Chapter 24: Hell Grounds

The Casted Vale

"Inform Lord Geralt to perform a right wheel towards the city. Clear the causeway to Dalaran.

A blue flag with a red arrow pointed towards Dalaran was lifted atop a huge pike. Almost immediately the flank of the Stromgardian cavalry began to turn towards the burning metropolis.

"My orders to all commanders along the rest of the axis: attack. Have them reform by the road or else we'll get too spread out to continue our spearhead into the Scourge's lines." Sirael Trollbane commanded, waving his hand across the battlefield.

Before him and his commanders the Stromgardian force was cutting through the undead like a hot knife through butter. With surprise on their side, they'd emerged from an icy mountain pass and crashed down into the flank of the Scourge.

Sirael's own banner fluttered atop the slopes that led out of the passes; the Bloody Fist of Stromgarde. He'd come with as many he could gather when he'd heard that the city of Dalaran itself was soon to be under siege. Under his command were almost thirty five thousand of the bravest and strongest Stromgarde had to offer. The highland nobles had offered their strength first, relishing combat after so many years of skirmishes with pockets of ogres that had holed up in their hills after the Second War. The Lowlanders and then even some of the coastal lords had pledged troops, and as he marched his army grew even larger. What Sirael saw now was a panoramic vision of war and glory.

Against the backdrop of a sunset tinted sky stood the Violet Citadel pillars of smoke and fire surrounding its majesty. In the fields below the Scourge's army had been situated, three main bodies surrounding the city on east, west, and south.

Why couldn't you see it Father? This is the battle we were all meant for. This is what decides our time. Has time stolen your spirit?

Sirael had split his own forces up into five components. Lord Geralt would clear the undead below the city's walls with heavy cavalry, and then infantry under General Cramore would help retake the city. Lords Hithlum and Mordemen were striking with their full strength into the heart of the undead: almost two thirds of the mounted in the army. Their rows of glittering armored knights upon their equally opulently barded mounts were currently riding over anything unfortunate enough to get in their way. Mixed in with them were mounted archers.

Old Duke Barros was commanding several regiments of his longbow men from Seaguard who were raining fiery death (the irony) upon the Scourge's troops. The longbow men constantly had to move up to fire once more as the cavalry attacks were getting out of their range. Behind them, commanded by the Greatson of Hammerfall, Norbert Malcom, were the massive formations of infantry; men-at-arms, dismounted knights, levy spearmen and conscript swords, footmen and the famed Stromgardian berserkers from Tol Barad.

"Make sure they don't advance past the road!" Sirael yelled out at the runners as they made their way back to their posts. If his forces got their blood up and disobeyed that order, they might be engulfed by a counter attack as they would be too spread thin. As things were, they might just clear the Scourge from the field by a quarter of the day to midnight. Fighting at night would be tough however, so Sirael intended to end the battle as quickly as possible.

"The last of the force has just made it through the mountain pass and are forming up." A rider approached.

Sirael nodded, looking at the effects of his attack. He'd had scouts reporting to him from the moment the Scourge entered the Vale and had formulated the plan in his mind as they marched. Granted it was extremely difficult to hide the massive ranks of men, but a line of pickets and skirmishers had cleared out any Scourge minions that might have been assigned to watch the passes. Undoubtedly the undead had thought it was simply some Dalaran outriders trying to harass their rear. Unfortunately for them, this was not a rabble. It was the largest independent army Stromgarde had gathered in decades.

"Now, let's finish this up. We'll take the old pathway past that hedgerow" he pointed to a small scrabble of brush "and flank the enemy's rear line of retreat. They'll be caught in our trap."

"Not even Lothar's ghost could get out of this bag." One of the commanders around him stated boldly.

"Let's back that statement up on the battlefield, Captain. All reserve, forward!" Sirael unsheathed his gleaming sword and kicked the sides of his ebon stallion. The battle was fully joined.

Glorious.

The Summoning Altar

Kel'thuzad continued his unnatural stare at the cracked and wrinkled pages of Medievh's spell book. The lich's vibrant blue eyes drank in all the information scrawled across the pages and more, seemingly reading between the lines.

