This happens to be a fic that has been in the works (which I update and see to on and off in unpredictable intervals), and I finally decided to post it here because the internet forum I originally put it turned blind eyes to it, and few people read it. I suppose I have better chances here, so doesn't hurt to try, eh?
A note. This takes place a couple of years after WarCraft III. I have never played World of WarCraft so expect minimal reference and a few locations not present in it. Enjoy.
ONE - Blood of a Mage
Tol Borad
Three months into the second war
The winded footman, clad in full fine iron plate, grasped the broadsword tight, yanking the blade out of the stagnant guts of the dead orc grunt, the greenskin's mouth open and drooling blood. Around him, lay the bodies of Alliance and Horde combatants, some lifeless, some piping their last breaths. The sky shone a dark amber, fortified by storm cloud cover in the direction of the sun.
A man, clean shaven with long hair, who looked to be in his early thirties, clad in blue and purple garments with an adamantine gorget draped around his throat, and a staff in his hands, stepped over the bodies and surveyed the land around them. A stalwart lieutenant stepped by his side, clad in armor more ornate than the enlisted men. He carried a bloodied longsword in his left hand, and a half shredded shield in his right. "Archmage Conrad!" The officer called out. Instantly, the mage looked to his left. "I have lost seven men under my command today… are you certain this cretin will show up?"
Conrad didn't answer at first, and stared up in the sky. The gaseous ceiling of the world was highly menacing and discouraging. The arid island terrain around them, already dry and desolate, was illuminated with a devilish orange, eerie enough that the rocks seemed to clutter together in fear. Conrad looked down, patting a hand down on the officer's pauldron. "I have to let him show up."
"Archmage! Lieutenant! You might wanna have a look at this!" An elven archer shouted from the shingle. Conrad treaded lightly in the direction of the elf, who knelt over a slain orc commander, two arrows stuck in his chest. The archer stood up, "Look at the markings! Twilight's Hammer clan! You were right, they're among them."
Conrad nodded. "Then we must be wary." He spoke, quickly turning away. "I'll be willing to gamble that he's just over the next moor." The footmen and archers stared him down strangely.
"And what would cause you to stir that assumption, mage?" The lieutenant asked.
Conrad looked back. "Because I can sense him." He spoke, then turned, attempting to climb the shingle.
From the mist off the shore, toward the southeast, three silhouettes showed up, two supple, and one massive. One of the archers was the first to spot this. Seconds later, color and clarity were visible in the figures in the water. Two destroyers and a juggernaut.
"ORCISH SHIPS!" An archer yelled, rallying his squad and making way toward the shingle. Loud booms blared in the distance, followed by persistent screeching.
The sand around them exploded, the rocks were shot into dust and rubble. A non explosive cannonball tore a footman's leg off just below the knee as he laid on the ground afterward, screaming in shock. An incendiary round from the juggernaut exploded no less than a foot near the lieutenant, setting him alight and quickly burning the armor off his body, and the skin off his bones.
Feral war cries sounded from the opposite direction, another unit of orcish warriors sprinting forth to meet the human invaders. Conrad looked to the sky as he knelt down out of harm's way. He held his staff high, the pyramid like crystal in the head emitting a green light. The staff began to shake, and a bright green light shot from the top into the air, illuminating the sky.
A minute passed, the horde infantry slowing considerably due to a stray cannonball that landed on a troll axe thrower. The ships continued their bombardment, using their nearly limitless ammunition. Two more alliance soldiers had already been killed by well placed explosive rounds, and the fire wasn't relenting.
Conrad, as he predicted, spotted two figures that seemingly appear from over the roof of a cloud, and descended from there on toward the orcish flotilla.
On board the port destroyer, several orcish sailors lifted their heads toward the sky. "GRIFFON RIDERS!" the captain yelled, striking a few of the idle sailors and ordering each to take aim with the anti air guns. They stood in the middle of the deck, letting loose preloaded light balls of pressure sensitive explosive in the air.
A cannon ball exploded near one of the griffons, slipping some shrapnel in the side of the creature, not even enough to annoy it, and it's rider guided the beast downward out of the way of a second. After preforming a sort of barrel roll mid-altitude, the rider swung under handedly a storm hammer which flew straight an narrow in the middle of the deck, exploding in a blinding blue light, forcefully ejecting several sailors off the deck and causing two cannons and their ammunition to explode on deck, taking a piece of the sails, a portion of the hull, and a few sailors with it.
