Chapter 4: A New Home

Location: Quel'thalas, northern-most area of the Eastern Kingdoms
XX:XX - Shipboard Time UNKNOWN
48:32 - Hours After Impact
Data download: ERROR
System recalibrating...

The Warp Prism had set its course and, in no time at all, Artanis had arrived at his destination. By the time they had traveled to the energy signature in the north east, the Protoss' Observers had gathered even more data about the world and its diverse life.

The world that the Spear of Adun had crashlanded into had been called Azeroth by its native inhabitants. It had several large landmasses on it and, interestingly enough, an odd storm that manifested itself in between each of them. The storm had been known as the Maelstrom and had somehow been intertwined with the world's rich history.

The area that they had established their base on was a continent known as Lordaeron. The area that their most particular mission took them was to an island to the north of a large city called Silvermoon.

The region was home to a multitude of species, including several Terran-like races. One species that the locals called Humans were even near complete genetic duplicates of them, with such minor differences that it wasn't even noticeable to the naked eye.

There were ones that were shorter and stockier than them but still looked vaguely human, nonetheless. They were children of the stone, one of the many types of Dwarves that inhabited the world of Azeroth.

Green monstrous humanoids known as Orcs, who were apparently not native to this world either, had a small number in the region though they too were primitive in comparison to the benevolent Protoss. The Orcs had allied themselves with a tall lanky species called Trolls that also had a small claim in the region though considerably more than their allies. Specifically, they were Forest Trolls and the reports had noted their incredible regeneration as its most interesting biological feature.

Also, Artanis had noted that they had made their base between two major cities that had been a part of a coalition called the Horde. Many of the world's races had taken up the banner of this Horde, including some of the undead they had encountered earlier.

Not far to the southwest was the underground fortress known as the Undercity that had been inhabited by a large number of the undead creatures they had fought earlier, when they had first arrived. Though these undead seemed to have brief thoughts that Artanis could sense, even if they couldn't totally read the creatures minds.

"What madness is this?" Artanis wondered as he rematerialized and the reports flooded in.

A little farther northeast - where Artanis had found himself then - was the capital of the race known as the Blood Elves. According to their Observers, the Blood Elves of Silvermoon had control of a massive fount of energy that Artanis had intended to investigate, and if they were allied with these undead creatures he couldn't be so sure that his meeting would go so well. For whatever reason, however, the decaying creatures flooded into the city regardless of their allegiance.

But what had gotten the Hierarch's attention when they touched down in the secluded area not far from the city of Silvermoon was not the various warring people of the region but rather the massive amounts of smoke that blanketed the area. The buildings were unlike anything Artanis had ever seen and, as primitive as his reports had called these creatures, he looked in wonder at their magnificent architecture even as it was set ablaze. Their golden and red curves flickered behind the flames.

It was standard protocol to scan the area for environmental disturbances or possible hostile threats, and the Observer relayed an image of the town being under siege by the same undead creatures that they had encountered a few days earlier.

It appeared that their advances had been halted for the moment, however, by a small group of the creatures known as Blood Elves. They looked close enough to what a Terran would look like with no battle armor on, though they were much more slender and moved with a grace of their own. Artanis had to appreciate their beauty.

The Hierarch watched for a moment. He didn't want to interfere but the area had been highly populated and considering he would have to deal with whoever the victor was anyway, he decided that he wasn't left with much of a choice. He had already encountered the hostility of the decaying monsters once and, so, he opted to help the other fighters in the battle.

According to the reports, the creatures that they had encountered after their crash had once spread over the land like a scourge of death, consuming all life in its wake. He could feel the dark energy permeating its way over the landscape and thought of his own feeling of hopelessness when the undead creatures came upon them in the mountainside.

The data that had come back on the undead creatures was phenomenal. It had been apparent that their existence on this world was unnatural from an ethical standpoint but they seemed to have been afflicted on a genetic level with some disease that, interestingly enough, should never have been found on this world to begin with. He wondered if the Orcs had brought it to this world with them, wherever they were from.

The disease had affected nearly every race on the face of Azeroth in one way, shape or form. Humanity had been affected the most, losing an entire continent to the disease, though one Observer had found a mysterious floating structure not far to the south that contained even Trolls and Orcs that had been afflicted with some form of the plague, though initial reports showed that it seemed to affect them differently than anything else they had encountered thus far.

As he watched the hulking Abominations lumber towards the city, he worried that the Blood Elves would be able to hold the gate. They looked surprised, confused at why their allies would attack them, and Artanis realized that something was not right.

