Chapter 17: The Raging Storm
3 Miles Past Brill, April 6th, Northern Lordaeron
It was once a beautiful, lush place; these plains of northern Lordaeron called the Tirisfal Glades. The great forests, rivers, creeks, valleys, canyons, grassy plains, and gentle hills continued for miles upon miles across the continent. From the Castle Whitefort where the Menathil Dynasty ruled in their glorious city to the grand spires of the circular Dalaran, to the melding of nature and civilization of the Elven nation of Quel'thalas the lands of Lordaeron reached. This place had been the first harboring of civilization, the ancient states like Arathor and Zul'aman that had once warred over these most pristine lands. There used to be vast forests that stood unopposed, every once in a while with a village or farm that broke their flow across the plains.
But then the great age of war had come. Continuous invasions and battles had made the land weary, and in the time when it most needed to heal itself came the horrible and terrifying Plague that wiped out so many people. After the Plague that killed nearly a quarter of the entire continent's populace came the Undead Scourge; the army of endless damned men, walking corpses, and other abominations. From the burial grounds of those who died from the Plague zombies, reanimated skeletons and far more utterly terrible things had risen from the ground and overwhelmed any resistance, and by the time the Plague and Scourge had reached the Capitol, most of Lordaeron had already fallen into the darkness.
For a while later there was still coordinated resistance, but in the end it was stamped out by the very one whom had turned on them; their own Prince and soon to be King, Arthas Menethil. And thus this Scourge reached across the plains and forests to even the remote and isolated Quel'thalas and even there spread its inevitable destruction.
The freezing wind cut through his bulky armor chilling him to his core. Even in spring now the northlands were a cold place. But they were not always this cold. Before the Scourge this place had received annual warmth with the time of year. But since the arrival of the Undead in this place many pollutants and smog from their ungodly deeds, and so had turned the very weather against them.
They had just turned past the North King's Road that led around the Capitol and through the village of Brill. After leaving behind the Capitol no real resistance had been encountered from any Forsaken.
But once again reports of isolated incidents and casualty reports from a stray undead zombie or ghoul would eventually reach their way into his command post. After a two day fight at Brill that cost them nearly five hundred good men mostly from the Stromguard Brigades, they continued north once more under a relentless march.
Long had they shed anything not needed in trade for speed, and were now marching on the bare essentials. As they passed farther north, the signs of life were less and less. Eventually by the time they had passed Brill several miles north of the Capitol, all the trees, grass, bushes, and everything once colorful and green were dead and rotting. But a taint ran through this land. The sky was a never ending patchwork of broiling green clouds and strange things seemed to be happening to the land.
In the few patches of land not covered by the Blight, grotesque mockeries of live things grew, huge poisonous mushrooms, plant life that on several occasions had tried to bite a chunk out of a surprised footman, and rabid warped creatures that would ever so often grab or swoop down at one of his men.
And so the army grew ever so cautious in light of such horrible monstrosities. Eventually, the men had become accustomed to them, and knew their way around them.
But it had only taken a few miles up the road from Brill that they encountered a true attack…
"1st and 6th Companies forward!" Alaric screamed over the noise of the battle. Behind him a neat square of footmen, shields raised to protect from the volleys of arrows, slowly scuttled forward.
After pitching camp, a huge dust plume was spotted by a scout rising in the near north. It was quickly identified as a Scourge army, a large tangle of walking corpses, beasts, and other horrors, marching straight toward them. And at noon, they had engaged, the first moderate wave of skeletons rushing forward.
Behind him, the 1st and 6th Companies rushed into the fray but twenty yards from Alaric, their perfect formation breaking as they each drew on an individual target. And, as the two opposites clashed, the dogs of war set loose. The clanging of metal screams of men, battle cries, and frantic orders all resonated through the hilly partially forested area.
From atop the hill he was on, Alaric could spot the waves of Undead as they passed from over the hill directly in front of the Army. Whatever command structure the Scourge had in this area was foolishly enough sending its forces in piecemeal. The battle had gone well all day, and even better news had arrived from the Dalaran front. Anduin Praeton's 7th Army had broken through the stalemate that had so engulfed nearly the rest of the Alliance forces! Even now he was marching his men at a near death giving pace during the day, using his mages to teleport them vast distances at night, and sleep only for four hours in the morning.
Finally…the slaughter had ended. Hundreds of now permanently dead corpses of the Undead lay lifeless on the grassy plains. It had taken the entire day. His men had lodged themselves atop a steep hill and waited for the attack from the Scourge force to come. It was smaller than first anticipated, but instead of waiting for another force to join them as Alaric had assumed, they attacked. But sending their waves up piecemeal and without backup, there had been a slaughter. Nearly all of the Undead that had attacked them now were nothing more than the carcasses that lay in front of him just outside the defensive trenches where the 1st and 6th Companies had jumped out of the attack the Undead in hand to hand combat.
