Mogul Khan

The Demon Within Chapter 1: Mogul Khan

The winds were howling. Blowing hard on the battle-weary group of Orcs. The last of the autumn leaves were strewn over the ground. Snow covered the ground, encasing everything within it. Turning the landscape into a mass of empty whiteness. Snow was plummeting down, relentless in its efforts to stop the wandering Orcs. The burning cold covered everything in its path, reducing critters to nothing but shivering rags. The sounds of heavy footsteps trudging through snow filled the ears of a nearby owl, who immedietly took off to the skies as it saw the burly figures heading toward it. The flash of a dagger blinded the owl, it immedietly fell down dead to the ground, a dagger protruding from its chest. The tree the group of Orcs was under had still leaves on it. But very little. One fell down toward the ground.

A hooded Orc brandishing a massive battleaxe twirled round and struck the leaf, splitting it perfectly in half. The Orc raised a scarred hand and let one half of the leaf fall onto his palm. He stared at it for a moment. " Warchief, we managed to kill the owl, but I'd reckon it'll be enough for all of us," another Orc said. Crushing the meek leaf in his massive palms, the Warchief, as the lesser Orc had called him, turned around and looked at the dead creature. It still had blinding fear in his eyes. Suddenly, as soon as the owl's eyes closed, it faded. The owl faded. Using his free hand, the Warchief pushed a blow into the Orc which killed the bird and snarled: "That was a spirit owl you dumb oaf! Now not only we've got Demons and Humans on our tail, he got Nightelves as well! Spread into a semicircle facing outward my warriors!" Wearily, the band of Orcs followed their master's command, spreading hastily into a circle, they drew their weapons. Each of the Orcs now were alert. Their fiendish grip on the hilt of their weapons tore the skin on their hands raw. The Nightelves were this band of Orcs hated enemies. Perhaps a little history would do good here. Thrall, a visionary Orcish leader joined the remaining Orc clans that weren't under Demon influence, the Frostwolf Clan, Doomhammer Clan, and Waraxe Clan to create a new horde. The Horde made a pact with the survivors of Lordaeron and the Nightelves to move to Kalimdor, to combat the Scourge and the Burning Legion that has befallen the world. But he forgot this band of Orcs…

This Orc Warchief, namely Mogul Khan and his clan of Orcs called the Axe Clan has been on the run for nearly three months now. Even though Mogul was still pure, he had a burning desire to kill Thrall. It was Thralls fault, forgetting the power of the Axe Clan during the Glory Days, forgetting the countless number of times they had fought side by side. This burning desire in him has led him into many wrong decisions and many great warriors from his clan have been lost to Demons or Humans. The Nightelves and Humans, who befriended the Orcs as they made a pact to combat the Scourge and the Burning Legion left some of their kind to hunt down and kill any of the remaining Orcish Warlords still under the influence of the Demon infusion. But they were mistaken. The only Orcs on Lordaeron were the Axe Clan, and they were still pure, not influenced by Demon magic.

So Mogul Khan had to battle his allies, his friends who don't know their good, to the end. The last few members of the Axe Clan were still by his side. The tight circle of lifelong friends gripped their weapons tightly. Looking around alarmingly for the Nightelves and their deadly ambushes. Suddenly, a whistle of an arrow pierced the silence, it was heading toward Mogul. Shifting his position slightly, he leaned back, He heard the whistling, the slight ruffle of the feathered guide fins and the scything sound of the arrowhead. He chuckled. "Iron arrowheads with feathered guide fins eh? Primitive." He thought. He reached his right hand forward and grabbed the arrow between his fingers. The Orcish Warlord looked back at the Nightelf who shot the arrow. Who in her daze forgotten to cast her cloaking spell. Without a word, the Orcish Warlord flung the arrow back at her, penetrating her collarbone, she fell, transfixed onto the ground, dead. "Show yourselves puny Nightelves!" he shouted aloud. One by one, the Nightelves began to appear from thin air. Each holding a bow or a Glaive in their hand. Suddenly, there was the sound of a lot of footsteps. Humans and Dwarves soon joined the scene. It was a epic showdown, a small group of great Orcish warriors trying to prove themselves, fighting against their own allies. The chiikchak of Dwarven Blunderbuss rifles rang through the scene as Dwarves cocked their guns and chose their targets.

