Red is just not my color, but here I am anyway, one Battle Chicken in full Secret-Santa attire. Apple is safely tied up in my Santa sack (pipe down in there, would ya?!)—feisty one, she is!
When reading through Apple’s posts, one of the things I liked most is the care and thought she puts into her characters. Just one paragraph from “It is done” post made me feel like I had some insight into the mind of her paladin:
Not that she didn’t want him dead, of course, but it wasn’t necessarily a cause for celebration – it was something horrible that had to be done. Yes, Arthas had become evil, and done horribly bad things, and was beyond redemption, but… he was like her, once – a young Paladin who perhaps wasn’t quite ready for the responsibility thrust upon him, just trying to do his best in the face of horrible atrocities.
I’ve written Warcraft fanfiction and poetry, but I’ve never taken the time to get to know my own character. Apple’s got me thinking: who is Ambermist, anyway? How does her mind work through the many decisions she has made on Azeroth’s—and more foreign—shores? How does she feel about the things she has experienced: the gruesome and the touching?
I have to tell you, it was a lot harder than I thought. You would think after spending as much time with this character as I have over the past four years that I could talk about her easily, but getting to know her well enough to describe her to you has been an entirely new adventure, and I appreciate that this turned into an opportunity to meet Ambermist in a new way.
Let me tell you about my good friend and one of Azeroth’s heroes…
She never even gave any other way of life a thought: Ambermist was destined to be a druid. It came naturally to her. Nature spoke to her even before she began to study druidism; she could hear the soft whisper of yearning coming from the seeds below the ground, eager to sprout and the cheerful song of a flower bursting into life.
Although their ways were different, she felt a great kinship with the priestesses, and the moments spent in the temple in the light of Elune were almost as peaceful as the ones spent seated in the wilderness, eyes closed and mind open.
The call to help Azeroth came early and often. Ambermist, encouraged by the nature from which she learns, lost much of the racial superiority often lingering in Night Elves, and actually finds great compassion and companionship in the races with which they are united under the Alliance banner. When the call came initially, she was ready and eager to aide, and has since answered every summon, showing up in the front lines attacking the enemy, and remaining behind to heal the wounded as they arrive.
That is not to say that she hasn’t had reservations. Flying into Icecrown sent chills through her body more violent than the cold carried in the wind. The chill in Icecrown was unnatural, and her hesitation to spend time in a place where nature had been grossly abused and silenced tripled upon entering the favored place of the Lich King.
If she hadn’t seen the terrible events of the Wrath Gate unfold before her eyes; if she hadn’t felt her heart break as Bolvar and Saurfang met their deaths, she may not have come. But the anger that welled inside of her as she felt Northrend calling out in pain and the deaths of a thousand heroes before her was enough to bring her face-to-face with the Lich King himself and to see him defeated…and replaced.
The battle against the Nightmare took much out of her. She felt uncomfortable about tapping into their beloved World Tree, but she trusted Staghelm. To discover that she had been so greatly misled had weighed on her for a long time, soothed only by the return of Malfurion, the leader she had hoped for all along.
And now this. She had felt Azeroth groaning and trembling already. The very roots of the grass and trees in her home of Teldrassil cried out the warning to her; the wind carried messages of fear and pain. When the Earthen Ring called for her and warned of an impending disaster, she was neither surprised nor complacent, jumping into action immediately.
Nothing could have prepared her for the emergence of Deathwing into Azeroth, and Ambermist’s heart sank at the disaster he wrought upon the land. She put her sadness and anger to work for her once again, asking nature to come to her aide as she pushes through this suddenly unfamiliar territory under the shadow of this aspect of death.
She will not rest until she has seen him fall or met her death at his hand—Azeroth will be retaken. The land itself demands it.
Thank you for letting me hijack Azeroth Apple and get a glimpse into my character in a way I hadn’t before. I’ll now return Apple to you–you’ll find her under the tree; she’ll be the cute one with the bow!
It’s a little late for a proper Merry Christmas, so I hope you all have a wonderful New Year!
–Ambermist the Battle Chicken (Tastes Like Battle Chicken)