"My liege, the foul Undead have been beaten back! What do we do with the corpses?" an elder footman said bowing before his approached.
"Burn them; all of them. Remember Stratholme, and how they burned the town to prevent the corpses of the dead from rising once again. We must remember that lesson" he replied in a firm tone, and abruptly turned away.
During the sweeping of the Plague, it had become apparent that Stratholme, just like Andorhol, (another city in Lordaeron) that the intangible quantities of dead were to rise soon, so the city officials came to the difficult decision to burn the cities, leaving nothing but black ashes and skeletal remains.
It was quite baffling how such a sizable Undead force was to be wasted like today. He didn't understand; the fight had been to easy, almost as if a test of abilities. But the sheer size of it couldn't dictate a mere skirmishing force, or a scouting party. Then what was it?
Alaric returned to his command post, and prepared the next set of orders for the commanders. They had now been in the Tirisfal Glades for nearly 2 weeks, and there was still no sign of Kel'thuzad or his Scourge.
"We will hunt them to the ends of this earth…" Alaric stated to his horse, as he climbed back on after drafting the next set of orders. "Soon, we shall find Kel'thuzad. The foolish mongrel can't hide forever. And then, the circle of revenge shall nearly be complete"
………………………….
April 8th, Northern Lordaeron, heart of the Tirisfal Glades.
They were coming. That morning, Alaric had ridden up to see in person what the scouts had described as an ever stretching carpet of blackness. And indeed, what he saw very well resembled that description.
An endless mass of skeletons, corpses, damned men and necromancers, abominations, ghouls; Crypt Lords that led massive contingents of strange ritualistic nerubian spiders into battle, Death Knights that held control over their minions, the out-worldly daemonic Nathrazim, a race of powerful demons that lived on the blood of their victims and more horrible monstrosities that were the Scourge. Even the skies themselves were black with gargoyles and frost wyrms, and even the feared destroyers.
Immediately he had called a Council of War with all his generals and commanders. Everyone from Dethal to Duke Winfield, from Eolas to Arrius the Paladin from Kalimdor, was there. This Council was something he had never done before, usually just going into battle impromptu or planning with small groups. But with so much of the Scourge focusing its attention here, there was no possible way to plan everything with a small group, and as soon as the last commander filed in, they began.
"How much time until the Scourge reaches our position?" Alaric said loudly, walking into the huge command tent.
"By the rate they are moving sire, we estimate it will take another five hours for their advance units and skirmishers to merge with our lines of battle" Dethal began. "We have presumed that the front line is going to take place here, along Wallowford Creek running parallel to our lines and theirs"
Alaric nodded, looking to the piece of parchment that Dethal had laid out on the old wooden table in the middle of the tent.
Another commander, Arrius, spoke up "We have possibly as many as fifty five thousand men able to fight. The rest are sick or wounded from the previous battles and long marches we have endured. Estimates from the scouts and my knights tell us that the Scourge has employed over a hundred thousand within its fold. We shall be gravely outnumbered" he warned, voice dipping in caution.
"Numbers do not concern me. The average footman will be able to rival three, if not even four skeleton warriors in combat. There are records that prove such claims. I am more concerned about their spell casters…"Alaric said slowly.
Karl Steinwolfe, an accomplished wizard from Old Dalaran that had also accompanied Alaric suggested "Our spell casters can be split in two for we have sufficient numbers of them. One group can stay on the front lines and back up the infantry. The others can seek out the enemy's leaders and majik users and eliminate them"
Alaric nodded, the prospect sounding good.
"Milord, General Anduin Praeton's latest dispatches from his runners indicate that he should be within out camp in weeks, if not days! Should we not wait him out to strengthen our numbers? And what of the strange rumors of savage attacks along the coast line?" another spoke, incredulous.
"No, Captain. There is not enough time to disengage. There is no turning back now, for we have reaped the whirlwind and now we must traverse into the most dangerous parts of it. There is no return now, no reinforcements. What is to be done is to be done without the help of outsiders. About the attacks along the coastline…I have no evidence to support whatever these strange attacks may be. Perhaps nothing more than Naga or Mur'gul incursions"
"But milord, they are reaching further inland! And the last time we received news about such things was nearly two weeks ago! Could this new menace be right now upon our very flanks?" the despairing Captain responded.
"There is nothing we can do about this new threat now. We shall have to deal with it after" Alaric shortly held up his gauntlet in an order to drop the subject.
"Sire! What about their damned frost dragons and gargoyles! Did you not see what they did to the men at Tarren Mill?" another commander cried out.
The outburst hit home. Alaric had not thought about how to defend against the behemoths and monsters of the sky. The riflemen would be heavily engaged at the front line, and they would be counting on reserve battalions to fill any holes the enemy might make. The gyrocopters he used were but fancy scouting trinkets capable of almost no damage. So how to counter the threat from the sky…
"Summon Thoradin Bludaxe! He and his Gryphon Riders shall counter this threat with the backup of several anti-air regiments.
