Chapter 9: Stonetalon and Dungeons
(Well, as World of Warcraft now nears, I'm going to be adding more and more elements to the story since I'll probably be picking that up soon enough. Anyways, I know I have been writing a bit slow lately, holidays and all, but make sure to REVIEW and I can keep em' coming quickly. PLZ REVIEWS PEOPLE!)
The smell of grass, and nature surrounded him. There was a certain tension permeating in the air, one that deeply disturbed him. He beheld Silvermoon, its great towers and sunstone buildings built and intertwined with nature. In front of him, were the Elven defenders.
They stood to the fore of a massive gate: The last of the great Gates of Quel'thalas. They were the last line of defense, the last hope against the innumerable Unholy Ones. The Gate shook violently. The blood stained swords and armor of the Elven defenders glistened in the setting deep red sun.
He yelled something incomprehensible as he saw metal and weapons hacking at the magical arcane gate. All of a sudden, the gate shattered into hundreds of pieces, and from it came a sea of blood and dismembered parts. The meat wagons had been targeting the city all day. People were asking, and praying to the Light; Where are our armies? Where is the Ranger General? Now, it was over. They had broken through, and nothing could stop them from proceeding to the innermost parts of the ancient city. All had failed. He was pushed back to the Temple of the Sunwell. The bastion where the last knot of defenders were slowly rallying. They would die a glorious, eternal death. A wave of death, and most had perished. The abominations, and beasts of the Scourge hit their lines, and destroyed most of his comrades in arms, and there was nothing left for him but to flee the broken city. And he, Alaric Faltron'Quel, swore eternal revenge.
"Citizens of Silvermoon! I have given you ample opportunities to surrender, but you have stubbornly refused! Know that today, your entire race, and ancient heritage will come to an end. Death itself has come to the high home of the Elves!"
The voice echoed continually in his head. It drove him onwards, became his every dark thing in the corners of his mind. It was the voice of a prince, a possessed one, a traitor, a king, and the one true enemy of the world. It was the voice of Arthas, the Lich King. If it cost him his life, the Lich King would die.
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Edge of the Barrens, Kalimdor. 621 Years of Azeroth, November 20th
It was the beginning of the second month of their arrival on Kalimdor. The Crusaders of Light had traversed from Theramore to Dustwallow, from Durotar to Mulgore. Now, at last, the Horde was defeated. Its infrastructure and 'great warrior city' in flames.
Alaric stood upon the charred corpse of an Orc, whom had fought valiantly to control the chaos in the city's surprise attack. His name was forgotten to time, but not to Alaric.
"Drek'Thar" Alaric said quietly to himself. The elder Orc shaman had fought so valiantly, that he at least deserved a separate pyre from those of the other rabble. Alaric looked around at the empty skeletons of the city; its towers burned to ashes, the burrows blasted open by magics. Not many Orcs had survived the sudden rush on the city. Most had fought to the death, as the Orcs they were. But some had gathered objects Alaric cared not for, and fled. They probably called it a 'stragigic retreat' but it mattered not to him.
"I can only hope Eolas and the other detachment is doing as well as us" a Blood Elf lieutenant, Dethal Tordeas spoke up.
"Are you fine Dethal? I saw you hit during the battle." Alaric questioned.
"I am fine. Nothing but a flesh wound. Sire, I have something to talk to you about"
"First, Eolas has sent me a runner. He tells of a great battle, in which they were closely defeated, but he managed to rescue the greater whole of the force. He marches north to meet us at this very moment. Now, let us seek shade under the kind hospitality of Ogrimmar" Alaric answered sarcastically.
The two Elfs moved under cover one of the skeleton remains of the central keep.
"Milord, you have led us far, and you have led us well. I expected a fight and also victories. But sire, I did not expect what has been happening to us so soon. The radical magic withdrawls have stopped almost completely. It seems like the powers of the Sunwell are almost within physical grasp, but of course they are not" Dethal stated bewildered at the change that had come over his people.
