Chapter 18: Into the Realm Once Eternal
(In this chapter, Alaric and his Army trail Kel'thuzad through the dead lands that once made up Quel'thalas. This chapter is going to borrow heavily from out-of-game resources, and so may be hard to understand. I wrote up a small history of the Third War in Quel'thalas to alleviate some of the 'pain' of not understanding what is going on)
April 30th, near the Outer Quel'thalas Gate, continent of Lordaeron
Of the Third War in Quel'thalas: What began with an unsuspecting Plague in the Northlands of Lordaeron, one of the few places untouched by the Wars of the recent decades, the situation quickly spiraled out of control. The elves of the High Elven Kingdom, Quel'thalas, watched carefully, eyeing the recent taint growing in Lordaeron. When their own Prince, Arthas Menethil, turned against them, the High Elves opened up their borders to the human refugees fleeing south and east.
When it came that Uther the Lightbringer and his Paladins of the Order of the Silver Hand were destroyed, it became apparent that the Scourge, and its new agent, Arthas, had turned their eye upon Quel'thalas.
Before complete mobilization of armies could ever be completed, the Undead struck at the southern hamlets and villages. Such places were completely undefended, their inhabitants dying before they were even able to defend themselves.
A little farther north however, scattered bands of resistance harried the Scourge's assault columns as they moved irrevocably through the dense Larlad'un forests. Finally, as the Scourge army, headed by the traitor Arthas, approached the Outer Elven Gate (a huge gate of sunstone and magically weaved metals. It is the only way through the Pass of Korkan, a small canyon that leads a straight road through the forests and to Silvermoon itself) the Ranger Armies of Quel'thalas were able to wage war, now fully mobilized.
Silvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of the Elven forces, fought valiantly around the Outer Gate in a succession of battles. Many on both sides died, yet eventually though sheer numbers, the Undead forced the High Elven armies behind their own Gate, sealing the fate of outer Quel'thalas. The only other route besides the Gate were the bridges that crossed the Cronor River, which were destroyed by the retreating Elves, and so the path for the Undead was made clear.
After finding the three hidden Sun Keys in and between the massive battles, the Undead were able to easily bypass the Gate, and marched into the Midlands of Quel'thalas.
Once again, another magical Elven Gate stood in his way. Arthas, determined not to lose time, waged total war on the inhabitants of the Midlands. Towns were razed, the people slaughtered, all making sure that the Elves would never be able to draw bounty from this land again. Yet again the persistent Sylvanis stood in his way. For days huge battles raged across the Midlands, ravaging everything that got in the way of the fighting.
Slowly but surely, Sylvanis was being pushed back, her Elven forces unable to keep at bay the ever increasing number of Undead. They finally found themselves retreating behind the last fortification before the capital; the Inner Elf Gate, which led to the major cities, harbors and ports, academies, and even the Sunwell.
Brashly and foolishly, Arthas, at the head of the Scourge's army completely ignored the ailing remnetns of the Ranger Army, which were reforming at his flanks. He immediately constructed a siege against fair and beautiful Silvermoon herself, and prepared to reap his destiny.
With an elven force of several thousand on his flank, and the entire defenses of Silvermoon at his fore, Arthas could never hope to successfully storm the fortress city and keep the possession under his control. In an amazing tactical maneuver, Arthas drove the mostly mindless masses of the Scourge in a pincer attack, and overwhelmed Sylvanas at the Battle of the Forest Dorm.
When Sylvanas' forces collapsed around her, Arthas himself rode deep into the elves' wavering lines, and struck down Sylvanas herself. With such a move, the rest of the army she once led was demoralized, and scattered. In a ghastly gesture of his corrupt, rotten soul, impurity, and no sense of honor, he raised Sylvanas from the very position her lifeless body fell to. The Banshee Sylvanas now served the Litch King, and the Scourge in taking her home city of Silvermoon.
The Battle of Silvermoon was bloody and in most cases fought in the streets, homes, and temples of the city. Many civilians perished while trying to either flee or take up arms to defend their homes. Little by little, room by room, road by road, the Scourge gained ground, until the finality of the battle came to the very steps of the Sunstrider Conclave building, and the Sunwell. In the end, many Sunstriders themselves took up arms against the insurgents, yet many more perished. Several of the younger Sunstriders such as Kael'thas, Alaric'Quel, and Eldin Sunstrider were able to escape. When it became clear that there was absolutely no way to win such a battle, or even hopes of holding back the invaders, all fled. In the haste of their retreat, a brave group of captains set fire to the city to prevent the dead from being able to rise, giving them the well deserved fate of a peaceful death.
After Silvermoon had fallen, and burned, the elven organized resistance literally ceased to exist. From this moment on, those that had escaped vowed to avenge their fallen ancestors, families, and race. They became wary of the failing Alliance of Lordaeron, and many times acted without its authority. They soon renamed their entire race Blood Elves, in homage of their fallen people. Months after the destruction of Quel'thalas and the scattering of the High Bourne, a time known as the 'Rise of the Blood Elves' came into being. The Blood Elves continuously proved themselves to be strong and willing enough to make their own claims in the world. Soon, the greatest test for all elves would begin, and their homeland would be reclaimed, if only for a little while…
A charred skull crunched under his thick, leather boot. The smell of the land was one of distant death, and rotting trees. The ground was a dark brown hue, mixed in with a black and infecting soil.
In front of him lay the Larlad'un Forest, a once tall and noble place of solace and meditation. Said to have been standing even when the world was born, the Larlad'un had always stood its place, as if guarding the entrance to the long peninsula north of it. There had once been thousands upon thousands of acres of never ending forest here. The first time these forests had encountered violence was in the great wars between the elves and trolls long ago. And then, thousands of years later the massive jugernaught known as the Orcish Horde had made its way up into these lands, and ravaged its way across the peninsula known as Quel'thalas. But they were defeated in time, and the forests healed.
The time again came that war visited the Larlad'un, yet this time it was to bring a lasting end to so old a forest. The infected blight that the Scourge brought with it destroyed so much of the wildlife here, leaving it a plagued land. Yet the elves, with all their magics and natural ability could heal such damage.