It took not long for the stout and grubby little dwarf the enter the room screaming curses at those who would try to direct him. Finally meeting Alaric, he bowed slowly, and kept a cautious eye out at him. Thoradin was one of the Bluduaxes', a line that descended straight from the Great Elven-Dwarf War, mellenia ago. His kin still harbored a cautious hatred for the Elves, even if he did respect Alaric. His Gryphon Rider guild had just arrived from Aerie Mountain but a month ago, and had not had the time to prove itself yet.
"Yes, Lord-Marshal? Do you require my services o' those of my Riders?" he said, the average deep, raspy, and hard to understand linguistics of his race flowing from his mouth.
"Quite so, General Bludaxe. The Scourge dominates the skies, and we cannot have control of the ground with such a threat from above. Your Gryphon Riders must not allow them to gain control. If the situation is bad enough, at least try and capture their attention as more of a threat than us"
The dwarf smiled widely, the outburst of emotion clear under the long white beard he sported. "Ah, a good fight lads! Finally, time for me and my Riders to prove themselves!"
"Yes, now lets see if we can all pass this greatest of tests…" Alaric's mind echoed deep in the back of his mind.
Outside, he could hear the approaching drums. The time had come…
…………………….
The two armies maneuvered towards each other like huge, slow beasts preparing to pounce on their prey. With the black mountains lunging into the sky in the distance all around them, and the now the darkening sky, the great battle about to begin.
Kel'thuzad stood atop a round block of stone, overseeing the deployment of his Scourge. All around, the dark mass of Undead moved forward. Like a ocean of black or rotting flesh, the front lines continued onward marching upon anything that got in their path. When they had reached the creek, they piled on top of each others bodies to get across, eventually making a bridge from corpses.
On the other side of the barren field, Kel'thuzad spied the shining mass of his enemy. All the pageantry and pomp of the humans, the ingenious of the dwarven machines and the soft glowing elven priests as they ran about the thin lines forming in the distance. Shining knights in their amazing plate armor rode around in the distance. The long columns of footmen now in formation, also advancing. With banners flying, and their wills set, the only enemy that had come this far prepared to fling itself into battle. The entire history, ideals, and culture of the Eastern Kingdoms was over there across the deep creek.
The soul that Kel'thuzad once held within his spirit was long gone, a self inflicted prisoner to the Litch King's will. The Litch King had held his end of the bargain though, and in the Sunwell, his remains were bathed, and formed his new, invincible and shining form; the great glory that was his eternal life in undeath.
"My lord! The humans are in range. Our wagon minions are itching to let loose their considerable…payload" a Crypt Lord's amazingly deep and rasped voice suddenly cut through the silence that had descended upon the Litch's mind.
The Crypt Lords were perhaps some of the greatest warriors incorporated in the Scourge. Standing at nearly eleven feet tall, these gigantic beetle-like monsters were the reborn ancient betrayer Kings of Ajol-Nerub, the ancient Spider Kingdom of Northrend that had so given the Litch King much trouble before his war against Lordaeron.
The two armies stood still for that moment. On the other side of the battlefield, the humans and elves prayed to the Light, and their religions. The dwarves polished and cleaned their axes and blunderbuss barrels for the last time before the great plunge.
On his side though, every underling stood still, passive; awaiting the order to advance. He then uttered "Let them taste the fury of the Scourge" and instantly, hundreds of wagons let loose their payload; flaming, bloated, disease ridden corpses, stuffed full with the black powder the dwarfs had named 'gunpowder' buried deep within as to prevent an explosion immediately.
It was a sight to behold. The hundreds of smoke trails filled the sky as the wagons launched their cargo deep into the lines of the Alliance, killing many with either the noxious clouds the bodies contained, or the explosions that charred a great many footman.
The Alliance answered back: a barrage of weaponry that ranged from their amazing siege tanks to the more primitive ballistae and trebuchets. The great rolling rocks crushed many of the Undead creatures as the ballistae's long arrows impaled a great many before plummeting into the ground, and of course the incinerating shot of the siege tanks that immolated many of his minions.
By now, a great smoke was descending upon the battlefield, and Kel'thuzad ordered the first wave forward.
………………………….
At the front line filled with choking dust and smog, the creatures of the Scourge dashed forward, their first line nearly two thousand strong. All along the line of engagement, human and elven archers along with dwarven riflemen readied themselves, and let loose a torrent of arrows and lead balls. In instants many of the Undead were cut down.
But the fanatical obedience of the creatures persisted, and they clawed their way over the bodies of their fallen comrades, many of them oozing blood or other substances from wounds as they continued their charge.
Eventually, the two forces met, and in a decisive hand to hand battle, the weakened creatures of the Scourge were defeated. And so both armies slowly started to move forward, eventually to meet in the middle of the battlefield were the great carnage that would decide the day would take place.
