To all my reviewers, thanksA LOT! Hehe...
000: Will be doing that, but not very soon.
Pepperplus: Hmmm, about that name, I kinda favour Travex although the actual name is Traxex. Pugna wasn't the one who slit her open, it was Shadow. You know, like you suddenly realize that she's beside you with blink strike? And she's invisible to the normal screen. I reasoned thatshe probably would have a blade for melee work. Pugna was invisible. Leoric's trap was something I created.
Pessimist: Some stories here exist for the lemon, some lemons exist because of the story. I know which I created, but does it look like the former?
Again, thanks to all my reviews. It really maks your heart sing when someone reviews, you know... hehe...
Chapter Seven
An elf burst from the bushes and sprinted across a narrow patch of sparse undergrowth. The four ghouls turned immediately and charged, seeing only fresh meat. The necromancer accompanying the four ghouls jumped in surprise, then turned for cover when he saw the shape of a deadly elven composite bow in the running figure's hands.
Too late.
A glint of metal off the shaft of an arrow, and then another as the archer launched two arrows, then fled. The necromancer went down with an arrow in his chest and another lodged in his throat. Paying no heed to their designated patrol commander, the ghouls rushed unerringly for the elf, far outpacing the slender figure. As everyone knew, ghouls did not tire. Normally, such an attack culminated in the screaming dismemberment of the unfortunate assailant. No one tried something this dumb.
But dismemberment was not in the plan. As the four undead creatures crashed through the bushes just thirty feet behind the apparently doomed archer, four treants set upon the undead, woody limbs flailing. One ghoul went down quickly, the momentum of its charge impaling it upon a sharp branch where it was quickly smashed apart into inanimate flash. The other three fell one by one under the hammering blows of the ambushing treants.
The elf continued running, in case the treants failed to overpower the ghouls even with surprise. She had no intention of letting the undead catch up with her. Only when her keen eyesight spotted Mangix did her steps slow as she moved to the great Pandarian's side and spin around, checking for signs of pursuit.
There were none. Shortly after, the bushes parted and three treants shuffled back, accompanied by a druid. One had apparently been destroyed by the ghouls. Mangix relaxed from his combat stance and the elf lowered her bow.
"Well done, Essandril. Travex will be pleased at your progress. An enemy squad down with only one casualty. Here, have a drink!" The big Pandarian held out a flask. Essandril made a face.
"I'm going to hit your furry behind if I shoot after drinking that. In any case, I know what you oversized fuzzy balls call "a fine wine". It'll probably take all the skin off the inside of my throat. You know, I've heard that the humans have found another use for your "drinks". They apply it on their walls and the paint peels right off. Just perfect for removing paint." She muttered, shaking her head.
"Well, strong ale is a marvelous thing. Too bad you elves don't have the constitution to enjoy life. Wait, are you serious about the paint? What a waste of good alcohol! No wonder they die young!" Mangix grinned, giving her a thump on her back that almost knocked the much smaller elf to the ground.
Essandril winced at the thumping. The scent of open greenery permeated the air. But something seemed wrong and out of place nowadays. The innocence of this place had been forever shattered. Blood, living and unloving had been spilled here, the place no longer seemed the elven paradise of dreams. Although the fortress had never compromised on its defenses, there was a kind of playfulness that had evaporated like morning mist when the first undead creatures had set foot upon the realm.
Is this the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end?
No answers rose from the ground or dropped from the sky.
As the squad resumed its patrol, Essandril let out a sigh and moved along gracefully as any elf would. In a way, Ner'zhul had already won the first victory. He had broken the spirit to resist in all but a few defenders. There were those that had chosen surrender and been lucky or unlucky enough to be spared a screaming death. Human, orcs, ogres, trolls, even night elves and high elves all served in the army of evil, some twisted beyond recognition, some willingly embracing the abyssal darkness.
But there could be small victories to be celebrated. In the face of this terrible adversary, the remnants of good ceased to be rivals, more of allies. Even the human prejudice against trolls and orcs was fading.
Necessity was powerful.
Rhasta covering for Travex, Such would never be possible had this war not started.
The elves had been forced to abandon their pride and work with the other races, seen previously as inferior and barbaric.
We should have seen this earlier. But then again, it's so much easier to close your eyes and pretend you were right all along.
Mangix tapped her shoulder, bringing her attention back to the present. He gave the sign for stealth, a finger across the neck. While the treants stumped forwards, their footsteps suddenly became much more measured, carefully avoiding dry leaves and twigs. In but a few moments, Essandril spotted the incoming ghouls that her furry mentor had warned about. A section on bush swayed, drawing her attention. It was a lich, it's clumsy attempt at blending into the terrain quite obvious to the keen senses of any elf, much less a ranger trainee only weeks from graduating. The shriveled figure was clad in smooth black robes and it was levitating a foot off the ground.
