I do own not Warcraft or Full Metal Alchemist to my eternal regret...
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Dun Baldar
The Alterac Mountains in the Former Kingdom of Lordaeron
The sun began to rise above the mountain tops, illuminating the snow that covered the cold rocks of the Alterac Mountains. In the southern parts of the valley, the largest in the mountain range, a settlement made from stone, wood and the intensive labour of hard-working peasants slowly came to life. Those who resided within the walled confinements of the heavily fortified Dun Baldar that served as the primairy base for the troops of the Alliance in the Alterac Mountains became awake, most unwillingly as it meant leaving the safety and serenity of sleep, and entering the eternal dread that was war. And it was damned cold too.
The doors of the small church that served as the Alliance hospital in the Valley, crewed by righteous priests, clerics and the paladins who were able to spare mana, or were free from the general order to preserve mana for battlefield purposes. Leaving the holy grounds were the men and women who had been healed from their wounds the previous day, mostly only requiring a single blessing of Holy Light and a good night's sleep. The ones who did not leave the hospital were the ones who suffered wounds beyond healing, curses beyond dispel or were simply dead and soon to be buried in the daily expanding graveyard which for safety reasons was removed a long way from the hospital. With Undead at their side, the Horde could not be trusted to respect the final resting place of many Alliance heroes.
"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Garrison!"
An Footman, the traditional backbone of the Human armies since the dawn of war, went through the crowd of people that were returning to their units or to the armoury to replace the armour and weapons that sustained damage or were lost entirely.
"I'm here, what is the matter?" A other footman called out, who only differed from the other footman in the way that his armour was more sleeker and without the rag-tagness that was common to the average soldier's gear. Also, his helmet that he was holding under a arm, had the inscribed markings of eagle wings on both ends. While Lieutenants had to with with a mere drawing of it, Captains had real ornaments shaped like wings attached to the sides of their helmets.
"Lieutenant, sir." The footman saluted Garrison. "I came to report that the officer's briefing has begun at the HQ and that Lord Arator has demanded your presence sir."
"Damn!" Without returning a salute, Garrison ran as fast as the armour could allow, even if it was a special light-weight armour only issued to officers it was still damned heavy to move, fight or run in. After passing a small convoy of knights and heading for their positions at the upcoming battle, the young lieutenant reached the fortress that served as the headquarters for the Alliance operations in the valley. When he entered the main chambers, everyone was already present, wich one of them made loudly clear.
"Lieutenant Garrison, so pleased you are finally ready to join us. We wouldn't dare to start without the commander of our most prestigous battleforce, now would we?"
Captain Benedict. Self-appointed and self-promoted Commander of the Kul Tiras Marine Corps. Survivor of the first failed attack on Durotar by the deceased Grand Admiral Proudmoore and one of the few to have been later rescued by a Alliance raiding party that took him and his men back to the Eastern Kingdoms. And as the Dwarves would say about him, 'an asshole not worth dyin' for'. The main reason why he was not sent back to Theramore to join the besieged forces there was because of his expressed desire to sack the place and kill Jaina Proudmoore. And unfortunately there were some who agreed. But amongst those who disagreed was Proudmoore's other offspring, Tanred Proudmoore and other high-ranking Alliance leaders who either still put a small faith in Jaina, or didn't want to promote inner conflicts that could destroy the entire Alliance.
So, in 'awaitance' of the 'upcoming offensive' to take in Theramore and execute Jaina and other traitors of Humanity, Benedict and his new Marine Corps comprised of fellow survivors and young naive recruits were sent to assist the Alliance forces in the Alterac Mountains. Because the main enemy were the Orcs of the Frostwolf Clan, Thrall's family clan, the Marines were more than happy to assist in their destruction.
"Captain. I'm sure that the Lieutenant has some excuse for being late after yesterday losing so many men and himself suffering a arrow through his shoulder, and yet still accomplish to hold the line and not lose any ground. So please, let's be civil and start the briefing for today."
