Chapter 34: Precipice
The Combined Alliance-Stromgarde Forces prepare for the inevitable battle with the Scourge and their demon allies. Knowing that they had to delay the Scourge as long as possible to be reinforced by the massive Stormwind armada on the way as well as the newly declared entry of the Ironforge and Aerie Peak dwarves into the war, they set for the greatest fight since the end of the Second War.
The 4th Army took the far left wing, in front of the Avalon Hills. Their cavalry was be spread on the edge of the formations, poised to counter any flanking maneuvers or in turn flank the enemy.
Tallheart's 11th Army would hold the center, in front of Trollbane Castle. Arranging his men so that shock troops would go in the front, followed by heavy infantry and cavalry to sweep up behind, the strong 11th Army was best suited to bear the brunt of the enemy attacks, absorbing them so that the smaller, more maneuverable forces could influence the tide of battle.
The Dogs of War were on the right, wedged between the base of the Hinter Mountains and the 11th Army. On their right flank was a detachment of light horsemen armed with bows and further on a battalion of soldiers from the 7th Army as well their respective cavalry screens.
In the mountains behind this force, nearly two thirds of the Stromgardian forces lay in wait. These troops, used to mountainous fighting would sweep down and back up the Dogs of War when they attacked, or rush to the rear if a breakthrough was acquired. The rest of the Stromgardians, nearly ten thousand, would man Thoradin's Wall.
Behind the Wall, a reserve force consisting mostly of the 7th Army, whose ravaged regiments were still recovering, would wait until they were needed.
All the while, the undead Scourge, hundreds of thousands strong, marched from the North West. In the midst of their swarm was Haures, one of the Legion Lords. The battle would soon be joined.
On the other side of the world, the Legion's arrival is felt first in the central plains and north central mountains of the continent. Having arrived, the Burning Legion summons further reinforcements through a series of portals that lead back to the Twisting Nether.
Thrall, along with Jaina Proudmoore in a strange new alliance, heads towards the northern steppes of Kalimdor where the Legion is staging. There the corrupted Warsong Clan threatens to resubmit all orcdom to the Legion's curse again. United against the Legion, the Alliance survivors and the Horde ready themselves for the fight ahead.
Kalimdor, Barrens-Ashenvale Border, Three Days Later
Just a while longer Grom. We are coming. Thrall's thoughts continued to swirl around Hellscream and the destiny of the orcs. Anger, lament, dread, and doubt swamped his mind. Nothing made sense anymore.
At his side there were their new allies, the tauren, and the Alliance survivors. It was inconceivable. Each time he turned a corner to see a human, dwarf, or elf, his body and reflexes screamed out to him to attack.
"If the Prophet was correct, then the Warsong encampment lies just over the ridge. We should ready ourselves for battle." Cairne spoke up, ending the awkward silence that had descended as he, Thrall, and Jaina Proudmoore had traversed the dusty terrain of the Barrens together. At their backs was the combined Horde and Alliance force, ready to charge at a moments notice.
"I know Cairne. Its just I never thought I'd live to see the day when I had to fight my own people, least of all Grommash."
"Remember Thrall, if you can capture Grom and return him to this Circle of Power, then the priests and I can attempt to free him from the demons control. While you go out with the strike team, I can remain here and with our military commanders conduct a screening operation for you."
"I—appreciate your help, Proudmoore. Yet another day I never thought I'd live to see." Thrall searched for the appropriate words.
Jaina looked equally uncomfortable. "That makes two of us. I'll return to the commanders and aid as best I can. Good luck…uh…gentlemen."
Thrall could feel the tension in the air ease as Proudmoore walked off. Cairne turned and studied him for a moment.
"The spirits rage around you, young Warchief. They sense your anguish, your grief." The tauren leader said.
The two started off toward their assembled strike force. While the rest of the Horde and Alliance forces were making diversionary attacks, this group, made up mostly of trolls and tauren, would make their way deep into the Warsong's encampment and capture Grom.
"Hellscream is like a brother to me Cairne, but he and his clan, are under the demon's influence. If I can't save him, then my people might be damned for all time. What has to be done will be done."
Saying it with finality, to convince both Cairne and himself, Thrall shut his mouth afterwards. Now there was nothing to do but try and accomplish what he'd just stated. No pretty talk, no speeches, and certainly no boasting would save Grom, or even reassure himself.
As the sounds of fighting started in the east and west, the group, a hundred strong, began their advance. They would use the deft and agile trolls to scout out in a advanced screen. With them was the trolls leader, Vol'jin the Witch Doctor. Vol'jin would use special elixirs and shadowy hexes to incapacitate any Warsongs that tried to stop them or raise an alarm. It was strictly a hit and raid mission. They didn't want the entire clan to descend upon them.
Moving forward, the group encountered their first knot of Warsong warriors wandering about what looked to be a battlefield between the centaur and orcs. The sight was gruesome and bloody, all the centaur bodies being skinned. The orcs, with strange, darkly pigmented flesh, had wrapped the innards of the centaur about themselves like some kind of strange festive trophy.
Disgusted, Thrall charged, cutting down two of the Warsong warriors before they even knew what was going on. In an instant, his backup had arrived. Two dozen tauren and trolls jumped from behind a small copse of scraggly trees and fell upon the Warsong. The melee was short but vicious, though Thrall's team had prevailed.
The land crested downward into an empty riverbed, long dried in the heat of the Barrens. Skeletons of the long dead creatures of Kalimdor dotted the area, and just beyond the main Warsong camp lay. The scene looked strangely familiar. Thrall couldn't place his finger on it however. Perhaps it was the landscape? A sense of nostalgia swept through him.
The sands of time have run out, son of Durotan.
Making their way past what seemed to be the main Warsong camp, Thrall and his forces couldn't make out Grom at all. The orc seemed to be oddly missing from the battle. Knowing Grom, he would never miss out on an opportunity such as this…unless he'd already been killed.
From the east, a cry went up. It was distinctly human. There were no orc voices to be heard. A huge force, mostly human footmen, appeared over the opposite ridge of the riverbed. Their banners hung limp in the windless air, the blazing sun beating down and reflecting off their armor.
The cries of war echo upon the winds.
"So the Proudmoore girl is separating the Horde and Alliance troops. A prudent idea. They would probably be easily mixed up in the confusion of battle." Thrall thought out loud.
Not too far, and just opposite of the human army, another force, this one streaming outwards from the Warsong camp, gathered. Catapults, grunts, and even orcs on tamed kodos emerged from the Warsong base, lining up like a mirror image to their human foe.
