The sun was finally setting as Randall Von Gunhilldur looked over the rampart at his handful of militia and then to the unholy army beyond the gate as it massed endlessly from the south. Randall had fought in many battles, and every time, whether he won or lost, he always escaped with his life. No matter how hopeless, no matter how badly outnumbered or outgunned, he had always survived the retreat. This time there was no retreat. He and his men could only fight until they could fight no more.
He descended the stairs on the rampart wall and met his lieutenants at the stables where they all mounted and moved to the front line where his troops stood ever faithfully in line waiting for his orders. His lieutenants fell in to his left and right. "Orders sir?" Asked his right hand man Handol, an extremely learned and powerful mage. Randall took a moment to size up what remained of the living army and quickly categorized the archers, artillery, magic, infantry and cavalry divisions. The monastery was only accessible from the south as it was protected by the cliffs it was carved from to the north, east and west. The castle grounds were protected by two stone walls spanning the width of the southern gorge with one gate each and the road leading through both gates and up to the castle portcullis. Randall had been devising a defense plan all day and already knew exactly what to do with his men.
"When I'm done talking, take any and all magic casters and artillery to the cliff side and take cover behind the rocks. From there, hammer away at the middle of the mob to thin their numbers as much as possible. If we have to die here, we're taking as many of these bastards with us as we can." "Yes sir." replied Handol.
"Grudamere!" Randall said as he turned to a short and tough looking dwarf with a battle axe on his left. "Sir?" He acknowledged. "You're, as always, in charge of the infantry. There is no way to climb up the cliffs and the only way over the outer wall is by ladder. Have a few of your men spread tar all along the base of the wall and a good size patch of ground in front of the gate and as soon as they reach the wall an archer will set it all ablaze. When ready station all your ranks behind the outer wall and wait for the breach." "Yes sir." Said Grudamere as he pointed to a few men and motioned them to the outer wall to spread the tar.
"And Alwen..." he said to the remaining lieutenant to his far left, an Elvin archer with a huge silver bow and a large sword." You take what's left of the archers to the ramparts on the inner wall. On my command fire a volley into the army and then wait for the command for another. When I give the order, have your best marksman loose a fire arrow from the cliffs where magic casters are positioned to ignite the tar in front of the outer wall." Randall paused. "When you hear my signal, Grudamere you fall back behind the castle and prepare to bottle neck the enemy through the portcullis. We must protect the non combatants. Handol and Alwen tell your troops to concentrate all fire at the entrance to the gate but do not compromise your cover. The ranking soldier from Lordaeron tells me that the enemy has artillery and dark magic, so it is imperative that you stay behind something. When I give the signal, Alwen, move into flanking position right behind the second wall and fire at will when it is breached. Handol, the moment there is a breach, begin concentrating your fire at the Scourge attempting to move through it. Any questions?" The three of them shook their heads. "Alright then." Randall said with a long drawn out sigh.
Randall then turned to his men. He looked at them all as proudly as he ever had. The red sunset gleamed over the clouds on their scarlet tinted chain and plate armor and Randall felt a rise in his adrenaline. He then turned to the Lordaeron troops in their battered but not beaten iron coats of arms and their tabards bearing the crest of Lordaeron in all its glory. The impending doom of them all, himself included, would have saddened him, if it weren't for the manner in which they all stood tall and fearless, ready to face whatever monstrosity transgressed into their domain. He took a deep breath and then bellowed into the crisp but tainted evening air:
"My friends. My friends from Lordaeron, my friends in the monastery, my friends from within the mountain in Dun Morough, my Elvin friends, all of you... I bid you welcome to the last battle of a golden age. The enemy is many. The enemy is unnaturally strong. The enemy seeks to enlist you into their ranks through a gruesome plague. They outnumber us by at least seven to one and we have no idea where their commander is AND... There is no way out of here." Not a soul moved nor spoke. The men, elves and dwarves simply stood at attention and listened to the commander.
"And yet... here you are. You stand before me in the best of form bearing your marks and arms as valiantly as any man could hope for. I look out there and I see a rabble of slaves and abominations. None of them feel feelings, nor do they hear sounds or see sights. They may not catch the scent of a freshly cooked meal nor feel the warm touch of the ones they love if they are even capable of love. You, however, can fight with your feelings. For our families, for our friends and for the good of the entire realm of Azeroth, I ask you to do this with me one last time. Bleed the noblest of blood with me and in the end, whenever it may come, reap victory with me. The day when the age of the alliance comes crashing down will come some day, but not today. The day when fighters run away in fear and cower and betray to save their own skin will come in time. But not today. Today we show this new foe that the living world is not to be trifled with and no one in the living world is going anywhere near the twisting nether without one hell of a fight. My friends from all over the eastern kingdoms, draw your weapons, fly your banners, and cry out with me!"
