(Read, review, Enjoy!)
Chapter 12: Turn of the Tide
Base of Mt. Hyjal, Kalimdor, 621 Years of Azeroth
Barak had picked up the trail of the insurgents about half an hour ago. Somehow, they had made it past the front lines in secrecy. At first, they had climbed the Stairs of Hyjal, but then the ancient Stairs abruptly ended in ruin. Many centuries ago, a furbolg uprising had destroyed a long stretch of the Stairs, and they, like the other Night Elf ruins of old, were never repaired.
Nature, ever his ally, was once again aiding him in the battle against the traitorous High Borne. In the days long past, Ashara, queen of the Night Elves, and the highest in the hierarchy of their culture had delved into primitive magic. It had wrought ruin and death upon the lands of Kalimdor. After the long and bloody fight with the Burning Legion, whos path was first paved to the world by Ashara and her High Borne, nature herself helped the faithful to cast out the evils of magic. Those who did not follow, the remnants of the High Borne, were exiled.
"…And now they have returned for what they believed theirs all those millennia ago. And the chase is on!" Barak murmured quietly to himself. This chase reminded him of the warden Maiev. This warden was in special command of the prisoner Illidan.
Illidan had crimes in the first Legion's invasion that had cost him the trust of his people, and even his brother, the great Druid Furion Stormrage. He was to be locked up from the world to protect the future, and Maiev had finally failed, that one day. Illidan had ironically escaped during the second Invasion of the Burning Legion. Afterwards, he had raised his own army of strange sea creatures that wreaked havoc on the coast settlements. Maiev had never given up chasing Illidan, until the end; though her end was not known to the Night Elves. She had chased him from world to world, to no avail. After many years of no sight of her or her followers, the Night Elves had abandoned her for dead.
"Shando Barak, we have spotted the insurgents" a female voice spoke.
"Yes, I already know where they are" he replied, examining the ground. Nature again had helped him, giving him the sight of their still heated footprints.
He turned back to the Sentinel, said "Double out pace. We have to reach them before they arrive at the summit!"
With that, his hunting pack quickened their speed. The ancient unhallowed grass did not bend and smash under their weight, for nature was on their side, and helping them run faster.
Near the Summit of Mt. Hyjal, Kalimdor
Something was giving speed to these Night Elves. They had appeared out of nowhere, hot on their trail. Alaric had even posted rear guards, to hold them off for a little while longer.
He had taken the greatest mages of the Brotherhood for the ritual that had to be made before they could raise the precious Waters. They travleled with him in the fore as a vanguard.
"We are almost there. The power is so close. I can feel it eminating…it is amazing. The sheer content of magic in that little volumn liquid is enough to top a hundred Sunwells-we must have it. And we must protect the excavation team, lest we resort to digging feet of dirt with bare hands"
The sun was starting to arc lower in the sky, and one of the two moons had already come up. Around him, his exhausted soldiers panted as they continued the long climb up slope. They had passed the remains of a human encampment, the same one used by Jaina Proudmoore in the Battle of Mt. Hyjal. It was there the seeds of hope were planted for her people, and now Alaric would plant the seeds of hope for his.
Around him, birds chirped, and other animals of the wonderful forest roamed. Soon enough, they came upon twisted mass of buildings made of bone, tanned leather, and wood.
"This was the Orc base of Thrall Lord Alaric" a Blood Elf behind him spoke.
"Yes, let us hope that we are as fortunate this day as they were that day" he replied curtly.
With the quick stop at a nearby river to fetch water, they again continued. The slope was now growing harsher, steeper. The grass was disappearing, and rocks were replacing it.
Many in his group were too tired to go on. He left the stragglers behind at the river stop, enough to possibly hold off the advance of Barak and his lackeys long enough.
More time passed, and the climbing had taken a toll on all of them. The sun was now on the horizon, its last rays puncturing the clouds, turning all to glorious colors. And as Alaric gazed at the sun, he noticed that the hill stopped just ahead.
A power lay ahead. Ancient, wondrous, amazing…infinite energy, something overwhelming…
He felt completely revitalized, as if for the first time in his many years, that he had opened his eyes to a greater purpose. He felt better than when there was the Sunwell, more alive, and alert.
"Yes, the power of the High Borne is returning! With this, our race will be great again, and our addiction to magic shall never bother us again! And to you Arthas…I will destroy you with my own hands. I will return to Lordaeron, raise armies, and fleets! I will sail under the green leaf banner of Quel'thalas once more, and disembark on the icy shores of Northrend. There, we shall siege you in your tower, and cast your so called invincible spirit into the twisting nether, forever to be tormented by demons, poking and prodding you with the worst tortures ever devised!"
