(get ready for some heavy reading guys. The next couple of chapters are going to be pretty long. Don't forget to review!)

Chapter 13: War of the Ruins

Just off the coast of southern Lordaeron

"Land ho!" the cry echoed out across the Expedition flotilla. Dethal spotted dark objects that loomed on the horizon. The sturdy Night Elf boats had hosted them through the worst weather over the Sea. Thunderous skies, torrential downpour, and gigantic waves that nearly crushed the ships. Yet the Night Elves prowess and cunning in their ship designs had saved them the trouble of lost ships as they had had on their first trip to Kalimdor.

Finally, the Expedition was coming home, yet to Dethal, it felt only as if they were running from one fight to another. The lowers believed there would be fanfare in their arrival, yet Alaric had his own plans.

"We are a catalyst to this coming war. The world is weak, we will force it to contend to the situation these days" he murmered, quietly repeating Alaric's bold words at the Leiutentants meeting yesterday.

With the Waters securely cased below the deck of the flagship, there was really nothing to do but ready for the landing. As time passed, the shoreline continued into view.

He felt sickened by the sight of the Plaugelands again. Dark, low clouds loomed above the land, yet no birds sang for their arrival.

"There was too much death" Dethal said slowly. He looked around, noticing the other eyes that manned the boats looking at the charred clump of soil that used to be home to the greatest shining peaks of civilization. The land was black, dry, dead. Just beyond the blackened grains of sand that lay on the beachhead lay the shell of a town. Burned skeletons of buildings swayed in the silent ghostlike wind.

With the sun almost set, an eerie green light permeated the clouds. Suddenly Dethal missed the rich, wild air of Kalimdor.

"If we could have built there, we would have prospered" again he talked to himself. The boats were close to shore now, only a hundred or so feet off. It begun to precipitate ice cold rain from the darkness above; at first a trickle, then larger, and more in quantity.

"Damn miserable day its going to be" amongst the numerous shouts and orders, Dethal singled that one out as almost funny.

"First wave to the boats!" the cry echoed amongst the ships. A captain walked amongst the rail of the capital vessel, spewing orders and commands 'Keep the order' 'Fill in the gaps'. Dethal peered over the edge of the boat to see smaller canoe like landing craft being lowered from the upper decks. Across the plane, he saw the same activity was being repeated across the dozens of boats. A flurry of activity had swamped the main deck as Elves, Men, and even the remaining Dwarves all gathered at the barrow rails where the companies were organizing for landing.

"How go the landing operations?" a powerful voice behind him spoke. He turned to see Alaric, donned in full, and strangely enough, golden, silver and green of a High Elf Ranger-general, not the red and black of a Blood Elf regular.

Alaric read the confusment on Dethal's face "We are done mourning. Best look best when we take back our property" he said smiling, another strange thing he rarely did.

Dethal, still confused, continued with his report "Uh…yes lord. The boarding of the smaller craft goes well. The boarding is organized and the men eager. The first wave has already set" he said pointing to a mass of smaller wooden vessels rowing slowly towards the shoreline on the choppy water.

"Good, but before we can bring up the heavier equipment, we must make sure that the beach is completely secure. I want no slipups and no surprises" Alaric instructed reverently as Dethal nodded.

Plumes of dust rose somewhere beyond the town. Alaric, noticing as well spoke.

"That-could be a problem"

………………………………………….

Stormwind Keep, Capital of Azeroth, January 622 Years of Azeroth

"Are you sure?" Varian Wrynn spoke. His body felt numb as the news reached him.

"Yes my King. I saw it myself. Southshore is in the hands of the Scourge"

"Light help us" he said, breathing heavily. "How many?" he then said, his voice only just above a whisper.

"Nearly all of them sir. 11,000 regulars gone from the ranks. The other 4,000 have scattered into the countryside. The band I lead out received no word from Grand Marshal Anduin Praeton. The Army just" the man searched for the right words "disintegrated. It was a slaughter…" the grim, hard face of the messenger told no lies.

He had just been informed, the grand reorganized First Army of the Alliance of Azeroth, had just been obliterated, its general missing. The last standing bastion of Lordaeronian royal power in Southshore was now missing as well. The port city of Southshore was critical to the war effort, and may have crippled the plans he and the realms greatest knight, Duke Winfield who stood beside his throne had conceived.

The Duke was said to have the blood of the Arathi in his veins, inherited from his mother, just as the great Sir Anduin Lothar. But not all believed his outrages claims. If indeed he did have Arathi blood, he might be entitled to be the next in crown, and not Varian's young son Anduin Wrynn. The possibilities of the future of the crown Varian kept out of his head to focus on the debacle that lay before him.

