Jarn'dor grunted as a Blackrock Warhound slammed him to the ground, trying to tear off his head with its jaws. The Druid managed to drive his staff in-between the beast's powerful jaws, locking them open. With a mighty twist, he snapped the animal's neck, the dog going limp on top of him. He pushed off the mongrel, rising to his feet.
All around him, members of the Bloodraptor Clan stood, fighting off Blackrock Orcs. This was the third party that had attacked them in the past several days, only slowing their progress towards Blackrock Mountain.
Once Jarn'dor had been strong enough to move, Vyndakian had filled him in on everything he had missed, including what Golion was really up to. The Undead had used Jaz'renthi as a tool, threatening the life of her family unless she obeyed. But even when she did, she managed to secret away two dragon eggs. Whether they were of the Black Dragon's clutch was left to be determined.
Jarn'dor swung his staff clubbing an oncoming Orc; the latter's brains spilling onto the charred ground. The Druid had sent out a call to arms, and the Clan had responded. While their force was small, Jarn'dor was sure it could take the mountain, if they weren't too late.
As the last Orc fell, the Bloodraptors let out a sigh of exhaustion. One Troll strutted forward. He was clad from head to foot in dark, studded leather, his chest covered by plate-mail armor.
"A'right," commanded Alk'wan Bloodraptor, "We need ta keep goin'. Da Mountain must be reached!" Alk'wan was the Eldest of the Three Bloodraptor sons, and Zi'bal hand sent him to his death a few years ago. While Jarn'dor was in the Dream, Alk'wan had returned, and taken his rightful place as Clan Chieftain. Zi'bal, had been slain, but not by his hand. A goblin, named Krinz had gotten to the Warlock first.
Vyndakian wiped the Orc blood off his Runeblade. Jarn'dor's friend was covered from head to toe in heavy Saronite war plates, doing away with his traditional robes. While he would never admit it, the Druid thought that he looked more frightening than the thought of facing Golion himself.
The Clan settled back into a march, some twenty Trolls, Orcs, and Elves marching across the charred landscape. Alk'wan had decided it would be best to attack Blackrock Mountain from the front, in a way that the Dragon's wouldn't expect. Jarn'dor and Vyndakian had both disagreed, but they knew it was probably the safest option.
As Blackrock Mountain came into sight, a cloud was hazed over it, covering the top of the mighty fortress in shadow. But a sound came to the ears of the Bloodraptors, the sound of thousands of rattling bones.
The cloud began to move, and change. Soon, it was travelling down the mountainside, and the roar of a thousand Wyrm met there ears. Jarn'dor looked as hundreds of Undead Dragons barrelled down the side of the mountain, with the single-minded purpose of disposing of any intruders.
"Go," roared Jarn'dor, "Into the mountain!" Before the words left his lips, the Clan raced for the base of the mighty tower, running towards two mighty doors. The Druid was unsure of what was carved on them, but they marked the entrance into Golion's Lair.
The first of the Wyrms reached the Clan, and pounced on a hapless Orc, devouring the poor Warrior, even as he was crushed under the weight of the mighty skeleton. The Clan pushed forward, as the myriad of Wyrms began their assault.
Vyndakian found it hard to move around the magma spewed from the Wyrms mouths, even with his amazing agility. The Death Knight tried to reach out to control one of the Undead Dragons, but he was rebuked, their controller stronger than he.
As the Bloodraptors ran over a stone bridge, spanned across a molten river, a Wyrm with blackened bones rushed at the bridge, slamming through it. As the stone bridge began to collapse, the undead predators swooped down, plucking Clan members from the group.
Jarn'dor rushed into the mountain, as the two mighty doors slammed shut, barely stopping the Blackened Wyrm from slashing apart another Troll. The Druid looked around, the only light coming from deep down in a tunnel. Vyndakian let out a breath of relief, as Alk'wan counted the group. There were only twelve now.
The Clan's moral fell as they realized how many they had lost. Alk'wan tightened his belt, as Vyndakian closed his eyes in thought. Jarn'dor was glad he had not asked Jaz'renthi to come, already it was too dangerous.
"A'right," spoke the Chieftain, "We press on." With fallen spirits, the Clan continued down into the tunnel, the warm light growing brighter with each step. In a short time, they came upon the central chamber of Blackrock Mountain.
