for letting it happen.
Ultimately, she-
“Lady Proudmoore.”
As Duke Lionheart comes up alongside her, Jaina pushes down her thoughts once more, bottling them up nice and tight and focusing on the matter at hand. Staff held in her grasp, the female mage nods to her stalwart second in command.
“Sir Lionheart. Thank you for your words. I have no doubt that the soldiers are bolstered by your bravery and courage, just as I am.”
The aged Paladin chuckles at that, shaking his head.
“Sometimes it seems as though I may not have many battles left in me, my Lady. Perhaps this one shall be my last. If it is… I can only hope that I instill some of the principles of honor and duty in the men that were instilled in me so long ago by Lord Uther.”
Jaina manages not to flinch at the mention of Arthas’ mentor. Indeed, Uther the Lightbringer had lived a long and storied life, and been mentor and teacher to many a paladin, not just the last Prince of Lordaeron. At his invocation, she finds herself letting out a shuddering breath and glancing to the side.
“I wonder what he would think of what we are doing here today. The lie we’ve had to tell the troops.”
Duke Lionheart’s bushy brow furrows at that, and the grey-haired Holy Knight shakes his head as he dismounts from his steed just so he can place a hand on Jaina’s shoulder.
“My Lady… we have told them no lie. They may not know the full breadth of our allies’ plans, but they fight for our new home, as we all do. That… that is no lie.”
Jaina bites her lower lip. He’s right of course, but it still itches at the back of her mind. This defense of Nordrassil… is nothing but one great big trap. According to Cenarius, Archimonde and his forces cannot hope to be defeated in a standard siege. The Legion alone is endless, but the Scourge provide them with even more of a force multiplier.
Instead… all this is, is a delaying action. All they’re doing is holding the Defiler’s armies off long enough for preparations to be made up at the tree. Ultimately, Archimonde is supposed to break through their defenses, shattering their fortifications and pushing on towards the Horde’s camp further up the mountain. They’re set up to lose, solely so that the Demon Lord will not realize anything is amiss.
Jaina understands the plan. She even accepts that nobody save for the leadership of all three forces can know what they’re really aiming for. She knows more than most about the corruptive influence that the Legion and Scourge have on mortal minds. It won’t shock her if they turn out to have several spies who try and stab them in the back over the course of the fighting today. Cultists, one and all.
For that reason, no one can know that they seek to entrap Archimonde and kill him by blowing up Nordrassil while he’s right next to it. Not until it’s too late for him to stop it.
But that still means some of her people will die today not even knowing what they’re fighting for. Still, Duke Lionheart is right. They fight for a better tomorrow. That much… that much is not a lie.
“Lord Uther would be proud of all that you have achieved since coming to Kalimdor, Lady Proudmoore. Wherever he is now… I believe he looks upon us with a smile.”
Jaina lets out a shuddering breath and nods at the aged Paladin’s words. However, when she opens her mouth to respond, a trumpet sounds from the edge of camp. A trumpet that signals the start of the enemy’s attack.
In a moment, Duke Lionheart has left her side and hopped back up on his mount. Drawing his blade, he gives Jaina a single nod before wheeling his horse around and making for the front lines.
“For the Alliance!”
A cheer starts up among the soldiers, as he joins them just in time for the Scourge to come crawling out of the darkness and up the mountain. Jaina, meanwhile, feels her own heart soar at his battle cry. Maybe it’s a little out of date, maybe it’s a little out of place… but Duke Lionheart is an old man… some allowances can be made.
Battle is joined at long last, with Jaina immediately sending messages off to Thrall and Tyrande about the Scourge’s arrival. The responses she get promise aid will soon arrive… and to be fair, it does. Wyverns and Hippogryphs come flying down the mountain with orcs and night elves riding them. They assail the undead from the air, tossing down explosives and shooting arrows in equal measure.
