Within the halls of shining white polished stone they stood in a gathered circle, the four magi silently looked to one another knowing what has been done.
'And so it has begun' spoke one of them, the man dressed in a brown cloak with a red jeweled brooch over his chest and in his hand was a staff with a raven headpiece. He was known to them as merely The Prophet.
'The pieces are in place and the great game begins once more' spoke their host, the mage dressed in shining white robes adorned with gold and upon his brow was a crown that shined with captured moonlight. To them, he was known as The Sage.
'The Pact must be served' then spoke the third one, a massive frog-like creature who wore a golden mask. To the gathering he was known as The Deliverer.
Of the last of them, the black robed figure whose garments bore trims the color of bone, he remained silent in observation at the proceeding for his role had been elsewhere, in another time, another place where war was waged among the stars.
The Prophet then raised his left hand and spoke words of power before turning it around so that his gloved palm would face upwards. Before their eyes a shimmering disc of light materialized and he showed them what had transpired. In lands engulfed by the tides of darkness, The Red Prince desperately continued to wage his futile war against the pawns of The Deceiver, he had refused to listen to the Prophet's words to travel to the west, a dark fate, one of blood and death was all that awaited him now. Hope though was found for upon the oceans did The Sea Daughter listen to The Prophet's words and the seeds of salvation had been planted.
Quietly dispelling the light above his left hand, The Prophet then allowed The Sage to report next. Whispering arcane words, he created before them another shimmering disc of light where those he was certain had received his summons. Five figures appeared before the gathered magi, each one was a great leader, a champion of their people who would drive back the darkness.
First among them was of the blood of The Sage, The Dragon Lord who presided over a realm of sand, his dominion of this place was strong and from it would legions comes to their aid. The second figure was not far to the north, The War Maiden who had awoken from the dream sent by The Sage and now she prayed before a statue which depicted a goddess holding a grail, not knowing that the deity was one which The Sage honored in life. The third figure was perhaps among the most important of them, The Crippled Prince for even without their interference, he would have understood the threat that lay before them all and regardless would have done everything he could to stem the tide.
The final figure was The Shadow King, whose domain would have been among the first to fall if the darkness had not been halted. The mere guidance of a raven was enough to set him on the path they desired and already he had made contact with two of The Deliverer's pawns and the Moon-touched ones. His wrath would be a terrible one to behold for the pawns of The Deceiver who did not know of presence in their midst.
Finally The Deliverer was the one who made his report for within their minds they saw images of what had happened. He That Hunts Unseen and The Wanderer had met with the Shadow King and The Grim Warden, their alliance would defend the Lands of Chill, their path would lead them to the World Tree. In the south, The Red Prophet and the White Defender had met with the one once called The Little Hawk, now a Queen of Serpents while across the sea, the Sky Master and the Last Defender readied their armies.
Other mighty figures would come into play before this war was over. The Radiant Queen, The Heir of Aenarion, the Royal Family of the Forest, The Imperishable King, the Grand Hierophant, The Master of Runes and The Black Castellan. There too were other figures, other powers who presence would mean much in the coming war but it was uncertain if they would come.
Among them were the Men of the Twin Tailed comet whose people were on the brink of a civil war, one not seen since the days when three claimants sought the throne. In the frozen lands of the north, the Men of the Bear waged their unending war against the servants of Chaos but now, they were the ones on the attack. In the East, hope may be found as the Children of the Maw and the Dragon had also received The Sage's visions.
The four magi could only hope that their work would remain unnoticed for as long as possible for should the Four Dark Ones know of their plans then everything could come undone. And so the time came to watch and wait, to see the unfolding of fate.
Kalimdor, Azshara. 20 Years after the opening of the Dark Portal.
Discontent and frustration filled the obsidian halls of Grommash Hellscream as the voices of many Orc leaders could be heard echoing through its corridors. Upon the black stone walls were many banners of the Warsong Clan hanging from hooks along with the skulls of other races both of Draenor and here in Azeroth. The leaders of the invasion were gathered within the Chieftain's Hall where a throne made of Draenei bones and Tauren leather was placed at the far end and in front of it was an open space decorated with Centaur skin rugs.
Enchanted braziers that burned with bright orange fire illuminated the chamber which was often used as a feasting hall for the clan leaders but the dining tables had been cleared and the Orcs had gathered around a large round wooden table where a detailed map of Northern Kalimdor was kept. Fingers were being pointed and arguments broke out among the Orcish leaders who were prone to draw weapons or hurl spells. Keeping watch upon the meeting were six Blademasters of the Burning Blade Clan which included Saburo whose hands, like his those of his clan mates rested upon the hilts of their swords, their presence a reminder that under the penalty of immediate execution, no blood should be spilled without the permission of the appointed Slayer of the Shadowmoon which was currently held by Grommash Hellscream.
Peon servants were also in attendance within the room but little attention was paid to them for their job was to serve food and drinks to the clan leaders. They were also useful to have around in case messages needed to be delivered to the nearby base camps on their side of the river. There was also the possibility that any of them could be spies from Doomhammer's Horde but there were those like Grom Hellscream who seemed certain that not even the Blackrock Warchief would dare try to sabotage their invasion.
The Warsong Chieftain brooded over the map with his gloved left hand running through his beard and his right rested on the handle of his axe, Gorehowl. Bloodied bandages covered the chest of Hellscream who had two nights ago been wounded while trying to directly engage the Demigod in battle. He had managed to escape barely alive thanks possessing knowledge of the same mystical techniques used by the Blademasters.
Saburo could see the barely contained anger simmering beneath the gaze of Grom Hellscream as blame was constantly being shifted by the leaders of The Horde. Disgust filled Saburo for this was a scene he had seen far too many back in the Eastern Kingdoms. Internal clan politics was also at play here for Hellscream was the only here who was the ruler of a clan while the others were commanders sent by their Chieftains and many quite obviously were jockeying for power.
