Interlude: As the night progressessed the two learned a great deal of
one another. Tialen learned his mysterious rescuer's name, Feorie. He told
her how he'd lost his will to fight, but he never told her that he'd
yearned for death. Feorie told of her secreet sanctuary, and how not even
her brethren knew of it. Elune seemed to let her reserve one every night.
When they were done conversing Feorie disappeared into the forests and
Tialen returned to the camp for rest. Eventually the two moons gave way to
the rising sun, and its light now creeped into the window of the Orc
warchief, Thrall's , private den.
CHAP 6.
They will come again. The sparrow told Thrall. The tiny bird then took wing. The soft patter of the sparrow's wing's were all that would be heard in Thrall's den, for he wished to contemplate thier next course of action. As the bird fluttered out of small opening in the animal skin doors it dropped a feather. It softly danced in the air, taking time to it the ground. Thrall istantly snatched it from the air, out of pure reflex. His fingers were large, but he was still was able twidle the smal feather between them. Still we wished not to draw his mind away from his main subject of thought, and he smothered the small object in his fist news of the scourge's return was most unpleasant. They were not defeated, not entirely. He knew it. The scourge had merely receded. Not only had the sparrow, that he summoned, told him, but he could smell the stench of death in close proximity. They had undone, what seemed to be, the Undead's lord, but Thrall sensed that thier was another body. It must be fueling them, and they would have to destroy it in order to purge these lands of the scourge.
The undead's minions are endless. The warchief pondered..Their seems to be almost no limit to how many they can produce. We can defeat them, but for how long? Our soldiers are finite and we lose more with each battle.
" Gaaaah!", The Warchief let out a bellow. He was frustrated. His den was peacful but claustrophobic, and he seeked space.
Thrall parted the doorway and let the sun's light bathe him. As he recessed from his thoughts, Thrall decided to survey the camp. The sight of the encampment recovering was uplifting to him. For a while he slipped into the illusion of safety, that his soldiers' had. He saw nothing but high spirits, even beween his people and the humans. To them the undead had been vanquished and it was but a matter of time before they could find peace again. Yet this state was merely a guise, and he would soon be reminded of that. Finished with his break Thrall, again, found the solitude of his den. Before he could reconjur his thoughts he heard the sound of an intruder.
The Orc was starlted. He had requested that he be left alone. Whatever thing that decided to encroach upon his private den would meet punishement. Thrall stood tall, yet still remained attentive to his surroundings. He quickly recognized the sounds to be footsteps. They were soft, and he could tell that whoever made them didn't want them to be heard. Of course it is all to easy for Orc ears to hear the slight crumpling of grass under one's foot. Instinctivily Thrall reached for his weapon, only to find none. He had given his armaments to the blacksmith. Without it Thrall felt vulnerable. He'd grown accustomed to his back being covered by the ebony tiles and without them it felt bare. Still he was an Orc and under any threat refused to show fear. His sense of danger now heightned as the entity drew closer, but this only fueled him. With an Orcish roar he charged out of his den to meet his intruder.
"Your seem pleased to meet me," Jaina said calmy yet somewhat cheefully.
Immediately Thrall stoped. In his paranoia he'd almost ran-through the young Mage. In battle she'd been a formidable warrior but her frail frame would have crumpled under Thrall's massive body like paper. She stood there unaware of how badly she would have been mauled. The fact she'd remain stalwart in the presence of his imposing form impressed Thrall, and her lack of burden, especially after last night's event, suggested there was at least some sliver of hope. Again she addressed him:
" Are you okay Thrall? You look as though you'd seen a ghost,". In a way he had. "Has the fighting gotten to you?"
"No, I'll slay a thousand demons and before my hammer will fall."
"Well it seems as though we face more than a thousand Demon's, and I don't know if we'll be able to slay the next wave using our current means of combat.", Jaina lowered her head and her hood gave a small shadow to veil some of her face in darkness."I don't know how many more we'll have to lose". Thrall became anxious now. Neither he nor the human sorceress knew of any resolve to thier plight. He felt as though they were caged merely waiting to be slaughtered by ruthless montrosities. His frustation swelled within him and he punched a nerby tree with force. Though the impact had caused a massive dent into the tree, it also jarred loose the feather he'd been cluthing. As the tattered object slowly fell to the ground an idea popped into his head...
