Chapter Three: The Awakening of Stormrage
The corruption of Felwood had come at a high cost. The sentinels had returned under Tyrande Whisperwind and killed many of the doomguards. The casualties had been high, even if the mission had technically been a success. Now Lord Kazzak came to bear witness to the last rites of his fallen warriors.
The Legions goals were, of course, ultimately omnicidal. Yet that had not stopped funeral rites from having survived among its member races. It was Kazzaki's duty to examine the bodies of his warriors. Partially out of respect, but there was some further use that could be made of them.
Lord Kazzak looked at the bodies of his fallen comrades with a mournful fury. The massive doomguard did not care for the deaths of failures. But these warriors had succeeded. That they had died anyway only added to his rage. He walked onward and came to some bodies were unlike those slain by the night elves.
"So these are the ones you spoke of?" said Tichondrius, who had a spare moment.
"Yes," said Kazzak, "these were slain by a sword, not by arrows. The night elves do not use such weapons, they are cowardly and hide in the dark. Whoever did this faced my men in open battle. Yet it could not have been a large force, to go unnoticed by us."
Tichondrius kneeled down and examined the wounds. Setting one clawed hand over them as he sensed the energies. "You are correct." The Dreadlord said with a scowl of frustration. "It was not a large force that did this. This is the work of one man, Arthas Menethil."
"Your death knight?" inquired Kazzak. "The one who killed Mannoroth."
Tichondrius stiffened. "Have a care Kazzak, he is not my death knight." said Tichondrius. "He was the Lich Kings. The failure was Ner'zhul's, not mine."
"You were quick to take the credit when he summoned Archimonde into the world." noted Kazzak. "If the scourge hadn't been spurned this might not be a problem in the first place."
"You forget yourself, doomguard." said Tichondrius in a low tone. Something in the air changed, and Kazzak took a step back, afraid. Tichondrius was ages older than Kazzak, and unquestionably had greater power. A shadow seemed to fall over Kazzak, though Tichondrius had not moved. Finally, the shadow waned, and he returned to his normal form. "It is enough to know whom the bodies were made by. Find the death knight and kill him."
"Of course, Lord Tichondrius." said Kazzak, falling to one knee. "It shall be done."
"I have business elsewhere." said Tichondrius. "Lord Archimonde wishes the satyr's brought back into the fold."
Even as he disappeared a group of doomguards arrived, dragging still more corpses. Kazzak made his way over to them and saw that these too had been hewn by the same sword. "The human will pay for this." he said, before drawing his sword and raising it aloft. "Spread out! March in pairs! If one of you falls, call the rest of us, and we will converge on your location!
"Find the death knight! Find him and kill him!"
From where he was hiding just behind their sight, Arthas smiled and faded into the shadows.
A group of orcs and humans stalked through the trees side by side. They gave each other wary and suspicious glances every so often. Captain Lorena was not at all enthusiastic about the decision to work alongside the orcs. But she was certain Lady Proudmoore knew best. Her doubts were shared by the orc war leader, Gorash. He seemed to view her and her kind with scarcely concealed contempt.
"Tell your people to keep up!" snapped Gorash. "We don't have time to coddle your race of weaklings!"
"If not for our alliance," said Lorena, "I would run you through for your words."
"And if not for Warchief Thrall's orders, your race would no longer exist." snarled Gorash. "Not shut up, I've had enough of your jabbering!"
Lorena would have replied, but suddenly they came into plain view of a pack of doomguards. At once she drew her sword, while the orc unslung his axe. Their grievances forgotten, the orcs and humans charged forward to meet them.
"For the Alliance!" cried Lorena.
"For the Horde!" cried Gorash.
Shields were hewn, skulls were caved, and limbs cut off as the two sides tore each other apart. An orc warrior fell to the ground, mortally wounded by a jab to the chest. Yet a priest kneeled by him and restored his strength. Rising up, the orc charged into battle with a war cry, hacking down a doom guard in battle. Despite herself, Lorena reflected that the orcs and humans made a pretty good team. This reflection nearly cost her her life as a doomguard brought down a sword with a two-handed strike.