"The circle of summoning at the Altar has been completed. Begin the summoning as soon as possible." Arthas said as he returned from the front. He'd found the dreadlord Tichondrious in session with the lich as he'd made his way through the torrents of minions he'd sent the way of the Stromgardians. Typical of the dreadlord to suddenly show up when he was needed most and least expected only to do nothing.

"Nearly. I've been reading through Medievh's work. His knowledge of demons alone is staggering. I suspect he was far more powerful than anyone realized." Kel'thuzad replied, not bothering to look up from the book.

"Not powerful enough to escape death. Suffice to say, the work he began we will finish. Death knight, can your forces hold?" Tichondrious asked.

Many thanks for your offer of help, demon.

"For now" Arthas replied. "The enemy is regrouping their forces by the road. They've already overrun a third of my force and could drive us from the field soon if they please. I've ordered the best to remain here and protect Kel'thuzad. You best hurry lich. We could be seeing banners and streamers any moment now."

Kel'thuzad ascended to the top of an abandoned watchtower ruin which stood little more than ten feet high. Barriers and ley-pillars had been placed around it to enhance the magic draw from the city, boosting Kel'thuzad's own potent powers.

"Denal zirki xxir!" the lich's voice shouted out over the din of battle. The wind suddenly seemed to stop with his words and the air hung still and thick like a poisoned molasses. All at one however it returned and began to swirl around the bony figure of Kel'thuzad. Leaves, grass, and dust all churned about his silhouette and suddenly a thin beam of jade shot out from beneath him and impaled the clouds above. The beam seemed to sear the sky itself as the puffy orange marshmallows turned black, red, and angry. The shockwave roiled throughout all the clouds, tinting them harsh and unforgiving colors. The sky beyond seemed to take on an unnatural and miserable taint.

"Here they come." Arthas muttered as he saw the tops of standards with streaming blood red pennants. Yet the sight wasn't where he thought it would be from. Instead of emerging from the east, they were coming from the south. The buggers had flanked him.

Immediately the undead around them formed into a strong rank with more coming from behind every moment. In an instant the cavalry covered the distance between the two forces and smashed into the line. Pikes were shattered and horses neighed. Three abominations rushed into the fray, swinging wildly at anything that moved.

"Reposition those ballistae!" Arthas called out. These flankers were liable to overrun the Scourge's artillery batteries if they didn't turn to face or retreat. Behind the wave of heavy cavalry came a tide of infantry to mop up any mess left behind by their predecessors.

"Hold until the lich completes the summoning, death knight! The wizards in the city are counterattacking. I will go hold them off." Tichondrious shouted out.

I already know, damn you. He could see with his own eyes from here that the defenders of Dalaran had begun to sally forth. They had doubled their efforts and now that the Scourge was stuck between a rock and a hard place, they were pushing even harder. Spells flew through the air abound and new cries had arisen.

With his usual green flash the dreadlord disappeared. "That piece of shit." Arthas spat as he walked along a secondary defensive perimeter forming around Kel'thuzad.

"Behold, Prince!" he heard Kel'thuzad's voice calling out to him. Looking up the lich was still engulfed within his magical cyclone. The rippling and shimmering air around him seemed to wear and wrinkle, tearing into tunnels which held a fiery glow to them. Suddenly a creature poked its head out of one of them. Its body was sinuous and leathery with a long mane of bristly black…spikes, running down its back. Two antennas emerged from the mane and seemed to sway with the wind, the ends of them opening to reveal a mouth filled with teeth and a long tongue that tasted the air.

"With the barrier between the worlds weakening, the Legion has sent their minions to aid us! These felhounds will snuff out the flame of life of the mages that trouble us. And look! The mighty infernals descend!" Kel'thuzad's voice had risen to euphoria.

From the warped clouds the green tints seemed to gather together and suddenly explode with fire. The fire descended in great balls, looking like some great meteor shower. There were dozens of them…hundreds…thousands!