The remnants of the past scar the land, which is besieged once again by conflict.
A single human emerged from his lines, dressed in Lordaeron white and blue. Thrall recognized him as the same warrior that he and Cairne had defeated and captured before the final battle of Stonetalon. The prisoners had been released when Jaina and Thrall had come together in their strange union. The human unsheathed a blade and held it high in the sky, shimmering.
Heroes arise to challenge fate and lead their brethren to battle.
Suddenly the two sides began charging. Thousands rushed toward each other, the two inevitably heading toward the center of the dried up riverbed. Something was definitely strange here. Thrall felt the air begin to foul even before the two forces clashed. Looking to the skies, he could see the clouds begin to swirl violently.
"Warchief!" cries erupted from his troop.
"That not be good, mon." Vol'jin announced.
As mortal armies rush blindly towards their doom, the Burning Shadow comes to consume us all! A raven, which had just been attempting to peck at seeds in the riverbed, flew up into the sky, terrified by the oncoming armies. A cloud of black feathers was left in its wake.
"This is no natural storm. Blessed Ancestors!" Thrall cried out.
The armies clashed, and as they did so, the sky itself seemed to tear and boil. Clouds suddenly erupted out of nowhere, and gusts of wind blew gouts of hot air.
It was JUST like the vision he'd had before any of this had happened. The prophecy had come true. Comets, dozens, no hundreds of them, plummeted from the tears in the sky as the two armies melded into one another.
The comets crashed into the ground, exploding. Walls of dirt and flame were sent out on impact, and if any mortals were unlucky enough to be caught were thrown far and wide. Emerging from the craters, giant, infernal beings began to rampage through not only the human army, but that of the Warsong as well.
The only thing was that in the vision, he'd been in the midst of the orc army. These were the Warsong, and he was not in their army. Had fate been changed by the Prophet's instruction? Or was this battle forever destined?
Instead of himself, Thrall spotted Grom standing in the midst of the orcs running past him. The orc, his eyes burning red with the blood haze, surveyed the scene with satisfaction.
From the tears, two huge, winged beasts descended and landed on either side of Grom. Instead of defending himself, and instead of the doomguard attacking him, the trio simply stood and killed any orc running the wrong way.
"GROM!" Thrall yelled at the top of his lungs, voice hoarse. The orc didn't even bat an eyelash. "Damn him!" Thrall took off, running with full force into the swirl of the battle. Around him, human fought orc, elf fought demon, and the sky rained fire.
"You are the human's lapdog! We serve only the Legion now! Only the STRONG!" a Warsong orc appeared before him. Beside the orc, a creature that seemed to be made of shadows emerged.
"Out of my way!" Thrall brandished the Doomhammer.
"I don't listen to the weak. Only the strong!" the orc screamed, bashing a staff she held in his right hand on the ground. It suddenly filled with green light, and lashed out at Thrall. As the shadowy bolt rushed toward Thrall, he held up the Doomhammer which absorbed the blow, though Thrall was knocked back several feet.
"KHELUM! You…you're a warlock!" Thrall cursed, dodging the blows of the shadowy beast.
The orc, visibly suffering from the effects of chaos magic, being skinny and pale, laughed in a high pitched voice. "It is finally the time of the demons! This is the feeling we have all been missing, the itch that we couldn't scratch all these years under your foolish reign. The orcs will be powerful with the Legion! More powerful than ever!"
Before the orc warlock could finish, Cairne appeared at his side. The massive tauren kicked at the shadow creature, sending it reeling. "GO WARCHIEF! I will handle this!"
"Thank you, Cairne." Thrall dashed off, toward Grom. The sky, which had only minutes before been healthy and orange in the sunset, had dulled to an eerie, foreboding green. More and more tears opened in the sky, unleashing torrents of demons.
"GROM HELLSCREAM!" Thrall cried out. In his hand, the weapon of Orgrim Doomhammer glowed white, empowered fully for the first time in years. Thrall jumped into the air, turned parallel to the ground, and crashed feet first into the doomguard nearest to Grom. With the power of the fully charged Doomhammer, the demon was sent flying backwards into its comrade, his flaming sword impaling his ally.
"Grom, you've got to come with me!" he said, finally reaching the orc whom he'd called brother.
Grom slowly turned to face him, unveiling a face filled with bloodlust. His very eyes, which had once shown compassion and strength, were pools of hatred and darkness. The unnatural demonic curse poured forth from his every orface upon his face, a malevolent crimson flame.
"And where would you lead me, boy? Destiny is at hand. Lord Mannaroth is our master now!" Grom replied, waving at the skies.
Thrall suddenly heard nothing but the rushing blood in his ears. He must've been mistaken.
"Who? Your not talking sense."
"Ah Thrall, heh, heh. You always believed that the demons corrupted our race, but that's only half true. Mannaroth, one of the Lords of the Legion, offered us power. Greater power than had ever been known in history: power to defeat the ogres, to destroy the draenei, power to cross between worlds and conquer endlessly! We gave ourselves up willingly on Draenor. The other chieftains and I, we DRANK Mannaroth's blood, Thrall. We brought this curse upon ourselves!" Grom's expression broke into what seemed to be glee.
"You did this…to our people…knowingly?! RAAAAAAGH!" the orc gave a fearsome battle cry and barreled toward the one he'd once called brother.
4th Army Picket Lines
Running. Breathing.
Fear. Horror.
Airril Corc knew nothing but those four things. In the dead of night the Undead Scourge had come. The shadows playing off their deformed, mutilated bodies from the torches only served to make their gruesome visages even worse.
They'd killed his six friends indiscriminately. Waking from the screams of his fellows, he'd picked up his sword and shot out of the rags he used as covers for the cold nights.
He wished as soon as he had though, that he'd just remained asleep. He woke to the images of his friends torn to shreds, their body parts strewn across the little camp. Some of them, though horribly maimed, were still alive. One, Brotal, was being slowly chewed from the legs up by a bloodcurdling, stitched abomination. Brotal had cried for help, tears mixing with blood as the monster bit through his abdomen. He'd stood there in absolute terror, unable to think.
And then, his mind snapped one thought at him. Run. And so Airril ran. Through thorn bushes, an icy river, and sounds of dying comrades, Airril ran. Tears poured from his eyes, but he knew that if at least he could warn his comrades at the Wall, he might not have simply let his friends die in vain.
