The cold winds blew even harsher across the snow plains of Dragonblight today. Removing my helmet, I stared out with emerald eyes to the battlefield below, the Alliance and Horde clashing with Scourge forces outside the Wrathgate. We had been fighting here for what seemed like forever and making no progress. I had watched many a hardened Kor'kron orc weep as he slaughtered his own comrades risen by the Lich King upon their deaths. What these orcs didn't know however, was that I was not like them; my green skin and orcish form was simply a clever guise. At my side, stood my ever faithful companion Verias, a viridian Netherdrake. It would not have been wise for me to be accompanied by one of my own, so fittingly, our allied Netherdrakes chose their wisest to carry me and advise me. It still struck me sometimes that he was a few centuries older than I.
"How do you feel about your vision Deridovely?" His voice was deep and strong, yet quiet.
"I can't say I'm afraid. I welcome death. The Lady will keep me in the dream," I replied, placing my helmet upon my head again. Yes, I was a green dragonflight representative. For two centuries I had watched over Azeroth with the Lady Ysera, ever since the Horde began. She wanted me to keep an eye on her children, but more recently, she wanted me to fight. This morning she had given me a vision; today I was to die. Verias' jaws widened into a toothy grin.
"You were never one for fear," he rumbled. The crystals on his head and back shone in the morning sun and he shook the snow from his skin. "What would you have me do?"
"Stay away today. There's no need for you to get caught up in this." The grin was gone. He didn't like the fact I was going into this without him; we'd already been through so much together. Maybe he thought he could change the course of time with his actions, protect me like he had through our conquests in the past.
"We dragons are so few now. I can't bear to know another will die today," his voice began to quiver as he looked out to Wyrmrest, where the remaining blue dragons were still engaging in combat with the red dragonflight.
"Worry not. Ysera will preserve me in the Emerald Dream. Green dragons never die," I smiled at him as comfortingly as I could, struggling still to not pierce myself with these damned tusks. A shiver ran up my spine as the warhorn sounded on the peak opposite ours. Glancing over it was obvious the Alliance were gathering another mounted assault; armoured warhorses stomped proudly at the ramp down to the ongoing battle. Another horn sounded, behind me this time, and I could see the brown skinned orc wielding it. Saurfang the Younger, I recognised, stood proudly beside the bonfire at the ramp, the reins of his direwolf in hand. As attuned to nature as I was, there was something unnatural about the orcish war mounts; their snarling jaws and sneering eyes just stank of the same corruption the orcs had. The Kor'kron gathered around their war master, axes in hand. Some jostled and jeered in the pack as the cluster formed, excited and bloodthirsty. Verias had already flown off as I joined in behind; one of very few female orcs here.
"Today marks what we believe to be the final push on the Wrathgate brothers!" yelled the Draenor orc, his eyes bright. "Today we will break down the walls of the Lich King's citadel and take a vital foothold in the battle against the Scourge! Mount up, arm yourselves, and fight well. When the next horn sounds, you will follow me into the field. For the Horde!" Axes were raised, cheers echoed around the snowy cliffs, and the sound of many plated boots charging to various stations in the base drowned out any further words. Despite knowing my place, I couldn't help but swell with pride along with the rest of them. My hands clasped around my two enchanted green axes, Tooth and Nail. I'd received them from an armorer in Outland a long time ago, as I made the long journey from the Dark Portal to Shadowmoon Valley to converse with the Netherwing. In return for aiding him he had forged the twin blades and enchanted them with purple magics I had yet to identify; in fact, Verias had said it smelled of demons. Before I knew it, the orcs has congregated again by the ramp, ready for war. I shuffled uneasily to the back, where the footsoldiers stood behind the towering wolves. Howls rang out with the blasts of two warhorns; as Saurfang led us into battle, Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, unmistakable from his shining plate armour, led the Alliance the same way.
"Ignore the Alliance brothers, save your axes for the Scourge!" You could audibly hear complaints from some of the more vengeful orcs, but none of them would disobey an order. Before we had even left the path, a huge hook swept one of the Kor'kron straight off his mount by the neck. His body flew across the sky and into the grasp of an abomination. At least ten, maybe twenty foot tall, the undead horror slung his hook again at our ranks, decapitating his previous victim in the process. Soaked in blood, the soldiers in front let out battlecries as they raced ahead and into the fray. Many of them charged to avenge their fallen brother. From behind, ghouls and geists began to turn their attention to the living. As if on springs, the beasts leapt onto the footsoldiers, howling and screeching. Unsheathing my axes I had to spin round to slice through a geist that had aimed from me. Its muffled cries of anguish could still be heard as it crashed into the rocks. Towards the centre of the field, where we were headed up the steps, the Alliance were engaging gargoyles and liches. Light bounced off of a golden plated paladin as he was carried off in the claws of a gargoyle, screaming and flailing his sword. The archers seemed loathe to shoot it down, fearing he would drop to his death all the same.
