Morg Wolfsong sat ringed by incense burners, cross-legged in the
shamanistic position taught to him so long ago. He inhaled and exhaled
deeply and regularly, meditating and expanding his consciousness into the
surrounding forestlands. He felt the essences of countless woodland
creatures: the shimmering, silvery schools of fish as they swam in their
meandering patterns through the rivers and lakes; the birds, swooping and
diving over the numberless treetops; the bears making their solitary,
purposeful ways through the vales and meadows.
He breathed deeply, feeling completely at one with the great wood. As he was about to pull his consciousness away and finish meditating, he was disturbed by an alien presence in the forest. In his mind's eye, he looked upon the spot where the outlanders camped, and was horrified.
The land around the settlement was tortured and corrupted, rotting before the shaman's eyes. He reached with his mind into the earth below the blight, and shuddered as he felt the wretched earth strain to shrug off the pestilence. A flash of movement in the corner of the terrible scene caught his eye, and he watched as a black-robed human moved to an empty spot in the camp and raised his hands. A cloud of eldritch energies swirled around his spidery fingers, and in the blight before him a great circle of stone pushed its way to the surface. A dark pool of energy coalesced in the stones, and began to shimmer. The man brought his hands down, and walked away. As the Orcish shaman watched, the blight crept forward a few feet at the edge of the camp as the energy worked its terrible spell.
Wolfsong broke off his meditative link as his tent flap rustled. Grom Hellscream strode in nervously, much to the ancient shaman's concern. Wreathed in incense smoke, the general sat across from Wolfsong, bowing deeply to him. The mage returned the gesture, and then spoke in his steady, patient bass voice.
"Something troubles you, young one?" he said as he leaned in, "you seem uneasy this day."
Hellscream fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable. "I have crossed the Warchief, old one. He ordered me to come to you as a punishment," he said, then told Wolfsong his tale of the battle. After listening, the shaman thought for a moment, his face grim.
"We cannot possibly assault Dalaran with an army this size. If we attack the villages, we will only inflame the human hatred towards us. I must speak with Thrall about your rash words, but first I must speak with you about a vision I have had. Outlanders have come to these forests. They seem to be in close contact with demonic entities, and this troubles me deeply. They are vastly powerful, and if they ally with the humans there is no way we can ever hope to calm the war you may have started. I have a task for you now. Go to the outlander's camp, find out all you can about them, and if they are hostile, destroy them."
"Yes, great one," said Hellscream, and exited the tent to prepare for battle.
***
Hellscream stood on the bluff, flanked by a retainer of his own picking, an old seer named Fenris'al Gul. Staring down on the camp below, he watched the outlanders do their terrible work.
"I knew humans were arrogant bastards," he said, eyes fogged, "but I never imagined that they could do something like this." He gestured down at the blighted forest and the strange camp in the middle of it.
Fenris'al Gul watched the slowly sinking sun for a moment before he spoke. "I sense that these are no ordinary humans. They have been exposed to dark energy, and their souls have been warped by it. They do indeed harbor hostile intentions. Wolfsong ordered us to destroy them, and so we shall."
Hellscream nodded. As a signal, the old seer called upon his shamanistic training and sent a bolt of lightning raging into the evening sky. The rest of the small army recognized this, and readied for battle. Catapult crews hauled huge boulders into their machines, troll spear throwers took aim with their deadly weapons, mighty wolf-riders tested huge nets for strength. When the army was ready, Hellscream roared, and all hell broke loose.
The sky blackened with long spears. The green tide of Orcs poured down into the enemy camp, laying about with axes and warblades. Flaming comets were hurled from catapults, smashing into the numerous structures of the enemy. Lightning rained from the sky, called down by shamans to do their bidding. The camp was overtaken in less than ten seconds.
Then the outlanders began to fight back. Warriors seemed to rise from the earth, and began to battle the Orcish troops. Spiders scuttled from the surrounding forest, casting huge webs on groups of attackers. Human necromancers adorned with draconic skulls called forth skeletons from the ground, and while the rattling troops were bashed apart easily, their numbers never seemed to dwindle.
The Orcs fought valiantly, but were slowly pushed back by the enemy. Where green-skinned warriors fell, they seemed to rise again instantly and fight their former comrades. Soon, only about fifty Orcs remained on the battlefield, faced with countless enemies.
