Kalimdor, 20 years after the opening of the Dark Portal
The sun was now setting upon this world with the white moon rising into the sky, the wolves at the Kennels had begun to howl as fires burned across the lands of Azshara. The air was thick with the smell of cooked meat and fish as the warriors of The Horde feasted on animal flesh and drank down mugs of Bloodmead while singing songs and telling stories that had been re-told for generations. Praises were made to the spirits of their ancestors, their demonic masters among the Burning Legion, to the great shaman Ner'zhul and especially to their comrades in the west who continued to fight on the frontlines of the war in Ashenvale.
No such revelries could be found within the camp of the Shadowmoon Clan for its commanding officer, the Blood Guard Reshtar was bellowing out orders to his underlings. Large wooden carts pulled by a reptilian beasts from the more arid lands of Kalimdor known as Kodos were being loaded with assorted building materials by the Peons while Grunts, Spearmen, Trolls, Raiders and other units were forming up into another war party. Aware that his actions would be noticed by those among them who he suspected were Doomhammer's spies, the Blood Guard calculated that the risk posed by these "Pointy eads" were far greater for with the fight with the Night Elves still ongoing, the last thing The Horde needed was another enemy, one of an unknown quantity striking at them while their backs were turned.
Each soldier was expected to carry their own food as well as other supplies but not much would be needed for Reshtar had expected that they would only need about a day or two at the most just to set up defenses around the portal and that it would be easy anyway for them to re-supply. Giving his forces the necessary time to make their preparations, it did not take long before they were finally prepared and had gathered up near the gate to which he ordered for them all to head out. Leaving only a quite literal skeleton force to protect the base with their magicians left in charge to oversee the walking corpses, the Shadowmoon forces began heading back to the portal but the peal of a distant horn was then heard and by trying to listen closely to it, Reshtar recognized that another force was being mobilized.
Something told the Blood Guard that this was no mere coincidence that at the exact moment the warriors of his clan were ready to depart, so to did others. Did the other clans know about the rift? Were they perhaps just on the way to engage in a patrol of the surrounding area of Azshara or perhaps head out to the frontlines in Ashenvale? Who knew for certain with the last one being a major possibility according to the reports he had heard, the Night Elves as their named suggested, favored the night which was usually when they launched their attacks.
Reminding himself of why he was bringing a number of their forces out, he would simply have to put trust in the command of Hellscream to deal with the elves of this land while the Shadowmoon Clan pursued their own agendas.
Fires burned across the Falfarren river to the east where the outlanders had made camp, logs and timber far older than entire nations had been fed to the flames that warmed the savage beasts who began to dig in and ready themselves for the counter assault. To the west of the river, The Sentinels had gathered as well to prepare for the attack but this time they were not alone for from the forests came their neighbors the Furbolg who were now gathering at the various base camps.
Originally, the Kaldorei had attempted to drive out the outlanders with the only aid they had received being from the the Children of Cenarius, the Dryads and Keepers of the Grove but failed attack after failed attack had forced them to start seeking help from others. Although normally peaceful, the Furbolg had come to answer the Demigod's call to arms as well as to avenge the deaths of their kin for the outlanders had also wiped out a number of Furbolg villages early in their invasion. Many were armed with assorted weapons such as swords, axes, maces or polearms but there were also others who came with only their strength and claws extended.
Magic filled the air as the demigod Cenarius and his sons called upon nature itself to aid the Night Elves which caused countless trees to transform into treants. Righteous fury once more began to fill the Kaldorei as they took up positions behind the Treants and Furbolgs while most importantly were siege crews pushing Ballistas into position. Having learned from bitter experience how heavily which the Outlanders had fortified their side of the river, they knew that without these machines of war, their casualties would be horrendous.
The moon then reached the point of Dusk and dozens of war horns were blown to signal the attack. Great warcries were roared into the night sky as Kaldorei, Treants and Furbolgs advanced towards the river crossing where the bodies of countless outlanders still riddled with arrows, javelins and glaives had been left to feed the scavengers. Priestesses of the Moon who accompanied the armies of the Night Elves tapped into their internal reserves of magic and from their prayers came bright green glowing owls that materialized in front them. Through the eyes and keen senses of these enchanted avians, did the clergy of the Moon Goddess see and hear everything around them to the point that not even a magical form of invisibility would escape their sight.
Sending this magical owls to scout ahead, The Sentinels would at least be made aware of any ambushes which the outlanders may have prepared for them as well any devious traps left in the ground itself. As expected, the outlanders responded with savage warcries, blown horns and a great mobilization of warriors that surged forth to meet them in combat. Soon battle would be joined once more and blood would once against be spilled upon these war torn lands.
Naggaroth, IC 2532.
A tormented wail echoed through the dark stone halls of the Tower of Despair as chains rattled and pale flesh was sliced open to reveal the glistening red meat beneath. Shining polished stone masonry made up the chamber which had once been an audience hall where the Drachau of Karond Kar would entertain guests, its interior was lighted by elegant chandeliers of brass where purple lighted candles burned and to those with the ability to sense the Aethyr, they would find that it was filled with the essence of Dhar. Fresh, warm elvish blood flowed from dozens of wounds that pooled upon the mirror-like stone surface beneath the bald headed prisoner whose breathing had become ragged and difficult, a pleasing sight to the torturer who stood nearby with fingers covered in gore and a cruel smile etched upon her lips.
Dressed in a bloodstained leather apron and trousers made from the hides of Northmen slaves massacred during the Shadow King's slave purges, Maewhyn took a moment to admire her work. More than a dozen shallow wounds covered the body of the prisoner, each one composed of a thing cut that neatly sliced into the nerves, muscles and sinew of the prisoner yet none struck a major artery nor organ and ensuring that if left untreated would cause the victim to die an agonizingly slow and painful death. Chained up before her was an Autarii Urhan, a chieftain among the Shade clans captured by the Ulthuan of Yvresse to whom she was assigned under.
