The mass of soldiers was a grand sight as Horde and Alliance set out in the twilight of the day. Thrall and Darren rode in the lead; while behind them knights and wolf raiders kept an even pace each ready and eager for battle. Man and orc marched with singular purpose in the dense grove of ancient trees-get Hellscream. Whatever it took they had to claim the changed orc into their keeping so Jaina could work her plan to draw the dread taint from him.
It was close to midnight before the forces even saw hints of the new Warsong camp that had supposedly been erected by some sort of fountain. The foot prints of peons in the foul mud, freshly hewn tree stumps, the faint smell of smoke lingering in the cool air all told the tale that another camp was nearby. But even before then, Thrall could feel the disgusting magic of the nether oozing about them; it was rank and foul, but so powerful he could feel it on his skin like cobwebs drifting across his bright green flesh making Goosebumps prickle the back of his neck.
The woods seemed darker, almost tainted with an encroaching blackness that sucked everything out of the earth. Even the lilac eyes were not to be found trailing them as they strode warily through the forest. No night bird sang its mournful nocturnal tune, no animal prowled the brush; all was…dead or dying as they marched nearer to their goal.
Tiny yellow dots flickered in the blackness before them as they came upon their destination. The silhouettes of orcish watchtowers spiraled towards the velvet black sky, as brazier atop each lookout station danced in the soft night breeze. Sounds like frenzied chanting rose faintly from the encampment, along with the pounding of drums in some vile ritual. Thrall could only imagine what was happening past the wooden gates of the fel-orc camp. A sacrifice to their demon masters, a celebration of power? With a low curse Thrall grimaced, banishing the thought away, he would find out son enough.
Clearing his throat once the Warcheif made a low rumbling howl like a wolf crying to the hidden moon; the signal for the troops behind them.
With a flick of his hand, Dwarven riflemen and Darkspear headhunters stalked off in the foul dark to take their vantage places when the assault began. Wolves of the raiders and the knight chargers pawed the dewed ground in expectation and nervousness, swaying their heads eagerly from side to side. Puffy clouds of misty vapor exhaled from their noses as their breathing quickened in tandem with their masters.
Low murmurs could be heard as soldiers prayed to their favored deities, as armor jangled slightly from them touching good luck charms or sacred trinkets in preparation to go up against such a foe that stood behind the gates that seemed to lead to the nether itself.
"Quiet back there." Darren whispered raising a hand for absolute quiet. Although it was routine to give the men a few moments to make their peace and rally their courage, no noise could be afforded as they stood in the camoflauge of the black wood. All it would take was one fel-orc to notice them and the surprise attack would be a bloody massacre that stained the forest floor.
The movement stopped but the anticipation was palpable hanging thick in the cool air like fog. All was silent for long minuets as the ranks prepared for battle, the hearts thudded faster, and sweaty hands gripping weapons and reigns, mounts pawing the wet earth, all eyes forward, ready and waiting.
"Now!" Thrall cried out, breaking the solemn quiet like a peal of thunder that rang through out the forest.
Spurring Icefang, he let out a savage roar, charging in-between the Warsong scout towers like some sort of ancient protector raised from the sacred glades to battle the foulness seeping into the land of Ashenvale.
Sentries from atop the towers looked down astonished to see the forest suddenly become alive with foe that raced to their gates. Shouts erupted from their mouths, only to be stopped short by an arrow or bullet as the Headhunters and Riflemen took aim in silencing the eyes of the encampment.
The battle cry was deafening as the forces rushed to the foul base. Men raised their weapons high to the night sky, rallying their strength as they plowed into the maw of evil.
From the inside, the tainted orcs looked to one another in confusion, blinking dumbly at their comrades in puzzlement. One even tilted his head up to see if any ominous clouds were hovering above, that would bring rain, billowing over head, only to see sentries fall from their wooden perches atop the towers to gruesome heaps on the ground.
"We're under attack!" One sentry managed to gurgle before toppling from the guard tower; his hands still clutching his arrow punctured throat.