The sky had turned nearly black from the arrows that rained death from the sky. The riflemen battalions continued at the front of the army, firing walls of lead into the waves of Undead as they advanced. When their blunderbusses were to be reloaded after their shot, they quickly took cover behind the footmen.
As the two titanic forces moved ever closer together, the human lines spaced out to prevent more casualties as the skeleton archer's aim was heightened by the closing in humans. The footmen and other shield bearing soldiers raised their shields to absorb the blow of the arrows, which would many times penetrate the hard iron of the shield. Other's shields were so filled with arrows that it looked like porcupines were sticking to the shield.
In the skies too the battle raged. The awe inspiring frost wyrms and insidious gargoyles fought the brave and glorious dwarven gryphon riders that belong to Bludaxe. Yet the focus of Alaric'Quel was here, on the ground.
And finally, out in the distance of the far left flank, a muffled "Huzza!" went up as the footmen regiments on the left slammed straight into the Scourge's right flank. On the opposite side of the field, the Undead let forth their own howls to dishearten his men: those Undead too, began a charge straight towards his portion of the line.
Alaric had dismounted the air to filled with arrows and other missiles. But seconds ago, four of his Guard had tumbled off their horses, the iron tipped arrows protruding from the bloody holes in their armor.
By now, all of his commanders had taken places in the lines. He himself had ended up in a regiment of four hundred elven archers, behind the long, snaking line of human pikes.
No longer was he in command of the entire Army, just this immediate portion of his surroundings. The battle was now up to the commanders and captains in the heart of the chaos.
To the far left the lines had already met where those regiments had charged. All along the rest of the front though, the men remained stationary, awaiting the Scourge's already approaching charge. Behind, more battalions were assembling, preparing to meet with the already five hundred yard thick line.
Although he was somewhere near the middle of the entire mile long line, to both sides he looked the armor clad soldiers stretched in their thick line, whereas the Scourge mirrored that action, yet with a far thicker line. Alaric could not even see the end of the Scourge's forces; they just kept stretching on even to the distant mountain range.
His mind snapped back to attention as he focused on the solid mass of Undead charging straight at him, their ungodly screams and cries for blood overpowering anything his men could resolve.
As the unending line of death approached, he held up his arm, and waited for the right time. "Thalen dalas morch da shathua!" (Remember what you stand for, and you shall prevail!) He shouted out to his elven archers in their native tongue.
Closer…the darkness came closer…the never ceasing, never ending, always stretching line of doom approached with frightening speed. In this moment, everything seemed still. Alaric looked around, seeing the greatest detail on even the most insignificant thing.
On his armor, he noticed the dirt splatters near his foot plating, the small tarnishes near the shoulder pads. On the faces of his Blood Elven warriors, the look of desire to kill, and the lust for revenge unquenchable. He looked upon the faces of the scared, and unsure human pike men and footmen as they turned about, looking for reassurance, and perhaps some way for an impossible escape from the inevitable storm about to hit them. To the farther fore, he saw now with clear eyes the mindless expression on the ghouls, yet he saw behind that white orb that was its eyes, saw the will of something greater controlling it. He saw the expressions of thousands of things, all the emotions and senses all compacted into that small few second opening, before the greatest storm of all.
And then, all suddenly came back to life. The movement faster than before, the senses now losing their peak, numbness sinking in. "Nivodas, tor dash! FALAS!" (300 yards! FIRE!) He screamed at the top of his lungs, and in that instant, the amazing skill of the ranger-archers released their notched arrows into the air, joining them with the volley let loose by thousands of others.
As the arrows arced lazily in the air, the pike men leveled pikes and spears, footmen raised shields, and all braced for the impact.
The arrows so numerous as they were did not need to be aimed. As the thousands of arrows fell upon the charging beasts, thousands of their own fell. Sometimes as many as a hundred arrows would penetrate the soft, rotting flesh of an abomination, bringing it down upon its own. The entire first hundred yards of the Scourge's line collapsed at once, as the thousands of arrows descended upon them.
Yet behind them the rest kept coming. At point blank range, artillery, whether mortars, siege tanks, ballistae, or trebuchets opened fire, thousands more collapsing under the withering barrage.
Yet the mindless obedience of the Scourge continued! At least a hundred thousand continued their charge, more and more arrows falling upon them. And finally, the two main bodies collided; the pikes penetrating countless more thousands, killing them slowly, yet the wave continued to bury itself deep within the entrenched Alliance forces.
Alaric stared wide eyed as the entire line of pike men in front of him was overtaken by the immense numbers. They were simply crushed down beneath the weight of the Scourge's force as grains of sand under the tide of the sea.
Again he ordered a volley, and again the arrows behind the melee fighters pummeled into the Undead.
