Apocalypse
Chapter Three: Mustering of the Light
The trees of the forest rustled disturbingly. The night elf glanced up, distracted from his meditation. He rose gracefully to his feet, wondering at the sudden change in the spirits of nature that had been his companions.
The night elf was a strange one for the long-lived race. He wore a smock of plain, brown homespun, and in his hand was held a staff that easily rivaled the height of its wielder, who was already tall as compared to the others of his kind. His mount was no night saber, as did most other night elves ride, neither was it a horse, belonging to the short-tempered humans. Instead, a large goat awaited him, its fur a mass of shaggy white hanging from its body. But what belonged to the male elf that made him truly stand out rested upon his forehead.
Protruding from his head were two large black antlers, sleeking backwards. This was a mark of the pupil of Cenarius, demigod of the elves… until he had been slain by the orcs. The first druid ever to step into existence, Malfurion had studied directly under Cenarius, and had adopted much of his ways, not to mention his looks. The antlers that rode upon his forehead were proof of that.
Malfurion concentrated, asking the spirits what had disturbed them so. The answer he got only served to frustrate him more. They sensed something, something evil, that had returned to the land of the living from beyond. But why should that have disturbed them so? With the rise of the Scourge, such occurrences happened several times each day. But the spirits could not say. All Malfurion could sense was their unease.
So deep in concentration was he that when a hand laid itself gently on his shoulder, he literally jumped in shock and surprise. Whirling around, he saw a woman clad in the scanty armour of the night elves, purple and scarcely adorned. Her body was slim, but obviously lithe and agile, if her muscles and well-toned body were any proof of that. On her back was slung a bow, her weapon of choice and proficiency, though a short sword rode in a scabbard at the side of her perfectly curved hips. The face was stern and disciplined, but a faint smile hovered around her full lips and a spark of amusement was apparent in her eyes. Malfurion could not help but stare helplessly at the woman he loved.
"You have grown careless, my love," rebuked Tyrande. The High Priestess was strict and correct as always, but the smile grew wider and the amusement danced in her eyes. Malfurion angled his head to look at the forest surrounding the pair.
"The spirits have grown restless, Tyrande. Something bothers them, something which I do not understand and they will not explain. No… They cannot. What is it, Tyrande? What is it that has caused such unrest amongst the forest spirits?" Malfurion's musings had an undercurrent of worry to them. Tyrande sensed this, but she could not do anything to help him, for she had not the skill to commune with nature as her childhood companion had. Instead, she was sworn to the Mother Moon, Elune the Moon Goddess. What Malfurion had said, Tyrande could only comprehend little. Glancing at the trees, Tyrande could only see the leaves rustling all around her.
"Perhaps they share your anxiety at the upcoming battle. There has been enough reason for the forests to fear the coming of the Scourge, for word is that the land the Scourge treads upon dies with each step the undead take," Tyrande offered. Malfurion looked doubtful still, but turned his head back to the woman in front of him.
"You may be right, although something… still remains amiss here. Were I given more time, I could perhaps persuade the spirits to tell me what it is that has disturbed them so. But such is not the case. Tyrande, my heart, how goes the preparations for battle?"
"Yggdrassil seems to have exhausted much of her powers in confining the Lich King. It is unlikely that she would be able to lend us much more of her strength in the upcoming war, but still the humans would like you to have a look at her, to see if anything can be done," Tyrande's lips pursed together as she said the last words. She still did not approve of the humans, although she was forced to admit that to defeat the Scourge would require the aid of both orcs and humans.
"I shall come at once." Turning, Malfurion strode to his mount and heaved himself up onto its back. Tyrande did likewise, her mount being a white tiger with black stripes. It was her pride and joy, her companion since many, many years ago. They were more friends than rider and mount. Urging the tiger on with her knees, Tyrande moved forward into the forests in the direction of their camp. Malfurion took a moment to look once more at the trees around him, before doing the same.
--
Tyrande dismounted at the gates of a wooden fence, erected only recently, with Malfurion behind her. The sentries at the gates – one human and one night elf – let them pass unchallenged, for theirs were faces well known at the campsite. The elven sentry greeted the pair warmly, while the human simply gave them an uncomfortable look and a reluctant "Good day." Tyrande paid no heed, while Malfurion returned the greeting, equally hesitant.
The camp was full of soldiers, of all three of the main races of Azeroth. Human foot soldiers played together at games of dice and chance, elven fighters spent their time either conversing quietly or grooming their mounts, while orc warriors practiced their own skills in sparring matches against each other. All had come, to avenge either a fallen family member or friend, to protect a lover or a child, to defend their homes and their futures. All were there to battle the Scourge.