Lorena caught it on her shield, which cracked as she staggered backward to land, stunned. Felhounds rushed forward and bowled over a human, tearing him apart. One of their head was removed by an orc warrior. A footman ducked under a strike by a doomguard and ran him through the stomach. He stepped away as the demon bellowed in pain.
Lorena watched a doomguard cleave an orc in two. Then a footman, before turning to her, walking forward with a leering smile to finish her. Rising despite the pain and injury, Lorena rushed forward towards the doomguard. She yelled a battle cry as she drew near. A blade came down to cut her in half, but she rolled forward under it and jabbed her sword into the doomguards foot. The creature roared and fell to one knee, driving its sword to impale her. Yet she sprang aside and slashed its tendon.
The sword fell from its grip as it clutched its hand, and Lorena slashed its throat. As blood poured from the wound, it fell back to land with a crash, and Lorena stepped forward to where it was gurgling. Raising her sword, she fell to one knee and struck its neck. Her sword cleaved through muscle and bone to behead the creature.
Around her, the fray was settling down. Blood and bodies were everywhere, and the doomguards had fought well. For everyone they had killed, the alliance and horde had lost two at least. Probably more, and men were resting in exhaustion from the battle. Even so, the enemy was defeated. The doomguards had died to the last man, never retreating, never surrendering. Lorena could not help but respect them for it. Even orcs sometimes retreated.
"Back up you men," said Lorena, "priests attend to the wounded, orc and human alike. Everyone else keep an eye out, there may yet be more about."
She approached Gorash, who stood over the body of a felhound, axe bloodied. "We've done well here." she tried, wiping her blade on the grass. "We should return to camp and bury our dead before our luck fails us." She was a short haired, lanky women clad in white mail. Her shield was cracked from a doomguards sword.
"You can go back if you want human," said Gorash, "we go on."
"That's not smart," said Lorena, "the enemy are sure to miss this patrol, and we are far afield as it is. We're supposed to be cooperating."
"Than fall in line with us, or return to cower with the rest of your kind." snarled the orc. "We go on!"
When all that could be saved were healed, and the dead had been buried, the groups broke apart. They made their way in opposite directions. Many of the orcs looked quite reluctant to go on, but they had their commands. Lorena had no intention of fighting two battles in one day. Their priority was to keep their forces intact which whittling away at the enemies.
The humans returned to camp and were welcomed back as heroes. They told tales of their adventures and reporting on what had transpired. Finally, they were congratulated by Lady Jaina.
The orcs, on the other hand, found more battle still. After a brutal skirmish with the doomguards, they were routed. They escaped with half their original number, limping back toward home.
They never made it, a group of Night Elven Sentinels ambushed the war party. They killed most of them and tortured the rest to death. They hung their bodies from trees with their eyes ears and tongues removed. Later scouts would find their bodies being pecked at by birds of prey.
At the least, their bodies were mostly intact and were buried in one piece.
The next day, near the outskirts of the sacred Moonglade, Tyrande stood by Shandris. They were looking out across the wild lands as their forces mustered for battle. Finally, Tyrande spoke: "With Cenarius dead, it falls to us to awaken the druids. We must recover the demigods horn from the sacred Moonglade Isle. Only its clarion call can awaken the druids from their slumber."
"But Priestess," said Shandris, "the orcs have established a crude settlement upon the isle. We'll need to fight our way through them to reach Cenarius' horn!" At that moment a force of night elves came riding to meet them from the forest. They looked very grim as they neared them. Tyrande recognized her, for she had taught her when she was only a girl. And also her mother as well. "Priestess Tyrande, thank Elune we found you. The undead are advancing upon the nearby Barrow-Downs. The downs seem abandoned but…"
"There is one druid sleeping within them, sister." said Tyrande gravely. "Furion Stormrage, he is the wisest and most powerful of all the druids. He must be warned that the Legion has returned!"
"Then we'd better hurry," said the Sentinel, "if the undead overtake his Den before he's awakened…"
'Let us make haste, my sisters!" said Tyrande. "All our hopes rest on Furion's awakening!"
Tyrande at once took her forces and scouted to the easy of her position. As they rode onwards, they came upon a hill of green haired maidens, without clothes and with the bodies of stags. In their hands were poisoned spears, and the approached.
"What is nature's call?" asked their leader. 'We are yours to command, Priestess."