The other rider flew in at a high altitude, swinging the hammer down, the head of the weapon remaining straight, and leaving a volatile trail of electricity behind it. It slammed into the command bridge of the juggernaut, chopping it's captain in half and collapsing the roof onto itself. The other rider swung in from the smoke of the destroyer and threw a second hammer along the bow of the juggernaut, hitting one of the massive frontal cannons, which erupted in a fiery explosion, and took the other two guns with it.
From the shore, the alliance soldiers cheered. Even the footman with the severed leg managed to grin and let out a supportive yell of gratitude. Afterwards, the orc infantrymen jumped off the edge of the shingle, and assaulted the alliance troops. One orc leapt on top of an elven archer, smashing his head to pulp with a war hammer. Another orc, dived toward a footman, who lifted his shortsword, letting himself be impaled through the neck.
There was an orc that stood out from the others, far more clothes than the scantly clad orcish warriors that sacrificed armor for mobility. He sported a beard and wore a magnificent robe, the upper segments red and fading into orange the lower it stretched. A large chain around his shoulder suspended a heavy tome. He pointed forth. "Eradicate them! Bring the mage to me!"
Conrad turned his head around, his brows furrowing as he spotted the orc at the edge of the shingle. He stood up, and quickly headed the opposite direction, planning to circle around to more even ground.
The fighting was now on the beach, the soldiers locked in melee combat, the footmen cautiously defensive, and the grunts expectantly aggressive. A footman with a halberd was viciously axed to death by two grunts, and both of them ran to seek other targets. A well placed arrow in each of their necks stopped them in their tracks, one dropping after the other as they let out a twisted gurgle of death. The elven archer that felled them quickly began to notch another arrow. His action was cut short when a throwing axe was lodged deep across the top of his scalp. His eyes crossed as blood erupted from his head, and he fell.
The troll axe thrower that perpetrated the killing of the archer grabbed another axe from his sash, flipping it in his hand and ready to toss the weapon at another enemy before a bolt of fire burnt through his forehead, charring his brain. The creature still stood, his legs trembling before a jab from the bottom of a staff finally grounded him. Conrad stood over the corpse, his hand hovering over the head as it enchanted his own hand with a cold energy. He moved his hand away, his fingers spread as bolts of ice shot out of the air.
Two orcs and another troll that were charging down the mage met several sharp ice particles that cut into them, one three feet long that stuck into the shoulder of an orc, and exited his hip. The other bolts exploded near them, pelting the troll with extreme cold and freezing him in his steps. The orc, with ice bolts still lodged in his body, was met with a cold bolt that froze random segments of his body. He continued, his right leg giving way and breaking under him on the ground. He fell and his left arm snapped off, leaking blood onto the sand.
The mage sprinted away as more bolts of ice slammed into the ground, some smashing into horde warriors that were locked in combat with alliance soldiers, sparing the latter of further sparring. A human sergeant quickly hacked off the arm of an orc, his one handed axe falling with it. The orc look to the sky and screamed, the sergeant picking up another sword from a dead footman and managing a swift slash across his chest before relocating. Only three alliance soldiers were left standing, two human and one elven. They ran after Conrad who was being chased by two orcs, one chasing him from behind with an axe, and one charging from the front with a spear.
The rear was quickly felled with an arrow to the spine from the archer, and the front one's spear was parried by staff immediately before it struck Conrad. The staff was then brought from the side as it slammed under the jaw of the beast taking it off it's feet. One footman stepped over the spearman, and stuck his shortsword below the rib of the orc.
The mysterious orc's bodyguard, who carried a large polearm halberd rushed forth, only to be met with a longsword through the stomach and out his back. The sergeant who impaled him brought his shortsword, using his free hand to add force, and swung the blade across his neck, beheading him.
The other footman, right behind Conrad was met with a bolt of lightning to the chest, the armor enhancing it's effect as his internal organs and muscles fried and spasmed, grounding him. Another bolt of lightning was sent toward Conrad and bounced off his staff, and hit the elven archer, jarring his movements. Afterward, the orc let loose a heavy ball of lightning, that flew over Conrad and landed on the archer, producing enough charged electricity that it charred the clothes and flesh off of him, leaving blackened bones in a matter of seconds.