He looked around, at his remaining comrades. There was a change in their eyes. They were brighter, more powerful. A energy surrounded them, like a figure in the sillout of the sun.
He ran faster now, excitement boiling in him. Upon reaching the brink, he looked down. The others ran as well, and spread out upon the edge as well.
Before them, was a vast, two mile wide basin, in the top of the mountain. The basin was filled with lush, green, pine trees. And in the center, was a great barren. A void among the trees, a miniature desert, if not for a single pinprick of light poking through the surface.
"I bet no one has been here since the Battle three years ago" a Blood Elf spoke. "Otherwise, would they have not taken this prize, or hidden it?"
"It matters not brothers. This is our destiny, and now we take what is in our grasp!" he yelled out. A cheer erupted from the dozen or so men behind him.
Just then, a dark figure, shouted out. He was surrounded by others, Druids that wore fur and feathers.
"Do you hear me High Borne?! I am Barak Demonlasher, and I have come to end this madness. I have learned, from nature herself of your intent and travels. It is the end for you and your little adventure"
Alaric, energized by the nearby magics stood tall and defiantly, shouted "If you want to stop us Demon Hunter, come and get us!"
The showdown had begun.
Barak and his Druids charged forth, conjuring and casting spells as they progressed. Alaric and his Blood Elves did likewise.
On the crest of the basin, the sun setting, the two ideals and cultures of East and West, High Elf and Night Elf, once brothers, clashed.
The melee surrounded him, yet all his intent was focused upon the tall figure in front of him. He lifted his blade, swung it at the Demon Hunter who parried. Barak then brought his arm scythes upon Alaric. Sword and Scythe met in a shower of sparks.
The two were inches apart from another, an epic struggle between their strengths and wills. As their followers massacred each other, these two vied for superiority.
"I told Stormrage ages ago we should have punished your people for still following magic, even after the Sundering and Invasion" he snarled.
Alaric made no reply, just fueled his anger directly at the creature infront of him. His sword scrapped violently against Barak's scythe, and at the last moment, he threw himself downward and his blade upward cutting at Barak's cheek. Barak then threw up one of his scythes at Alaric's sword, knocking him off balance. It was a quick moment in which Barak had gained the advantage, and he pressed it.
The scythe was mere centimeters from his neck as Alaric dropped to the ground and kicked out at the back of Barak's legs causing the Demon Hunter to also lose balance.
A small pause in the fighting…the two looked at each other with grim determination, a final message of their wills. They stood up, and ran at each other, blades meeting in mid air, more sparks flying.
Alaric twirled around, freeing himself of the deadlock again, and landed his sword directly on Barak's throat. The world stood still at that moment.
"It ends here" Barak whispered harshly "I know of your journey, across the Great Sea, and through the peaceful humans to the south, and the trolls and orcs. The rampage stops now"
"You are a fool to believe you can stop me" Alaric replied back this time, eyes blazing.
He pressed his blade a little more, enough to just cut the skin on Barak's neck.
"Remember that mark. It is the one you received the day you tried to stop the Blood Elves" he then said triumphantly. Alaric then moved closer towards Barak, and with a quick motion of his heavy gauntlet, landed a blow on the elder's skull. "And that headache you get when you wake up, that's from when you tried to stop me" he then said smiling.
The fray had calmed, and few of his followers remained. There were now only eight of the initial thirty or so friendlies who stood. The bodies of his comrades and Night Elves littered the crest of the basin.
"Come now High Borne, redemption is within hands grasp!"
The group rushed down the sloping basin into a lush forest. All of them marveled at the nature that had grown here in but two years. Tall spires of pines and spruces climbed into the sky, eventually blotting out the remaining sunlight. Fueled by the reanimated spirit and vigor in them, the remaining Blood Elf mages continued until the forest died away, slowly but surely.
And there stood, the enormous stump of a tree. The sheer size of the stump caused complete awe. The…thing…hundreds of feet across lay directly on top of their objective.
"This is it! This is the place! We must set a ritual circle here, now! Before more Night Elves reach us!"
The mages fanned out into a circle, and Alaric took to the middle of it. This was the moment that he had waited for since he first felt the echo's of the Water's power so many months ago. Was it months? It felt like an eternity.