"Yes, I have noticed it too. I suppose it is because of we are nearing the Well of Eternity's waters. Rest assured my good soldier and friend, once we acquire the waters, nothing shall stop the Blood Elf from avenging our ancestors and heritage! But first, we must seek out special magical artifacts to hold them in. We cannot just put these holy waters in vile pieces of glass! I have heard the legends of the Oracle and of mystic Stonetalon Peak. We must first travel there, before proceeding with the final phase of the grand plan" Alaric mentioned. "Let the last full measure begin! Rally the troops; prepare to march within the hour!"
So the Expatiation turned northward. They encountered little resistance from the scattered Orc forces in Durotar, and were safely able to return to the Barrens. Then, did they meet the ragged survivors of the Battle of Mulgore.
"Eolas, you damned fool!" Alaric's head was pounding. "Your tactics compromised the entire plan! You don't even have a roster for your casualties yet they are so high. You were supposed to fall back, ambush, and engage guerrilla activities against their army. What the hell were you thinking butting heads with them? They outnumbered your three to one!"
Eolas's battle report had reached him by now. Alaric had read the report with eagerness only to reach the end of it with vehemence.
"Milord, I was unaware you wanted me to but distract the Orcs. I believed you wanted them destroyed, or at least buy time enough to destroy Durotar. So I did the only thing I could and confronted my enemy head on" Eolas struggled to defend himself.
A courier had come in, whispered something in Alaric's long ears.
"Eolas" he said in a quiet tone, obviously a dam holding back tons of energy and anger "You are relieved of command until further notice"
"Sire…Alaric, my friend! I have committed no crime!"
"No crime Eolas? Is not destroying nearly half of this army a crime? I gave you the orders verbally, myself. Eolas, you must prove yourself again to me to be in command again. I am sorry old friend. Prove yourself worthy, and you again will earn my trust" Alaric now said, a wave of sorrow and pity passing over him.
Eolas left the tent quietly, with a curt nod. Now that the business was done, he left the tent for a briefing with his Captains and Lieutenants whom had gathered in a half circle in front of his tent.
"Now hear me!" Alaric said in a passionate voice "We have at last reached the outskirts of Ashenvale. But it is not our destination right now" the second part of his speech caught groans and angry shouts among the leading council. "Silence! We simply cannot capture the arcane powers of the Waters without mystic vials. These vials, I have read rumor of, lie in the dungeons of Stonetalon Peak. My warriors, and fellow brethren. The long and arduous journey nears an end. We must but collect the items and Waters, and return. Then, in the snows of Northrend, undo the Scourge. Let us march together one last time" he ended walking away, his cape floating behind him.
The journey had taken them from the Plaugelands of Lordaeron and Quel'thalas, to the ruins of Dalaran; the Great Sea, and noble Foothold Citidel in Theramore. To the rugged Barrens, into fierce Durotar itself, and the lush grasslands of Mulgore. There was but one last step before the final plunge.
The Crusade finally approached the Stonetalon Mountains. In the distance, a great peak rose above the rest of them. Its top was covered in a powdery snow, and its base was a riddle of canyons and boulders. The reduced numbers of the Crusade of Light passed ancient ruins, the remnants of smoldering battlefields, abandoned human castles and the rotting wood of Orcish huts.
"War has visited this place before us…and it seems to have settled quite nicely for a while as well" Alaric thought as they passed the yellow boned skeletons of human footmen, half buried in the thick, grainy sand.
In the canyon ahead, a thick, brown dust rose. To the edges of the canyon, Alaric made out the Alliance of Lordaeron banners, flapping lazily in the alkali air. As Alaric and the Crusade's Blood Elf vanguard approached, Alaric could make out several silhouettes in the rising grime. Humans, and dwarfs, and something else.
"DOOMGUARD!" the Blood Mage called out. Alaric and his elite dismounted and ran to the aid of the anonymous Alliance force.