Cries of rage and eagerness for blood rose up from the orcs within as they grabbed nearby blades and shields racing to the gates. Their eyes were blood red, with thin lines of crimson mist drifting from the edges. They looked as demons themselves, painted in sacrificial blood that still dripped in long crimson lines down their bodies and glimmered in the firelight as they waited upon the foe.
Outside the wooden fortress, Thrall galloped head long to the high iron and wooden gates. He could feel the spirits and the ancestors rallying around him to give him strength and the power he needed this night. Magic of the elements flowed through his blood as he called upon the spirits of air through the roars of soldiers. Lighting charged through his hand bursting from his palm in a blindinf orb of light as he sent it speeding to the fortified gate.
The force of such magic attacking the wood and iron blew the gates asunder in a myriad of splinters and charred debris that zipped through the air in dangerous shards of smoldering jagged timber knocking many fel-orcs who had gathered on their back or sent sprawling feet away to land in sickening crunches. Thrall and Darren sprinted through the falling debris like the hand of judgment itself; unafraid and glorious in the heat of combat coming down hard upon the foe.
Darren leapt off his charger skillfully, swinging his blades into an upward arch slicing an oncoming orc, wielding a huge two-handed axe, cleanly in two. Another leapt up with nothing but blood rusted gore stained spikes attacked to his chain-mail gauntlets looking to literally spear or knock Darren's head off his shoulders. Bringing his blades in front of him, Darren grunted in pain as the orc rushed blindly into the sharp steel of his blades forcing him to go down to one knee at the sudden weight crushing towards him. The orc screamed, not in pain, but more as if in fury of not being able to slaughter Darren with his fists. Writhing upon the steel cursing and still attempting to land a hit on the human, the crazed orc fell limply to the ground in a broken heap as Darren pushed the gargantuan body away with his boot.
Three more took its place roaring out the name of their demonic master like a chant as they rushed him. Darren began hacking and slashing with abandon; the spy-master light on his feet as he kept agile around the hulking green savages knowing one lucky hit would be the end of him as they wouldn't take a minute to swarm his injured body before he could recover.
A lightening bolt suddenly zapped one of Darren's foe right into the chest sending the surprised orc flying into another on coming group making them all reel back as they caught the brunt of their comrade's weight.
"Stop wasting time, Darren, we must reach Hellscream!" Thrall cried out, plowing his way through a knot of orcs.
His mount Icefang fought bravely by his side, biting and clawing with abandon at any fel-orc unlucky enough to be caught by her razor sharp claws and fangs. Her snow white coat was flecked with green and red as she dove into the fray as strong as any orc or human.
The orcs and humans spearheaded their way to the towering clan hall where Hellscream was sure to be watching and ordering his men. Thrall was practically doused in Warsong blood, as they reached the clan hall. He could barely hold onto his hammer with his blood slicked hands, and all around him men slipped into the crimson puddles of mud and blood only to rise again facing a new foe or never to lift up as a weapon came down upon them.
"Thrall." Grom deep bass growled calmly stepping out from the half built clan hall.
His wicked blade was drawn as he held it loosely in his iron grip; eyes blood red unlike the warm maple Thrall had always seen scanned him indifferently. It seemed like a different person from the orc he called blood brother only months ago. The headstrong but always noble Hellscream he had looked up to when he found they were the last free orc tribe untamed by humans internment camps. This was not the Grom Hellscream he knew.
"We've come to save you, Grom." Thrall stated grimly. Even though the fray was out in full, the screams of dying and wounded with the sickening sounds of blades thrusting through bodies or mace cracking skulls and breaking bones with cringing snaps and crunches, all that Thrall could see in that moment was his old friend twisted into some gruesome shade of himself.
Grom furrowed his sweat stained brow angrily clutching his blade hilt. "Save me? Thrall, I don't need saving. While you have vainly attempted to escape your fate I have excepted my destiny. Its high time you did as well, little brother. Fight on the winning side! Our master Mannoroth will reward us with blood and spoils when we bring this world to its knees and leave nothing but ashes under our heels!"