Mogul Khan gave a bone-chilling war cry. His axe at the ready, he barked out orders for his fellow brethren to take position. The Humans were the first to respond, drawing swords and shouting puny war cries unmatched to the ear piercing screeches of the Orcish war cries, charged forwards at the Orcs. Mogul Khan roared again and leaped into battle, breaking his fall by landing on a human warrior and knocking him out cold with a kick to the face. The other Orcish warriors cast spells onto themselves and charged into battle. The sound of screams from dying men echoed through the dark snowy forest. The Orcs were at the peak of their game, slashing through waves of humans, their axes gleaming in the dark moonlight.

A hidden creature overlooked the whole fight. He breathed in and let out a low chuckle. The creature was massive. Big enough to devastate the whole fight with one mighty cleave of his massive double hilted cleaving blade. His troops were standing at akimbo, also watching the fight with great interest. Little did the battling Humans, Nightelves and Orcs know of what their futures would be when the Pit Lord was done with them.

The Orcs were being attacked from all sides. Their frantic fighting turned to a bloody frenzy. Hacking and slashing at the squirming mass of amour-clad footmen with maddened rage. Mogul Khan was still among them, he hacked away with his mighty war axe. A footman shouted aloud, running toward the Warchief. Fatal mistake.

Mogul saw the running warrior dashing toward him, spinning round his weapon around so that the axe blade faces the sky, he dashed at a much faster pace than the footman. In a few seconds, the Orc warrior was on him. Thrusting his deadly weapon upward in a massive uppercut, he sent the once confident footman catapulting through the air, screaming in pain as a gash appeared on his right leg, it seemed that Mogul's axe cut through his amour. Mogul then hacked at the shoulder of another charging human warrior, sending him screaming back toward the Dwarves. Another footman was killed before the crippled body of a human footman fell to the floor, a deep gash in his right leg. The warrior had died in midair. A dwarf, seeing the might of the great Warchief fired three shots in his direction.

Mogul heard the shots and tried evading them, he managed to dodge two but one hit him squarely in the gut. The Orc grimaced in pain, hacking a footmen down, he grabbed the soldiers broadsword and with an almighty roar, he flung the close-quarter weapon toward the Dwarven gunmen, killing the creature immedietly. Four warriors came charging at the Orc from all sides, barely even having time to recover from his wound, he has to fight on. Mogul parried the first blow and evaded the second, slashing forwards to a footman, he used the momentum of his axe to carry him in a perfect circle, making all careless enough to stray close feel the fury of his waraxe. And so, the deadly killing machine of an Orc began his dance of death, slashing and killing all before him, poetry in motion. Mogul Khan had devastated half the army in his dance. He stood before the other half, a little human warriors, Nightelven Glaive-wielders, Dwarven Riflemen and Nightelven Archers. He and his band killed over a hundred with the lost of just a few. It defies all sense of logic, unless Mogul is involved of course. The Nightelves gave off war screams. But those screams, so defiant, so valiant, turned into screams of fear as demons crashed through the undergrowth.

Chapter 2: The Blood Pact

Loud laughter came from the heart of the forest as the demons emerged from their silent hiding place. The demons wielded large Sabit blades that were designed to cleanly slice of heads. They surrounded the remaining Nightelves, Humans, Dwarves and Orcs. A massive figure formed from the hazy snow as it walked into view. The ground tremors it gave off with each step said that it had four legs. One of the Orcs calculated that the weight and the power of such footsteps meant the size of a creature impossibly massive. The haze cleared and the massive creature came into view. It was a sight so fearsome, an ordinary being would wet in his own pants.