'What of our forces in the Stonetalons?' questioned Grommash Hellscream towards the leaders who immediately became silent upon hearing the Slayer's voice.
'They are still being harrassed by Harpies, Centaur and Tauren, Chief Hellscream' reported a General of the Laughing Skull Clan named Obris. 'Our Ogres are requesting more Spearmen, Raiders and Wind Riders to deal with those in the air'
'We have no warriors to spare' replied Hellscream which drew a disappointed but expected look from General Obris. 'Contact the Trolls and see if they have warriors who can aid you'
'Understood, Slayer of the Shadowmoon' bowed Orbis who seemed non too thrilled at the idea of having to rely in the fickle aid of mercenaries.
'And the Quillboars?' then asked Hellscream towards the Shadowmoon representatives among them.
'Lord Gorefiend has convinced them to join us' answered an old Warlock of the Shadowmoon Clan named Urgath. 'They are interested in our knowledge of necromancy and Lord Coldbringer has been assigned to assess their potential'.
Well that is one less foe to deal with thought Saburo who was none too pleased with idea of adding more non Orcs too The Horde. At least the pigs would be a prettier sight than those Humans from Alterac which still remained as "allies" to The Horde.
'But there is something you should know as well Chief Hellscream' added Urgath.
'What is it?' growled the Lord of the Warsong Clan.
'We have received a vision from the south, a call for aid from Tanaris' explained the old Warlock in a grim tone. 'An outpost of my clan has been destroyed'
'Is it the Sand Trolls?' questioned another General named Malgrim of the Thunderlord Clan.
'We do not know' answered the Shadowmoon representative. 'Only that they were attacked by what we believe were undead'.
Murmurs then began to break out among the Orc leaders and Saburo was indeed intrigued upon hearing of this. Most of their warriors were either here in Ashenvale with a notable amount of others in the areas around Desolace and Mulgore such as Stonetalons and the Barrens. In places like Tanaris, The Thousand Needles, Azshara and the land around Golmashmar, their forces were fairly few.
'Have word sent to my son' replied Chief Hellscream for the young warrior, Garrosh had so far by all accounts been proving to be a capable leader in suppressing the Tauren slave rebellions. The Warsong Chieftain then gave a stern look to one of the nearby Peon servants and the lowly laborer bowed in obedience before going off to the Warsong camp's Beastiary.
'Now let's get back to this war with the Night Elves' then said Hellscream who had a look in his red eyes, as if he actually had a plan.
Naggaroth, IC2532
Studying the magic portal for a moment, Inarion quickly noticed that there would be problem for the combined armies of Asur and the Lizardmen. It was large enough to perhaps fit a single Ogre but for other big creatures, it may be a bit of an issue. Having already dismounted from the back of his horse, Inarion was certain he could easily walk his steed through and even if he were riding it would be a non issue as long as he lowered his head.
One look to his lord though, Prince Eltharion and his Griffon, Stormwing he was certain that both would not fit through and they both knew it as well. As his Lord dismounted, the Kroxigor, Nakai The Wanderer approached the portal and the Lizardman simply tossed his mace through it before bending his back down to duck into the rift while moving side ways. The Spirit of the Jungle then got through and after a moment, his head stuck out from the other side and he gave a rumbling growl to Oxyotl.
Prince Eltharion then began to quietly speak to Stormwing and the Griffon then proceeded to lower its head and body while keeping its wings folded back as tightly as possible in a way which Inarion could guess was not comfortable. The noble beast then began to approach the rift in an undignified crawl and Nakai pulled his head back so that the Griffon could try to squeeze through. Thankfully, with Prince Eltharion leading the beast, Storming was barely able to fit through.
Looking to the other Griffon Riders as well as the few Eagles and Phoenixes that accompanied the Asur, they seemed to get the message. Feeling certain that a Dragon would not be able to fit through, Inarion guessed that it was a good thing that none of the Wyrms were here now. Looking to the Lizardmen, he saw that they too faced similar dilemmas.
A number of their larger beasts would certainly not be able to fit through and those with war machines upon their backs already had the harnesses removed and devices being disassembled by the Skinks. Shaking his head, Inarion knew that this would be a hinderance to, wherever this portal led to. Guiding his steed forward, he saw Oxyotly and then the Shadow King stepped through along with the Nagarthyian reinforcements who mostly were on foot.
Offering a quiet prayer of protection to Lileath, the Mistwalker noble then stepped into the portal and he suddenly felt a momentary feeling of disorientation which disappeared as it started. He now found himself in much less cold land gripped by the colors of autumn where the light of dawn was shining upon this place and he could barely feel the Winds of Magic. Surrounded by rune etched menhirs with the ground beneath having a pentagram pattern, he surmised that someone deliberately created this portal in some sort of complex arcane ritual.
Guiding his horse forward, his fellow Mistwalkers and the Bowmen of Oreon proceeded to passed through as well where they moved to join Prince Eltharion who for now remained on the ground. Taking a quick survey of their surroundings, he found that there indeed was a camp where Elves and Lizardmen began settling down wherever space could be found. Other beings were here as well of course for aside from the human slaves of the Lustrians or the various mercenary and auxiliary troops, he also spotted the curious, purple skinned elf-like creatures which he had heard from the Shadow King were called Kaldorei.
They were gathered in an area not far from the circle of stones where the ground was unnaturally raised up into a fractured rocky formation where a copse of trees grew out of the earth while surrounding a bright magical light. Watching this curious display for a moment, he then saw the trees suddenly begin to recede and intertwine, the wood of their bodies merging like clay before rapidly taking shape into a form that looked the upper half of a bipedal body.
At a loss to explain what had just happened, Inarion now beheld a massive tree creature, one vaguely similar to the tree spirits of the Athel Loren. Long tusks like those of an Arabyan Elephant protruded from the sides of a vaguely leonine head where healthy green leaves grew like a beard below its chin and upon its shoulders. Shining pale yellow lights gleamed from its eyes while a pair of sigil carved totems protruded from its back, its hands were somewhat shaped like wooden gauntlet which ended in three digit claws.