"And so we shall…" Alaric thought to himself surveying the place that once was his people's home.
Around him unorganized knots of men walked slowly, some stumbling in exhaustion. The men were tired, the weeks of hard forced marches finally overtaking the euphoria of the idea of grand re-conquest. Many of the soldiers had lost pieces of their armor, and had bloody bandages were wrapped around heads, arms, legs, and so forth.
Thanks to Duke Winfield's brigades, at least a few caravans filled with supplies were getting to the ever moving Army. The men had now become accustomed to shedding anything that they did not need in order to bear the weight of their knapsacks or backpacks that were now filled with supplies.
"Milord!" a voice called out.
Alaric turned to see the origin of the call. He turned to see a runner, carrying a large envelope sealed shut with red wax. On the wax was imprinted the royal seal of the Court of Stormwind.
The runner, panting, managed to heave himself a few more steps towards the Elf, and tiredly handed him the envelope. "Where has this come from?" Alaric inquired.
"King Varian Wrynn and the Alliance ministers milord!" the exhausted runner announced. Just then did Alaric notice that the runner was wearing ceremonial clothes, and had probably arrived by gryphon-back a few miles to the south where the main base camp was.
Alaric took the letter and quickly ripped the seal. Inside, the letter read;
Stormwind, Azeroth
High Alliance Command
Addressed to: Lord Marshal Alaric Faltron'Quel, Commander of Alliance Armies in Greater Lordaeron.
First Conduct - Status of the War; For months our forces had redoubled their offensive efforts and have met with the heavy resistance that the Scourge was expected to deliver. As of late April, the Undead resistance along the Arathi High Lands has broken, and our armies in that theater have been able to move forward to reinforce your current position.
Second Conduct – Plans for the continuation of the War; With fully a quarter of the Alliance's strength moving north to reinforce your position, it has been thought necessary to divide your command under different leaders to manage a greater scale of conflict. The opening of additional theaters will also place you in more direct control of your forces. You shall yourself be taking personal command of the Quel'thalas theater, in an attempt to retake the lands there.
Third Conduct – A Final Blow; With a portion of the Northern coasts now cleared, a massive armada from the Kingdom of Kul'tiras is moving to your position and should reach the harbors of Old Silvermoon within the end of the new month. Once you unite your forces with those of the southern commanders who are on their way north, you're forces shall embark upon the Kul'tiras flotilla and land on the shores of Northrend in an effort to strike at the heart of the Scourge. Resistance heavier than any before witnessed by the Scourge before is expected, and you should prepare well and soon.
April 27th, 1st Year, New Age
Alaric crumpled the message up in his hand. The runner who had come so far so quickly looked appalled and offended as Alaric summoned a green flame that burnt the paper to a crisp. He waved the runner away, who slowly skulked down the dirt road towards some tents that had been hastily erected as a medical center.
"So, they expect that we are ready to take the fight to the heart of the Scourge eh? If that is their demand, than we shall be ready to end this war once and for all. All that is now required is the Book of Medivh. Something Kel'thuzad keeps very near and dear to…" he almost thought of the word 'himself', but quickly thought of the creature, and corrected with "itself." the thoughts raced through his head. Kel'thuzad and his Guard were but a few miles in front of them, racing to get to the gathering Eastern Plaugeland Scourge in ruins of Silvermoon.
"Captain!" he yelled out, motioning to a young Blood Elf warrior "Make sure all the regiments and brigades keep an orderly column moving, this place is a mess. And also, send a runner for Duke Winfield's forces to rejoin the main battle group. There may be Undead lurking on the forest edges, so be careful"
"Yes my liege" the young Blood Elf said, impressed enough with his task, and ran off.
"When we reach the ruins of Silvermoon, I shall place a vial of the Waters in the old fountain that used to be the Sunwell. From there, the healing of the land shall come, radiating slowly outwards to create a new Quel'thalas. One that will never again fall to the likes of such despicable enemies"
He had never seen these lands. Had thought them to be something more…even after their infecting, Havin Lightslayer believed that they would be special somehow, as if still infused with some kind of mysterious magic. But no, there was no such specialties in this damned place. It was the same thought the rest of the Scourge's great holdings in Lordaeron.
Though now, after great training in the arts of necromancy and darkness in Northrend, he had been returned here with a great number at his side to aid Kel'thuzad in the recent, unexpected, and extremely violent human incursion. He had learned of Alaric'Quel, the leader of the Alliance pigs, and studied his strategy and tactics.
"The fool has returned to his homeland, and seeks to reclaim what was once his. That will make him an even more dangerous foe as his Elf heritage will instinctively kick in, and make him fight harder for every inch of his homeland" Havin thought to himself. He remembered the stalwart Elven forces in the many battles of Larlad'un and Silvermoon.
Since his awakening on the in Hillsbrad, he had been trained in the ways of a Death Knight. He had already killed a Paladin, one that he had once called a fellow brother.
But now under orders from the Litch King himself he had traversed this cursed land once again to aid Kel'thuzad in this new war against the Alliance.
Out in the distance Havin spied Kel'thuzad on top of a large mound of dirt that used to be called a hill, under the red-orange mottled sky. The skeletal figurine that carried an impressive onyx and gold head piece, a dusty book chained to his side, and some loin cloth that freely blew in the polluted air.
Without ever looking at him, Kel'thuzad spoke "Have you come here with many? For you will need them. This Elf fights with vigor and aggressiveness not seen in many. It has not been since I believe Prince Arthas since I have seen such resistance and power over the elements" the voice of an old man, yet somehow rejuvenated with new energy, spoke.
Havin looked up to Kel'thuzad "I have come with what was able old Litch. The Alliance is putting up great fights on all the other fronts, and to the south of here, they have already broken though…though I'm sure you knew that" he said, trying to rub the former member of the Kirin Tor's face in the ground. He had always despised Litches, and had thought Death Knights capable of fully leading the Scourge into battle, as did all of his kin.