He ran up a hill, and on the top he'd seen in the glinting moonlight tens of thousands, no hundreds of thousands, of bodies, filing through the land together. Among their ranks were great demons, some with fire erupting from their bodies. The skies seemed to move as well, huge winged monstrosities and gargoyles together, all heading toward the same place.
Suddenly, a howl more chilling than anything he'd ever heard in his life pierced the air near him. He stopped dead in his tracks. Something was moving in the darkness of the night ahead of him. The grass was crunching.
"Stay back! I'm warning you!" Airril waved the torch at whatever was in front of him. He then heard the noise from behind as well, then to both side of him, and then all around. The same hideous figures that had killed his friends began to show themselves in the dim light of the torch. He was surrounded.
Dropping the flaming stick and his sword, Airril felt his pants warn with urine. He fell to the ground and began to sob. The last thing he heard was the quick shriek that came from his bloodied throat.
Thoradin's Wall, Lordaeron-Stromgarde Border, Early Morning
"Sire Justax!" a voice whispered loudly. "Sire! Wake up!"
"Wh-what?" Valdar rolled over groggily. His throat was dry, and his head already hurt.
"It's time sir! The fight's about to begin!" Valdar recognized Osra's voice.
"It's not like I got any sleep." Valdar slurred, eyes suddenly flying open. He fumbled for his sword and armor.
"Sorry sir, I thought you might want some rest. You haven't gotten any in a while. You've been so busy with everythin—"
"It doesn't matter now. Help me get my armor on. We need to go now!" Putting his feet on the floor, Valdar spun out of the hammock he'd been assigned. Osra lit a candle and helped him into his armor. Then, the two went outside quickly. Already up were Thorek Ghent, standing beside Casper Valus and Rogir Helmsworth.
Did nobody care to include me in this battle?
"Morning sir." Ghent snapped a salute. Valdar, angry, stepped into the crowd.
"We thought you could do with an extra few minutes of sleep, sir. It's been a long march from the Alteran Pass and you haven't gotten much rest at all." Valus said.
"What's the situation?"
Rogir stepped up. "The Scourge blocked the roads through the mountains a few hours ago. Now we're cut off from the north. Not thirty minutes ago, the outermost picket lines for General Serath went silent. They are coming."
"Those poor bastards on the picket line were nothing but sacrificial pieces to let us know when they were coming, eh?" Valdar said sadly.
Valdar looked out into the distance. Upon the wall the five stood, staring out at the encampment below that stretched out beyond sight a hundred and thirty feet below them. Moonlight and torchlight shimmered off weapons and armor, mixing to create millions of little stars of white and orange.
Over the horizon, new stars began to rise and emerge.
Thoradin's Wall, Three Hours Later
As a red sun broke over the horizon, it revealed a sight more overpowering than anything Valdar had ever witnessed. Over half of the visible lands from his towering position, were covered with the army of the undead. From east to west, north to south, the undead Scourge and Burning Legion's combined army commanded the land.
Soldiers had been preparing for battle for almost an hour now, those few that were actually able to sleep having been woken. Below, Valdar could audibly hear the gasps of the men of the combined 1st, 4th, 7th, 11th and Stromgarde armies, as well as the Dogs of War.
Valdar turned to see the look his comrades faces. Ghent simply stared out at the horizon, and Rogir took a long swig of alcohol from his canteen. Casper Valus muttered something under his breath that sounded like "Oh shit", and Osra nearly dropped Valdar's flag-staff as she caught a glimpse of what lay before them.
"Let's go!" Valdar announced. The group descended down a long staircase off the back side of the Wall, where below their mounts awaited. Belgor had been fed and well rested, though even he felt the electric air. As Valdar mounted the black mare, neighed and nearly threw Valdar off.
They rode out the monstrously large main gate together, and off toward the north eastern corner of the field where the Dogs had been positioned. Orders and encouraging speeches were heard everywhere on the battlefield. Pale-faced soldiers, men and women, looked around nervously. Thousands of pikes protruded into the air, armor clinked, and the sounds of deep, trepid breathing abounded.
Valdar couldn't think about anything right now but the immediate objective: get to his army, and give the orders. The final High Command meeting had taken place last night, at the turn of the days. The orders were in place, the battle plan set. But no plan survived contact with the enemy, Valdar knew, so he would have to use his own cunning and tactics, as well as rely on his men, and helpful commanders, to run the battle smoothly, reacting to every movement, and countering in the most vulnerable spot. They would have to read the battle like water, waiting for the right moment to catch the fish when it least expected it.
The information had it that indeed, the 7th Army's nightmarish tales of the arch-demon were true. He'd been spotted several times in the midst of the Scourge's forces, surrounded by dreadlords and infernals. Tallheart had given the order that if the chance presented itself, to immediately terminate the arch-demon. He'd given especially high priority to the mages for this order, even telling them that if the smallest chance was available, that they pull themselves off support duties and pursue the destruction of the monster that was likely leading this army.
Valdar looked up at the sky. The clouds that had formed yesterday were almost upon them, and would soon block out the sun. They were no longer colorful, beautiful looking objects. Now they were a wall of black, ominously moving toward them. Behind, Valdar could see that they would bring rain. Already he could feel cooler wind of the advanced gust front inching up.
Before he noticed it, Valdar and his staff, under the flag of the Dogs of War that Osra held, arrived at their respective army. Squeezing through the ranks, they made their way to the front. It was time to make the final speech to his troops, just as another hundred commanders were making to their men.
"Excuse us Father." Ghent spoke to a priest whom had been kneeling in front of the army saying a prayer. The man nodded and moved.
"Casper." Valdar said.
"Of course." The mage replied, making some seals in the air with his finger. Instantly, Valdar's voice was projected fifty times its usual sound.
"Men and women of the Dogs of War!" he began. "This vast organism that we call humanity is on a precipice. The world is a different place than a year ago, and to that past we will never return. The Scourge has conquered Lordaeron, and seeks to destroy its remnant. There have been those that have run, like Jaina Proudmoore and her followers, and others who stood their ground and died, like Uther the Lightbringer."
"This might seem like a lost battle to some of you, but to me…I see it as the first rays of light, the dawn of a new age. We will be the ones to move mountains. We will be the ones to part seas. We will be the ones that define the human spirit. We few, you, me, your brothers and sisters that stand next to you, are the vanguard of a new era!"
"We may find ourselves beaten, pursued, and cornered, as have our allies and friends. But I say that a cornered beast is the most dangerous one!" Valdar Justax struck a fist up in the air. For a moment there was pure silence, and then the most thunderous roar Valdar had ever heard in his life erupted. Looking upon the cheering faces of those who led him, Valdar felt tears grow in his eyes. Red faced, giddy, and proud, the knight rode back and forth down the first line.
