Chapter Two: The Storm
"Come on you apes! You want to live forever?" – Lieutenant Rasczak
Clan Watch, Nagrand
The camp was quiet. Most of the battalion's warriors were asleep in their tents, and the few that were awake were clustered around campfires and torches that dotted the camp like tiny islands of light in a vast ocean of darkness.
That darkness, however, held warriors of its own. Throughout the camp, figures moved silently through the night, darting from the shadows and into the tents of the Mag'har where each would stoop over a sleeping warrior and, placing a hideously mangled hand over the victim's mouth, slip a vicious blade between the warrior's ribs.
One such figure slid into a tent that held a lone occupant, a brown haired woman. As the shadow raised a long, curved dagger, ready to taste the blood of its defenseless victim, it felt a tap on its shoulder. Turning around, it came face to face with a very large, very angry tauren that brought a massive, flanged mace down on its face.
Obereth rushed to the elf's side and shook her awake as the would-be killer collapsed in a bloody heap. " Rhana! Rhana, wake up!"
Groggily rising from her sleep, she squinted up at him. "Obereth? Why are you–" Her words caught in her throat and her eyes shot open as she spotted the corpse on the ground. "What's going on here?!"
He handed the elf her bow, quiver, and swords then gestured to the bloodied body. "The camp is under attack. I saw at least a half dozen others out there before I followed this one in here. My guess is there are many more of them out there."
"Any idea how they snuck up on us like this?" she asked as she slung the quiver across her back.
"Not a clue." Obereth then turned and left the tent, bellowing, "We're under attack! To arms! To arms!"
Lorkhan was jarred awake by the sound of shouting and sat up, looking around the tent. It was relatively large compared to most of the others that the battalion had brought with them and held a half dozen others, all of whom remained motionless on their mats. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw a figure stoop over one of the other warriors in the tent. He was about to ask the figure who it was when he saw it place a large hand over the mouth of the warrior it was kneeling beside and, in a single swift motion, drew a long knife and rammed it into the warrior's heart.
A chill shot down Lorkhan's spine and primal terror coursed through his body and limbs, rolling his stomach up into a tight ball. His hands scramble to find his sword, but he grasped at nothing but the cold earth. The shadow raised its head and stared back at him with icy blue eyes, its glare piercing his eyes, skull, and very soul. The orc froze in place, his body refused to move even as his mind wildly screamed orders, as the shadowy figure rose, brought up the knife it held, which still dripped with blood, and lunged.
As it glided through the air toward him, time seemed to slow to a crawl. His mind was in chaos as thoughts raced through his head and died before he could grasp at them. In the haze he wasn't even aware that his leg had already lashed out at the figure, his heel catching it squarely in the center of its face and sending it crashing to the ground next to him with a dull thud. The sound of the creature slamming into the group snapped the young warrior out of his mind numbing panic and as it righted itself and raised its knife to finish what it started, Lorkhan's hands shot from his sides to curl around the wrist of his attacker. The orc and the ice-eyed shadow struggled for the knife, each trying to bury it in the other.
The figure's hands were hideously deformed, some of its fingers seeming to have melded together, and massive knots had grown in the bone that broke the surface of its skin all across its limbs. No matter how hard he struggled or how hard a bashed the creature's hand against the ground he could not force the misshapen thing to release its hold on the knife.
Grabbing hold of the base of the knife's blade, Lorkhan levered both it and his enemy's hand to point at the shadowy figure's gut and then, gripping it by both the blade and the handle, rammed it forward with all his might. The creature let loose a hollow howl of pain as he drove the knife deep into it. The rush of the struggle quickly ebbed and a deafening silence descended on the tent. But as Lorkhan's focus faded, a gnarled hand shot to his throat and dragged him eye to eye with the shadow where, even in the dark, the warrior could see its face.
To say it was repulsive would have been a severe understatement. It's skull was a long, misshapen oval, most of which was taken up by its mouth that was little more than a massive opening in skin and bone lined with a wall of extremely long fangs. It did not have a nose, but rather a pair of holes set directly between its eyes. It had deeply sunken eyes, ice blue and feral, that showed no hint of fear, mercy, or sanity, only hatred.
The creature tilted its head back and whip it forward again, smashing its gnarled forehead into Lorkhan's face and in an instant the orc was sent staggering back, blood flowing freely from his nose. The monstrosity leapt at him, tackling him to the ground, one of its hands pinning him to the ground and trying to crush the life from his neck while it struck him across the jaw with the other, the jagged bone that stuck out of its skin tearing a long gash across his check. As its fist pulled back to strike him again, the young warrior gripped the handle of the knife, which still protruded from the creature's gut, and wrenched it to the side before ramming it even deeper into his attacker. It howled again and reeled backwards, letting go of Lorkhan, who lunged at and tackled the hideous creature, clenching his hands around its short, thick throat. The monster thrashed about, clawing his arms and face as it struggled to throw him off.