Kel'thuzad spoke nothing for a moment, a time of hesitation or planning for his next speech. "It was not my fault. From nowhere came a massive Night Elf force and nearly swiped both of the armies locked in combat away"
"How could an army of Night Elves and their pet slaves make it so far inland without you ever noticing? Has your power slipped Kel'thuzad?" Havin said, a cold ball of glee forming in his stomach. This was the most fun he had had since he killed Deneren the Judicator, his old Paladin master at the base of the Hillsbrad Foothills.
The Litch's 'eyes', actually two orbs of blue energy burst into deep royal blue flame at the insult. He had not been insulted since…since Arthas first joined the Scourge more than three years ago. Immediately he composed himself, and ordered the disobedient Death Knight away, to go form his Scourge with what little he had left.
Kel'thuzad looked over at the horizon, and though it was only midday, the Plaugelands skies were always polluted and cursed, adopting a green or the orange-red sky that this day held.
"Yes, come you fool. This time there will be no pretty Night Elves to save you. Let the race of the Elf finish where it began, because with your downfall the last remnants of your pitiful race will wither and die. Let us have one last battle"
May 2nd, Alliance 1st Army (Army of Durnhold) Central Command
"If we cut around the old ruins of Silvermoon, then we can effectively trap Kel'thuzad and whatever reinforcements he has. He will have his back to the sea and will be able to do nothing but try to force a breakout" Dethal said with zeal. He had always been a master tactician. But Alaric was not seeing the strategy as a good one.
"Yes, we can cut them off and force them to the beaches. But do you think they would ever allow such? I now hear that they have over thirty thousand in their number, though the reports are always less than true. If so, they will have more than us when we meet them in battle and adopting such a strategy will leave us completely indefensible on the flanks. What do you think of the plan Eolas?"
Eolas sat in his chair, mind elsewhere, staring off into the distance.
"Eolas!" Alaric said louder now.
Eolas shook himself awake, "Err, umm, yes. A good plan my liege" Eolas had been acting strangely now. Before Alaric had only worried about his friend's overconfidence and brashness, but now something inside Eolas was changed. Had it been continual war that had eventually snapped something in his mind? Alaric guessed he would never know.
Sighing, he turned back to the piece of parchment that his commanders were gathered around. Outside the miserable orange-red sky stretched on forever, and in the distant horizon the faint globe of yellow slowly sunk.
Tomorrow they would move for the finishing cut to finish of Kel'thuzad and take the Book of Medivh. Alaric knew that it was going to be another blood bath, but with the paths now to the south open, more men could come in as replacements for those lost in the string of battles that had ranged from Tarren Mill to the Undercity.
The only thing that worried Alaric greater than what lay before his army was that of the Night Elves. How in the Light's name did they end up here in Lordaeron! He knew of Night Elf expeditions and explorers, but nothing of this magnitude. The Alliance and the Night Elves had a frosty relationship, but never a violent one. And when Alaric had traversed Kalimdor, he clearly made it out that it was an independent Expedition, not backed in any way by the Alliance. Only by individuals who were willing.
So that was struck out. But he already knew the answer. They believed him a most dangerous factor that could repeat the history of the past; a High-borne with great power, delving into 'evil' magics, and then invading their territory, and stealing what little remainder of the Well of Eternity there was. The story greatly reminded him of the fabled War of the Ancients and Illidan's rise and fall. "They must want to kill me very much so…Seems I'm not to popular these days" he said to himself chuckling which drew some odd faces. He shook his head and they went back to arguing amongst themselves.
He shoved the thought of the Night Elves searching for him out of his mind and instead focused on the task at hand. Tomorrow was going to be a long, long, day.
May 3rd, Quel'thalas Inner Domain
They had made it to the inner portions of Quel'thalas without much trouble. They passed the old battlefields where many where slain, castles and forts that had remained untouched for thousands of years now fallen into disrepair and destruction, burned down villages and even larger cities.
But now finally the fight had begun. Alaric gazed upon the battlefield with his scope, trailing the tides of the fight. The great mass of black he easily identified as the Scourge and his men with their armor glinting off of the early morning sun.
A great dust cloud had obscured the battle, so that he had to leave his lookout peak on the cliffs of nearby mountains to a lower and less remote location. Along the battlefront was a large, open field, followed by the ruins of an abandoned town to the left.
It was almost time for the breakthrough. They would be trying the same strategy as in the 'Great Battle of Tirisfal' (as some were calling it already). Yet this would be a much harder battle to fight than that of the Tirisfal battles. This one was strung out over a huge area and there were many places where there was no fighting going on at all.
"We are going to push through in one of those gaps" Alaric reminded himself. They were going to push back the Scourge with a devastating magical blow from the Arch-Mage's magic and then exploit the stunned leadership of the Scourge by forcing Duke Winfield's forces through the gap in the battle.
Looking back over at the battle, Alaric could tell that it was not his men that were doing the pushing. They were slowly giving way all along the front, as the Scourge's great numbers continued to push forward.
They just kept coming. More and more; far more than Alaric had expected. Suddenly, the dust lifted and he could make out a distant silhouette of a man riding a all too bony horse. Green energy emanated from him as he rode along the lines of the Scourge that continued their wave attacks. Every so often he would release a foul magic, which would blow dozens of men back. And every so often he would raise his hands, and strange runes would form around the ground directly around him, and the recently fallen would arise to his cause.
"A damned Death Knight! We are going to have to finish this now!" Alaric yelled out to Dethal, who sat next to him with a full contingent of veteran cavalry that used to belong to Grand Marshal Garithos' home guard. They carried no sympathies for the Elven kind, and were just as racist as Garithos himself, yet unlike him they proved themselves worth their mettle. He let out a high whistle and his horse dashed forward followed by those of the 'Garithos Brigade'. They would have to finish this Death Knight off before anything could be accomplished.
Near Midday
It was a hard battle, Genn had thought to himself. But he was wrong. It wasn't hard. It was downright hellish. His men were fighting near an old barn at the edge of one of the battles. The fighting was spread out across many miles, and not all of the areas could be focused on, so instead of one grand battle like the one in the Tirisfal Glades, there was a string of smaller ones.
Once a man was in battle, he no longer feared, and was lead by instinct. But here, there was no telling where the enemy was next. All of a sudden they would pop out of a hole in the ground, or ambush them from behind tall rocks or buildings. Not being constantly in a fight put the fear of dying in the men, the fear that was not there during constant battle.