"Join us, fair dryads." said Tyrande. "We have much work to do."
Scouting north, Tyrande and her forces waded into a dark and cold river. The light shot through the trees in pale beams. It gave a ghostly look they waded further, they came across a great host of murlocs milling about.
Turning back, Tyrande led her forces back to the shore. She went further east, before trying another ford, and onto the far side of the Moonglade Isle. Almost at once they encountered a force of wolf riders. They charged forward with blades raised and beasts snarling.
"Strike fast!" They cried. "Ensnare them all before they regroup!"
Spears and arrows were cast into the fray, felling many of the wolf riders before they could reach melee. Then the dryads met them in battle, spears against swords. Arrows flew, as knives were used to cut throats, and warblades cleaved through flesh.
Finally, all the orcs lay dead. And just ahead Tyrande saw the orcish village. They were prepping for war, readying their weapons. They had a defensive tower, from which many archers stood posted. Many of the smaller orcs huddled in their burrows, while warriors prepared for battle.
"Come Priestess," said Shandris, 'let us assault, and deal with these wretches as they deserve."
At that moment a force of orcs rushed out to meet them head-on, bellowing calls of war with axes hewing. "Lok'tar Ogar! For Warchief Thrall!"
The night elves launched many arrows and spears at them. They slew them long before they reached their lines. After that, the orcs thought twice about sallying forth.
"Now my sisters!" cried Tyrande. "Attack! Destroy! Slaughter them all! Wipe these unclean beasts from the woodlands!"
The night elves rushed forward in an onslaught and tore down the tower. Their archers shooting the peons dead with superior skill. As the orcish warriors charged forward the night elves disappeared into the woods. The orcs pursued. Soon they were separated and ambushed. One by one the orcs fell, and only a very few night elves died in battle. The remnants of the orcs fled back, pursued by the fresh night elves who saw their chance for victory.
Troll witch doctors set out wards which healed the wounds of the remaining warriors. With their help were able to hold back the tide for a time. Yet it was not long before the night elves realized what was happening and destroyed the runes. Once they fell, the defense was slain at last.
Yet the battle was not yet over. The peons who cowered within their burrows now took action. They began to cast spears at the night elves from hiding. Many sentinels fell before the surprised elves could respond and begin to respond.
The night elves threw flaming brand through the windows and shot arrows through. The sentinels destroyed the fortifications one by one.
Yet at that moment a massive orc wielding a katana rushed into view. Fighting as a blur, he and the few warriors who had returned with him slew many night elves. And with the shafts cast from the burrows, it became clear that they were losing badly.
"Retreat!" called Tyrande. "Retreat!"
Once again they fell back into the forest, pursued by the orcs. Once again they slaughtered them all, yet not without cost. The orc blademaster fell dead with many arrows sticking from him, and blood coating his sword. Full half the sentinel's number had fallen in battle on that day. Even so, reinforcements were on their way.
"Shandris, prepare to attack again!" said Tyrande. "There will be no one to stop us this time! Kill them all, no mercy upon the slayers of Cenarius!"
"No mercy!" cried the night elves.
It was not as easy as they had expected. The orcs soon received reinforcements from elsewhere. As the day wore on there were many assaults and retreats. The orcs died in greater and greater numbers. The dryads and sentinels soon came to bolster Tyrande's forces. On the battle waged, and three of the structures were put to the sword.
Yet still more reinforcements came streaming in to meet them.
"These… elves are stronger than we thought!" cried an orc as he and his warriors rushed to meet them.
Finally, as night began to fall, the whole of the village was in flames. The warriors were all slain, the peons were rounded up, their homes obliterated. The night elves cast the orcish children against the rocks of the rivers. They split their skulls that they might never grow up avenge their fathers. They beheaded the peons, and the few surviving warriors were hung from trees.
Tyrande Whisperwind, satisfied with her work here, pressed onward. She left behind her the corpses of hundreds, innocent and guilty alike. They had been slaughtered without mercy or pity.
The had deserved it. They all had.
Making their way over the river, Tyrande led her forces, now even greater than before to the far side. No sooner had they set foot upon the land and a great wildkin rushed out of the trees. They were led by a specter appearing like Cenarius. Yet it was writhed in flames as it cast fire upon them.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked Shandris. "|Why would these spirits attack us?"