He looked out across the battlefield from his heightened position. In the distance, far beyond the endless ranks of Undead, a pale green light appeared. "Kel'thuzad!" Alaric almost burst out. But the Litch was not preparing to launch a crippling spell directly against his men. Instead, the damned being released the light into the air and all too suddenly, the sky twisted under the green light's presence.
Where the thin beam of light hit the overcast sky, the clouds swirled, and finally broke open. Green flame burst forth from the clouds, comets. The green tinted flame on the comets bored their way through the air and smashed themselves into the ground after a short fall. In the wake of the explosion from the comet, gigantic beings of green flame and rock lumbered, standing up from the ball position they had assumed while falling from the sky. "Infernal…" Alaric spat. Another factor had entered the battle.
"Sire, necromancers have been spotted just to the east of your position. They are wreaking havoc on Duke Winfield's forces! We must have permission to relieve them!" a single voice was singled out. Alaric looked over his shoulder and saw in-between a line of advancing footmen a lone spellcaster accompanied by a mage that was still mounted, a protective shield of blue mana around them protecting from the showers of arrows.
Alaric nodded, and turned back to the battle. The Undead had created a small pocket of control in his line, but ten meters in front of him. Frantically, he waved for the advancing regiment of footmen into the breach in their line. More huzzas filled the air as the footmen charged led by a lone man in a jewel adorned armor helmet with a blue plume, and mithril vest; certainly a noble of high esteem and wealth.
"Push them back! Push them back!" Alaric yelled out, his voice going horse. He himself broke free of the compact square cluster of archers, lifted his hand, and cast a fire spell upon the dozens of ghouls and nerubians coming straight for him. The flame cast incinerated most of them, yet those that could still more kept coming. Unsheathing his rune blade, he charged forward, the lone warrior in a now twenty yard pocket now in Undead hands that was still expanding.
He slashed at an abomination standing haplessly in front of him, the infected blood spewing all over its comrades. He twirled around, and brought his blade straight down on a ghoul's skull, cracking the entire head in two. Yet in his agitated battle, he soon realized his foolish mistake. He was surrounded, almost about to give his last fight to the death, when the shell of a man in the blue plume broke through the wall that had surrounded him. The noble swung its sword in a wide arc that nearly skimmed Alaric's shoulder blade, slicing a skeleton warrior in half. Under the hard to see visor of his helmet, Alaric nodded, not seeing the man's face, and turned about to continue the fighting.
Soon, the entire regiment had swarmed into the pocket, and a vicious melee had ensued. Cutting, blocking, and slashing, became a quick rhythm to Alaric. Before him, a massive abomination, a 'butcher' as some called the thing made its presence noticed as it swept down with a sickle, slicing four footmen in half, geysers of their blood shooting into the air.
'Butchers' were rarely ever seen, and only used to guard special doorways and the hierarchal structure. These massive creatures looked more like rock golems more than any abomination. The huge creature with its three arms, one wielding a butcher knife, one a sickle, and one a mace, moved fast as well, cutting down another seven footmen before anyone could even try and encircle the beast. As the footmen hacked and slashed at its feet, a ballista in the distance took aim at the sixteen foot tall creature that towered above their own, and fired, the long wooden spike driving itself deep within the creature's brain. The 'butcher' let out a fearsome, yet saddening last cry, and fell over, crushing ghouls and skeleton warriors.
All of a sudden, half a dozen footmen were lifted into the air, their screams of terror and surprise stunning those that fought near. As he focused his vision, Alaric could see that those warriors had been impaled by the subterranean tentacles that Crypt Lords wielded. The impaled warriors fell back to the earth with a bone crunching thud, dead. More men rushed to his right where the Crypt Lord had been spotted. It sported a grand head piece over its thorax, and had strange blue sapphires embedded in its exoskeleton shell. Alaric, with the others, ran forward, and began to hack at the huge creature.
Attacking its carapace did nothing, only eventually revealed a little of its green blood. Those footmen that got near the front of the monster were reduced to a red pulpy material by the 'thing's' bloodthirsty claws. Alaric, in the pace of the moment jumped under the creatures hairy belly, and drove his sword deep into its stomach, pulled up, down, side to side, and eventually, thick green ooze splattered out, covering his helmet. The Crypt Lord's killing spree had ended, and as it collapsed, Alaric narrowly escaped from being crushed under the two ton creature.
He felt hands pulling him back. A group of human militia and footmen dragged him against his own will towards the safety of the inner line, where the fighting had not yet reached. Alaric struggled, but as soon as he spotted the deep gash in his armor's chest plate, he understood.
"We cannot be losing our leaders in this chaos" he thought solemnly. But then, all of a sudden, a crowd of runner boys appeared, spotting Alaric. They let loose a massive wave of cries and pleas from their commanders 'The line is thinning, we need reinforcements' 'Out of arrows, have lost nearly half of my men' 'Outnumbered at least seven to one, requesting a fall back to the woods behind', and more.