"Let's show them that they can't take our light!" he shouted out. Ten thousand voices responded in unison. Beside the Dogs of War, soldiers from the other armies watched in awe as their comrades shouted out in the midst of such gloom. Slowly, one by one, they found their voices as well. In moments, all Thoradin's Wall was trembling with the battle cries of over 80,000 souls.
The first Scourge wave began to race forward into the heart of the noise: packs of slavering ghouls and lumbering zombies, thundering abominations, rolling obsidian statues, wailing banshees, wraiths, and specters, chanting necromancers, plotting liches, and a thousand other types, all came forward.
More than 14,000 came forward front the Scourge. The ground rumbled as their procession of death rang closer.
Valdar moved back into his own lines, and listened as his the officers of the armies gave the orders. "Ready, string, aim, FIRE!" Thousands of missiles, from javelins to arrows to ballistae bolts mounted atop Thoradin's Wall blew forward.
The line of undead nearly collapsed. The skull and swords banners of the Scourge fell to the ground. At least a third of the rushing attackers dropped as the volley rained upon them. A second volley, even more deadly than the first, further cut their numbers due to increased accuracy. By the time the wave reached the lines of the Alliance, there were too few undead to even faze them. Cutting down what little had actually reached them the soldiers of the Alliance raised their flags and cheered.
As the cheers subsided however, the sounds of drums banging in the distance began to overtake it. The inhuman moans and yells of the undead emerged as their next battle forces lined up for the attack, this time three fold stronger than before.
"That was just to test our strength." Valdar said to the staff that surrounded him. "This begins now. Good luck to all of you, and may we meet when this is over."
Ghent and Helmsworth gave him salutes and went off to their own posts. Casper gave him a thanking nod, and left to the aid the coordinated mage forces. Osra gave him a smile, and held up his flag a little higher.
The Battle of Thoradin's Wall had begun.
Kalimdor
Thrall threw himself at Grom with all his might. Holding nothing back now, Thrall could only hear Grom's words echo in his mind. "We gave ourselves up willingly!"
Swinging wildly back and forth, the duo moved uphill, toward a spire of rock ten feet tall that stood as a barrier to the current of orcs and demons flowing around it. Screaming in the ecstasy of his power, Grom forced Thrall's back toward the rock face with blows that could barely be seen. Able just to block, Thrall felt dismay creep into his heart.
We gave ourselves up willingly!
As mortal armies rush blindly towards their doom, the Burning Shadow comes to consume us all!
You must rally the Horde, and lead your people to their destiny!
Had he failed? He'd led the Horde thousands of miles into the unknown, and in a land where they'd hoped to find salvation there was only war waiting for them. His people were suffering the same fate here as they had in Lordaeron. Even Grom had fallen. Guilt soared in Thrall.
With the power of the demons on his side, Grom had the upper hand. Unrestricted in power, unbounded by feelings, and with an unending supply of energy, Grom blasted forward, his axes chipping at the stone behind Thrall.
His arms numb, Thrall felt the cold stone suddenly press up against his armored back. He couldn't move back anymore. And that was his answer. He couldn't move back; not one step.
A leader will make decisions that influence the world beyond themselves. There is no telling what repercussions await in the darkness that is our world. Just know Thrall, that you cannot step back. Stay firm, and stay your course. Just as your father once told me, you must build your actions off of your back, your past. There is no failure if you continue to the end. Never stop. Never relent. Keep going, and free our people. Do what I could not! The words of Orgrim came to him, and all at that moment he knew exactly what had to be done. He knew that no matter what, that he was chosen to lead the Horde. It had been promised that Kalimdor would hold a new home for them, but if that was not the case, then he would make it that way. He would forge the destiny of the orcs.
As Grom swung down again, Thrall suddenly moved forward and reached up, catching Grom by the wrist. He squeezed tightly, feeling the other orc's joint dislocate. With all the fibers of his being, he spun around, pivoting off of Grom's leg with his own, pinning the orc to the wall. Unable to feel pain, Grom struck back with his other axe. The blade cut into Thrall's shoulder pauldron, leaving a gushing wound in his shoulder. Backing away, Thrall smashed the Doomhammer on the ground. The power of the weapon cracked the ground, splitting it all the way up to Grom who stood nearly ten feet away.
Thrall's eyes burned white with the power of the spirits, as did the Doomhammer. Wide eyed, Grom barely dodged as in an instant Thrall bolted forward and struck the rock behind the corrupted orc. The spire, all ten feet of it, suddenly exploded into pebbles and pulverized dust. The shockwave rippled into Grom, sending him flying into the air and crashing back down to the ground unconscious.
Swinging his prodigal friend over his shoulders, Thrall started back toward Jaina's base in the middle of a battle turned massacre.
Thoradin's Wall
The Scourge had brought up its main body, which included in it several vampiric dreadlords and dozens of infernals. They first struck at the far right wing of the Alliance forces, crashing into the erected defenses of the 7th Army's mobile detachment. Wheeling into the fight, cavalry from three armies that had been positioned in secretive hiding places by Stromgardians who knew the territory well, countered, forcing a gap in the Scourge's lines.
Holding amidst incredible pressure, the 11th Army felt its first actual combat of the war. Hundreds were overrun as the Scourge inexorably pushed its way toward the wall. Units formed schiltroms and squares in an attempt to save themselves from the encircling enemy.
Losses among the 7th Army were high however, and the gap couldn't be exploited. Immediately, the Scourge pounded on them again, this time with the cavalry unready to do battle. Gargoyles swooped down from the sky, and a contingent of mages attempted to use spells of binding and ice to bring the beasts down.
Sensing that the time was right, Valdar Justax of the Dogs of War advanced with his main body. General Serath, of the 4th Army did the same, and in a moment of decisive action, two new massive fronts had opened up.
"Into that hole! Go!" Valdar's sword pointed toward the enemy. A phalanx of skeletal warriors was quickly overtaken by billmen, with their shorter and more versatile halberds which easily cut the ends off of the long pikes. Cavalry, at least two hundred horsemen, rushed into the gap in the enemy lines where a necromancer had been reviving the freshly slain. The effect was instantaneous: the Scourge lines began to fall into the panic they usually did when they lost direction from their summoner.
"Push the advantage!"
Hundreds of men rushed over the piles of dead, advancing through recently churned up mud and the broken remains of wooden palisades. The sky was now black with rain, and the wind had become cold and dense.