The Tree Spirit-like creature turned its gaze upon the Kaldorei gathered and it began to create a creaking noises followed by a low, slow rumbling which he realized was speech of some sort. The purple skinned beings that surrounded the tree spirit began to listen to it like an elder giving sage advice which left Inarion curious as to what it was saying. Shaking head and reminding himself of the important task that lay before them, Inarion was knew there would be plenty of time to be wondered by the sight.
Taking cover beneath the shades of trees and behind some bushes, a soft curse escaped the lips of Kyntaria as she saw the Gold Mine within an open glade and found that it had been claimed. Several small, rodent-like creatures, Kobolds were standing guard outside of the entrance and she knew that if there was one, more would be around. The Night Elf Archers did not exactly have that many arrows left in their quivers while the same could be said for the outlanders.
Both the Asur and Skinks looked expectantly at her and she was uncertain on how to proceed with one of the cloaked Asur, a blue eyed male then began to speak and he looked to the Kobold guards. The Night Elf then took a moment to think of how she would responded and she raised her bow towards the Gold Mine. Using her left hand, she mimicked the motions of drawing and firing arrows and after three mock shots she reached for her quiver and began removing arrows which she placed on the ground until it was empty.
Kyntaria then shrugged toward the Asur who seemed to contemplate her actions for a moment before giving a nod. He then set his bow down and drew a pair of green glowing swords that were sheathed by his hips. While Kyntaria was not afraid to try and get up close to the Kobolds, she would really rather avoid such an unnecessary danger in the first place.
Looking to the fiery scaled Skinks, one of them held up hammer-like weapon it was carrying while mirroring the Asur's gesture. The other creatures then began placing
'I think they are ready for a fight' commented Saris who looked to Kyntaria with a determined look and she saw a expression as well on the faces of the others.
'Okay lets do it then' Kyntaria said to her comrades before looking to the outlanders and giving them a nod before getting back her arrows. Taking aim, the Night Elves did so as well while their allies moved up closer. Giving the command to fire, the Archers unleashed a volley of arrows at the Kobolds which felled four of them. High pitched yips were heard as some of the Kobolds survived but not for long as the Asur fired arrows while on the move with each one finding a mark among the remaining vermin.
The cloaked outlanders then headed towards the entrance of the mine with none of the the Skinks in sight until one of them just suddenly appeared in front and went inside. Widening her eyes in surprise, Kyntaria and the archers ran towards the mine entrance where she could hear Kobolds shouting in surprise before faint booming sound was heard, followed by the smell of something burning. The fiery scaled Skink that had gone inside was now running out with the Asur already moving away and behind the lizard came a small swarm of angry Kobolds shouting nonsense but the Night Elf heard the words "candle" over and over again.
Coming to halt so she could properly aim and fire with her bow, Kyntaria saw the Asur fire off another volley of arrows while on the move and around the swarm of Kobolds the other Skinks appeared and they used those pipe weapons of theirs to launch darts that caused fiery explosions among the foe. Clothes, fur and flesh were lit up as the verminous creatures began yipping in confusion and terror as more arrows fell upon them followed by another series of incendiary detonations. Both groups of outlanders then suddenly stopped, turned around and were charging towards the Kobolds with melee weapons drawn.
Kyntaria then launched an arrow and her comrades fired at will as they unloaded what arrows they had left upon the Kobolds. Soon the outlanders were upon them, the Asur were fast and deadly as they danced among the remaining Kobolds who fell with their throats cut or bellies split open while the Skinks savagely bashed their skulls in with hammers while using their pipe weapons as bludgeons as well. The Kobolds had already been in a state of panic and confusion after that first explosion of fire and with the sudden savage assault upon them, the naturally cowardly creatures turned tail and ran but they did not get far away as those who attempted to flee only did not see their deaths coming.
Soon the slaughter was over and Kyntaria took a moment to survey the surrounding area. Dozens of kobolds lay dead on the grassy ground, fires still blazed upon some of the bodies as the candles they kept on their heads had fallen to the dew covered grassy ground. Some still writhed and moved about but were quickly killed by the outlanders by sword or hammer.
Once she was certain it was clear, she turned around and called for the Tree of Life, letting the Ancient know the area was clear. The ground trembled with each step the elemental forest spirit took as it slowly walked towards the Gold Mine, it easily would have made short work of the Kobolds but it was too precious to risk in a fight. Soon the Gold Mine would be theirs and the survivors of Nendis could begin to rebuild their lives and visit vengeance upon the Greenskins who destroyed their home.
Kneeling down over a piece of paper with marking scrawled upon its surface, the reptilian eyes of Gortehe studied the map which the Ghosts of Pahuax and the Elf-Spawn had provided. He That Hunts Unseen, Oxyotl pointed to an area of the map freshly marked with charcoal which indicated their position and two other places which according to the ancient Chameleon was where there were Greenskin camps.
Many Sauruses both Old Bloods and Scar Veterans were gathered here along with Skink Chiefs, Priests and the Red Crested kin of Tehenauin. All listened intently to the plans of Oxyotl and Nakai.
'We must strike swiftly and silently, Braves' hissed He That Hunts Unseen towards them and especially to Nakai who towered over the assembly. 'The Elf-Spawn will attack this camp' Oxyotl then added while moving his finger to a location to the south.
'Go to water.' growled The Wanderer. 'Kill Green-Spawn'.
Oxyotl nodded in agreement as he then pointed to the second camp to the south east and he tapped his clawed finger upon it.
'We will attack here first. Then move to other camps' Oxyotl commanded.
'Too many Braves here' growled an Old Blooded Saurus whose scales and equipment marked him as of being from Pahuax. 'Wasteful to attack with all.'
Oxyotl then looked to the Saurus with no visible expressions on his crest aside from the twitching of his eyes that looked about in separate directions.