The first wave of attackers are dealt with to little fanfare. Nobody breaks, the line remains strong, and there’s not a single casualty among Jaina’s forces. As she looks on from afar, focused on channeling her arcane magic into helpful weather conditions such as blizzards and the like to slow down the undead, Jaina feels her heart surging with hope.
For a brief moment, she even wonders if it might be possible to stop them here and now… but of course, that’s a foolish thought. The next wave of Scourge comes rushing up, and battle is joined again within moments. And then the next. And the next.
It is an endless tide. Jaina knew it would be, of course. She was there in Dalaran the day before the Mage City fell, gazing down upon a tide of Scourge as they came to besiege the city. She’d been stood beside the Grand Magus, ready to fight… and if necessary, die beside him. But Antonidas had sent her away that day. He’d sent her to Kalimdor at long last and died trying to defend all that he had built from Arthas.
Now… now Jaina was finally, at long last, getting the battle versus the Scourge that she had desired to be part of all that time ago. It was true what they said. Always be careful what you wish for. The first few waves of undead coming at them up the mountain find no purchase against their defenses. They strike at the fortifications, but together, humans, dwarves, and gnomes push them back. With the Wyvern and Hippogryph riders providing air support, it certainly looks to be going well. Until quite abruptly, it isn’t.
The first sign that anything is going wrong is when a massive, shrieking Frostbolt comes flying through the air from behind enemy lines, striking one of the wyvern riders center mass. With a dying screech, the wyvern falls to the earth, it and its orc rider savaged by the undead below it before anyone behind the defensive line can even think about helping them.
Then, the one who cast that Frostbolt comes gliding forward.
“Fools! Insects! The Legion has come to subjugate our world! Succumb to the icy chill of death! Let none survive!”
A Lich. Jaina’s sharp intake of breath is matched by the bone-chilling feeling that Rage Winterchill’s presence causes on the battlefield. No one wants to fight a Lich… but he’s but the tip of the spear. He’s the least of their worries, and his presence only serves to show just how bad this is going to get before the end.
For a moment, Jaina fears that some of her soldiers will lose their nerve and cut and run. But in the stillness that follows the Lich’s pronouncement, a sudden light blazes to life at the front line. Duke Lionheart holds his sword, glowing golden with the Holy Light atop his mount and points it at the Lich.
“By the Holy Light, I shall destroy you, abomination! Knights of Lordaeron… charge!”
The Lich just cackles and floats forward, even as Duke Lionheart leads a charge of their remaining calvary out from the fortifications. This was all part of the plan. After all, both she and the aged Paladin knew that the Defiler’s forces would have opponents who would easily be able to destroy their walls and break down their defenses if they were allowed to simply approach unopposed.
It wasn’t enough to simply hold the line, because if they did that, then the line could be destroyed in mere seconds with them having no time to react. Instead, with Duke Lionheart’s help, they’d created a contingency plan, preparing a small strike force that would be able to move quickly and avoid being swarmed or overwhelmed by the undead as they darted out to deal with any particularly dangerous individual threats that cropped up.
Winterchill certainly counted as one of those. Teleporting herself forward, Jaina reaches out with her magic as Duke Lionheart and his knights bear down on the Lich. The cackling, arrogant Lich has his skeletal hands raised in response, fully preparing to stop them with his own magical might.
… Which is why Jaina casts Counterspell right before his magic can properly coalesce. The spell that the Lich has been crafting fights her every step of the way, but Rage Winterchill himself is not expecting it. The Lich’s expression contorts in surprise and fury as his head whips towards her… for all of a moment before Duke Lionheart’s blazing sword, barely containing the power of the Holy Light he can call upon, swipes it right off of Winterchill’s body.
The Lich falls dead in an instant, and Lionheart and his knights cut through the undead who try to block their escape route, wheeling back around and returning to the relative safety of their fortifications to much cheering and celebration. They’re heroes in that moment… the greatest warriors that anyone has ever seen.