Grom Hellscream was speechless. The Orcish horde had always defeated their enemies quickly and easily, with little struggle. Now, his troops were falling by the hundreds and being added to the ranks of the enemy. They were fighting a battle they could not win. Shrieking his battle cry, he leapt off the edge of the bluff and fell towards the roiling battlefield below.
He breathed deeply, feeling completely at one with the great wood. As he was about to pull his consciousness away and finish meditating, he was disturbed by an alien presence in the forest. In his mind's eye, he looked upon the spot where the outlanders camped, and was horrified.
The land around the settlement was tortured and corrupted, rotting before the shaman's eyes. He reached with his mind into the earth below the blight, and shuddered as he felt the wretched earth strain to shrug off the pestilence. A flash of movement in the corner of the terrible scene caught his eye, and he watched as a black-robed human moved to an empty spot in the camp and raised his hands. A cloud of eldritch energies swirled around his spidery fingers, and in the blight before him a great circle of stone pushed its way to the surface. A dark pool of energy coalesced in the stones, and began to shimmer. The man brought his hands down, and walked away. As the Orcish shaman watched, the blight crept forward a few feet at the edge of the camp as the energy worked its terrible spell.
Wolfsong broke off his meditative link as his tent flap rustled. Grom Hellscream strode in nervously, much to the ancient shaman's concern. Wreathed in incense smoke, the general sat across from Wolfsong, bowing deeply to him. The mage returned the gesture, and then spoke in his steady, patient bass voice.
"Something troubles you, young one?" he said as he leaned in, "you seem uneasy this day."
Hellscream fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable. "I have crossed the Warchief, old one. He ordered me to come to you as a punishment," he said, then told Wolfsong his tale of the battle. After listening, the shaman thought for a moment, his face grim.
"We cannot possibly assault Dalaran with an army this size. If we attack the villages, we will only inflame the human hatred towards us. I must speak with Thrall about your rash words, but first I must speak with you about a vision I have had. Outlanders have come to these forests. They seem to be in close contact with demonic entities, and this troubles me deeply. They are vastly powerful, and if they ally with the humans there is no way we can ever hope to calm the war you may have started. I have a task for you now. Go to the outlander's camp, find out all you can about them, and if they are hostile, destroy them."
"Yes, great one," said Hellscream, and exited the tent to prepare for battle.
***
Hellscream stood on the bluff, flanked by a retainer of his own picking, an old seer named Fenris'al Gul. Staring down on the camp below, he watched the outlanders do their terrible work.
"I knew humans were arrogant bastards," he said, eyes fogged, "but I never imagined that they could do something like this." He gestured down at the blighted forest and the strange camp in the middle of it.
Fenris'al Gul watched the slowly sinking sun for a moment before he spoke. "I sense that these are no ordinary humans. They have been exposed to dark energy, and their souls have been warped by it. They do indeed harbor hostile intentions. Wolfsong ordered us to destroy them, and so we shall."
Hellscream nodded. As a signal, the old seer called upon his shamanistic training and sent a bolt of lightning raging into the evening sky. The rest of the small army recognized this, and readied for battle. Catapult crews hauled huge boulders into their machines, troll spear throwers took aim with their deadly weapons, mighty wolf-riders tested huge nets for strength. When the army was ready, Hellscream roared, and all hell broke loose.
The sky blackened with long spears. The green tide of Orcs poured down into the enemy camp, laying about with axes and warblades. Flaming comets were hurled from catapults, smashing into the numerous structures of the enemy. Lightning rained from the sky, called down by shamans to do their bidding. The camp was overtaken in less than ten seconds.
Then the outlanders began to fight back. Warriors seemed to rise from the earth, and began to battle the Orcish troops. Spiders scuttled from the surrounding forest, casting huge webs on groups of attackers. Human necromancers adorned with draconic skulls called forth skeletons from the ground, and while the rattling troops were bashed apart easily, their numbers never seemed to dwindle.
The Orcs fought valiantly, but were slowly pushed back by the enemy. Where green-skinned warriors fell, they seemed to rise again instantly and fight their former comrades. Soon, only about fifty Orcs remained on the battlefield, faced with countless enemies.
Grom Hellscream was speechless. The Orcish horde had always defeated their enemies quickly and easily, with little struggle. Now, his troops were falling by the hundreds and being added to the ranks of the enemy. They were fighting a battle they could not win. Shrieking his battle cry, he leapt off the edge of the bluff and fell towards the roiling battlefield below.