Prologue

It was a dark night at Shadowmoon Valley. Only the Infernals falling from the sky periodically illuminated the night with green flames. In those flashes of light, Zhora, standing near the Hand of Gul'Dan volcano, was looking around. He didn't like what he saw. His friends and comrades were lying around him in pools of their own blood: an orc, a tauren and a troll. All of them were proud members of the Horde! They were probably dead. Another flash of light – and Zhora saw the many demons around, gazing hungrily and viciously upon him. They were the ones that killed his friends. Zhora was angry. Not just angry, but furious. He would love to burn the bastards to a crisp, but he couldn't. He lost a lot of blood and was still bleeding heavily. It took all of his strength just to stay conscious. Was this it? Did he and his friends come this far just to be killed by some demons? This thought made Zhora even angrier. After the next flash of light, a doomguard appeared right in front of him. He's giant sword descending down upon Zhora's head. It was now certain: this was the end…

Chapter I

You're In The Army Now

Zhora yawned. He didn't want to get up, but the sunrays were shining right down upon his pale face. It was a sunny morning on Sunstrider Isle. And it was also a special morning. Zhora had turned eighteen. Today he will be joining the ranks of the blood elf army, helping their new allies: the Horde, fight against its enemies: the Alliance, the demons of the Burning Legion and the undead Scourge of Lich King Arthas. A whole new chapter in his life, and yet he felt… sleepy. Zhora finally opened his acid green eyes and crawled out of bed. Once he got to his feet, he looked at himself in the mirror. Staring back at him was someone who didn't seem to care about himself. With the same stiff and blank expression he tied his long fiery-red hair into a foxtail, put on his common dark-blue robes with a black cloak and went to the kitchen. To sleepy to cook, he just conjured a loaf of bread for breakfast. Now it was time… Zhora left his small hut and made his way to the bridge connecting Sunstrider Isle with the northern region of the Eastern Kingdoms – the Eversong Woods.

Sunstrider Isle was a typical "fairytailish" elven place. Tall ancient trees with golden leaves were gently moved by the warm wind, in silence it sounded as if they were whispering something in old Thalassian language. Some buildings were richly decorated with golden twirls and sparkling jewelry. The local elves were just like the place itself - you could feel the power, see the beauty and sense the magic.

'Hold it right there!' – a voice behind him said.

Zhora turned around and saw a tall blood elf female. Her long blond hair was covering her pointy ears. Her arms were slim and long, but also slightly muscular. Standing straight, confident, yet relaxed, she smiled kindly and turned an ironical glance at Zhora. It was Julia Sunstriker. She was in charge of guiding the young ones to the path of future mages. She used to be Zhora's teacher too and also the one that persuaded him to join the army.

'You didn't even think of stopping by to say goodbye?' – she said.

'You know I don't like sentimental moments...' – Zhora replied.

'To think I am the only one who came to see you off and you don't sound the least bit thankful.' – she said ironically.

It was true. No one else cared about Zhora. He wasn't liked by the others because of a certain "incident". He didn't have any friends except Julia.

'Yeah, you're right. Sorry, teacher.' – Zhora replied.

'I haven't been your teacher for so long, yet you still call me that. Just remember me as a friend.' – she said smiling. – 'Oh, and I wanted to remind you. You know you're talented with fire magic, but…'

'…but never forget that ice and arcane magic can be just as powerful. I heard that a million times, teacher… I mean Julia.' – Zhora said sounding annoyed.

'I'm glad you remember the things I tell you.' – she laughed. – 'By the way… I made something special for you. Happy birthday!'

She handed him a small parcel.

'Oh, man… You didn't have to…'

'Yes, I had to!' – she said. – 'It may be the last time you try some of my homemade muffins. Well then good luck. You don't want to be late, right? Just remember to write from time to time.'

And he was off. A small group of blood elves was already waiting for the escort to Falconwing Square. The path through the ruins of East Silvermoon was filled with Wretched Urchins – former blood elves who have lost their sanity due to the first for magic, so it was pretty dangerous to go through alone. Just as Zhora approached the group mostly consistent of future soldiers just like him, he heard whispers.

'It's that pyromaniac.'

'I wonder what made him come out into the open.'

'Is he trying to become a soldier?'

'I'm telling you – he's weird.'

'He's the one that burned down his house!'

'That's the pyromaniac?'

'It's better we keep our distance from him.'

'Like I even care what you idiots think.' – Zhora thought.

