Lustria IC 2527
'Khazuk! Khazuk!' desperately roared Thane Dwinbar Thunderstone whose axe gleamed with runic light as crossbow bolts struck his raised shield and one, much to the horror of those around him got through and struck him in the right shoulder where it even pierced the pauldron he wore. Dawi died in droves as the enemy, pale skinned scale cloaked pirates with cruel eyes and even crueler blades fired their handheld crossbows at the Throng while giant reptiles ridden by knights were about to crash into their flanks.
Gurni died next to Brokk Sindrisson, the poor Miner like the others did not have a shield and thus was vulnerable to the hail of bolts that struck from all around them with three now sticking out of his chest. Another volley of larger barbed bolts launched from enemy Bolt Throwers crashed among the Dwarf Throng, each maliciously designed projectile smashed through shield and mail before tearing into tough dwarfen flesh to cause significant amounts of bleeding which would only be made worse if it were removed in haste, not that the Dawi would have time for it. A chorus of loud screeches could be heard from above as horrid creatures that resembled winged elf maids with their features made bestial with wide tooth filled maws descended upon the army in a frenzy of bloodlust for they knew their prey was doomed.
Gritting his teeth and hissing profanities in Khazalid, Brokk could do nothing as more bolts scythed down his fellow Miners and the enemy cavalry crashed into the flanks of the Throng with bone crunching force. Swinging his pick at a Harpy that was diving down upon him, the creature managed to evade the mining tool at the last minute for her claws and talons furiously scratched at his mail coat while trying to get at his bearded face. Pain exploded upon his right hand as the Harpy bit down hard upon the exposed appendage and the Dwarf slammed his helmeted head into the foul thing's face before ending its life by swinging his pick into the side of its head.
The numbers of the Miners dwindled as the Harpies furiously slashed and clawed at the Dwarfs while the Elgi pirates charged with flashing blades and their hand held, armor piercing crossbows firing at point blank range. A horn was then sounded, one Brokk hoped to never hear for it was one that had spelled the doom of the Dwarfs who were still in combat for it was one of their own calling to retreat, the battle had been declared lost. With pain spreading upon his right hand, he was forced to fight left handed as he held his pick close to the head and he frantically swung it anything without a beard that came close to him but had drawn no further blood.
By some miracle he managed to break free from the fighting where his fellow Miners were dying and he looked back to them to see if there was anyone he can help but one look to the battle, no the slaughter around him told him that there was no escape. Attempting to rally what was left of the Throng was a regiment of Longbeards led by Thane Dwinbar who directly attempted to engage the leader of enemy army, a pirate lord who danced among them with twin red swords and a golden mask that was shaped in the form a kraken. Any dwarf who got close to the one known as Lokhir Fellheart was slain or maimed within seconds for the damnable Elgi Lord was incredibly fast to point that any axe that got close to him was immediately parried with expert skilled and followed by a counter that took off the hand of the attacker or had fingers sliced off.
The wounded Thane charged Lokhir Fellheart with his shield raised but elf leader easily weaved around him like an Estalian bullfighter and he stabbed Thane Dwinbar with both of his swords that emerged through the Dwarf leader's chest. As the Thane fell to his knees, blood gushing from the fatal wound, the pirate lord was already upon the remaining Longbeards who finally had nothing to grumble about as they died upon those cursed red blades. It was then that something large and heavy crashed into the Miner and sending him face first into the ground.
He did not even see it when the mace of an elf knight smashed against the back of his head and it sent him into darkness...
Naggaroth, Blacklight Tower. IC 2532.
Blood flowed from the scalp of Brokk Sindrisson as he held a knife to his once brown haired head and he scraped off the strands along the sides and he whispered a prayer to Grimnir, the Ancestor God of War. Shame filled the heart of the former Miner who had once in what seemed like a lifetime ago had hailed from Karak Azul where he had joined the expedition of Thorek Ironbrow to the distant lands of Lustria in the south. Grim oaths were whispered by him for from this day on, he would seek out his redemption through a glorious death for he would become a Slayer.
Solemn looks were given to him by the other Dwarf slaves, some no doubt contemplating that they should do the same while others glumly accepted that he was much braver than they were. Sitting cross legged upon the cold stone floor that made up the slave barracks, there was a cold water filled basin next to him that held his fallen hair and a clay bottle filled with a manling drink from Albion called whiskey, the Slayer was given his space as he quietly prayed. If one compared him to the Slayers that were commonly seen back in the Karaz Ankor, Brokk knew that his appearance would not have been complete for there were no tattooists among the Dwarf slaves who could place the blue ink patterns upon his flesh, no pig grease to shape his hair into the distinctive crest and no orange dye to color it as well, indeed he barely would have looked the part of a Slayer save for his partially shaved head.
When he had finished, Brokk placed the bloodied knife into the basin and he opened up the bottle of whiskey, he first took a swig of before pouring it onto the wounds upon his scalp. He embraced the fire his in his mouth which soon went to his gut and especially that of the pain as the alcoholic drink touched the opened wounds, a first step on his road to finding penance which gave him somewhat of an understanding now why some religious humans engaged in the practice of self flagellation. Once the contents of the bottle was emptied, he it dumped into the basin which he carried with him outside the cell.
Quiet words of respect were spoken by the other Dwarfs as he passed them by, his eyes remained downcast as his thoughts dwelled upon his shame and the retribution he would wreak upon the strange Urks that had killed his suitress, Tarni. Vengeance would be his he thought and he would not rest until he bathed in the blood of Orcs.