A gargoyle, hit miraculously by a ballistae bolt, plummeted to the ground, crushing a man beneath its stony body. Suddenly, a huge clap of thunder erupted. This time it wasn't from the mages. Without sparing a look above, fat drops of rain began to fall.
The mages, led by Casper Valus, used the storm's electrical current and updraft to add the natural lightning to their own spells, intensifying them a hundred fold. In return, lichs and other elemental magic adepts in the Scourge used the water from the storm clouds and rain to supercool them into sharp rods of ice among other deadly tools. A storm of magic occurred above and the fight of mortals below.
Valdar noticed that though he was making headway, the left flank of his army was nearly bare. That must've meant that the 11th was being held back. A multitude of runners began gathering around him, forcing him to stay back from the line he was commanding.
"Sir, General Helmsworth requests further orders. Advanced objective position achieved!"
"Colonel Harrys of the 18th Heavy' wishes to be relieved. His force is fought out sir!"
"The Rosewood Levies are initiating the right swing. We will stop at the base of the hills and hold position pending further orders."
"What are we to do with the wounded, sire?"
"Bills to the front. I want Rogir Helmsworth's troops to keep us from overextending! Stabilize line! 6th and 19th Regimental Sword redirect your push to the south-west. Stop when you cannot go any further! We'll trap the undead forward element in a pocket." Valdar yelled out. Though tedious, the constant stream of orders and reports made for much more streamlined and fluid motions for the army. "Bring up the reserve. We'll commit them to the south-west offensive. We're going to gamble everything on this. And you! Tell the 7th's force to pull back toward our starting position so they can cover the hole in the Wall."
If the 11th Army falls so quickly, then we're not going to be able to hold out. Come on Sir Tallheart…
The tactical prowess of the young knight began to show, and within minutes the Dogs had enveloped the greater portion of the Scourge's massive offensive in the center of the line. The 11th Army took the time bought for them to reorganize and crush the pocket of undead, moving forward. The Scourge's main body pulled back to reorganize, permitting a brief lull in the battle.
Grinning, Valdar waved to General Tallheart who saluted in thanks riding by with columns of his troops a few hundred yards away. The euphoria of the victory didn't last long though.
The rain had made the ground at the base of the mountains one massive mud puddle a foot deep, as it was draining all the runoff. This made it difficult from the 7th's detachment to fill in the Dogs of War's previous position, leaving their tail vulnerable.
A virtual wall of undead minions rushed forward. The soldiers of the Dogs, taken by the unawares, were suddenly swept up from behind. Hundreds began to route; running for the safety of the Wall only to find that they're rearguard had been overrun as well.
Valdar rushed to the new flare up, and found that his troops in a state of confusion and panic. Leaving the main battle up to Helmsworth, he took personal command of the reserve and rushed into the fight. He also requested that the trebuchets atop the Wall cease their firing at the enticing targets right below them, as his forces were about to engage.
With up to a tenth of the Dogs force at his back, Valdar led his men into the possibly fatal lapse. Cursing himself for not thinking of the torrential rain and its possible outcome on the battle, Valdar jumped into a frenzy, cutting down foes too and fro, knowing that the death of dozens of his men had been on account of his foolish error.
As Valdar decapitated yet another zombie, a shadow suddenly appeared behind him. A slavering ghoul with a rusted blade slashed at him. Barely able to dodge in time, Valdar received a deep gash that ran from eyebrow to cheek, missing, he hoped, the eyeball. His helmet flew off into the chaos of battle. With blood obscuring his vision, Valdar slashed blindly at the assailant. Annoyingly, whether by death from another fighter or being caught up somewhere else, the ghoul disappeared.
Valdar was pushed from behind and fell into the mud. Soiled and bloody, the knight searched for his dropped sword which had been pushed into the muck underfoot all the fighters around him.
"FROSTWYRMS!" someone suddenly shouted.
"Not good…" Valdar heard himself whisper. Looking into the air, from the clouds descended two dozen wyrms.
The wyrms spread out wing to wing, each with a wingspan width of a hundred feet or more. The undead dragons unleashed a torrent of icy magic, engulfing even their own troops in a tempest of hellish frozen water. Thousands might've perished in the sudden attack…it was impossible to tell. As a wyrm passed overhead, Valdar cursed at it, raising a fist in anger. The wyrms then took to attacking the wall as their target. With their blasts of dragonice, the frost wyrms synchronized their attacks on the greatest castle along Thoradin's Wall; Castle Trollbane.
Unable to track the fast moving wyrms, let alone damage them, the ballistae crews abandoned their equipment as the beasts of the sky encased the Castle in ice. Inside, the stones suddenly cooled to near absolute zero exploded. The upper half of the castle came crashing down in shards of ice and great boulders, crushing hundreds more beneath.
With their bottleneck pierced and the Wall crumbling, Valdar stood and prepared to issue a statement of retreat. "Look to the skies! They gryphons of Aerie Peak have come!" some now cried. For a moment, Valdar had thought he'd gone mad, but looking above the northern mountains, what seemed like a distant flock of birds suddenly grew into a mass migration of great flying lions.
As the gryphons approached, Valdar saw diminutive looking men, dwarves to be exact, riding them, and in their hand were the famed storm-hammers of the Aerie. Glowing bright blue and white, the hammers were released as the gryphon riders began to encircle and dogfight with the frostwyrms. In an instant, the tide had turned.
"FORWARD!" Valdar ordered.
The Skies Above Thoradin's Wall
Falstad Dragonreaver let up on the reins of his gryphon companion, Windsoar. The gryphon cried in exhilaration of open flight. Falstad had just given to him full control. It was customary, and more effective, for the gryphons to fly freely during battle, in which the windriders would wield weapons and strike at the right moment. The duos, having trained for years, were a perfect coupling. Such was the same for all windriders and their respective gryphons.
"Come get it ye' bastards!" Falstad shouted out at the top of his lungs. At his side flew a hundred of his best windriders from both Wildhammer and their adopted Stormpike brothers, circling and spinning around in complex acrobatic maneuvers around the lumbering frostwyrms.
"This is what I've been waitin' for, Falstad!" he heard his friend, Molok say in joy. Flight was always an adrenaline rush. Molok and his gryphon-ally, Barlee, pulled up next to him.
"That one!" Falstad pointed out. The gryphons had already identified their target, an especially big, scary looking wyrm. The beast, a hundred feet long, swooped down from the dark clouds, freezing the rain droplets as it passed with its icy breath. Falstad made some hand signals, and Molok nodded.
