Chapter 26: Ally of my Allies
"You're sure this is the right path?"
"Well, not exactly - they only described it."
"...right."
Greshka raised an eyebrow at Torgus' reply, shaking her head slightly. The older orc explained that the Scourge reported a large domain of furbolgs to the northeast that would provide an ample amount of potential undead warriors. As it turned out, however, the gates to this veritable fortress were sealed tight, and the furbolgs defending it were savage in their defense - the Scourge had thus far failed to breach their defenses, though this was in part to most of their standing forces being in the south.
What piqued Torgus' interest, however, was that the description of this 'fortress' bore striking resemblance to Timbermaw Hold. And so that was where they had set out.
During the travel, Torgus had described what he had been put through. The frostwyrm had taken them directly to the Scourge camp, where he had attempted to fight them back with Valnok's spear - he had been swiftly overwhelmed, as the windrider leader had described. Disarmed and beaten, that was when the human - Nonnak, Torgus said he was called - had arrived.
And then the true pain had begun. They did not use simple tools such as blades and hammers to rend his skin or break his bones - no, the Scourge had far more 'sophisticated' methods of torture, or so Nonnak put it. He had inflicted curse after curse upon the helpless orc, causing incredible amounts of pain to wrack his body. Some other cruel spells sapped his strength and energy, leaving him fatigued and weak. At other times he was subjected to various concoctions that forced gruelling sicknesses upon him; vomiting, lightheadedness, hallucinations, nausea, alterations to his body temperature and other maladies. Overall, the ordeal had been greatly taxing.
On more than one occasion, he had simply fallen unconcious, but when that happened Nonnak simply cast a spell that forced him back to waking. After an hour or two of this torture, however, Nonnak began discussing what he described as a 'new, powerful ritual' with his underlings. From what Torgus had gleaned, the ritual would absorb the strength and life energies of the unfortunate victim into gemstones crafted by the Scourge, which could then be tapped at will by the holder to provide restorative effects, or increases in power. This would slay the captive, leaving them a corpse to be raised in undeath, but effectively meaning that life energies would not be wasted in the process.
Torgus was, of course, going to be the test victim for this new ritual. From what Nonnak had mentioned, it involved daggers and blood - lots of blood. Effectively, Torgus' blood would be allowed to seep into the pit, allowing Nonnak to absorb its strength. They would not allow him a clean death though, and he would be made to simply lie there and steadily die of blood loss. Having been subject to torture, poison and other horrible acts, Torgus lacked any strength to protest. His friends' arrival had been most timely.
Since his rescue, Torgus' strength had begun to return, in thanks mostly to Kunasha's healing magic. She had been able to purge most of the poisons from his system, and with Fenris' help, helped rid him of the diseases plaguing his body. He was able to move steadily now, and carry his weapon with little effort. Nonetheless, he was careful not to over-exert himself, as Nonnak's magic still left him slightly fatigued.
"Do you think those furbolgs that attacked were from the Timbermaw?" Torgall asked. Torgus shrugged.
"I doubt it - the Scourge has been unable to break through to them, from what Nonnak was saying," he replied. "Been causing them a bit of frustration - apparently that was the task he had been left with, and he was getting more and more agitated that he would be unable to complete it before his master returned - I think he said he was called Archimonde, whoever that is. My guess is that he was going to use my lifeforce to empower himself to try and take the Hold."
Torgall snorted. "Good luck with that - that place is so huge, his handful of undead would have no chance of taking it."
Torgus nodded. "Indeed - even with my added life energies, I strongly doubted Nonnak would have been able to get far."
"And now he'll get nowhere - we've seen to that - though not without the rather timely intervention of a pack of crazed furbolgs," said Greshka, and they grinned.
As they continued in a north-easterly direction, they noticed that the terrain became more hilly and rugged. To their side, they could easily see the massive tree that stood before the tranquil glade that the Horde forces led by Akinos had been camped by - Torgall wondered how he had been unable to see it from Winterspring, though it had been misty at such a height. He now realized that Timbermaw Hold likely spread and weaved underneath the mountain that this gigantic tree rested upon. The only problem would be finding the way in.
"Do... they... ever... give... up?!" Yulgash snarled, gesturing forcefully at a gargoyle screeching towards him - it burst into a writhing ball of flames.
"They are relentless - they do not need energy or sustenance," Lucethious said.