Elsewhere...
Fire, pain, blood and death filled his vision as he ran across the cold sands where the heat of a great inferno blazed around him. The town burned as warriors fought against a seemingly endless tide of death that came for them as death itself was what attacked. Hundreds of skeletons bearing goldenc axe-blades of an alien design and shields adorned with skulls marched through the streets in orderly ranks as arrows fell from the darkening sky above. There was no mercy in the hollow eyes of the dead, no remorse as they killed all that came within their reach and they showed no concern for their own fallen whose remains littered the blackened ground.
The ground beneath them writhed with swarms of tiny black insects that burrowed into flesh or stung them with poisonous tails, their countless tiny legs created a cacophony of skittering noises that joined the chorus of battle. Those who fell were consumed by the swarm that stripped flesh from bone in a matter of seconds with those who tried to help the fallen becoming food for the things as well. Dark forms also filled the sky above as large birds that smelled of death and decay swooped down to peck out the eyes or claw at the flesh of the townsfolk, their screeching cries heralded their attacks as they struck from behind or the sides in a disturbingly coordinated fashion.
Worst of all though were monstrosities that fell upon them as the burning buildings were smashed into pieces while great massive things smashed the walls into rubble. Some were massive black skinned, skull headed cats with crews of skeletons upon their backs while others were the bones of giants brought to life and swinging about huge blades. Other smaller but no less fearsome black skinned giants fought among the legions of skeletons as well, these ones bore the skulls of animals for heads and in their hands were golden blades that cleaved through flesh, bone and armor as if it were air.
Death is what had come to them, death is what came from that place beyond the portal and it had followed them here to Azeroth...
Kalimdor, Azshara. 20 Years after the opening of the Dark Portal.
Cold sweat beaded upon the flesh of Makorak as he awoke with a gasp from the terrible dream which he knew was not his own for it was a vision, a call for help from their own kind. Laying upon a cot within his personal chambers, the Warlock slowly rose up with a groan as he rubbed his eyes and got up with his joints aching and exhaustion still upon both his body and spirit. Reaching for his staff which was propped upon the wall a few feet away from him, the Warlock used it to help steady himself up as he trudged towards the door leading out of his little cell.
When he exited his chambers, he saw the other members of his coven as well and he knew that they too had received the same visions as he had so they all knew that something was afoot. Grumbles of discontent broke out among the coven of Warlocks as they headed the summoning chamber within the Tower and they stood at the points of the pentagram again. Drawing upon their already diminished reserves of mana, the Warlocks chanted magik filled words which allowed them to weave a spell that would put them in direct contact once more with Teron Gorefiend.
After several seconds of intoning the sorcerous syllables, the Warlocks fell into a trance-like state and they felt something different with their spell casting, a tugging upon their very souls, a summoning from Gorefiend. The Orc Warlocks willingly shed themselves of their mortal coils as they projected their spirits into the Twisting Nether itself...
The next thing Makorak knew he was standing upon a grassy plain beneath a vaguely familiar blue sky, beneath a sun that was far more welcoming to his flesh for he recognized this place as Nagrand, the Land of Winds back on Draenor. After a moment of confusion and disorientation passed, the Warlock reminded himself that this was not the Nagrand as it is now but how it used to be before there was a Horde, before the blessed covenant with the demon lords Kil'jaeden and Mannoroth. In truth, his spirit was formless within the Twisting Nether and as a means to avoid madness, his mind's eye created this landscape from childhood memories which deep down he must have treasured more than he realized.
Idly he wondered how his fellow coven members perceived the Nether whatever way that gave them the most comfort. Over yonder to the north he saw the Mountain of Spirits, Oshu'gun and there to the south were pristine blue seas the name of which escaped his thoughts but that was not important now. Around him were ethereal forms of his fellow Orcs, Warlocks, Necrolytes and Dark Shamans from the Shadowmoon Clan as well as a select few from those others that had accompanied them to the invasion of Kalimdor.
They were dressed to his mind's eye in the traditional garbs of Orcish shamans and he realized they had gathered in a manner reminiscent of the Kosh'harg festivals. Standing stones like those within the Throne of the Elements had been erected where the spirits of the Warlocks had gathered, each one carved with runes of power while at the center stood the hooded figure of Teron Gorefiend, not as the corpse thing he is now but the Orc he once was back when had been known as Teron'gor. Quiet words of greetings were spoken with some other Orc magicians who he was familiar with while others merely gave brusque gestures of acknowledgment for their attentions were of course drawn to Gorefiend's presence.
Dividing themselves into groups by coven, the spell casters took seats upon the grassy ground as many of them to the mind's eye of Makorak sat crossed legged in expectation. Looking to the group, he was relieved to only see Orcish faces for in recent years, The Horde as a whole had accepted other beings among the ranks of its warlocks and necrolytes, beings native to Azeroth with some, much to the disgust of the younger members like Makorak had even risen up to become members of the Shadow Council.
'Brothers' whispered the voice of Teron Gorefiend whose voice was still that of the dead thing he is now, rather than the more natural sounding tone of a healthy flesh and blood Orc. 'I know you have all had the same vision as I have. Which is why you have all been summoned'
The hooded gaze of the Death Knight then turned to face the seated coven of Makorak and the ethereal eyes of the other orcs had joined him which momentarily made him feel uncomfortable.