Spinning end over end, Molok pulled away and into the clouds. Falstad leaned forward, urging Windsoar to move faster. The two headed straight for the frostwyrm, and at the last minute avoided collision but flying straight down.
"You dare defy Sarathstra!?!" The dragon cried out madly, voice echoing off the distant ground.
"And up we go!" Falstad let Windsoar deftly pull up, barely a hundred meters from the ground and head straight for the underbelly of the beast.
From above, a bolt of lightning suddenly lit up the sky, and from it headed straight down Molok, his stormhammer burning azure. Falstad unsheathed an adamantite blade twice as tall as he was, from a pack that hung on the side of Windsoar. Blinking the water out of their eyes, Falstad and Windsoar initiated a steep climb straight up while Molok and Barlee headed straight down on top of Sarathstra.
"Here it is! Taste the mettle of the Wildhammer dwarves, ye undying son o' a goat!" Falstad laughed wildly. In a blur of actions, Sarathstra attempted to double take out of his flight path in a loop, but the gryphon riders were too quick. Molok smashed Sapphiron on the head with his stormhammer, a crackle of thunder releasing with the hit. Falstad held out his blade, gutting Sarathstra with a long strike.
Screaming in agony, Sarathstra plummeted towards the ground, leaving pits of decaying flesh and innards in his wake. As Falstad and Molok passed each other, they exchanged a quick smile.
"Another one down. They be all the same, eh' Windsoar?" the gryphon squealed in agreement.
No sooner had the two started heading for another ailing frostwyrm, dozens of windriders circling about it, had a sudden blast of icy death erupted from the ground. At least fifteen riders were caught in the blast, the very air around them freezing. As the bolt reached the cloud, it blew a hole through the warm air in the domes of the cumulonimbus clouds, allowing for a downburst of frigid air from the stratosphere to descend.
"What?!" Falstad and Windsoar suddenly lost all control in the downburst, caught up in sudden, powerful winds. Barely regaining control before they smashed into the ground like so many others, Falstad looked back at the origin of the attack.
The dragon that had claimed itself the be Sarathstra was crouched on the ground on all fours. Steam seemed to emanate around it, the beast so powerful that its surroundings themselves froze.
The dragon then rose up on its hind legs and let out a terrifying cry. From the clouds descended hundreds of gargoyles. Falstad's eyes opened wide as he realized the trap they'd walked into.
"This will take longer than we thought…" he muttered to Windsoar.
Kalimdor
Leaving the fight behind, Thrall had walked back to the Alliance encampment. Placing the unconscious Hellscream in a Circle of Power set up by Proudmoore and a cadre of elvish priests as well as orcish shamans, Thrall stepped back and allowed the casters to do their job.
With blasts of holy energy, the priests cleansed Grom's body of its demonic influence. The shamans, murmuring in the midst of their incense smoke, were traversing the spirit plane and rescuing Grom from floating hopelessly in the sea of demonic corruption that had stained his soul.
Grimly, Thrall looked on, knowing that even now his comrades were dying fighting their own kind. What was worse, the demons had now fully invested themselves into the battle, and were attacking everything in sight, be it Warsong orc, human, or otherwise. Screams and sword clashes were disturbingly close, echoing over the small plateaus of rock above the Circle of Power.
"Madam Proudmoore, the demons are overwhelming us. There are simply too many, and we don't know how to kill them. Not even the orcs can compete." A runner had announced, wiping sweat and the splatters of blood from his face as he reported to Jaina. She stood by passively, completely drawn into her work of cleansing Grom.
"Order everyone, Horde and Alliance, to pull back to the perimeter. We'll make our stand near that valley." Thrall ordered monotonously in the best Common he could muster. The human hesitated for a moment, not used to taking orders from an orc, then turned and ran off.
After what seemed an eternity, Grom began to stir. The green tone of his skin had returned, though his eyes still glowed with the curse. Thrall felt both disappointment and happiness. Grom was under his own control once again, though the possibility of him falling back into demonic influence still existed.
"Grom?" Thrall spoke.
Blinking, Grom sat up. "Thrall…I see clearly now. I'm—sorry. I am so sorry."
It pained Thrall to see Grom, whom had always been the strong, elder figure in his life, on his knees, near tears, apologizing. "Allow me to take my life. I have been weak. Weakness among the orcs cannot be forgiven."
"To hell with your apologies! Right now, I need your help to save our people!" Thrall exclaimed, unable to take the scene.
"Mannaroth…we must face Mannaroth in the canyon. He awaits us. It is fate. He has told me of the encounter." Grom pointed towards the canyon at the end of the riverbed. The fighting had moved off away from the wadi, centering now on the outskirts of the orc/Alliance base.
"Then let's go. I don't want to keep the bastard waiting."
"Let me help you." Thrall turned to see Jaina Proudmoore, standing tall and ready.
"No. This is something we must do alone." Thrall turned and walked off, Grom trailing close behind.
The Battlefield before Thoradin's Wall
Unable to see from through his left eye and dizzy from blood loss, Valdar stumbled from foe to foe, struggling to keep up with the pace of the battle. Constantly trying to wipe the blood out of his eye, he seemed to open the wound even more. He had no idea what was going on now. The fight had devolved into mass chaos. He had no clue where Rogir was, let alone where exactly he was.
The gryphon riders, which had moments before been their hope, had suddenly been blasted away by a massive wyrm, perhaps the king of them all. A few of them still survived, dog fighting gargoyles and the remaining wyrms which at least kept the airborne enemy off of them for a while.
Catapults from the Scourge fired flaming wreckage at Thoradin's Wall, but the massive stone escarpment proved to be much too powerful to collapse from the blows of a few catapults. Others fired what seemed to be a jumble of corpses, bones, and other unused parts, some landing on top of, and others, behind the Wall. The Scourge had had enough spare parts to even use as artillery munitions.
If we can keep the Scourge from getting past the Wall, then we can still win this war, or at the very least stem the tide. Valdar knew that there were two massive, powerful armies on the march north; the first from Ironforge, and another from Stormwind. With the two of them, the tides might yet turn.
With wobbling knees, Valdar attempted to find someone who knew what was going on. I need information!
Not too far away there was a man on horseback, with a plethora of flags surrounding him. Pushing his way through the battle and past a line of spearmen that guarded the mounted man, Valdar recognized that he was from the 7th Army.
"You there, have you been sent with an advanced unit?" he called out.
