A/N: Please note that this is of course Fan Fiction, therefore the events described would be slightly deviated from the orginal telling.
And nope, I in fact do not own warcraft or anything else I write about.
Chapter 7
The Scouge marched and marched, into the dying sun they moved and for the destruction of all life they yearned. One great unstoppable line now, a line of pure death going directly towards the walls of Silvermoon. Any Elves that showed themselves to be brave enough to challenge this advance were slaughtered by various outrunners. Yet still the Scourge did not disorganize, its purpose and order were clear and no true devation of direction was made.
Wayne kept his position near the front despite his failing speed next to many others. The Elf of course, no matter how quick he was capable of being, always stayed in step behind. New meatwagons were now being pulled by the dozens through the middle of the column, parting the undead like waves on both sides. The speed with which the wagons moved was incrediable, as it was pulled by many horses that most likely belonged to the Elves, during their first life, that is. It was a small wonder that the machines, and in particular the wheels, did not fall apart under the fury of wind resistence and the unevenness of the ground.
In the great light of the rising moon, the walls of the great city came into sight. The concept of halting to gather more strength for an assault of the city was never in the mind of any of the Scourge. Frantic sounds of alarm were heard all throughout Silvermoon as very few Elves were seen on the top of the ramparts. It was obvious to the more intelligent Scourge that the city was suprised and unprepared, but most of all it was vulnerable.
Resistance from the tops of the wall was quickly proven to be useless, as the undead surged forward. Though the walls were high and the gates strong with enchantments, the assault carried on. Many ghouls with still decent bodies began to climb the high walls, but many could not keep a hold on the surface. All of the meatwagons lined up and began hurling many types of material onto and over the walls. The most harmful being diseased bodies meant to spread the plauge. Also a small horde of Abominations formed around the front gate and began flailing away at the doors.
At first it appeared to be useless, that the defense was too strong as a structure to be broken by mindless force. But then, small cracks began to form, then expand ever so slowly. Nearly one hundred ghouls were inside the city, running about like mad and attacking anything that moved. A precise shot from a meatwagon towards the low point of the outer wall aligned with the cracks and caused a great portion of the wall to collapse and fall crashing back into the city.
Instantly the Scourge rushed forward through the rubble and spread throughout the city. Wayne went forward with all the others, seeking the insatiable lust for death that had grown to be his only addiction. Though at the breech there were no more living Elves to be seen. Again a sinking feeling came to him that he would be outclassed by the more mindless and fierce units of the Scourge. No matter how useless they were at everything else, they were nonetheless more apt to fulfill their needs than him.
It was not long before chokepoints became effective enough to contain the Scourge within certain areas of the city. Many were very visible as being high arcane towers that dotted the entire city, each with mages and various defenders on the highest level. Yet others were more easily overcome, as those above enchanted gates to other quarters of the city.
The Elven mages did exceedingly well with organizing their defense all throughout the city that fateful night. But with the forces of death pounding away at them and no hope of escape from their towers, then it was only a matter of time that their lives could be kept. First it was arrows and spells cast from all sides coming at their high location, but nearly all were filtered by a defensive barrier. Then it was ghouls and Abominations that were lucky enough to reach the door at the tower base and began to hack away at it, but the Elf gate magic was too strong to be broken that easily. Lastly and more dire came the roving meatwagons to hurl great sized stone and debris which would crumble many towers that night.
Wayne went into various homes as he had in Lordaeron, searching for hiding, frightened people. Inside all of the households, the scene looked the same, lifeless disarray of ransacked possessions. But always, always, there were bound to be a few hiding. And of course the Elf was always behind him, always staring.
Try as he might there were no survivors to be found in the homes Wayne searched. It seemed now that the city was not as unprepared as was first imagined. Wayne stopped to look out of the window of a home, outside in the street were five meatwagons firing at a heavily guarded tower. The mages of the tower were raining down fire onto the catapults, but it was not enough to prevent their final volley that smashed into the middle and broke the tower in half. A screeching cry from the defenders resounded before the impact of the structure colliding with the ground overshadowed the sounds of their screams.
Moving into the street were the carts burned, Wayne could see the doors of the felled tower open. Nearly a dozen Elven rangers rushed out of the door with swords drawn, and upon seeing Wayne in his bone garb, rushed towards him. 'Finally,' Wayne thought, as he raised his wand upwards. This again became a void for his addiction, as it was the Elf behind him that moved in front of Wayne for the first time. The undead Elf ran forwards with his sword clutched tightly in both hands, bellowing a deep rage.
Stupified, Wayne lowered his wand and watched the Elf fiercely defend him. Screaming with a sense of passion and desparation, the Elf cut through the attackers. His movements were quick and agile, his swing powerful enough to cut through the blades that were raised in defence. One remained further back with an arrow in place, as quickly as the others fell, the arrow was released. The shot was not meant for the now blood stained Elf, instead it was for Wayne, as it pierced through his chest.
The rageful, blood soaked Elf bellowed a louder pitch of anger and injustice as he bent down to pick up a discarded sword. The archer had no time to react as the sword was hurled into his own chest, he dropped to his knees and died instantly. Wayne also fell to his knees, but did not die, nor did he feel any pain, his heart had stopped beating long ago.
The Elf stood over him now as Wayne felt so weak, so drained of energy. With his hand shaking, Wayne took hold of the arrow and jerked it out of his body. There was no blood, only bits of rotted flesh on the arrow. Kneeling next to him was the Elf, Wayne put a hand on his shoulder and they rose to their feet together. The night was nearly half over and there would surely be more hell to unleash on this wicked, wicked world.
End of Chapter 7