"How was the Scourge able to penetrate so deeply behind the front lines?" another in the chamber, this one a general, asked in a stunned tone.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is how to take back Southshore. It is a focal point of trade between Dun Morogh, the Arathi Highlands, Silverpine, and whats left of the Hillsbrad Foothills" Duke Winfield angrily said, his fist curling into a ball. "And yet we cannot despair. The 3rd and 5th Armies are small, yes, still recruiting, but they can unite and carry us into battle again. We aren't out of the fight yet King"

"Yes," Varian said, pondering the though. He looked over at a piece of parchment that lay on a table. He stood up slowly, bones creaking in old age, and presented himself before the table. On it was etched a intricate map of northern Azeroth, Dun Morogh, and southern Lordaeron. "Uniting the two armies would leave us vunerable-very vunerable. But I see no other choices. Duke Winfield, you will travel to Stromguard Keep and unite the 3rd and 5th. Try to rally the remnants of Praeton's army, then march east. Keep good contact with me, for I will want to know your status along the entire march"

"Yes King Wrynn" Winfield said kneeling to Varian.

"Oh, and one more thing Duke" he continued. The Duke looked to him. "This is a forced march. No mistakes. We can't afford them. Now go, and Light be with you!"

The Duke smiled, that youthful smile, and rushed off to his stead which lay outside in the royal stables.

With the Duke gone, Wrynn waved for all to leave the room.

After the generals and advisors had filed out and with a sigh, he hobbled slowly to the table again. Across the vast table were scattered letters from ambassadors, foolish civilian requests, plans, troop movement reports, casualty lists, and a single candle that lit it all in a dull yellow light.

Sadness filled his heart as he looked to a map of the continents of Azeroth and Lordaeron. "This world has become a living nightmare. I believed that I, a single man, could change the fate of our world. Foolish I was" he scanned the verdant green lands of Azeroth, scrolled his eyes over to the Barren Lands to the east, and finally to the north where the capital of Lordaeron lay in ruins. He then traced three distinct lines across the map.

"The Scourge is massing in numbers they have not since the last Purge. We barely have enough strength to hold the lines where they are now…hmm…" he thought.

Just last week an enormous fleet that hosted the 2nd and 4th Alliance armies were sent off from Crestfall by direct order of the combined Alliance leadership. Repeated requests for help from human colonies on the Kalimdor coast had confirmed the Alliance's fears. That the continent of Kalimdor was no longer ripe for conquest and the transplanting of population. Apart from the strongest colony on the coast, Theramore, and whatever mysterious holdings the enigmatic Night Elves had, it was ruled by the new Horde. And so the nations of the Alliance had raised their armies and sent them off blindly to an uncharted land, almost completely surrounded by the fog of mystery.

And so, King of Stormwind sat on his high throne, endlessly debating with himself of their next move in a never ending war until sometime that night.

He had lost track of time. Had fallen asleep while tracing lines on them map until sometime near four past midnight. Suddenly, a massive gust of wind blew open the throne doors that woke Varian with a fright. White hot glowing runes arranged in a circle appeared on the reflecting marble floor.

But it was no magic he had seen before. The runes now started to spin, and again the wind picked up. The maps and pieces of parchment were blown across the room, the pillars containing the entire histories of the nation shook. And then, a blinding light pierced the night sky.

"Damned wizards playing with magic again! How many times must I tell them not in the city!" he thought quickly.

The light subsided, leaving a glowing, luminescent figure standing in the middle of the mysterious, still hot energy runes. The figure itself seemed to be made of pure moonlight, and at his side was a bone white staff seemingly made out of polished stone. The light slowly faded away from the figure to reveal an old man, frail, yet majestic, strong, and direct.

"Greetings King Varian Wyrnn. I, am Kelen the Lightkeeper. I have come to you now, at your darkest hour. I come to uphold the prophecy made so long ago. It is in my trust by the Guardians of Tirisfal to shepherd the peoples of the free lands of Azeroth by endowing them with the power that once was held by the ancients that this world was born from"

Varian, stunned, sat for a moment. He blinked his eyes, still watering from the explosion of light.

"What is it you have come to tell us? If you have something, say it now and to me"

"Indeed King. I have many things to tell you. There is one hope for your people. You must ally with the free peoples of this earth, all of them to survive the coming storm"

"What is your meaning?" the King asked, still in shock from the sudden arrival of the stranger.

The old man seemed to sag, and sighed. "The Orcs, Night Elves, Ogers…all of them. You-" he was suddenly cut off by the slamming fist of Varian.

"I lost my firstborn and second to the Orcs in the Second War. The savages will never understand a cause. All they are is chaos. And that is the same for their supposed allies as well" rebuked in anger.

"King-I have come to warn you of the impending danger. Not long ago, a messenger such as I stood in front of King Terenas of Lordaeron. He warned him of the Burning Legion and the Undead Scourge, and yet to no avail. Terenas listened not. He foolishly ignored the messenger and paid dearly for his crime. I, like that messenger am one who is stained with a past of bloodshed and evil, yet I have returned to redeem myself. I come to warn you; the fury of evil you are about to encounter is not just that of the Scourge. Oh no! It goes far deeper than that. The evil which is about to decend upon your world is different than one you have ever encountered"

"This is foolishness! Begone from my court!" the King boomed.