It was a Pit Lord. No ordinary one, but in fact, a mutant one. This one was a behemoth, even to pit creature standards. It had long sharp fangs, twice the size of the fully-grown lower teeth of an Orc. Its wings were small, but added a demon look to the massive Pit Lord, the wings had battle scars in them, showing the number of experience the demon had. It had four large legs, each with muscles so huge a footman can drown in them, and at the end of each leg, were stone like claws. Its tail was made out of countless rings of bone spikes, making the creature take amazing resemblance to a Manticore. It wore a massive shield on his chestal area as a necklace, protecting his thick hide from magical damage, and in his left hand, he brandished a huge double-hilted cleaving blade, almost four times larger than the ones Blood Fiends wielded.

The Pit Lord was Mannoroth. The demon who killed Grom Hellscream, the legendary Orcish Warrior. The Demons eyes were on fire, a mysterious twinkle in each. He spoke in a booming voice the sound of the loudest bass, a tinge of raspy hoarse dialect of the demons in his tone. "So pathetic. I knew you would win. The lesser warriors were basking in your unstoppable wrath. Mogul Khan, I thought I'd never live the day to see you again." He resounded his echoing laugh. "Come, let us go together once again, the glory days has returned, and we shall be as powerful as before!" The Demons bass voice turned to a ear-piercing roar that echoed through the frozen tundra. All beings became silent as they turned to stare at the Orc, waiting for a reply. "No, Mannoroth, we have enjoyed much killing together, but I prefer to remain pure now." His answer was a tranquil one. A calm one, not like his wild roars earlier in the fight.

Eyes once again turned to Mannoroth. There was certainly annoyance in his expression. And to demons, annoyance means violence. Roaring aloud, he drew mana. The demons began killing the remaining Nightelves, Humans and Dwarves. Leaving out the Orcs. Who were about to suffer a fate much worse than the undeath. The great Pit Lord shoved earth as he prepared to cast a spell, his four massive legs spreading out to lower his center of gravity. Mogul could only stare in hopeless awe as he saw the spinning mass of pure chaos and cataclysmic death heading toward him and his band of surviving Orcs. The projectile impacted the group with incredible force catapulting each of them far into the distance.

Dead bodies littered the tundra. Blood stained the burning white snow as the sun began to dawn over the horizon. A new day had come. The demons were retrieving the crippled bodies of the Orcs. Mannoroth was resting on his cleaving blade, its head buried deep in snow. It took a lot of energy to cast instant demon infusion, but it was worth it. Mogul was certainly worth it. He breathed hard. The demons returned, their twisted faces showing no remorse as they piled the Orcish bodies onto a patch of bloodstained snow. The green Orcish skin was already beginning to turn a blood red colour. Mannoroth smiled. A luxury not afforded for millions of years. "Necromancers!" Mannoroth shouted aloud as he regained energy. A few shadowy mages with long staffs appeared. "Go, do what I have taught you." Mannoroth said as he regained his posture. The Necromancers proceeded to drain their mana pools by raising the dead bodies of those slain in the battle to mindless skeletal warriors. As more and more of the undead began to rise, they automatically organized themselves into groups of thirty.

Mogul Khan roused. He looked around him. He could feel the change, the infusion. His muscles were more stronger, skin, thicker. He was smarter and faster than we ever will be in his pure form. His eyes were a burning red, signifying his breaking from the pure Orcs and into the dark side of the Orcish race. The Fel Orcs. He was happy with his new form, but a little disappointed, a Fel Orc will gain attributes in his strength, he will run faster and hit harder than he ever will but, a Fel Orc will lose his mentality. The memory of his old self will be erased and replaced with the new burning lust for killing. Mogul Khan was a sight to behold. Standing up straight, he looked at Mannoroth eye to eye, and said something he would never say in his pure form. "What is your will Lord Mannoroth?". The massive Pit Lord smiled once more. But that smile quickly faded as the other Orcs began to come round. "Mogul Khan, I want you to lead a battalion of our troops into a battle. A group of humans led by a paladin named Purist Thunderwrath is proving to be stronger than we thought. You will lead the remaining remembers of the Axe Clan into battle as well." Said the Pit Lord. Nodding slightly, the changed Orc rounded up the remainder of his Orcs and briefed them.