"I am fighting for the right side!" Thrall argued, circling the crazed Grom. "And the last I knew, no orc of the Warsong was slave to anyone, man or demon!"
Grom stood rigid taken slightly aback by Thrall's words. A brief flicker of the old Hellscream seemed to shadow the strange new blood crazed Grom before being drowned in the crimson of the demons blood once more.
Thrall took out his Doomhammer twirling it expertly in his grip, the weight, the feel, all felt right in his hand as it had since the first time he had wielded it. The deadly mace began to pulse and glow a faint light blue, as Thrall chanted the spell to charge the ancient weapon.
Grom gauged him intently, his crimson eyes narrowing as he scowled upon the Warchief. "So be it, little brother." He growled, brandishing his blade. The steel twinkled in the firelight, its black tassels on the end fluttering in the ash wafted breezes.
Grom let out a blood curdling roar, charging Thrall, his body tensed preparing on the first strike against the one he jokingly called, little brother. At the last minuet, from the faintly lit corner of his eye he saw Darren rushing him from the side, but it was far to late to halt himself and he went down in a jumble of plate, black leather and swords as Darren tackled him to the ground.
Soldiers immediately jumped in securing Grom with heavy enchanted chains forged by fire and magic, while others kept the tainted forces at bay from reaching their twisted leader.
"Pin him down! We need a mass teleportation now!" Thrall cried out using chain lightening strikes on the ever coming blood frenzied orcs. The blinding streak of lightening jump from fel-orc to fel-orc. The vile stench of burned flesh and boiling blood filled the air as the tainted orc still came upon them like rabid animals with no plan, no strategy, with just the primal urge to kill whatever they could get their blood hungry hands upon. They had no fear for their lives as spittle flecked their lips, and blood coated hands, as they plowed murderously onward.
A human mage yelled out a powerful spell on a scroll with a panicky shrieked voice over the fray, and in mere moments the forces were back in the human orcish encampment. Grom threw off and bucked those who crawled over him, he jerked at the chains around his body that dug into his brown flesh as they dragged him.
"Thrall, you coward, you're fighting along side humans! Have you finally shown your true nature as nothing but a pink-skin lapdog?" Grom screeched in fury, as more people rushed to grab his chains. He had the strength of an ogre bucking and pulling with out any regard sending human and orc alike sprawling in all directions as he tried to free himself from the magical bonds that wrapped around his body.
"Bring him over here, Thrall." Jaina beckoned calmly.
The arch-mage was standing in a peculiar circle surround by torches and mage light that lit up the night in their bright luminescence. The sorceress forced herself not to tremble at the sight of the towering orc, slavering and foaming as he ranted curses upon them all and fought to be free from his bonds. She had to remain calm, even when facing this blood-crazed orc, always in control; that was the key.
The arch mage had erected a large circle set with green stones jutting up from the leaf strewn ground, and one red crystal lay buried slightly in the center of the circle. Grom spotted Jaina as he looked upon the odd circle, his eyes slitting dangerously as he snarled and spat vile curses at the sorceress before jerking his head back to Thrall. "This is the pink skin that you serve, little brother? This is even more pathetic than I thought! At least your old master Blackmoore was ruthless, not some quivering girl in a dress!"
He was dragged to the circle as the brawniest soldiers clung to the chains for all they were worth. Jaina stepped into the circle with the raging orc, unafraid and serene her hand folded delicately in front of her. "I am here to help you, Grom Hellscream." She explained soothingly, more for herself than for him.
"You can help me by dying!" Grom snarled putting on an extra burst of energy that sent five soldiers crashing to the earth, lashing out at Jaina. His plated fist met Jaina's shoulder with a thunderous strike sending the sorceress sprawling backwards. Thrall cried out angrily sending a bolt of energy straight at Grom, causing the Warsong leader to fall to his knees. Brother or not, he felt his blood boil when he saw Jaina struck, he was surprised he had so much restrained not to fling his whole power at Grom and incinerate him in a fiery crescendo of molten lava.