Tyrande and Malfurion made their way towards the heart of their camp, where a massive, ancient tree stood. At the base of the tree already stood another pair of figures, both of which turned to the sound of the pair approaching.
One of them was a human. His golden hair fell to his shoulders, and his facial features were aristocratic and left no doubt that he was of noble birth. His body was well-defined, with muscles rippling across his arms. He wore the ornate armor of the Holy Order, and it chinked solidly as he moved. He was tall for a human, coming up close to Tyrande's height. In his hand he carried an enormous war-hammer, the chosen weapon of all Paladins. The weapon was heavy, but he wielded it with ease.
The second figure of the pair was an orc. Tyrande could never get used to this… man. Was it the fangs that jutted out from his lower jaw that disturbed her so much, or the fact that his skin was a deep green that was part of the orc race? Tyrande didn't know. The orc had raven-black hair that reached past his shoulders, and sat astride a huge white wolf. The elf didn't even know that wolves grew to that size. He, too, carried a hammer, but this one was much smaller in comparison to the human's war-hammer. Tyrande eyed the two of them even as they moved forward to greet them.
"Tyrande, Malfurion. Well met." Thrall, war chief of the Orcish Horde raised his hand in greeting. Malfurion returned the gesture, and then took the hand of Arlen, leader of the humans. This was a human gesture, one which the night elf was still unused to. When the two let go of each other, Malfurion had to resist the urge to wipe his hand on his smock.
Arlen spoke first. "Lord Malfurion, is there anything you can do for the World Tree? She has been a great ally in our cause, and she can yet do much good for us in the upcoming battle. It is vital that she aid us, for it will truly be the final clash, and it will undoubtedly prove titanic. Any help she can give us might be the keystone to winning any such battle. Lord Thrall and I have done our best, but neither the Light nor the elemental spirits have been able to help her. As a druid of the forest, you might have more luck that us."
Malfurion winced at the title that the human had given him. He was no lord, just a humble druid of the forest. He had once attempted to dissuade the human paladin from doing so, but the legendary stubbornness of the Holy Order was not to be convinced. After a lengthy argument, Malfurion had given up trying to persuade Arlen, but was still uncomfortable with the title. Nevertheless, he tolerated it; their uneasy alliance was shaky enough as it was, without any further unnecessary arguments between them.
"I can promise nothing. But I shall try," Malfurion replied. Walking up to the Yggdrassil, he glanced up at its towering height once, and then set his palm flat onto its trunk. Closing his eyes, he attempted to commune with the World Tree as he would with any other aspect of nature, but before he could make any serious attempts, the World Tree herself spoke to all of them.
Do not bother, dear Malfurion. There is nothing you, or any of your compatriots can do for my weakened state. I will recover, slowly, but I fear not in time for the upcoming battle. The Scourge have already readied their forces, and their vile undead are led by five dark forces, each one just as strong as any of you here. Should we attempt to attack now, we would fail, but we do not have time to wait for my powers to recover. They do not expect us to attack them so readily, so attack them we shall, and utilize the aspect of surprise as much as we can.
"Is that wise?" Thrall objected, "You just declared that we had no chance of victory, if we attempt to attack them now. If we led our forces on suicide missions, then with every soldier we lose the Scourge gains another. We might just be speeding our way to defeat."
Do not worry. Another approaches, one who can aid you to your path to victory.
"Another? Who-"
Thrall's voice was cut off by a rising commotion at the central gates. The four champions turned to the sound.
She has come. Doubt her not, and bring her to me.
Malfurion exchanged glances with the other three, then begin walking off in the direction of the gates. Tyrande followed without hesitation, and after a while Arlen and Thrall trailed behind.
--
Full night had settled, and the only light in the area was the light shining from Elune the moon goddess, illuminating both Raxen and Aliar. The two were on guard duty, and no banter was exchanged between the two. Some might interpret that as constant vigilance on their part, but the truth was that there was no love lost between the two soldiers. After all, Raxen was an elf, and Aliar was just another human. Come the next day, Raxen would have forgotten which one of them Aliar was; all of these short-lived humans looked the same anyway.
Their shift had started not long into the night when Aliar obviously was beginning to grow restless, shifting his gaze about and kicking at the dirt beneath his boots. Raxen snorted in contempt. Humans! He could not understand how their attention span could be so short; he supposed it had to do with the fact that they led such short lives. Attention span must be proportionate to life span, he supposed.