Randall reared his horse and faced the undead army and shouted with his massive blade in the air. "For Lordaeron! For Tirisfal! Long live Terenas!" The formation erupted into a battle cry that would later be talked about in legends. The fortress walls shuddered under the thunderous roar of the last living beings in Tirisfal Glade and the heavens themselves seemed to understand that all that was good was about to clash with all that was bad. The clouds parted slightly to shine a beam of hot orange sunlight on the castle and its soldiers. "Long live the king!" "Lieutenants! Take your men and move into position." Randall yelled over the war cry. "Yes sir." They said in unison. They all rode to their designated troops and led them to the spots where Randall had told them to go. Randal dismounted to pick up his long lance and put on his helm and then knelt to speak to the light briefly. He rose again, mounted his swift palomino, and looked to the south again to see that the undead army was advancing.
"Cavalry! Stand by for orders." Randal said before turning to the cliff and giving the signal for the magic to fly and the artillery to thunder. Fire, frost, arcane, holy and even shadow rained from atop the cliff face and the booming glory of the Dwarven artillery commenced. The undead army did not falter but only charged as gaping holes appeared in their ranks and bones and body parts flew in every direction. A large volley of shadow magic erupted from the Scourge horde at the cliff face. "Take cover!" yelled Handol as the magic blasted into the rock. Some of the troops suddenly became frantic with fear and others cried out as if the worst pain in the world had struck them in the chest, which it had. The magic that had met the cliff face seemed to corrupt the rock surface itself.
Randall signaled Alwen to ready a volley from the second wall. "Archers! Ready volley!" Alwen yelled over the continuing artillery fire. "Hold... hold... loose!" The arrows pierced the evening sky and shaded the sunset slightly. It was almost perfect. The arrows rained down on the undead ranks, thinning them in some places to almost nothing. But all the magic, all the artillery, all the arrows, all the retribution that rained from the sky barely scratched the surface. The Scourge charged on, closer and closer they came, and Randall recognized the right time to strike with the heavy cavalry.
"Cavalry!" he yelled over the continuing noise. "Move outside the outer wall and form a single long rank." The men and their horses began flowing out the portcullis in fours and formed a long line outside the castle grounds. Before falling out to the end of the stream of cavalry, Randall yelled to Alwen atop the second rampart. "When we cross back through the outer rampart, ignite the tar! Until we meet the enemy, fire at will!" Alwen nodded and Randall turned to the gates and rode to the center of the line. Arrows began once again to fall onto the advancing Scourge. Randal steadied his lance and prepared for the hell he was about to pass into. "This is it men! Ride hard and fight harder." With those words Randall turned to the Scourge front and to his horror he saw what the Lordaeron soldiers meant by Artillery. Huge, strange looking siege weapons with long hooks in front of them and massive three armed abominations driving them forward were now launching flesh and bone at the monastery. "Sick. They use their own fallen as ammunition for these... meat wagons." Randall thought.
Now Randall Von Gunhilldur was a calm and level headed fighter. When he truly became angry, it never meant anything good for his foes and when the image of his countrymen's corpses being loaded onto these machines came into sight, Randall's blood boiled. "Prepare to charge!" He roared with bestial vigor. The arrows continued to fly, the Artillery rumbled the very ground and the magic everywhere set the glade aglow. Once again, Randall's adrenaline surged.
"Charge!" He commanded and he and his cavalry advanced with their lances at the ready, moving closer and closer to the frontlines. Faster and faster they rode until the men could distinguish the decaying faces of their enemy. The gap was closing and the men began to yell. Randall screamed the loudest of them all and just before the impact he cried out loud enough for everything nearby to hear him: "Salvation!"
The lances struck armor and the cavalry cut through the infantry ranks like a hot knife through butter. On and on they charged and as they charged, lances broke and skeletons went flying. Soon, though, they would lose momentum and Randall knew this. The heavy cavalry was a force to be reckoned with and the mighty Gunhilldur had more than one bone to pick with these monsters.