'There is little point in resisting' then came a cold, stern voice behind Maewhyn who felt a shiver down her spine as a golden haired Asur lord stepped forward from the darkness, his icy sapphire eyes were locked onto those of the prisoner with an intensity that would have made even a Dreadlord quail. 'Speak and we can end this.'
Groaning in pain, the Urhan looked up first to to Maewhyn with a look of absolute hatred and quietly hissing the word, traitor before looking towards the Asur Lord, Prince Eltharion the Grim Warden of Athel Tamarha. The legendary Fangsword of the Lord of Yvresse was sheathed by his hip and his right hand held onto the shaft of a spear.
'May the Mirai take you Asur scum' hissed the Urhan through gritted, his voice filled with pain from the numerous injuries upon his body.
'In time, perhaps but not for you' replied Prince Eltharion who tapped the bottom of his spear twice upon the floor and another figure came shuffling out from the darkness which caused Maewhyn's lips to curl in disdain for it was a creature that should by all rights be dead yet here it was, standing among the living. The ancient dead thing had once been a mortal, a human from the lands of Nehekhara whose name was Sahut, a Liche Priest who served the undead warlord, Grand Hierophant Khatep whose legions now dominated western Naggaroth.
Prince Eltharion then nodded to the undead creature who bowed in respect to the Asur Lord before beginning to wheeze a dark prayer in the name of one of Nehekhara's desert gods, Djaf who like Khaine was a deity of death and war. Binding the Amethyst Wind of Shyish into his spell, the Liche Priests skeletal hands glowed with deathly power and it coalesced into an orb no bigger than an apple that floated above his right palm. The undead creature reached his bony right hand towards the Urhan who tried to recoil away but the chains kept him place and soon the skeletal appendage touched the bald head of the Shade chieftain as if offering a benediction.
'One last chance' then spoke Prince Eltharion with cold finality and in response, the Urhan spat at the Asur Lord's feet. The Grim Warden then looked to Maewhyn and nodded which elicited an amused look from the Druchii collaborator who then wiped her bloodied torture knife upon a handkerchief before sheathing it by her hip and she reached for another pair of blades which were better suited for combat. Easily sliding the twin knives out from sheathes of human leather, Maewhyn placed the curved, serrated blades upon the sides of the Urhan's neck and she began to cut.
The Shade chieftain would have shouted or screamed in pain had the air not escaped from the sides of now opened throat and before long, she sawed through flesh, meat and bone until his head dropped from the neck, his eyes still blinking and looking about in confused horror even after death should have claimed him. Using both of her knives to stab into the sides of the bald head of the decapitated Urhan, she then lifted it up to present it to the Grim Warden.
Echoing footsteps were then heard from the hallway leading towards the audience chamber and all of their heads turned to face this newcomer. Dressed in heavy armor forged from magically resistant armor was an elf soldier, one of the Silverin Guard whose gaze was upon Prince Eltharion.
'My lord, your presence is required' said the soldier in a serious manner that also spoke of urgency.
'Inform me when he is ready to talk' commanded the Lord of Yvresse as he looked to the Liche Priest and then to Maewhyn both whom bowed their head which in the case of the the Druchii collaborator was both out of obedience and fear for the now undead Urhan was not the first nor would he be the last Dark Elf to be interrogated in such a which was a fate she would rather avoid if at all possible.
Kalimdor, 20 years after the opening of the Dark Portal
The din of war echoed across the Falfaren river as Furbolgs and Orcs clashed in brutal close quarters combat, the ground was turned muddy where the earth was soaked in great amounts of blood. Once more were volleys of projectiles traded back and forth between the Night Elves and the outlanders while mighty siege weapons launched heavy bolts into the towers that protected the eastern side of the river as the sky had also become a battlefield again. Boulders crashed among the combatants, some hurled by the Catapults of the Orcs while others were thrown by the Ancient Protectors that had taken root along the western shores.
Magic was also used to great effect by both sides where shamans, either Furbolg or Orc wielded the power of the elements to create spheres of lightning around combatants which electrocuted those nearby. Other shamans among the Furbolg wove the power of life itself to mend the wounds of their kin but so too did Troll magicians cast spells of healing for the Orcs. Darker sorceries were also being wielded as Orc Warlocks and Necrolytes summoned forth demonic Doomguard, giant spiders and caused the dead to rise while the Dryads casted spells of disenchantment to combat the unnatural reinforcements or negate the spells that affected the combatants.
A small measure of vindication was felt by Netharis Flameweaver as he sliced open the belly of a demon and spilling its burning blood while parrying the thrusted spear of an undead Furbolg whose furred body was scorched by emerald fires. Thousands of years ago he had made a pact with the darkness and used its power against those served the Legion but in all this time he had only slain mere underlings like the Satyrs. Ducking beneath the burning blade of the Doomguard he had slashed, he then punched his right handed warglaive into the opened gut of the demon, his limb was still wreathed in Fel Fire which incinerated the monster's guts while his other Warglaive was thrust into the mouth of the undead furbolg and puncturing its brain.
The two bodies then collapsed with the Demon Hunter quickly freeing himself and engaging more foes before they hit the ground. Taking an Orc that was facing off against a Furbolg by surprise, he cut off its right hand which held an axe before cutting open the brute's neck which sprayed blood upon him. Another Orc, this one mounted on a wolf was then upon him with a heavy sword slashing down upon his head and the wolf snapping at him but before he could react a Dryad's javelin struck the chest of the rider while a wooden mallet wielded by a Furbolg smashed into the side of the beast's head.
Such was the chaotic nature of the melee that it was next to impossible to keep track of one's kill nor were one on one battles possible for two mobs of fighters struck at each other with bestial savagery while projectiles continued to be exchanged. Although the Demon Hunter could not see it from his position, the forces of The Sentinels were pushing back The Horde upon his particular crossing but the same could not be said for others as the battle still raged on.
