Kalimdor, 20 years after the opening of the Dark Portal
The drums of war quite literally echoed into the night as Orc drummers mounted on the backs of Kodos beat the leather hides of their instruments, the sound of which joined the majestic chorus of combat. Battle cries were shouted along with savage roars, screams of pain could be heard as flesh was torn and sorcerous syllables were spoken. Another glorious night of bloodshed was to be had by The Horde who fought beneath the banner of the Warsong Clan as their axes and swords met with the furred flesh of Furbolgs and the wooden bodies of Treants.
Among the Orcs was a warrior who was not of the Warsong but his presence was certainly appreciated for he had fought alongside them in many battles both back home in Draenor and here in this world called Azeroth. Proudly carrying upon his back the banner of the Burning Blade Clan and wielding a two handed sword forged from Truesteel, the Blademaster who went by the name of Saburo bifurcated a Treant before slashing open the the belly of a Furbolg which caused its guts to fall onto the corpse strewn waters of the river crossing. Arrows and other projectiles landed among the orcs who fought alongside him which caused many injuries or death but in their fury, most of them did not care for the death around them.
Cowards, mentally cursed Saburo for the Orcs had found that these Night Elves, like those in the Eastern Kingdoms to favor fighting from afar with ranged weaponry while trying to avoid close combat as much as possible. Despite this, the Blademaster still found satisfaction in fighting the elemental trees or the bear men as much as he did with pig, fish, horse or bull people that lived in the dryer lands south of Ashenvale. In response to the barrage of ranged weapons volley from the Night Elves, the Orc Spearmen along with assorted Troll troops hurled spears and axes while spell casters wielded their sorcery to deadly effect but the barrage did not relent, even when siege weapons traded fire.
With deadly precision did Saburo's sword find the bodies of the foe, he hacked through the haft of a spear, cut off the snout of a bear man before decapitating it and he split a Treant in half with an overhead chop as if he were cutting logs of wood with an axe. There was one among the Night Elves who had the courage to face them in close combat, a warrior who wielded twin strangely designed weapons which had on each a blade while going about wearing a blindfold. Having clashed blades with this warrior a few times, he did not see him around this night and he hoped that he would have another chance to meet him for they now had a score to settle.
Parrying another spear that was aimed towards his chest, the Blademaster countered by smashing the hilt of his sword into the Furbolg's snout before bringing its blade down upon its skull and cleaving it into two. Crimson blood matted the green flesh and white beard of Saburo who delighted in the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins, the smell of freshly butchered meat the clangor of blades and the screams of the dying for this was the life for true a warrior of The Horde!
A fresh wave of enemy reinforcements composed entirely of Treants surged forth from the west side of the river where the enemy commander, a supposed Demigod named Cenarius watched them from atop a hill with golden eyes full of contempt. Just you wait thought Saburo as he impaled a Furbolg in the chest and kicked its carcass off with his sandaled right foot. It may not be this night nor the next but by the end of this war, the antlered head of the so called Demigod would adorn the gates of the new Oricsh capital Golmashmar.
This was the oath which the warriors of The Horde swore as they enacted the will of their demonic master who desired that this world should burn.
Raising his hands to a crackling fire, Alarion watched as the flames danced before him as a cool nightly breeze washed over the refugee camp which caused the nearby trees to rustle with the wind. Numbering in the dozens, the survivors of the port town of Nendis had grown thin in the past weeks since the arrival of the outlanders and they had been forced to live off of what little they could gather. The fish which he had earlier caught had only brought a brief but not entirely satisfying reprieve. Night Elf male refugees huddled protectively around the children while every able bodied female had been armed with make shift weapons for each of them were now part of an emergency militia that only had the most basic of weapons training.
On the night when Nendis had been attacked, most of the town's Sentinel garrison had left to join the battle in Ashenvale. After the attack that came by sea, there were only nine surviving soldiers, all Archers with three of them still out there in the wild. Alarion knew that he was not alone in worrying about the three others for it was known that Satyrs, Ghosts and other things haunted this land. Some of the other Archers who had taken the time to scout around had even claimed that the Greenskins had settled the fallen city of Eldarath where they had somehow dominated the restless ghosts.
If the story was true, it would be very worrisome indeed for Alarion knew that the Satyrs had sorcerers among their ranks who possessed dark spells that could raise the dead. Would the outlanders be capable of such as well? A worrisome thing to think about because surely if a war was being fought and people died, such dark magic could surely be used to bolster the numbers of whoever had such power and the thought of the Satyrs alone having access to so many bodies was a terrifying one.
In these quiet times where he was left to his thoughts, the fisherman contemplated many things that made him lose sleep. It was bad enough to constantly worry about his immediate mortal danger but also to think about how things could be going for the rest of his people.
'Hey they are back!' called one of the Archers which drew the attentions of the Kaldorei refugees and the guards around the camp had made themselves visible. Getting up from his seated position, Alarion was glad to see that the three women who had guarded him earlier had returned safely but his attention was immediately drawn to a fourth figure who accompanied them. Clad in an extravagant set of armor, the stranger who was clearly a male was a pale skinned, black haired fellow who was armed with a sword and bow, both of which were ornate in a manner which along with the rest of his equipment suggested that he was someone important but to who, Alarion had no idea.
The refugees got up from the fires they stayed around and went to meet the returning warriors with many of course being quite curious to see this strange who returned with them. Inspecting this stranger as well, Alarion wondered if the pale skinned fellow was one perhaps one of the descendants of the Highborn for he had once heard a story about how some of them had traveled across the sea to the east and had become smaller while developing skin tones similar to those of a race of giants that lived in the roof of the world. Some of the more adventurous children went as far as to touch this outlander who seemed to be uncomfortable with such close physical contact but otherwise allowed them to continue.
