HUMANS
Chapter 1: The Independence of Azeroth
Dernier, Azeroth
Sunlight flooded through the open window and spilled onto the creamy four-poster bed. A young man stirred under the sheets, further spreading the wrinkles at the surface. A barely audible sigh emitted from beneath his blue-laced, white pillow, before a pattern of shallow breathing began once more.
A sharp knock sounded at the door. Rat tap tap! "Sir, your meal is on the table." A twist of the doorknob, and the door slowly swung open on its hinges.
"I'm awake…" The sheets rustled, and the young man pushed aside his pillow. He shoved himself out of bed, and landed lightly on the floor.
What day is today? he wondered. He made his way over to the window and stared down, below into the streets. The peasants were up and about in the fields already, tending to their crops. However, townsfolk were busy cleaning and setting up decorations along the buildings that lined the streets. Groups of soldiers roamed outside, silently exchanging glimpses of conversation with one another. This was no ordinary day.
Which reminded the young man…today was a celebration day…for the Independence of Azeroth! Surely, he had overslept, if the preparations had begun already!
He hastily walked to his wardrobe and selected a fine brown jacket to go with matching pants, as well as a shirt underneath. Today, he would have to appear his best; it was only the Royal Family's tradition to do so. With that idea in mind, he changed in record time, and proceeded down to the dining hall.
His sharp, black shoes clattered down the stairs. Paintings that reminded him of better times were scattered amongst the walls. A coat of arms was also visible; the exceptional work of the city's blacksmith. An elaborate red carpet paved the way to the dining hall. Numerous stained glass windows caught sunrays and mirrored them into the corridor, adding a splash of color.
A man, coated in wealth, sat alone at the rectangular wooden table. He ate a thin morsel of bread delicately with his fingers. He acknowledged the young man's presence with a hearty, "Good morning, son."
The young man took a seat adjacent to his father; at his left. "Good morning, father."
"Ah, I see that you have remembered what day it is today," the father noted, approving of his son's attire. "At least that's better than our dwarven friends-," he continued, putting a sarcastic tone of voice on the word 'friends'. "No doubt a last-minute excuse, of course…" He scowled as he pulled out a crinkled letter from his pocket and placed it on the table, in front of his son.
The young man reached out his hand and took the letter from his father's outstretched hand. He then unfolded it and read:
To our King Lyon,
It is with our deepest regrets that we state that we will be unable to feast with you on your day of independence. For it is on that day, that we will begin our mining expedition in Mount Bharak. Perhaps we can compensate for this loss another day. Until then, farewell, and happy lordship!
Thorin Ironfoot
(Representing the dwarves of Khaz Modan)
P.S. - Tell that young lad of yours that his 'uncle' says Hi!
The young man re-read the letter again, trying to decipher miniscule scribbles here and there. He worked on smoothing out the edges of the paper, until at last he looked up at his father.
"Now, what do you suppose Thorin was talking about, with that reference to him being your uncle?" The young man's father showed no sign of surprise or amusement.
"The sword that was sent to me-the one in the brown case-it was from Thorin, father." The prince's eyes returned to his father his same penetrating gaze. Then he added, "It was just a gift for visiting them-the dwarves."
"So I see." The King took a brief sip of his tea. "I am aware that you take great pride in that sword. However…" he leaned in closer to his son's face, "I do not wish for you to delve into your friendship with the dwarves, Athlan. They are a mighty people, but they can brew up unnecessary dangers in troubling times such as these…" His voice trailed off.
Athlan knew about which dangers his father was referring to. Only a few years ago, the dwarves of Khaz Modan had discovered gold in the mines of Mount Bharak. Bandits had caught word of the new finding, and warred with the dwarves for several months before Thorin Ironfoot had offered a treaty.
The young prince knew that his father did not have a love for dwarves. He saw them as reckless, both on the battlefield and at the table. King Lyon assumed that most dwarves were secretive and not exactly the most interesting people to associate with. He believed that they were dreary, as well as ungrateful little men. Many riches of his kingdom, Azeroth, were shared with the dwarves. Yet, they had never thanked the kingdom for its resources, let alone its protection. In King Lyon's mind, dwarves spelled trouble. He could do without them; which was the reason why Azeroth did not aid the dwarves in their war.
"Anything else sound familiar in that letter?" The King's resonant voice echoed along the walls, immediately shattering the silence.
Athlan had undeniably heard of Mount Bharak before, but not in terms related to the old war. He leisurely took a bite of his lightly toasted bread, and hoped that his father would continue.
"Son, have you not heard of Mount Bharak?" A kindling fire could be seen in King Lyon's eyes. "Why, I ordered some of our men to seal up that old mountain's entrance! There's just no way for those dwarves to get inside of it to do their little 'mining expedition'!"
