(Thanks to all the dedicated readers that have been waiting for this next chapter. I've kind of been away from the computer a lot lately but I've finally got this chapter finished. Tune in next time, for a special 'Thanks Giving Special')
Chapter 8: Battle of Mulgore Plains
Barrens-Mulgore Border, Kalimdor. November 6th, Early Morning 3218, Years of Arathor
Genn Blakswift had serviced in the 1st Alliance Army for years now. Since the end of the Second War, when he was but a young lad, he had always preformed the duties of a perfect footman. He had fought in countless engagements against bandits, pirates, and of course, the Undead. But he had seen no stranger lands than these. The ones that his superiors had called 'Kalimdor'. The very skies and waters themselves seemed different...alien. He had been part of the 1st Army for twenty years before now. He served under the orders mostly of Marshals Garithos and Praeton. Anduin Praeton though, had for reasons unknown to him, reassigned his entire unit to the commands of an Elf called General Alaric'Quel. The Elf had brought him across the ocean to here, this barren and boring land.
He knew from the moment he saw the dust clouds rising in the distance the night before, that the enemy was closing in on their force. His entire group of scouting footmen, had been murdered by grunt skirmishers that were ahead of the advanced Horde group. Only he had escaped, and was now acting as a runner, to warn the Expedition of the impending Orc attack. He had run as far as he could for as long as he could.
"I need a break..." Genn said panting loudly. He collapsed on top of a flat mesa that had in the morning been but a vague image against the horizon. He looked out into the distance again, and saw the truly massive Orc force. They seemed to be divided into three armies, coming from the northeast. In them he could spot thousands of peons and grunts. Before the mesa was a moving carpet. It seemed like the ground itself was crawling around.
"Got to warn the Captain!" he grunted getting up slowly, in pain from the long run. And so he was off again, trying to run to the outpost that lay still two miles ahead. Blakswift looked back once more, and this time, ran like all the demons in the universe were chasing him; he ran like he had never run before.
Redrock Steppes, Barrens/Kalimdor Border Early Morning, November 6th
"Bring up those catapults!" Warchief Thrall ordered in a harsh tone. The Horde was moving en masse towards Mulgore Plains. A vague army of assorted Dwarves, Humans, and Elves had been spotted in this region. The legion of invaders had identified themselves as the "Light's Crusade". "That Elf that escaped from our internment camps must have been a scout after all. Hmm...this makes no sense at all. We have not moved against the Alliance at all, so why do these...people insist on warring against us?" Thrall spoke quietly to himself. The answer was apparent: The Horde and the races of Azeroth had long been at war, and had destroyed many kingdoms. The war nowadays had its issues such as the humans and elves wishing to regain their former glory and the Dwarves prejudices for the Hordes purges in Dun Morogh years ago. "Focus on the present" he reminded himself.
Before Thrall, was the largest force he had ever seen. His numbers estimated in the tens of thousands. Perhaps even up to 50,000 joint Horde Ogers, Orcs, Trolls, and Tauren. Thrall himself had recruited the Ogers, Trolls, and Tauren back into the fold as soon as the interlopers had started heading toward Mulgore and its rich grasslands, no doubtidly trying to cause havoc and collateral damage.
"Warchief!" a raspy voice called out. It belonged to a shaman, the heralders, religious leaders, and some of the best spell casters of the Horde. Behind him were several of his order, dressed in the ceremonial white wolf skins. The old shaman stood at attention, awaiting orders to continue. Thrall nodded.
"This morning, my brothers and I beheld an eagle fighting against a vulture. The eagle won the scrap, and this foretells a great victory here this day. Ogrimmar ogar Warchief!" the shaman explained.
"Lok-tar old warrior. Today we run to battle!" he replied in a regular tone.
He then urged his wolf-mount forward towards the front of the lines, past all the pickets and skirmishers. Along the way, various assortments of Orcs, Trolls, and Tauren would thump their chests and bow. As Thrall neared the edge of the force, he spotted a creater much larger than the rest. Its high shoulders and light tanned skin, bulging muscles and strange eye-mask made it easy to see.
"Hail Warchief!" the half Orc called out.
"Rise Rexar. What information on the enemy do we have?" Thrall questioned. The Beast Master who had scouted te area was of the last of the Mok'nathal Clan of half Orc-Ogers. Rexxar's strength and courage had been invaluable in the Admiral Proudmoore affair years ago, and again he had proved himself.