'His name is Alith Anar' explained Kyntaria who made her voice heard by the all around her but she had clearly been conversing at first with the other Archers. 'There are more of his people, the Asur not far away and they are accompanied by a race of lizards called Skinks'
'They are not in league with the Greenskins are they?' questioned one of the militia fighters named Felsia who was something of a healer to the group of refugees.
'No, quite the contrary' replied the veteran Archer with a shake of her head. 'His people along with the reptiles are certainly quite hostile to the Greenskins who are called Orcs.'
The word Orc was soon being being repeated with confusion among the refugees for none of them knew what the Greenskinned outlanders were called. Some of the scouting parties had seen Trolls for sure but they had been quick to deduce that the green ones were definitely the ones leading their invasion.
'We should move our camp to that of these outlanders' announced Kyntaria. 'They have food, and a large camp filled with warriors where we can find safety'
The mere mention of food was enough to stir the refugees for the current location of their camp was hardly secure nor was it defensible in the first place. It was a miracle really that the Greenskins nor the Satyrs had discovered nor attacked them in force. Alarion had somewhat expected for disagreements to break out among them but was not surprised that they ended up proving to be quite unanimous in the decision to leave because he too knew full well how vulnerable they have been.
Soon everyone went about gathering what little belongings they had from the crude shelters of tree branches and leaves they had built. Alarion as well had little to bring save for his fishing pole and a knife which he used to gut fish. Trusting Kyntaria's decision, the fisherman hoped that her judgement would be a sound one for the last thing they needed was more misfortune.
Naggaroth IC 2532
The enchanted forest which the Aesanar had grown was unsurprisingly a dark, dreary and foreboding place where of course the frozen air smelled of death along with the sea salt. The corpses of Skaven, Greenskins, Druchii, Beastmen and Chaos barbarians were nailed to the withered trees which were the same as those that grew along Griffon Pass beneath where the Shadow King had once nailed hundreds of living Dark Elf prisoners. Many of these bodies still moved about, writhing and moaning in agony as the spirits of their victims remained within the rotting carcasses to serve as a warning to others of their kind to keep out.
Bands of Shadow Warriors now escorted the armies of Yvresse and the humans who accompanied them along a dirt road with each one having long grown desensitized to the brutality of the elves of Nagarythe. The Aesanar were not alone in these woods for silent patrols of skeletal soldiers dressed in the ancient regalia of Nehekhara made their rounds with bows, spears and swords clutched in their bony hands. Judging by the colors of their equipment, these undead warriors, like many across The Land of Chill had been loaned from the cabal of sorcerer priests known as the Exiles of Nehek which now dominated the western coastlines of Naggaroth.
Paying little heed to the undead patrols, the Yvressian hosts continued their way into the forest where paper lanterns could be seen hanging from the branches above. Still travelling by foot, Archmage Arianwen was accompanied by Lord Torendil who guided them to the heart of the forest where the Aesanar had set up camp. Built around a particularly large Waystone that harnessed each of the eight Wind to grow these woods, the camp was constructed in a manner quite commonly used by the Shade clans with many of tents being made from the flayed hides of many monstrous races which the High Elves would have killed on sight.
Few of the Aesanar were at the outpost itself, most likely out on patrol or hunting outside of the forest and some of the human camp followers decided to go their own way from here which was of no concern to Arianwen for they were free to do so and it simply meant less mouths to feed. There was a subtle shift in the Winds which the Archmage felt, a strange of displacement which a non magic user would not have felt and she instinctively knew that the path to the Shadow Realm had been opened. It had long been known to the mages of the White Tower that the elves of Nagarythe practiced a form of Shadow Magic different than their own but the Loremasters had long ago decided that it would be wiser to simply avoid prying into the secrets of the Aesanar.
Upon the edge of the camp were a pair of archways formed from loosely intertwined trees that were much larger than those around them, dancing lights sparked between the space of the arches as the magic coalesced into a shimmering portal of amber light that was large enough to accommodate hundreds of soldiers walking abreast and even massive creatures if they had brought any. Some of the humans who accompanied them hesitated upon advancing further into the portal but the elves of Yvresse were not dissuaded for the Asur were used to such displays of magic. For the Dogs of War troops, mere reminders from the Elves that if they did not press on with the rest of the army then they would receive no pay was enough to bring them to heel and many but not all of the camp followers decided to go with them.
The Great Eagle Belahir then gave a loud screech above them as he rejoined the Yvressian hosts, he expertly navigated between the branches of the trees to circle around them as the armies entered the portal and into the Shadow Realm. Taking the form of a forest much like where they had just been and surrounded by rocky crags, the Shadow Realm was a place of great danger to the unwary for if they were to stray from its paths then one could become hopelessly for the rest of their mortal existence. Only by moving forward would they safely arrive at their destination.
And so the hosts of Yvresse marched on with the Shadow Warrior of Nagarythe to guide them across the Sea of Chill onto the mainland of Naggaroth itself.
Kalimdor, 20 years after the opening of the Dark Portal
Wood splintered and cracked as Saburo's sword chopped into the face of another Treant before slicing all the way through into the surface of the fouled waters upon which they stood. With a swift and smooth motion, the Blademaster readied himself into a defensive stance as he was prepared to meet the foe which fell before the might of The Horde. Just as before, the Night Elves kept up their deadly volleys of fire as swarms of Treants brought to life by the sorcery of the Demigod charged in to meet the Orcs in close combat.
Beneath the blood rage and delight for the ensuing slaughter which every orc felt, a collective sense of frustration could be found within them for the battle which they fought this night was the same one over and over again weeks after the initial invasion of Ashenvale. At first warriors of The Horde led by Grom Hellscream had been successful in establishing a base a little north of the border towards the Barrens after passing through the valley and they had been victorious in their first engagements against the Night Elves but ever since the one called Cenarius had joined the fray did the invasion practically grind to a halt.