'Our brethren assigned to the land of Azshara have fulfilled an important task, one given by our master Ner'zhul' continued Gorefiend. 'One that is vital to the future of our people as a whole. One other Coven has also been given a similar task to the south of Kalimdor and it is from them where the vision came.'
A stunned look then came over Makorak who felt his previous bitterness evaporate for he realized that his coven's task had indeed been a valuable one. Perhaps his potential was already known to the Shadow Council and that he, along with the rest of his coven were already further along upon the path of ascension than he had realized.
'From where, master?' spoke the voice of another Warlock whom Makorak did not recognize but he noticed that even his spirit form was a missing hand which in turn had been replaced with a cleaver so he assumed that this fellow was from the Shattered Hand.
'A region called Tanaris' replied Gorefiend which drew alarmed attentions from some of the covens which Makorak surmised that they were in lands not far from that desert realm or were even physically there themselves. 'You have all seen what I have seen, an army of undead warriors not of our own attacking one of our settlements.'
'But we have few forces here!' called a young orc Makorak vaguely recognized and he remembered that he was one of the apprentices of a fellow Warlock named Nethekurse who supposedly still remained in Hellfire Citadel back on Draenor. 'Most of our warriors are up north in Ashenvale or are busy holding back the Centaurs and Tauren'
'Spur the goblins of Gadgetzan to conflict' commanded the Death Knight. 'Promise them gold we will pay in the future for we have plenty of such wealth to spare'
The young warlock seemed relieved upon hearing of this and Makorak could hear the whispers as some of the other Orcs, especially those who earlier seemed worried were already conversing among themselves with the Shattered Hand fellow speaking once more.
'But where did these undead come from?' said the maimed Orc. 'I have heard that aside from the Goblins, there are only Trolls and Pirates living there, those skeletons looked to be made from human bones'
'We do not know if they were raised by any of the beings that reside in desert or if they came from elsewhere' replied Gorefiend. 'Muster our forces in Tanaris and in the nearby regions, I will personally inform Ner'zhul about this'.
'You are heading to Northrend?' blurted a Warlock Makorak recognized as Jugkar Grim'rod.
'Yes, our venture in Razorfen has been concluded and our master requires my assistance in the north' answered the Death Knight. 'A great many our newer Acolytes are sailing there from the east'.
'But what of the attack in Tanaris?' then spoke the Shattered Hand Warlock.
'Prepare yourselves for battle, let our other forces know of it' replied Gorefiend. 'I am certain that Hellscream's whelp will be eager to assist.'
The Death Knight's words were spoken with a sense of finality as his spiritual form faded into nothingness and the remaining Orcs then turned their eyes to Makorak's group.
'What was Shadow Council's task?' then asked the apprentice of Nethekurse and the other Orcs clearly looked like they were ready to demand answers.
'To find a new world for us to conquer' blurted one of Makorak's fellow coven members named Nateruk. 'We sent a scouting party and they found a cold world with humans and dwarves'
Glaring at Nateruk, Makorak knew it was too late and he had to remind himself that the only ones who would have been summoned by Gorefiend were those who had the Shadow Council's trust. Perhaps the constant suspicion he had that every other Orc or Troll he encountered could be a spy for Doomhammer was starting to get to him.
'And they encountered no undead there?' then asked the Shattered Hand Warlock.
'Only a pathetic little village easily butchered by our warriors, they were not followed' replied Nateruk.
'What of the other coven then, what did they find?' suspiciously asked another Orc who wore a wolf pelt over his head and upon his robes was the stitched insignia of the Warsong Clan displayed.
'We do not know' Makorak answered. 'We were only informed by Lord Gorefiend that it was a warm place filled with life'
The other covens then began to mutter among themselves, clearly they were not satisfied with the answer but it seemed that there would be little to be gained from questioning Makorak's coven further. Some of the Orcs shook their heads as their ethereal forms faded as well and so too did the conjured image of Nagrand for the soul of Makorak was drawn back to his body.
When he had returned to his physical body, Makorak was struck first by his own weight and then by his breath as he opened his eyes. Feeling a moment of disorientation again, he looked to his Coven members as they too felt a hint of concern. The Warlock then decided to go contact the Blood Guard and make sure that he was aware for who knew what else was there through the rift his coven had opened.
Naggaroth, Blacklight Tower. IC 2532.
Another salty cold wind blew across the coastal citadel of Blacklight Tower where Lord Inarion of Yvresse patiently watched as a group of human slaves brought forth a fine set of five elvish steeds from one of the settlement's many stables. Beneath the stern gaze of an Asur Overseer from Ellyrion, the slaves had fitted the equine beasts with saddles and bardings while others brought fresh quivers of arrows along with other supplies for the Mistwalkers. Magic could be felt in the air for even the loyal beasts of the Asur benefited from the magics afforded by the perfection of the Great Vortex as a comforting warmth filled the interior of the dark stone structure that had also once served the Druchii as a stables for their Nauglir.
After the meeting with Commander Taodin, Inarion had spent the last several hours scrounging up what supplies the Aesanar could spare and they had been especially fortunate that they had horses to spare. His plan now was to head back out and investigate the area around the destroyed slave hamlet where he hoped he could find traces of the Greenskins that had razed the place. The Yvressian Lord had also been fortunate enough to have been informed of a Wood Elf warband within the settlement that would likely be interested in the joining them in hunting for Orcs.