"Sir, I think I heard something in the barn" one of his men whispered out. And thanks to this mans 'great hearing' the men got riled up, and started murmuring amongst themselves.
"Everyone, quiet!" Genn said in a high pitched rasp. He motioned for first company with their thirty odd men to move in and check out the barn. The detachment slowly approached the barn, the men with their iron or wooden shields raised and swords at the ready. The air was tense, and thick with foreboding. As Genn quietly ordered the remaining men around the barn to pounce on anything that might be in it, those thirty or so silently entered. The barn floor, covered in old hay, creaked as the men entered. And suddenly, an object flew past one of the men in the lead who let out a scream of terror. Yet as the object slowly stopped swinging, the embarrassed man identified it as a skeleton with a noose around its neck.
Genn smiled as he saw the happenings. One of the men started to call out an 'all clear' when the ground began to rumble. So sharply and suddenly did such happen that those the advance company all were shaken to the ground. The roof of the barn exploded, sending men and wooden splinters flying everywhere.
An abomination jumped out of the cellar of the old barn, and began his insane swinging. More men were cleaved as the abomination swung its sickles and butcher knifes. Just then, Genn noticed that the entire ground under the barn had begun to crack and fall apart.
"Merciful gods" he whispered. Dozens upon dozens of ghouls and nerubians poured out of the holes and cracks in the ground. Almost immediately the men closest to the utter destruction were consumed in the raging storm of undead.
The company of men, or what was left of them, that were sent forward were screaming in pain and horror. Genn raised his shield as a large undead beast swung its scythe implanted arm at him. The scythe cut though the iron shield leaving a large claw-like maw in his shield.
Something hard hit him on the head, and he fell backwards, the world spinning. Looking at the sky, he saw that the sun hadn't even reached noon yet, and then blacked out.
Late Dusk
He couldn't tell how the battle was going. Every so often, they would charge forward to find that the Scourge had abandoned their position. And that was how the Alliance forces were advancing. In some places resistance was so heavy not a chicken could peck seeds on the ground because there were so many arrows, swords, and more flailing around, yet the next minute the Scourge would be gone.
Slowly they were pulling Kel'thuzad, or so he thought it was Kel'thuzad, was pulling his forces closer to a central location to provide even harder resistance. Duran Talonfist and his resistance warriors were assigned to this sector of battle; the very northern edge of the Larlad'un Forest.
Right now he and his men were sneaking through the remains of the old forest. He and those others that were Rangers in Quel'thalas' employment in its day remembered this forest well, for it was their training ground, and a pivotal place in the battle against the Orcs.
He and his men all carried bows, with a quiver full of freshly made arrows slung across their backs. Sneaking around in the forest had its advantages. His men were veterans of guerrilla fighting and had been given such an opportunity in this battle as to prove their worth and ability.
Their mission was to sneak behind the main battle and disrupt Kel'thuzad's control over the Scourge by destroying the ziggurats that gave the Litch a greater ability to control his minions. Along with them was a dwarven demolitions team. The ingenious dwarves and their invaluable gunpowder sciences had been put to use en masse during the many wars that had ravaged Lordaeron since the formation of the Alliance.
And so again they would prove themselves to be an invaluable asset to the Alliance. To the south, just outside of the forest was a large flatland of dirt. In the flatland a large pyramidal object raised out of the ground; something very unnatural.
Duran took a swig of refreshing spring water from his flask, and signaled for his men to quietly approach. The huge ziggeraut had a large crystal formation floating seemingly harmless above its peak. The energies of stolen souls echoed and rebounded within the crystal, giving the ziggeraut its power.
"Ay, there be ar' target. Now all ya' got ta' do is take out the undead lurkin' round i'" the dwarf captain spoke quietly, shuffling his compact frame towards Duran.
"Yes, my men can take care of this" he replied coolly.
He slowly rose, the dark figure and flowing robe outlined by the slivers of silver light of the rising moon through the deadened pine trees. His men aimed their bows, all three hundred of them and slowly traced the undead underlings that mindlessly patrolled the area around the ziggurat.
"Quel'lagaroth!" Duran called out, and all three hundred Rangers let loose their missiles. Immediately a score of the undead fell, iron tipped arrows protruding through heads and torsos.
It was time. He drew a small human dagger, scavenged from one of the abandoned Lordaeronian villages and rushed forward behind the great wave of his men. As he drew upon the edge of the forest, the few undead that had survived began their mindless whirlwind of killing.
He could hear the screams of his men as the ravenous zombies and ghouls ate into their armor and tore away their flesh as a tasty treat. He saw more than one banshee fly directly and ethereally into the armors of his men and take control of their bodies using their twisted magics.
He continued to run forward with a smaller number of his men, and noticed that the purple tinted crystal formation on top of the zig, as they called them for short, had begun to glow stronger. Now visible the visible spirits of the trapped souls began to circle around the zig, their spirit energies giving life to the zig.
Duran never had time to call out a warning. Almost immediately the charged spirit energies of the zig fired a blue bolt at the mass of his Rangers. A mighty sonic boom spread across the dirt field and not only popped Duran's ears, but thrust him to the ground. As he looked about, he saw the bleeding, maimed, and tangled corpses of the dwarven demolitions team.
"A million curses on that ziggurat" he screamed out. He ran up to the still steaming pile of flesh that was only seconds ago the dwarven demolitions team and was more than relieved to see that their equipment had not been badly damaged; in fact three of the five charges, each with enough power to destroy one of these confounded spirit stealers, had survived.
He pulled the heavy load around his back and ran towards the zig and jumped up the first few stairs until he had reached the mid structure. There, he placed the charges down, heaving and panting.
"Now what do I do with this confounded piece of machinery!" he said outloud, barely hearing his voice over the additional blasts of energy the zig was pumping out at his Rangers.
For half a minute he fumbled around with each of the charges until he was so enraged and frustrated that he nearly burnt one. But it was such a motion that he discovered that the long string had to be ignited as a timer for the charge to go off. He smiled, and quickly lit the other charges, and ran at his fullest speed down the zig.