And so it had begun. He raised his hands to the air, the last glints of sun warming his body. He focused his mind on one thing, raising the Water's from their resting place. As he did so, the other mages did the same.
And in that time, the world stood silent, reverent to the event just about to happen. A power countless millennia old was about to be unmasked from its resting place in the earth.
A chant in High-Elven began. It was geomancy that the Elves were using here. This tactic was taught to the humans 3,000 years ago in Arathor, the ancient human nation, in return for help against the invading Trolls. Those magics had helped bring about a new era in Elven history, and were again about to do so.
"Loth es sran! Loth es sran! Ton yelesan vassach! Ton yelesan vassach!" the chant continued. And at that very moment, seconds into the chant, the supreme magic of those beings melded together into an energy ball, small and powerful.
The chant directed the energy ball towards Nordrassil's stump, where it then hovered.
Alaric then opened his eyes, to witness this most historic event.
"Now, it begins!" he thought to himself. The ball dropped, and plummeted into the tree, giant wooden splinters flying almost to the crest of the basin.
Then, the ground under them started to move. Tremors, small at first, then intensified in such time and magnitude not even the Elves predicted their spell to be such a success. They then hugged the ground and prepared themselves for the final stages of the magic's work.
A final, cracking noise, so loud that the Elves were temporarily deafened, emanated from the remains of Nordrassil. Miles away, even to Darkshore, on the westernmost coast of Kalimdor, the noise was heard. The mountain literally split open at the top, just where Nordrassil and the miniature desert were.
Then, in awe, Alaric and the leading of the Brotherhood then watched, as pure white light filled the air. The clouds were pushed back, and the light engulfed the entire mountain.
It took an eternity, or really seconds, for the light to subside. A strange feeling was brewing inside of him…doubt "Did the spell work? Or did we just destroy our last hope?" Alaric though.
"Look! The Waters of Eternity!" a one of the Elf mages cried out, slowly standing up.
And there, where Nordrassil had stood, and the small one tenth of a mile miniature desert had lay, a column of purplish, glistening, glowing, water exploded like a geyser. Tears came to Alaric's eyes. He lay there on the ground, in reverence to the greatest moment of his peoples history. Their ultimate redemption and salvation…
………………………………………………………
It had taken nearly an hour and a half for the geyser to stop spurting. And when it did, it left a very small lake, or more of a large puddle, in its place. The water, though it seemed little, seemed tremendously more powerful than the Sunwell.
"What will we call this day milord? The Day of Alaric'Quel?" A Blood Elf mused.
"Very funny, though I am not in this for the glory of it. We shall have no official praising for this day, just the everlasting memory that this day, these soldiers and allies…we unleashed a power waiting for us, for its destiny. But no, this war is not over mage. It has just begun. Now let us collect the Waters in the Vials of Illidan and be gone from Kalimdor forever. We have caused enough suffering in this land"
They passed the vials around, four per mage. The large vials filled with ease, and did not crack or corrupt under the extreme influence of the Water's magic. The bristling purple water would return with them to the east.
And so they group left the mountain. That night, the Night Elves moved the entirety of their forces onto the mountain, to protect what waters were left, but what Outsiders had come for they had already received. More than half of the waters now lay in their possession.
The Expedition, Crusade, or whatever else its followers had called it had in that moment completed its goal, and now abandoned the field to Barak's forces.
They marched west, to the boarders of the sea and land, towards the Darkshore and the Night Elf village of Aburdine. Needless to say, they were pursued by Barak's forces. After skirmishing and a quick decisive battle in the Night Elves favor north of Ameth Aran above Ashenvale, Alaric made the self crushing decision to leave nearly five hundred men behind as a sacrifice to buy time. The last of the Expedition then limped on to the outskirts of Aburdine. The Night Elves in the city had no time to take up arms against the Expedition for they stormed into the city without warning.
No innocents were killed, but there, on the shores of Aburdine, the Blood Elf leader Alaric'Quel stared out into the vast ocean. His men were passing onto the stolen boats with the valuables collected along the journey. Eventually, only one ship remained, and the last of the Expedition boarded, with Alaric. They left the shores of Kalimdor behind, perhaps forever, and now looked to their own shores. The coasts of Lordaeron.
………………………………………………………
It was night. They had left Aburdine early that day, and Alaric now stood at the bow of the jacked vessel. Underneath, the soldiers, the average footman, knight, spell breaker, and mage, slept.
