And without much further ado, Chapter 11! Yay, party! Anyway, I havn't really been able to write for quite a while now, between Christmas, Exams, a very nice vacation to Conneticut, and now more school work. Well, finally got this chapter done. Hope you enjoy and don't forget to REVIEW PLZ!
Chapter 11: Fury's Call
Ashenvale Forest, Kalimdor, 621 Years of Azeroth
The Expedition had finally come upon the forest of Ashenvale. The wood spread across the land like a gigantic, lush, green carpet, covering everything. For miles and miles around the forest roamed, uninterrupted. Nature's spirit filled this place. Immense flocks of birds rose out of the trees as the soldiers started to push through them.
Alaric had heard of this place in the stories the Elders told. The endless dark jungles eventually lead to the sacred Mountain of Hyjal.
As they passed through into the forests, all of the troops gasped in amazement at the beauty of the dark jungle. But it was not long before Alaric noticed something was wrong.
"Dethal, bring up the rear pickets. Group everybody as close together as possible" he ordered. Dethal looked at him with a puzzled face.
"We're not alone" Alaric whispered. The leaves above them rustled suddenly. To his right, a shadow darted between the enormous tree trunks. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, and readied himself.
The remaining warriors of the Expedition formed small circles of warriors, a technique taught by the High Elves when fighting the hard to see Orcs in the forest in the Second War. Spear on the outside of the circle, arrow and sword in the center.
A slender womanly figure appeared out of the darkness in front of his formation.
"What is your intention in the Ashenthalun?" the dark figure spoke.
Alaric mounted his steed, and sat tall and shouted out in response "We come with peace on our side, and would like to extend it to you as well, ancient ones"
"Whom are you and your followers?" the Sentinel again demanded.
"My fellow brethren and I are of the High-Borne. Along with allies, we come seeking a certain…thing of great power" Alaric once again answered, dodging answers that led to the suspicion of their true intent.
"Where are you bound now High-Borne?"
"We first come with pilgrimage to the holy mountain, Hyjal. Then to depart near the Dark Shore"
An awkward science ensued.
"Listen young fool, no outsiders, no one, except the great Druids themselves are allowed to the peak of Mt. Hyjal. You shall not pass if that is your intent, then turn back now, before you reach the range of our bows" the Sentinels voice echoed.
"You misunderstand. We come not to harm your forests. We just wish free and safe passage to the Mountain for pilgrimage"
"You shall not come a step closer to Mount Hyjal. The demon terror runs deep, and the Druids still heal the lands. There is too much power on that mountain for Outlanders to claim as their own. Not a step further!"
"Our two people share a common blood, the same heritage. We both grew together in our race's infancy. Can you not allow your brothers from across the sea to at least glimpse the mountain?" Alaric said, trying to avoid a fight.
"If we engage these people, then we might be overpowered before we reach Mount Hyjal. Damn Night Elves! Ever do they bicker about power and the use of magic as evil-just as in the old days, when our people delved into the Well of Eternity, spreading magic throughout the world. They believed us to be demon worshipers. Hmph, I will show them the power of the High-Elves and their magic How dare them deny us our birthright?!" he thought enraged.
"You shan't stop our advance. With or without your permission. That mountain is our destination, and you shall endure the wrath of the Blood Elves if you stand in our way! It is for the good of the greater whole that we reach that mountain…and its energies"
"Energies?...The Waters of Nordrassil! Attack my sisters! They seek the powers of the Well! Destroy them now!" the Sentinel cried out.
A hail of arrows flew from all directions. Alaric summoned the Seal of Protection around him. As the luminescent energies flowed across his body, the arrows deflected harmlessly.
The other Blood Elves cast various spells or raised shields, just as Arrius's humans did to protect themselves. As the first volley of arrows lessened, a wave of tigress riders appeared out of the shadows. The Blood Elf, Human, and remaining dwarven forces lunged themselves into the fray.
The Expedition had drawn first blood with the Night Elves of the West.
"Shana duranub!" Alaric caught the same Sentinel, now he recognized her as a Preistess, riding on her white maned tiger, preparing a Searing arrow. The cloth she wore seemed of flowing silver itself, and the highly adorened headpiece she wore glistened and was slightly luminescent.
Alaric unsheathed his sword, and galloped towards her. Just before he was able to incapacitate her, she shot the fiery arrow. With a sickening crack, the wooden piece penetrated his armor at such close range, and came clean through his shoulder.