Once the horses had been prepared, the Mistwalkers easily mounted up for like most members of Ulthuan's nobility, each of them had once served as Silver Helm knights. Soon they were riding off down one of the many roads towards a part of the coastal town where the Flesh Houses once stood, the dens of depravity having been converted to the pursuits of far more harmless vices. Glowing lanterns lit up the sides of the roads where slaves dressed in thick clothing carried assorted tools that allowed them to reach up and light the fires or keep it lit as night would soon fall upon Naggaroth.
The road which they travelled upon soon saw much more foot traffic as on duty Asur soldiers patrolled the streets while those who were off duty rubbed shoulders with foreigners, mostly human mercenaries, merchants, settlers and laborers. Converted into a variety of establishments that catered to different needs, some focused primarily in providing lodgings for weary travelers while others were dedicated to serving a wide assortment of refreshments such as food and drinks while others catered to other vices such as narcotic substances or companionship. Among the various establishments was one that stood out in comparison to the others but was very much a part of this section of the coastal settlement for it was a temple of the Cytharai, one dedicated to the goddess Atharti, The Lady of Desire.
The Temple of Atharti was a relatively small place as befitting a settlement like Blacklight Tower but it was one of the few that remained relatively untouched when it had been conquered by the Aesanar during The Vortex War. Its dark stone exterior was adorned with many serpentine statues that were painted blood-red while above the entrance was a mural depicting the masked goddess of pleasure who seemed to be welcoming all to enter the temple. Under the Shadow King's rule, worship of Atharti along with the other Cytharai, especially that of Khaine had been reformed to be far more moderate through the use of traditional practices and rituals from before the time of The Sundering with a conclave of priests backed by The White Tower to ensure no deviation.
A pair of Swordsmasters of Hoeth stood guard by the main entrance of the Temple of Atharti with their gauntleted hands upon the hilts of their blades, a clear sign for all who engaged in the lascivious rituals of The Lady of Desire that the eye of the White Tower would be upon them and they would not hesitate to purge those who would break the traditional rites. It was within the temple where Inarion had been told that he could find the warband of Wood Elves and so the Mistwalkers rode their steeds to the entrance where human slaves were called to take their horses to a nearby stables. Once the Mistwalkers had dismounted, Inarion then went to the nearest of the Swordmasters, a female warrior whose stern gaze fell upon the Yvressian Noble and with one look, especially upon his sheathed greatsword, she recognized a fellow student of the White Tower.
'Greetings Lord of Yvresse' politely spoke the Swordmistress whose face was concealed behind an aventail of chain with only her glittering green eyes and the pale flesh around it being visible. 'Is there something you need of me?'
'I have been informed by Commander Taodin that a Captain Kellyr can be found here' answered Inarion who idly wondered if the Swordmistress had also studied under the tutelage of Loremaster Stormwing as he once had centuries ago.
'The Wood Elf? He is inside' replied the Swordmistress with as her eye briefly studied the other Mistwalkers. 'He is accompanied by a Kinband.'
Offering his thanks to the lady Swordmaster, Inarion and his Mistwalkers were allowed to enter the dimly lit temple where purple lanterns shined through the haze of burning soporific incense which the cultists of The Lady of Desire used to induce a calming sensation. Whispering mantras that he had learned in his time studying the way of sword at the White Tower, Inarion tried to mentally will away the lethargic mood that fell upon him as he entered the temple's main hall and he glanced back to see that the Mistwalkers behind him were still able to keep up their pace but already he could see the beginnings of a glazed looked upon their faces. They should not tarry here he thought for although their business was not an urgent, he would rather that they find the source of the Greenskins as soon as possible before the beasts multiplied.
Expertly navigating through the hazy main hall of the temple while taking care to avoid the visiting crowds of Asur who had come here to unwind, Inarion also noticed a fairly large number of partially masked human slaves going about serving wine or platters of cold cuts, cheeses and breads. He also noticed that a majority of these same human slaves were women dressed in very little clothing and that the masks they wore somewhat resembled those used by the Skaven poisoned gas troops but that it only covered the lower half of their faces from nose to chin. The floor of the temple's main hall was decorated with silken carpets of various designs, no doubt the plunder of Druchii Corsairs from human lands where cushions were placed around the place as groups of Asur languidly reclined while slaves who had removed their masks provided company for the off duty soldiers.
Inarion never understood how some Elves could lower themselves by dallying with lesser creatures and he wondered if perhaps over the millenia of war, some of the Druchii's perverted sensibilities had begun to influence his fellow Asur. Looking about among the crowds, he saw one particular group of elves not dressed in the colors normally used by Asur soldiers, rather that they were all dressed in forest green tunics, yellow breeches and leather boots. Their manner of clothing was strange to Inarion who had met a number of Asrai over the years for the kin of Athel Loren had since the last great war grown more active in worldly affairs, especially when it meant being able to actively strike against the servants of Chaos.
Guessing that these were the Wood Elves he had been informed about, Inarion and the Mistwalkers approached the group who seemed quite content to relax themselves as they smoked an Arabyan hookah which added to the haze of incense in the air. Curiously he noticed that these Wood Elves possessed darker flesh as if their skin had been tanned for a long time beneath the sun and he noticed that the female human slaves who lounged about with them also possessed notably darker skin tones compared to most other humans in Naggaroth, likely marking them as of being Southrons from the jungles below Nehekhara or from far away Ind. Approaching the Wood Elves while making a conscious effort to ensure that his booted feet would be heard amidst the clattering of his armor, he saw some of them turn their heads towards the Miswalkers.