Suddenly, a hand patted him on the back. Alaric turned to see Dethal holding out his hand.
Alaric shook it quickly and starred out at the ocean again.
"Congradulations Lord Quel, you have won" he said in a happy, yet quiet tone.
"No, we have just begun" he replied shortly, his mind somewhere else"
"What are you doing milord, if I may ask?" Dethal pushed inquisitively.
"Planning" was the only word that passed from Alaric's mouth.
"Planning what milord?" Dethal then said, set aback by the sheer thought of planning something at such a moment of victory as this.
"For the war. Dethal. We will have to be the vanguard to carry it to all, on all fronts. Do not think this is a victory Dethal. Yes it is a good thing, but I fear the true test still lies ahead. We have fought the first battle of this War of the Ruins. May the Light carry us" he ended. Dethal stood beside him for a moment, looked down and pondered at that thought. Slowly he turned, and headed for bed.
At the bow of that boat, Alaric Faltron'Quel, lone survivor of the ravaged royal Quel'thalas family, stood erect, mind focused on the reconquest of the world and the turning of the tide. The War of the Ruins, had just begun…
Summery of the Crusade of Light
In late spring of the year 621, Alaric'Quel, a High Elf believed to be the last of the Sunstrider Dynasty relation felt a sudden spike in the world's energy. After many months of research in Dalaran and the records saved by the still missing Prince Kael'thas he had arrived at the correct assumption that this was the power of the Waters of Eternity, buried deep within Mt. Hyjal. Alaric went missing for several more months, hence his whereabouts were unknown for that select time. After resurfacing in Stromguard, he sought out the employment of the Brotherhood of Light's Clerics to solidify his theories. Upon approval Alaric decided to put together an Expedition to retrieve the Waters.
After bringing the Brotherhood into his fold, he then sought to reunite the broken and scattered Blood Elf pockets of resistance in the Plaugelands. After a short campaign of reunification, he had formed the nucleus of his 'Crusade'. He then traveled to ruins of Dalaran, where he had heard of the Grand Marshal of Alliance forces had just arrived from stunning defeat in the north. The Marshal, whom had lost hope in the his superiors way of handling the war, transferred nearly a fifth of his troops to Alaric's command. Now, at its greatest height, the Expedition had almost 9,000 soldiers.
Traveling next to Kul Tiras, the last of the Grand Marshal's orders was handed to the shipwrights of the nation. It called for an enormous fleet to sail for the army within two days. The preparations were completed, and the Expedition sailed.
After nearly a month on the water, the Expedition arrived on their first stop in Kalimdor; the peaceful human refuge of Theramore Harbor. Alaric quickly orchestrated a coup in the city, bringing it under his control. After creating his base of supplies, set north with his private army. Upon reaching the Duswallow Marshes and Durotan, home of the new Horde, Alaric split his forces in two. Sending the larger group to draw out the armies of the Horde, Alaric, and a smaller army of a thousand stayed behind in hiding, waiting for the main forces of the Horde to be drawn out.
The Battle of Mulgore Plains then commenced, leading to a devastating bloodbath that continued for two days. Meanwhile, Alaric's force was able to infiltrate into the heartland of the Horde, and burn its greatest city, Orgrimmar. With the Horde licking its wounds, the two groups reunited and continued northward to Stonetalon Mountains.
There, they encountered Arrius the Pure, a paladin and his small pack of men trapped for nearly three years. Adding the paladin's group to his own, Alaric travled deep in the recesses of Stonetalon Peak. He emerged nearly a day later with 'something to contain the prize' later identified as the sacred Vials of Illidan.
Then again traveling north, the Expedition encountered the reclusive and secretive Night Elves. With its now 4,000 numbered troops, the Expedition limped along into the forest of Ashenvale. Several engagements occurred with the Night Elves, yet none great enough to persuade the Expedition from its course. Upon finally reaching Mt. Hyjal, one final battle took place, where Alaric and several of the Brotherhood snuck behind the front lines and onto the mountain. After a duel with Barak Demonlasher, the Night Elf leader, he and his fellow High Elven preists released the Waters of Eternity. Capturing the presious Waters, they then abandoned the field.
A desperate retreat then insuded. The Expedition, now weakned almost to the point of collapse, could not hope the fight back against the increasing numbers of the Night Elves. Upon reaching the dark shores of Aburdine, they stole several hundred Night Elf boats, and continued back on their way home. A new era had begun. This era would be bloodied by a war that would mark its beginnings…