"That was rhetoric, Lucethious," snapped Yulgash through gritted teeth. Beside him, Belpep channeled demonic energy into his body to help sustain his spells, but it was not enough - the constant spellcasting was weary, and taxed him greatly. Unlike the Scourge, he did need rest. They had been battling all day with little in the way of respite; the magi were allowed to periodically rotate, but the meagre reprieve they were allowed barely lasted a quarter of an hour before they were once more thrown back into the fray.
"The reinforcements should arrive... soon," said Lucethious in a strained voice; not unlike his younger companion, his strength, too, was waning. A moment later they all dived in different directions to avoid a splattering of blood from a carcass thrown by a distant meat wagon. Immediately in retaliation, Jaina Proudmoore pointed her staff towards it, focusing her energies; a bolt of energy sheathed in crackling lightning shot out like a missile, careening into the siege engine, whereupon it exploded in a cloud of dust and charred metal. The magister nodded, satisfied with her attack, but it was a weary nod - she, too, was beginning to show signs of exhaustion from the constant battling.
"Well they'd better get here- wait, what are those?" blurted Yulgash, pointing skyward. Lucethious followed his gaze and saw several windriders circling - he instantly recognized the lead rider as the one who brought them reports of the reinforcements' progress. His heart leapt slightly - perhaps he brought good tidings?
The lead rider gestured to his fellows, and immediately they began swooping and helping thin out the Scourge. He then began circling slowly, searcing for someone - Lucethious assumed it would be the warchief. He noticed that the rider did not carry his weapon; this was odd, and could possibly not bode well. After several moments however, the rider gave up searching for Thrall amongst the throng of battlers, and instead flew towards the magisters - specifically, Jaina Proudmoore. She looked enquiringly up at him as he landed his wyvern, nearly knocking an archer off the wall.
"Regroup your warriors," he said, grinning slightly, "the Horde rises!"
Immediately, they all looked straight to the trees. At first they saw nothing, merely more ghouls or other Scourge emerging from the undergrowth. After a few minutes, however, they stopped coming. Another minute, and several cultists ran out, fleeing toward their brethren at the battle as fast as they could. Suddenly, several of them were felled by a number of arrows or spears to the back.
And then the Horde appeared.
At first, the wolfriders burst from the forest's edge, warblades raised and swinging wildly. They charged right into the thick of battle, screaming warcries and carving through the Scourge like wheat; their wolves barreled into the undead, sending zombies, ghouls and bones flying, or sinking their razor fangs into necromancers and cultists.
Shortly thereafter, a great battlecry went up, and orc after orc came streaming out of the trees - grunts sprinted into the back line of Scourge, cutting down every reanimated corpse in their way. Behind them, archers and headhunters rained arrows and spears down, felling unsuspecting Scourge who had not realized the sudden change in battle. Shamans stood near the archers, empowering their allies with an almost overpowering lust for blood. One abomination attempted to retaliate, but was suddenly blocked by a massive sword wielded by an orc who seemingly appeared out of thin air - a blink of an eye later and that same warblade ripped through the rotting flesh, rending the abomination nearly in two.
After the abomination, several gargoyles swooped down to intervene, but found themselves blocked by Valnok's windriders. The wyverns they rode screeched and roared in fury, slashing savagely at their batlike adversaries. Revitalized by this lifting sight, Lucethious unleashed a volley of arcane bolts, blasting a number of Scourge on the ground, before raining a frigid blizzard down upon the shambling corpses. Nearby, Yulgash was also smiling and shouting his incantations with renewed vigour, incinerating the invaders with gusto.
He grinned to himself - it looked like they would win through after all...
It was falling towards night before they finally reached what was unmistakeably the entrance to the Hold from this part of the forest - a massive stone and wooden structure in the shape of an open bear's jaw encircled the tunnel's entrance. Torgall had spent most of their search informing Fenris, Kunasha and Sapph of his, Torgus and Greshka's short time with Meilosh and his brethren - Timbermaw Hold, what they had learnt of the furbolgs, and anything else that could be useful.
Currently, the tunnel was barred with thick, heavy wooden doors, but there were a number of furbolgs standing outside. They were not unlike those seen at the Azshara entrance, armoured in wooden and leather plates and carrying huge maces and hammers. A pair of smaller furbolgs were also with them, donning ceremonial clothing and carrying staves.
"Shamans," Fenris said quietly, and Torgall looked at him.
"Can you communicate with them at all?" he asked; by what Torgus had described, it sounded as though the furbolgs were in no mood for diplomacy with others, and more likely concerned with defending their own. To his relief, the tauren nodded.
"We do not speak the same language, but there is a common tongue between our races, so to speak," he explained. "I will at least be able to communicate with the shamans."