In a few moments four heavily armored soldiers came from the ruins, all of them armed with a traditional elven shield and blade. This was the escort leading travelers from Sunstrider Isle to what remained of Silvermoon – the blood elf capitol.

'Everyone stay close together! We will engage any opposing dangers, so there is nothing to fear. Don't try to run off into the ruins just because the enemy gets to close! Any questions?' – one of the soldiers asked. Everyone was silent. – 'Good. We shall then proceed.'

The trip through the ruins wasn't pleasant at all. You could see the wretched creatures, hungry for magic, staring at you, looking as if they could feed on your very existence, but still afraid of the guards. Some were just lying in pain, some were even breaking their own limbs, hoping it would ease the suffering. Luckily it was a short walk. As the group arrived at Falconwing Square, only a small part of the group proceeded on with the guards to the capitol of Silvermoon. Those who came to join the army had to meet with captain Aeldon Sunbrand. The recruits from Silvermoon and Fairbreeze Village were already waiting.

'So, I see everyone is here now.' – said Aeldon. – 'Now, mages, warlocks and priests – you will follow the knights on your left to Stillwhisper Pond. There you will begin your training. Hunters, rogues and paladins – you follow the knights on your right to Farstrider Retreat. Your training starts there. That is all.'

No questions were asked. The recruits divided into groups as instructed and left to their destinations following the knights.

Stillwhisper Pond was pretty close to Falconwing Square, so the group of magic users arrived there shortly. Standing before them was a white haired blood elf dressed in very impressive dark red robes.

'Students are a bit like sheep. They're useful and even likeable when you guide and pay close attention to them. You leave them alone for a minute and they end up falling down a cliff or drowning in a shallow river.' – he sighed. The recruits just stood there, not understanding what this all meant.

'You lot shall address me as instructor Antheol. I shall be your teacher and trainer for the time being.' – he continued. – 'Within one week I will turn you sorry bunch of excuses for magic users into something the army could actually use. But once you're done here, you're still nothing but recruits! Did I make myself clear?'

Zhora had the worst luck. He was standing in the first line and was the closest to Antheol. He heard every word as clear as it could be and felt a little demoralized.

'I'll make it through this… I'm ready for this…' – he kept repeating in his mind.

'You!' – he pointed at Zhora – 'Come here!'

'I knew it….' – Zhora thought.

'Sir, are you sure you want to demonstrate it on him? He's the well known pyromaniac of Sunstrider Isle! Surely there is a better choice…' – a voice from the crowd said.

'You shall only speak if you are spoken to!' – Antheol said angrily. – 'Back to training. Why don't you do something for me? There's an azure phial at the bottom of the pond behind me. Dive in, retrieve it, and bring it here.'

Did Zhora have choice? He dived into the pond and began looking for it. It wasn't easy since the azure color of the phial melded with the color of the waters. Nonetheless he managed to get it.

'Now that you've learned a little lesson, I'll offer you something more substantial.' – the instructor said. – 'It concerns your ability to defend yourself in close combat. Of course, you should only resort to melee in the most dire of circumstances, but that is no excuse to be unprepared. I can assist you in creating a staff befitting a mage of your learning. Simply take the phial you retrieved for me and fill it at the base of Elrendar Falls. Just follow the river southeast from here.'

Again, without saying a word, Zhora left to complete the task.

'This is entertaining.' – the same guy who commented about Zhora being a pyromaniac laughed.

In about half an hour Zhora was back. The waterfall was further away that he had thought.

'Let's see what you've brought me...' – said Antheol holding the phial up to the light and examining it closely. – 'Yes, this will complains?' – he asked.

'None, sir.' – Zhora said, although he did have a whole lot to say.

'Excellent!' – Antheol said smiling. – 'All of you remember this: if your instructor, teacher or trainer tells you to do something, you must do it without questioning. No matter how absurd or useless the task may sound, you must complete it. Respect to the higher ups is your first lesson.'

'Sir, yes, sir!' – the recruits said.

'Now back to you… what is your name anyway?' – Antheol asked.

'Zhora, sir.' – the mage replied.

'Very well, Zhora. You may have noticed the walking trees near Elrendar Falls. As the keepers of nature, they are infused with a primal magic we can reform to our own purposes using the pure water you have already brought to me. Unfortunately, the green keepers are gnarled and twisted creatures, so you may need to kill a few before you find a useable branch. Off you go then!'

This was getting really irritating. Nonetheless Zhora showed "respect to the higher ups" and went back to the waterfall. This time it took him a lot longer to return, since he needed to kill treants until he found the needed item. He was tired and ready to burn the instructor to a crisp when he came back.