And by his total surprise, he spotted Dethal riding hard on his stead, protected by the same blue magic shield as the mage had protected the spell breaker. Dethal, spotting him, leapt off the horse that was going at full speed, and lunged toward Alaric.
"My lord! Our forces are outnumbered at nearly every interval. The entire line is slowly falling back, and you must do so as well! I have met with Arrius, and we learned that General Praeton is but a mile away and moving here at full speed. His cavalry have already arrived on the field, and have helped us disengage. You must fall back! After our forces meet up with those of Praeton's we can successfully surround Kel'thuzad, and take what we need!" he shouted out, face covered in the grime of battle. Two hours had already passed, and Alaric had not noticed any of it.
Stunned by both the news and the combat he had just endured, he stood still for a few seconds and finally replied "Very good! We should carefully proceed within the cover of the trees. Kel'thuzad will think he has us on the run, and will pursue without second thinking, and then we can flank and cut off his escape route with Praeton's newly arrived force"
Dethal nodded, whistled for his elven bred steed, and galloped back to his portion of the line. Alaric now looked over his shoulders to left and right. Many men were running for their lives, breaking formation and combat. But most were pulling back in order, a perfect staged 'retreat'.
………………………….
The light that was blocked by those black clouds eventually subsided. Day passed into night, as the blazing orange sun passed beneath the horizon, and the silver disk that was the moon rose. There were men stationed on the borders of the forest, ambushing anything that the Scourge dared send into the dark death trap. The night was a lightless one, lit only by the fires that were produced by each opposing army. Yet, the flames that spewed forth light for the Alliance were only visible when you got near them, for they were camped deep within the forest that night. Even the infernals that had wreaked havoc earlier that day had dissipated their spirit energies only able to manifest themselves in this world for a short time.
Alaric left many Elves on the borders of forest, ambushing anything the Kel'thuzad dared to send in such thick darkness. And so a lull grew in the battle, a quiet undeclared peace settled over the fields where so many were slain.
But there would not be peace for the rest of the night. Soon, Alaric's Army would pour forth from the forest, and with the aid of the newly arrived General Anduin Praeton, pin Kel'thuzad against the distant mountains.
All was ready. All had been ready for quite a while now, at least in this camp. Miles away, the forces of General Praeton had trouble assembling, as their position was right on top of a steaming, stinking bog. But finally, the assault would begin.
As Alaric made his way past the ridged and ready lines of melee fighters, the ranks of mages, spell breakers, and paladins, he eventually made it to the edge of the dark and gloomy forest. Looking at his watch, he realized now that it was almost dawn: it was five in the morning, and he, along with much of the Army hadn't gotten a wink of sleep.
At the edge lay in wait four hundred ballistae, fifty fire-lit trebuchets, and thirty siege tanks, their shells already loaded and awaiting the order. On his order, the artillery barrage that would lead the way for the final attack would begin.
After all the second checks, and inspections, he was ready to give the order. Slowly, he walked out of the edge of the forest, a sudden clash of thunder signaling the beginning of a storm. He stared up at the sky, thought "What foul devilry is this Kel'thuzad? What storm are you summoning to wash us out of our hiding hole?"
Slowly, freezing water droplets began to splash down on his fair face. "Fine, let it be that in this storm your undoing shall occur" a blinding lightning flash exploded over the ridge of the mountains in the far off distance, the thunder clap following not far behind. Suddenly, a gust of wind picked up. The air temperature dropped, as the cold front passed over them and the forest.
Alaric stood, awaiting the lightning flashes to light up the battlefield. With each sudden flash, a vast barrier of moving blackness between him and Kel'thuzad was revealed. The sounds of the Undead were barely heard over the thunder. Alaric turned his back from the sight, looked towards the runners that had gathered behind him.
"First volley in one minute. After that, it is fire at will" and with that simple order, the runners dashed off, and the first sounds of the artillery appeared as their directors moved them out into the open.
The minute passed, each second adding a layer of anticipation and nervousness. With as sudden precision, and stunning power as the lightning and thunder all of the artillery pieces opened the barrage at the same time, and in that time, the sky filled with the light of their shot.
Dozens of streaks of light shot forth from the edge of the forest, the siege tanks unleashing their deadly barrages, the trebuchets and their fire shot unleashing hell upon the Scourge. In the middle of a great storm, the peak of battle was reached.
Across the dark battlefield, Alaric stared at a distant ridge, where also spouts of flame were blown from General Praeton's Army.
"It has begun…"Alaric uttered. As if heard by the Titans themselves, the long lines of infantry and cavalry began to emerge from the forest, at first at a steady walk, then, a raging charge. With each artillery blast or lightning flash, the light of each glinted off the armor of his men, creating a truly fearsome sight.
And so, the charge of nearly a hundred thousand men, dwarves, and elves thundered down the hill, and met weapon in weapon with their hated enemy.
……………………
The charge was a success. With such savagery coming in from not only the broad front that the Scourge had expected, but also to their entire west flank the sneaky forces of Anduin Praeton joined in the slaughter.
