From the Ashes
Chapter 5: Curse of the Fallen One
Five years of chaos. Five years of destruction. Five years of death.
Truth comes from these words, for the world we once knew as Azeroth has now become a hell. Devastation surrounds us. The earth, a shell of its former self. The sky, dark and clouded with flame. The Light, a distant fantasy lost in the tides of war. Thousands have lost their minds to this new scourge, flinging themselves into further madness as those of us still retaining our sanity fight for our lives.
A wise man once said there will be a bright light at the end of tunnel upon death. Well that man was damn wrong. There is no light, no hope, no faith. Nothing but darkness and utter oblivion. Decay fills our lungs while death litters our eyes with plagued images of our loved ones lost to the crushing flame known and feared as the Drow. Even the new Lich King himself stands in pause at the Drow Elf Kael's unstoppable might.
For all who have heard my words, do not be shaken by my tale, for it is more grotesque then what I have revealed to you. Over these five years, nothing has changed. I feel that you must know the truth of this terror... nay... this massacre! I feel if I do not tell you of this fright that you may be oblivious to the truth. Oh my suffering heart! It pains me deeply to recollect my darkest memory,
my most chaotic thoughts sprung to life! But it must be done. And so now I tell you of my tale, the tale of a warrior destined for battle. A story of destruction, and novel of fate.
"Man the catapults!" I heard from the commanding paladin.
With haste I took position at one of the catapults situated upon the walls of the great city. Beside me was an orc, ready to aid me in my control of the catapult. Soon all available soldiers were placed by a catapult, if not armed with quiver, bow, and sword. Looking over the wall and into the horizon, I saw the elven forces of the Drow. They were situated upon the shore, staring off into the distance, the city now under our protection. They beat the earth with their swords and shields, like bloodthirsty beasts. With rage they roared with intense fury. I gazed in horror as they initiated their traditional 'releasing of the prisoners'. If this does not sound menacing to you, it should. For you see, they indeed released their prisoners of war, but not as we would wish them to. From their many catapults hurled the heads of our captured, tortured, and killed comrades. Their skulls rammed into our walls and among our forces.
Looking back, I noticed a soldier had caught one of the heads in his hands. The night elf soldier who had caught it looked in agony at his findings. But what tore at my heart was what followed.
"Brother!" exclaimed the night elf. "But brother... How could you? You cannot die! You just cannot! You promised we would survive this together, as family! You cannot die on me! No!"
"Someone take him away." the commanded the paladin, obviously pained at this site.
As they dragged him away, his grip still on what must be his brother's head, he wailed in inner torture. As he was taken from the wall, I heard him make one final cry, "Noooo! Big brother! Nooo!" His tears and wails of insanity drove deep within my heart.
"It is a shame." said the orc beside me. "I know that night elf. He was a great warrior. I fought beside him once. He fought without fear or dread. Sometimes I thought he had seen more than he should have in times of war. I suppose the lose of his brother finally made him snap."
"I suppose." said I.
Then the paladin looked over again at the Drow legion. The dark army was slamming their swords against their shields. This not only represented the start of their attack, but it was a ceremonial taunt toward our forces. Only the bravest of warriors have lived long enough to see this hated act twice. For me, it was the first, but I knew of what they do before combat from the others who did survive a first wave. But I must be wasting your time, for you must be awaiting the upcoming battle.
They initiated their charge. With hunger for blood and death in their eyes, the Drow stormed toward the city, across the barren grounds. I was intimidated by their attack. But remembering the state of that night elf, I struggled hard to keep my sanity in check. Finally the paladin raised his sword in command.
"Arm the catapults!" he shouted.
The orc handed me the boulder and I placed it in the catapult.
"Ready and aim!" he shouted.
The archers before us aimed at their designated targets and the orc and I pulled back on the two ropes keeping the catapult from hurling the boulder at the Drow. For seconds we stayed in this position. The seconds felt like hours, but soon the silence was broken. The paladin quickly lowered his sword and shouted, "Fire at will!"
