Mogul Khan

The Demon Within Chapter 1: Mogul Khan

The winds were howling. Blowing hard on the battle-weary group of Orcs. The last of the autumn leaves were strewn over the ground. Snow covered the ground, encasing everything within it. Turning the landscape into a mass of empty whiteness. Snow was plummeting down, relentless in its efforts to stop the wandering Orcs. The burning cold covered everything in its path, reducing critters to nothing but shivering rags. The sounds of heavy footsteps trudging through snow filled the ears of a nearby owl, who immedietly took off to the skies as it saw the burly figures heading toward it. The flash of a dagger blinded the owl, it immedietly fell down dead to the ground, a dagger protruding from its chest. The tree the group of Orcs was under had still leaves on it. But very little. One fell down toward the ground.

A hooded Orc brandishing a massive battleaxe twirled round and struck the leaf, splitting it perfectly in half. The Orc raised a scarred hand and let one half of the leaf fall onto his palm. He stared at it for a moment. " Warchief, we managed to kill the owl, but I'd reckon it'll be enough for all of us," another Orc said. Crushing the meek leaf in his massive palms, the Warchief, as the lesser Orc had called him, turned around and looked at the dead creature. It still had blinding fear in his eyes. Suddenly, as soon as the owl's eyes closed, it faded. The owl faded. Using his free hand, the Warchief pushed a blow into the Orc which killed the bird and snarled: "That was a spirit owl you dumb oaf! Now not only we've got Demons and Humans on our tail, he got Nightelves as well! Spread into a semicircle facing outward my warriors!" Wearily, the band of Orcs followed their master's command, spreading hastily into a circle, they drew their weapons. Each of the Orcs now were alert. Their fiendish grip on the hilt of their weapons tore the skin on their hands raw. The Nightelves were this band of Orcs hated enemies. Perhaps a little history would do good here. Thrall, a visionary Orcish leader joined the remaining Orc clans that weren't under Demon influence, the Frostwolf Clan, Doomhammer Clan, and Waraxe Clan to create a new horde. The Horde made a pact with the survivors of Lordaeron and the Nightelves to move to Kalimdor, to combat the Scourge and the Burning Legion that has befallen the world. But he forgot this band of Orcs…

This Orc Warchief, namely Mogul Khan and his clan of Orcs called the Axe Clan has been on the run for nearly three months now. Even though Mogul was still pure, he had a burning desire to kill Thrall. It was Thralls fault, forgetting the power of the Axe Clan during the Glory Days, forgetting the countless number of times they had fought side by side. This burning desire in him has led him into many wrong decisions and many great warriors from his clan have been lost to Demons or Humans. The Nightelves and Humans, who befriended the Orcs as they made a pact to combat the Scourge and the Burning Legion left some of their kind to hunt down and kill any of the remaining Orcish Warlords still under the influence of the Demon infusion. But they were mistaken. The only Orcs on Lordaeron were the Axe Clan, and they were still pure, not influenced by Demon magic.

So Mogul Khan had to battle his allies, his friends who don't know their good, to the end. The last few members of the Axe Clan were still by his side. The tight circle of lifelong friends gripped their weapons tightly. Looking around alarmingly for the Nightelves and their deadly ambushes. Suddenly, a whistle of an arrow pierced the silence, it was heading toward Mogul. Shifting his position slightly, he leaned back, He heard the whistling, the slight ruffle of the feathered guide fins and the scything sound of the arrowhead. He chuckled. "Iron arrowheads with feathered guide fins eh? Primitive." He thought. He reached his right hand forward and grabbed the arrow between his fingers. The Orcish Warlord looked back at the Nightelf who shot the arrow. Who in her daze forgotten to cast her cloaking spell. Without a word, the Orcish Warlord flung the arrow back at her, penetrating her collarbone, she fell, transfixed onto the ground, dead. "Show yourselves puny Nightelves!" he shouted aloud. One by one, the Nightelves began to appear from thin air. Each holding a bow or a Glaive in their hand. Suddenly, there was the sound of a lot of footsteps. Humans and Dwarves soon joined the scene. It was a epic showdown, a small group of great Orcish warriors trying to prove themselves, fighting against their own allies. The chiikchak of Dwarven Blunderbuss rifles rang through the scene as Dwarves cocked their guns and chose their targets.

Mogul Khan gave a bone-chilling war cry. His axe at the ready, he barked out orders for his fellow brethren to take position. The Humans were the first to respond, drawing swords and shouting puny war cries unmatched to the ear piercing screeches of the Orcish war cries, charged forwards at the Orcs. Mogul Khan roared again and leaped into battle, breaking his fall by landing on a human warrior and knocking him out cold with a kick to the face. The other Orcish warriors cast spells onto themselves and charged into battle. The sound of screams from dying men echoed through the dark snowy forest. The Orcs were at the peak of their game, slashing through waves of humans, their axes gleaming in the dark moonlight.

A hidden creature overlooked the whole fight. He breathed in and let out a low chuckle. The creature was massive. Big enough to devastate the whole fight with one mighty cleave of his massive double hilted cleaving blade. His troops were standing at akimbo, also watching the fight with great interest. Little did the battling Humans, Nightelves and Orcs know of what their futures would be when the Pit Lord was done with them.

The Orcs were being attacked from all sides. Their frantic fighting turned to a bloody frenzy. Hacking and slashing at the squirming mass of amour-clad footmen with maddened rage. Mogul Khan was still among them, he hacked away with his mighty war axe. A footman shouted aloud, running toward the Warchief. Fatal mistake.

Mogul saw the running warrior dashing toward him, spinning round his weapon around so that the axe blade faces the sky, he dashed at a much faster pace than the footman. In a few seconds, the Orc warrior was on him. Thrusting his deadly weapon upward in a massive uppercut, he sent the once confident footman catapulting through the air, screaming in pain as a gash appeared on his right leg, it seemed that Mogul's axe cut through his amour. Mogul then hacked at the shoulder of another charging human warrior, sending him screaming back toward the Dwarves. Another footman was killed before the crippled body of a human footman fell to the floor, a deep gash in his right leg. The warrior had died in midair. A dwarf, seeing the might of the great Warchief fired three shots in his direction.

Mogul heard the shots and tried evading them, he managed to dodge two but one hit him squarely in the gut. The Orc grimaced in pain, hacking a footmen down, he grabbed the soldiers broadsword and with an almighty roar, he flung the close-quarter weapon toward the Dwarven gunmen, killing the creature immedietly. Four warriors came charging at the Orc from all sides, barely even having time to recover from his wound, he has to fight on. Mogul parried the first blow and evaded the second, slashing forwards to a footman, he used the momentum of his axe to carry him in a perfect circle, making all careless enough to stray close feel the fury of his waraxe. And so, the deadly killing machine of an Orc began his dance of death, slashing and killing all before him, poetry in motion. Mogul Khan had devastated half the army in his dance. He stood before the other half, a little human warriors, Nightelven Glaive-wielders, Dwarven Riflemen and Nightelven Archers. He and his band killed over a hundred with the lost of just a few. It defies all sense of logic, unless Mogul is involved of course. The Nightelves gave off war screams. But those screams, so defiant, so valiant, turned into screams of fear as demons crashed through the undergrowth.