"The valleys ahead provide little area for ambush, and the Vasok (Enemy) have entrenched themselves on the opposite side of these cresting hills." The Beast Master replied. It seemed impossible for this creature to be able to quietly spy on an enemy with all his large features, yet Rexxar had great abilities to control and tame animals, and blend in with the wild somehow. "Thrall, it is an honor to give battle beside you again" the charismatic Mok'nathal spoke up after a short silence.
"Yes, you to old friend. It seems that by afternoon, that valley over there will be flooded with blood" Thrall observed the valley but a league away.
"Yes, and with you leading us, we shall feast on their bones in their own camp tonight. For with you Thrall, the Horde has never lost!" Rexxar exclaimed excitement and battle lust washing over him. Thrall turned away. In the distance, he could tell of the fires and smoke rising from the enemy camp.
Again he turned to face the Horde army now passing by. The Durotar standards and banners decorated with human, elf, and dwarf skulls on the top of their poles, fluttered silently in the morning wind. In quiet reverence he watched as the wild Trolls, muscular Orcs and Ogers, and huge Tauren bow as they marched past. He suddenly sprang into the middle of a column, grabbed a standard and waved it in the air. He then ripped a human skull from the top of it and crushed it with a mighty cry.
"To war! Lok-Tar warriors!"
Redrock Steppes, Mulgore Border, noon, November 6th
Karl Steinwolfe jumped off his mount with a thud. He was an old, crotchety wizard that had come a long way, in a short time and was not happy about the rush. He had been part of the High Kirin-Tor Council in Dalaran, back in its days of glory. After the city had fallen into ruin, he had become a rouge mage; hired by those who had the heftiest wallet. So far, that person turned out to be Alaric'Quel, an Elf. Karl didn't think much of Alaric. The Elf was too full of vivid imagination and glorious thoughts.
"Whats done is done I always say" the wizard spoke to some footmen nearby. He heard one of them in the background whispering
"Bah, that damned old wizard is talking again. I liked his snoring better"
"If you have something to say to me son, then say it to my face" the old mage said turning around. The footman stiffened eyes wide. "I may be old, but I can hear fine. Hell, I can fight fine too! I've been fighting Undead and the Horde since you were even conceived!" and with that, Karl continued his walk down through a neat road between the massive number of tents set up.
The 'Light's Crusade' had landed near the Dustwallow Marsh and had then abruptly turned westward without warning. Being a higher up, Karl at least knew that the Expedition was splitting up. But by now, everybody had figured out that the force was smaller.
Across the open plains, he could see a vast mountain range to the north, and rolling hills in front of him. The Orc army was out there...he had been tracking their movements from the plumes of dust that had flown up at their arrival. And right in the middle of the two forces was a single valley.
"That is where it shall be resolved. And there is where the Cause will prevail" Karl spoke out loud again to anybody who could hear him. More groans.
........................................................................
"They are coming!" a voice cried out. Karl stepped out of his tent. It was two in the afternoon, and a single scout ran past the tents screaming his head off.
Just then, the brass trumpets blared. The tune they were playing was the 'Prepare for Battle'. The trumpets rhythms seemed to create an air of grim determination in the camp. Around Karl, men were suiting up in their mail and plate armors. Contingents of dwarven riflemen were pumping balls into their muskets and donning their steel caps and green capes. The Blood Elf commanders though, had strict command over the camp. They were the ones running the show.
"Damned Elf's think they can do everything" Karl remarked sarcastically. He never truly liked the Elfs. They had caused Dalaran much headache in its days. Always sending magical advisors and telling humans what they could and couldn't do. And those damned Runestones! Everywhere he looked in the city, those horrid slabs of rock stood out with their glowing elvish print. "Nothing to do now but fight" and so he did. Karl mounted his black mare that was, stood the green plentiful grass.
It didn't take long to shift most of the men into battle readiness. They left camp behind with only the small reserve, and headed towards the valley nearby. Across the rolling valley, Karl could now clearly see the Orcs deploying. It was then a moment of breathlessness. On top of a slab of rock, a Blood Elf, perhaps Eolas, second in command of the Cause and the Crusade, motioned his sword forward crying something out. An amazing spectical. Karl could see above the masses of soldiers thanks to his think weary body and tall horse. He put his staff on his lap and stretched his neck out. Behind was a nicely sized force of gray metal glittering in the sun. To his fore however was a sea of green Orcs dressed in their battered leather and rugged cloth and the annoying Trolls wearing nothing but scraps of leaves, skins, and cloth found on dead enemies. The sun was now setting slowly, leaving a bright orange sky. There was nothing to their sides but grasslands, and a few occasional boulders.
Loud thumps and noises like thunder erupted behind Karl's back. The dwarven mortar teams had opened up.