"Look out!" I turned to where the call had come from as another geist beset upon me, its claws splayed. It grabbed me by my horned helmet, pushing me to the ground as more of its fiendish kind joined in, pulling and scratching at my armour to expose flesh. One of them we blasted off me by a spear, the others turned to look. Using that opening, I roared, bashing the one on my chest with the dull end of my weapon, sending him hurtling into his brothers. Scratches marred my glorious green plate, a gift from Ysera herself, forged in dragonfire. With another shout, I charged into the pile of geists, hacking limbs and heads in every possible direction. The hefty screech of metal caught the attention of us all, as the maw of the Wrathgate yawned open to release a small army of frozen Vrykul onto the plain. Saurfang led the charge with his heavy axe in hand, rending three of the giants asunder in one glorious swing. Seeking challenge and succumbing to a bloodlust like I'd never felt before, I raced up the steps, freeing allies left and right from their personal battles and amassing a small group of Alliance and Horde alike. We pounced onto the Vrykul with our own battlecries.
"For the Alliance!"
"For the Horde!"
"For the Green Dragonflight!" I realised in an instant what I had said, but amidst the battle no one seemed to care. I leapt onto the chest of a giant as a Kor'kron swept his legs from under him, digging Nail into his neck as he gurgled and spat blood at me. I watched the same orc spin his blade like a weaponized tornado, hacking at the legs of as many Vrykul as possible. One managed to catch him mid swing and plow him with his axe, a weapon that must have been twice the size of the orc at least. As I made killing blows to some of the injured, I admired the martial prowess of some of these warriors. A female human, as graceful as a cat, danced around her chosen target, wounding as many critical spots as possible, wearing out the combatant before hacking the back of his knee so he knelt. With one fell swoop, she stepped onto his back and cut straight through his neck. No sooner than the head was rolling, she was tangoing with another enemy. Another paladin burned with holy light as he charged through the horde of massive men, swinging with what seemed like a thousand gleaming weapons. Gracious, golden wings shone on his back and light radiated to those around him, miraculously sealing wounds. As the last of the frozen giants fell to our feet, the two faction war leaders stood side by side at the top of the steps. Bloodied, injured, but alive, the remaining soldiers gathered behind them to watch what would unfold. Whispers were exchanged in both camps' native tongues, glances shot, but no weapons were thrust. An eerie silence fell over the battlefield as Bolvar raised his head.
"Arthas!" he roared, in a trained voice as powerful as a dragon's. "The blood of your father, of your people, demands justice! Come forth, coward, and answer for your crimes!" Once more, the spiked teeth of the Wrathgate screamed open with the sound of steel against steel. No other sounds could be heard now but the wind, which breezed through our ranks. Some shivered, but whether it was wind or fear, none could say. Saurfang readied himself, stepping forth with his axe in his hands; some mirrored his stance, expecting a fight. Bolvar seemed as stalwart as the Wrathgate itself, his mettle proving more than the orc's. From a haze of frost, the Lich King stepped out into the snow.
"You speak of justice? Of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave and the true meaning of fear," the cold, disembodied voice of the Lich King growled, pointing Frostmourne towards us.
"Enough talk!" bellowed Saurfang, leaning back his head to the sky. "Let it be finished!" With a blood curdling howl, Saurfang the Younger stormed towards Arthas. He swung at the Lich King with a powerful leap, and it looked as if the orc would be the first to strike our enemy; and so easily! With a single swipe of Frostmourne, the bloodthirsty orc's corpse fell aside onto the hard stone. Every single soldier of the Horde audibly gasped in terror. Like a gnat, our leader had been felled by the slightest movement of the former paladin's weapon. And now, that hungering blade was supping on his soul. The point almost piercing his chest, Frostmourne visibly pulled the remaining life essence from the brown skinned orc. Bolvar, clearly helpless during this quick exchange with his hand outstretched, retracted himself as he began to shake in his boots. The sword flashed blue suddenly, sated with the warrior's soul.
"You will pay for all the lives you've stolen, traitor," the paladin murmured, the rage uncontainable in his voice. At that point I could have sworn that Arthas was smiling. His unholy voice began to speak, but another intercepted him. All heads turned to the right.
"Do you think we had forgotten?" An undead, male by his hunched stance, had crept onto the precipice. He wore a mask of bone, formed into some kind of beak. Behind him, catapults containing some vile green bombs trundled up to the edge. "Do you think we had forgiven?" I reached for Tooth and Nail, as if that would save me from this new threat. Everyone stood frozen in place, listening, afraid.
"Behold, now, the terrible vengeance of the Forsaken!" crowed the beaked man, raising his bony hands as the catapults fired their loads into the awaiting armies. "Death to the Scourge, and death to the living!" The bombs did not explode, as expected, but fell around us and smashed, breathing some choking gas into the atmosphere. Maniacal, undead laughter filled the air. Orcs and humans alike suffered from the fumes. I could feel it creeping into my lungs, as hard as I tried not to breathe, it found a way in on its own. Even Bolvar and the Lich King, two who seemed near untouchable, had fallen to their knees. Before he succumbed to the same fate as some mediocre warriors, Arthas turned tail to the Wrathgate and slipped into his citadel once more.
"This… is not… over," he hissed. I glanced around, trying to find a way out, the poison taking a hold like intangible fingers around my neck. It ends, I thought to myself, staring out to where Verias had flown into the distance. In my final moments, I thought I saw him come back to me, his shadow amongst others that blocked out the sun. Dragons?