As the felhounds began to pour out of the portals and the fiery comets descended, the human army swarmed around the tower, fully surrounding Arthas and Kel'thuzad. Their torrent overwhelmed even the strongest of the undead's warriors as they were taken by complete surprise and having to fight three fronts at once couldn't support the whole defensive line.

"THE LEGION'S MIGHT DESCENDS!!" the lich called out before continuing with his stream of demonic words.

Amidst the orchestra of strife a cataclysm ten thousand years in the making descended upon the world. The skies across Lordaeron turned sickly with the heralding of the Legion's return, and Azeroth's moments of greatest darkness had come.

The Fields of the Casted Vale

"Hold together! Damn it all hold together! Lieutenant, take those men and cover our flank!" Sirael Trollbane ordered. Great plumes of smoke rose from the battlefield turning the air oppressive and harsh. It stung his throat to even breathe. The grass had been trampled into thick mud. Horsemen rushed too and fro meeting in battle with the undead and these new enemies.

The sudden arrival of these things and their utter ferocity had completely thrown the attackers aback. Now his force which had seconds ago been on the offensive was almost completely surrounded.

"Prince Trollbane! Behind you!" the voice of his adjunct pierced the air. Sirael turned pulled hard on the reins of the horse. A massive giant of sown flesh swung a huge cleaver at him. Trying to back, the horse bumped into something and the blade came down slicing the poor creature's head in half. Sirael fell to the side and for a moment glimpsed at the sky. The great green comets were still plummeted from the heavens.

Damn all! We were on the brink of victory! The sudden arrival of whatever the hell these things were had thrown his formations into chaos. The entire battle had degenerated into a bloody slaughter. One moment he was in complete control, the next he couldn't even give orders to the man next to him.

The demons had come from nowhere. Suddenly great sores opened in the air and the things came forth in an unending torrent. Then the skies themselves had seemed to bleed, the green drops becoming horrific monsters of flame and rock.

Sirael pushed himself back to his feet and reached for his sword to find it missing. Looking around he noticed that his helm was gone too. Damned if he was going to allow this to happen. He had ridden off without the King's permission taking Stromgarde's great strength and he wouldn't let them be massacred on the field of battle! His honor rested on this battle; the honor of Trollbane, and the survival of all men.

"TO ORDER YOUR FLEAS!! BACK INTO YOUR LINES!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. The men around him suddenly seemed to take notice.

"You heard the Prince! Together! Rally to the Prince! Annex!" he heard the voice of his adjunct, Toshen, shout out again. In an instant he was beside him on a blood splattered and stinking horse.

"My Prince, the banners from Lords Geralt and Hithlum has disappeared into the smoke. We can no longer make out their positions. The Greatson of Hammerfall is bringing his force to bear with the new enemy on the western flank and Duke Barros is trapped in a pocket of undead not three hundred yards from us. What are your orders?"

The world seemed to spin. It was all falling apart.

"Demons! Unstoppable!" he heard the cries from his men. They were terrified, and rightly so. The beings that seemed to suddenly pour from the Scourge's positions and fall from the sky were so malefic in battle that everywhere they went a fine steam of blood seemed to rise.

Father, what do I do? Sirael witnessed a man torn limb to limb by one of the massive infernal beings of fiery stone.

"Demons!" the cry pounded in Sirael's head. Nothing made sense any more. How the hell did it happen? What was going on?!

"Prince Trollbane!"

What can we do against the Otherworldly? A mage who had somehow made her way onto the front lines was suddenly pounced upon by one of the demonic dog-like creatures. The demon seemed to suck her life dry leaving her an empty husk of skin and bones.

"Prince Trollbane!"

This is madness! A huge demon with wings breathed a suffocating toxin on a crowd of footmen who fell to their knees scratching at their throats with their eyes rolled back in their heads.

"Prince Trollbane!" Toshen's voice pulled him to reality.

"Y-yes. Go forth and try to reach Duke Barros. We'll make a stand here. If we can link up with Barros we'll try to clear a path towards the city where we can meet with the mages."