Just as Raxen was about to open his mouth to tell his fellow guardsman to keep quiet and let him listen, a noise in the forest off to his left caught his attention. A faint brushing of the undergrowth, a footstep on grass… Glancing over at his supposed comrade, Aliar had apparently not noticed anything – he was yawning, for goodness' sake! Raxen shook his head in disbelief. Humans kept making fun of elven ears, but they themselves had all the hearing of a drunk. Raising a hand, Raxen irritably told the human to "Hush!"
Bristling, Aliar opened his mouth to retort, but the sound in the forest grew louder and more unmistakable, such that even the human and his less-than-perfect hearing could not miss it. Both soldiers grew quiet, and watched the forest intently.
The rustling of leaves and bushes grew ever more apparent, and it was obvious that whoever it was in the forest was moving towards the camp. As quietly as he could, Raxen drew an arrow and set it to his bow; to his right, he could hear the cold slide of metal as Aliar unsheathed his blade. The two continued to watch. As the movements grew in intensity and proximity, Raxen began to nock his bow. He took aim-
-and out of the forest burst a robed form, one which stood as tall as Raxen himself. He could see nothing much of the stranger, but the pointed ears of the elven race was apparent on the figure's shadow. His first thought was that of a new recruit, but he did not lower his bow. He began to shout a warning, but to his right Aliar let out a sudden cry of anger and bloodlust, leveling a charge right at the figure. Raxen jumped in shock, and his hand let go of the arrow for that one instant, sending the projectile winging towards its target. Cursing, Raxen could do nothing but watch and pray to Elune that the arrow would not prove fatal to the intruder.
Unfortunately, Raxen's aim was as good as the next Night Elf soldier, which is to say excellent. The arrow flew straight and true, ending in a meaty thunk into the stranger's left breast. The figure flew back with the impact, and the robes parted to reveal a woman's figure. Raxen began to run forward, but was stopped cold by what Aliar had seen, but he had not until now.
The woman's skin was a pale, sickly hue of blue.
The woman was an undead.
The intruder righted herself, the arrow seemingly doing little to no damage to her, and took out a bow of her own. Even under attack, her features remained cold and unemotional, as she began to reach backwards for an arrow. Raxen roared, reaching for his own arrow in the quiver behind him, knowing that regardless of how quickly she drew hers, she would not be in time to stop Aliar's charge. He was therefore shocked to see her arrow in her bow by the time his fingers had found the feathered shaft of his own. A split second later and Aliar was down, clutching at his leg in pain. It took only the space of a heartbeat to find himself drawn into a fetal position as well, arms around his left leg in agony. Raxen drew breath to cry out, but it came out as a hoarse whisper. He brought his gaze back up at the attacker, but lost consciousness before seeing anything else.
--
Arlen and the others reached the gates of the Sentinel campsite in time to see over five of his elven with their blades drawn standing in it. Thinking of the Yggdrassil's words, he commanded the men to stand down.
"Milord! The undead are attacking! We must retaliate!"
"What? Is this true? Let us pass!" Arlen pushed his way through his men to the gate, where four more were standing in a semi-circle around a robed woman. She had a bow ready in one hand, but was making no move to attack anyone within her range. Two soldiers were on the floor, unmoving, but none of their wounds appeared to be fatal. The woman spoke.
"Are you the leader of these humans? I have heard that the druid, Malfurion Stormrage is here. I would speak with him." There was a chilling quality to her voice, one that Arlen was all too familiar with. This was indeed an undead, and could only possibly be speaking with the voice of the dread Lord of the Undead. Arlen fell into a combat stance, his warhammer out by the side and to the ready.
"I know not what your Lord wishes to convey to us, abomination, and I care not. I shall end your suffering right here!" The paladin made ready to charge, when a female voice cried out behind him.
"Wait!"Tyrande strode forward wearing an incredulous look on her face.
"Sylvanas?"
--
A/N: Okay, after over two years of not caring about this story, I've decided to return just to pick it up again. Truth be told, what has been putting me off this is the beginning and introduction of the teams. I have all the battle scenes and endings taking place again and again in my mind, and I wish I could just skip to it but I DO need some decent back-story first. If I ever get past the introductions, everything else will be smooth sailing, so let's all cross of fingers, shall we?
Oh, and after a couple of years of not writing, my abilities as a writer has obviously gone down the drain, and saying "changed" doesn't even cut it. So if there's ANY suggestion ANYONE can give me, seriously any at all, I would be deeply appreciative of it. After all, help me help you. Thanks!