"Fire 1! Fire 2! 40 degrees upwards! Eat lead! Eat mortar!" a dwarfs cried as the mortar shells carring archaic gunpowder flew up into the air. He then heard a stupid remark, only dwarfs capable of such things. "We must defeat the dwarves!' another answered. 'We are the dwarves' 'Oh!' The Orc catapults returned fire with huge uncarved stones and boulders. The massive rocks smashed into the Crusade's lines killing many each time.
"Forward!" a cry echoed among the battlefield. The order was relayed through captains, who headed smaller portions of the army. On the opposite side of the valley, the Orcs had already begun their charge. It seemed the two would collide in a massive conflagration in the middle of the valley itself, drenching it in the tides of war. Karl let loose a massive blue wave of energy that downed two dozen Orcs in mere seconds. The Crusading army then rushed, battle cries echoing, the sound of thousands of thumping metal boots, swords and axes clashing, spears and musket balls crossing, engulfed the small valley.
Redrock Steppes, Mulgore Border, Late Afternoon, November 6th
Eolas paced the floor of his makeshift tent quickly.
"Lord Eolas, I do not believe that the battle can be won. There are simply too many of the Horde-they are overpowering us. Look to this map. They are pouring thousands of reserve into the line, and our men are being slaughtered" a Blood Elf captain spoke gravely.
"The point of this battle is not to defeat, but to slow down the Horde. We must hold off the greater part of the Horde as Lord Alaric'Quel ravages their homeland" Eolas replied.
"If it is the point sir, than we cannot hold them much longer. By nightfall, Orcs shall be in this very tent sir" the same Blood Elf replied.
Eolas had trouble seeing the point in the Cause. There was simply too few Elfs left. He only heeded the voice of Alaric, his close friend. 'I truly wonder if the Cause can prevail...the odds are against us' he thought.
"Send forth all reserves. We shall see how long we can hold the beasts off" and with that cliffhanger, he left the tent.
Outside, the sky was starting to darken, the early vestiges of night taking over. News from the front was not good. News from the front was never good. In the past few years, the news had gotten worse and worse, and sometimes Eolas just went with the flow of things. 'If something is such, then let it be. I am here because of my life debt to Alaric though..." his conflicting feelings were especially vivid when he was alone.
Two hours later, he was towering over a map of the field, estimating where Alaric's force could be right now.
"We must have bought him enough time" he said quietly.
A runner then rushed towards him. Eolas turned to the young human male, that seemed completely drained.
"Yes, what news from the front now?" Eolas inquired.
"Very bad sire. Our forces have taken extreme losses. In many divisions, over half of the fighters are dead. They have broken through the line in several fronts and make their way here now" the runner explained while trying to catch his breath.
"Who is in command of the field now?"
"A mage sire...Karl Steinwolfe, of Dalaran"
"Get some water, calm down son. I shall have another do the next run, for I know you have been at this all day" he said, which seemed to please the runner boy very much.
He filed out his best horse rider, and gave him a short message addressed to Karl Steinwolfe. It ordered to pull all remaining forces back. To retreat with full speed to the fallback point at Lushwater Oasis, to the east.
He turned to the remaining Blood Elf lieutenants that were filling the tent. Most were covered in grime and blood from the battle they were returning from.
"My fellow brothers, we have been defeated here" he stated. The thought of defeat caused a outrage in the Blood Elf's.
"Calm my brothers. For this was all foreseen by Alaric'Quel, our leader of the Cause. A great battle was fought today, and you all distinguished yourselves. This shall go down in the history scrolls as the Battle at Mulgore Plains, and it shall say that this battle was part of the grand design of the Crusade, for it was meant to be this way. Now return to your units and report back to me at Lushwater Oasis, where we shall all regroup and reunite with Alaric's force"
The Lieutenants filed out slowly.
"I only hope that we did not lose to many this day" a voice spoke in the dark.
"Karl-Old Karl Steinwolfe, eh?" Eolas replied trying to keep an unsurprised tone.
"Yes, many were slain on the fields of Mulgore. I pray to the Light it does not disrupt the plans of your vaunted Elf hero"
"Watch your tone wizard!" Eolas shot back. "You are under my command, and it is my wish, and order, for you to fall back to Lushwater Oasis"
"As you wish...milord" the wizard said sarcastically. That was that damned old witch's specialty.
"Well, the Battle for Mulgore Plains is over. But this war has just begun" Eolas concluded with himself. He returned to his map, and studied the strange continent of Northrend, with his own plans in mind.
And far away, Alaric'Quel and his force were wreaking havoc on the little defended Durotar and Ogrimmar. Soon, it would be time to travel north, to the forests of Ashenvale...
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