"What are you blabbering about boy. The whole 7th's been deployed. There's no rearguard—" before the man could finish his sentence, an arrow pierced his shoulder and he fell to the muddy floor screaming bloody murder.
Treat's the idiot right for sitting horseback in the middle of a heavy battle.
But if the 7th had truly been fully deployed, then that meant that there was no one to protect the back of the Wall. If somehow the enemy…DAMN!
"What the hell do you think your doing, boy?!" the 7th Army officer wheezed.
"Shut up!" Valdar swung himself onto the horse and rushed towards the Wall. The cullis gate was open, through which wounded were being taken in via one lane and through another the reserves from the 7th Army were pouring in.
"Sir Justax!" a voice called out. It was Osra. Picking her up, the two made their way towards the Wall.
Body slamming the wooden door under the huge arching gateway, Valdar and Osra hurriedly rushed up flights of stairs through the dimly lighted stone hallways. Now and again he'd pass by a group of dead bodies, footmen whom had either tried to make a stand or escape. Did that mean he was too late?
Heaving, Valdar threw open the door to the rampart, and beheld a spectacle he'd never forget: upon the ramparts undead and human and elf fought with their all, hundreds on either side. But it was nothing compared to what lay below. The battle, stretching into the mist of the rain, was all encompassing. The very sight of it struck him to his core.
"We're too late." He whispered.
The fight was starting to turn against the Alliance. Without the support of the heavy artillery and wizardry of the Wall, as well as having to cover two massive gaps in its length, the allied armies were stretched far too thin. In the skies, the few remaining gryphon riders had cleared up all the frost wyrms save the greatest of them all, but were being constantly harried by huge flying demons and gargoyles. They were doing all they could to merely survive.
On the other side of the Wall, the thousands of shards of bodies tossed over by the meatwagons began to reanimate. They were surrounded. The Wall was being overrun, and the campsites and field hospitals were now taken as well. To escape, they'd have to cut their way through.
Clenching her fists, Osra threw herself into the battle. Valdar stood for a moment, trying to think of what to do. To win the battle, they needed control of this edifice. It was the bottleneck into Stromgarde. If it fell, then the massive undead army would be free to rein in yet another country, and the force being the size it was, would be far too large to face in the field.
Suddenly Valdar noticed something strange; in the midst of the undead stood a figure, slightly taller than the average man, but with sheets of metallic black skin and sinister, glowing purple eyes. Spikes protruded from the figures elbows and knees, though it didn't seem to have any other weaponry other than that. Suddenly it struck him. This was the monster that was leading the Scourge army…it was the one whom had destroyed Castle Perres, and shattered the 7th. But how did it get up here?
ELLENA
Valdar felt the realization literally jolt his body. It was his fault Ellena was dead. This thing fit the description perfectly; tall, princely, menacing, shimmering, ebon flesh, piercing purple eyes, and more. The world around him seemed to swirl about, the undead, the fighting, and sky and stones of Thoradin's Wall: everything except the being standing behind the undead, watching uncaringly as they slaughtered the Stromgardians on the ramparts, taking them but utter surprise.
Dashing forward, Valdar unsheathed his blade. With blood in his left eye, he'd lost his depth perception, and bumped into several soldiers. Undead swung at him in an attempt to stop his advance, but as soon as he'd hit their line, a massive blast of hot air knocked everyone backwards. In the wake of the abrupt attack, the only thing left standing was the demon lord.
With a wave of his arm, half the undead and Stromgardians were suddenly blasted away, many off the sides of the ramparts. Men and women screamed as they flew through the air, landing with bone crunching thuds. Crouching, Valdar looked up.
This is the one! The one that Thorr spoke of! He's the one who killed Ellena! Valdar's thoughts rushed, but his body had reacted even faster. Pulling his sword from its sheath, the knight dashed towards the beingwith speed he's never known he had, striking right at the beast's neck. He didn't even think before moving.
Centimeters from the Legion Lord's sinuous flesh blue flame erupted like armor. The monster stood still, surveying the scene as Valdar attempted to push the blade through the flame. His blade turned orange, and then white-hot. The heat conducted up the blade, igniting the leather wrapping on the hilt. Trying to ignore the pain, Valdar pushed on even harder. In seconds, the blade melted and turned to slag, dripping away from its former form.
"Fascinating. This is the first time I have seen the threads of causality wrapped around a mortal so tightly."
"I don't give a damn about that!" Valdar pressed even harder. In an instant, the sword shattered, and the next thing Valdar knew he'd been thrown backwards twenty feet into the stone wall of the turret behind him. Coughing a bout of blood, he realized that a rib had probably pierced his lung.
"Lord Justax!" he heard Osra's voice suddenly call out. Looking over, he saw the female fighter emerge from the throng of battle, in midair throwing a dagger. The swirling knife found the same fate as Valdar's sword however.
"Out of the way, insect." With a single backhanded blow, Osra too flew backwards, crashing into a pile of rubble that used to be one of the ballistae. "Though you are interesting, the threads of fate around which have been sown to you may prove unsavory for me in the future. To prevent such outcomes, I'll eliminate you right now. Know that you were slain by Haures of the Legion. You could consider it a blessing to be touched by my blade" Haures stepped closer and closer to Valdar, each pace echoing for what seemed like an eternity. From his right hand, Haures produced a bladeless hilt that suddenly erupted into a black, ferrous liquid that instantly sharpened to a double pointed sword.
Standing, Valdar grabbed the dagger that hung at his side, preparing to fight the being. Suddenly, Haures seemed taller than before, and far stronger. The mere presence of it made it hard to think; terror…pure terror. To fight something like this at his level seemed impossible. But he had to…
Charging, he swung the dagger in a wide arc, Haures moved backwards instantly, then disappeared. In the blink of an eye, he was behind Valdar. Swinging downward, Valdar barely moved out of the way of the attack, a wide gash cut into his back plate and flesh.
And then all of a sudden, the light disappeared. Standing before Haures was a band of two dozen men, robed in a snowy white with argent trim. At the base of their cowls was an inscription of some ancient language Valdar couldn't make out. One of them had stabbed Haures in the stomach, and was kneeling down.
"Haures of the Legion, the Excubitores have come to deem you." The lead man spoke, pulling what seemed like a crystalline sword from the demon's torso.
One of the robed figures turned to face him.
"Go! We will hold him off for now."
Valdar noticed that in front of the entire Alliance army a shimmering shield had been erected. Any undead that attempted to enter through it dissolved. Was this what they'd used at Dalaran?