Flying above the battlefield amidst the barrage of arrows and thrown spears fired by the riders of flying beasts was a bright emerald green owl whose form was made up entirely of magic. Its keen eyes which were linked to that of its creator, Anoria Snowmane were focused on defensive towers which rained arrows upon the combatants while the Priestess of the Moon directed the volleys of Ballista fire. Three towers had already collapsed as the heavy bolts tore through the legs of the structures while others were being bombarded by the siege weapons.
The Priestess of the Moon winced at the sight of Orcish Catapults hurling boulders towards the Ancient Protectors which were in turn throwing boulders at the ranged troops and spell casters of the outlander. Already had one of the venerable tree spirits been reduced into a pile of broken kindling and another had its left arm torn off and face pulverized as a boulder smashed into it. Both sides had learned early in the conflict not to place their defenses along the shores of the river lest it be targeted by their respective siege weapons but the Night Elves had needed the might of the Ancients to help put pressure onto the attack and as was expected the tree spirits had paid the ultimate price.
Reminding herself that sacrifices were a necessary part of war, Anoria watched as another defensive tower collapsed. Below the owl, the orc lines were already thinning out, the casualties which they had sustained during the assault earlier that day had considerably tilted things in favor of the Night Elves. Dryads and Huntresses remained behind the assaulting force of Furbolgs where the Demon Hunter could also been seen bringing death to the outlanders.
Around Anoria's physical self, the Archers had been commanded to focus their fire upon the wyvern mounted orcs which battled with their sisters mounted on Hippogryphs while Furbolg Shamans lent their magic to aid the Kaldorei air units. Soon the skies were cleared of enemy air forces as the last of the Wyverns fell to the earth while pincushioned by arrows which were then directed at the enemy ranged troops and magicians.
Yes! was the thought of the Moon Priestess for the tide was finally turning and the ranks of the outlanders were close to breaking as their close combat warriors were now receiving far less support. Once their forces were broken Anoria would call for them strike at the base across the river and-
A great purple cloud of deadly, corrosive gas suddenly appeared among the crowd of melee combatants and Anoria watched in horror as fur and flesh melted off of bone like with those Furbolgs at the edge of the group came stumbling out with great clumps of hair falling out while blood flowed from they eyes, noses and mouths. The Demon Hunter as well emerged from the cloud shortly afterwards and through the eyes of her owl she saw the horrific injuries upon his form as it looked as if acid was burning his skin. Even the Orcs suffered the same gristly fate and she realized with revulsion that the outlanders had purposely done this, even if it meant killing their their own just to hold back The Sentinels.
The last of the defensive towers were soon destroyed as the Archers both on the ground and in the air were quickly cutting down the enemies that had supported their melee troops. The Dryads then began to galloping towards the survivors where they began to either help up or drag them back across the river where the healers would tend to them while others headed into the deadly cloud itself. Thankfully for the Daughters of Cenarius, each one of them were immune to hostile magics and the unnatural cloud of gas proved no different.
It was a sobering thought to Anoria that just less than hour ago, hundreds of Furbolgs had gathered around the different bases of the Night Elves to join the fight with those under her command numbering over six dozen warriors and two dozen shamans. Now in less than a minute it looked as if only eight of the Ursine warriors would be returning home to their tribe with the survivors along with the Demon Hunter now becoming the focus of the healing spells of the Furbolg Shamans. Pushing away the grim thoughts of loss, the Moon Priestess was instead filled with anger for their deaths was just another reason in an already long list why the Kaldorei should hate these invading savages.
Ordering for the siege weapons to be pushed forward and begin focusing their fire upon the enemy structures, she then called for the rest of her forces to advance. If the Goddess was willing, there would be nothing left of this camp but ruin come the morrow.
Naggaroth, IC 2532
A great groan of metal echoed through the halls of the Tower of Despair as long lengths of chains rattled while burly dwarf slaves pulled at the links which connected to a nearby gate set along the eastern side of the structure which if one were to look outside. Freezing cold air that heavily tasted of salt blasted into the interior of a chamber that once served as a personal stables for the Beastlord, Rakarth of Karond Kar. Now the beastly living quarters served the Asur or more specifically those from Yvresse where Griffons and Great Eagles roosted, each one the mount of a highborn noble from the misty realm.
Eight elvish knights, Mistwalkers from the Yvressian city of Tor Gaval were assisted by human slaves to place saddles and armor upon the back of Griffons. Each of them had heard the call to arms and had quickly assembled for no doubt their lord, Prince Eltharion would by now be own the way for his mount, Stormwing was also stabled here. Among the Asur that had gathered here was a lady Archmage by the name of Arianwen who was whispering quiet words of power as she wove the Amber Wind into a spell of calming so that the Griffons did not eviscerate the slaves.
'What do you suppose is the reason for this alarm' came a deep, strong voice behind her that perfectly spoke in Eltharin and the Archmage turned her head back while still reciting an incantation. Behind the Archmage was a Great Eagle by the name of Belahir who looked down upon her with golden predatory eyes which were filled with both intellect and curiosity as the noble creature cooperated with the slaves that secured a throne upon his back. Giving the Great Eagle an honest shrug, Belahir understood the gesture as he briefly looked towards his kin which numbered five other Great Eagles, all of whom were being attended to by slaves while High Elf Nobles stood nearby and ready awaiting their lord.
As if on cue, footsteps along with the clinking of mail armour could be heard as a pair of Silverin Guard arrived while escorting Prince Eltharion whose presence caused the Asur and the slaves to bow in respect. A pair of human slaves then brought forth Stormwing to be presented to the Grim Warden with the Griffon's eyes meeting those of its master who briefly showed a rare moment of warmth and as he extended his right hand with palm facing towards the creature that lowered its feathered head and allowed him to stroke it. No other orders were needed to be said as Stormwing then lowered itself to its haunches which allowed Prince Eltharion to easily climb up to his throne upon the back of the Griffon which led the Knights of Tor Gaval, Archmage Arianwen and five other Noble officers to mount up.