"Hold him tighter," Thrall growled as Jaina rose shakily to her feet.
Jaina's right shoulder dribbled with blood, her robe torn revealing the red brushing flesh beneath as the fabric sopped up the crimson liquid. Using her staff for support she walked back to Grom grimacing in pain. "I can only help if you'll let me help you, Grom. Think of your people, fight the taint. You know it is evil, that nothing good can come of it holding you enthralled with its foul magic's running through your veins. Let it go."
Holding out her hand she began chanting. The air became alive with magic; the green stones levitated from the ground, a magical sapphire stream connected them all in wispy lines forming a physicial circle. Each stone then conjured another blue stream that connected their magic's to Grom pulsing in a steady rhythmic like a heart beast. The streams of blue slowly changed to red as each passed through the raging Hellscream.
Grom bucked and heaved more than ever at his bonds to get to the concentrating sorceress. Man and orc were flung every way as he struggled to move from the circle and its beams of light. Gnashing his teeth and snarling, his eyes were wild with rage and blood. "Mannoroth will kill you for this; he will rend your spirit in two and slowly devour your soul, human!" Grom cried his breathing labor as he sucked in huge bellows of air.
Through all the chaos all Thrall could do was stare at Jaina. It was then he knew why they called her one of the most powerful mages on Azeroth. Her brow was furrowed in concentration; it didn't even appear she noticed the world around her or the orc inches from her face screaming bloody murder. The magical stream burned brighter with the taint until Thrall thought he would go blind staring at them. Suddenly, they changed course from Grom to the ruby stone in front of him.
Grom let out a yell so sharp and profound, it made the hair on Thralls neck stand on end. Then it was over. It was so sudden, the people restraining Grom toppled forwards with the sudden slack on the chains tumbling into little mounds. Hellscream fell to his knees, his body quivering and covered in blood and sweat. The only sounds were his deep ragged breaths as he looked down at the earth.
Thrall took a few wary steps to him; his doom hammers still out and threatening in case it was some sort of ruse. "Grom?" He spoke his old friends name like a soft question.
The orc turned his head slowly to Thrall; his eyes were back to the warm brown color Thrall recognized. He no longer looked like a savage stranger, bent on tearing the world to rags but the old Grom.
"Thrall…" Grom began hoarsely but found himself to weak for such ventures.
Thrall looked to Jaina who leaned heavily on her staff and breathing hard as if she had just been in a long battle. "I've siphoned off most of the taint into that blood crystal. Not all but he appears to be in control of his wits once more." She flashed Thrall a forced smile that quickly turned into a gasp of pain. Placing a hand on her shoulder the blood was still bubbling out of the wound and on the earth "Now if you all will excuse me, I'm going to pass out."
With that her knees buckled and she went crashing to the earth in an unconscious heap.
Her forces raced to help their indomitable leader, but Thrall picked up the limp sorceress, taking her into the infirmary. She felt tiny in his grasp, and light as air, her face peaceful and serene as if even unconscious she knew she'd performed a job well done. By the spirits, she had saved a race from falling back into their old ways of evil and brutality, Thrall thought as he looked down upon her.
Taking her to the bustling infirmary he laid her down upon the linen mats gently, careful not to agitate the wound to much. Kneeling down in front of her, he lovingly moved a tendril of flaxen blood matted hair from her face, smiling down upon her. Without Jaina his people might have truly slipped back to their demonic masters and help bring about the darkness. It seemed that no one understood the gravity of what had been done or how much power it had taken to bring Grom back to his state of sanity.
It was then he knew, without a doubt, he loved her.
"Thank you, my friend." He stroked the side of her cheek tenderly. There was much to be done, but Jaina had forged the way through the darkness by saving Hellscream. Swallowing what felt like a boulder in his throat, he fought the urge to kiss her upon her forehead. Instead he smiled weakly before rising to see about Grom. "Thank you." He echoed again, and walked out.