Mangix indicated the lich, then her right. Standard tactics, combining a distraction with a flanking maneuver. She slunk off through the trees, staying out of sight. As the opposing forces saw each other, they broke into a run. The gait of the ghouls lengthened and the lumbering steps of the treants quickened. The druid stopped and began calling on his powers to fire magic bolts.
Where's the necromancer? Did this group destroy another squad? But the necromancer is usually the last to fall, they aren't mindless and can flee pretty well.
She scanned the greenery, pausing for a while to search the undergrowth with her ranger sight. Nothing. After a few moments, she continued moving. No time to worry, Mangix must be getting ready to charge. Just as she stopped and aimed an arrow at the gaunt figure floating in her sights, she saw Mangix in midair, aiming for the lich in a huge leap.
Right on time. First shot!
She fired an arrow aimed at the lich. The streaking projectile flew straight and true, but was knocked out of the air by an invisible force a measly foot away from her target. Mangix landed, urn smashing into the ground only three feet from the lich. Essandril swore and fired again, this time imbuing her shot with a bit of frost magic to aid its penetrating through the lich's shieldings.
The Ring of Thunder knocked the lich back fully ten feet. It didn't topple though, floating in the air. Her arrow didn't even make it that far this time. Twenty feet away, it halted, quivering in the air, then dropped to the ground. Before she could gape at that spectacular failure, a flash of light caught her attention. The necromancer stood triumphantly behind the now fallen druid. Before he could do much more than grin, however, two arrows appeared in quick succession in his throat and he toppled backwards silently.
Mangix saw the telltale blue shimmering on the incoming arrow and cursed inwardly. Travex had wanted her to get some combat experience for precisely this reason. Essandril hadn't the quick thinking skills needed to survive, for using the powers of ice and frost against a lich was more foolhardy than luck could manage to get you out of. He swung, a quick overhead swing that should have at least crushed the lich's temple. But before his strike could connect, what felt like gale force winds plucked his weapon from its deadly trajectory. He cursed wholeheartedly.
This relatively straightforward fight had turned out rather badly. A frontal charge and a flanking ally should have taken this particular champion down quickly an cleanly but clearly it wasn't working out that way.
Or perhaps it was. As he struggled to keep the lich off balance and deliver effective blows, two treants stumped to attack the lich. Presumably the ghouls were all down. Mentally, Mangix congratulated Essandril on her strategy, trapping the lich effectively. It couldn't run without being knocked back into the waiting branches of the treants by a simple leap over its head and a Ring of Thunder. Neither could it stay and fight, unless its spell offered invulnerability, sooner or later thay'd smash it into scattered bones.
The great Pandarian's strokes quickened as he sought to blow through a weakness in the enemy's defenses. Apparently the lich realized the precarious situation it was in. Mangix could feel the energies building as the it prepared to hurl a spell. He braced himself for the chilling nova that the undead thing was about to target him with.
It didn't fire the spell at him. It targeted Essandril instead, the frail elf instead of the huge Pandarian. A massive bolt of cold raced from the lich, freezing the moisture in the humid air into instant powdered snow. The spell caught her in midshot. She crumpled to the ground, shivering violently. The bolt rebounded off her falling form to surge toward the treants. Wood, frozen instantly brittle cracked apart as the spell sought Mangix. Taking advantage of the moment, the lich hurled the chilling nova that Mangix had been expecting towards Essandril's fallen form. She jerked, cried out in agony and slumped back on the ground.
The bolt of burning cold blasted the breath from his lungs and somehow managed to rebound back towards Essandril. She didn't stand any chance of surviving this blow, Mangix saw. With thinking and reflexes born of desperation and decades of combat, he hurled his massive urn and quarterstaff one after the other, aiming it to intercept the bolt. The spell shattered both weapons into icy shards but by that time the great Pandarian had leaped into the final trajectory of the deadly bolt. With his enormous constitution, survival for him wasn't an issue. She, however, would probably end up like his weapons if she took this hit.
Pain exploded in his shoulder as the bolt rammed home in his injured shoulder and didn't rebound again. This wasn't the first time he'd faced such a spell. He had figured correctly that the bolt could only bounce seven times. She was safe. For now at least. The lich was already far away, wisely staying far from a raging Pandarian, even one unarmed. His shoulder felt like it had been stomped on by an entire herd of bulls but he ignored the pain and knelt to assess he condition.
She was alive, just barely. Not good. Her body was trembling all over and she was drifting in and out of consciousness. He couldn't help her. He'd seen this before, most of the damage was internal and killed the victim shortly after the blast instead of instantly. None of his restoratives or his emergency healing techniques would help her, he needed to get her to the real Healers, fast! Scooping her form up with his furry hands, he held her against his warm body and hurried through the forest at the fastest speed the undergrowth would allow for someone of his bulk. At times, he vaulted over bushes, seeking the Healers before it was too late for the elf he held in his arms.