"Do you wish for the order to be retreat?" Toshen asked.

"No, not retreat. That will cause panic. The situation is very confused. Give Barros the order as simply as possible. Just tell our men to regroup here! If you can't find us then order everyone to break out of the battle and make for the mountains. Go now!" Sirael slapped Toshen's horse and the mare dashed off. "Now you sack of fools, hearken to me! Hearken to your Prince or fall in this place!"

Already a bedraggled group of men had gathered around him in his shining blood red armor. Several torn banners were now flying above him and the group seemed to grow. The men cried out his name and his heart swelled with pride. He couldn't help but notice however that the positions that even a few seconds ago were cleared of Scourge were now filling with demons. As the soldiers chanted, he felt a strange courage build in him; almost a bloodlust.

"Well then, boys! Looks like we'll have to teach these bastards a lesson! No one interrupts Stromgarde's battles!" his voice bubbled up from within. The men cheered. They were mostly the cavaliers he'd led into the rearguard of the undead and had lost their horses some way or another. They all knew now though unless the main force reunited with them…

"Come with me once more!" the Prince shouted.

"Once more to this battle!" the men echoed the ancient Stromgardian battle cry.

"Through the salt of the sea and the bloodied snow on the mountaintops!"

"Fighting with tooth and nail!"

"To battle Stromgarde! Give these enemies the kiss of steel and send them to each of the hells that waits for them!" Sirael picked up a sword from the mud and looked up. All around him and his circle of men was a wall of living fire.

How did it come to this? I guess Barros won't be able to reach us in time after all.

For a moment Sirael watched his shadow flickering in the light of the infernals. Then he dashed forward with all his might. He didn't look back to see if his men followed, simply raising the sword and jumping at the closest demon. As he approached, he felt the heat off the infernal blister his skin and sear the cloth under his armor but it was too late to stop now. Crying inordinately, Sirael lodged the sword deep in a crack in the infernal's chest and pried to the side. A warbled scream pierced the air and Sirael fell backwards landing with a thud on the muddy ground. Looking backwards he saw that the line had begun to buckle. One of the banners fell atop him, covering his body.

I'm sorry, Galen. The Prince's thoughts drained as his vision reddened. The sky still rained fire.

The Casted Vale, Summoning Altar

The demons are pushing them back; overwhelming them, Arthas realized. More and more portals continued to open, rippling like black, putrid water. Thousands of demonic minions continued to cross the boundaries of the Twisting Nether and entered into Azeroth. The surviving Stromgardians were all fleeing for their lives before their might.

"Its over; the humans can't compete with this." Arthas said to himself. He thrust Frostmourne into the mud and breathed heavily. His arms throbbed with the weight of the sword and his veins felt like they were on fire from the magic he'd conjured.

The banners Stromgarde had stood so proudly beneath minutes ago now all lay trampled in the muck. Most of the humans had been butchered in the first moments of the invasion. Nothing could have prepared them for the coming of the Legion. For a moment though, they'd almost lost. Most of the Scourge's army on the fields of the Casted Vale had been torn asunder by the sudden counter attack.

Walking slowly back to the ruined watchtower where Kel'thuzad stood Arthas saw piles of human corpses; their high tide. That was the closest they could have ever gotten to stop the Burning Legion's attack, whether they knew about it or not.

Around Kel'thuzad the air was filled with static and smelled like ozone. A swirl of energy still surrounded him, and the portals seemed to be coalescing and joining. With crackling blue electricity the portals merged slowly, searing the ground beneath them to vapor. On the other side was a fine mist of purple and green. Suddenly Arthas saw a massive shadow gather itself from the far side of the aperture. The silhouette stood as still as stone, but its tail beat the mist impatiently.

When at last the two final gateways merged a stupendous burst of wind nearly blew Arthas on his back as he gazed on at the spectacle. Tichondrious had also reappeared to greet the Lord of the Legion. The death knight saw a twisted and hideous look on the dreadlord's face that he couldn't quite describe; something he'd never imagined a demon could make; was it…delight?