Whenever The Horde attempted to get across the river, the Demigod would summon forth legions of Treants to tie them down in melee while the Night Elves engaged them from afar and if any attacking force was especially unlucky, Cenarius himself would join the fray wielding powerful spells that caused the land itself to attack the Orcs. There had been multiple attempts to build rafts or other small boats to get across the river but these sorties had so far all ended in failure, the rotting corpses of those that tried had already been picked clean by scavengers. Some of the Goblins who assisted the The Horde's invasion had even attempted to try building bridges but the Ballistas of the Night Elves had put a stop to that poorly thought out plan and there were some suspicions among the Orcs that the greedy little runts just used it as an excuse to siphon gold from the construction project.
Now they were stuck here in Ashenvale with no end to this battle in sight with some like the Blademaster having mixed feelings about it. If Saburo had known that this is what would happen to the invasion then he never should have left the Eastern Kingdoms for there were many places where it seemed that the fighting never ended. In the cold lands of Dun Morogh, the Orcish Clans who still served that old fool Doomhammer which included many Burning Blade warriors were still trying to break into the cities of the Dwarves and the Gnomes where so far The Horde have been beaten back time and time again since the early days of the Second War. Similar scenarios as well could be found in lands where it was impossible to just march towards on foot such as places like the Highlands where the flying Dwarves still reigned or the islands of Kul Tiras which was now among the last of three Human nations still left standing.
Even in the lands that once belonged to the Human nations of Lordaeron, Dalaran and Stromgarde were Doomhammer' Horde bogged down chasing the remnants of the Alliance who waged a hit and run war. He had even heard rumors about an infestation of something in the Khaz Modan Badlands, primitive squat, ugly creatures armed with primitive weapons pouring out in droves and were threatening to overrun the barren region. There were even stories spreading about how the invasion for Gilneas was coming to a halt as an army of wolf-like creatures were attacking everything that was not one of them.
As much as he enjoyed battle, even Saburo knew that the conflicts in the Eastern Kingdoms were now nothing more than a waste of time which had led the Blademaster to swear his services to Ner'zhul's Horde because only the blind would not see that Orgrim's Horde was a sinking ship. It was said that paranoia and madness had gripped the mind of Warchief Doomhamer who had in recent years secluded himself within a part of Blackrock Mountain where the spawn of the Dragon Deathwing have agreed to be his protectors. It was also no secret that many of the Forest Trolls tribes who had originally supported Doomhammer no longer did so over the broken promise on exterminating the elves of Quel'thalas and those who remained only did so because their loyalties had been bought in gold, a flimsy thing which Ner'zhul could take advantage of had the great shaman the desire for it.
The only thing that kept Doomhammer in power was the loyalty of the Dragonmaw Clan that still dominated the Red Dragons which were not shared with those who followed Ner'zhul, the support of Deathwing's Black Dragons and more importantly a respect from many Orcs towards tradition for the only ones who had dared to challenge the Warchief to Mak'gora were ambitious, young and now dead fools. As far as the Orcs as a whole were concerned, Orgrim Doomhammer was still Warchief and by all accounts was still a capable warrior, despite how his leadership for the last decade led to stagnation in the Eastern Kingdoms with some like Saburo considering him as a relic best left to gather dust. It was now Ner'zhul and the new Shadow Council who would lead the Orcs to victory upon this world and with the blessings of their infernal masters, hopefully would lead them to glorious conquest on others as well.
But first things first of course, they needed to deal with these Night Elves who so stubbornly resisted The Horde's onslaught. It was only a matter of time viciously thought Saburo as his blades cut and cleaved through more Treants for The Horde dominated the lands south of Ashenvale, they had landed forces in a bay to the east and ruled the seas where no doubt they would eventually be able to land more forces. It did not matter how many Orcs the purple skinned elves of this land killed for Ner'zhul's Horde had an entire world full of warriors to throw at them.
Walking along the same path which they had taken to get to the refugee camp, the survivors of Nendis now traveled to the other camp around the rift with a cautious pace. The womenfolk among them formed a defensive ring around the males and the children, each Night Elf now carried whatever they could use as a weapon, even if it were nothing more than a big stick or a stone that one could throw. It was a good sign to all among the group that the wildlife of the forest continued their natural nightly chorus and they were certain that no ambushes were waiting for them.
Kyntaria led the small band of Archers from the front with the outlander, Alith Anar accompanying them, their eyes remained alert for more Satyrs, especially as they passed the corpses of the ones they had earlier slain. The ugly curved swords which the dead Satyrs had carried with them now hung upon the belt of Kyntaria who had taken two for herself and with the others going to Celea and Sharis, not that they would care though to keep it for long until better armaments could be found. After passing the ambush site without incident aside from the gasps of surprise from some of the children who had never seen a Satyr before, much less a dead one, they hurried on until at one point the Asur leader suddenly came to halt and he raised his left hand up in a gesture to halt.
The Night Elves became tense as they immediately readied their bows and aimed around them, their eye focused on the darkness of the night which their eyes were well suited for. Soft steps were then heard from the front as another group of ten pale skinned Asur approach, each one of them were cloaked and hooded while also armed with bows and arrows. One of the Asur began to speak to Alith in a very respectful tone as in a song-like tongue he informed him about something before pointing to a direction that was north east of the rift's location.
Alith nodded to these cloaked warriors and turned around to face the Kaldorei, he gave them a slight bow before walking away with weapons drawn and Kyntaria noted that the other Asur also had their weapons readied. One of the Asur it seemed had been ordered to stay with them as the cloaked stranger remained behind and expectantly watched Kyntaria and the Archers.
'Saris, Celea, bring the survivors to the outlander's camp, the rest of you with me' ordered the Night Elf officer and the others obeyed with the two Archers who had earlier accompanied her leading the refugees along with the lone Asur.
After splitting up, the Kaldorei Archers followed after Alith and his warriors whom they easily caught up with and the outlanders did not seem to mind as they continued on. Moving through the woods again, their pace would eventually slow into a cautious crawl as the Asur quite skillfully walked in silence and in the distance she saw torch fires burning. Using the trees for cover as she sneaked up to see what the Asur had found, Kyntaria soon came to behold a large camp filled with Satyrs.