The horn for full retreat went up. Tallheart was taking the chance he had to get behind the Wall. That meant that indeed the Army must've been under incredible pressure. Looking beyond the shield, that much was clear. The hordes of the undead seemed to keep coming from infinity, no matter how many tens of thousands had been slain today.
Nodding, Valdar stood up and went over to Osra. She was unconscious. Slinging her over his shoulder, he took a long look back at the figures of Haures and the newcomer wizards. The one with the crystalline sword was saying something he couldn't hear. Feeling torn, the images of Ellena and his brothers floated in his mind. His fists clenched so hard that he could feel blood begin to draw in his mailed fists.
With a sore throat, he discarded the images, knowing that there were more pressing issues. He had to save Osra and regroup with the Dogs while he could. There would be time to think later. For now, survival was paramount. If he couldn't live through this, then how could he face Haures again?
They better not kill him. That's what I'm going to do. He knew that Haures was his goal. But how in the Light's name could he reach such a height…
The Valley of Wisdom
Grom and Thrall had traversed the same terrain that only minutes ago had been a raging battlefield. The corpses of the freshly dead were littered everywhere, along with debris from the fight. Great portions of the wadi and grass in the fields were on fire from the sudden demonic invasion, setting a pyre for the dead.
A thick mist had descended from the sickly sky. The land itself had begun to transform under the arcane energies that poured forth from the Legion's portals. The sky was black.
The two orcs walked slightly hunched, prepared for a sudden attack. The air was heavy with the smell of the dead and fog, the canyon seeming more foreboding every waking moment. Like something out of legend, the two orcs kept moving forward.
Shadows played off the walls of the canyon. Distant, intense fires lit the dark sky a pall of green. Thrall knew that the spirits had abandoned this place, and that he would have to rely on his own strength.
From the certain crags in the ground, unnatural, viridian molten lava seeped forth, coloring the steam that came off it the same fern green as the sky. It was an unholy place.
Not far away, the disturbing laughter of a being far greater than they're own power, echoed. The creature's laugh felt in itself demoralizing, deep, and incredibly evil. Grom and Thrall immediately stopped, pulling their weapons into the ready.
"So predictable…I knew you would come." The echo's of Mannaroth's voice seemed to grow deeper as they resonated.
"And I see you brought the mighty Hellscream." Sarcasm dipped into the demons voice. Laughs again bounced off the rock walls of the long canyon, vibrating Thrall's armor as if he were being shaken by someone.
"His blood is mine!" Tremors from behind prompted the orcs to turn. From a nestled position, Mannaroth unfolded his limbs and stretched his long, torn wings. Upon his head a crown of flame burned. His eyes and mouth seemed to literally emit fire as they opened and closed, smoke erupting from his nostrils. The massive pit lord, with scaly skin that resembled rocks, batted his heavy tail on the ground, sending a thundering sound through the canyon. From behind, a gigantic, double ended pike emerged in his hand, which he thrust into the ground. "As is your whole, misbegotten race!"
With a roar, Thrall smashed the Doomhammer on the ground. Its pulsating charge emitted a cascade of sound and light that at its height, nearly blinded and deafened the orcs. With everything he had, Thrall tossed the hammer at Mannaroth. In an explosion of sparks, the hammer was tossed into the canyon wall. A shockwave of wind accompanied the sparks.
Slowly, Mannaroth pulled back the armored wing he'd used to defend himself. The two tusks on his head seemed to grow as more fire pulsed from his body. "A worthy effort, but futile!" Mannaroth charged at Thrall, jumping high into the air and landing right in front of him, crushing the stone into a crater. Grom rolled sideways, avoiding the crushing impact of the demon lord. He struck sideways and hit Thrall with the handle of his pike, breaking the orcs arm and sending him flying into the canyon wall.
Mannaroth laughed again. "The boy believed you could be saved—" Grom started to his feet. Blood oozed from his mouth. "—but he didn't know what burns within your soul." Grom could feel the intensity of the blood curse rising, urging him to obey Mannaroth. His vision began to redden. Looking down at his hands, he began to pant. "In your heart, you know we are the same."
"The strength of our leaders alone is not what keeps the clans in line. It is the orcish spirit: our nobility and honor. Know this, Grommash; without honor, there is strife. Without nobility there is chaos. Without restraint, even to our basest instincts, there is unending suffering. Do you understand what I have told you today, Grommash?"
"Yes, father."
The images of his past began to flood through Grom; battle, glorious and foolish, youth, and his father. The memories of Thrall, a youngling orc whom had known nothing but battle in the gladiatorial arenas, the son of Durotan whom had become the Warchief of the Horde were there too. In a defining moment, perhaps the last of his life, Grom looked up and denied the curse.
"NOOO!" he shouted. Jumping to his feet, the three hundred pound warrior brought his last axe to bear, running as fast as he could towards Mannaroth. Unbelieving, Mannaroth took a moment to ready himself. It proved fatal. As he swung the double pike over his head in preparation, he was a split second too late. Grommash Hellscream, Warlord of the Warsong Clan, jumped into the air, and with more strength than perhaps any orc could ever bring to bear, cut through the King of Pit Lords' chest-plate and deep into his body, perhaps even his heart.
Grom fell to the ground, his axe embedded in Mannaroth. The Pit Lord, unable to believe what had just happened, staggered backwards. In a magical backlash, the powers that had sustained Mannaroth suddenly consumed him, and a flame that had resided in his gullet exploded outwards. Standing, Grom was caught in the firestorm, the front of his body horribly blackened and maimed. As the sudden explosion subsided, Grom fell backwards.
Seeing everything that had happened, Thrall urged himself to his feet. Limping towards his mortally wounded friend, he bit his lip as he saw the extent of Grom's injuries. Edging closer, Thrall fell to his knees, reverent in Grom's last moments.
This is how you would have wanted to go…
"Thrall…" Grom's voice was weak. His eyes were still a shade of red, though the flame was subsiding. "The blood haze has lifted. The demon's fire has burnt out in my veins." His voice disappeared in a quick spat of bloody coughs. "I have—freed myself." Thrall had never heard such emotion in Hellscream's voice. The orc, his adopted brother, hero, and friend, let out a last breath. The tint of redness was forever gone as he closed his eyes for the last time.
"No old friend…you've freed us all…" Thrall looked up to the skies and cried out to the heavens with a voice filled with grief and anguish.
End of Act VI
(Author's Note: Air superiority is vital! Read and review my friends.
-Omegatrooper)