That was another reason why Benedict was sent to Alterac. Since the near-extermination of Humanity in the Third War and many fleeing to rogue organisations like the Scarlet Crusade or the Defias Brotherhood, Humans have been unable to stage large operations and offensives of their own. Where non-Human forces had been a much-needed support in the past, now they were vital to the Alliance's survival. Therefor, Alliance commanders were assigned to posts not only because of their tactical skills, but also because of their political skills in order to have the different races work together.
The Alliance could ill-afford another Grand Marshal Garithos, and that is why the Half-Elf Arator the Redeemer was put in command of the troops based in Alterac. Son of Alleria Windrunner and Turalyon, and one of the highest-ranked paladins in the newly restored Order of the Silver Hand. And well-expierenced in dealing with men like Benedict, who gruffed and turned away from both Garrison and Lord Arator and looked down to the map on the large stone table around which everyone had gathered.
"First I have some bad news, gentlemen. While Garrison's brave defense caused the Horde's gamble to fail and their lines on the right flank to weaken and suffer near-decimation, that victory has been rendered void by the unexpected arrival of a company of Blood Elves, straight from Silvermoon. Even worse, Blood Knights were spotted amongst them."
Some officers cursed under their breath. While it seemed they finally had a chance to break through the Frostwolves's lines and finally take the Valley, the enemy recieved new troops. Troops that were fresh and not worn-down by months of continuous fighting, and even worse both mana-users ánd stealers. Especially the presence of Blood Knights, the corrupted version of a Paladin, was a hard hit. But motivation to fight this new foe was not lacking, as apart from demons and the undead, no race was more loathed than the Blood Elves, betrayers of all. There was even rumours of Kael'Thas, the prince that led his people into all of this, was now betraying the Betrayer himself. That had to be a record of some kind.
"To counter these new reinforcements, who will likely will be placed on the left flank to attempt to break through, Lt Garrison's 87th will be reinforced by Lt Spencer's company. Captain Benedict, this will mean you and your Marines will have to defend the right flank by yourselves."
"We do this gladly, in service of Kul Tiras." Or in other words, he will attempt to breakthrough himself and gain the honour in a achieved victory. If he failed and gets killed while doing so, the Alliance would have one less troublemaker.
"The Stormpike Guard, as always, has the main center."
"Ay! As it should be! Them mangy Frostdogs will 'ave their upcomeance today on the word of my fallen soldiers!" General Vanndar Stormpike, the oldest veteran by far and the person to have started this entire skirmish, was as always eager.
Garrison suspected the General to be somewhat insane, but there was no one else to lead the Stormpike Guard with a reputation and bond like his, and his tenacity was a positive trait in these circumstances. The commanders went their way to their respective units, leading them past the Bunkers and onward to the main battleground.
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An Hour Later
South of the Fields of Strife
At the base of the most forward Alliance bunkers, they stood.
Row after row, shoulderpiece to shoulderpiece, the Footmen of the Stormwind 87th Infantry Battalion stood at the ready, awaiting the onslaught that would happen in a few minutes. Exhaled breath errupted like smoke from volcanoes from the narrow gaps in the footmen's helmets, that also hid the fact most of the soldiers assembled were youngsters, barely out of school but now already at the battlefield. Nonetheless, some of them had become veterans who had sharpened their instinct to kill, and hardened their hearts to the horrors of war. While most still retained their exterior youthful appearance, their eyes revealed the old man inside.
"Alright men, look be at the ready when the signal comes. For those who are new here, I bloody don't care how scared and frightend you are! You are a soldier of Stormwind, but you are fighting for your loved ones. If you waver in battle, you will fall. And when you fall, we all fall! Fight for us! Fight for yourself! But above all, Fight for the Alliance!"
The soldiers raised their swords and shields, chanting the known phrases 'For Stormwind!' and 'For the Alliance!'. Lt Spencer who held a less high-pitched speech for his own troops, wandered through the lines to Garrison.
"Say, it could have been a bit less dramatic. My boys now look at me with big eyes and hope for me giving one of them speeches."
"I'm sorry Spence, but it's too early in the cursed morning to be more subtle. Besides, they could use the peptalk, it's colder than yesterday. Which is hard to believe if I wasn't here to witness it."
"Indeed. Even my faith in the Light is barely enough to avoid freezing my hooves off." Garrison and Spencer turned to the man who joined them, dressed in plate armour that was different in design than common Azerothean armour, also in both quality and size. And had a shine about it that went beyond very good polishing.
