A/N: Please note that this is of course Fan Fiction, therefore the events described would be slightly deviated from the orginal telling.
And nope, I in fact do not own Warcraft or anything else I write about.
Chapter 2 Haste
The Elven Rangers ran through the light forest to the forward base camp as quickly as possible. Arlandria ran in front, holding her bow at the ready, behind her sprinted the 120 Elves of her unit. Everyone was cautious and silent as possible in their movements. All had watchful eyes which scanned all directions for any threat.
The directions to the new command center showed it to be far behind the frontline breech, situated on a naturally defensive steep ridge, with high arcane towers encompassing three sides. Arlandia's unit however, would not be holding their bows in anxious anticipation for long, as in the distance, figures came forward through the brush. As far as she could tell, they seemed disorganized and few in number, probably rabble from the breakthrough that would attempt to penetrate as far as possible, looking for anything to kill. For the first time Arlandria's eyes bore witness to the monstrosity that was the Scourge. As diseased beasts and skeletons with crude iron weapons hobbled with disgusting ease through their land. She knew that time was of the essence, Lady Sylvanas needed her unit.
"We must not delay," Arlandria yelled so that all may hear, as she drew back an arrow and fired without changing the pace of her sprint, her arrow hitting a ghoul in the throat.
All of the Elves that could aim a decent shot followed suit. A flurry of well aimed arrows found their marks on the chests and heads of the vagabond Scourge. The enemy was separted by the Elves by a vast distance, but it did not become long before the distance was closing with increasingly higher numbers of the malicious Scourge.
The Rangers quickly learned that not all of their shots would down the enemy. Some of them, they noticed, would absorb a dozen arrows before falling lifeless. In a short time Arlandria was reduced to three arrows in her quiver, she looked behind her to see her Rangers rotating position with those who were empty. The steady tide of arrows could not stem the flood that progressed ever closer to the left and rear of the column.
"Conserve your arrows," Arlandria yelled behind her. "We must gather haste, it is not much further now."
Arlandria quickly pulled out a small red magical incediary, she uttered the short incantation and threw it high in the air behind her. Instantly it began to sprew high red streaks into the clear blue sky. Hopefully, she thought, that there was close by units, and hopefully they would be Elves. Arlandria turned back again to assess the situation, the Rangers of her unit were quickly becoming exhausted, some were showing an outward grimace of worry and fear.
Turning her attention back to herself, Arlandria took awareness of how tired she had already become. It had not been since the Troll Wars that she ran with such intensity. This was far different however, to any Troll pursuit, this was running against the grasp of death itself. What foulness, she thought, could possibly will such creatures forward?
It was just as the top of the arcane towers came into view, that the slower, more weary Elves were beginning to be picked off. Diseased hounds and fast moving ghouls jumped onto their back and forced them to the ground. Many Rangers began to stop with their swords at the ready.
"No!" Arlandria yelled. "We must not stop!"
Nearly all continued the mad dash, but a few disobeyed orders, and ran back into the arms of death. They swung their weapons wildly, trying desperately to make it back to their friends, forcing themselves forward for the hope of saving them.
Safety would not bless her presence on even the quickest Elves now, as arrows and spells began to fly into their column. As the defenseless Rangers began to fall, Arlandria turned to see her most loyal soldiers form a protective semi-circle around her. Lieutenant Vupila brought herself close to her right, she stared forward throughout the run, pale as the moon's light. The tortured screams of the wounded Elves and the furious roar of the Scourge rang densely through the beautiful forest.
At last the surviving Rangers reached a clearing onto which a steep slope lead to the high arcane towers. It appeared that hundreds of Elves were standing in firing position, all anticipating the arrival. Arlandria and the remnants of her unit ran through the protective magical barriers and nearly collapsed from their exhaustion. They turned to watch the awesome might of volleys of arrows and spells from the mages on their towers. Hundreds of Scourge became reduced to fragments under the tumultuous fire. When Arlandria counted the survivors of her unit, the number was 42.
End Chapter 2