'Is there a Captain Kellyr here?' then called Inarion and one of the Wood Elves, a brown haired warrior who had the look of a fellow Highborn Lord looked to him with a raised left eyebrow and judging by the look on his face, he was not as affected by the narcotic fug within the temple as much as the warriors around him. Nestled within his right arm was a dark skinned human female who looked barely conscious as the effects of the incense which filled the temple were meant for the lungs of an elf, not a lesser being but seeing that there were other humans inhaling it without worry, he guessed that it's effect were ultimately harmless.
'I am he' replied the Wood Elf leader gently laid the the human female next to him upon the cushions and he gently got up to his feet where he soon came face to face with Inarion. 'I see that you are not of Nagarythe, I assume that this is not about hunting Druchii then?'
'You are correct' then said the Yvressian Noble who then began to speak in a more formal tone. 'I am Inarion of Yvresse, Scion to the House of Calamcil and Mistwalker Sentinel in service of Prince Eltharion, The Lord of Athel Tamarha'
'Ah, you serve Prince Eltharion?' then asked the Wood Elf Captain with interest as he showed them a silver brooch clasped to his forest green cloak which depicted a tree with a pair of crossed arrows in front of it. 'I am Kellyr, Son of Thandruin and a Glade Captain among the Bowmen of Oreon. It seems we shared a common foe during the last war.'
A grim look then came upon Inarion who had heard the stories of the Bowmen of Oreon which explained much about these seemingly strange Wood Elves. He knew the story of the successful campaign where Prince Staleor led a host of Asur forces against the dark wizard Dornbast and was aided by Prince Oreon who in the end was the one who killed the sorcerer. As the stories went, the Bowmen decided to stay in the Southlands where later on during the Vortex War, they had formed an alliance with Prince Imrik's Knights of Caledor and together they had fought not only the undead and Skaven but also the hated armies of Grom the Paunch as well as clashing with Druchii led by the infamous Malus Darkblade.
'Indeed' nodded Inarion. 'How would you like to help us hunt some Orcs?'
An amused smile then came upon the Wood Elf Glade Captain and Inarion knew that he had the other elf's attention.
Kalimdor, Azshara. 20 Years after the opening of the Dark Portal.
Stepping outside of the Tower with staff in hand, Makorak found the base camp to mostly be empty with only a quite literal skeleton of crew of defenders remaining on guard. Silently trudging about to patrol the outpost were several skeleton warriors equipped with swords and shield while others were archers that manned the watch towers. Within the base camp's Temple of the Damned was a crystalline orb enchanted by the Death Knights which allowed the Necrolytes to control large amounts of undead.
Since the Second War, The Orcish Horde's knowledge in magik and sorcery had exponentially grown, especially after plundering the libraries of Dalaran. Where once undead minions which the Orcs raised could only shuffle about for a limited time, now they could keep a corpse animated for indefinitely long periods of time while also being able to control many at once. So impressed it was said that Ner'zhul had in the recent advancements in the School of Necromancy that he had begun to devote himself into further studying its mysteries and that he had gone to frozen lands of Northrend to practice it, away from the eyes of Doomhammer who still held influence even among the clans of Draenor.
Makorak had heard rumors among some of his clanmates of an undead army Ner'zhul was creating there in the frozen north, an army that would allow the Horde of Draenor to openly challenge the dominance of Doomhammer and his Dragons. If that was the case then Makorak would not hesitate to throw his lot in with his Ner'zhul, once the Night Elves of Kalimdor had been dealt with and the Orcs had found what it was that intrigued their demonic masters so. It was destined, though Makorak that The Horde and the Orcish race as a whole would be united under the brilliant rule of beings like Ner'zhul and the Shadow Council which he hoped that he himself was on the way of joining.
Looking about to see if there was still a living being around the camp, he heard raucous laughter from the east where a group of Troll mercenaries were feasting around a campfire. Trudging towards the group of Trolls, his nose picked up the delicious aroma of a roasting pig which he found cooking over an open flame as songs were sung in foreign languages while drums and other instruments were being played, a wood keg filled with something alcoholic was being passed among them. Soon the Warlock's presence was noticed by the Trolls who raised clay cups to toast his appearance for the lanky creatures knew full well that it was the magicians of the Shadow Council that filled their pockets with gold.
'Greetings Orc mon' waved one of the Trolls, a javelin wielding dark blue skinned and red haired male creature from the Shatterspear Tribe and the other Trolls gave him quiet words of greetings. One of the other Troll mercenaries, a lighter blue skinned white haired specimen from the cold mountains of Dun Morogh picked up an extra clay cup and offered it to Makorak who gently took the proffered vessel and he nodded to the creature as the keg was passed over. Soon the empty cup was being filled with Blood Mead.
'My thanks' quietly nodded the Warlock as soon as it was filled and he knocked back the drink that filled his innards with a pleasant warmth. 'What happened to the others?'
'Da Blood Guard took da rest of them into da woods a couple hours ago' replied the Jungle Troll as he set down his cup, drew a knife and went over to to the roasting pig to slice of a large chunk of meat from the left side of its belly. 'Brought lots of em workas too, lots of buildin materials.'