'You've done as I've asked, Zhora, and you may take your reward now. I call this the Ley Staff.' – Antheol said.

It was pretty ugly and useless, but once the mage took it into his hands, he felt a slight power surge. This staff was clearly more than meets the eye.

'Sir, an honor, sir!' – Zhora saluted. His anger was gone. Now he understood what Antheol had meant by following orders.

'But sir! Don't you think this is a bit unfair? This psycho doesn't deserve it!' – said the same elf again.

The instructor pulled out a short golden rod and swung it at him. The next instant the complaining elf had turned into a pig.

'What a dimwitted student you are!' – said Antheol angrily. – 'This "psycho" understood the lesson I just taught you: don't question the instructor. You still have to learn that. And another thing considering all of you! You are a platoon. A platoon must stick together and learn the values of teamwork. I hear one of you insulting the other – you'll also have a taste of my disciplinary rod!'

'Sir, yes, sir!' – the recruits said.

'As for you, "pig" – don't worry. You're not stuck in that form permanently. Your apprenticeship, however, won't be restored until you earn it back.' – the instructor said. – 'Now let us begin your training!'

The first week of training went quite smoothly. The recruits learned how to fight: mages wielding a staff, warlocks – a dagger, priests – small maces. Although magic users should only resort to melee in the most dire of circumstances, but that is no excuse to be unprepared. All of them also learned the basics of enchanting items to boost the wielders physical or mental capabilities as well as some more advanced spells than those learned in school before the military. Zhora's affliction and talent in using fire magic almost gained him some respect among the others, but he was still not liked. He wasn't the only one though. There was a priest among them: half blood elf, half human. That's the reason the group stayed away from her, but no one ever called her a half-breed. They were just too scared of Antheol's punishment for disrespecting a platoon member. As their training here was completed, they were sent to Faibreeze Village to meet up with the other recruits that had been in the Farstrider Enclave. Their further training was meant for the whole platoon.

From Fairbreeze Village the group moved south into the Ghostlands. These dark forests were quite unpleasant after the fairytale-like Eversong Woods. Even the ground was dark-purple from the corruption left by the Scourge during the attack on Silvermoon five years ago. In this region lay the outpost called was nothing but a few ruined blood elven buildings. Yet this was an important strategic point. Even the Forsaken – undead that were free from the Lich King's control – had come to help the blood elves in defending it.

During the few weeks of training the platoon grew closer together. Only Zhora and the half-elf were "left out". Maybe that was for the best. Every evening, when the recruits were simply sitting near campfires, drinking, taking a rest from everyday training, Zhora continued to polish his skills. He didn't have anything else to do, so he spent his spare time in the forests nearby, mostly practicing fire spells. Little did he know that at the same time the half-elf priest was doing exactly the same thing close by.

A month had past. The platoon was quite busy all this time. They had to purge Suncrown Village from nerubians as well as their leader Anok'Suten, help ranger Valanna fight off some Amani trolls and even rid the Sanctum of the Moon from arcane magic beings. This time they were sent further south to the Dead Scar to battle the agents of the Scourge to reduce the number of attacks on Tranquillien. This was a huge mistake. As soon as the platoon entered the Dead Scar, a swarm of Scourge soldiers rose from beneath the ground to surround them. They were successfully ambushed.

The platoon soldiers were not inexperienced enough to fight against so many fearless enemies at once. Before the battle even began six rogues escaped from the battlefield in fear. That action demoralized the rest and seemed they would just lay down their arms and get murdered. Suddenly a fireball landed on a few skeletons who were standing close together. The spell was launched by Zhora. Immediately he cast another, burning some more enemies to the ground. He had clearly no intention of being killed here and now. Seeing one elf kill a few skeletons without too much effort, the rest of the mages started to believe that the situation wasn't hopeless at all.

After pushing the skeletons back, the hunters (who were still not trained in ranged combat) and paladins rushed to the center of the battlefield with enthusiasm, but that action was anticipated by the Scourge. The weak skeletons were just bait to lure the blood elven melee forces into a trap. A new army of ghouls and armored skeleton knights had risen from under the ground. They were more powerful and fierce than the former "piles of bones". This is where the melee battle began. The swords and hammers of the elven fighters did little damage to the knight's heavy armor. All that the fighters could do was keep the undead offence from coming near the ranged magic users. But the mages and warlocks were unable to join the fight without injuring their own platoon members, so they were just standing there. This is when all the problems from lack of teamwork and experience in real combat began. The priests couldn't manage to heal their comrades fast enough, so a few warriors fell quickly. The others were starting to fall back. The situation was really bad. And when the fallen corpses of the blood elves started rising to fight alongside the Scourge everything got even worse. Zhora realized that the they couldn't be reanimated on their own and had to be controlled by someone.