"Cenarius alone was permitted to walk these paths." said Tyrande. "-"Cenarius alone was meant to be able to awaken the Druids. He alone was above fault. The guardians of this place will try to thwart our efforts at every turn." She remembered suddenly Furion's faith in Cenarius, that had led him, and her, down the path they had walked.
"The night elves pressed on, higher and higher. Soon they found themselves walking an ancient paved road, overgrown with moss. There was an air of magic about them so that no one knew quite what to think. They were on the forbidden ground, yet if the world was to be saved, they had to press on further.
"Up the winding path they went, until at last, they came to another specter, this one breathing a frosty air of death. Out of a nearby cave came countless Owlbears.
"Feel natures wrath!" cried the specter and battle was joined.
The owlbears here were bigger and more powerful than those that had come before. There were casualties before victory was achieved. Tyrande sliced one across the hamstring with her knife, before finishing it with a jab to the eye. Shandris shot another through the throat.
The spirit fell last of all and melted like ice beneath the suns rays.
Finally, they pressed onto the horn, floating upon a pedestal, waiting for use. The pedestal stood surrounded by many pillars which towered above them. This place was very ancient indeed, made in the days of Surumar.
A spectre of lightning appeared and sent bolts of power coursing through the front ranks. Screams echoed as they died, and gigantic owlbears rushed out of the caves with wrath. The battle was long and difficult. No matter how many arrows and spears they cast into the owlbears, they would not die. They carved a swath through the night elves who could not avoid them. They died one by one, until at last only the lightning spirit remained. Tyrande notched an arrow, but a bolt of lightning shot through her, sending her reeling to the ground in pain. Then everything went black.
Tyrande awoke woozily to find Shandris standing over her fearfully. "Priestess Tyrande, thank goodness you are alive! We feared the worst!"
"I'm fine, Shandris." said Tyrande, pulling herself up. "Have we the horn?"
"Yes," said Shandris, "we slew the creature shortly after you fell. We lost more of our kind against those spirits than against the orcs."
"Whatever the cost, it was not in vain." said Tyrande as she approached the horn. "At last, the Horn of Cenarius! Now we can awaken Furion!" Taking up the horn, she set it to her lips and blew upon it with all her might.
The sound of the Horn of Cenarius echoed across Ashenvale. Demons looked up, an ancient fear welling up in their hearts. Wielders of unholy magic heard the wood groaning, as the roots deep within the land began to move. The trees swayed. The earth came alive, as the rivers ran silent. The ghouls working to hack down the trees now renewed their efforts with vicious abandon. They desperately sought to reach the Barrow-Downs before it was too late.
Malfurion Stormrage opened his eyes and emerged from the barrow downs. He was a giant of an elf, with broad shoulders and a long blue beard. On his head were antlers, and in one hand he gripped a gnarled staff. He went clad in black furs, with a garment made of feathers, and he sensed the taint within the land.
"The horn has sounded," said Malfurion, "and I have come as promised. I smell the stench of decay and corruption in our land. That angers me greatly." He motioned with one hand, and suddenly the forest that ghouls had been hewing came to life! "Come forth, you defenders of old! Crush these invaders as you did in ages past!"
The trees tore apart the ghouls. Then they pressed on to assault the graveyards where they had been storing lumber. The undead mustered and rushed to meet the trees, but were swept away by the woodlands might.
Author's Note:
Well here it is, chapter three.
I tried to give the human and orc alliance a day in the limelight, to show that they are still winning victories. Lorena is, of course, a cameo from the terrible novel Cycle of Hatred.
By the way, the book was absolutely awful. Nothing that happens in the story has the least bit of significance in the grand scheme of things. The ending is completely anticlimactic — a lot of boring buildup for almost no payoff. Jaina Proudmoore and Thrall had almost no personality whatsoever. And the less said about the villain the better. Even so, it had a few decent characters, and I thought Lorena was halfway interesting.
After two campaigns of playing pacifist mode, it is refreshing to play a vicious monster. I actually like psychotic Tyrande a bit better than I do canon Tyrande at this point. Oh wait, she is canon Tyrande before WoW turned her into Malfurion's trophy wife.