He screamed over and over for his men to back away and get into the forest for cover. Running in the open like that somehow slowed time down for him. He looked back over his shoulder once to see that the zig had fully charged again, and was prepared to fire.
Swinging his head around, he made one last desperate lunge for the forest as the zig prepared to fire its shot. In that split second, the charges exploded, pulverizing the superstructure of the ziggurat, completely destroying any support for the crystal. As the structure collapsed, the spirit energies were released, and the volitale crystal fell on its own suspension building, finishing the blow.
The sheer force of the explosion threw Duran fifteen feet and slammed him against a tree. Slowly opening his eyes, he could see the embers of the explosion slowly fluttering back down to earth, and some of his men gather around him. They helped pull him up, which put him in great pain as he had broken a rib or two.
One made the comment of their job finished and now 'going back to camp', but Duran replied "Camp? That was one ziggurat! I believe we still have work at the front lines!"
Early Morning
The sun still hadn't risen, yet its great warmth had started to spread across the land. The clouds hung pink and red in the presence of the rising sun. The string of battles had shifted during the night, Kel'thuzad pulling his forces into a tighter defensive ring around the ruins of Old Silvermoon.
Alaric sifted through the wreckage of the battle that had ravaged this area not to long ago. The Death Knight he was hunting had craftily escaped his sudden attack. For all he knew the Death Knight was out there killing more of his men.
He looked over the dusty plains that used to be Quel'thalas, and thought of all those that had fallen on those plains in the Third War. They were close to the base camp of Sylvanis Windrunner that had so daringly staved off the Scourge long enough for at least half of the city to escape via the ports and harbors along the coast.
Ruined towers and stone keeps lay scattered about him, all that as left of the great High Keep of Thalas, which had stood for nearly nine thousand years; since the founding of Quel'thalas.
"The ghosts of this place shall be avenged soon" he whispered, the pain of loss cutting into him. "We have already come so far…we have taken flight to Kalimdor, fought the entirety of the Horde, traveled north and retrieved the Waters of Eternity from the resting place of the holy Well. From there they had returned here to Lordaeron and fought a great War, which had helped pull the Alliance even tighter nit and given it new life and vigor.
"Yes, it is out time to win. Vengence has come to us at last" With the death of Kel'thuzad, the War would be coming to a close soon. The rebirth of Quel'thalas could be allowed, and the final path to the Litch King and the damnable bastard Arthas pried open.
As he looked up from the small bits of rubble he sat on, a small contingent of footmen marched across the dusty field. In the distance lay the ruins of Silvermoon, and the final obstacle; the Scourge's forces.
Great casualties had been taken thought yesterday and the night and even though neither side called a victory, Alaric knew that they were decisive engagements seeing as how the Scourge had been forced to retreat further and further, Kel'thuzad seeing that he had been outwitted and outmaneuvered on a tactical scale.
"It will end today. Today we shall storm the ruins of Silvermoon, and take back what is ours by all rights of blood and heritage!" he thought, mind racing. It was time; the men were ready, the reserves being brought up to replace the shattered brigades of last night and yesterday.
There were going to be even heavier losses wiping the Scourge out of Silvermoon, but with many of the ziggurats destroyed thanks to the brave espionage crews that had destroyed them the previous night, not even a being as powerful as Kel'thuzad could coordinate them with the intensity of usual.
It took most of the morning to get the force into position, and in some places the ruins of the city had already been breached. Defeating small and scattered bands of wandering undead without control because of the destruction of the ziggurats was an easy and menial task. The fight here was going to be a lot like that at Tarren Mill, Hillsbrad, and the Capitol.
Alaric had donned the Blood Red plate and mail of a Blood Elf one last time, to blend in with fellows of his race and encourage them that he did not stand above them in any way. This was the last time though. Once Silvermoon was retaken and the magical land of Quel'thalas reborn as the grand ceremonial refilling of the Sunwell began, revenge for those who had died here would be quenched, and the Blood Elves would once again be the High Elves.
The first lines had arrayed themselves parrelel to the ruined walls of Silvermoon. Many spots in the wall were either torn down or burned out holes, and already the artillery had fired several rounds into the obviously weak spots crumbling what was left of the South Wall where the infantry was about to move into.
Within the leftovers of the streets and roads of the city, Alaric notices how packed they were with undead. It was going to be a hard fight.
He then turned his gaze back to the first columns of men, now deploying into their regiment lines, and then rushed in. He cheered them on as they ran headfirst into the ruins. Just behind the first wave a group of mounted mages rode up to the walls and unleashed a massive magical ice storm upon the undead.
Almost immediately huge gray clouds formed above as the mages sung their spells and ethereal runes and spirit circles appeared under their feet and above their heads. A loud clash of thunder and a brief flash of lighting and little snow flakes began to drop. The snow flakes grew into larger and larger pieces, eventually becoming roaring hail that soared out of the summoned clouds at incredible speeds doing as much damage as any bullet would do to a body.
When the footmen had entered the ruins, they stopped as punctually as Dalaran mages were made out to be, and pulled back, as a wave of undead rushed out to meet the footmen.
For the first time in three years, an official Army of the Alliance had stepped foot in the ruined city of Silvermoon…
The battle had raged for the better part of the day. Havin could not tell who was winning or who was losing. There was too much dust and smoke from the fires and battle to tell what was going on behind the lines. While the foolish Kel'thuzad seemed content at 'directing' the battle from within the Silvermoon Sanctum of Hierarchs, Havin had taken it upon himself to visit the front line.
As he swept down the weed infested cobblestone streets and back alleys, he spotted fighting happening in almost every corner. From the little crevices between buildings to the main streets the battle raged. From building to building and bridge to bridge the Scourge and Alliance fought utterly and ferociously.
He could feel through the telepathic link to his minions about where they were and where the most desperate battle was occurring. He dashed past broken lamp posts, the skeletal remains of Inns, smashed statues and public icons, and rounded tight corners until he reached the High Road, which was the main road leading to the heart of the city which was apparently the Alliance's main goal. Their 'contact' within the Alliance Army had told them that their leader, the aggressive Blood Elf named Alaric'Quel was waging an all-or-nothing battle to reach the remnants of the Sunwell.