"Sir Aldar, glad to see you assigned to us for this battle."
The Draenei Paladin smiled, while putting down the heavy two-handed mace that has been the trademark weapon of a paladin throughout history. Even when the paladin in question came from another world. Guess it was universal tradition.
"Yes, a task that as you might know not a favoured one, and the brothers had to keep their relief hidden for me volunteering for it. But between you and me, I rather be somewhere else."
"Don't we all?" A anynomous voice said amongst the silent ranks of footmen.
Most officers would put heavy punishment on a soldier 'breaching' a talk between officers with defeatist talk, but since the chance of the soldier dying in combat soon was high, Garrison didn't raise a voice. And he silently agreed with the paladin and the footman.
A sudden flare of red light from above, clearly visible to all.
The signal to attack.
Garrison turned to Spencer and shook his hand while wishing him good luck before returning to his own unit, the 85th Stromgarde Brigade. Than Garrison nodded to Sir Aldar, who gave a nod in return to signify that he was ready. As the final preperation, the Lieutenant took his officer's helmet from beneath his arm and placed it over his head, his vision suddenly a lot more limited but his face and skull a lot more protected.
"Alright, here we go." Garrison softly spoke while unsheating his sword. This was the sign for the sergeants and corporals to start the walk to war and shout commands to their respective squads.
"Soldiers! Onwaaaaaard, MARCH!"
All together as one very large man, the soldiers began to move in tight formations and quickly closed ranks alongside their companions of the 85th. Moving in a steady pass through the morning fog, the small army advanced up the Fields of Strife, named for the fact that most of the fightings was done here. It was rare for either side to progress further than a bloodbath on these grounds. One lucky Gnome got as far as the Frostwolf Keep on one occasion, but was sent back in a giftwrap, alive suprisingly.
They were nearing the center of the fields, when in the distance the similairly-advancing waves of green in all tones and shades, appeared. The Frostwolf Clan, the strongest Horde force in the Alterac Mountains and who to Garrison's horror was now deployed against his flank, instead of the traditional center where they faced off with the Stormpike Guard. But the commander of the assembly of Footmen marching up against them, did not alter the plans. Because running away would be bad for morale. And in a insane logical way, he concluded it was best to inflict as much casualties upon the Frostwolves before his unit became decimated and giving the other Alliance troops a chance to stop the Horde from exploiting a breakthrough.
Than it started. The ominous appearance of a red burning circle in the area between Garrison's soldiers and the approaching Orcs. It was like some had drawn it with fire in the sky.
"WARLOCKS!" The name was called out loud, a attempt by a footman to name the unknown that was happening before him.
"Unlikely." Sir Aldar spoke while stepping forward to the front of the lines."If this was the work of warlocks, they would be near it, empowering it from afar is impossible. But they are nowhere in sight. And from the size of that spell up in the skies, it would require such source of energy that we known about it if had been present."
"Perhaps it is the Burning Legion, forcing itself a new way into our world?"
"Also unlikely. Though my knowledge of warlock magicks is few, I know that it requires a anchor point like a powerful magician or a construct like the Dark Portal." Some dark and cold thoughts ran through the minds of the Humans and one Draenei, thinking what implications a new Medivh or Gul'dan could have.
Than the circle errupted, causing a rift in the air that spread a almost-holy bright radiance. Everyone, Man and Orc, gazed at it, all with their own ideas of what it might be.
"Is-is it the Naaru, Paladin? Have they crossed worlds to aid us in great numbers at last?"
It wasn't the Naaru nor the Burning Legion. Nor was it a loud-mouthed braggart from the future. It was however, one of the most strangest collections of people to have fallen through a rift of time and space onto the snowy and still bloody from yesterday fields.
The first one to hit the cold and wet ground was the notorious murderer known only as Scar, who's primairy targets are a special class of the Amestrisian State Military, the State Alchemists. Soldiers and scientists who employed the science of alchemy and transmutation. It was an of analysis, to identify the intended material to be used, destruction, to break down the material to basic components, and reconstruction, to shape the substance into the desired form or with the desired properties.