Much of the Scourge's surprised army had been decimated in that one fell swoop, as the shining knight's in armor cut down their necromancers, and jousted with the Death Knights that held control over them. The few overlords that survived in the outer area of the charge quickly retreated closer to Kel'thuzad's position near the back of the force abandoning their minions to the sabers and swords that flailed so much of their army apart. As the two hours of slaughter and butchery ended, the great storm that had engulfed the air dissipated rather quickly, leaving a smog filled air, yet a blurred moon, in the panorama that was the night sky.
The tables had turned in the battle, and now with the joint forces of Praeton and Alaric, the Scourge was trapped between the Alliance forces, and the gigantic mountains. But behind those mountains, a red sun slowly rose revealing the thousands upon thousands that had been slain that night.
Alaric moved up and down the line of elven swordsmen on his new steed as they formed ranks and prepared to charge the center of Kel'thuzad's new, and much smaller position. Once they broke though this last position here, the cavalry would charge at Kel'thuzad's position before any of his minions could be summoned to aid his escape. Alaric would spearhead the cavalry assault deep into the heart of the Undead army.
He had wanted to speak to Dethal before leaving, to tell him that he believed Quel'thalas would be in good hands if he did not make it back out of the compacted, yet still somewhat numerous Undead.
He did not find Dethal, and assumed that he was off somewhere else doing another task. He returned to his Guard, which would spearhead the tricky attack into the heart of Kel'thuzad's force.
As the sun rose, Alaric donned his High Elven Ranger-General armor, the thick yet light metal armor setting perfectly on his body. After returning to his guard, he received his helmet. It was an ancient relic. One from an old human Lord of Arathor, the ancient and first true human nation. Placing the heavy and cumbersome thing on his head proved to be something of trouble for him. After several minutes of tightening straps, untightening, refitting, and so forth, he finally readied himself.
Already up ahead the sounds of fighting could be heard. Just in front was a small hill that obscured the vision of the battle, so he and his men would have to just sit and wait until the runner appeared to report whether the hole had been created or not.
The minutes that passed seemed more like long hours. Breathing hard, he noticed that the cold that night had only intensified in the day, a strange phenomena. But he dismissed the sight of his nebulous breath from his mind, and instead focused on how well to wield his lance.
Eventually after the eternity of waiting, a runner appeared at the top of the hill, his silhouette the only visible thing in the rising sun. The runner shouted something out that he couldn't hear, but apparently it was the signal to go since the hundreds of horsemen in front of him began to slowly start a trot, and then burst into a full gallop.
With the armor of the horses and cavalrymen clanging, the war cries, and fluttering flags, Alaric barely heard the sounds of death in front. The horse carried him up the hill, and suddenly, the entire battle came into view. At the base of the mountains lay the dark carpet that he had seen two days before, though it was much smaller now than in the previous days. He noticed the hole in the Undead lines as they moved units from one place to another to help relieve the pressure in some areas to others. It was almost a clear line all the way to the base of the mountains, as if the Scourge had split its army almost in two.
The charge came suddenly and quick. In the front, cavalrymen trampled any opposition. For nearly a mile the horsemen charged, their horses not giving way. Countless more Undead were destroyed in that charge as Alaric's cavalry drilled itself deep into the heart of the Undead force.
The length that the cavalry had to charge to reach Kel'thuzad was nearly a mile and a half. In less than five minutes of the devastating charge, Alaric began to see more butchers, and Crypt Lords. Stronger units, surely Kel'thuzad's guards.
Now at the fore of the charge, he lifted one hand off the reins and pointed in one direction, a third of the cavalry men split off as part of the plan of distraction. Laying his hand back on the reins, he now lifted his left, and pointed the other direction, another third breaking off the charge and plowing down more Undead beasts.
"Now its just us, and Kel'thuzad" Alaric thought as he focused his mind back to the front of him.
"ONLY A BIT FURTHER!" a cavalryman screamed at him as he rode up next to him.
Not far off, perhaps a hundred meters Alaric spotted four Crypt Lords, two butchers, and a faint glimpse of a tall, bony, creature with glowing blue orbs where its eye sockets used to be. Under its purple, black, and gold robe, under the bony arm that held it, Alaric spied an old dusty book filled to the brim with pages, and it seemed to be chain locked in special magic chains.
"That is him! Kel'thuzad and the Book!" Alaric's mind exploded. With the sudden closeness of the Litch, his heart leapt and he pushed this horse harder than he had any other.
They were but fifty yards off! So close to acquiring the Book of Medivh!
He waved to his men, yelled out "Only a little bit further men! On to victory!" but suddenly, his cry of jubilance was cut short. The sound of amazingly deep and strange horns echoed over the battlefield, and all souls and Undead creatures turned to face the sound.