The smell of blood filled the air as the beasts feasted on the remains of hunted animals while an unnatural chill could be felt for she knew that dark sorcery was afoot. Tents composed of wooden logs with leather canvases in between had been erected around the camp fires where bones were strewn about and she noticed a foul smell like brimstone in the air. Curved blades were being prepared by the Satyr with with many engaging in sparring matches which judging by the number of tents and the piles of bones, this was a very large group that would have almost matched a company of Sentinels in numbers.
Looking to Alith as he was watching the camp as well, his eyes had narrowed in concentration as he looked to the Asur and began issuing quiet orders. In the dark, Kyntaria saw a large number of Skinks moving into position as well and she realized that they were all getting ready to hit the camp.
'Get ready sisters' whispered Kyntaria and the Archers with her nodded in eager anticipation as they took aim to any Satyr they saw.
Glancing towards Alith, the pale skinned outlander had drawn his own bow which glittered under the gloom and he knocked an arrow which he loosed upon the demon-kin, the projectile must have been imbued with some sort of powerful magic because it hit the Satyr with such force that it tore through the corrupted thing's body as if a Ballista Bolt had done the job. Before the first Satyr had even been hit, several bows twang as the Skinks charged in with throwing spears and smaller bows, their scaled throats giving voice to dozens of high pitched hisses and shrieks.
'Ash'al Theradas!' shouted Kyntaria as the Night Elves joined the fray with a volley of arrows.
Marching towards the camp of the Beasmen-like creatures were a band of twelve Druchii warriors bound to the services of the Shadow King. Among this group was the former Black Guard, Vraneth who held his halberd in hand as he was accompanied by six other warriors armed for close combat while five others remained behind with ranged weapons. Of the warriors in the back there were the two Shades who had accompanied him to this world and three others were Darkshards who were all armed with Repeater Crossbows that launched volleys of barbed bolts which would no doubt be aimed at non vital points if these creatures possessed anything like the anatomy of a Beastman.
To the sides of Vraneth were four haughty, pompous Bleakswords and a pair of Corsairs wielding twin blades as they marched in a semblance of a formation with those carrying shields to his left and right and the former pirates along the flanks. Gritting his teeth and snarling at the things with murder-lust, Vraneth had been unsatisfied with the wolf he had killed earlier and he wanted to sate his appetite for death on more things but he expected that there would be few foes to slay for he had seen the Shadow Warriors attack along with the Reptiles and those strange purple women with the comically large eyebrows and ears.
The Beastmen-like creatures streamed out from their squalid little camp in an unorganized mob as they waved around curved swords while the Lizardmen Skinks armed with javelins and spears moved to engage them, not that Vraneth would expect the puny little runts to stand and fight. Poisoned throwing spears were then hurled by the reptiles which buried into more than a few of the brutish bodies while arrows and bolts continued to be launch from the treeline. A strange sensation was felt by Vraneth who was certain that the others could feel it as well, a tingle down the spine, an itch in the palms, a sickly sweet smell, all signs that sorcery was at work here.
As the enemy drew closer, the former Black Guard noticed something about these creatures, their faces were less bestial than he had expected and there was something about it that brought to mind the purple women, despite mostly possessing tanned skinned and brown fur. Magic he could sense was being worked by one of them as before their eyes some of the beast things suddenly grew in size, their eyes glowed with a blood red light and they were moving even faster.
'For Khaine!' roared Vraneth as he thrust his Halberd forward and impaled a beast thing in the chest, the momentum of its charged pushed it into the polearm while the warriors around him engaged the thing sword to sword. They were nowhere near as fast as Druchii but the ones with the red glowing eyes being influenced by magic definitely were and they struck hard as they furiously clashed blades with the swordsmen. Hardly caring for the idea of an honorable duel with the savages, the former Black Guard pulled his halberd out of his victim's body and he swung the axe-head in the lower back of the one to his right which caught the beast by surprise before the Bleaksword it attacked drove his sword into its chest.
Vraneth then pulled his Halberd's axe blade out which ripped through the flesh and meat of the the beast thing and severing its spine before the bottom of his polearm's shaft smashed into the right hip of the other monster. Feeling a meaty thud as his weapon struck, the thing's flesh, the Bleaksword to his left then smashed his shield into its face before splitting open its belly with a sword slash. Crossbow bolts and arrows then flew past the Corsairs at the flanks and outright killed those beast things that tried to get around them.
In another life and another time, the Dark Elves would have not cared for the lives of one another, indeed it would have been an amusing thing or perhaps even beneficiary to see the other slain, especially among those who did not belong to the same unit type. Yet now with each of them being bound to the Shadow King's service, they fought as a group to protect one another and trusting their fellow to protect them. It was a strange sensation which Vraneth still had not quite gotten used to for he would have only expected such a thing when fighting alongside other Blackguards and even then back under Witch King's reign that he would expect his "comrades" to try to slit his throat in the night if they knew they could get away with it while he himself would have done the same.
Staying together, the Dark Elves did not have to worry too much as well about those beast things that were being imbued with magic for their increased sized only made them for some reason faster not stronger and they became bigger targets for the ranged troops. The sensation of magic at work was felt once more as to the surprise of the Druchii, the bodies of the beast things suddenly began exploding in showers of meat, bone and gore as the blood slicked skeletons of the creatures began to rise up in groups with their curved swords still in hand. The skeletons wasted no time in attacking the Druchii with one the undead things swinging its blade towards Vraneth who merely just thrust his Halberd straight into horned skull and shattering which caused the thing to collapse into pile.
With the dead now rising around them, Vraneth considered that they should withdraw but a familiar loud roar was heard as unusually large skinks with noticeably greater crests arrived upon the backs of Cold Ones. The reptilian cavalry smashed into the combined forces of skeletons and beast things with spears and crude swords in hand while the Nauglir used their powerful bodies, teeth or talons to shatter bones and rend flesh. Grinning beneath his helmet, the Druchii pressed their attack as the combined forces of Elves and Lizardmen struck from all sides of the camp like a noose tightened around the neck of a foe.