'Very true' agreed He That Hunts Unseen. 'My Braves and Nakai's will assault the camp. There are other nests and camps around this forest, consult my scouts, kill all threats but do not engage the walled outposts.'
Numerous eager growls came from the assorted Lizardmen leaders as they departed to organize their forces but the Skink Priests remained for they were uncertain on what they could do. Despite not being not being a mage, Gortehe understood their situation for even he could feel the strange geomantic web of this world.
It had already been brought to the attention if the Lizardmen that the Winds of Magic did not exist here and without it, the Skink Priest would be unable to support their forces with spells. The Elf-Spawn it seemed had the same issue and thus both groups were planning on some sort of solution. Until then, Gortehe and the rest of them knew that they would have to fight in a mundane fashion and with no access to their monstrous units aside from the Kroxigors.
Looking to Nakai, the Ancient Kroxigor began growling orders to the Lizardmen under his command.
'Follow Oxyotl' growled The Wanderer to several nearby Kroxigors as he then looked to Gortehe. 'Attack from land. Distract.'
Bowing his bony crest in obedience, Gortehe began barking wordless orders to the nearest of Saurus Warriors and then to the loathsome Man-Spawn slaves. The former obeyed without question as they grouped up into disciplined ranks while the latter staggered into a crude semblance of one. A muted anger filled the being of the Scar Veteran upon seeing these humans he had been none too pleased to find that the Elf-Spawn brought more.
Had it been up to him Gortehe would have had all of the Man-Spawn in Lustria exterminated after the last great battle of Itza. He remembered that bloody day when the human leader, the one known as Wulfhart had attempted to recapture The First City after the Lizardmen reclaimed it from The Empire tribe. By the end of the battle, two powerful Man-Spawn champions that followed Wulfhart had been slain by the vengeful Lizardmen, the others two, a Dwarf and a forest Elf-Spawn had managed to escape along with the human leader.
The only thing that comforted him now about the presence of the Man-Spawn was that they would serve as meat shields in battle and afterwards as meals for the Saurus.
Stepping out of the Warsong Fortress's main entrance which was shaped to resemble an Orcish mouth, Saburo was glad that the meeting had been over. The other leaders of the clans could be seen heading back to their base camps, either on foot or on wolfback, their attitudes had been improved by the plan laid out by Grom Hellscream. Having heard of it as well, it was definitely a lot better than trying to brute force their way across the river but it was not one he was personally keen about in trying.
The Goblins it seems had developed a new type of Zeppelin. During the Second War, their flying ships were only useful for scouting or courier purposes but now it seemed that they could be used as flying transports. Hellscream wanted for groups of warriors to be transported across the mountains so they could destroy the Night Elf bases in a pincer attack.
It was a good plan which they all agreed upon but the real issue became whether such a mode of transportation was safe or not. Many orcs which included Saburo were not too fond of the idea traveling by boat and during the Second War, they had relied on Trolls, Ogres and Goblins to handle the building or sailing of ships. Years ago, Saburo had lost entire weeks of sleep while sailing to Kalimdor for his thoughts had been significantly troubled by the idea of sea monsters in the deeps.
Traveling on a ship floating in the air though was something which gave the Blademaster pause. Saburo genuinely considered the idea of just outright deserting for he had and the other Blademasters had been chosen to lead parties of troops aboard these flying vessels. Eventually, the rational part of him won out and he decided to carry out Hellscream's orders.
He was also somewhat concerned about the news of an undead army in the south of Tanaris and he wondered if it indeed had been the work of the Sand Trolls. Having had years of contact with the Trolls in the Eastern Kingdoms, Saburo was aware that the creatures possessed something called Voodoo which was capable of all sorts of magical effects which included Necromancy.
The Blademaster was aware as well with the regular skirmishes against the so called Farraki Tribe who were even more xenophobic than the Amani. Perhaps this undead army was of their creation? Could it have been an inter-clan dispute among the Orcs?
In the end Saburo did not have any real answers and all he could do was speculate as he headed back to the nearest Barracks where he would try to catch some sleep. Already he could see far too many fresh new faces within the Warsong camp, young warriors eager for blood as they were no doubt readying for another attack, despite the previous night's casualties. Shaking his head in disapproval, he was reminded of the many mass graves in the Eastern Kingdoms where too many were being filled with Orcish dead, rather than those of the Alliance's peoples.
Perhaps with Hellscream's plan, they could finally break through the Night Elf lines.
Beneath the autumnal forest did the combined forces of the Asur march towards one of the supposed Greenskin camps and Inarion who was now on foot along with rest of his Mistwalker band and the Bowmen of Oreon. Shadow Warriors lead the way as Prince Eltharion and the other aerial units remained on the ground for now as by being in the air, they could potentially give away their position. Human and Dwarf fighters marched alongside the Asur soldiery where they formed their own separate part of the war host while cavalry remained along the flanks.
As they moved along without incident, they soon came within sight of a break upon the tree-line where ahead they saw some green figures busily cutting down trees. Holding pick axes, the Inarion saw the hateful forms of Orcs but the sight of them performing manual labor was an odd one. It mattered little as the Shadow Warriors drew their bows and fired a volley of arrows that lethally struck down the beasts.
Already they were on the move and when they came to the break along the tree line, they saw their target. Squatting by a foreign sea was an ugly little settlement surrounded by wooden walls. Along the edges of the walls were wooden towers with tent huts upon the top and there looked to be another pair of notable structures within. Both structures had large skulls as part of its construction but it was hard to from this distance if it were actual skulls taken from heads of giants or if it were stone carved in such a macabre likeness.
Looking to Prince Eltharion and then to the Shadow King, Inarion waited for their signal to attack. Orders were being given by Alith Anar for most of them were Nagarthyians and The Grim Warden it seemed had agreed to let the Shadow King command. Anar's gaze then fell upon Inarion' band.
'Maintain your distance fire a volley along with the Archers' commanded Alith Anar towards those Mist Walkers who carried bows. 'And you, Inarion was it? Join the Warriors to assault the camp'.