"The forces of darkness have taken themselves a tool. That tool is the Litch King. Sargeras did not turn evil on his own. The Dark Titan was a convert; an agent of light infected by the darkness that lives in the far recesses of the Twisting Nether. Long ago, a war occurred between Light and Dark. The Light prevailed, yet the nameless evil lived on in the corners of the universe; a cancer waiting for its chance to attack. Sargeras was instructed to destroy that of what the Titans created. And so he in turn created the Burning Legion, which is now effectively destroyed. Yet the Scourge-the creation of the Legion-the last power of that nameless evil in the void still lives on. They will use the carnage of the Scourge to destroy Azeroth, jewel of the Light"

"What is it you come to tell me?" Varian asked, now willing to obey.

"Thank you for listening King. Now I shall share my knowlage, for you shall need it in this new war"

………………………………………

"It has already begun" Alaric said. He looked from the high rock he stood upon as the army of the dead besieged the walled fortress city of Stromguard. A vast dark cloud of skeletons, beasts, and damned men stood before the city which was engulfed by flames. From this distance, Alaric could see the defenders; few, yet brave and still fighting the enemy not yet upon their walls.

"We expected them to arrive here hours after us! How did they reach the city? They travel at an ungodly pace" Dethal implied, staring out in awe at the size of the Undead army.

"This is no regular force of Undead beasts. This is something I have not seen in my time fighting the Scourge. Something dark is fueling their rage. Many are their number, yet we must still ride to the aid of Stromguard" Alaric said. Just a few hundred yards behind him the former Expedition lay. The four thousand battle readied troops were aligned with the battle occurring below, prepared to pounce upon the Undead at any moment.

Alaric looked away from the vast pillars of smoke and turned towards his commanders; Dethal, Arrius, Gimlik, and now Eolas, promoted yet again back to the command. "We must ride fast and hard. Cavalry in the front; Arrius, you have that charge. Lead you men straight into the enemy flank. Get as close to the city as you can. Create a path for the soldiers, commanded by Gimlik. Gimlik, take the footmen in a long wide arc, close in on the Scourge. By this time they will be in disarray. Eolas and Dethal will then bring in the spell casters, and destroy the remnants of the enemy. Am I understood?" Alaric concluded.

All four of the commanders, human, dwarf, and two Elf nodded in unison. He quickly prayed to the Light as he returned to his steed. He would be spear heading the enemy flank with Arrius and the elite knights.

Sweat trickled down his face and found its way somehow into his armor. At a slow trot, the cavalry moved up the hill to the crest, where they beheld in all its dark glory the army of the scourge; thousands upon thousands of them.

"Now we shall see the might of the Light" Alaric said again, heart pounding. He looked over at Arrius and nodded. Arrius pulled his armor plated hand in the air, and waved it. Horns sounded, and the charge began.

For a moment, it seemed all eyes were on them; the sneak attack that had come from nowhere. The battle stood still below, watching the charge of seven hundred plate and chain mailed knights. Battle cries pierced the blood red sun. Banners flapped wildly.

All to soon the glorious moment was over, and the killing was about to begin. Alaric layed his lance down towards the enemy, and felt it vibrate as the first enemy, a necromancer, was impaled by its blow. More were trampled under his horses hooves. Alaric looked over at the other human knights, hundreds of them surrounding him, also with their lance down trampling the Scourge with childish delight.

Finally after a minute that seemed like eternity, the horns sounded again, and Alaric looked back to see the footmen charging at the flank of the Undead. Looking again to his side where now knights began to fall, Alaric saw that the necromancers that controlled this army were now confused and losing control over their minions who were now destroying each other.

Suddenly, a spear shot through his horses head, blood spraying across Alaric's High-Elf armor. The horse fell to the ground with a thud, throwing Alaric off its back and into the middle of a circle of ghouls and zombies.

He unsheathed his sword, and as the ghouls ran towards him, he crushed ones half showing skull open. Yet too many there were. Again and again he slashed and blocked, yet eventually one grabbed hold of his chest plate and ripped it off. An abomination to his right suddenly picked him up, and threw him to the ground, shattering his sword. Ingulfed in confusion, Alaric slowly tried to get up, the breath knocked out of him. To his right, an undead nerubian spider lifted its head in preparation to launch its spiderlings at his bare chest when it collapsed. Behind it, he saw the grinning face of a footman whose sword protruded from the massive spiders abdomen. Now, looking behind him, two thousand footmen arrayed with all types of weaponry from rusted swords to broken axes slammed right into the flank of the enemy.

The carnage and melee continued for more minutes, until the spell casters arrived using their mass teleports. Flame strikes and conjured blizzards absolutely pulverized the abominations, skeletons and other beasts of the Undead.

Even though it may have been surprised, it had to be utterly destroyed, for the minions of the damned fought to the death, causing more casualties.

Looking upon the field of battle, Alaric though "Light be praised. We have fought the first battle of this war with complete success. Many of us have fallen today, yet a nation we have saved"

With the bodies of his comrades and enemy strewn about him, Alaric looked up at the massive gates of Stromguard. Burned and charred in some places, the gates nevertheless still stood defiant. Alaric picked up his broken sword and entered the city of Stromguard; the first battle of the war was over, yet the dark clouds now overhead foreshadowed the trials of the war to come.

(Well guys, what did you think about that chapter? Soon, the sinister motive behind the Scourge's new invasion will be revealed in the next chapter. Read, review, enjoy!)