The Satyr's camp became a place of slaughter as the outlanders attacked it with overwhelming force from multiple directions. The volleys of arrows, bolts and throwing spears had been deadly enough with little to no cover to protect the Satyr who fought with the desperation of a cornered animal as they had no way to employ their usual underhanded tactics. The true killing blow though came in the form of the Nauglir cavalry which the Skinks rode upon, the weight of their charge smashed through the bones of those Satyrs who had been brought back to unlife and the necromancers among the demon-kin were quickly butchered like the others.
Among those who fought in close quarters, the small band of dark armored warriors, the Drooki which Alith had called, proved to also be competent fighters for none of them had fallen to the Satyr's counter attack. As the fighting quickly died down, Kyntaria cautiously began approaching the camp with her hands still holding her bow and an arrow by the string as the Archers pressed forward as a group. Around the camp, a grim but necessary scene played out as the outlanders went over the fallen Satyrs and they finished off the monstrous things by decapitating their heads for they now had to be thorough in making sure the dead did not rise up again.
'Split into pairs and search the camp for anything of value' ordered the Night Elf officer and the group obeyed as the group of ten Kaldorei began partnering up with another Archer named Aquyia accompanying her. Kyntaria was not sure what they would find within the camp, hopefully food, supplies or some other things which the refugees could use.
Approaching the tents with caution, Kyntaria saw the flap of one open up to reveal a Skink carrying a shield upon its left arm and bag of throwing spears upon its back. The small reptile was using its free right hand to hold on to something and she looked down to see that it was dragging out the body of a still living Satyr by the horn with a spear impaled into its right shoulder while another Skink went out of the tent to assist the first one. Having seen how the reptiles had fed those Nauglir creatures the bodies of the Greenskins, she was not too keen on seeing what they would do with the Satyrs, not that she would stop them of course.
Stepping aside to let the two reptiles pass, Kyntaria quickly took a look inside of the tent they had exited from and found nothing more than bloodstained piles of fur over makeshift beds of leaves. Disappointed but expecting as much, she then left the tent and inspected another one while Aquyia watched her back. The second tent which she investigated was a mundane looking place with several woven baskets piled around the edges with a stolen lantern of Night Elf make gleaming from a hook at the roof of the tent.
Looking back to Aquyia and nodding to her, the other Archer understood Kyntaria's meaning and she stowed aside her bow as the two Night Elves began checking around the place. Moving up to the nearest of baskets, Knytaria removed the cover to peer into the interior where she saw several strips dried meat which gave her a satisfied grin before covering it.
'Found some food here' called Aquyia towards Kyntaria. 'Dried mushroom caps by the look of it, this must be the camp's larder'
'We should take these back to the others' announced Kyntaria with satisfaction for she could not believe the luck they were having in just one night.
'Hey everyone! You should see this! then yelled a voice which belonged to one of the other Archers which immediately caused Kyntaria and Aquyia to head out and follow the direction from where the voice came. When they exited the tent, Kyntaria saw one of the others pass by and heading northwards which the two of them followed and soon enough they saw what was the cause of the commotion. In a cleared space upon the northside of the camp was a large glowing circle of magical sigils upon the ground that emanated a bright green light and around the circle were metal cages with familiar dancing lights, Wisps, trapped behind it.
The Wisps made joyful chiming noises at the sight of the Night Elves who congregated around the cages but found it to be locked with no known key around. Glowing runes were placed upon the rusty metal bars and it must have been some powerful magic that kept the forest spirits trapped for it was within the power of the Wisps to nullify such things at the cost of their existence.
'Must be a key somewhere around here' spoke an Archer named Vesta and there was unanimous agreement among them. Heavy booted steps followed by the clattering of armored plates was then heard and Kyntaria looked back to see one of the Drooki, a black armored wearing wielding a bloodied halberd heading towards them with his weapon held in one hand. Remembering the gestures made by Alith, Kyntaria knew that she should be cautious around these outlanders.
Aquyia then began calling to outlander, waving at him and trying to get his attention which caused Kyntaria's eyes to widen because she had not yet informed them that Drooki strangers were supposedly different and had to be watched out for. The black armored warrior then approached them in a cautious manner yet his stance was one who still was still trying to maintain certain degree of confidence that bordered on arrogance. The warrior then came to a halt a short distance away from them, not within reach of his halberd with Aquyia then calling to him again and the stranger hesitantly continued to approach them.
Once the fearsome looking warrior had come face to face with the Night Elves, Kyntaria was able to get a better look at the stranger who held his halberd in the crook of his right arm and used his now freed hands to lift up his helmet to reveal another quite handsome pale skinned face with black hair and eyes like amethysts. Physically she noticed the similarity with that of Alith and the only difference she could see was his slightly paler flesh but other than that, she would not have been able to tell the difference between him the Asur. Her guess was that perhaps "Drooki" was some sort of title, maybe it meant something like criminal because she had noticed the way which Alith spoke the name and clearly he clearly disliked these other pale skinned beings.
The eyes of the outlander seemed to study them as well for a moment and Kyntaria suddenly became a bit self conscious as she noticed that his gaze lingered upon the exposed flesh of the Night Elves who were dressed in the common manner which all Archers of the Sentinels did so. Wearing bracers, boots, light shoulder pads and cloaks, the the Night Elves wore little else upon their upper and lower bodies which allowed them greater flexibility. Annoyance flared up within the veteran Archer as a momentary leer came upon the face of the warrior and she hoped that he would behave well enough later on by keeping his hands to himself.