The Necromancers were done with their job. The leader, or so it seemed walked up to Mannoroth and said in his raspy voice: "We are done, Lord Mannoroth." "Good." The monster replied. "Bind the Skeletons to Mogul's will, they will begin taking orders from him from now on." "Very well." Came the reply.

Mogul came to the heel of the great Pit Lord. The two armies faced each other, Mannoroth, his Necromancers and the Demon army and Mogul, his Orcs and the three hundred strong undead army. Mannoroth beckoned Mogul to come closer. His voice turned into a low bass growl. "Give me your axe." Mogul did as he was asked. Mannoroth held it with his massive hands and closed his eyes. Demonic magic began to dance from his shoulder all the way to his fingers and finally disappear in his palm. He handed back Mogul the axe.

The axe now however was engraved with demon carvings, it was stronger than ever. Its blades sharpened. " I infused it as I have infused you, great Mogul Khan. Go forth now, do what I have told you." Said the demon. "Very well, Great Mannoroth." Came Mogul's reply. Mogul's army silently moved west to the ruined city of Andorhal where the paladin, Purist and his troops resided.

Mannoroth thought to himself as he observed the army disappearing from his sight. "From now on, great Mogul Khan, your blood is mine, you know what burns within your soul, and then you come to realize we, are both, the same. From now on, Blademaster, you shall be known as the unstoppable, Axe."

Chapter 3: Fall of an Orc

The sandy plains of Kalimdor were strewn with dead bodies. A great battle was now in the process of coming to an end. The sound of metal impacting metal echoed across the deserts of Kalimdor. Cries of dying creatures rang through the battlefield as Orcs, Humans, Centaurs and Fel Centaurs battled. Thrall looked as the battle proceeded. He was a young Orc, and was mysteriously strong and smart for one so young. He sat astride a mighty dark wolf, brandishing a warhammer in his hand and plated in brass-trimmed amour, the Orc barked orders as the battle went on. The battle had been on for nearly hours now as noon began turning to dusk. Almost everyone involved thought it would be short and glorious, but it dragged on for the rest of the day as neither side gained ground. Now, both sides have exhausted their reinforcements and were running out of time. The Orcs and Humans were against Fel Centaurs, massive creatures driven to insanity by demon infusion. They ambushed a human encampment, which gave Thrall ample time to rally an army and head toward the battlefield. He was still unclear what the battlefield looked like, it was huge. He can't even see his men fighting the Fel Centaurs.

A female human sorceress approached Thrall, draped in a Kirin Tor cloak and wielding a staff, the female said: "Thrall, our scouts said that there's a friendly Centaur race, not influenced by the demon infusion fighting alongside our troops. Is it worth to look at?" Thrall looked at the sorceress. "Yes Jaina, yes, it is worth to look at. I will come with you, perhaps we can bring the pact to them too." Said Thrall.

Both figures disappeared into the distance as they headed toward the place of battle, accompanied by reinforcements to the frontline. It was worse than Thrall thought it would be. The fighting never seemed to end as Humans, Orcs, and Centaurs battled down the endless waves of red-skinned Fel Centaurs. Thrall rode toward a Human officer that was standing a little further away from the battle, observing his troops. "Captain, why are these Centaurs helping us?" he told the armored swordsman. "I don't know, they just appeared from nowhere and charged at the Fel Centaurs, they seemed reluctant to battle their own kind at first but not now, they don't hesitate to strike a blow towards an enemy now. They prove to be very effective allies though." Said the captain hurriedly, noting of Thralls impatience.