He veered to the right, never taking his eyes off the meat wagons knowing that as soon as they were clear of the enemy, those corpse carriers would fire at them. "Let's go! We have to move if we don't want to get hammered by the siege." The entire group picked up the pace and, true to Randall's instinct the corpses flew at them in great number. One hit directly to the left of his formation, then two more to the left and many to the rear and more still over shot them. With corpses falling all around them the cavalry circled all the way around and charged the flank. Moving in a straight line towards the enemy, they were more vulnerable to the siege fire. "Let's move! Charge as fast as you can or you'll be answering to Arthas the betrayer." Randal said as loud as he could.
The men rode harder than ever and closed in on the enemy formation again. Once again the ranks gave way as the lances impaled them and the Scourges forward formation was beginning to look very thin. Only a hand full of his heavy horse had fallen and Randall noticed that their charges had almost halted the Scourge. "Something is wrong. We are doing too well. They must be readying an answer to my heavy horses." He thought to himself and sure enough as they ran clear of the enemy again, there were the sources of the shadow magic they saw hit the cliff face earlier in the battle. When Randall saw this, he quickly began turning his men toward them as fast as he could.
"Charge the necromancers! They'll tear us to pieces; take them out now!" The necromantic magic began flying at them, corrupting the very essence of the men and horses alike. The cavalry was thinning rapidly and the line grew ever shorter but Randall was determined to get one good hit on these dark magic casters lest they reach the ramparts. The riders, now at about half strength, crashed into the unarmored formation of necromancers. Some men fell off their horses coiled in a strange shadow and others were bucked off of their horses that were now possessed by demons. Still Randall and his men charged all the way through the ranks and ended up to the rear of the magic casters and the sight which Randall saw put a feeling in his heart he had not felt since the days of his childhood: fear.
There on top of the hill to the south flanked by numerous other necromancers, ghouls, ghosts and a variety of abominations stood Arthas the betrayer. He was holding a sword of ice and necro-runes and his cold, black armor emanated an unholy aura. His mount was a black, skeletal horse with horns and fangs and skulls on its barding.
"Turn back." Randall bellowed. "Fall back to the ramparts!" The remaining cavalry turned about and sprinted for the castle grounds. The evil magic continued to fly and now that the cavalry was retreating, they were open to the onslaught. One by one his horses fell as they rode for the gates. What was left of the forward formation of Scourge had stepped in their path in an attempt to cut them off but Randall and his horsemen plowed right through them. Alwen had moved his sharp shooters to the forward rampart and the bowmen provided cover fire for the fleeing cavalry.
The Scourge slowed slightly and returned fire with magic and more siege fire. Randall and his seven remaining riders of what was once over one hundred closed in on the gate as it swung open. The Scourge was hot on their trail and magic took out yet another rider and then the one next to Randall. Only six made it across the threshold into the monastery grounds, Randall included.
"Archers. Move back to the second rampart." He called to the top of the outer wall. With the heavy cavalry dealt with, the Scourge turned their attention to the forward push and the cliff face. More dark magic and now corpses flew to the cliff face, doing substantial damage to the troops on top of the cliffs. But the rolling artillery continued to fight back and the magic stopped only briefly to dodge the incoming fire.
Randall yelled "Archers, fire at will!" as he and his five remaining riders dismounted and moved to join the infantry waiting at the outer gate. The Scourge moved up on the wall and prepared to ram the gates with a large log. "Ignite the tar!" Handol shouted from the cliffs and the lone sharpshooter moved from his cover and lit the arrow. With dark magic and flesh and bone landing all around him, he let loose the arrow. The arrow landed right on target and ignited the tar, sending the rotting flesh of the Scourge up in flames. The living army cheered as the way became impassable and the Scourge halted. But to the dismay of Randall, the Scourge simply began again, almost undaunted by the flames once the dead skin burned up. "Feel no feelings."
The undead infantry began ramming the gates right through the inferno. Randall and Grudamere looked at each other as the battering ram pounded on the gate. "Only one way out of this one." Said Grudamere. Randall paused and listened to the rhythmic beat of the log pounding against the gates. "Death it is." Said Randall shortly and the gates crashed open. "Charge!" Randall and Grudamere said in unison as they swung their sword and axe into the nightmarish creatures. The infantry cried out and followed suit.