The Doomguard was huge. This demon must have been one of the few that survived the Invasion and the Battle of Mount Hyjal. It's massive size, searing green eyes, and deep maroon flesh already struck fear into its opponents. Yet it also boasted a gigantic flaming blade, that when it struck the ground, cracks and fissures appeared. With each swing more and more of the Alliance soldiers were flung into the air.
Alaric let loose a ball of summoned elemental fire. It struck home and rammed straight into the Doomguard's armor, yet only denting it. Now seeing his new enemies, the demon turned to face them. Its blade swept towards Alaric, but he managed to sidestep before it sliced him in half. Again, it lifted its massive sword and flung it down on the Blood Elf. Alaric this time had no choice. He lifted his sword, and met the Doomguard's. An explosion of sparks. The demon seemed surprised that Alaric had been able to block his blow, yet now pushed harder. Alaric's muscles strained, and could not hold their own anymore. A human threw himself at the blade, knocking it out of Alaric's way.
"There is no way we can defeat it the way we fight-" Alaric planned quickly. "Yoa fothtra semena!" he cried.
Immediately, the ground began to crack. Flames licked from the open wounds in the earth. The fire jumped into the air, and formed a majestic phoenix. The great bird of fire looked at his summoned for instructions.
"My great friend, help us defeat this evil!" Alaric, the summoner then said.
The great fiery bird then turned its head towards its enemy. Opening its beak of flame, it let loose a great wall of orange.
The Doomguard was now overwhelmed. With the pesky little ones cutting at its feet and boots, and now a huge bird he couldn't touch, he began berserk. Knocking over boulders and stone arches, it tried to get rid of its enemies, to no avail.
It didn't take long to eliminate the beast after that. Sevel more magical strikes, and it was on the ground, helpless, its dark green blood pooling beneath it.
"We are in your debt good Elf" the human that had parried the blow in front of Alaric announced.
The human was clearly a Paladin, the human protectors of the Light. His armor was dented and starting to rust and his holy book that he had chained around his neck was torn and stained. The mans face was dusty, yet cheerful.
"You owe us nothing. We fight on the same side I believe" Alaric answered back. "Whom are you, and what is an Alliance force doing so far out in this desolate place?"
"I" the human Paladin said pointing to himself, "am Arrius the Pure of the Lordaeron Corps. This-" he then pointed to a stouter man, nay, a dwarf "is Gilmik Ironhand, of the Gilneas Brigade"
"Ay. We be out here a long time laddie. Might as well call this boxed canyon our home" the dwarf spoke up. His armor was well adorned, of course, for dwarvish fashion. It was embellished with jeweles and dwarf silver, found only in the deepest places of Azeroth.
"Yes, my companions and I have been here near two years as I recall. We fled across the Great Sea with the mage Jaina Proudmoore and came to this place seeking a mystic Oracle. After a battle with the Orcs, whom also came across the Sea, we were left as the rear guard for Jaina's main force that made its way north. We lost many good people in that battle. Soon after, we were cut off, and have desperately been fighting rouge demons and Orc raids ever since" the old Paladin explained.
"Then perhaps you should like to finish your journey, so long ago started and join us. We too search for the Oracle and whatever artifacts may lie in that dungeon" Alaric offered graciously.
"Milord, I do not trust these humans. And the Dwarves! Bah! Our people have never liked them. We have had quarrels since their discovery. I can't even stand the sight of one without lashing at it" a Blood Elf in the background whispered.
"This is not the time to cling to petty prejudices. Our forces have been sevearly thinned by the campaign against the Orcs. Much more of this, and I fear our structure will start to come apart" Alaric answered back, air hissing quickly.
"Well, if you and your friends are willing to accept us great one, we are certainly willing to get the hell out of this canyon. Ain't that right boys?" the old Paladin lifted his hand in a gesture of question sarcasm. Gimlik looked back at his Dwarves, and nodded bitterly. The idea of once again trusting the traitorous Elves gnawed at him, but he had no choice.
"Huzzah!" the humans and a few dwarves yelled back. The Dwarven and Elven races had always disliked each other, whether by distance between their homelands, or by some ancient wronging.