His voice lowered, and he began to mumble. "Good-for-nothing dwarves…don't give any help when needed…making up excuses all the time…argh, who am I kidding? I don't need those dwarves for anything!"
"Well, I suppose the dwarves have gotten themselves out of this one." Athlan chuckled at the old dwarf's seemingly failing intelligence. Dwarves were never partying folk, and they certainly would not celebrate with humans. King Lyon's relationship with the dwarves of Khaz Modan would undoubtedly assure that.
"'Suppose'? Oh yes, they're out of this celebration, all right. I couldn't have cared less about whether they showed up or not. It was just a friendly gesture on my part, that's all.
"Enough of this talk…I'd advise you to finish your meal, and then to meet me down by the Atassian Church. That's where you'll find the main celebration and feast."
Having finished said that, the old King stood up, popping a last grape into his mouth. Two guards were summoned to his side, and escorted him to a hitched wagon that was waiting for him outside.
Athlan yelled out a humble 'goodbye' to his father; yet he returned the favor modestly.
The prince left his unfinished bread at the table. What use was there in eating breakfast, when a feast awaited him? Immediately, guards on either side of him commenced to clear the table. Athlan stood up and proceeded outside.
Not only until he was adjusted to the comforts of his wagon, was Athlan allowed some time to himself, even with all of the guards surrounding him; he wasn't afraid of them. Instead, he had learned to ignore them. To him, they were as stiff and motionless as statues, anyhow.
Something was on the young prince's mind. Athlan had worked hard to keep his relationship with his father out of turmoil, and instead intact.
Damn those Undead! Athlan thought bitterly. If it weren't for them, everything would be all right…
Hardly a day passed by without the words 'Burning Legion' flashing across King Lyon's mind. It had been 5 years since the defeat of Archimonde at Mount Hyjal. During the reign of the Burning Legion, Azeroth was a barren wasteland. Families had been slaughtered; animals slain; and buildings razed to a layer of rubble. The invasion of Azeroth sent a shockwave through the continent. The Burning Legion had a new order now.
However, the Burning Legion suffered through the War of the Worlds. Archimonde had been defeated; the Undead threat eliminated temporarily. Humans renewed Azeroth, and soon it became a bustling kingdom once more. A Royal Family had been crowned to lead the people to a new life and prosperity.
Athlan and his father were not as close as they once were. The young prince could see fear in his father's eyes; the forced smiles, and the constant mumbling when he was alone. There had been news of an Undead uprising in the south nearly a week ago. This time, their leader went by the name Ankhanaden.
The Burning Legion was reported as to have scoured the southern coastline of Azeroth. Once again, the 'unholy land' was visible: The Blight. It crept across the land, dispersing vegetation and trees. Hordes of flies roamed under the sun; swarms of bats infested the air at night. Diseases spread amongst villagers like wildfire.
Knights had been sent to scout the area by King Lyon himself. None of them ever returned.
The capital city of Dernier had been fortified excessively, preparing for an attack. Azeroth's forces dwindled during the War of the Worlds. King Lyon realized that his forces would have to depend upon defense, rather than offense.
Today, King Lyon would be warier than ever. Nearly all of the inhabitants of Azeroth would be celebrating and feasting. The Undead would perhaps seize this advantage, and attack the citizens while they were assembled together! Athlan was no stranger to Undead tactics. He had fought in the War, and saw how the Undead carried out their business. They were stealthy and secretive; and of course, their leaders were always cunning.
Athlan glanced out of the moving wagon. Small children were running about, following their parents' shadows. Groups of villagers gathered around laughing stocks of men. To Athlan, nearly the whole city was oblivious to the impending dangers that lay ahead.
The wagon came to a halt. In front of Athlan's eyes was the formidable façade of the Atassian Church.
It had been an old church; at least centuries old. The church was painted white, and was easily recognized by its giant steeple. Several bells tolled ceremoniously as they swayed back and forth. In front of the entrance were wooden rectangular tables laden with food of many varieties.
There were older couples dancing in the streets, and on raised platforms. The majority of citizens had dressed up for the occasion, sporting their best outfits and dresses.
Athlan spotted his father sitting at a table. Next to him sat a young woman. She was dressed in a fine silk dress that was a shade of light lavender. Her face reflected beautiful features, and her lengthy blond hair rippled down her back. She was Meridia, the daughter of King Alnoras of Lordaeron. She directed her eyes in Athlan's direction, and caught him watching her. "Hey, Athlan! Come on over here!"