Randall ducked to avoid a slash from an enemy skeleton and then he beheaded it. A walking corpse punched him in the jaw and a ghoul attempted to bite him. He stabbed the ghoul in its rotting heart and then dodged another blow from the corpse before slicing off its legs and then its head. Randall moved further into the horde and stomped his foot on the ground. Magical lightning burst from the impact point and knocked every undead in the immediate area to the ground. A fallen Lordaeron soldier took a swing with its sword and grazed Randall in his left arm. Randall quickly spun around and cut clean through the former man's torso, severing it at the waist. Suddenly an arrow flew under his arm and into something behind him. Another ghoul had attempted to sneak up behind Randall. Looking to the second rampart, he saw Alwen with a smirk on his face. Grudamere rushed to Randall's side and together they sliced and cleaved through the undead as hard as they could until they reached what Randall would have called a small problem if this was a laughing matter.
A colossal abomination that was previously seen pushing a meat wagon was now preparing to swing a massive cleaver at them. Instinctively they dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding the hulking blade as it swept overhead. Grudamere, being the shorter made a move under the things legs to get behind it. Randall rolled to his right, once again barely avoiding the cleaver as it hit the earth with a thud right where he was less than a second ago. Grudamere leapt as high as his short stubby legs could and embedded his axe as far into the creature as it could go. The abomination, stunned for a moment, reached behind it for the axe but not before Randall sliced further into its already gutted and festering belly and then its knees. The thing fell onto the ground and Randall stabbed it in the head. Grudamere quickly grabbed his axe out of the dead monster and the two continued wreaking havoc on the enemy's ranks.
But the living infantry was tiring and thinning. Randall knew he needed archer support. "Fall back to the inner wall. Get them in range of the short bows!" He shouted. "Alwen! Cover the infantry! Concentrate all fire on the inner gate behind us!" Alwen ordered his bowmen to cover the retreating infantry and the arrows flew hard. Seeing what was going on below, Handol ordered the magic casters to target the advancing Scourge. Randall and Grudamere and their infantry slowly moved back towards the inner wall, fighting off the Scourge as they moved.
As they moved further up the hill, Randall noticed something in the distance; meat wagons, dozens of them, were taking aim at the cliffs.
"Handol! Take cover! Enemy Artillery inbound!" Randall screamed. And the corpses flew, in number far beyond Randall's anticipation. And when the impact sounded, Randall looked to the cliffs. The artillery and magic casters were all but obliterated and Handol was nowhere to be seen. "Damn." He thought. He franticly tried to conjure another plan to counteract the blow to his army, but if the Scourge had that kind of power in their ranks, there was nothing any of them could do.
He looked over at Grudamere and then to Alwen, who wore similar looks of dismay and made the decision he had dreaded throughout the battle. "Fall back to the castle. Archers first." He yelled. Alwen looked as though he had been slapped in the face. "Nearer the women and children? Have you lost your mind Randall?" Alwen called back. "Get there and get there now! Do NOT argue with me." Randall replied.
"Grudamere. Go and rally the remaining artillery and wait for me at the castle gates. Have them aim at the keystone above the portcullis." For the first time in his career with Grudamere, Randall noticed a look of apprehensiveness about him.
Never the less, he took off toward the cliffs and Randall stayed behind fighting the Scourge as hard as he could. Another abomination sewn from different corpses had made its way to Randall. This time he had no help. A similar cleaver to the first one flew over Randall's head and he ducked just in time. Randall moved around to its side only to be kicked back by the things massive foot. Randall hurried to his feet and dodged the club in the abominations left hand and took a swing at its arm. He connected and made a large gash in its flesh. It swung around and made another swipe with the cleaver and then with the club. This time Randall was struck and it hurt really badly. Stunned and vulnerable, he lay on his back and the abomination heaved the cleaver high in preparation to cut Randall down the middle. Suddenly, it fell over, unable to stand. A burly middle aged man stood behind the now helpless thing. He wore a Lordaeron tabard and had blonde hair and a mustache and he had cut the abominations Achilles tendons. Randall leapt to his feet and chopped off the abominations head.
"Got you covered sir." Said the man. Randall smirked in a barbaric, almost insane, but thankful way and continued to fight. Over the battle, Randall heard Grudamere shout.
"In position sir!" "Here goes nothing. Archers! Move back through the portcullis! Infantry do the same." Randall yelled. The archers steadily streamed into the castle grounds. Randall and the man who saved him continued to fend off the Scourge on the front line.