Noticing what he was likely thinking about, one of the female Khalai under his command stepped forward then.

"We should not concern ourselves with them," she said. "Those rotting creatures are close enough to detect us and, more importantly, we should not involve ourselves with the affairs of this world but we can't sit idle and do nothing!"

"I agree, Hierarch," added another of his warriors piloting a Stalker. "It would be unwise to involve ourselves in this battle, considering our limited resources. However, you are our leader and we shall follow you without question."

Artanis narrowed his eyes as his warriors offered their input. He did have quite a bit to think about. On one hand, he didn't want to endanger the lives of his brethren on nothing more than a whim. He wasn't even sure that the mysterious energy would actually do what he had hoped it would.

The Hierarch believed it could power the Spears anti-matter engines, but he truly had no idea if it would. It was simply the choice closest to their current location to warrant an investigation.

His warriors were right. What had occurred there in the city of Silvermoon, as much of a massacre as it could prove to be, was still within the natural happenings of the world. Civilizations came and went, as the Protoss had seen on countless world's before, and they had no right to dictate who should allowed to survive.

But on the other hand, he was just as restless as his brethren. These undead were very much like the Zerg in their own right. Mindless creatures that came in endless waves, hellbent on extinguishing all life in their path. Simply remembering the fall of Auir and thinking about what their forefather's - the Xel'naga - would do in their position, the path was clear.

"My life for Aiur," they all began to chant. Without anyone actually expressing so, every warrior present agreed that they could not sit by idly and watch the Blood Elves die. Though they shouldn't have made contact with the natives at all, they simply couldn't afford to walk away empty handed.

As he nodded, Artanis had been glad to have his brethren at his side. Hordes of undead rolled in from the south and the slender humanoids known as the Blood Elves marched to the gate to meet them.

"This will be interesting, indeed..." Artanis said.

Location: The Gates of Silvermoon, Quel'thalas

"Leave no Scourge left standing!" Sylvanas Windrunner yelled from atop her undead steed. The creature looked as if it had once been a horse, though it had long since abandoned that life. It's cold blue eyes glowed with something that had once been dark in nature.

Several archers that seemed somewhat transparent appeared out of thin air within the marvelous Blood Elven capital. As the archers manifested, several gruesome catapults rolled in that had been built of wood. They had pitch forks placed in weird formations, along its sides and one larger one on the front of the machines.

Sylvanas had called them meat wagons and she ordered the undead minions that piloted the things to take them into the city. She was not there that day to lay claim to the home of the Blood Elves, however. She had arrived to aid them in their endeavors. Though she didn't do so to help them at all, but to hopefully learn the identity of whoever was commanding these undead creatures that had been terrorizing the area.

They had attacked her home. She had seen them attack the mysterious travelers a few days ago and now they were attacking Lor'thermar Theron and his people. They were clearly trying to get a foothold in the region, though Sylvanas had no clue as to their intentions. She had to get to the bottom of this.

"We must find Lor'themar immediately. We need to clear a path to get a messenger through," the Banshee Queen shouted as she continued to fire a barrage of arrows at the undead that pressed the main gates of Silvermoon.

The entrance to the city suddenly erupted into chaos as the the meat wagons launched barrels of some liquid that crashed into the Abominations and melted bits of them in the process. The mindless Scourge that attacked the Blood Elf guards were sniped by either the Dark Rangers or Sylvanas herself, and others still were slain by the guards themselves and their massive broadswords.

They wore the red battle-armor of Quel'thalas that was typical of the Silvermoon Guard, wielding large broadswords that they swung with one arm as they held long slender shields in the other. Without a moment to waste, the guards slashed and stabbed at the lesser undead with ease.

The dark rangers fired their arrows and eventually a line had been opened up and Sylvanas could make her way through.

She spun around and disappeared from the field of battle in a cloud of black smoke. She appeared a few seconds later several feet away and she continued to blink in and out as clouds were left in her wake with each movement that she made.

She hadn't gone very far into the city before she found who she was looking for. He had already assembled the entirety of the Silvermoon Guard, and the Blood Knights as well.

"Sylvanas! What form of treachery is this?" the Regent-Lord shouted as soon as he crossed eyes with the Banshee Queen.

"Lor'themar. Truly, this is not my doing. I have no idea what is going on here," Sylvanas yelled out to him from the shadows. "The Scourge have been mobilizing again these last few weeks."

"What? We haven't heard anything from them in years. Not since Arthas was slain during the Northrend expedition," the unintentional leader of the Blood Elves said.