Oh good privately thought the Warlock with relief if Reshtar brought several of their troops to the portal along with Peons and construction materials. Perhaps now the others were busy setting up Watchtowers, Burrows and walls around the rift, if so then by the next day or after they would have established a strong series of defenses. At the least The Horde will be ready if something hostile crossed through the gateway which did much to put the Warlock's mind at ease.
A slice of steaming pork was then offered to Makorak who set down his now emptied cup and he gratefully took the piece of meat with a hungry grin for he had only a supper of spiced bread from Mulgore and Alterac cheese. Taking a bite of the piece of meat, the Warlock savored the flavor of freshly cooked pork and he liked that the Trolls had added some sort of spice to it, likely something from the Jungles of Stranglethorn.
Trusting that the Blood Guard had things handled, the Warlock's thoughts turned to the other camps and he wondered if he should inform them of what was happening in the south. With the fighting going on in Ashenvale, the Orcs could not afford a distraction for even he had noticed the constant need for reinforcements and extra resources on that war front which indicated that the casualties which they suffered must have been considerable to warrant such a demand, even if the area of Azshara served as a secondary supply route when compared to the Barrens. It may be best he thought to remain quiet for now and wait to hear of any new developments in the south because he knew that they were close to fulfilling the plans of their demonic masters.
Naggaroth, Blacklight Tower. IC 2532.
Riding to the gates of Blacklight Tower were the Mistwalker of Yvresse of whom were accompanied by the band of Wood Elves from the Bowmen of Oreon. The group now numbered ten elves with all of them being mounted on horseback as they headed down an avenue that had less foot traffic. Up ahead, they saw what seemed to be a commotion as a familiar pair Griffons ridden by Elf Knights swooped down from the darkening sky above and landed upon an open plaza by the gates.
A crowd of slaves, Asur soldiers and some conquered Druchii gathered to see what was happening while maintaining their distance for Griffons were notoriously ill tempered, predatory beings that were only kept in check by the will of their riders. Even from a distance, Inarion immediately recognized these particular members of the Knights of Tor Gaval as he kicked his horse into a trot and the beast quickened its paces while the others followed after him. The crowd dispersed before Inarion's horse as he called for them to get out of the way and one of the knights turned to look upon him.
'Inarion!' called one of the Knights of Tor Gaval, a fellow by the name of Weylyn who waved to him and Inarion waved back as his steed finally got clear of the crowd and soon he came a little more than a dozen meters away from the Griffon, his horse was already becoming quite nervous by being the proximity of such a massive, avian predator that would have regarded the steed as a prey-thing along with the rest of the two legged beings gathered here.
'What are the two of you doing here?' questioned Inarion for a vast majority of the other Mistwalkers in Naggaroth were stationed in Karond Kar. Unless they had been sent out on specific missions by the Warden of Tor Yvresse or assigned under the command of his most trusted generals, the Mistwalkers normally remained at Prince Eltharion's side and would only leave when he ordered to do so.
'I can ask you the same thing' replied Weylyn while his partner, Yelgren merely gave a quiet nod to their fellow noble lord for they were all loyal retainers of the Grim Warden. The Knight of Tor Gaval then looked too the gathered crowd around them and he began to loudly speak while addressing them all. 'A great army of Lustrians have arrived here in Naggaroth! Their intentions are not hostile and by the edicts of both the Phoenix King and Shadow King, they are allowed passage through these lands!'
A great series of murmuring was then heard from the crowd for since the end of the Vortex War, the only Lizardman leader who had been seen in Naggaroth were the small expeditions of the one known as Oxyotl whose forces had aided the Asur in exterminating the Chaos forces that regularly assailed the north. Since then, no known conflicts have broken out between the Asur colonies or the border territories southern of Naggaroth against the reptiles but to have entire armies of them right away was the cause of some concern.
'Prince Eltharion is escorting them now as we speak!' continued Weylyn. 'They are traveling by air and should be passing by here soon. I will remind you all that we are not at war with the Lustrians but be watchful of their presence!'
The Asur around them understood for despite the current peace between both races, the Lizardmen had a reputation for being inscrutable for it was known that they strictly adhered to the wills of their Slann master and their so called Great Plan.
'And what of the rest of our brethren?' then asked Inarion towards Weylyn.
'Archmage Arianwen has been assigned to lead our forces stationed in Karond Kar to here in Blacklight where our lord will rendezvous with them' explained the Knight of Tor Gaval.
Nodding in approval, Inarion personally knew the Archmage and had directly served under her after the failed and final invasion of Grom the Paunch. After the great battle that finally saw the Goblin King dead, news had reached the Asur of Yvresse of the battle at the Isle of the Dead and the great victory which their kin had won there. Prince Eltharion had been quick to capitalize on the Witch King's demise and had sent the Archmage ahead with a war host which included Inarion himself to assist the Aesanar while the Grim Warden focused on finally removing the thorn on the side of Yvresse which came from the Pirates of Sartosa.
He had heard the stories from those who were there, of the great punishment, a massacre some called it as every human upon the island of Sartosa was put to the sword by the combined armies of the Asur who had found an unusually alliance with the Court of Lybaras. It was said that despite the extermination visited upon the Sartosans, the self-proclaimed pirate queen Aranessa Saltspite had managed to escape and later met her death upon the blade of the human war leader Repanse de Lyonesse. The isle of Sartosa had since the end of the war been rebuilt under Bretonnian rule where their fleets mercilessly hunted any remaining pirate fleets and maintained a robust trade network with both the Asur and the Dwarfs while also keeping tight leash on their vassal states within the Southern Realms and Araby.