The pain caught Alaric off guard. He dropped off his mount…the world seemed in slow motion. Around him in the moon lit sky his warriors, moonlight glinting off their armor fought on, against the concealed enemy. With a thud, he landed on the ground, dirt and dust covered his face as he looked up. The white tiger's mouth hovered above his head just inches, dropping its salivation on his face.
"I am Ariel Darkmoon. Marshal Priestess of Ashenvale. I will not allow you passage. Withdraw your men before we are forced to destroy them all" The priestess ordered.
"I wished for peace between our peoples-between the Elven branches. But you would not have it. The blood of this conflict cannot be stained on me, but on you, and you alone priestess" Alaric replied in a pained voice, his face straining to hang onto dignity.
He glanced at his wounded shoulder, noticed the large amount of blood starting to pool beneath him, and the splintered bone that protruded from his shattered shoulder plate. With his good arm, he quickly grabbed the sword of a fallen footman and sliced at the tiger's foreleft leg. The tiger reeled backwards in shock at the sudden attack by the cornered, wounded animal. Alaric jumped up, pain now coursing through all his body and spied the wounded beast. He threw himself on it, knocked and knocked the priestess of with a fell kick. He reached his arm around the creatures neck, and with one pull, snapped its spine.
The tiger dropped to the ground as the priestess struggled to her feet. Alaric, only feet away from her, also got up from the now dead tiger. The priestess looked at her tiger with eternal sadness, which also infected him; the death of such a noble creature. But there was no time to think about animals. The priestess lunged toward him, a flint knife in her hand.
She swung it wildly around Alaric, as he dodged as best he could in his state. Just then, Dethal appeared behind her. He wrapped his blade around her throat.
"Move from your stance, and I shall cut your neck" he hissed.
The priestess looked down at the ground, defeated.
Alaric regained his balance and grabbed his wounded shoulder, trying to stuff it with cloth to stop the bleeding.
The priestess, in the flash of an eye grabbed Dethal's arm tightly and threw him over her, onto the ground.
"Son of a…!" Dethal cried.
The priestess dashed out toward the brush.
"Kill her! NOW!" Dethal screamed to the nearest footmen.
"No, leave her be. It seems everywhere we go, we make enemies. Heh…" Alaric said quietly, slumping againt the stump of a tree. "Bring me a priest, I require healing". Around him, the sounds of battle had subsided. "These Night Elfs are perfect warriors…Skilled in every aspect. I can only imagine what their men are like" he muttered to himself.
The preist, donned in his own blood red robes, arrived in a few minutes, after tending to other wounded from the gurrelia attack.
"Your wound is serious, though not life threatening. Praise the Light be, you shall yet live to see another sun with the healing my brothers and I can provide" the preist spoke as he examined the injury in Alaric's shoulder. "Though you may be out of battle for a while. Even though the power of the Brotherhood of Light's Clerics, you will require rest for natural healing" the priest then prescribed.
"Fine. I shall not ride forth into battle for the mean time" Alaric replied, still wincing from the pain. "But the columns must keep moving. These Night Elves will not stop their attacks. We will be harassed along the entire way"
Dethal stepped into the conversation. "Sire, who will lead in your stead?" he asked inquisitively.
"Dethal, I will not be completely out of action. Just within the…safe…confines of the center of our…force. I will expect you though, to head up the column. You are the next in the command chain, and the most knowledgeable of the plans, so you in turn can lead the army for now" Alaric said without much of a care. He had placed much confidence in Dethal since the demotion of Eolas. He still wondered whether Eolas was okay though. He had seen much in the Year of Chaos. He had seen the High Elven king cut down by ghouls, had seen his own family and lineage destroyed in a day, had even seen the Sunwell itself drained of its power. He and Alaric were some of the last warriors from the Battle of Silvermoon. Eolas had been increasingly…un-ambitions during the past three months though, climaxing with his monumental failure in the Battle of Mulgore.
The Expedition moved forth once again. Its smaller numbers made it more agile, and quick to action. Even so, there were no supply lines for the so called "Crusaders of Light" in Ashenvale. No supplies came from occupied Theramore. They were completely cut off from the outside world…engulfed in the deep, dark recesses of the forest.