He was not of royal lineage. In fact, he was the military advisor to the last of the noble line, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider, who had gone mad after his exposure to nether energies. The Prince had simply left Lor'themar in charge when he had departed for the fragmented world known as Outland.

"Precisely what worries me. Someone else is behind this," she said. "Who, I have no idea but it is rather strange."

"My Queen," one of her rangers called out as she ran towards Sylvanas Windrunner. "The Scourge have breached the city walls."

"Preposterous!" Lor'themar shouted. "I will not let this happen again!"

"Let us get to the bottom of this, together," the Banshee Queen said.

She had once been a High Elf, herself. Her life had been taken away in the same battle that the Blood Elves had changed their name in. It had only been a few years, then, but the fall of the Sunwell was a symbol for many. Oddly enough, Sylvanas' own Forsaken had found a home within the Horde and eventually had helped the Blood Elves join the same coalition as well.

The battle that day raged on for some time and, after the fall of Silvermoon's inner gates, the undead had a direct route to the capital. Knowing of the invading army, they continued to fight until it was apparent that they were simply toying with them.

Out of nowhere, an awkward sounding, repetitive flap in the distance drew everyone's attention skyward. Several flying creatures that looked to be made of stone - Gargoyle's they were called - flew in from all directions. The sheer number of them that dotted the sky was intimidating, but it didn't seem to be enough to overwhelm the Forsaken or the Blood Elves just yet. Whoever it was that controlled the Scourge was trying to instill fear and despair in them. True fear came from knowing one's fate, and knowing that their death was inevitable.

Sylvanas understood what they were trying to do - she had once been one of them - and they were severely outnumbered but they would not give up. Sylvanas and her dark rangers knew there would be no escape from this.

Such a task seemed more than unlikely as all available hands were needed just to prevent their position from collapsing. As their blades and arrows met with flesh, their battle of attrition waged on.

The Scourge were numerous and never tired while the Blood Elves grew weary from all of the fighting. The Forsaken rangers maintained their feverish pace as one would expect from a creature that truly no longer lived and, charging through their hail of arrows, one by one the Scourge forces fell.

"Siege weapons, now!" Sylvanas shouted, and barrels of acidic liquid went tumbling towards the masses of Gargoyle's that flew around in the sky above them. When one got hit, the explosion took the others around the flying creature down with it. The attack proved to be surprisingly effective.

"Why have you not yet shown your face, wretch?" she called out to whomever it was that commanded the Scourge. "Or perhaps that's exactly the problem. You have no face to show..." Sylvanas may have once lost her life at the hands of Arthas Menethil, but she hadn't lost her tactical genius, or even her wit for that matter.

Realizing his assault wasn't going as smoothly as planned, Sylvanas' true target had showed his face. Or it's face, depending on who it was she was more worried about at that moment.

The largest Abomination she had ever seen came tumbling into the city then. He tore off the walls of nearby buildings as he barreled his way through Silvermoon's walkways. Lamposts and cobblestone were bent and broken as the creature forced its way through obstacles that stood in its path.

Rather than carrying an axe in his right arm as the others had, a loud motor let Sylvanas know that this was no mere Abomination at all. He carried what seemed to be some kind of motorized sawblade of goblin design in place of it. His main left hand ended in what looked to be some kind of stinger and another arm that sprouted from his left shoulder wielded a machete.

The creature was called Stitches. And the man that created him was named Abercrombie the Embalmer.

The man had once been little more than a kindly alchemist, living just south of Stormwind at Raven Hill. One day, he had been driven mad by the death of his wife, Eliza. In an attempt to save her life, he used an unknown form of dark magic to place his own still-beating heart within the bosom of his dead spouse.

While the magic worked, it had cursed her with a hunger for human flesh. That revelation forced Abercrombie to keep her buried, despite his attempts to curb her new appetite.

The dark magic he had tampered with was known as necromancy. The majority of its spells and incantations had to deal with raising the dead and spreading the undead plague.

Necromancers learned how to manipulate flesh, bone, and organs of dead creatures into the sewn up entities known as Abominations. In time, Abercrombie had forged a colossal Abomination of his own that he had named Stitches. It was eventually unleashed on the town of Duskwood, though brave adventurers had managed to stop him before it could wreak any more havoc. Abercrombie, however, had lived on.

Somehow the Necromancer had rejuvenated his monstrous Abomination and, apparently, now commanded a cluster of undead that fought alongside it. Sylvanas wasn't sure if they were remnants of the Scourge anymore. They seemed to be commanded by the Necromancer.