The orc managed a grin, turning his arm over and balling his fist. It trembled, the veins in his arms nearly popping out of the skin, turning a glowing crimson as his fingers unfolded, letting loose a red bolt of dark energy that hit the human sergeant. The footman burst in a gory explosion and rained all over the area, sprinkles of blood landing on the orc and Conrad.
Those two were the only two who remained alive on the shore. The mage stood up straight, one foot in front of him and his staff held horizontally in a defensive position. "Well met, warlock." He muttered. "I knew you'd wait for me."
The orcish warlock raised his chin, grinning a devious smile. "You'd be a fool to think I'd skip the opportunity, mage. Now can you kindly slit your wrists and spare me the trouble of spilling the blood myself?"
Conrad nodded, one corner of his mouth cracking a smile. "Fascinating, I didn't know you orcs harbored a sense of humor."
From off the shore, the final destroyer exploded, slowly tipping to the side. The juggernaut was on fire, it's captain killed and the decks filled with chaos and confusion. Conrad looked back, "The battle is won."
"As you know…" he spoke. "I need the blood of a mage to complete the circle. You're kind enough to travel all the way here to allow yourself to die by my hand. How generous." The orc's smile persisted, then suddenly sank into a frown. "Now, I'll let you take the first blow."
"Bad idea." Conrad muttered, swinging his staff forward and pointing it at the warlock, unleashing a bolt of fire from it's headpiece. The ball of flame slammed into the orc so quickly, that he had no time to react prior. He was knocked two feet and landed on his back. A shallow burn wound was on his abdomen. This would have been enough to kill a normal orc, but this warlock was well disciplined to resist even the toughest of magic.
Unfortunately, this mage harbored the toughest spells the arcane arts had to offer. Another bolt of fire shot forth, this time the warlock rolling out of the way as it exploded onto the ground, smoke and fire erupting from the spot. The warlock sprung to his feet, as another bolt of fire sang toward him, hitting an ethereal shield that appeared from the orc's palm just before it struck home.
The magic barrier detached from the contact of the warlock, it's remnants flying forward and breaking off in mid air, some of them hitting Conrad and knocking him off his feet. The warlock heaved a bolt of lightning from his hands, tossing it downward.
Conrad had defensive arts of his own, and he cast a reflective shield around his body, which the ball of lightning bounced directly off of him and soared back in the direction of it's caster.
Just moments after another magical barrier was materialized, absorbing some of the shock, the ball of lightning hit the warlock, who cried in pain.
As Conrad climbed to his feet, he saw the trembling and writhing orc on the ground, his robes charred and tattered as steam rose from his body. The mage huffed, and turned to the body of the footman the orc had electrocuted first, and grabbed his sword from his limp body. He turned and strode along the sand, the wind picking up as it blew his hair and robes parallel to the direction of the gust. The orc coughed and wheezed on the ground, looking back up at Conrad. He cracked a smile. "I didn't think it would be easy…" He said, half chuckling and half coughing.
Conrad shook his head, twirling the hold of the sword around to where the blade came downward from his fist. "I didn't figure a warlock like you to fight like an amateur." He brought up the blade. "The tome is now mine, safe away from your hands."
The warlock smiled. "The staff." The warlock said clearly, no sound of choking or coughing.
"What?" Conrad asked.
"Aren't you supposed to subdue me with the staff?" The orc asked.
Conrad's eyebrows ascended. He had made a grave mistake by not holding down the orc with the staff's magics, just like he was taught. The word amateur sounded in his head once again.
Forked lightning shot from the warlock's fingertips, the mage convulsing as he dropped the sword from his hand. With all his strength, the orc pulled a warblade from his belt, grabbed onto the Conrad's shoulder, and drove it between two ribs, and into his heart.
As the blade was still stuck in his chest, he opened the tome he carried and let the blood drip into the pages. "The blood of a mage." The warlock smiled, and the text on the tome seemed to glow a deathly purple.
Conrad collapsed beside him, and the air behind them crackled and fizzled. A bright flash of light, and the sound of electric currents erupted from mid air as a circular portal opened behind him. The inner spot turned into a void, and two yellow eyes glowed from within.
The warlock attempted to smile, but somehow, a great feeling of despair passed over him.
A very great deal of despair…
If this was made into a movie, the title card would show up right about now. :)