Aquyia immediately then began pointing to the lock on the cage and she held up her right hand where she began to twist her wrist in a manner mimicking to the use of a key and the dark armored warrior seemed to understand as he shrugged and then used his left hand to make a shooing gesture. The Night Elves then began taking a few steps back as the Drooki warrior then held his halberd in both hands and he swung the axe blade into the lock where much to their surprise it shattered the thing into several pieces. Aquyia then thanked him in Darnassian and gave him a nod for it certainly saved them the hassle of having to search the camp.
With his gauntleted hand, the black armored warrior then opened the cage and the Wisps began to float out with more cheerful chimes as they jumped about. The hands of the Night Elves then began clapping onto the back or shoulders of the warrior which they were careful to avoid the sharp bladed parts and the Drooki suddenly looked uncomfortable, even embarrassed by the attentions which they were giving him. Vesta then pointed to another cage and the warrior nodded in understanding of what they wanted him to do.
Looking to the Wisps, Kyntaria felt a sense of hope that indeed their fortunes had finally turned around. Offering a quite prayer of thanks to Elune, she hoped that perhaps they can also turn the tides of this war as well.
Waves of healing magic washed over Saburo as a mercenary Forest Troll priest casted a spell upon him and the Blademaster felt better for several bloody gashes covered his body. The fresh carcasses of many Orcs, Furbolgs and Treants further choked the already fouled waters of the river which the two armies had been fighting upon, the volleys of arrows and assorted thrown weapons did not relent as more of those from the west now began to fall upon those upon the shallow crossing. Standing waist deep in the dead, Saburo did not relent as he cut down one of the last remaining Treants which blocked their path and he could do nothing as the arrows claimed the lives of his fellow warriors.
Glowing magic owls could be seen in the air above where the battle extended and Saburo muttered a curse for he had learned the hard way that those birds served a similar purpose as the Eyes of Kilrogg for should he attempt to Wind Walk, they would give away his position. Focusing his mind and drawing upon the mystical energies within himself, his form instantly blurred as a pair of illusionary clones of himself were born and he willed them to advance while he waited for more Grunts to advance further. Arrows struck the illusions which reacted in a way that a flesh and blood creature would which helped make them more convincing but the Night Elves it seemed had become aware of some of his abilities and after the initial shots they switched back to firing upon the advancing Orcs.
Bloodthirsty roars emanated from the throats of a fresh wave of Grunts and Spearmen who marched under the banners of not only the Warsong but also those of the Thunderlords, Bonechewer and Laughing Skull Clans. Dark Shamans roared words of power to enhance the bloodlust which every Orc felt and it caused their bodies to swell in size while allowing them to move much faster. Necrolytes as well wove agonizing (for the receiver) spells that consumed part of their life force to temporarily sheathe them in a mystical barrier that caused arrows to bounce off of their flesh.
In response, the centaur-like creatures that fought alongside the Night Elves, the ones which favored the used of poisoned throwing spears were able to dispel these blessings upon individual Orcs but there simply were so many of them as they tried to get across the river. Moving amongst the crowd without any spells affecting him, Saburo had positioned himself behind a Grunt empowered by Unholy Armor and the warrior served as an excellent shield for arrows shattered upon impact as it struck him. Ignoring the corpses he stepped over, the Blademaster soon got to the other side of the river where a ballista bolt scythed through part of the tightly packed mobs of warriors which left behind mangled corpses but there would be more to take their place.
The wave of Orcs immediately then began to spread out and directly headed towards the closest of Night Elf groups they could find but the enemy at this point were fully aware that in close combat, the Orcs would massacre them. Holding their ground, the elves fired one last volley of arrows before withdrawing and their cavalry which rode large hunting cats came to intercept them along with the centaur women. A flash of light engulfed the Grunt Saburo had used as a living shield and the next thing he knew a poisoned spear impaled the warrior whose death the Blademaster cared not for as he sprinted towards the enemy.
With no Raiders or Shamans among those who had crossed the river, the Orcs had no way of entangling or slowing down these fast moving foes but they still had the Spearmen. Focusing his mind once more, Saburo's body became transparent for a moment before becoming entirely invisible as he began to move as if he had become one with the wind itself. A magic owl then began to loudly screech above him and the Blademaster knew that his presence was known as he gripped his sword with both hands.
One of the Night Elf cat riders hurled a glaive towards him and Saburo parried it in midflight without breaking his stride and before the elf could turn her mount around he brought his sword down upon the skull of the beast and splitting it in two. The rider shouted in surprise as the weight of her dead mount pulled her down and before she could get up, Saburo thrust his sword into the elf's exposed belly. Taking pleasure in feeling the edge of his blade cleave into the guts of a foe, he quickly gave it a twist before retracting it in a spray of purple blood and he sprinted towards another nearby Night Elf cat rider but this time he did not have the extra agility granted by Wind Walking to aid him.
The nearby elf hurled a glaive towards him and the Blademaster quickly leapt to the side to avoid the projectile. Before he could get to the other elf, she was already off while other Night Elves began shooting at him. Creating a pair of Mirror Images again, Saburo mentally fought his bloodrage and withdrew back to the river as his illusions drew the fire of the enemy.
As much at it galled him to retreat, Saburo knew that without the support of other warriors, he would only find a pointless death here. As he ran back to the river he immediately found his timing was just right for across to the south of his position, the Demigod Cenarius was roaring words of power that caused searing beams of light to fall from the night sky and bright emerald green bolts of energy to be launched from his hands. Serpentine tree roots burst out from the ground to choke the life out of numerous Orcs which also left them vulnerable to the arrows of the Night Elves.
Gritting his teeth, Saburo cursed at being so close to the enemy leader but the rational part of him remembered seeing how Cenarius could easily shrug off axes, swords, spears and spell while slaughtering entire groups of warriors with ease. It would take a whole army just to kill the Demigod which was indeed something the Orcs had but so too did this cursed foe. Unless their masters came down from the Nether itself to aid them, the only way Saburo believed they could kill Cenarius was to isolate him from the rest and throw everything they had at him.