With hair and cowl flapping in the heavy wind, Arthas shielded his eyes but not enough to the point where he blocked his vision of what was happening. Just then foot, or hoof more like, stepped from behind the gateway followed by a gust of the same mist that had emerged from the demonic portal the orcs had guarded in the Alterac Mountains. Two bright red eyes glowed deeply from within the mist, and as it cleared, Arthas beheld Archimonde.

"Tremble mortals and despair. Doom has come to this world." The very words rattled Arthas' armor and shook his bones. He knew that if he could have felt fear still, it would've frozen him stiff here.

A massive figure, at least twenty feet tall, had fully dawned from the doorway between worlds. With scales of shimmering myrtle and an armored mantle of the most alien bronze Archimonde the Defiler stood in all his glory and petrifying might. The very air around him seemed to flee.

Archimonde turned to Kel'thuzad, who stood mute before the demon lord. "You have done well, little lich. My plan worked perfectly." The titanic demon paid no heed to Arthas.

"Lord Archimonde, all the preparations have been made." Tichondrious was the first to speak.

"Very well, Tichondrious. Since the Lich King is of no further use to me, you dreadlords now command the Scourge."

What?! They would do away with the Lich King? Arthas couldn't believe what he was hearing. They would just be tossed aside like some rag doll?

"As you wish, Lord Archimonde." Tichondrious replied contently.

"Soon I will order the invasion to begin. But first, I will make an example of these paltry wizards by crushing their city into the ashes of history." Archimonde departed the portal's zone making way for huge columns of demonic invaders.

"This has got to be a joke! What happens to us now?" Arthas raged.

Kel'thuzad descended from the tower and stood beside the death knight. Together they watched Archimonde climb a tall hill near the mountainside, the sun now falling beneath the horizon.

"Be patient, young death knight. The Lich King saw this as well. You still have a part to play in his grand design. We are the dreadlord's…for now."

The great demon squatted down atop the hill and began etching something into the loose dirt with his fore claw. He put a hand underneath his chin rubbing the tenticular appendages there and smiled with approval. Slowly he looked up and beheld Dalaran.

"Axxir uzzar utaros." Archimonde's voice echoed across the open plains for all to hear, yet he yelled not. The power behind his tones would strike fear into anything that opposed him.

"Let this scar signify the first blow to the mortal world." Kel'thuzad translated the words.

"Ashir murdas betha dun…"

"From the seal shall arise the doom of men…"

"…daler taro, illier dask nah khul."

"…who in their arrogance sought to wield our fire as their own."

From the dirt Archimonde had carved his seal into, a skyline of sand towers arose in the likeness of Dalaran. They matched the city's great towers and walls perfectly, standing defiantly in the valley between the two giant mountain ranges.

"Rethun sess thar a sama nahr, utaramus. Belar somanis am asatha rekas nah."

"Blindly they built their kingdoms on stolen knowledge and conceit. Now they will be consumed by the very flame they sought to tame."

Archimonde thrust a finger into one of the sand towers. Hearing the crack of breaking stone, Arthas turned around to see one of the towers of Dalaran come crumbling to the ground. A great cloud of dust emerged from the giant's fall.

"What the hell…" the death knight muttered.

"He is disrupting the Ley-lines that hold the towers up. Such power is undeniable." Kel'thuzad said absently.

Archimonde let loose a huge roar. So great was the sound pressure that after it was done, Arthas felt a trickle of blood come from each of his ears.

"Belanora mordanos n elnar en amur nah fal no skada."

"Let the sounds of doom echo across this world, that all who live may hear them. Our reign of chaos has begun." Kel'thuzad concluded.

Archimonde crushed the sand city in between his hands and Dalaran which had stood as the center of human magic for a thousand years, deteriorated into rubble within seconds.

The Defiler let loose another piercing howl.

Ruins of Dalaran

Maccabeus pushed a piece of rubble off of his chest. He turned over and coughed a splatter of blood, not daring to look up. He saw the fiery sky…the men of Stromgarde suddenly cut apart and torn to shreds…the horrors! And then the towers had fallen, all thirteen of them. They had fallen and crushed them all.