Of course, the Scourge don’t stop coming after that. Not for anything. The death of Winterchill does nothing to prevent waves upon waves of undead from endlessly rushing their fortifications. Probably because the Scourge don’t really need a commander to properly direct them. The mindless undead continue forward without needing to be told to charge or anything like that.
… Or perhaps the death of Winterchill does nothing because it is in itself only temporary. Within less than ten minutes, there’s a cackle as more frost magic flies across the battlefield and a familiar Lich returns to the front lines.
“Crumble and rot! Ashes to ashes! Dust to dust!”
Again, Duke Lionheart and his knights ride forth. Again, Jaina tries to provide them with support. Unfortunately, this time the Lich is ready for them… ready for HER. Her Counterspell doesn’t go off, and the killing of Winterchill isn’t half as smooth as it was the first time. With a wave of his hand, he unseats half of Lionheart’s calvary from their horses and almost hits the Paladin himself.
They manage to kill him again, but not without losing a dozen knights… something that they have in very short supply by this point.
That’s around the point when the battle turns against them. More and more Scourge make it all the way to the fortifications, and some even make it over the walls and palisades, clawing and biting and howling in unnatural rage and fury as they seek to deprive the living of… well, their lives.
The third time that Rage Winterchill arrives, Jaina knows that their part in this battle is almost lost. She opens her mouth to call Duke Lionheart back to her, but before she can he rides out one final time, only a handful of his knights remaining.
However, before he and Rage can truly meet each other in combat for a third time, a voice rings out across the battlefield.
“Slow… much too slow. Must I do everything myself? My goals within my grasp… I shall not be held back. Not by little pink-skinned gnats, nor by the incompetence of my subordinates.”
The ground itself shakes as Archimonde the Defiler strides up the mountain, towering over everyone on the battlefield. Rage Winterchill immediately begins kowtowing to the Archdemon, making his excuses… but with a single swipe of his clawed hand, he sends the Lich back to his phylactery. A temporary death, but all the more chilling for how little Archimonde seems to care.
For a moment, Jaina meets Duke Lionheart’s eyes across the battlefield. The Paladin sets his jaw… and gives her a single nod before turning back to face their enemy.
“DEMON! FACE ME! I AM SIR LIONHEART OF THE SILVER HAND AND I SHALL BE YOUR UNDOING!”
Archimonde just laughs as the Duke charges forward. Meanwhile, Jaina… Jaina closes her eyes for just a moment before they snap open again, blazing with purpose.
“Fall back! Fall back!”
As Duke Lionheart and his remaining knights encircle a laughing Archimonde, Jaina cries out to her remaining troops, all of whom immediately begin falling back, fighting off what undead are still assaulting them in order to rush to get to her. At the same time, she begins to gather her magic to her, grimacing as a circle begins to light up at her feet before expanding outwards.
Still laughing, Archimonde swipes his hands back and forth with contemptuous ease. Not even Lionheart’s blazing sword, blessed with the Holy Light, can scratch his demonic flesh.
The knights, perhaps the last Knights of Lordaeron alive at this point depending on the state of the lands they’ve left behind, are killed to the last… and it’s just enough. As Duke Lionheart and his Knights fall, as the aged Paladin meets his demise at the end of the Defiler's claws... it buys Jaina just enough time.
Archimonde comes striding into the base unopposed, blasting through their fortifications like they’re absolutely nothing.
His eyes blaze with malevolence, even as he reaches out for them, some words on his lips… but a moment too late. The mass teleport finishes, and Jaina and her surviving forces are sent away. It leaves Archimonde’s path forward clear until he hits Thrall and his Horde… but then, that’s rather the point. It’s come at a great loss… but Jaina’s forces have done their part. Hers is not quite finished yet, but all of the others…
“Rest now. You all did well.”
And then she begins pulling potions from her pouch and drinking them, regenerating her mana as she peers off into the distance where the Legion and Scourge armies are now closing in on Thrall’s base.
The Battle for Mount Hyjal is just getting started.