The rapid clopping of hooves upon stone was heard from beyond the gate as the attentions of the elves were then drawn to five approaching cloaked riders wearing the uniforms of Shadow Warriors.
'To arms Aesanar!' one of the horse mounted Shadow Warriors called 'The Shadow Kings call you all to war!'
Kalimdor, Tanaris. 20 Years after the opening of the Dark Portal.
Beneath the light of the stars and the moon of the White Lady, the night was lit up by a great blaze that emanated from the Greenskin settlement as monstrous things rampaged within the place. Not far from the settlement, across the sands and upon a dune were a group of cloaked figures who crouched down and watched as a great army of skeletal warriors surrounded the Orcish town and launched flaming arrows or were sending in more of their members. Dressed in ragged leathers with pieces of armor adorning their forms, each of these beings were burly, tanned skinned creatures who had once hailed from a land across the sea to the east, lands now dominated by the Orcish Horde.
Among them was a fellow named Arren who like the rest of his group was Human, a brown linen cloak and hood covered his ginger hair as he watched the ensuing bloodshed with intrigue. Hidden under the cover of night, each of the group of nine Humans had once been refugees who had fled the destruction of their homelands and had each found their way into the arms of those which the old societies of their birthplace would have labeled as criminals, thieves, cutthroats and bandits for such labels true for they were pirates under the command of Admiral Scorpidsting. For years they had plundered the waters of the South Sea as part of a flotilla and plundering the wealthy merchant ships of the Goblins that brought assorted goods to and from the Eastern Kingdoms to the isle of Kezan.
It was a good time for the pirates who had found wealth, food, weapons and they had even liberated many slaves to help bolster their ranks. But like with many things, it did not last for eventually the Goblins had convinced The Horde to divert fleets to hunt the pirates. They had been chased to these shores and left stranded where some of them estimated they now have been here in this desert for about two years now. All that was known about the place was that the Goblins called it Kalimdor and that the reach of The Horde had already been extended towards here by the time the pirates had arrived.
'Don't know if its a squabble among them' commented Arren towards his fellow pirates for he knew that the Greenskins possessed sorcery that allowed for the raising of the dead.
'Maybe its something else' replied a much larger man named Galgesh whose meaty left hand stroked his beard while his right remained close to a plundered Orc axe by his hip. 'Maybe its the Trolls of these lands'
'Perhaps' shrugged Arren who had been hearing stories about how in the west of this desert was a Troll city and that among them was a sorcerer with the power to raise the dead. 'But if that is the case then why would they attack now? We have seen some fighting but they were just skirmishes'
'Who knows for sure' shrugged Galgesh who removed from his belt a metallic flask filled with a rather volatile rum which the Goblins sometimes used to make fuel for their machines.
'Maybe its something else, someone new?' suggested a man named Mishaf who was fairly new to their band but was respected well enough back when they had ships for he had been a captain on one of a vessel. 'It could be that the Orcs dug up something they shouldn't have. Woke something up that should have remained buried.'
'Well whatever is the case, Admiral Scorpidsting will need to know about it' Arren then said and the men quietly agreed with him. 'Lets see if we can get a closer look before we report back, maybe we can find out what exactly is going on.'
Keeping low while quietly descending from the hill, the band of pirates had grown used to working with the desert terrain of this land and they approached the town in silence while the darkness covered them. Perhaps if they were lucky thought Arren , the undead army would leave and there would much for them to plunder and if so, they would have the first pick of it. The battle it seemed had begun to die down for the sound of shouts and screams had stopped while the rampaging things within had also stopped smashing everything to ruin.
The pirates then came to a halt as they tensely watched the burning Orc town, the undead army remained outside while the giant things began making their way out out of the ruined perimeter walls. A strange sensation was then felt by them as chill went up their spines and the wind began to howl to the point that it kicked up a massive cloud of sand around the town. For several agonizingly slow minutes, they watched as the sandstorm raged across the town with some like Arren suspecting that sorcery was somehow involved in this but eventually it began to subside and all that was left of the town were ruins and no trace of the army could be found.
Whispered prayers were spoken by some of the Pirates who were unnerved about the idea that magic was at work here and some of them began to whisper conspiratorially among themselves.
'We should head back' spoke a dark skinned, bearded man named Haseen who carried a set of throwing spears and a shield. 'It may be a trap'
'Go if you want to' hissed Arren who glared at the other man. 'We might get first pick of any loot'
The mention of loot was enough to make the other pirates think twice at the idea of leaving for the supply situation at the camp was not great, especially when it came to water. Arren then began to cautiously creep ahead with his fellow pirates following after him, even those who had wanted to leave had joined them for the desert was not a safe place for a lone traveler. The fires it seemed had been put out by the sandstorm and there was even no smell of blood or burnt wood in the air as they drew closer.
Soon the pirates came upon the main gate of the Orc town which had been protected by a wall of sharpened logs, many of which had been smashed down into splinters. No signs of life could be found as sand covered every ruined structure and it unnerved them to see the destruction that had been wrought here because of the feel it gave them. Looking at the Orc settlement now, it was hard to believe that it had just been under attack for it now looked like as if the placed had been attacked and then abandoned long ago.