The first thing which Tlahtuaka noticed when he had returned to the circle of stones around the portal was the sound of hammering as tools were being used to erect palisade walls while torches burned in the night. Warmblooded slaves busily dug into the surrounding forest floor while others were planting the wooden stakes which would extend the fortifications while up above among the boughs he saw platforms being constructed upon the trees themselves. Campfires also burned here and there where one could find either cooking meat or metal cauldrons filled with herb-infused boiling water which was where the severed heads of the Greenskins would be dropped to begin the shrinking proccess.
Assuming that the materials needed for such construction had come from the Greenskins they had earlier slain, the Skink Chief headed to the nearest of cauldrons where he had deposited the head of the orc he earlier shot before taking a moment to look around the camp. Among the trees where platform had already been constructed, Terradons Ripperdactyls roosted while along the northwest he found a corral for the Cold Ones. Curiously he noted that none of the Stegadons or Bastiladons were around and he looked back to the portal and realized that looked to not be large enough to accommodate such creatures which caused him a note of concern because the Ghosts of Pahuax needed those creatures to take on fortified positions such as the one he had been observing.
So far it seemed that the Greenskins were not aware of the demise of their kin nor did they know of the Lizardmen nor the presence of the Elf-Spaw, for now at least. This at the least would prove advantageous for Tlahtuaka knew that there were more armies from Lustria that were on the way with legions of Saurus Warriors and packs Kroxigors. With more time to set up defenses, scouting the terrain and learning more about these Greenskins they would be better prepared to meet them in open battle.
While instinctively flickering his tongue to taste the air, the Skink Chief noticed a new scent, one that belonged to warm-blooded creatures which had an earthy taste to it like that of the colder forests beyond Lustria which also held a hint of magic to it. Wondering if they had been joined by the altered, forest dwelling Elf-Spawn from the Asrai tribes, Tlahtuaka soon came to behold an altogether different sort of creature. Within the base camp he saw several tall, glowing eyed, purple skinned warmbloods that vaguely resembled Elf-Spawn setting up their own shelters and fires
Curious at this sight, the Skink Chief noticed that his kin did not seem bothered and he guessed that He That Hunts Unseen did not object to their presence for even Tlahtuaka could tell that they did not bear a corruption within them like the Greenskins of this land, nor did the corrupted Man-Spawn slaves possess within them. Approaching these newcomers with a bit of caution while keeping his clawed hands away from his weapons, the Skink Chief observed that when compared to the Elf-Spawn he knew of, what appeared to be the males of these ones were noticeably broader in a manner reminiscent of the Northern Man-Spawn with manes of fur upon their scalps and tufts of it upon their chins as well. There were also more slender and leaner purple skinned warmbloods which he believed were the females carrying makeshift weapons which made him realize that the males did not carry such things.
How odd thought Tlahtuaka who was aware that for many warmblooded races, especially among Man and Dwarf-Spawn that it were the males who dominantly made up the warriors of their kind. The Elf-Spawn he was aware had no quarrels of letting their females fight and during the last great war he had personally been involved in battles with the Druchii which employed a caste of warrior females that loudly shrilled in battle while wielding daggers or whips while wearing no armor at all. Having seen the way those incredibly fast and lethal warrior females were able to weave around phalanxes of Saurus Warriors to deliver killing, Tlahtuaka had learned that the best way to deal with such creatures had been to engage them from afar.
He had also noticed several smaller purple skinned warmbloods among them which he wondered at first if they were were a smaller breed of their kind like the fat furry footed ones that could sometimes be found in Man-Spawn settlements. Noticing the way which the purple skins were being protective over these smaller ones, he realized that they were the young of their kind. Were these creatures some sort of nomadic tribe then? Perhaps refugees of a destroyed settlement or even settlers they had merely run into?
The realization that there were warmblood offspring among the purple skins made the Skink Chief's maw salivate for during the war against the Man-Spawn invaders that had plagued Lustria's coastlines for centuries, he had acquired a taste for the soft, tender meat of human cubs. When the colony nests of the Man-Spawn had been eradicated by the combined armies of the Lizardmen, the survivors who had not been able to flee across the World Pond had been made into slaves which were fit only to serve as extra laborers or be served for the appetites of their cold blooded rulers or as sacrifices to the Old Ones. Now a days, most young Man-Spawn males slaves were made into the lobotomized eunuch warrior thralls while the rest were assigned to various forms of labor with any new broods destined to being enslaved as well.
As he idly wondered if these warmblooded purple skin young had a similar taste to that of the Man-Spawn's own, he then detected a new scent in the air, blood he realized but one that was even more foul and corrupted than those of the Greenskins, one that was akin to the filth of a Daemon. Arriving at the camp were several of his fellow Skinks dragging the bodies of horned creatures that resembled Beastmen while accompanied by Elf-Spawn who were led by the Shadow King himself and more purple skinned creatures which seemed protective of a flock of floating magic lights. Guessing that a skirmish must have broken out, he immediately went to the nearest of Skinks that were dragging by the horns a corpse with a javelin lodged into its body.
'What has happened?' questioned Tlahtuaka as he approached a pair of Skink Warriors who briefly bowed their crests in respect for his his position as a Chieftain among their kind.
'Killed many of these unclean things' replied one of the Skinks. 'A camp of them not far away from ours. No survivors, we are bringing the bodies to He That Hunts Unseen for inspection.'
'Is Oxyotl here now?' questioned Tlahtuaka for there was a strong possibility that he was out there somewhere under the darkness of the night.
'We have no knowledge if he is' admitted the second Skink. 'If not He That Hunts Unseen then the Oracle or Priest Hex-Xl will see to these bodies'
Nodding in understanding, Tlahtuaka stepped aside and allowed for them to continue for if these horned creatures were anything like the Beasts of Chaos, they would have value to the Ghosts of Pahuax regardless of the state they were in. The Skinks bowed their crests once more as they resumed their journey and Tlahtuaka turned his attention to the others. Aside from bodies being dragged back, there were woven baskets, leather sacks and wooden chests also being carried either by Skinks, Elf-Spawn or the purple skinned ones and he assumed that they had thoroughly sacked the camp of the horned creatures.