After what seemed like an eternity of painful and chaotic strikes the writhing creature began to slow. Its wild swings ebbed as the last vestiges of life were crushed from it before its arms finally stilled and silently dropped to its sides. It lay motionless for some time before Lorkhan was able to force his hands to relax their death grip on the creature and looked down into its eyes. The feral gleam that had rooted him to the ground was gone, replaced by a cold, empty gaze that sliced into his heart and sent shivers throughout his body.
He stared at the corpse, then down at his own hands. His skin from the elbows down had been stained black with blood, which still dripped from his fingers. The orc staggered to his feet and stumbled toward the tent exit but only made it a few feet before sinking to his knees and spilling the contents of his stomach out onto the ground. Lorkhan sat there, his head spinning, trying to understand what he had just done. He had just killed someone, with his bare hands no less. He had thought that his first battle would be glorious, but the act had been terrifying, disgusting even.
"Lorkhan! Lorkhan, are you alright?"
The voice seemed so distant, and yet familiar. He looked up and saw the grizzled face of Khazar, bending over to help him up.
"I know what you're going through boy." The older orc hauled his pupil to his feet and steadied him, then grabbed his head and looked him straight in the eyes. Khazar's voice was stern, yet strangely comforting. "The first kill is always the hardest and you certainly didn't get a gentle introduction, but we don't have time for this." His unblinking gaze remained fixed on the younger orc, who could feel his focus and energy slowly returning.
"I… I think I'll be alright." His head had stopped spinning and his vision had cleared. Khazar released him and he bent over to scoop up a sword that lay amongst the corpses, a massive falchion that felt at home in his hands.
Stepping out into the camp was like passing into another world. The air was thick with the smell of fresh blood and the night echoed with cries of war, the clanging of steel, and the screams of the dying. Parts of the camp were on fire, and the smoke carried with it the smell of burning flesh.
"What happened here?"
"The Draenei happened." The wizened warrior practically spat the name of the people that had been their foe for more than fifty years. "The vermin are swarming all over the camp. I've issued orders for a general retreat, we're falling back to the Ring of Trials to regroup."
As the two moved north through the camp, the sounds of battle began to fade, though not from distance. The battle was winding down, and from the sound of it the Mag'har had lost.
Khazar suddenly froze and held up a calloused fist.
A long silence followed the motion as the two orcs listened. "What is it?" Lorkhan's grip on his falchion tightened and his entire body tensed, his muscles coiling like springs. "More Draenei?"
The older warrior's eyes darted about, surveying the surrounding tents. "I don't kno– " A sudden movement in the shadows cast by the firelight caught his eye. "There!"
A pair of shadowy figures leapt out of the darkness at them. One glided silently through the air toward Khazar, who swiftly whipped an enormous zweihander from where it hung on his back. The aging veteran speared the thrashing ball of flesh, fangs, and knives on the oversized sword and lifted the mutated creature forward. With a mighty roar, the orc rammed the blade into the ground, pinning down his deranged opponent, and planted one of his booted feet on the Draenei's stunted neck. He pressed down and gave the foot a sharp twist. A sickening snap greeted him as the bones splintered and cracked under the weight. And final wave of spasms shot through the creature's limbs before it lay still and lifeless.
The second shadow lunged at Lorkhan, but the nimble orc darted out of the way and as the deformed Draenei sailed by the young warrior slammed the pommel of his sword down on the back of its head. The creature staggered forward, put off balance by the blow, but managed to maintain its footing. It planted one of the clawed and wrinkled masses that served as a foot and turned to face the orc. It dove toward him again, this time slamming into him shoulder first, and the two tumbled backward, sprawling down onto the ground.
The hideous creature was first to its feet and raised a viciously hooked and serrated knife above its head. As the blade sped downward toward Lorkhan, he rolled out of the way and swung his falchion wildly in his enemy's direction. The sword, however, bit into nothing but air as the shadowy figure leapt up and over the hurried swing and landed like a grotesque cat next to the young orc. It pinned him down with a mutated foot-like claw on his chest and again raised its knife to strike him. Before it could strike, however, the blade of a colossal sword slammed down into the base of its neck sending a short spurt of blood up from the spot were twisted flesh met cold steel. The creature froze for a moment and shivered before it collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.
Khazar ripped his zweihander from the corpse and grabbed Lorkhan by the arm, hauling him to his feet. "Now let's get moving before more show up." They turned to continue through the camp, but stopped when they noticed movement ahead of them. They could see, silhouetted against the flames, two figures advancing toward them.
"Looks like I spoke to soon." Khazar's grip on his sword tightened, though as the figures approached Lorkhan could not help but smile. One was very large and hunched while the other was slim and agile.
"Obereth! Rhana!"
The two were beaten and bloodied, but otherwise fine, and Khazar bowed his head as they reached him. "It's good to see the two of you, did you find any others?"
The shaman shook his enormous head. "No, sir. From the looks of it, all friendlies have either fallen back or been killed and judging by the number of bodies a lot more did the latter."