The Warden of Tor Yvresse then raised his spear and pointed towards the open air across them which caused Stormwing to loudly roar before breaking into a short sprint which then turned into a leap as the Griffon leapt over the ledge and into a deadly drop several hundred feet below. The Knights of Tor Gaval then followed their lord while the other Nobles of Yvresse along with the Archmage doing likewise as the Great Eagles quickly walked towards the ledge as well before leaping off to take flight. Soon Arianwen along with the other Asur were bathed in the frigid gale of the Sea of Chill where in the distance she could not only sense a powerful magic coming towards them but also see what it was that caused the High Elves such alarm.
Floating stone ziggurats built with Lustrian architecture in mind and held aloft by powerful sorcery approached the port city of Karond Kar where already the local garrison was prepared for a possible assault. Had the weather been much clearer and the tides calmer, Asur naval ships would also have been sent out to meet the approaching temples with Bolt Throwers loaded. The Asur that accompanied Prince Eltharion were not the only ones to take to the air for other Lords and officers did so as well upon the same creatures as they along with Dragons and Skycutters pulled by Rocs.
Bright light emanated from the spear of Eltharion which drew the attentions of those leaders among the Asur who began to congregate around them. There were even a number of foreign residing within the city who had taken to the air such as Asrai Hawkriders, Bretonnian Pegasus Knights, Undead vultures from Nehekhara, Cathayan warriors mounted upon pegasus-like creatures known as a Longma and there were even Lustrian Terradons. One of the Terradons which had risen up from Karond Kar gave a great screech as it flew up to Prince Eltharion with the Skink upon its back gesticulating and trying to get the attention of the Grim Warden.
Soon enough the diminutive Lizardman was successful and Lord of Yvresse allowed the creature to fly near Stormwing. From Arianwen's position upon the back of Belahir and a few yards behind Prince Eltharion, she could not make out what they were saying due to the gale but if she had to take an educated guess, the Skink was either offering an explanation or willing to conduct them into the floating ziggurats. Prince Eltharion then raised his gleaming spear and signalled for them to enter the flying structures where great doorways were left open.
Trusting the Grim Warden, the makeshift group of aerial units headed into the ziggurats where to the senses of any mage was just filled with powerful magics. In a matter of seconds they were out of the cold and sheltered within a surprisingly warm, humid interior which was likely used as an aviary for the Lizardmen's flying creatures. The air was thick with a stench akin to a putrid bog and rotten meat which nauseated many of the elves as well as the human auxiliaries who accompanied them with only Prince Eltharion seemingly unaffected or at the least doing the best in trying to avoid showing any signs of discomfort.
Across them were many large, brutish beasts which Arianwen recognized as of being Lustrian Kroxigors. Standing out among them was a truly monstrous specimen covered in scars and golden trinkets. The Archmage immediately deduced that they now stood in the presence of the creature known as Nakai the Wanderer, the Spirit of the Jungle.
Kalimdor, 20 years after the opening of the Dark Portal
'Anu'dora!' shouted Priestess Snowmane and the Night Elves pressed the attack on the outlander camp as pots filled with flammable oil were brought forth by male Kaldorei serving in a support role. Soon dozens of arrows were lit and a volley of incendiary projectiles along ballista bolts rained down upon the buildings of the invaders as orc workers scrambled to make repairs or to flee while the Huntresses and Dryads went after these runaways. Sharp spikes surrounded the crude structures built by the enemy which offered some degree of protection from any who tried to break them down with melee weapons, not that such a thing was a concern for most of the Kaldorei with the exception being of course to Natheris and the surge of Treant reinforcements that had come from across the river
Blood flowed from the side of the Demon Hunter where a javelin hurled by an Orc worker hiding inside a bunker had grazed is left hip. More throwing spears were then launched towards him and the Treants with their defiance being rewarded by a barrage of ballista bolts. Wood and masonry came crashing down from the walls of the bunker which the Orc workers cowered within as the bolts tore massive holes into it. Soon the laborers began to scramble out of the front entrance before the structure collapsed and into the Demon Hunter's reach. Immediately was Natheris upon one of the orc workers which he noticed were much smaller and weaker than the warriors as the lower halves of his warglaives were placed around the neck of the greenskin and he decapitated it in a scissoring motion.
A pair of orcs then attacked him with a pathetic excuse of battle cries that were filled more with fear and desperation rather the fierce roars he had grown used to as pick axes was clumsily swung one handed towards him. Before the mining tool's tips got anywhere close to the Demon Hunter's head he stabbed one of the orcs in the gut while slashing the neck of the other who had a surprised look on its tusked face. There was a fourth orc worker who attempted to flee but the creature did not get far as a trio of Huntresses caught up to him and hurled their glaives which cut him down.
Fires furiously spread across the enemy camp and Natheris felt a stab of guilt as he heard a loud, terrified animalistic screech coming from one of the buildings where the outlanders kept their beasts of war. Once in another life, before he had walked the Demon Hunter's path, Natheris had been a stable master who attended to the Nightsabers, Hippogryphs and Chimeras which the Night Elves used in times of war. Ever since joining his people's defense of Ashenvale he had slain many wolves and kodos which he held far more sympathy towards than towards the savage barbarians that rode them into battle.
Without thinking about it, he took a step forward towards the burning structure but then stopped himself as he was forced to remind himself of the current situation. Even if he did somehow manage to get the beasts free, what then? The outlanders could just round them up and use them against the Night Elves since he had no knowledge of druidic magic, he would have no way of trying to calm down the animals or lead them to safety across the river. The broad shoulders of the Demon Hunter slumped a little as he immediately came to the conclusion that the fates of these creatures were already sealed as the fires further spread and he could begin to smell the cooking of animal flesh.