Voices were then heard from the glowing eyed, purple skinned warmbloods who congregated excitedly among those of their kin which returned and especially around the floating lights. Curious as to what the commotion was all about, the Skink Chief decided to watch these other warmbloods.
Heavy breathing emanated from the mouths of every Druchii as they hauled large portions of the plunder they had taken from the beast-thing's camp from sacks filled with looted weapons or pieces of armor to logs of wood, there too were other things which they carried the Shadow King had deemed valuable. Among the Dark Elves was Vraneth who along with the pair of Corsairs and three of the Bleakswords he had fought alongside were hauling a grimy moss covered statue that was weathered with age and about a little more than seven feet tall. Carrying it upon their shoulders like common slaves, the Dark Elves carried out this demeaning task with fearful stoicism for to refuse was a death sentence in the presence of Alith Anar.
Despite the layer of filth that covered the statue which must have been crafted from white marble they saw that it depicted a female figure holding her hands together in what seemed to be an stance of expectation. What drew the attention of the Druchii though was that the woman it seemed to be depicting was also wearing jewelry and that they had seen blue gleaming sapphires still placed upon those pieces of finery. Unfortunately for them, the Shadow Warriors had seen the statue first and they would have no doubt counted the gems first before assigning the Dark Elf collaborators to carry it, if any of those precious stones were missing then their lives would be forfeited.
The statue must have been important to the beast things for it had been found within the largest tent within their camp and it had been surrounded by burning candles, offerings of gleaming crystals that radiated with magical power, jewelry and piles of ancient time worn coins made from gold, silver or copper. It was a shrine no doubt, perhaps some sort of goddess or a monarch? Someone who was very important that is for sure as even the Shadow King himself had taken an interest in the statue.
Eventually after several agonizing breaths that left their shoulders burning with pain and exhaustion, they had gotten back to the camp where one of the Shadow Warriors was quietly pointing to a flat section of the ground a few feet away from the circle of stone's south side near where a campfires burned. With caution, the Dark Elves were able to put down and then prop up the statue next to a pair of fires where a warm orange glow illuminated the stone surface. The Shadow King then came forward to inspect the statue which Vraneth and the other Druchii of course stepped aside to give him space as he raised a gloved hand and began to try to wipe away at the filth.
After a few moments, the Shadow King was able to remove some of the grime upon the statue which revealed the face of an incredibly beautiful Kaldorei woman whose expression was welcoming with a subtle expression seductive invitation while waiting for a response. There was something about the woman this statue seemed to depict which for whatever reason reminded Vraneth of the Hag Queen, Morathi whose presence had often graced Malekith's halls. He did not know why but this statue brought back memories of the Witch King's mother whom Vraneth had personally only seen a few times but with each encounter she had left quite an impression on him and no doubt countless other Druchii males who would be willing sacrifice everything they valued for just one night with her.
Shaking his head and snapping himself out of the idle fantasies he had once dreamed of, Vraneth then saw the Shadow King look to the Kaldorei and began calling to them. The leader of the group who had been carrying a woven basket then handed it to one of the males of her kind before immediately heading towards and when she arrived her attention was drawn to the statue as well.
'Who is this supposed to be?' questioned the Shadow King as he looked to the comely stone face of the statue and the Kaldorei female narrowed her eyes as she studied it for a moment before her expression changed when she finally had an answer.
'Azshara' replied the Kaldorei with a spiteful tone who then fixed her glowing eyes on the Shadow Crown that rested upon Anar's brow and pointed towards it before repeating some foreign word which Vraneth did not get but he was certain that she was saying something like queen or ruler. Interesting thought Vraneth, was this Azshara the current ruler of these Kaldorei? Or perhaps some ancient deposed monarch whose name was now cursed? The former Blackguard was certain that if the statue reminded him of Morathi, so too would Alith Anar who had a long history of enmity with the Mother of the Druchii.
The Kaldorei woman extended her arm and made a sweeping motion towards the land around them and she repeated the word Azshara which Vraneth guessed meant either that the land was called Azshara, much like how the land of Caledor was named after Caledor Dragontamer or if the this Azshara was the current owner of this land. Vraneth also wondered if perhaps this Azshara was a queen of sorts to the beast things for they bore a resemblance to the Kaldorei now that he had a glimpse of their males. Perhaps there was also some sort of relationship between these two races? He was aware that among the humans, there was a relationship with the Beastmen and that sometimes human mothers may birth Beastmen children.
Many questions swirled within the mind of Vraneth who knew it was not his place to ask such things as he quietly listened to the conversation between the Shadow King and the Kaldorei leader. Shouting was then heard from the area a few yards east of the rift where the other Kaldorei seemed to be trying to cordon off an open, unclaimed space of land, their voices held no malice as no weapons were drawn and it seemed like they were trying to prevent some of the Lizardmen's human slaves from setting up more shelters there. Soft steps were then heard from behind him and he glanced over his left shoulder to see a Skink wearing a headdress adorned with bright feathers and he recognized the creature as of being a tribal chieftain of their kind, the sort that led the rabble to battle.
The little reptile kept its distance from the Druchii as it was clearly seeing what the commotion was all about as one of the floating lights he had liberated from the cages began moving towards the vacant space. It then settled upon the ground where it began to glow much brighter and the ground beneath it cracked and fissured as chunks of stones began to magically float up. Some form of sorcery was at work here no doubt but what it was Vraneth could not say as the Kaldorei maintained their cordon and the Shadow King looked to their leader who did not seem concerned.
As much as he wanted to reach for his halberd of sword, Vraneth knew that if he were to do anything that could be interpreted as hostile without the Shadow King's say so, his life would be ended then and there. Watching the bright glowing light and the floating stones with wariness, the former Black Guard could only observe and wait to see what these purple skinned beings were planning next.