As the now extended army made its way up the creepily silent hills, Alaric inquired the Arrius of the entrance to the dungeon.
"It's at the very top of the peak, near the harpies nest. Those damned buggers swooped down every once in a while and ate one of my men. There, you'll find more ruins. Behind the great stone circle, it is there. A large cave opening that after a series of winding and maddening tunnels, leads to the Lord Chamber, where the Oracle is said to reside" the old Paladin replied steadily.
Alaric and the Paladin, as with a lot of the men, passed their time sharing old stories from war and better times.
"The Silver Hand. Greatest force of humanity I always said" Arrius continued a conversation "Then that basterd Arthas-You know something we all have in common? A universal hate for the Lich King. That is what binds us together. That is why the Alliance was created-for protection and shared hatred of the Orcs-and now, for all I know, we are the last of the Alliance"
"Nay, Arrius. You may have left Lordaeron and heard of its destruction, but still, there are survivors. Some of the nations still exist, even if barely. Stromgarde hangs by a thread, Gilneas is assailed at all sides, and Kul-Tiras is relatively safe. When I left the Alliance, it was rotting under the heel of the Undead, as has been for years. We need something world changing, something so powerful, that it threatens all, to destroy the Scourge. Marital strength and numbers will do nothing. Do you understand? We cannot fight that way. It is black and white, live or die. That is why I must do what I must, even if it damns us all" Alaric ended.
Alaric hung back, and waited for the Blood Elf priests to make their way to him. They would deliver premonition of what was inside those caves.
"Alaric'Quel, my brothers and I have sensed a great danger, and a dark threat lurking in those caves. It is full of evil ancient things, from the beginnings of the world. Things far older than our race, and the Kaldroei. A great sadness lingers in there" the elder one spoke. His whiskers twitched as he did so. The priests were the prime of the Light. Its greatest users and servants.
"We must pass no matter what the cost Priest. There is nothing that will deter me from my course" Alaric returned.
"Be warned Blood Mage, there lies nothing in there that will bring you salvation. Only the prolonging of death" the elder priest said, repeating his message.
Alaric, annoyed, stormed away. He sensed the power too. Something, good or evil, was in those caves.
Approaching the summit, he became more agitated. A huge black hole winded its way through the rock face at the top of the mountain. Alaric himself chose his vanguard, Arrius the Pure, and Gilmik the Dwarf and their elite to go with him.
As they entered the cave, they lit torches, as to light the hollow place up. They stepped quietly, footsteps echoing for nearly a quarter of a minute. As the light from the entrance of the cave faded, another dimmer light appeared in front of them. Eventually, the tunnel led to a huge cavernous chamber.
Alaric and his followers stared up at the stalagtights in wonder, and at the strange ever lasting torches that hung on the walls. As they continued, the path split in two.
"Alaric, I will take my boys to the left. You and your Blood Elfs can take the right" Arrius spoke, his voice echoing.
"Very well, Arrius. I shall take the right. Be on your guard, and perhaps we shall meet somewhere in the middle"
The two parties split up, walking in opposite directions.
Alaric stared straight ahead in the dim light. He felt something now. Something…elusive…evasive. In the dim, a bright light in front of them exploded.
The ground split, and yellow boned skeleton archers rose slowly.
"To arms!" the Blood Elfs screamed.
"Black magic…" Alaric muttered. "Fight until the death warriors. We must reach those Artifacts in the central chamber!"
It didn't take long to dispatch the skeletons, but something was now stalking them in the shadows. Around every corner, something hid. The group, was now on its own, completely cut off from the outside. In front of the group, lay unknown trials of the Dungons of Stonetalon. Before them, lay the keepings of salvation, the Artifacts. But they could only be reached, by passing the evils, that lay in those caves…
(This was meant to be a very long chapter, but I decided to split it up into two bite sized pieces easy to read. The next chapter will be out by Friday or Saturday, so just remember to REVIEW people)