Turning his attention back to the outlanders, Natheris found no nearby foes of flesh and blood to cut down so instead he began making his way out of the camp as flaming arrows and Ballista bolts rained down. Already at this point all the remaining workers of the outlanders were either dead or were trying to find whatever shelter they could as the Huntresses and Dryads mercilessly slaughtered those that tried to flee. Passing by a group of Treants that were attempting to batter down the doors of another bunker he was about to assist the elementals but a splintering of wood was heard as they tore down the barrier and proceeded to slaughter the workers inside.
Leaving the outlanders to their fate, Natheris then heard a cry of alarm from a Huntress shouting about incoming enemy reinforcements from the south. Through the mystical senses he had attained after becoming a Demon Hunter, Natheris could sense the corrupted presences of these outlanders who were marching towards the burning encampment beneath a banner depicting a hand shattered into fragments. No weapons were carried by these orcs who more accurately had them attached to where one of their hands should be.
Even with the fires burning around him, the Demon Hunter could hear the voice of Priestess Snowmane bellowing out orders and calling for the Kaldorei to regroup as they abandoned the destruction of the enemy camp. Soothing emerald green lights immediately then surrounded Natheris once more who felt a comforting sensation as a spell of healing was cast upon him by a Furbolg shaman which caused the wound on his hip to mend while leaving not even a scar. Stabbing the bottom of his warglaives into the earth, Natheris used his now free hands to detach a crystal phial from his belt which contained the shimmering waters of a Moonwell and he imbibed its contents in swift motion.
Feeling refreshed, both physically and spiritually, the Demon Hunter was once more ready to continue the fight.
Naggaroth, IC 2532
Hundreds of cold blooded, reptilian eyes watched the arrival of the warmbloods with the patience of waiting predators as many dangerous smells were detected. Great hybrid beasts altered by the spread of magic throughout the world were used as mounts by the visitors while others they recognized were beings only vaguely similar to the Lizardmen themselves but such distinction would have been false for the Dragons were said to have ruled this world long before the coming of the Old Ones. A sense of tension could be felt among the gathered army of mostly Kroxigors and a few other Lizardmen, their scaled hands tightly gripped the handles of their weapons in readiness for there was the possibility that this meeting would turn hostile.
Among the warriors who fought beneath the banner of Nakai the Wander was a Saurus Scar Veteran by the name of Gortehe who carried a massive two handed sword which rested over his right shoulder. Clad in gilded armor adorned with enchanted talismans, his eyes remained focused not on the Elf-Spawn and their beasts but the handful of Man-Spawn that had accompanied them. The scents of these creatures were difficult to pick out and so he was forced to use his eyes and judge them by appearance which for a creature whose purpose was purely for war was easier said than done.
His focus on the Man-Spawn was one of barely held back hostility for he had a long history of conflict with the short lived warmbloods which had infested the coasts of Lustria. Judging by the appearances of the humans, he could only guess that these ones were not of The Empire tribe which had been responsible for bringing death and ruin to the Lizardmen in the last great war and instead were from other groups which hardly lessened his disdain. His attention, along with those of the Spirit of the Jungle and other Lizardmen were then drawn to the leading Elf-Spawn who wore a great feathered helmet who dismounted from the back of a hybrid beast that combined the forms of a large hunting cat and a bird of prey.
There was also a Skink accompanying the Elf-Spawn leader a trader by the appearance of his crest and was likely one of the former slaves liberated by the elves from Ulthuan. As far as the Scar Veteran was aware, all of his fellow Lizardmen who had been made into slaves by the corrupted Elf-Spawn of Naggaroth had later been freed with many, especially among the Skinks to serve as envoys and factors for the Prophet Tehenauin had claimed that it was Sotek's will for peace to be made with the elves of Ulthuan. Dressed in thick furs made from the hides of rat-spawn and adorned with glittering silver jewelry, the crest of the Skink which accompanied the feather helmeted Elf-Spawn then began to address them.
'Greetings brothers' hissed the skink trader who bowed his crest in respect and many of the Kroxigors, including even Nakai himself instinctively made gestures of acknowledgement for it was only natural that they obeyed their smaller kin. 'I present to you Lord Eltharion of Yvresse'
The eyes of the Elf-Spawn leader held a determined strength within as his gaze met with that of the Spirit of the Jungle and he did not quail despite being within easy striking distance of Nakai's mace. During the last great war, Gortehe had seen how the presence of the Wanderer had brought terror and panic to the warmbloods, regardless of whether they were Rat, Elf or Man-Spawn for often it was often the last thing they would see before meeting their end. Some among them saw the Elf-Spawn leader's gaze as an issue of challenge and they growled in hostility but Nakai then raised a meaty right hand and gestured for them to stand down.
'Skink, translate.' came the deep, guttural growl of the Spirit of the Jungle which Gortehe could imagine were sounds which the Wanderer was not used to making for the ability of speech was something the Kroxigors were not well suited for. He then raised his right hand towards the opened section upon the side of the Ziggurat which would normally be used as a place where the aerial beasts of the Lizardmen could enter and exit while extending a clawed finger to point towards it. 'New foe. Cold land. Kill foe.'
The Skink trader then began to translate Nakai's words to the Elf-Spawn leader in a song-like tongue to which the warmblooded leader then began to speak as well, his words directed towards the Wanderer. Soon afterwards, the Skink trader translated once more.
'Lord Eltharion asks what this threat is' then spoke the trader.
'New foe. Slann command. Kill.' was the reply of the Spirit of the Jungle.
The mere mention of the venerable servants of the Old Ones was enough to immediately alarm the trader who then began to translate Nakai's words in a more animated manner. The Elf-Spawn leader then asked the trader something to which the Skink responded in now in an insistent manner. After a short exchange, the Elf-Spawn lord looked to Nakai the Wanderer and spoke.
