Oh, shit. I forgot about this story. (Laughs awkwardly) Tanthaturialis, thank you for reminding me about my prior obligations. In honor of this momentous occasion, I would advise listening to "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor. I'll wait…Done? Okay, on with the story.
Chapter 17
Desolace was hot.
No, Shaak corrected himself. Hot was not a proper term. As blisteringly searing as the pits of the Blackrock Depths. Yep, that sounded better.
Shaak pulled his makeshift cloak farther over his face. When he had set out on this mission, he was dressed in an elaborate crimson robe; common apparel for his kind. He had worn that in the Plaguelands, when the temperature could shift from bitter cold to blazing heat with a single step. After entering the stable climate of Desolace, the blood elf quickly draped his extravagant robe over his ears, as to protect his pale sensitive skin from the burning sun.
Shaak wondered how a tauren could tolerate such heat. The grey bull was dressed in heavy chain armor, as well as a black and red cotton tabard that signified his unit and rank within the Horde's forces. Aside from the artificial coverings, he was covered in a blanket of coarse grey fur that Shaak would think unbearable.
Taff Wolfhoof pulled on the reigns of his mount, and the great beast ground to a halt. As far as Shaak could tell, a kodo was a little more than a huge quadruped lizard. If the blood elf were to stand beside it, his ears would just clear it's humped back.
The grey bull pulled a canteen made of a stitched goat's stomach. Holding the container roughly a foot from his lips, he poured the fluid down his gullet. By now Shaak had ridden to his side and stopped the undead steed. The grey bull leaned down to his side and offered the blood elf the canteen. Unsure, he shook his head; no.
"You should drink," Eck hissed, joining the two. He had been bringing up the rear of the small squad. "You are of no use to us dehydrated."
Reluctantly, the blood elf took the canteen and drank down a chug of water. It tasted foul, stale and rank, and yet refreshing to a parched throat.
Taff looked about, surveying the landscape. "We should camp for the night. The sun set soon, desert nights cold."
"Yes," hissed the Forsaken, climbing off his undead horse.
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The tauren was correct. The fiery sun soon set and frost bitten winds reigned over the barren landscape. Again, Shaak found his elaborate robes useless, as they didn't protect him from bitter chills.
Quickly, the blood elf gathered a few dried twigs and sticks from the ground and piled them together. A quick flame spell ignited the mound.
Taff and Eck soon joined around the campfire. The tauren extended both hands over the dancing flames, apparently he couldn't tolerate the cold as well as the heat. If the undead was bothered, he didn't show it.
Eck traced a path on a map with a bony finger. "We should be able to reach the village by noon tomorrow," he explained. "Provided we keep a good pace."
"Good," grunted Taff. "Something does not feel right."
Indeed, something was amiss in the landscape, though it was only Shaak who could truly feel it. He could taste some sort of strange magic in the air, for its presence made every inch of his skin tingle.
"Commanders," he said, formally addressing his superiors.
"You need not call us that," Taff smiled.
"I can sense something," he said.
"What do you mean?" Eck asked.
"My kind can sense magic. Every kind gives off a different…a different taste."
"And what does this taste like?" the grey bull asked.
"It tastes almost like your shamanism," he responded. "An earthy and natural flavor."
Then he felt it; all of nature's arcane accumulating to a single source in the sky. Shaak dove to his left. A beam of lightning erupted from the clouds above and drove into the ground he sat on not a moment before.
He pulled his wand from his belt and scrambled to his feet, as another bolt of cackling energy fell from to earth.
Then came the hoof beats as loud as thunder, shaking the earth.
Shaak could sense the one responsible for the storm that continually struck the ground. He leveled his wand with his eye and fired a blast of flaming magic. The bolt burst into a centaur's chest, knocking it onto its back. From behind the blood elf came blasts of shadow and nature arcane. Before him, an army of centaurs came charging.
In his past life, when he still served the Alliance, he had seen rival armies attack in two techniques. The first was a method was soldiers charging forth in small groups, like waves that hit the beach's shore. The other attack had no lulls between waves. The attack is a single wave, a flood of ravenous soldiers who have no value for their own life.
The centaurs employ the latter method, a single tsunami of hooves and battle axes, and that taste of nature's arcane.
Shaak prepared for a long fight.