Nodding in obedience, Inarion quickly left his group and took up position along with many rural born Warriors who mostly carried swords and shields or dual wielded hand weapons while wearing light armor. As he headed towards his assigned role, the Yvressian noble took a moment to survey their positioning and he began to mentally visualize the battle plan.
Knowing full well the power of Anar's Moonbow, he would likely use it to either destroy the enemy towers or breach the walls while Prince Eltharion, the Knights of Tor Gaval, the Great Eagles and Phoenixes would then focus on destroying the other defenses. The Archers and Shadow Warriors in the meantime would likely use their longbows to either kill or suppress the enemy and while the close combat troops would launch an assault once a path is opened up.
If this was the case, it would be a simple yet effective strategy with space to make adjustments should the need arise. The Shadow King then drew the blessed Moonbow of Lileath and he took aim.
'Eldoir-Lathain' Alith Anar quietly then said as he fired a single enchanted arrow which struck a tower with the might of a bolt thrower.
Makorak suddenly awoke as a muffled crashing sound was heard and he bolted up from his bed. His head felt heavy for he had more than a few mugs of Blood Mead and he heard a series of banging poundings on his door.
'I am coming, curse you!' roared the Warlock as he got up again and grabbed his staff, he had half a mind to use it to beat whoever interrupted his sleep. When he opened the door, Makorak was greeted by the face of one of the younger apprentices, a lad who had just arrived from the Eastern Kingdoms a few days ago.
'W-we are under attack!' cried the young orc apprentice. 'The Blood Guard is missing! There are too many of them!'
Makorak's eyes widened in surprise and he thought of the the undead that had attacked their clanmates in Tanaris. Could it be the same undead he wondered? What if it was something else? Something that came through the portal his coven had conjured?
Before he could further question the apprentice, the young orc was already off heading towards the Tower's supply room where they stored the reagents for some their spells along with potions and ingredients for alchemy or enchanting. From the quarters of the other warlocks, he saw that two of the doors were already opened to reveal no one inside and then another crash, muffled by the stone walls were was heard.
Quickly going for the main entrance to the Warlock's Tower, he heard the sounds of shouting and what seemed to be loud, bird-like screeches which alarmed him greatly. Was it the Night Elves he wondered for he had heard the reports that they employed a different breed of Gryphon Riders somewhat like those of the Alliance. When he emerged outside, he saw fast moving flying shapes soar overhead followed by screaming as an Ice Troll plummeted to his death not far away from where he stood.
The unfortunate mercenary splattered hard upon the ground a few feet away from Makorak who felt some droplets of blood landing on his face. Undisturbed by the Troll's demise, he then looked about to get an idea of what was going on. What looked to be Gryphons, but far larger than those used by Alliance were savagely tearing apart the camp's Watchtowers where Trolls and Skeleton Archers desperately attempted to shoot the things.
A barrage of arrows then began to indiscriminately fall upon them as another Watchtower's hut was smashed into splinters. Not far from the Warlock Tower he saw a group of Troll mercenaries throwing axes and spears at what looked to be a giant bird made purely out fire. Several of the projectiles struck the seemingly elemental beasts and it screeched both in fury and pain as it flew over them and he saw it drop a fireball that bathed the Trolls in flame.
Confusion broke out among the Shadowmoon forces for without Bloodguard Reshtar (whom Makorak was certain was now dead) to lead them, they were unable to mount an organized defense. Quickly drawing upon the power of the Twisting Nether, Makorak immediately began chanting Fel-infused words of power as umbral energies surrounded his green hands. He then pointed the head of his staff towards the nearest of flying creatures, a Gryphon that had torn open the roof of a burrow and casted an enfeebling curse upon it.
Having casted the Cripple spell upon the Gryphon, it screeched in pain as its body was wracked in agony. The pain it felt would not cause genuine physical harm like some of the curses which more powerful warlocks could use but it would certainly slow and weaken the beast. He then noticed that there was indeed a rider upon the back of the back if the beast, a shining armored warrior who looked to be armed with a spear and sword while wearing a winged helmet.
Peons cowering within the damaged Burrow hurled their spears which pierced the feathered chest of the Gryphon but the creature did not die as the rider leapt down from the throne upon its back and into the hole where the roof used to be. Makorak could not tell what was going on inside but he could not imagine that it bolded well for the Peons which generally were considered too weak by the Horde to be used as true fighters. The wooden gates that led into the camp were then smashed into splinters as if artillery was being used to smash it.
From across the gates he saw numerous figures running towards the camp and he saw what looked to be more shining armored figures and other creatures. Shouting a harsh series of expletives rather than spells, Makorak knew that this camp was done for.
Immediately turning his head towards the camp's docks he began to make his way towards it while the fighting raged on. He had no intentions of dying here today, not while his ambition for ascension still burned hotly. He briefly thought about gathering the members of his coven but quickly did he decide not to.
Makorak remembered a conversation he once had with a Troll Headhunter about the dangers of hunting tigers. Should the hunter end up becoming the hunted, one did not need to outrun the tiger, just his fellow hunter.
'Ceyl!' shouted Inarion as he led the charge into the opened gate of the enemy camp with his greatsword trailing behind him. The Nagarthyian Warriors he was assigned to him were also in turn accompanied by a band of Druchii collaborators, one of whom it seems had been a member of Malekith's Blackguard. Another enchanted arrow from the Shadow King then struck part of the wall a few yards to the left of the gate and it smashed down the wooden barricade, thus creating a second gap for them to enter.
Behind the gate he saw what looked to be undead skeletons massing to form a defensive line while a trio of giant horned beasts that vaguely looked like bald, horned Ogres were also joining them. Quickly looking back to see an advancing wall of Tilean pikemen flanked by Asur Spearmen, Inarion quickly made a split second decision.