Knowing defeat was moments away, however, the Ebalmer led the final charge himself. Most likely, he had wanted to personally end the annoyance she had caused in trying to stop Lord Putress' plans, as she knew him to be an associate of his at the time.

"I am sorry, but I can no longer fight," one of the Blood Knights yelled out. He tried to call out to the Light but it would aid him no more as the stinger-like arm of Stitches pierced the warriors shoulder. He screamed in agony as he fell to the ground.

Lor'thermar grimaced at seeing his fellow comrade fall in battle. It pained him that they couldn't protect their wounded as they were all now completely surrounded.

He pulled his sword from its sheath. It's dull gray color stood in stark contrast to the bright colors seen around Silvermoon.

Their position had been overrun.

"Everyone, back to back!" the former Ranger-General of Silvermoon commanded as the group re-positioned themselves around her.

Lor'themar obeyed. Not because he had to but because a long time ago, when Sylvanas had still been among the living, he had once served under her during the Second War. And, as such, he respected her military guidance and recognized her as his superior in that regard.

The remaining Blood Knights followed her order then too, however the Scourge had come upon them too fast to repel them all. The Dark Rangers couldn't knock their arrows fast enough to kill every one and some had begun to resort to using their bows like clubs to whack their enemies away.

They were quickly becoming too much to deal with then as whacking them did very little damage, and the creatures didn't feel much in terms of pain. The blades of the Blood Knights barely made them grunt, even as it sliced some of their heads clean off.

Slowly Sylvanas' comrades fell and before long it was only her and Lor'themar left standing.

By then, Sylvanas had resorted to wielding a truesilver arrow in each hand as if it were a dagger, stabbing at anything that dared to get near enough to her. Lor'themar Theron had been quickly indisposed, being swatted aside in the scuffle but, in the end, even the Banshee Queen fell to the might of the monstrous Abomination.

Stitches pressed its weight onto her chest with its massive foot. The tremendous weight still hurt despite her undeath.

Location: The Dead Scar of Silvermoon, Quel'thalas

The man known as Abercrombie rode atop the right shoulder of the colossal Abomination. It walked casually onward, the ghouls and geists of the Scourge skittering to the side as the thing wanted to look upon it's prize.

"There will be much I can gather here today for my experiments. Elven magic always proves to yield rather interesting results," the man on the creatures shoulders said as Stitches crushed her under its weight.

He ordered the creature to step off of the Queen of the Forsaken, and though she felt no pain, she couldn't move a bit. A smirk formed in the corner of Abercrombie's lips as a Gargoyle swooped down and picked her up with its rock-encrusted legs. The animated statue carried her limp body up to eye level with the human atop Stitches shoulder.

Sylvanas did not want to appear frightened when looking the man in the eyes. She had suffered through far worse at the hands of the Death Knight Arthas Menethil.

"After all you've put me through, Banshee, maybe I will bind your soul into that of Stitches. Surely, your ghastly abilities would make a fine addition to his repertoire," the man taunted. He wore an unremarkable tattered gray robe and the man seemed to be mentally unstable, the way his head would jerk from side to side occasionally.

Stitches grabbed her out of the Gargoyle's grasp and crushed her with his bare hands when, out of nowhere, a strange crackling sound carried through the air that caught Abercrombie off guard. It sounded as if a storm was coming.

As he turned around, he saw that the sky had suddenly darkened. Lightning crackled from the darkness, incinerating the undead minions Abercrombie had brought with him.

"Elven magic?" he asked, as he recognized the storm to be unnatural.

Three strange bird-like creatures soared through the sky, coming straight for the gargantuan creature and his puppeteer. With as fast as they moved, none of the undead had time to react to their presence.

When they were finally over top of them, however, the large metal birds shot out some kind of stream of blue energy. As it hit the wounded Blood Elves and several of Sylvanas' undead that had seemed to fight alongside the Elves, it formed a bubble around each one and they all began to hover in mid-air.

Behind these strange birds floated some kind of crystal that the energy bubbles began to gravitate towards. Passing through the crystal, the Blood Elves and the Forsaken began to distort and break down into fragments of mysterious energy as they were pulled into the crystal.

"Get them!" Abercrombie yelled at his horde of Gargoyle's, as only they could even hope to take off after the metallic birds.

However, his attempt proved to fail as the things were far too fast and easily out-maneuvered his flying stone creatures. He watched as it flew to the edge of his army and it seemed to take on some other shape as it flew away from the city of Silvermoon.

"What in the world was that?" the man asked the flesh-sewn creature, though he didn't truly expect much of a response.

"What do you suppose they have done with my prisoners?" he asked no one but himself.