The archers shot their arrows at the advancing onslaught. The soldiers at the catapults released their grip on the restraining ropes, just as my orc ally and I did. Our boulder hit a small group of five Drow that where advancing in the front lines, slowing down any others charging behind them. The arrows found their mark in many of the Drow, but it was not enough. To stop an entire race of elves from attacking was folly and pointless, but at least it would keep them at bay. The Drow stopped short about two hundred meters from the city's walls. The paladin ordered a cease fire, and we looked at the still army. The front lines, consisting of entirely swordsmen, got on their knees. The lines behind them were revealed to be archers, and when the warriors in the front ducked they fired repeatedly at our forces positioned upon the wall. I saw many a brave man (or orc, or elf, or any other intelligent race of Azeroth) fall before those fell arrows.
"Set the catapults to seventy degrees and aim at the first archer in your site!" commanded the paladin.
The 'Pro-siege" technique, invented and perfected by the mighty war chief Thrall, was a method used against the Lich King's Scourge countless times. By turning the catapults's angle from its usual forty-five degrees to seventy, the catapult would hurl its boulder high into the air. But because of its angle, the boulder would rise and fall slightly from the catapult itself, landing upon nearby enemy forces. Thanks to Thrall's genius in battle tactics, the catapults could be used against even the closest of foes.
And so we set our catapults to seventy degrees and waited for the paladin's command. The arrows continued to fly, but that would soon change.
"Fire now!" spat the paladin.
Then we released the catapult, hurling our boulder high into the air. Our boulder, along with many others, fell down upon the corrupt archers and crushed many Drow units. Seeing their bones and flesh crushed under such weight brought much grief and joy. Strange though it was, I both enjoyed and hated doing such a thing. I knew one thing was for sure: I never wished to feel or know that feeling ever again.
I then saw the front and second lines clear way for the heavily plated rams. Strong, hefty Drow elves carried its massive shape. Protruding from its wooden and metal self were steel stakes with the heads of the enemy, our friends. To be more specific, on it was one head of each intelligent race of Azeroth. On one side I saw a night elf, human, and dwarf. And on the other I saw the heads of an orc, troll, and tauren. Yet another way of mocking us will fighting in the heat of battle. I cursed those bastards under my breathe as they slowly marched toward the grand city gates.
"Archers! Stop those rams!" announced the paladin. "Take out their runners! They carry the rams to our doom!"
And so all archers focused their effort upon the runners carrying the rams toward the gates. After taking out one half of the team of one ram, it become too much of a burden for its runners to carry, and they collapsed. But that was only one of many. Suddenly the swordsmen beat their swords against their shields, repeating the words, "Anon karo nunhi Drow!" I had no clue of its meaning, but from the expression of our night elf comrades, it must have been bad. The only word I understood in that phrase was 'Drow'.
So I leaned over to a night elf beside me, manning one of the other catapults.
"What does it mean?" I asked.
"Anon karo nunhi." said the night elf. "In elvish it means, 'Hail to the supreme lord of the Drow!'"
"But that cannot be!" I gasped. "That means that he is coming?"
"I am afraid so." muttered the night elf. "And look! Our thoughts do not linger far from the truth!"
He was pointing toward the back of the line of rams. I looked over, and low and behold I saw the face of true malice, of true evil. My heart clasped the true hatred toward that man, of what he has done to my people and the people of many others. I grinded my teeth in agonizingly painful thoughts of what I would do to that sick bastard if I had my say in his death! Before us, riding upon a mighty steed, was the madman behind the insanity. His name echoed in my mind as I looked upon his attire of a black cloak and robe. Tattoos lay upon his face and I am sure it covered the rest of his god-forsaken body. The one tattoo that caught my attention was the one that lay across his eye and cheek. It was a symbol that represented hate, one of the deadly sins of man. I had heard of his story, of his persecution and hate for all life (humans in particular) and how he was driven from his home. But he has made a personal (and rare) appearance upon the battlefield riding a steed as black as his heart.
That insane, twisted madman I speak of was Kael.
Sorry to all my fans who thought I was taking waaaaaaaaaaay too long to write this chapter. I will try to get you the next chapter soon, and keep on reviewing, it really helps motivate me. And sorry to leave you guys hanging like this, but they say suspense helps increase the drama in the story (or tick people off).