'On me!' shouted Inarion to the Warriors and Druchii as they followed him without question towards that second breach. Moving around, they were quickly able to enter the gap which was wide enough for two to enter at a time with the Yvressian noble being the first to step through along with one of the Nagarthyians.
Stepping over the splintered stumps of wood, Inarion immediately found himself with the perimeter of the enemy camp where bones were scattered about on the ground as the corpse of a lanky, green skinned creature with large tusks and a crest of blood red hair lay nearby. Not having time to observe his surroundings outside from what looked like they were under the legs of what must have been watch tower of sorts, Inarion saw a group of skeletons approaching their position.
'Form up before engaging!' commanded Inarion before rushing towards the approaching undead which upon closer inspection, some looked as if they had been made from the bones of walking fish creatures roughly similar in size to a Skink while others bore features suggesting an ursine appearance. Regardless if what they were, Inarion was soon upon them with his greatsword cleaving left and right.
The mind of the Yvressian noble was clear and focused as he began a deadly dance which had been ingrained into him centuries ago within the White Tower of Hoeth under the tutelage of Loremaster Yransair Stormwing. His sword was a blur of shining steel as he hacked, slashed, cleaved and parried the clumsy strikes of the undead. Immediately he was quick to notice that in comparison to the skeletons raises by the Vampires or their Necromancer lackeys, these ones were much more agile and dexterous, to the point that they would have matched a human soldier, but Inarion was still an Asur and not some lumberingly oafish lesser being.
Hearing steps behind him, Inarion was soon joined by the others whose blades quickly splintered bones. At the main entrance of the camp, the volleys of arrows were now being concentrated there as the skeletons that tried to defend the breach were struck down by the barrage while the horned ogres beasts seemed to fair better. The arrows that struck these monstrous brutes bounced off of their flesh as a seemingly crimson light surrounded their bodies and Inarion realized that sorcery was at work here.
Another section of the wooden wall to the main entrance's right was then broken down by the Shadow King's arrows and soon a group of High Elf Spearmen began pouring through to create a shield wall around it. The trio of horned Ogres then proceeded to charge directly into the block of mercenary pikemen. As he easily cut down more of the undead, Inarion noticed that there were black robed orcs casting spell further within the camp where Prince Eltharion directly engaged them on foot.
The Grim Warden impaled a Greenskin magician with his spear before slashing the throat of another while a wounded but still fighting Stormwing wrapped its mighty beak around the head of an orc before easily pulling it off with a shower of gore. The Knights of Tor Gaval and the aerial beasts which accompanied Prince Eltharion were making short work of the rest of the magicians as well as other creatures which did not look like Orcs.
Inarion and his group then fought their way to the main entrance where a pair of Knights of Tor Gaval were running rampant among other spell casters who were accompanied by undead and giant spiders. Eagles and Phoenixes swooped down to aid the Griffon Riders as their talons were more than capable of shredding armored warriors to pieces. Looking towards the main entrance, he saw a grim sight as the trio of Ogres were using their bare fists to smash aside the Dogs of War.
Still sheathed in crimson lights, arrows and pikes shattered upon impact while leaving a mes of broken bodies in their wake. Turning the attention of his group to the beasts, he ordered for them to attack.
Before the eyes of Brokk Sindrisson he saw a trio of bald, horned headed creatures that somewhat looked like Ogres were practically beating to death an entire regiment of Tileans. Their pikes along with the arrows of the elves barely scratched the skin of the monstrous brutes who wildly swung their fists with abandon and killing manlings with every blow. The horned ogres were fast too, Brokk saw them sprinting as quickly as a human knights on the charge and they struck as brutally as the Ogres from the Mountains of Mourn.
The pikemen desperately attempted to fight back with their long polearms but many had been shattered when the ogres crashed into them. As the Ogres laid into the formation, the Tileans were forced to draw swords and daggers. More elvish arrows struck the beasts but one managed to punch deeply into the left eye of a horned ogre who roared in pain and surprise which briefly drew surprised expressions from the other two.
Looking over his right shoulder, he saw the black haired Elf Lord, Alith Anar still at the edge of the tree line and drawing another arrow. The remaining two ogres then tried to smash their way through the human mercenaries while the third who had been wounded was lost to a wild frenzy. Behind the Tilean pikemen were a group of lightly armored dwarf warrior slaves who had formed ranks into a shield wall.
Within the Karaz Ankor, every Dawi was taught how to fight with the ranks of the common Dwarf Warriors being composed of all sorts of common folk who took up Az and Klad to defend their home. Even after being enslaved by the Dark Elves and being transferred to the ownership of the Shadow King, they remembered their training as they prepared to meet this foe. Locking shields and digging their heels into the ground, a grim look came upon the Dawi slaves who all knew this was their chance of freedom.
Stepping forward at the front of the group was of course Brokk who many of them had seen take up the Slayer's Oath. Among the Throngs of the Karaz Ankor, it was traditional to let the Slayers be the first ones into the battle unless of course the commanding lord had an important plan in mind for them and if the Slayers agreed to it on their own. But no such command structures or hierarchies existed here, just the will of the Shadow King who allowed them to fight in whatever manner they saw fit.
Holding onto his mining pick, Brokk looked to the horned Ogres with a mix of contempt that warred with fear. This was his first and hopefully would be his last battle as a Slayer, he had just sworn the Oath a few hours ago and was well aware that fighting something like these would have been beyond the former Miner. There was still a rational part his mind telling him that he was crazy, that it was suicide to fight these monsters but the honor abiding part of him, the one that drove him to become a Slayer was telling him that this was his chance at a good death.
Tightening the grip on his pick as his palms became sweaty, Brokk took a hesitant step forward as his mind remained in conflict. Another arrow from the Shadow King then struck an ogre thing, this time in the throat where the apple of a man would be and instead of just bursting out of the back of the neck, it was merely poking through. Blood gurgled from the wound and mouth of the horned Ogre who clutched his throat before collapsing and the last one ran forward with Brokk in its path.