Reaching such a place of negative magic could greatly turn the tide of the battle, or perhaps even enable him to destroy any undead within miles with a single blast of the fouled energies of the Sunwell.
Rushing up the road he was on, he could see his forces pushing and foraying into battle along the High Road. They were so thick in number that they literally had ceased to be movement ten or twenty yards behind the fighting. Whenever they were to move up, it was because their comrades at the front had been slaughtered.
Havin spotted a regiment of blue and silver clad Stormwind soldiers running up to the tangled mass of walking dead and try to pry a breakthrough, only to be massacred. The sight of those glorious geysers of blood made Havin smile. As the footmen began to panic and break, the cannibalistic ghouls overran them, and tore into their armor consuming their most delicious flesh. The screams of those men slowly being eaten alive only made Havin a happier Death Knight.
A large expanse, probably thirty yards wide separated the two forces, where dwarven snipers and human and elven archers fired their missiles which criss-crossed with that of the undead's. In those thirty yards, hundreds of bodies were covered the floor, piling on top of each other and making the road slick with blood.
A long wall of Alliance warriors stood strong at the end of the road, which the tall buildings from which the archers where dueling overshadowed. Havin, using his command of the undead created a path for himself, and slowly rode up to the front of the group of undead that stood silent and passive by his side.
He laughed his terrible laugh, and lay his sword parallel to the buildings, pointed straight at the Alliance figure on a horse in front of them, of course their Colonel or General or whoever was in control of this line.
At once the undead to his sides rushed at him, the man with terror burned in his eyes. Havin then cast his aura, which gave the undead around him a greater will to feed on the souls of the living, making them a stronger foe to resist. He then accompanied the long wining wave of undead through the streets.
He let forth a shrill cry, and let loose the dogs of war. He fired bolts of dark magic side to side, which instantly fried the hearts of the helpless humans who now stood divided at the cross roads.
The humans were now cut in half, their forces pushed back onto lesser roads. Whatever regiments were here, they were now badly chewed up, and probably never to be combat effective groups again.
A single mage stood amidst a sea of undead which tried to claw at him, yet were rebuffed by the blue aura that surrounded him.
"The Light shall punish you, dark fool!" the elder cried out directly to him as he spotted the Death Knight.
"Feel the wrath of the Litch King old man!" Havin yelled out in reply, and pulled his horse's stirrup which made its flaming hooves jump high into the air. Cast in mid air, Havin unleashed a torrent of dark spirit energy on the old mage. The dark purple magic weaved its way through the air like a serpent, finding its target, and striking.
The mages shield held, but barely. The mage gave up step by step as the dark energy continued its lightening strikes. Eventually, the man collapsed to his feet, unable to resist any longer, yet somehow he still kept the shield around him.
Havin's teeth bared at that moment. The old man was frail, and could not stand up to another assault of his amazing magic. The old man looked up, locked onto Havin's eyes, and understood that his end had come. Havin told his minions to withdraw, and chase the remnants of whatever human opposition there was left on the High Road.
He then pushed his steed forward and at a full gallop, crushed any of his minions before him. He leveled his sword, prepared to throw it like a javelin, and almost stopped when he saw the man's surprising smile. The smile etched on his face for eternity though, as Havin released the sword which zoomed past his now white hair, and impaled the old man's shield, striking him down once and for all.
The Death Knight rode up slowly to the old mages dead body. What had he to smile about? Finally going to see the Light? Havin laughed at that, but was stopped short as he felt a hard punch on his chest. Slowly, he looked down to see a rune blade steaming with energy protruding through his chest plate which bore a single skull.
Havin, now with his last breath looked to behind him where he saw a single chestnut brown horse with a single rider upon it. With his vision blurring, Havin struggled to see who it was. The rider approached, firmly set his hand on the hilt of his supposed sword which was lodged in the back of Havin.
As blood started to spill out of his mouth, Havin realized that the figure behind him was a Blood Elf. "So…you…are the one that leads them" he said slowly, head over his shoulder.
The Elf snorted in disgust, pulled the sword around, and thrust it out, which caused Havin to buckle once again. The mage had smiled for what reason? The answer was apparent to Havin Lightslayer at that moment. He had bought this Elf enough time to sneak his forces around him, and cut off the head of the Scourge for nearly this half of the city. With no ziggurats around, and Kel'thuzad busy with the rest of his Scourge, his undead minions would turn on each other.
Havin looked down at the floor, and realized he had failed the Litch King, who would probably never let him live after such a failure anyway. Slowly, he turned around one more time to face the Blood Elf that was standing right behind him with the bloodied sword, and spat at his face.
The Blood Elf, face now obscured in a blurry cloud once again thrust his sword into Havin, this time at his heart. It was the end now. Blackness began to descend upon Havin Lightslayer, who slumped in his saddle, and fell of the floor, the sounds of his armor and the sword still impaled into his heart clattering loudly. He tiredly looked up to see the face of the Blood Elf, clear now. How he hated that face! The darkness would consume this monster before he ever achieved his goal.
"Damn you!" he said, the words barely forming. The Elf's face now twisted into a smile, as it once again pulled its bloodied sword from Havin's shattered frame. The darkness descended upon Havin, once holy Paladin, now a destroyed tool of the Litch King.
Alaric stood over the body of the Death Knight who had so eluded him for this long. Without their control, the undead within at least this half of the ruins would turn on each other.
It was time to make his way to the Sanctum of Hierarchs where the last obstacle lay; Kel'thuzad. His men were still fighting hard in the city, many of them dying in the climactic struggle.
Yet the High Road Alaric had once known so well was cleared, only the bodies of the dead blocking the way. He, Dethal, and several Priests of the Brotherhood that trailed behind him slowly trotted up the streets where runners would constantly run up to him and warn of great dangers lurking behind every corner. More runners ran up to him and Dethal, telling of great battles happening around the city still, even in this part that he thought by now would be a mop up operation.
Still though, he had several regiments lock High Road off from the other roads which made it more or less safe to traverse. As they continued forward, the sky had begun to turn black with clouds, and it began to let loose a torrential freezing rain.