The deep underbrush of the forest made it hard to move in formations, so eventually the order had broken down from battalions to small uncoordinated tangles of men.
The Expedition was constantly attacked from the shadows of the forest by either the natural creatures like the primitive furbolgs, or the dastardly Night Elves. The Elves of this forest though, were getting more confident in their attacks, like a creature slowly probing its prey for weaknesses.
The casualty lists had grown long as the slowly reached Alaric's stretcher. Frustration at the inability to strike at a shadowed enemy washed over him. As the Eastern World forces neared the base of Hyjal, a new and deadly force had thrown itself into the mix.
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Base of Mt. Hyjal, 621 Years of Azeroth
Barak Demonlasher emerged from the foliage. The scents of the forest rose from the damp, early morning ground. He scanned the world with his blind eyes spotting the movement within the holy forest. Though he may have been blind, nature allowed him to see through her eyes, the last gift of Alune to the Demon Hunters before she departed the Night Elves for the skies. The trees and brush seemed to be moving in a long, spread out line. Through the trees, and through the warped vision of the wisps of nature in the forest, he could make out the enemy; strange mix of Highborne, humans, and dwarves.
"So, the demon worshippers still try entry through our lands? The fools! They shall burn for this. Destroying what we have worked so hard to repair from their masters" he spat.
He pulled his muscular form up, and slid down from the rock he stood upon. The forest once again surrounded him. The wonderful feel of nature filling the air…The Marshal Priestess of Ashenvale, Ariel Darkmoon approached him in full battle robe.
"Shando Barak, what have you to order me? These-heathens have already burned two of our villages in the forest, and move irrevocably towards the Holy Mountain. I have unleashed all of the Sentinels in Ashenvale upon them, and still they do not deter" she spoke.
"Do not be hard on yourself Priestess. The forces patrolling Ashenvale are not what they used to be. Most of our people have relocated to Terdrassil, our new home. Though this is still our land, we could not protect it with entirety with the weakened forces that you have. Now tell me, what is our enemy's purpose?"
"Well, we have not discovered his purpose completely. We discovered upon our first meeting that they are led by one named Alaric'Quel, a High Elf. He seeks the Mountain Hyjal, and its energies from what I learned. Is it possible that the Waters of Eternity still lie deep within Mount Hyjals basin?"
"…Yes, I believe it is possible. The Druids did not return to Mount Hyjal after the invasion of the Burning Legion. Instead, they chose to let nature reclaim that land by itself. This, disgusting Highborne will not be allowed to make it to Hyjal. I will not allow it. I brought a large contingent of Sentinels and Druids with me from Teradrassil. Also Priestess-" he cut off waiting for her acknowledgement.
"Yes Shando Barak?"
"I sense something dark about these HighBorne. It seems as though they mix the energies of Light and Dark for their own uses. If it is so, it is a grave threat. Do you know what happened to the HighBorne when their lands were invaded?"
"No Shando Barak"
"They were destroyed. They were cut off from their magic, or so I heard, and have been using all sources, even Demon majiks, for their uses"
"If it is so, then all the more cause not to allow them to the Summit. Dark Majiks like those could unlock the doorway to the Twisting Nether once again!" Ariel cried out in fear and regalement.
"Yes, all the more reason to destroy them now, while they are unready. My contingent is coming up behind me as we speak. It is time to show the rest of this world not to tangle with the Night Elfs!"
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Ashenvale Forest, 621 Years of Azeroth, Late afternoon
"To arms!" the footman sergeant yelled again. "They approach once more!"
Alaric listened to the calls of war outside of his canvas tent. He couldn't stand it any more. "I will not sit here like a weakling. The wound is healed enough" he said to himself impatiently.
He stood up, placed his magic resistant robe over his head and body, and walked outside, with a considerable amount of pain still emanating from the shoulder.
Stepping outside, he saw a perfect picture of the power of Night Elves and their alliance with nature. The fight was a mess. Trapped in the forest and having to maneuver around trees and bushes, there was no semblance of command. It was an all out fight, just to kill whomever was wearing the badge of the Expedition.
Alaric, unsheathed his sword and staggered into the fray. The fight was bloody and brutal, but the Expedition had managed to hold back the sudden onslaught of the Night Elves.