For a brief moment he thought he saw a crimson light surround surrounding the ogre and then suddenly it dissipated. Arrows and bolts struck the horned ogre but this time the projectiles buried into its tanned fleshed with a look if pain and surprise registering on its ugly face. Swinging his pick while aiming for its left knee Brokk was rewarded with a satisfying crunch as his mining tool punctured flesh and and buried into bone.
The Ogre thing's momentum was not halted as giant brute stumbled and Brokk saw that it was about to collapse on top of him. Leaping to his right, he painfully landed upon his shoulder which struck the ground and the dwarf saw the beast collapse in front of the shield wall. The other Dwarfs did not give the brute time to get up as they were immediately upon the horned Ogre with axes and hammers savagely hacking and beating the body.
Mixed emotions warred within Brokk who felt a bit of shame and disappointment at still being alive while also feeling relief that he made it. As he painfully got back up to his feet, he looked to see the Ogre which the Shadow King shot in the throat, that one was about as dead as the unfortunate humans behind it while the third had been surrounded by a pair of elves...
Cautiously circling the Ogre-like creature which wildly flailed about, Vraneth tightly gripped his halberd as an Asur Highborn dressed in the livery of Yvresse and wielding a greatsword was also going around the beast. The former Blackguard had noticed that whatever magic was protecting the trio of brutes had dissipated and now it seemed they were vulnerable. Several swords wielding fighters both Druchii or Asur were surrounding the beast with his halberd affording a much needed reach.
Seeing an opportunity to attack, Vraneth dashed forward with halberd in hand and he thrust the spear tip into the rotund belly of the beast and it buried deep within its exposed. The Asur Highborn in the meantime had swung his sword at the flailing right arm of the brute and had caught it by wrist, thus severing the hand entirely. Vraneth then pulled his axe down and he felt it tear through flesh, meat and intestines in a pleasing torrent of gore that spilled out upon the corpse strewn ground.
The Yvressian Highborn then swung his greatsword into the left collarbone and he cleaved through the collarbone where it buried deep enough to hit where a human' heart would be. Groaning in pain, the horned Ogre collapsed upon the ground and it remained still.
'We should be certain it is dead' suggested Vraneth. 'Maybe you should cut off its head?'
'Agreed' quietly replied the Yvressian Noble who then moved around the head of the beast and he raised his greatsword in an executioner's stance. The greatsword then sliced through the neck of the beast and it fell off with a torrent of blood gushing out from the stump.
'A fine call leading us away from the main gate' Vraneth then commented as he looked to the dead human pikemen. He did not want to think about how badly the situation would have been for them if those brutes had attacked their group instead while under whatever spell protected them and he could see it in the High Elf's eyes that he too was well aware how close they all were to disaster. 'Better them than us'.
'They are merely mortals' dismissively replied the Asur Noble which drew an amused humph from the former Blackguard as they turned their attentions to the camp.
The din of battle began to die down as the Asur of Nagarythe has entered from the other breaches in the walls. Within the camp, Phoenixes, Great Eagles and Griffon Riders were now slaughtering what few pockets of resistance had remained. He then noticed a most unusual and intriguing sight amidst the carnage.
A group of Asur Silver Helm Knights had surrounded a group of Greenskins and instead of just outright attacking, the brutes were on their knees and begging for their lives. While aware that the Druchii have in the past been able to enslave Orcs, it was very difficult to truly break them in and such a sight would have been expected for goblins or snotlings but not Orcs. Vraneth hoped that the Shadow King would claim these Greenskins for often when he no longer needed prisoners from the undesirable races, he allowed the Druchii to deal with it.
Heading into the camp, one of the first things Vraneth noticed about it was that it was remarkably cleaner in comparison to the Greenskins which he was more used to dealing with. There was still a stench of course, for he could smell rotting fish, dung, unwashed bodies and other such foul odors but there were no piles of feces everywhere. Truly if these Orcs were an altogether different breed then this was the proof one would need.
Keeping their weapons drawn, the group of Druchii and Asur looked out for any other dangers but so far it seemed that there were none. Vraneth guessed that during the earlier skirmish, they had slain a majority of this camp's warriors. Unlike the crude hovels which the Greenskins he was familiar with tended to squat in, the structures within this particular settlment was composed of wood and stone which were surrounded by sharp wooden stakes.
In an open area of the settlement where a black moon banner stood, the lord of the Yvressian Asur, Eltharion the Grim was tending to his injured griffon mount. Anger mixed with resentment and fear filled Vraneth as he saw the Asur lord who had been responsible for the deaths of many of his kin. For a Druchii who hailed from Naggarond, all knew about the devastating raid which the Grim Warden and the Shadow King had mounted upon Naggaroth's former capital.
His presence was also a puzzling thing for many of the Druchii who had all heard the stories as well of the retribution that Witch King eventually visited upon Eltharion The Grim. By all accounts he had been defeated in battle, tortured and then blinded before being sent back to the Asur as a warning. Yet here he was, Prince Eltharion still standing and clearly able to fight as one could see the blood upon his armor, no signs of any of his crippling injuries which the Druchii had inflicted upon him.
Now a days, the Grim Warden was a figure of terror to the remaining Dark Elves of Naggaroth. He was counted among the likes of the Shadow King, Alith Anar or The Reaper which was what they also called Prince Tyrion. Among the leaders of the Asur, the only one who inspired perhaps even more dread into the black hearts of the Druchii was the Everqueen, Alarielle The Radiant who during the war had drawn the Sword of Khaine and used it first to slay countless Skaven before turning it upon the Naggarothi where the cities of Har Ganeth and Ghrond bore testament to her wrath.
Reminding himself to be on his best behavior, Vraneth knew full well what cruel fates, even by the standards of a Dark Elf would await one such as himself who earned the ire of The Grim Warden.