"Again with this spell Litch?" he asked thin air. Of course, nothing answered him.
He and the Blood Elf's, the leaders of the remaining Elven kind continued up the High Road, and slowly the fog that had descended upon the area could no longer hide the massive Sanctum of Hierarchs.
The Sanctum was once home to the Sunstrider Dynasty, where all the matters of the Kingdom were put to rest and solved. The great structure loomed before them as they approached ever closer. Its once gleaming stone walls were now covered in ash and grime, and the proud towers that had once escorted the building in the four cardinal directions lay in ruins beside her.
Alaric sighed as he saw how much damage the once grand building had taken, and where such an evil had now taken up residence.
Soon, Kel'thuzad would fall, and the final moments of the subjugation of Quel'thalas would end.
The group, in silent reverence to those that had fallen in these halls, rode on, through the Great Gates of the Sanctum, and entered the buildings massive halls. Here, they dismounted, and continued on foot. The ceiling here rose for many dozens of feet, and the floor, though stained with blood, still reflected their images.
The halls were completely without the undead beasts that they could here scurrying about outside. Their footsteps though were the only noises that reverberated from inside the halls.
Finally, after a long walk from the main halls and an even longer trek up the winding stairs of the Center Tower, they came upon a final chamber where the King would sometimes use to look over the city. This tower rose above all others in the city, a great shining spire that was the ultimate epitaph of Elven engineering and architecture.
The long staircase continued for what seemed like an eternity above and below them, Alaric not being able to see the top or bottom at one point.
Upon reaching the top, Alaric could sense the darkness that lingered in the final chamber. "The evil we seek to cleanse is within that chamber" Tanin Firestar, the leader of the Brotherhood of Light's Clerics spoke solemnly.
"Let us finish this infestation once and for all my brothers!" Alaric said in a low tone, and together Alaric, Tanin, and Dethal watched reverently by four other Clerics pushed back the massive doors. The room was revealed, a floor strew with books and tomes thousands of years old, a single skylight which light was allowed through that reflected off a spirit circle encrusted with pure gold runes in the marble floor.
And on the entrance to the balcony a dark figure stood, watching over the city in the exact spot where the Kings of the High Elves had for millennia.
Kel'thuzad's dark purple-black robes swayed slightly in the wind, and the jewel and rune encrusted mantle upon his head stood straight up, far out-sizing Kel'thuzad's true stature.
The Litch was dressed in a robe appropriate for a King; obviously a ceremonial gown. On the balcony that surrounded the central tower was the entire overview of the city. The great walls that once stood proud and defiant were smashed and torn down. The city was enveloped in a great cloud of smoke from all the burning fires and dust from the movement of thousands within its once bustling streets.
"I knew you would come" an eerie voice said, perhaps one of an old man filled with raging emotions, the tone echoing through the small chamber. "Just as have all the other enemies of this undead Scourge. We have fought before, I believe Alaric'Quel. And also on the same side during the Orcish invasion. Hmm, we have more history than I first believed. But now that I remember such things, I know your weaknesses, and can read your mind like a book now" Kel'thuzad said, deep in thought.
Alaric's upper lip turned in disgust, seeing as how this thing was once human. "Long have I hunted you Litch Kel'thuzad. Your reign is now over, and your master's shall soon be as well"
The Litch turned around slowly, the robe flowing. "No, Elf. I do not believe that. And I do believe that your great power has been so wasted on futile efforts such as this one. If only you had joined the Scourge as I had, you could enjoy the paradise of an eternal life free of disease, pain, and worry"
Alaric visibly scanned Kel'thuzad up and down. "I don't see a paradise standing in front of me Litch. I see an abomination of life, something that should have died long ago" he replied, tone icily cold.
"Yes, I thought as much. Disappointing really. I could have used one like you, especially to replace that damned caste of Death Knights like my little pet Havin Lightslayer whom you so graciously killed for me. He irked me so"
"You sicken me" Alaric said in an unflattered tone "I will do what I must" he then slowly pulled his rune blade from its sheath, and turned it to Kel'thuzad, laying a foot from the Litch's bony chest.
Kel'thuzad laughed, and in a manner faster than Alaric thought possible threw his hand up, and let loose a mighty wave of invisible energy which knocked Alaric to the ground. The five Cleric's, including Tanin Firestar were smashed into the walls, giving them deep cracks and dents. The five were either dead or unconscious Alaric noticed as he slowly drew his pained body back up.
To his side Dethal as well rose up, and pulled out his sword. "You fool! You are nothing to me! NOTHING!" Kel'thuzad screamed out and shot a blast of forked lightning at Dethal. The lightning nearly killed Dethal, badly searing the flesh on his chest. He then collapsed as well.
"Damn, he is powerful" Alaric thought to himself "Defeating some of the most powerful spell casters in the Alliance in a mere two blows"
The orbs of light that were Kel'thuzad's eyes flared with anger and frustration at these peons being so weak. It was now Kel'thuzad, the Litch King's greatest agent, against Alaric'Quel, leader of the Blood Elves and forces of the Alliance.
Again drawing his sword against Kel'thuzad's chest, he and the Litch slowly began to circle around the round room, eyes locked in a contest of wits.
Before they circled around the room completely, Alaric pushed all his energy into a quick thrust at the Litch's chest plate which Kel'thuzad easily sidestepped and countered with a quick blast of icy energy from his hand. The blast nearly topped Alaric over, and pushed him out onto the balcony.
Kel'thuzad slowly floated towards Alaric, who was trying to get up again. Overcoming such bolts of energy slowly drained his own. "See the power you have denied yourself! See the glory of the Scourge that you have tried to defile!" Kel'thuzad exclaimed.
Alaric stood, almost doubled over though, panting as he slowly rose. Yet the Litch gave him no rest. Again and again he shot the blasts into Alaric, slowly eating away at his armor, and eventually exposing his mailed chest. Each bolt pushed Alaric back another step, further and further onto the balcony which rose hundreds of feet from the nearest floor which was the roof of the Sanctum far below.