'In accords with the treaty between the Phoenix and the Serpent' translated the Skink tradee. 'The legions of Lustria will not be impeded by the elves of Ulthuan.'
A grunt of satisfaction was then heard from Nakai the Wanderer who maintained his gaze upon the Elf-Spawn for a moment before turning about to growl orders to the rest of them. Glad that the talking was over, Gortehe was eager to for them to be on their way for he was eager to meet this new foe.
Kalimdor, 20 years after the opening of the Dark Portal
Once more did Anoria Snowmane see the world not only through her own eyes but also that of the enchanted owl which she had summoned. The enchanted avian took flight to the sky above and she was able to get a good look at the approaching enemy reinforcements which caused her to whisper a curse at numbers arrayed against them. Numbering in what what she estimated to be a little more than a hundred, the Moon Priestess weighed her options.
The destruction of the enemy camp was still not yet complete for while fires did burn, it could easily still be put out if the enemy reinforcements brought workers. If they decided to stand and fight, there were multiple directions from which, the enemy could try to flank them with the only fallback position being across the river where the Ancient Protectors still remained rooted along the shores. Already, she was certain that if they did fight the enemy head on, they would most likely sustain heavy losses with the genuine possibility of being wiped out but if they retreated then the enemy would reclaim the base and have time to regroup.
Hissing another curse, Anoria decided to sound a retreat as she ordered first for the Ballistas to fall back while the Archers formed into groups that accompanied the Moon Priestess. She then ordered for the Treants to form a rear guard while the Huntresses, Dryads and Hippogryph Riders would support them and try to inflict as many casualties as possible. The Moon Priestess guided her Frostsaber mount towards the rear guard where the Treants were now forming a living wall while the other more mobile Night Elf troops moved ahead to intercept them.
Whispering prayers to Elune, she drew an arrow from her quiver and its metallic head burst into magical fire as he raised up her bow and took aim. The outlander reinforcements approached along a plain filled with the rotting stumps of many trees, they bellowed bestial battle cries as they picked up their pace once they saw the Night Elves. As expected, the enemy foot soldiers advanced in one large group at the center with their wolf riders taking to the flank along with the wyvern riders while orcs ridings upon the backs of Kodos pounded great drums that seemed to encourage those close to them.
Archers riding upon the backs of Hippogryphs were the first to launch volleys of arrows towards the enemy, their targets were the enemy cavalry and flyers with the former being their main focus. Poisoned spears were then thrown by the Daughters of Cenarius towards the enemy before quickly turning about and galloping back towards the approaching mob of Treants. In turn, the orc wolf riders hurled nets which were thrown with great accuracy and soon some of the slower Dryads were ensnared by the weighted ropes which spurred the wyvern riders to move in for the kill.
Now it was the outlander's turn to hurl poisoned spear and many skewered the trapped Dryads while others desperately tried to help free their sisters. Archers were then ordered to fire upon the enemies in the air while the Huntresses engaged the Wolf Riders. Glaives were thrown, each one causing deep cuts upon the bodies of orc or wolf while more nets were thrown to trap the Night Elf cavalry.
With expert precision, the arrows of the Archers along with Anoria's were directed towards those wolf riders who attempted to get in close with the ensnared Huntresses who soon came within range of the orc foot soldiers who also wielded throwing spears. The enemy ranged infantry then hurled a volley of javelins which impaled a number of Huntresses and soon enough they were within reach of the wolf riders.
Anoria grimly watched as those Huntresses who had been trapped by nets were attacked by the heavy blades of the orc wolf riders who kept on fighting regardless of the arrow volley that was being directed upon them for in their bloodlust they were willing to ignore all sense of self preservation if it meant killing their enemies. Those Huntresses who remained free did their best to defend their trapped comrades while not far behind, the Dryads continued to throw spears while in return the orcs hurled even more back at them. As the death toll rose, the remaining Night Elf cavalry units and Dryads began to retreat for there was little they could once the main body of the orc reinforcements arrived but the Moon Priestess herself could as she rode ahead and went past the advancing Treants.
Beseeching the Goddess again for aid, the Moon Priestess once more drew the wrath of the stars themselves upon the foe once she had positioned herself in a more favorable position. The dark sky above again shined with countless falling stars that burned away at the flesh of those orcs who came close to her while the Treants used their own bodies to form a defensive ring and the hail of arrows continued. This time though, they were located in an area with much open terrain so there was plenty of space for the outlanders to move away from Anoria whose spell had a limited range but it was enough to buy time for the remaining Huntresses and Dryads to escape while the Archers covered their retreat.
Even the Demon Hunter was still there in the thick of the fighting, surrounded by unholy fire and weaving a deadly dance that left many orcs dead. Despite the casualties they had inflicted, Anoria could still see the world through her owl's eyes the size of the reinforcing army and she knew that they had only bought their warriors times to flee. Abruptly ending her prayer and calling for the Demon Hunter to flee, he complied as Anoria turned her Frostsaber mount around and began heading back to the river crossing.
Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw the Treants valiantly try to hold off the enemy reinforcements and she knew that would not survive for long. Although the assault of her forces was only partially successful in destroying the enemy camp they at least had caused many deaths among the outlanders which some might consider as a small victory but she did not feel like such a thing was the case. She could only hope that elsewhere along the river, the armies of The Sentinels were faring much better.
Naggaroth, IC 2532
Sprinting across the wild brush and foliage of the forest, Tlahtuaka and the rest of the Ghosts of Pahuax followed after He That Hunts Unseen and the Shadow King towards the place which threatened the world. Many hundreds of Skinks along with numerous beasts strode through the brush as the air was filled with the cries of Terradons and Ripperdactyls. Among them were also a handful of other warmblooded Elf-Spawn which accompanied the Shadow King, some of which rode upon equine beasts which both humans and elves favored as mounts while lupines beasts ran alongside them and flocks of black feathered carrion birds followed them while shouting "Khaine! Khaine!"