It was of no surprise to Makorak that when he arrived at the the base camp's Shipyard he found the Peons who had been assigned to building and maintaining the ships were already preparing a vessel to leave and not only that but that he was not the only one to abandon the ongoing fight. Two other members of his coven, Nagral and Nateruk were there but of the other two, there were no signs which did not bother him for it meant two less rivals on his path to ascension. A tired look was upon the faces of his fellow Warlocks and he could tell that their reserves of mana had been completely spent for along the way he had seen two mighty demonic Doomguards take flight but were quickly swarmed by the flock of monstrous birds creatures that attacked the camp.
Now he stood upon one of the piers at the exterior of the Shipyard which smelled of fish for on most days the Orcs used it as a fishery and occasionally to accommodate other ships delivering troops and supplies bound for Ashenvale. A transport ship based on a newer Goblin design over the old Troll ones was being readied by the Peons who frantically worked to undo the moorings and once they were done, they casted off with the laborers rowing the oars. The teamwork which the Peons showed in fleeing for their lives was admirable, even without a leader to guide them, a shame the same could not be said on matters of defense outside of running to the nearest Burrow.
Soon the transport ship was off towards the bay with the three Warlocks aboard along with the Peon crew. Looking towards the land, he saw the fighting that still occurred there where what few defenders remained were being overwhelmed by the attackers whose forms he could not quite make out along with the assorted bird-like beings which dominated the air. The sight of the many aerial creatures is what gave Makorak the most concern as he turned his attention to the Peons who still rowed ahead without any real sense of direction.
'Take us east to the Bonechewer camp!' called the Warlock for it was the closest of the other Horde bases in the area. They had to be warned as well.
'East!' roared one of the Peon rowers closest to him and the others took up the call as the ship was turned eastwards. Had they gone further south there were other camps as well while at the westernmost end of the bay was the haunted ruins of a city that had once been inhabited by elf ghosts which now were slaves of their Necrolytes.
Keeping their eyes on the sky, the Warlocks soon saw one of the fiery birds turn its predatory gaze upon them and the beast immediately began heading in their direction. Hissing a curse, Makorak was aware that his own repertoire of spells along would not allow him to just blast the thing out of the sky or put on a powerful enough curse to turn its fiery body into ashes. Looking to his fellow Warlocks, they began chanting words of power and all they could do was conjure simple balls of flame which were not even the explosive kind and they were ready to throw it at the fire bird. The Warlock knew he did not have the mana to summon a cloud of poison gas upon and it and even if he did, it was moving fast enough to quickly get out of it and he also did not have the power to summon a Doomguard to fly up and attack it.
The fire bird then gave a loud screech as it dived down to attack the ship and the Warlocks hurled bolts of flame towards it with each one harmlessly striking the creature that continued its attack. Instead of striking the canvas of that covered the top of the transport ship with its talons, the fire bird swooped over it before and it unleashed several fiery embers that ignited several small flames which quickly began to spread. Alarmed shouts broke out among the ship's crew as some of the Peons attempted a variety of methods to put out the spreading flames such as by using the wet oars to beat the inferno while another group desperately got a piece of rope which they tied to a bucket. Makorak's attention along with those of the warlocks of course was drawn to the spreading flames but another screech was heard as the fire bird swooped in again and this time with its talons outstretched.
Quickly casting another spell, Makorak once placed a crippling curse upon the thing which screeched in sudden pain as it clumsily smashed into the part of the deck where it knocked a pair of Peons into the water and turned pieces of the boat into splinters with even more fires now beginning to spread. The beast then proceeded to crash into the water where its body skipped over the surface with steam erupting from each impact until finally coming to a halt close to the shore. Turning their attentions now to the fires aboard the ship, the Warlocks went about trying to help extinguish them but not before another series of avian screeches were heard and looking up, the Orcs saw four Gryphons now diving down towards them.
'Oh son of a b-' breathed Makorak before the talons of the beasts began tearing the vessel apart along with the bodies of Orcs. The Warlock then sprinted towards the edge of the ship and he dived down into the freezing waters just in time as mighty claws tore apart the last two members of his coven. He then hit the ocean with a painful splash as he felt an impact that knocked the breath out of his lungs before tasting the salty cold water while splinters of wood and body parts being thrown overboard.
Swimming up to the surface of the water to catch his breath, the Warlock took several gulps of air once he emerged and he tried to fill his lungs with as much as possible before diving back down and hoping that the Gryphons or their riders did not spot him. Thankful to have bothered to learn how to swim in his youth back in Nagrand, the Warlock saw that the same could not be said for some of the Peons who wildly flailed about in the water. Keeping his body beneath the surface as he performed powerful strokes, the Orc Warlock swam as far as he could away from ship until his lungs began to burn with the demand for air.
He soon then swam back up to the surface where once more he took several gulps of air and once he was satisfied, he looked to the ship which had begun to sink as the Gryphons flew back towards the camp. Relieved to have made it out alive, the Orc Warlock then took a moment to get his bearings and it did not take him long to see where the Bonechewer base camp was but then he noticed something as well in that direction. By the looks of it, several brightly colored things that were clearly not Wyverns were flying over the place with some diving down and then flying back up.
Realization then camp upon the Warlock that the Bonechewers had also been under attack as well. He also saw what looked to be creatures emerging from the waters behind the base camp and attacking the place from an angle where the walls did not defend. A horrid realization then came upon him that this was a coordinated attack, one that was aimed at taking out two Horde camps at once. He needed to warn the others thought Makorak as he dived down again and hoped that nothing in the air had spotted him.
Once he was submerged, he was about to turn around to face the south but he then saw something moving in the water and heading in his direction. Narrowing his eyes, he then saw what looked to be four large crocolisk-like creature swimming towards him. Unlike a normal crocolisk, these creatures were much larger and bearing four limbs while clearly also having hands for it looked like they were all carrying large hammer or clubs.
Mentally cursing, the Warlock saw the creatures swimming towards him at a frightening speed and he knew that would not be able to outswim them. He should have signed up for the frontline he thought as the as the Crocolisk-things darted towards him.