He let loose a scream of pain. The light had begun to fade as the sun disappeared. Darkness was coming. Darkness and death.

"Boy…" a voice wheezed nearby.

Maccabeus cocked his head in the direction of the sound quickly, but upon seeing the sight averted his eyes and let a sob escape from him. Master Comlos's body was sprawled amongst the ruins. His left arm was bent at an unnatural angle and his right was missing altogether. A jagged rock had crushed his torso and his innards had partially spilled out.

"Boy…run. Run from this place. The demons have returned. Go and live as you can." Comlos spoke softly; softer than Maccabeus had ever heard him speak.

"Master." Maccabeus felt hot tears running down his face.

"Ru-ugh." His master's voice gave out and the old man's eyes turned blank. Screams were rising now from those who still lived but couldn't move. Maccabeus Dolaryn stood, clutching his broken ribs.

Almost blindly, he walked away from the ruins of the aqueduct and the rubble that had covered the roads. Here and there he would hear moans from the hurt and see hollow-eyed survivors wandering about in utter shock and confusion.

A terrible roar filled the air and sent lances of pain up from his broken bones. The cry had shaken his own frame as much as the ruins he stood upon. Fear gripped Maccabeus; fear and shame.

He then ran, as far and fast as he could away from the sounds of dying men.

Somewhere in the Great Sea, One month earlier

"Straighten out those sails! Targ, get over here! Get those peons buckets and start flushing the water out from below decks!" a leader's voice shouted out over the roaring storm.

Huge waves battered the ships again and again. The foam had often overtaken the decks, washing the filth encrusted wood with salty sea water. Above the ship many of the sails had been tangled in the cross winds. It wasn't just this ship. It was almost all of them. After all, the orcs weren't made to sail. They were better rowers than users of wind power. Damn human vessels.

Warchief Thrall stood at the very bow of his boat, braving the best the sea had to throw at him. His black plate armor was dripping with the water and his hair was a tangled mess, but none of it mattered.

"Shore up the sails now!" he shouted angrily.

They were at the very head of the entire Horde fleet. Thousands, no tens of thousands of orcs were aboard these stolen ships. This entire Alliance fleet had been stolen out of Southshore when the humans hadn't expected it. Hundreds of boats sailed together against the lurching waters and howling winds. The seas rose and lightning crackled. Some of the orcs hid below decks, not used to the sea.

Thrall only laughed. Even the fury of this unnatural storm couldn't stop them. They were the Horde. With the elements on their side they had been reborn as the great and noble people they once were. Gone were the days of the demonic corruption that had crippled them. Now they could reach their full potential. That had been Doomhammer's dream. And Doomhammer had told him how it had been his own father's dream long ago.

He'd heard tales of the Maelstrom when he was held as a captive and gladiator for Blackmoore at one of the internment camps in the Hillsbrad Hills long ago. It was the monster storm that dominated the far west seas of the world. No human had ever conquered it, but today the orcs would!

"Into the heart of the storm! There's bound to be land on the other side of this squall! REVASH!" he shouted out.

The orcs manning sails and ropes grunted in response. Their boat would lead the way. They all knew what was at stake. If the ships got separated now, it might be impossible to find them all.

It was now or never. The Prophet had told them to seek Kalimdor. There they could escape the Alliance, make a new home for themselves, and face the shadow of the Burning Legion that would come to cleanse the world. The former masters of the orcs would never again set their stranglehold on his people.

"RAAAAAAAAGH!" Thrall cried out. The orcs echoed his call.

End of Act IV

And there you have it. The Burning Legion has arrived and the forth act has finally closed. Now the story will begin to focus on the orcs as well as the war in Lordaeron, and the plot will split into two parallel lines: Kalimdor and Lordaeron. Now the Third War descends into its bloodiest and most violent days. Hope to see you all soon and thanks for tagging along with me so far. From here on it's all out!

-Omegatroper