"Infantry! Move back through the second wall and close the gate on my signal!" His troops opened up the gate and moved through with haste. Slowly but surely, the living army moved back towards the castle. Randall looked back at the wall as it grew nearer and nearer and when he and the soldiers up front with him were within reaching distance of the wall, Randall stomped his foot again. A clap of thunder boomed from the impact point and the Scourge was blown back.
"Get through the gate!" The remaining troops shuffled back behind the second wall. The Scourge up front was collecting itself. "Close the gate now!" Some soldiers pushed the gate shut as fast as they could and blocked the Scourges entry. "Get to the castle as fast as you can!" The Scourge pounded away on the inner gate. The remaining soldiers passed into the castle and Randall stopped right inside the portcullis. Grudamere and 3 Dwarven artillery teams were waiting for him. The Scourge exploded through the inner gate and was charging at the open portcullis. "Wait for it." Randall said to the artillery. "Wait for it." The Scourge grew ever nearer. "Hold!" The Scourge was right on top of them. "Fire!"
The cannons fired at the keystone above the portcullis and the wall started to buckle. Grudamere and some living troops pushed at the huge wall towards the Scourge and right before the front lines reached the open portcullis, the enormous wall collapsed, creating a hill sized pile of rubble between the two armies and crushing a good size hunk of the undead Scourge. The living were inside the castle walls, and the dead were outside; a stalemate.
All was quiet. All was still. Randall could hear the sounds of the Scourge hitting the rubble in their mindless attempt to advance, but the way was, at last impassable.
"Grudamere! How many mages left?" Randall asked. "Two sir." Replied Grudamere. "Damn them. Damn the Scourge! And Handol?" Grudamere shook his head. Randall sized up what remained of his troops. They were at less than half strength except for the archers who had sustained minimal casualties.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Macintyre. "You! Macintyre." "Yes sir?" replied the young man. "Take charge of the infantry. Send them twenty at a time to the armory and get spears and then wait for further instruction. Randall said. "Right away sir!" Randall spotted Alwen and beckoned him over. "Alwen set up your archers high so they can see over the infantry. Quickly now! It won't be long before the Scourge clears a path through the rubble." "Yes sir." Alwen said as he ran to his archers and began directing them.
"Grudamere, this is the last stand. You understand that right?" Randall asked his right hand man woefully. "I understand what you mean my friend, but I would say the word last doesn't really do it justice." Grudamere replied. Randall looked into his companions eyes. Grudamere was troubled by the decision to take out the keystone. Randall shared his distaste. "No Grudamere. I don't suppose it does." There was a brief silence between them and then Randall spoke. "Are you with me?" Grudamere stared into his commander's eyes and made a half hearted smile. "Do you have to ask?" Grudamere obviously didn't expect a reply.
Macintyre had equipped enough men to suit Randall with spears so he climbed on top of some boxes to speak to his troops once again. "Ok. Infantry listen up!" He bellowed over the murmur of his men. "To those of you, who now have spears, drop your shields. To those of you who don't, form ranks in front facing the rubble." The men, still braver than lions and ever faithful to their leader formed four lines in front of where the portcullis used to be. "Now sheath your swords and use both hands for your shields. Spears, line up behind them." The spears formed ranks behind the shield carriers.
"Our strategy is as follows. The shield carriers must push the Scourge back at the same time and then the spears will thrust on the back heave. You must listen to me as I give the commands and do NOT break from your rank. Team work is the key here and if even one of us falters, it could mean failure. So push hard and thrust straight and we will upset the forces of evil today and prove, once again, the forces of the light always prevail." It was of course just pep talk. Every fighter in the army knew as well as Randall there would be no victory here. And yet, the men cheered and raised their weapons in the air. Randall felt unusually proud of his men that day. In the face of certain defeat and death, they still cheered and fought on. They were still loyal.
Randall jumped down from his vantage point and sheathed his sword. "Grudamere. Take some men from the back and go and protect the non-combatants." Grudamere began to argue: "But… sir…" "Don't argue Grudamere. Just go. Someone has to do it." Grudamere closed his mouth and swallowed. With a nod, he turned and went to the back of the formation to gather his troops. On his way into the castle chambers, Grudamere Broadbeard looked back at his long time companion Randall. This was the end for sure. Grudamere had meant what he said about this being the last stand. Last didn't do it justice. He turned to the castle with his handful of men. And that was the last time he ever saw Randall Von Gunhilldur.