'Look for necromancers!' – he shouted.

The scared elves listened to his command without hesitation and after a few moments they found what they were looking for on a nearby hill. Since they were standing in the open, they quickly fell from a few spells of the mages and warlocks. The skeletons and raised blood elves shattered, but the ghouls and skeleton knights who were risen by the might of the Lich King himself were still heading towards the elven spellcasters.

Resisting as they could with the help of the priest's healing magic, they still couldn't shoot down all of the attackers. The warlocks standing in front of the mages and priests fell first. But just as the last warlock fell, the mages used frost spells to freeze the attackers' feet. That was the best they could do at their level. But it was enough. It gave the melee fighters the chance to counterattack from behind. Although the knight's resisted, they slowly fell one after another from the blows dealt by the fighter's last strength.

After seeing their victory, the weakened force of blood elves started to rejoice and felt at ease. Suddenly they heard a strong, howling, terrible laugh. Two giant monsters sewn together from corpses were seen in the distance. The mighty abomination brothers Knucklerot and Luzran had come from Deatholme to crush the remains of the platoon. The bare sight of them made the elves freeze in terror. Almost three times as tall as a normal humanoid, grayish-blue skin, stitches all over their bodies, a huge hole in their stomachs with visible guts and ribs… Each gripping a massive butcher-axe in the left hand and a long heavy chain in the right they were drawing closer. Some of the elves caught a glimpse of a third arm sewn to the backs of the brothers. One thing was certain: trying to fight them was suicide. What remained of the platoon were only five injured melee hunters, four paladins and about a dozen mages and priests low on mana. They quickly fell back trying to find a place to regroup, regain some strength and heal their injuries. The ideal place suited for that was the abandoned Sanctum of the Moon to the north. The platoon also chose to make their last stand there.

There they met the rogues who escaped from the battle. Everyone was furious with them for abandoning the platoon. There were some who even wanted to kill them, but Zhora was against it. He said that they can use all the help they can get in the battle to come. Everyone agreed. Somehow in these drastic circumstances without even noticing it, Zhora became the unofficial leader of the group.

The Scourge forces were gathering on the hill nearby. Luckily there was still no sign of the abominations. On the down side the Scourge did bring skeleton archers with them for this fight to take out the mages quickly. But the platoon learned much from the last battle. The paladins were in first row, ready to repel any arrows. The hunters stood in the second row to counterattack any melee blows dealt on the paladins. The rogues surrounded the mages and priests protecting them from any other attacks that may come through the first lines.

It was a good tactic, but useless given the situation. The elves were outnumbered about twenty to one. Soon the first line of defense fell, the hunters' counterattack failed and the Scourge was now moving in for the final kill. One of the rogues tried to run for it again, but was killed by an enemy arrow. Running was pointless. And as if that was not enough, the terrible laugh started once again and was spreading all over the place. The brothers came to have some fun in slaughtering the elves. The group scattered in despair. Everyone was now just trying to stay alive.

Fighting desperately, Zhora didn't notice he had nowhere to retreat. Behind him was a river and the scourge kept coming.

'If I die here, I'll take a whole bunch of you bastards with me!' – he shouted valiantly yet overestimating his own abilities. After killing just three enemies, his chest was pierced by an arrow. Zhora fell to his knees, feeling the life fade away from him. He couldn't breathe and coughed up a lot of blood – his lungs were punctured.

'So this is it…' – he thought.

Suddenly the pain was gone. His strength was returning to him. He saw the arrow slide out of his chest and fall on the ground, while his wound slowly closed up. He turned to see he was being healed by that half-elf.

'Get the hell out of here!' – she shouted.

Without saying anything, Zhora threw a few fire spells at the enemies that were the closest to them and tried to break out of here with the priest. Making a desperate run for it they bumped right into one of the abominations. A slam with his massive butcher-axe and the blast wave pushed Zhora and the priest into the river behind them. Zhora dived out of the water trying to find the half-elf to whom he owed his life.

But he was on his limit… Exhausted from the long battle and damaged by the blast wave, feeling no power in his body, his eyes closed off on their own and he lost consciousness.