"Well, whatever works," said Torgall, shrugging. Fenris nodded, and they rose as a group, moving towards the furbolgs slowly, so as not to provoke them. The guards narrowed their eyes as they approached, weapons slightly raised, but did little more than that aside from growl menacingly. However, they mostly watched Fenris, particularly the shamans.
Fenris strode forwards, totem held forth but not in an aggressive manner. The shamans were watching him curiously, almost appraisingly, and he planted the totem on the dirt path so that it stood upright. He next ran his paw up and down the carvings engraved upon the wood, then traced the pattern that the bones made. They began to glow softly. Torgall watched, awed, as shafts of smoky light emerged from the bones, swirling around the totem before merging together into one glowing mass. The cloud shone a bright white before taking on a brilliant blue hue. A moment later, they coalesced... a bushy tail grew from one end of the cloud, and then one, two, three, four legs sprouted earthward. A snout emerged from the opposite end, coupled with ears and eyes that, even made of smoke, held a sharp cunning.
The electric blue spirit of Awakeeahmenalo touched the ground softly before them.
Even in spirit form, the wolf gave a low growl, though it echoed slightly in the still air around them. Torgall looked to and fro between the wolf and Fenris, but the shaman paid him no heed, instead staring only at his furbolg counterparts. Together, they waved their staves and similarly conjured up animals - the first summoned an enormous owl, the second a panther. Torgall realized that they, too, must have gone through a hunting rite.
Once the furbolgs' spirit companions had taken form, the spirit of Awakeeahmenalo began growling in soft tones, with the occasional bark or yelp. Similarly, the furbolgs' spirit companions twittered and hooted, and growled and hissed. Through their common shamanistic knowledge, the two separate races were communicating.
This went on for several minutes while Fenris' companions stood and hovered several feet away, half-transfixed and half-anxious. Similarly, the furbolg guards watched their brethren interestedly, as though waiting to see what they had to say. Once the shamans had finished communing, they dispelled their respective spirit companions. The furbolgs immediately turned to the guards, and one of them growled something in fairly low tones, pointing towards Timbermaw Hold. The guard nodded respectfully and approached the huge doors, thudding a heavy paw against them. They creaked open. Torgall made to follow, but Fenris thrust out his arm, blocking his path - Torgall glanced at him, but he only shook his head slightly.
"What did you say to them?" he muttered.
"I told them of this Meilosh that you've spoken to," he explained, "and I think they may have believed me... or, they're sending for reinforcements to execute us where we stand."
Torgall stared at him.
"What? Just be ready to run on the word 'go'," Fenris said, shrugging. Torgall shook his head exasperatedly, but at the very least the guards weren't trying to kill them... yet.
The minutes passed in silence, puncuated either by the heavy breathing and occasional low growl from the remaining guards, else by the impatient and somewhat tense shuffling of Torgall and his friends. Eventually the gates creaked once more, and they all stared half-expectant and half-apprehensively at them. At first they only saw two of the large guards pushing the heavy gates open, but then Torgall saw a familiar white furbolg that could only be Meilosh.
Meilosh stood still for a few moments, staring at the assembled guards questioningly. He moved forwards, looking somewhat curious, before catching sight of Torgall, Torgus and Greshka - his face split into a toothy grin. He ambled up to them, pulling them each into a crushing hug in turn.
"You left me with the goblins!" he said, his rough, cheery voice tempered slightly with a growl. "Where did you go?"
"We had to return to our allies swiftly," Torgall replied, somewhat apologetically. "We were told you would take some time to recover."
"Yes... they informed me that you had left some time before I awoke," said Meilosh, nodding sagely. "And I see you have brought friends!" he added, spotting Fenris, Kunasha and Sapph. "Plainswalkers, and... moon child...?" He stared confusedly at Sapph, apparently uncertain as to what to make of her.
"This is Fenris, chieftain of the Direhoof tribe, and his mate Kunasha," Torgall explained, and they nodded in turn, "and this is Sapph, a ranger of the high elf people."
Meilosh stared at her for several moments, frowning slightly, before saying to them all, "Then I welcome you, friends of friends, to Timbermaw Hold."
He gestured towards the tunnel, bidding them to enter. They nodded their thanks, following him into the Hold. Behind them, the guards shut the heavy gates once more.
"It is good to see you again," Meilosh said abruptly, smiling slightly at the orcs. "I was wondering if we would encounter one another once more."
"And to you," replied Torgall, "though I confess myself-?"