They will come again. The sparrow told Thrall. The tiny bird then took wing. The soft patter of the sparrow's wing's were all that would be heard in Thrall's den, for he wished to contemplate thier next course of action. As the bird fluttered out of small opening in the animal skin doors it dropped a feather. It softly danced in the air, taking time to it the ground. Thrall istantly snatched it from the air, out of pure reflex. His fingers were large, but he was still was able twidle the smal feather between them. Still we wished not to draw his mind away from his main subject of thought, and he smothered the small object in his fist news of the scourge's return was most unpleasant. They were not defeated, not entirely. He knew it. The scourge had merely receded. Not only had the sparrow, that he summoned, told him, but he could smell the stench of death in close proximity. They had undone, what seemed to be, the Undead's lord, but Thrall sensed that thier was another body. It must be fueling them, and they would have to destroy it in order to purge these lands of the scourge.
The undead's minions are endless. The warchief pondered..Their seems to be almost no limit to how many they can produce. We can defeat them, but for how long? Our soldiers are finite and we lose more with each battle.
" Gaaaah!", The Warchief let out a bellow. He was frustrated. His den was peacful but claustrophobic, and he seeked space.
Thrall parted the doorway and let the sun's light bathe him. As he recessed from his thoughts, Thrall decided to survey the camp. The sight of the encampment recovering was uplifting to him. For a while he slipped into the illusion of safety, that his soldiers' had. He saw nothing but high spirits, even beween his people and the humans. To them the undead had been vanquished and it was but a matter of time before they could find peace again. Yet this state was merely a guise, and he would soon be reminded of that. Finished with his break Thrall, again, found the solitude of his den. Before he could reconjur his thoughts he heard the sound of an intruder.
The Orc was starlted. He had requested that he be left alone. Whatever thing that decided to encroach upon his private den would meet punishement. Thrall stood tall, yet still remained attentive to his surroundings. He quickly recognized the sounds to be footsteps. They were soft, and he could tell that whoever made them didn't want them to be heard. Of course it is all to easy for Orc ears to hear the slight crumpling of grass under one's foot. Instinctivily Thrall reached for his weapon, only to find none. He had given his armaments to the blacksmith. Without it Thrall felt vulnerable. He'd grown accustomed to his back being covered by the ebony tiles and without them it felt bare. Still he was an Orc and under any threat refused to show fear. His sense of danger now heightned as the entity drew closer, but this only fueled him. With an Orcish roar he charged out of his den to meet his intruder.
"Your seem pleased to meet me," Jaina said calmy yet somewhat cheefully.
Immediately Thrall stoped. In his paranoia he'd almost ran-through the young Mage. In battle she'd been a formidable warrior but her frail frame would have crumpled under Thrall's massive body like paper. She stood there unaware of how badly she would have been mauled. The fact she'd remain stalwart in the presence of his imposing form impressed Thrall, and her lack of burden, especially after last night's event, suggested there was at least some sliver of hope. Again she addressed him:
" Are you okay Thrall? You look as though you'd seen a ghost,". In a way he had. "Has the fighting gotten to you?"
"No, I'll slay a thousand demons and before my hammer will fall."
"Well it seems as though we face more than a thousand Demon's, and I don't know if we'll be able to slay the next wave using our current means of combat.", Jaina lowered her head and her hood gave a small shadow to veil some of her face in darkness."I don't know how many more we'll have to lose". Thrall became anxious now. Neither he nor the human sorceress knew of any resolve to thier plight. He felt as though they were caged merely waiting to be slaughtered by ruthless montrosities. His frustation swelled within him and he punched a nerby tree with force. Though the impact had caused a massive dent into the tree, it also jarred loose the feather he'd been cluthing. As the tattered object slowly fell to the ground an idea popped into his head...