"Damn, then we best get moving before we join them."
The four moved through the camp and out onto the field to the north, beyond which lay the Ring of Trials. They moved in nearly complete darkness, though Rhana began noticing something strange about the ground they were treading on. She held up a slender hand, signaling for the others to stop. Though they were more than a little confused, they did.
The elf knelt down and as she ran her fingers along the ground she could feel the impressions left by the many creatures that had passed through. One set of tracks, however, concerned her. They were large, humanoid tracks, and whatever had made them had been barefoot, though what worried her most was how recent they were, perhaps only a few minutes old.
"Oh no." She rose and turned to address the others. "Guys, there are some Ogres around here somewhere."
The three others seemed only to stare off into the distance and Khazar, without even glancing at her, responded. "Yes, we know."
"How could you possibly–" Her gaze drifted out into the darkness ahead of them and found what the others had been staring at. A half dozen pairs of eyes stared back at her, each of which stood more than ten feet above the ground.
"Oh."
Lorkhan readied his falchion. Rhana notched a lovingly crafted and viciously barded arrow, drew back the string and loosed it, sending it sailing off into the darkness. The line of Ogres surged toward them, though the farstrider's arrow caught one of them in the shoulder. The giant stumbled, grasping its shoulder in pain before a second arrow lodged itself in its chest and a third in its neck. It staggered forward, as if drunk, and came toppling down. Its huge body crashed down onto the field with a resounding thud, though the other Ogres paid their fallen comrade no heed.
An Ogre wielding a huge axe charged at Lorkhan, bellowing with rage as it barreled toward him. It brought the oversized cleaver down in a long arc from above and the smaller orc rolled to the side as the blade imbedded itself in the ground where he had been standing. Bringing his falchion around in a wide swing, he sliced deeply into the tree trunk sized legs. The brute let loose a roar of pain and swung at him with a massive arm, trying to swat him like a bothersome pest. He saw the swing coming and tried to back off but was too late. The strike caught him in the ribs and knocked him off his feet, sending him sailing through the air before he struck the ground.
The young warrior struggled to his feet. His chest screamed in pain and every breath he took was shallow and labored. The Ogre ripped its axe from the ground and rushed towards him, swinging it low and from the side. Lorkhan darted back as the blade sliced through the air where he had just been. It brought the axe around for another swing as it moved forward, but the orc was faster. Stepping inside the reach of the axe, his falchion sliced into the brute's stomach.
The Ogre lurched forward, off balance. Its wounded leg buckled underneath its weight and failed, bringing the giant down onto one knee. Lorkhan spun and his falchion cleaved into the beast's back. It turned and tried to swat him again, but the orc ducked the wild swing and brought the blade of his falchion down, burying it in the Ogre's neck. It let out a low whimper that was slowly replaced by a bloody gurgle before finally collapsing.
Lorkhan pulled his bloody falchion from the corpse and turned to face the others just in time to witness Khazar climb one of the Ogres. It thrashed about, trying to throw the old orc off its back. The grizzled warrior's grip on it remained firm and he clawed his way up the mountain of flesh and muscle before ramming his zweihander down the struggling giant's throat. It staggered from side to side before crashing down onto the field. Obereth had already felled another Ogre and caught the orc as he tumbled off the falling corpse. He quickly set his superior down, who casually walked over and ripped his sword from the lifeless opponent's head.
The old orc glared off into the darkness. "Looks like there are two left, they hung back when the others charged."
Rhana squinted at the four eyes that gleamed in the darkness. "It's not two."
"What?" The statement confused Lorkhan, he could clearly see two pairs of eyes staring back at him through the darkness.
She notched another arrow. "There's only one Ogre, it just has two heads."
Khazar's face twisted into a mask of rage and his grasp on his sword tightened. "Quickly, take it down before it can cast!" the orc hollered as he surged forward.
Rhana loosed the arrow at the eyes. The oaken shaft glided through the night directly toward them, but before it could reach them a brilliant flash of blue flame consumed and disintegrated it. In an instant the flames subsided, but before they could, Lorkhan caught a glimpse of the figure they had protected. It was an Ogre like the ones that had charged in and died while it had watched, but its skin was a sickly blue shade with a latticework of black runes across its body and, as Rhana had said, it had two heads sitting on its shoulders.
He gripped his falchion and broke into a run, following Khazar's lead. As he bore down on the Ogre, he could see it even through the inky blackness. The older orc was about to swing his zweihander at it when both its heads grinned and it leisurely raised one of its arms. In its open palm a ball of light, brighter than the sun, formed. The light spread and consumed the young warrior's vision, washing over him and overwhelming his senses. The light carried with it a deafening ring, which he thought was going to split his head open. Pain flooded every facet of his body and his mind struggled to comprehend the experience before it simply shut down, overloaded by input. Darkness rushed in to fill its place and Lorkhan collapsed.