The dark magics that tainted the air was slightly growing stronger, its influence upon the land was so far neglible but given time all that could change for the worse. It was not long before they found it.
Floating just a flinger's length above the cold earth was a shimmering disc of magical energy, a portal Tlahtuaka recognized but leading to where, he could not say. Slowly walking up to the portal were Oxyotl and Alith Anar, the eyes of both leaders studied the sorcerous rift with He That Hunts Unseen calling upon The Oracle and the Skink Priest Hex-xl to survey it as well. The Shadow King then called upon his followers and from host emerged the Elf-Spawn warband which numbered in a few dozen, definitely less than even half of a hundred.
Pointing a gloved finger towards one of his followers, the Elf-Spawn lord, Alith Anar picked one of his warriors to come forward and Tlahtuaka instinctively tightened the grip on his weapons when saw a warrior clad in black, gold and purple spiked armor which smelled of blood, death and faintly of a familiar scent akin to that of a Cold One, the smell of a Dark Elf. Quiet words were then spoken by the Shadow King towards this Dark Elf warrior who also smelled of fear while being in the presence of Alith Anar and the warrior bowed his head in obedience as another pair of elf warriors also came forth and were addressed by the Shadow King who then pointed towards the portal. Guessing that these Elf-Spawn would be the first to explore whatever was on the other side of the rift, Tlahtuaka did not mind for the Lizardmen would likely have sent one of their Man-Spawn thralls first.
Oxyotl quietly then spoke something to Skink Priest Hex-Xl which Tlahtuaka did not catch which the magician then translated into the elf language towards the Shadow King while He That Hunts Unseen then called for five slaves to be brought forwards as well. Quickly obeying their leader, the Ghosts of Pahuax goaded the Man-Spawn thralls at the back to be brought to the front and soon enough five bald burly blue eyed humans taken from the corrupted lands known as Norsca were sent to be inspected by Oxyotl.
Scars covered the bodies of these thralls for when the Lizardmen had captured them they had cut all dark sigils of Chaos tattooed upon their bodies along with any signs of mutation before cauterizing the wounds with hot brands. Stupid, unfocused eyes even less than that of a grazing beast looked down upon the form of Oxyotl who took a moment to study them before giving his orders.
'Follow the Elf-Spawn' commanded Oxyotl who then pointed a clawed finger towards the Dark Elves and the human slaves grunted in acknowledgement.
The small scouting party then moved towards the shimmering rift and the lead Druchii, the dark armored warrior gave a cautious look to the Shadow King whose only response was a quiet, threatening glare that held a meaning which even Tlahtuaka understood as obey or die. Looking back to the portal with a moment of hesitation passing, the Dark Elf warrior stepped into the portal and was then accompanied by the others.
Kalimdor, IC 2532
The first thing to hit the senses of Vraneth was a dizzying sense of disorientation as he stepped through the magical gateway which faded after a moment and rush of air which was much warmer than he expected. He found himself standing within a circle of enchanted cairns that gleamed with sorcerous runes upon the surface of the stones. The dark green forests of Naggaroth had instead been replaced by an autumnal forest while the sky above was dark with two moons, on white and the other blue as the stars twinkled above.
Soft, barely audible steps were then heard by the Druchii warrior as another pair of fellow Dark Elves emerged from the portal with each of them having a look of momentary confusion as well. Unlike Vraneth who was fully clad in heavy armor forged from dark iron, the other two merely wore hauberks of leather and light chainmail while dressed in hooded cloaks that marked them as of being Autarii. Where Vraneth wielded a halberd that had been with him since his days as a member of the now disbanded Blackguard, the two Shades carried Uraithens, Repeater Crossbow and Draichs which he were no doubted looted from the corpses of Executioners.
Regardless of their former allegiance and origins before the conquest of the hated Asur, each of the three Dark Elves like the others they had traveled with were now brothers and sisters in binds for each wore a gilded Hadrilkar, a collar of service marked with the Shadow King's seal. Once in the past when Naggaroth was still ruled by the Witch King and the Drachaus of the great cities, a Hadrilkar was used to mark one's allegiance to any of Naggaroth's many organizations but now it served only distinguish those who had chosen to swear fealty to Alith Anar. Any Druchii who wore a Hadrilkar was afforded some degree of legal protection from the Asur occupation force but more importantly it served as a warning for any other Dark Elf that to bring harm upon one who wears a collar of service was to invite the wrath of the Shadow King.
Yet to swear one's service to the Shadow King was to walk along a knife's edge for it was well known to the Druchii that even with the death of the Witch King, Alith Anar's hatred for the elves of Naggaroth had not in any way lessened. To a Dark Elf who had sworn their allegiance to the Shadow Crown a life of constant fear, paranoia and mortal danger awaited them for the only assured way to stave off the wrath of the Shadow King was not only to obey his harsh laws but also to remain useful to him. One simply needed to walk the streets of Naggaroth's cities to find the gristly displays of warning to any Druchii who broke the laws of Anar or whose performance was unsatisfactory.
A foul smell then reached the nose of Vraneth as the human slaves of the Lizardmen then came through and the Dark Elf looked to them with disgust. He had heard stories about how the reptiles in Lustria had in recent years begun to enslave humans en-masse and that they had used things like lobotomies and castration to ensure the obedience of the thralls. Just one look at these barbarians who bore the fair features of Norse humans was enough to confirm these stories and Vraneth hoped the same did not happen to those Druchii who had been captured by the reptiles during the last war.