Thanks to a 'gift' from his late brother, Scar had been able to use only the second step of alchemy. But that was more than enough for his quest to kill all State Alchemists, with his first and primairy target being the man who now landed a few metres away from him.
Zolf J. Kimbley. The Crimson Alchemist as they called him before he was locked away for murdering his fellow military countrymen. A series of fortunate events years later led to the war criminal with a lack of regard for human lives to be released from prison and now even close to regaining a full military comission to Lieutenant-Colonel Kimbley, if he would be so generous to hunt down and kill Scar. Which he had been attempting to do, aswell as Scar trying to do the same thing to him if it had not been for the current interruption.
Further away, was the person who as the only one managed to land on both feet as a cat and not like a sack of potatoes. It not being human might have something to do with it. Looking around in suprise, as it just moments ago had been somewhere completly else, where it was a lot warmer and more comfortable to walk around in tight and skimpy clothes. But it's mind was heated by the thought on revenge when it spotted the second-most hated creature in the world, and a direct plan to kill the unholy spawn was formed. But than it noticed the swarms of people surrounding it, both clad in heavy armour or green-skinned and carrying a big axe. Than a far more complicated plan for revenge was devised. To note, still needing to be devised as it first needed to know the factors.
"Brother! WHERE ARE YOU! Please brother, say something!"
Perhaps the most normal-looking, outwards at least, of the group, was the massive suit of armour that as good as one made out of emotion-less steel could was being nervous. He was certain that his bigger brother dissappeared before he did, but now after landing he was nowhere to be seen the snow-covered landscape, that was very crowded by strange people. But it was a later concern as the suit of armour was known as Alphonse Elric stood up to search further.
"Al..."
"BROTHER! I CAN HEAR YOU! WHERE ARE YOU!"
"B-beneath you, you dumb pile of SCRAP METAL!!"
Al looked down, and his elder brother was indeed laying beneath his armoured boots, and quickly jumped aside. He expected much yelling and shouting, after his brother was done catching the breath that he missed when his lungs had a armoured suit standing on them. Though it was hard to see, the young man known as Edward Elric was indeed the older brother of Alphonse Elric, while it would be natural to assume the other way around if you didn't notice the very little voice coming from the suit of armour and the photos before his 'accident'.
Ed and Al had been on the search for a way to restore their bodies, or parts of it in Ed's case who was forced to replace them with automechanical limbs, after a fatal mistake to resurrect their dead mother through alchemy. Both of them paid the price in that, and it had been the main motivation to continue searching for something. And in the end, they did find something. Only problem was that it would require human lives. A lot of them. So that was a moral and ethical deadend. But it wouldn't hurt to take it from someone who already has it, in Ed's opinion.
The youngest State Alchemist ever, lifted himself from the snow and wiped it away from his hair and his red coat. Than, as the last one of their little group, he discovered that to the left of them, was a large force of medieval-period armoured men. On the right of them, was a massive crowd of ugly green beasts with big tusks and even bigger sharpy things.
"Oh...I really didn't expect that to happen."
"But it has happend, brother. What should we do?"
"I-I think we should.." A massive explosion closeby suddenly made them aware of their fellow 'shipwrecks' and that they did not like either of them."-I think we should get away from those two maniacs first!"
Standing at both sides of the small theatrical display, the troops of the Alliance and the Horde stood in common confusion on how to deal with this strange new situation. Until from the ranks of Orcs, a large party of pointy-eared in golden-red armour soldiers came literally running towards the center, with the seeming intent to capture this weird prize.
Garrison, not intent on any humans, even really mysterious and freaky ones, to be captured by the Horde, or especially the Blood Elves.
"Soldiers! We must defend these fellow humans against the Horde! Follow me!" The Lieutenant went running head-on of his unit that swiftly began to follow him alongside Lt Spencer's group that followed Garrison's example.
While more confused by this sudden action from their supposed allies, the Frostwolves saw no mistake in what clearly was the Alliance beginning it's attack. That was something they could understand. And with howls of war, the Orcs went running after the Blood Elves in the direction of the similairy incoming and sprinting Humans.
It would have been funny. If it wasn't about to become very very bloody when both groups will clash with sword and axe.