Athlan picked up his feet and forced himself to saunter towards his father's table. He took a seat between his father and Meridia. "Hello, Meridia." Athlan glanced off into the opposite direction.
"How have things been lately? You must be pretty busy now, training nearly everyday…Do you enjoy fighting?" Meridia's eyes lay transfixed on Athlan, even while she was chattering away.
The Azeran prince wished for Meridia to cease her endless questions. She almost seemed like an intolerable jukebox at times, even at the age of 20.
For the last ten years, Athlan had lived with the knowledge of Meridia's secret love for him. It was on occasions such as today that he would come across a face-to-face confrontation with her. Although she was very beautiful, Athlan could not bring himself to fall for a woman such as Meridia.
Meridia and Athlan had grown up as childhood friends in Lordaeron, after the destruction of Azeroth. Her father, King Alnoras, had ruled the kingdom of Lordaeron with a wise right hand. One of his own personal advisors had been Athlan's father.
However, King Alnoras began to observe competition in his lordship with King Lyon. Many of the Lordaeron folk saw a wise method of ruling in King Lyon. Citizens preferred the benign and nonviolent ways of King Lyon. Yet, others saw greed in King Lyon's eyes to gain lordship over Lordaeron. Soon, a rebellion between sides was evident.
A break in the mounting tension arrived after the War of Kalimdor. King Lyon and his followers boldly took their first steps into Azeroth again and renewed their shattered kingdom of old. It was only once every few years that Athlan encountered Meridia again.
Athlan felt somewhat uncomfortable sitting beside Meridia today. In Athlan's eyes, she was a spoiled brat, living in the splendor of her father's kingdom. Citizens of Lordaeron and Azeroth eyed one another suspiciously; the kingdoms had first split due to their differences.
"I'm fine, Meridia," Athlan muttered. His father would soon be delivering a speech to the people of Dernier, Azeroth. It was the least that he could look forward to at the moment.
"Excuse me, Meridia." Athlan stood up and made his way to the opposite end of the table. He hoped that Meridia would not ask where he was gong; to his surprise, she eagerly joined in conversation with his father.
Athlan walked to the edge of the city outskirts. Surrounding the entrance to the fortified city was a dense forest. Although it looked very thick, it was quite navigable; early settlers had lay down a path outlined with logs throughout the forest. Athlan found himself attracted to the serenity of the forest that cool morning.
The Fensae Forest was an old forest indeed. Its gurgling streams and cascading waterfalls offered peace and comfort to any who searched for it. As Athlan walked through the forest, he was a witness to Mother Nature's beauty. Lush vegetation and colossal trees surrounded either side of him. Songbirds sung their melodies in a chorus amongst the treetops.
The young prince loved the forest, even if his status in life limited his visits there. Fensae Forest was simply his thinking spot. The forest was pure, free of corruption for the time being. Athlan withdrew from public attention, and instead spent his time marveling at the wonders of the forest.
He located a small stream and stooped at the edge of it. His reflection came back to him, clear and nearly still.
The young Azeran prince was a handsome one as well. His face was as smooth as the running water in the stream. He also had gorgeous icy blue eyes that seemed to melt into water when looked upon. His light brown hair was kept shoulder-length, and bangs were pushed to the side of his face.
Movement up ahead. Athlan quickly got to his feet. He wished that he had a weapon of some sort, and, thinking quickly, he hid behind a giant maple tree.
There was something running up ahead. It sounded as if there were two creatures running; the resounding sound of hooves hitting the ground, and the quick scampering of a creature in pursuit.
The noises stopped abruptly. A horrifying squeal of panic followed, echoing through the woods. Then there was nothing. The breeze that blew gently onto the prince's face died down. Even the treetops were lonely in the absence of melodious songbirds.
Athlan remained hidden. After sufficient time had passed, he made a rash decision to investigate what the scuffle was about.
Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy and into a clearing ahead. The forest was deathly silent; something had to be wrong.
Sprawled out across the ground was a young stag. Its neck as arched, and its legs kicked out from its body in graceful death. Its blood-matted mane concealed a severed throat with deep gashes oozing with blood.
Athlan immediately rushed over to the fallen animal. He knelt by its side and gently stroked its side. It was a sin, killing such a pure and innocent beast.
There was a putrid stench circulating throughout the air. And the ground…Athlan noticed that the very soil beneath his feet was decaying…into rotten dirt. Green drops of acid appeared at the surface, forming a fine latticework of veins etched into the ground.
It was the Blight. The very land that nourished the Undead now scavenged its way through the purity of Fensae Forest. Now that Athlan gazed up at the miles of Blight that loomed up ahead, he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.
The forest now gave Athlan the impression of eeriness.