"Surprised?" finished the furbolg with a grin. "I told you furbolgs are quick learners. We've watched your people in the forests, hunting the dark ones, and listened... we've seen paleskins as well, look similar to your elf friend, but bigger. We've learnt your languages, but soon the darkness set in and turned some of our people... we withdrew to the safety of our Hold."
Torgall nodded - no doubt the furbolgs felt the corruption of the land and chose to flee it.
"So," said Meilosh, his growls echoing off the walls, "what brings you to my people?"
"I think you know the answer to that," Torgall replied darkly. Meilosh nodded.
"Yes... the dark ones spread quickly, and threaten to overwhelm us. All of us," he added ominously. They glanced at one another, and he continued, "We know not where they came from, but they have great power... they will destroy my people, your people, your allies, the moon children, everything."
"Surely you're exaggerating," said Greshka, raising an eyebrow. Meilosh shook his head.
"My people have seen the threat, and it will consume us all. We merely await the inevitable," he said sadly.
"Surely there must be a way to defeat them," Fenris said, not without a little skepticism.
"Truly? Do you propose to raise an army as great as theirs?" asked Meilosh; the question was not sarcastic, but honest. Fenris shook his head, allowing Torgall to answer.
"My people - the orcs - and our allies, the Darkspear trolls, and now the tauren, have joined under my warchief's banner; we are the Horde," he explained. "Similarly, the humans, or paleskins as you called them, and their allies, the dwarves and high elves, form the Alliance. Our races used to hate each other; we went to war with one another. But we have seen this threat and put aside our differences to combat it."
Meilosh listened, frowing slightly but choosing not to interrupt.
"We now prepare to take the fight to them," Torgall continued. "They are demons - the Burning Legion, and they have undead minions - the Scourge. They seek to destroy this land, what we hope to make our new home - your home," he added, and Meilosh nodded. "We will not stand by and allow them to destroy us. We stand as one, we fight as one, and we shall defeat them."
Meilosh was still frowning, and he said, "But these dark ones - demons, undead, they are many. And powerful. How can you hope-?"
"Because we know that together, our strength is greater than theirs," growled Torgus, "they can throw what they like at us, but we will stand strong, for we are true warriors!" He let out a bellow which rumbled loudly throughout the tunnels.
"However, we cannot afford to remain divded in this conflict," said Kunasha in a soft voice. "The night elves continue to attack our people, despite the greater threat, and there are other races that would not lend us their aid; trolls, quillboar... even your people."
"So, you would have us fight?" Meilosh asked, picking up on the point quickly.
"Know this," Sapph interjected suddenly, "the Scourge are soulless, mindless monsters. They do not tire, they do not sleep, they do not need to eat or drink. They can continue to fight were no mortal could not." Her eyes narrowed. "But they still fall. Hit them hard enough and they won't get up, just like any other opponent. They can be defeated."
"It would do both of our races a great deal of good if we could come away from this meeting as allies," Torgall said encouragingly. Meilosh regarded him with an appraising stare.
"While I would willingly follow you and yours into battle, my people will not be so easily swayed," he said finally. "I can bring this matter to them, and perhaps we will be roused to fight. But you must know, they have lost their spirit, seeing our lands destroyed, our people driven to madness, and the dead rising to fight us... I cannot guarantee you allies."
"I understand," said Torgall heavily - it was the most he could hope for. "I admit, this is more than I expected - we came seeking refuge, not allies. But you must tell your people, Meilosh. Tell them that this evil can be defeated, but only by working together. They will not be beaten if you remain hidden away in an underground fortress."
Meilosh was not looking at him, but staring down the tunnel. He glanced to the side, where a few furbolgs walked past to a large hall ahead. The sight seemed to faze him, and he stood for a moment lost in thought. When Torgall cleared his throat, however, he shook his head, coming out of the reverie.
"I will do what I can to persuade my brethren," he said, "and know that if they can be roused, then the Timbermaw will fight with fang and claw alongside you - but I guarantee nothing."
"You wish to protect your own," said Fenris sagely, and Meilosh nodded. "Then come with us. Bring some of your brethren, and they will see our might firsthand. Perhaps that will convince your people to fight alongside us."
Meilosh stared at Fenris with a new look in his eyes - was it hope?
"I agree with Fenris," Greshka said abruptly, "come with us, and we will show you that these fiends can be beaten."
Again, Meilosh stared about the tunnels, and the furbolgs that passed him. Torgall realized with a jolt that he wished to fight and die for his home, that he was not willing to stand idly by while demons and undead ravaged his people and his lands.
"Come with us," he urged. Meilosh turned to face him, and Torgall saw the furbolg's eyes were bright with determination.
"Then we go - show my people."