Sorry for the wait, yes I am lazy, well here you go:
The Lion of Azeroth
Chapter Six
One month had come and gone, and there was no word from the Horde of them willing to back down. Infront of Jonson stood one of the most powerful armies that Azeroth had ever seen. It consisted of the entirety of the Seventh Legion, now renamed the First Stormwind Regiment, along with two other regiments, each twenty thousand men strong. A podium was set up infront of the statue of Turalyon in the Valley of Heroes and the mighty Primarch watched beside the king as the mighty army marched passed them, all clad in full suits of plate. The plan was simple really. After Jonson had ordered the reforming of the Alliance military structure, all existing military formations were broken into regiments. Highlord Halford Wyrmbane led the First Stormwind Regiment which was to accompany Jonson to take Thandol Span, as it was imperative it did not fall into Horde hands due to the fact it would slow the Alliance advance into the territory of the Forsaken to a crawl. On their way to Thandol they would link up with an Armoured Regiment from Ironforge to give them some much needed support. The other two Stormwind Regiments were to quickly sweep south and expunge the Horde from their base in Stranglethorn Vale so that Stowmwind would not be under threat of siege. The military forces from the Exodar and Darnassus were ordered to force the Horde out of Ashenvale, although they seemed more than reluctant in doing so.
"Do you believe they are ready?" Asked Varian. The question startled Jonson. Of course they were ready.
"Yes I do. As long as the men remember their training and fight together they will be fine." Sure some the of them were nothing more than peasants told how to hold a sword and given armour, but they would be harden in the crucible of war into able soldiers, although he knew not all of them would make it and that was of no real concern to him.
After a month of continuous travel the forces of the First Stormwind Regiment and Second Armoured Regiment of Ironforge had arrived at Thandol Span. Moral was high and the troops, though well disciplined, were aching for a battle. The Horde were not going to disappoint. On the other side of the massive bridge stood fifteen thousand Forsaken, the bulk of them seasoned veterans fresh from the fight against Arthas himself in Northrend. It would be a bloody battle, but one that must be fought. It would be a tough battle. The bridge was serving as a bottleneck, making the Alliances number count for little.
"In front of me stands one of the proudest fighting forces I have ever seen." Jonson addressed his men, even though he personally thought nothing needed saying. "Today you will fight one of the most important battles of your lives, for the existence of the very Alliance that you hold dear. Let those that stand before you die, and those that beg for mercy receive none. From this moment allow no room for respite and humanity. There is only war and brutality."
Just as he was finishing his speech he saw movement in the Forsaken lines. Suddenly three objects were in lazy arc, ready to collide with the packed ranks of Alliance soldiers. Jonson knew what this was. The Forsaken plague, anathema to all life.
"CHARGE!" ordered Jonson, knowing there was not much time to spare before the barrels of lethal toxin hit home. It was not the start to the battle he was hoping for, but it would have to do. With that one small word, so much changed in an instant. The Alliance ranks surged forward with Lion El' Jonson in the lead, closer to the Forsaken ranks than thought possible in such a small time. At that moment the plague barrels also collided with the Alliance troops. Over two hundred soldiers were killed in but a few seconds, nothing left of their body but a sickening green paste. However the First Stormwind Regiment still advanced with their resolve hardened their only thought now to avenge their fallen comrades.
The first ranks of the Forsaken raised their shields in front of them, creating a barrier of steel before them. A hail of arrows rained from ranks of Forsaken archers, falling even more Alliance troops. The steam tanks were rendered useless by the massive melee about to occur on the bridge, unwilling to runover their own side.
Just before the second volley of arrows were fired the Alliance lines crashed like a mighty wave into the rocks that were the Forsaken line and the battle was on. Jonson shoved his massive shoulderpad into the Forsaken soldier that attempted to hold the line against him. The unlucky Forsaken was knocked down and watched in agonizing terror as Jonson's boot descended upon him crushing the better part of his torso. The Primarch paid no heed to the first Forsaken casualty of the battle and proceeded to swing Ashkandi, cleaving three Forsaken in twain with a single stroke. Swords were raised in retaliation against him but none could pierce his adamantium shell. Scores of Alliance troops followed him into the hole he created, hacking and slashing at the foul abominations before them. Bolts of pure shadow collided with Jonson's chest, give him a moment's pause.
Jonson was a rallying point for the Alliance troops. A whirlwind of gore, a primal force he was an unstoppable force meeting a quite movable object. All that stood against him were slaughtered, all that ran from him were cut down. Nothing short of a dark miracle could stop the mighty primarch, and that is what the treacherous Forsaken had.
Green fire rained down from the sky rocks burning from the aether. One impacted right in front of the mighty killing machine, knocking him down. As he rose he peered into the crater. Rising up from the inside of the crater was an eldritch creature of rock and fire and upon seeing Jonson it unleashed a bellowing roar. All around him more craters formed, all with the same creatures that were slaved to the will of the Forsaken.
He met the foul abominations challenged with jumping into the crater and attempting to stab the creature though it's chest. The sword did little more than clang of, having no noticeable effect. In response the mighty infernal swung as Jonson in his moment of disbelief, knocking him to the side and scorching his armour.
Jonson knew a new approach was needed so he took a page from his damnably foolish brother Leman Russ and charged the infernal head on and threw all of his strength into one savage blow. As his fist impacted with the infernal's "torso" cracks spread about it, clearly not intended to be able to weather the blow of one of the Emperor's sons. The rock that formed its chest cracked then shattered, the rest of the rocks forming it falling to the ground with no life in them.
As he pulled himself out of the crater, he saw hundereds of dead Alliance troops around him, but most of the infernals were dead by now, dragged down by the sheer mass of Alliance troops. War hammers were levied against them and paladins cried out to the Light to aid them, smashing the eldritch daemons asunder. The tanks of Ironforge were able to advance now, indiscriminately crushing the corpse of the dead in an effort to cut down the routed forces of the Forsaken.
The Battle of Thandol span was won, but with massive casualties. 3,029 soldiers were killed with an additional 2,567 wounded. The Forsaken lost almost eight thousand soldiers that day, almost on thousand of them felled by Jonson's blade.
The Battle was over, but the war was just getting started.