'It seems to be safe on this side' announced Vraneth towards one of the slaves as he sullied his tongue with the disgustingly crude excuse of animalistic sounds which passed as a language for the humans of Norsca. 'Inform the-'
The two Shades suddenly then raised their crossbows and opened fire with a volley of barbed bolts and Vraneth immediately looked to the direction which they were shooting at. About two dozen or so meters away from the circle of stones, the bolts struck something between the trees and even with his elvish sight, Vraneth had difficulty making out what it was but a loud pained yelp was heard and he realized it was the cry of wolf. Bursting out from the brush then came a pair of large wolves with something big and hulking riding upon their backs while howling in deep barbaric cries.
'Lord of Murder!' hissed the Druchii as he placed both of his gauntleted hands upon the haft of his halberd and lowered it with the point directed towards the incoming wolf riders which he was certain were not goblins. Quickly closing the distance, the former Blackguard soon was able to get a better look at the riders and much to his surprise they looked to be orcs but somewhat bigger and wielding large swords while the wolves they rode upon were indeed far larger than the ones which goblins normally rode upon. Another volley of bolts were fired by the Shades and the projectiles landed into the body of a wolf which crashed into the ground and throwing its rider off while the other rider still charged towards them.
Moving to intercept this brute, Vraneth merely took a few steps forwards before stopping to brace himself. In a matter of seconds, the Druchii warrior could smell the fetid breath of the beast and the stench of its rider, their eyes filled with a mad bloodlust that reminded the Dark Elf of the eyes of a dread Warrior of Chaos rather than those of an unthinking beast like an Orc. Gritting his teeth and readying his stance, Vraneth mentally dared for the savage to get up close to him as the wolf lunged towards him while the Orc held his sword high and ready to chop down on him but the former Blackguard was faster as he thrust his halberd forward.
The pike head of his halberd stabbed into the neck of the wolf, it easily tore into furred flesh which was pushed further into the weapon by the momentum of its charge before more of its body was gouged open upon the top of the axe head. Vraneth's eyes though were already upon the Orc's sword which as he expected came at him in a horizontal slash that would have taken his head but the length of his polearm helped in putting distance between him and the blade. Leaning his upper body back, he barely managed to avoid the top of the blade from touching his body and already the weight of the mortally wounded wolf dragged him down as its body collapsed.
Releasing his grip upon the halberd, Vraneth hopped back and drew a sword from his hip as the wolf struck the ground with the Orc having one of his legs get trapped beneath its bulk.
'Finish it off!' commanded the former Blackguard towards the Norse slaves and the humans approached the down orc with cudgels in hand while the Dark Elves kept their eyes open for other threats. The orc wolf rider the Shades had shot managed to get free from beneath the bulk of his mount and they procceeded to unload the restvof their magazines into the brute as soon as he got up.
No quick and clean kill shots were these as the Shades aimed at the limbs of the orc where bolts painfully stabbed into the booted feet of the greenskin and other projectiles became embedded in its right arm and causing to drop its sword. The orc roared in pain and made the mistake of using its left hand to tear out a barbed bolt from its right arm which only served further maim its pierced flesh. Had it been a human, Vraneth would have expected the orc to die of blood loss within a minute or two but who could say for sure with a creature that were about as tough as a dwarf or a gor.
One of the Norse slaves then fell back with his guts spilling out upon the ground as the other orc rider whose wolf Vraneth had killed managed to cut open the belly of a human. Quite characteristically of their kind, the Norsemen were not bothered by the death of one of their kind as a stone headed club was swung downwards to the head of the orc which elicited a loud wet crack. Soon the slaves were beating the trapped orc to death as Vraneth sheathed his emergency weapon and went to retrieve his Halberd.
The two Shades quietly then went off towards the Orc they shot while former Blackguard took a moment to inspect his kill. Blood pooled around the wound that had went from the throat to chest, the entire head of his halberd was now covered in warm gore while Vraneth idly wondered whether he should make a cloak out of its hide or sell it to a tanner. Placing his boot upon the side of the dead wolf and grabbing the pole of his halberd with both hands, he managed to tear it free with a modicum of effort while the sound of clubs smashing into flesh fell silent.
All that was left of the orc rider's head was a jellied mush of meat and bone where he spotted an intact eye having rolled out upon the ground. Paying little heed to corpse, he turned around to the portal and stepped through the rift once more. Again he felt that sense of disorientation which came and went in an instant before being greeted by the sight of several Skinks aiming their blowpipes upon him.
The sight of so many deadly weapons aimed at him paled in comparison to the dread he now felt for the Shadow King was also there. If given the choice between being in the presence of a hungry Jabberslythe or Alith Anar, he would have picked the beast which would have just eaten him and be done with it. With the Shadow King on the other hand, any number of agonizingly slow, painful and creatively cruel deaths could befall upon him with there also being the distinct possibility that his suffering would be continued by the necromancies of hired Nehekharan Liche Priests.
'My lord Anar' bowed Vraneth with both respect and fear as he still held onto his bloodied halberd with one hand while the other was made into a fist and was placed upon his chest. The former Blackguard did not even dare to think about how much time it would take to even lay a finger on Alith Anar for he had seen far too many times how many assassination attempts had been tried and failed for it was said that the trickster god Loec favored the Shadow King.
'We have encountered what appears to be greenskins' continued the former Blackguard.
The Shadow King merely gave a slight nod and he stepped forward towards the portal with Vraneth making way for him. A hissed whisper was then heard from the Skinks as a cold blooded magician who wore a brightly feathered headdress spoke to another Lizardman, a brownish scaled creature he recognized as of being the one known as Oxyotl. This Skink was also a creature he would not have dared to anger for there had been rumors that near the end of the war to control the The Vortex, The Blood Queen, Hellebron had marked this reptile for death and that the legendary Shadowblade had been sent to carry out the assassination.
Considering that it has been years since the Druchii had lost the war and that the Skink warlord was standing a few meters away from him, it was obvious that the Assassin had failed his mission. Having a deep desire to live to see the next day, Vraneth merely kept quiet and guarded the portal as the Shadow King stepped through the rift and was shortly afterwards followed by the Lizardmen.