Above all other sounds, there were distant voices:
"Come now, we have just a bit to go before victory shall be ours," came a voice.
"It won't be too short of a distance…we shall have fun with our enemies, Khaj'Aden. For shall we not...?"
"My lord…they already have word of our coming. No doubt they shall be prepared? Khaj'Aden replied boldly.
"Silence! Because they are ready, does not make the weaklings any stronger than we may take them for. Do I make myself clear? We are staying with our plan."
"Y-Yes, my lord…" stammered Khaj'Aden. "The Kingdom of Azeroth shall fall!"
So it had begun. All of the forewarnings, all of the predictions…they had all been true.
The Undead were back, and they were vying to reclaim Azeroth as their own domain.
Athlan figured it wasn't safe to linger on in the forest alone. The possibilities of an attack on Dernier now became obvious. Athlan bade farewell to the forest and its inhabitants.
Little did he know that it would be his last visit.
Half an hour later…"Father, father!" Athlan dashed up to the podium and interrupted his father's speech. At this point, the prince was panting heavily from having ran nearly the entire distance from Fensae Forest to Dernier.
King Lyon opened his mouth as if to speak again, but no words came out. He turned towards his son and narrowed his stern eyes. "Son, this had better be something worth remembering." His eyes glanced around the disrupted audience as he managed an uneasy smile.
"But it is!" Athlan cried. "The Undead are in the forest, father! They're taking over the area!"
King Lyon knew better than to doubt his own son's words. He cleared his throat and announced to the audience that the celebration was over.
Once the townsfolk had all emptied out, King Lyon seated himself at a table and asked for Athlan to join him.
"Did you see any of them?" The King's question came tense and sharp.
"No… but I saw the Blight…it was extending into Fensae, and the animals were being killed as well!" Athlan was forced to remember the morbid death of the stag.
King Lyon winced at the word 'Blight'. He had vowed to himself to lead a lifelong campaign against the Burning Legion. To see the lands of Azeroth being greedily gobbled up by the Undead without resistance was painful to comprehend with.
"Thank you, Athlan." The King rose up from his table and brought his son and several men to his castle hastily.
Once they had arrived, King Lyon began to issue orders to his captains.
"Meilot." The King took a quick glance around.
"I am here, your majesty."
"You had better be. Take 100 archers or so, and place them on the wall facing the moat. Make sure their quivers are full, and their daggers ready.
"Right away, your highness." Meilot mounted a horse and dashed away to the barracks.
"Khanar!" Lyon yelled.
"Right here!" The short and stocky captain made his way from the back of the crowd to in front of King Lyon.
"Assemble 1000 of your most loyal footmen and place them in front of the outer gate. I want at least 100 sturdy knights there, along with any last-minute volunteers."
"Of course." Khanar galloped on his horse off into the distance.
"Braken!"
"Over here, sir!" The voice was muffled in the crowd surrounding the King.
"Do we have any vehicles- any gyrocopters or working mortars?"
"Yes, my King…we have 50 gyrocopters and at least 30 mortars."
"Good. Bring them to the front gate, and place them behind the infantry."
"As you wish." The captain turned to leave, but was stopped by King Lyon.
"Braken…make sure that this time, those dwarves don't have fun pushing random buttons on the gyrocopters…" King Lyon shot a stern glance at his first captain.
"I'll make certain of it." And with that, the captain began his walk to the workshops.
"As for you…" King Lyon diverted his attention onto his son. "I don't want to see you in any of this… stay on the premises of the castle."
"But father…what about you?"
"Athlan…" King Lyon's voice faded to a whisper, yet it still held firm. "My time is nearly spent. If I were to leave, then at least I would wish to see myself die amongst those protecting our kingdom. Understand that now, you are the single most important thing in my life…I would sacrifice anything for you…but I would like to see it being put to good use.
"You are not a coward for staying behind lines of combat, son. You are a brave warrior, one who desires to keep his own father's wishes at heart. For are you not?"
"I know what it is you want of me, father." And with that reply, Athlan embraced his father, making no effort to hide the tears gently trickling from his eyes and onto his father's shoulder.
The King patted his son's back softly. "Farewell, Athlan."
Athlan broke their embrace and gazed into his father's eyes. His face contracted into a smile as he answered, "Goodbye, father."
"We ride into danger, my warriors!" King Lyon cried as he and his fellow captains mounted their trusty steeds and rode to battle.
The front ranks of the army peered out onto the expanse of fields across the moat. There, spilling across the fields rose their enemy, waiting.
…and watching.
Chapter 1 is completed! Please review and tell me what you think of it! Azeroth and the Undead wage war in Chapter 2!