The painful attacks continued until Alaric was barely standing, right against the stone railings and gargoyles that overlooked the city. A small chuckle Kel'thuzad let out, and one more blast flung Alaric out of the tower, pushing him through the stone railing which broke at the pressure of his weight and that of the attack's.
Locked in a freefall, Alaric tumbled head over toe over and over. The wind screeched past him as he fell many stories down parallel to the tower. The world around him was a blur as he fell at such great speed. The pieces of the railing that he had been pushed through also fell with him,
"I will not perish!" he cried out with all his strength, and thrust his sword out to his side with his right hand, which caught the stone bricks of the tower. Holding onto the sword and going at such a speed caused a lance of pain to emanate all over his body. He could feel the muscle and tendons on his arm physically tear from the stress and pressure.
For another three stories he continued to fall, yet slowing now with the rune blade deeply locked into the side of the tower. Pieces of debris flew past him as the sword cut away at more of the brick lining of the tower.
But the blue tiled roof of the Sanctum was still approaching far to fast! Thinking quickly, Alaric, with his free left hand summoned elemental wind from below. The great gust going only Light knew how fast quickly slowed Alaric's descend, and flung him up, almost tearing his iron grip from the sword.
He had closed his eyes in pure fear when he had summoned the wind, not sure if it would help at all. Slowly, noticing his decent had finally stopped, he looked down. Just five feet below him was the roof of the Sanctum.
Suddenly, his right arm completely recoiled, and let go of the sword, the arm unable to contain any more stress. As he fell to the tiled roof, he looked up at the raining sky in disbelief. He then looked over to the long tear in the tower that his sword had done, and began to chuckle slowly. The small chuckle turned into a full blown laugh, and soon his body was racked with a madman's hysterical laughter.
He soon stopped the laughing though, as he noticed the terrible pain in his arm and shoulder starting to infect the rest of his body. He had just escaped death by not even a hair.
He did not feel he could stand, felt as if every bone in his body was gone. Unable to get back up, he did not notice the skeletal figure approaching him. Kel'thuzad, being a mystical creature, had teleported himself to the roof of the Sanctum to examine the Blood Elf's body. And yet somehow he had LIVED!
"How in the name of Darkness did he live!" Kel'thuzad's mental speech exploded.
"Patience Litch. The Elf is shattered now, and is like a cripple awaiting death from a executioner" another voice echoed. The vast voice of the Litch King resonated through his cranium, and he understood what such a message meant.
Slowly, Kel'thuzad's skeletal figure floated over to the writhing Elf whom eyed him as he closed within five feet. "It is time for me to finish you Alaric'Quel. Let me tell you how satisfying it is for me to kill you. You are like a final figurine in a collection, for it was your father I killed, whom so tried to defend the statue of Dath'Remar. I then killed the rest of your family with my bare hands, and let me tell you, it was the most enjoyable thing to see their life's squirming in my hand. Now, I shall finish the destruction of your family with your death…" Kel'thuzad said, Alaric listening with an increasing fury.
Alaric let loose a great roar of anger, the feeling in his body returning. He lunged up, and with his left hand punched deep into the Litch's armor, cutting a deep swath through the breast plate and breaking into its rib cage.
"You filthy animal!" Alaric cried out in blind rage as he twisted his hand and pulled it out of the most surprised Litch's chest. He then grabbed Kel'thuzad by the spine, and threw him against the side of the tower base from which Alaric had just fallen.
As the Litch struggled to get back up, Alaric, with his good hand, pulled the rune blade from the tower wall, and swung it at the Litch's body. Again and again he cut through the armor like a knife in butter, pieces of the decrepit creature's bone flying away.
The Litch, now fully ready unleashed a frost nova, a blast of ice elemental energy which in turn threw Alaric against the tower wall, which was now savaged by the fight. Back and forth the two fought, Alaric's blade seemingly doing little damage, yet the fury in his heart only grew.
Eventually, with his back against the wall, Alaric's blade was shot out of his hand by a blast of ice, which froze it to the wall. Kel'thuzad, seemingly victorious now, approached the cornered Alaric.
"An animal fights more ferociously when it is cornered Litch!" Alaric said quickly, again surprising Kel'thuzad. The ball of ice that had stuck his hand to the tower base quickly melted as an elemental energy of fire was summoned by Alaric.
He quickly moved his hand to face Kel'thuzad, who also fired a blast of ice energy to counter the attack. With fire against ice, the two were now locked in a duel; their mana, energy, and wills now pitted against each other in a final climactic battle, the last push with the thunder and lightning of the Scourge's summoned storm surrounding them.
"BEGONE WITH YOU FOUL LITCH!" Alaric bellowed out, and started to step forward. Against the physical might of his opponent, Kel'thuzad could do little, and as Alaric began to step forward, the Litch could no longer hold its own. His continuous blast of energy ceased, as did Alaric's who ran forward, and grabbed his skull.
"May the Light have mercy on you" he whispered out, as he held the skull in his hand, and crushed it in one final rush of energy.
As the skull was crushed and the bits of yellow bone thrown splintered across the roof, the Litch's bones began to glow a pale blue. Slowly, his very foundations and spirit were erased as his link to the Litch King was severed. A huge blast of energy erupted from the remnants of Kel'thuzad which threw Alaric against the wall of the tower once more.
The shockwave passed over the city, and stole the life force of all those undead under Kel'thuzad's command. The massive gale force winds of the shockwave also threw those who stood erect down onto the ground.
Slowly, the blue energy cascade subsided, and Alaric, slumped against the tower wall looked up into the sky which was now filled with small blue dots of energy from the death throes of Kel'thuzad.
The clouds above the tower had begun to break, and a single ray of light shone down on the tower. Silvermoon had been retaken.
(Author's Note: Whew! Long chapter! Sorry it took me so, so, so, long to write this one guys. I have now finished school up, and have almost all day to write, joy. So the last batch of chapters will start to come up fast. Yes, it has been a long journey, and the road of WOTR is now coming to a close. There are only a few more final chapters until the climactic and ending that is of biblical proportions. I hope you guys all enjoyed this chapter, and please do review seeing as how the story will be ending soon. I believe that the chapters with the exception of the next one will be getting continuously longer, and hope to have you all along on the exciting ending of this great journey!)
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