The sound echoed across the battlefield like an ill omen, like a virus. More horns erupted, as Alaric looked into the glare of the sun where the sound seemed to be emanating from. Upon a large mountain on the border of both army's easternmost flank, but a quarter kilometer from Alaric a lone figure defied the great rising ball that as the sun.
In the very heart of the sun, as his eyes focused, Alaric could make out a tall figure of muscular proportions. The creature raised its hands to the horn that hung around its neck, and blew on it once again. Crestfallen, Alaric recognized the sound; it was the Horn of Cenarius…
……………………..
He stared down at the titanic forces displayed below him. At this height, they looked as if toy figures, fighting each other in a glorious battle that would delight a child.
His eyes had long been blind, but the power of nature inclined him a sight that was far greater than any that he had ever reaped. He was Barak Demonlasher, Night Elf Inquisitor and Demon Hunter. He had arrived to seek revenge upon his enemy, Alaric'Quel who had so defiled all he had ever fought to protect, and his honor.
The Druids had given him this mission. To retrieve the Waters, and destroy those whom sought to take them, and any in their way. For months now they had wandered in this barbaric and desolate land, finally finding their quarry.
"I shall destroy you before you ever reap the potential powers of the Waters of Nordrassil fool!" he shouted out, knowing that the Alaric he was looking for would hear his cry.
Raising both hands, he laughed a terrible laugh, and once again blew the Horn of Cenarius. Behind, a great army of Night Elves, treants, chimeras, and huntresses mounted on their trusted companions the tigers, Druids of Talon and Claw, and many more had accompanied him on his mission. With this hands held up, he once again laughed, and finally released his arms, in a signal for his entire force to charge down the mountain pass, and destroy those that stood in his way.
The run down the mountain did not take long, and it felt great as he stretched his long legs and felt the wind snap at his hair. In the last meter before a group of human footmen, the only of their kind who stood their ground, he jumped five feet into the air, and landed behind them.
He let his sythes loose, and quickly stabbed those behind him without even looking, still facing the other direction. Glorious geysers of blood erupted from their bodies. Smiling, he turned to face the now frightened regiment of footmen, and began to systematically kill each and all one hundred of them before his force ever reached the base of the mountains.
………………….
Chaos. Panic. Route. All of the above had stricken the Army of the Durnhold and Anduin Praeton's grand 3rd Army of the Alliance.
As soon as Alaric heard that Horn, he knew that the battle was over, and inevitably a loss. There were rumors of a Night Elf expedition on Lordaeron's shores before, but he and the others had paid no heed. When finally looked back over to where Kel'thuzad was standing moments before, he saw an empty Circle of Power; Kel'thuzad had teleported himself to safety. The slippery eel had escaped again.
But finding Kel'thuzad was not of top concern now. Saving the Army was. And so in the panic, the necromancers, and other higher ups in the Scourge's army had left many of their minions to their own lusts, and so Alaric made an easy escape back to the retreating remnants of his own Army.
Returning, he found that Dethal, Arrius, Eolas, and Bludaxe had finally stopped the retreat and forced their men back into line; nearly four miles from their previous command post.
As depressing as the turn of events was, Alaric refused to give in to self destructive thoughts. As soon as he entered the tent, the surviving commanders were about him. For over five minutes they argued and debated as the battle raged ever closer, since their men were being pushed back and forced to retreat nearly every time they created a new front.
Very suddenly, Anduin Praeton, thought already dead in the amazingly surprising flanking Night Elf charge, barged through the tent flaps.
"Leave this place! The knights I assigned to go around the mountain range to prevent Kel'thuzad from escaping have sighted him and the remnants of his army. They are headed on the direction I have written here on this map" Anduin tossed a roll of parchment on the tabletop.
"I will stay behind with my Army and hold these Night Elves off as long as possible. Pursue Kel'thuzad, and may you redeem us all!" Praeton yelled out, face now red.
Alaric only nodded, for it was the only good option they had. Minutes later, the Army of the Durnhold began to disengage leaving Anduin Praeton's greatly outnumbered forces to hold the vicious attacks of the Night Elves at bay. Alaric promised to return, and relieve Anduin, but the man only smiled and said that it was his duty to die here if necessary.
And so, the Army of the Durnhold was saved by the sacrifice of Anduin Praeton, if only for the time being. They quickly passed the mountain range, and finally arrived at safety when they were directly behind the most infuriating mountains. Only then did Alaric look at the parchment Anduin Praeton gave him: the path that Kel'thuzad and his remaining forces took, led straight into the heart of old Quel'thalas.
"It seems as though Quel'thalas shall be reborn through the very fires of war that consumed it in the first place" Alaric said thoughtfully, not enjoying the thought of his destroyed homeland.
And so, the now much reduced Army passed away from the Tirisfal Glades, the march taking nearly three weeks to complete. But eventually, they passed through the first of the Quel'thallasen Gates placed in outer Quel'thalas to safeguard against invaders. The Blood Elves were returning home…