The casualties had been heavy in that assault, and the lines had almost broken. The arrival of Alaric had boosted the moral of the men around him, seeing their leader fighting along side them. On the very edge of the fight, Dethal and Eolas had rallied retreating soldiers and reformed the line, and charged the enemy. The suddenness of that brutal, all out attack had shown the Expedition's leaders that a new Night Elf was in control of their army.
The Westerner had identified himself as Barak Deamonlasher, a demon hunter that was veteran to the first and second invasions of the Burning Legion. He was an master of warfare, and had even fought along side Furion Stormrage two years ago, in the much famed Battle of Mount Hyjal.
Alaric was well informed of the Night Elf's capabilities, strengths, and weaknesses by Bran, a dwarvish explorer. Bran had explored many lands in the past two years, ranging from Booty Bay, to Darkshore. The little dwarf was Muradin and Magni Bronzebeards's youngest brother, and had taken it upon himself to explore the world for the dwarfs. Alaric had finally tracked him down, about a year ago and was able to extract the journals of Bran's adventures in Kalimdor, however sketchy as they were.
Barak, the new Marshal of Ashenvale had surrounded him. Alaric knew it all too well. As his massive first attack had failed, he had made it upon himself to spread out the 'infadels' lines, and make an all out assault to perish them out of Alune's forests forever. And now Alaric, had devised a plan, to spearhead his way out of the jungle siege.
He had traveled to Dethal at the edge of the front lines where he was still constructing defences out of the local fauna.
"Dethal, thus far you have shown perfect obedience, discipline, and the ability to keep your head in combat and win. That is why I am handing over complete command of the…Crusade as some call it…to you" he said as he dismounted walking up to Dethal.
Dethal stared at him wide eyed, his long brows furrowed in distress. "Me? What? You're leaving?"
"Yes, Dethal, but this is only temporary. When the sun dawns, I shall set forth with my personal body guard to penetrate the enemies lines, hopefully in secret, and make it up the Staircase of Hyjal. You, shall remain here and command our remaining force until I return, hopefully by sunset tomorrow with the Waters of Eternity in Illidan's Vials"
"Milord, without you, the Blood Elves would have degenerated into an infighting group of mobs. We needed at our darkest hour, a leader to show us the light, and you have given us a cause; the cause for survival, revival, and redemption of our race. I am yours to command!" Dethal replied with a rush of pride for the Blood Elves racing through him.
"Then inspect the rest of the troops. The lines have to hold. Lest we return to ruins that will end the Cause here in these dank jungles. Lavaen tauras Quel'thalasen! (For the glory of Quel'thalas)"
"En yemus High-Borne! (In the name of the High-Borne!)" Dethal replied. He then turned back to inspecting the lines.
The rest of the night passed with sickening anxiety. Alaric organized his bodyguard and reported to the fore of the line. Under cover of the first balze of light, when their enemies eyes would still be adjusting, they set out. The first stretch of the short hike to the Stairs of Hyjal was short and no enemies came between them. Then, the fore scout spotted them; the Stairs of Hyjal. A long, ancient, winding staircase that went up the side of the mountain, where ancient Night Elves used to pay pilgrimage to Alune, the Moon Godess. Destiny was nearly at hand.
Bonus Profiles: The Brotherhood of Light's Clerics
The Brotherhood of Light's Clerics is a strict Elven community of priests established in the early Second War to aid wounded Elves on the battlefield. The leader of the group of Archmage Tanin Firestar assisted many of the wounded in the great battles of the Second War. In the Year of Chaos, their order was disbanded, the few of them hoping to survive to regroup with the surviving High Elves. The last hundred priests who survived the raping of Quel'thalas were able to secure dozens of valuable documents and historical scrolls and escaped into ruined Lordaeron. There, they fled from the onslaught of the Scourge, until they came upon the southern lands of Hillsbrad and Southshore that were still in Alliance possession. The last clerics rebuilt worked tirelessly to rebuild the once great order and tired to alleiviate the great suffering of fleeing Lordaeron citizens. Finally, in 621, when Alaric Faltron'Quel began recruiting and reuniting the broken and divided Blood Elves, the still sevearly thinned Brotherhood senced strange energies coming from far across the world. These turned out to be the energies of the Waters of Eternity, whom Alaric had also felt. Alaric, who had made it his goal to rebuild their once great nation recruited the Priests as his holy sight seers and healers into his 'Crusade'. The Priests have thus far served him unquestionably.