After receiving the information from Thrall, Jaina dispatched the reinforcements and ran into battle with them. The group of Humans and Orcs charged toward their enemies. There wasn't an empty space of land anywhere, there were creatures battling everywhere. Jaina cast a fireball and threw it at the nearest Centaur. Using her potent frost magics leant from a troll frost mage named Rashali, she threw icy projectiles and randomly froze her enemies in their tracks, leaving them vulnerable targets for her troops. She combined her magics well and no enemy could get within distance to even try to slash at her. A Centaur bellowed across toward her while he was hacking at a Fel Centaur. "Yer be fightin gud' wee lassie!". Teleporting beside the Centaur, she said back at the Centaur: " Aye great Centaur. What brings you to fight alongside us?" It was then, she realized that Centaurs weren't as bad as the natives used to say. Smiling broadly as he swiped another of his own kind to oblivion, he said to the sorceress. " Aye wee lassie, was tradin with me old fren, Ai'gor Stonehuf, then me own people began attacking me. I be nothing ta do but ta fight bak to save me life. Now I be angry anna restlest, the fight with da Lich King be on." He was still smiling as he finished off his sentence, slamming his oversized hoof into the face of another Centaur. The female Archmage listened attentively as she was casting her frost and fire spells, hurling projectiles of death toward enemies. The Centaur dialect proved hard to understand but easier to make out than the harsh twang of the mountain dwarves.

Then, there was an ear-piercing battle cry as Thrall and the remaining reinforcements charged down the hill toward the battling defenders. He sat astride his mighty wolf, throwing electrical projectiles and making powerful ground tremors to impact the enemy troops. He reached Jaina and the massive Centaur in just minutes and Jaina introduced the massive Centaur, Bradwarden to Thrall and explained the reason of his sudden revolt against his own kind. Thrall nodded silently and like the other two, fended off the invaders with electrical bolts.

At last the final few of the Fel Centaurs were vanquished, thanks to the quick planning of Jaina, Thrall and the sudden appearance of Bradwarden. They traveled back to the camp as a group; the journey was slow as their troops were collecting the bodies of the dead. They reached the camp and took refreshing drinks and baths in the pools of enchanted water. Local Centaurs called them oases. Thrall and Jaina welcomed the remaining pure Centaurs, all too strong to fall under demon influence to join the cause of the Humans and the Orcs. They all sat inside a tent, green fire burning within a hole in the ground. The scent it gave off was soothing. All the leaders, Thrall of the Orcish Horde, Jaina Proudmoore of the survivors of Lordaeron, Yunero of the Waraxe Clan and Bradwarden of the Centaurs were sitting in a circle, discussing about their next move against the Fel Centaurs.

"Da Feltaurs, they be having theyr main base here." Said Bradwarden as he pointed a massive forefinger at the map in front of him. "Good then, we shall attack at dawn tomorrow." Said Thrall, wanting the meeting to end with a fast conclusion. "How many troops do we still had Yunero?" "Well, we have at least thousands more Orcs, and over a dozen hundred Humans, and a handful of Centaurs, that be enough Warchief?" said the old Orc. "No. We gotta problem in yon hands, Thrall." Said Bradwarden abruptly. The three tuned to stare at him. "Dese Feltaurs, they be havin strong flame golems from da sky." "Infernals…" Jaina muttered under her breath. Bradwarden continued: "Their numbers be a million, no one can stop their mindless infestation wee lassie. We be too late." The three hung their heads in defeat. "But," continued the Centaur. " We be havin chance. Ai'gor Stonehuf, me ole Tauran fren, weel help us, he n hiis brood, numbers a thousand in all be da strongest in Kalimdor."

"Right then," said Thrall suddenly. Standing up. "We shall find this Tauren and make my old Friends, the Bloodhoof Tauren join us in our conquest to purge Durotar and Kalimdor from the Burning Legion!" He gathered mana and let out an ear-piercing war cry. Jaina, Yunero, Bradwarden and the entire army joined in the chorus, letting everyone in Kalimdor realize the strength of the new army. Letting them tremble in their wrath. A new dawn was arising, a new hope.