They entered a huge cavern, mighty ramparts cutting off paths, the parapets carved with the figures of Dwarves fighting what appeared to be fiery masses. Lava flowed freely throughout the cavern, pooling deep below into a mighty lake of magma. An island floated in the middle of this Molten Span, supported by three massive chains, hewn from Dark Iron metal. At the end of the mighty tethers, were statues of giant dwarves, their muscles rippling from the sheer force of holding up the island.
Jarn'dor looked around. Each portcullis was shut, the only paths available shut off to the Clan. One Orc climbed onto one of the metal chains that tied down the island.
"Hey," he yelled to Alk'wan, "These things look strong enough to act as a sort of bridge!" The Chieftain nodded, and the Clan began to move across to the island. Vyndakian had the rear, staying on the lookout for any trouble.
On the island, was a building hewn out of blackened brick, charred from years of withstanding the heat of the molten fire pouring into the cavern. The Clan sat down next to the structure, as Alk'wan sent ahead a Troll and a Blood Elf scout, the pair entering the building to inspect it.
"I t'ink we'll sleep hea tonight," spoke the Chieftain, sitting beside Jarn'dor. The Druid nodded, slightly uncomfortable near the other Troll. Alk'wan had been Jaz'renthi's mate, and it unsettled the Druid. He quietly wondered if the Chieftain had feelings for her, despite his reassurance that he didn't.
A scream ripped from the tunnel, and the Clan raced down it, weapons drawn. What awaited them, defied their need to fight, as the fight had occurred long ago. Strewn about the room, were corpses of Dark Iron Dwarves, all mutilated and murdered in horrific ways. In the center of the room, the Troll held the Blood Elf, the latter having passed out at the sight.
Alk'wan shook his head. "Bloody wimp," he muttered, as the Scout brought his partner to, the Elf jumping to his feet. Jarn'dor picked up a book, wiping the blood off of it. In the center of the room, was some sort of coffin, a dwarf having been fused to it, the stone melted into his skin.
Jarn'dor opened the book and began to read it, flipping to the last page. It had been some sort of journal, detailing the time of an outpost. It seemed that the Dark Iron had come under attack from the Blackrock Orcs, a faction who they had recently held as allies.
"What does it say," asked Vyndakian, the Elf unable to translate the Dark Iron language himself. Jarn'dor paled as he read it, the hastily written words chilling him to the bone.
"They have taken the Molten Span… We have shut and locked the portcullises but they will not hold for long…The Dragon comes; drums…Orcish Drums in the depths. We cannot get out. A shadow has taken everything. We cannot get out… they are coming."
The island suddenly began to shake, throwing the Clan members off their feet. One of the mighty chains holding the island had suddenly come free, and the island crashed into one of the cavern walls. Another chain snapped free, sending a portion of the island into the lake of magma.
"Go," roared Alk'wan, "Everybody out! NOW!" The Bloodraptors raced through the tunnel, just in time to see building start to sink as the final chain swung free. An unfortunate Elf was crushed by the falling metal, a Troll and an Orc thrown into the magma.
The island was managing to float, as the remaining Clan members scrabbled to the top, leaping to a nearby platform. Two Orcs were unable to make the leap, another caught on the island as it sank into the molten lake.
Vyndakian hit the platform hard, taking the breath from his lungs. He managed to look up in time to see three Wyrms taking off from the Dwarven statues, having melted the hands of each one. The Death Knight bared his fangs, as Jarn'dor helped him up.
Alk'wan furrowed his brows, as the number of fighters had been reduced by half. He looked to the Druid and the Death Knight.
"We be needin' ta split up," spoke the Chieftain, "Da Hatchery and da Dark Iron be t'reats to our success." Vyndakian nodded.
"I can deal with the Hatchery," answered the Death Knight. The Druid raised an eyebrow at Vyndakian.
"Den I suppose I'll take out da Dark Iron leada," responded the Druid. Alk'wan nodded.
"Den da rest o' us will scale da cavern and push up into Golion's Lair. Meet us dere when ya be done." The two nodded as the rest of the Clan started to find foot-holds in the walls, climbing as quickly as they could. One Elf remained behind, a petite and stunning woman.
"I'll go with you Vyndakian," spoke up the female, "You'll need some help getting rid of those eggs." The Death Knight nodded, and clapped the Druid on the back.
"Good luck," spoke Vyndakian. Jarn'dor nodded. "And to ya as well, Mon."
The three split up, as the siege of Blackrock commenced.