From his silent survey, Arren even noticed that there were no corpses in sight, no bones sticking out from the sand no mounds where the sand had buried a corpse, as if the undead had taken the dead orcs as well. It would make sense he thought if these undead took the bodies to bolster their thanks and he proceeded to take the first step forwards weapons drawn. Unlike most of his fellow pirates used axes, swords or throwing spears in their main hand while using shields in the other, Arren favored wielding a pair of Cutlasses and had a set of throwing knives as well.
Quietly moving in, the pirates began searching for anything of value left in the town.
Naggaroth, Blacklight Tower. IC 2532.
All across the coastal citadel of Blacklight Tower were alarms being called and the forces of the elves mobilized but they were not the only ones to do so within the plaza by the main gate. Auxiliary forces and Dogs of War mercenaries were also mustering as large numbers of Humans and some Dwarfs formed their own groups with Brokk Sindrisson being among them. Holding his Miner's Pick in both hand, the Slayer stood among his fellow Dwarfs who brought whatever weapons they had available.
Brokk remembered that bloody day in Hag Graef when the elf followers of the Shadow King had rounded up and butchered every slave that was was not a Dwarf, Halfling, Gnome, Ogre or a Manling of the Old World with the exception of course being made for the Norse thralls who were massacred along with the other Chaos worshipping barbarians like the Kurgan or Hung. The Asur Elgi had first liberated the other elves followed by the reptiles of Lustria and had made promises to those who remained, one which he had seen fulfilled a number of times over the years of freedom being granted towards any slave who worked hard enough. Not every Dwarf who joined the muster was a slave for a few had already been emancipated but why they stayed here in these frozen lands ruled by elves was no mystery for the Dawi here knew they would not be welcomed back into the Karaz Ankor.
Each and every Dwarf here had already been shamed, either within their lifetimes or those of their ancestors for in being taken captive as by the elves of Naggaroth, they and their lines had lost their honor. Fighting for the elves would not restore their honor for it was only within High King Grudgebearer's power to do so but fight they at least could earn their freedom while those who had been emancipated no doubt fought for gold. Regardless of the reasons why they were here, the former slaves of the Dark Elves would fight for their new masters in whatever way the could for the chance of freedom was truly within their grasp.
Among the Dwarfs, axes, hammers and picks were the most commonly used weapons while those few who had once been Quarrelers or Rangers had been issued with Elvish Repeater Crossbows or were allowed to use regular ones of Dawi or Umgi designs. For the human slaves, bows and spears were the most common weapons being used while some also carried hands weapons and shields. Armor was also not something which most of the fighter slaves were provided, save for wooden shields while the few who were able to possess such items were the leaders of their groups.
For the free warriors, the auxiliaries and mercenaries on the other hand they were far better equipped with many bringing their own gear from their homelands. Auxiliary human soldiers dressed like Bretonnian Men At Arms stood side by side with mercenary Tilean Pike or Crossbowmen while Estalian Knights, swordsmen and handgunners could be found as well. Brokk noticed that there were barely if any auxiliary or mercenary human troops dressed in the manner of Empire soldiers but even he had heard of the troubles going on over there so he wouldn't be surprised if a majority of the mercenaries from that land had found employment within their borders.
Torches and lanterns also lit up the night while providing much needed warmth to those who held them. Such forms of illumination could also be found among the Dwarfs with those who wore a Miner's helmet had also affixed candles upon the pieces of head gear for while Dawi were capable of seeing in the dark, they still preferred having some actual lights when possible. Some also carried torches not because of the need for light but because word had spread of a possible Greenskin presence in the area and if there were Orcs or Goblins then there could be Trolls as well.
Ox drawn carts were also being pulled into the plaza where teams of slaves helped carry supplies onto the back of the vehicles along with Elf Bolt Throwers. Despite Brokk's height, he could tell that the army mustering here was not a fairly large one, perhaps two hundred or so Elgi and close to around that many composed of Dwarfs and Humans. A few dark armored elves could also been seen here and there which caused Brokk's eyes to narrow into a hateful glare for these were Dark Elves, the creatures that had been the cause of the shame which he and every Dwarf here felt.
Great cries were then heard above as the two Griffons which elf knights rode upon circled above in the sky and horns were blown to signal the march. In ordered ranks did the bands of elves march out of the gates of the coastal town while Brokk and the other non elf members follow behind. No ceremony or celebration was held by the folk of this town as the army left and Brokk was genuinely concerned about the possibility of mischief which the conquered Dark Elves may commit with so many warriors gone.
Soon thoughts of vengeance returned to Brokk Sindrisson as he tightened his grip upon his pick and marched with the rest of the Dwarfs into the darkness of the Land of Chill.
Kalimdor, Tanaris. 20 Years after the opening of the Dark Portal.
Sparks of light flickered in the dark with a click as stone struck against stone before one final strike caused the embers ignite the oil slick torch next to it. The faces of Arren and his band of pirates were illuminated by the warm torch-light as they passed around the flame and lit up four others. Raising up the burning torches, they were able to get a better look at the interior of the building they were in.
The band of pirates found themselves within the center of a circular building where sand now covered the floor up to the their ankles. Surveying the area, they found what looked to be bunk beds and hammocks along with tables placed around the place and by the guess of Arren , this was a barracks for the Orcs. There were also wooden racks where spare axes swords could be found along with shelves holding pieces of what little armor most Orcs wore such as helmets, shoulder pads and bracers.
'Now this is more like it' grinned Arren for the crew of Admiral Scorpidsting did not have enough weapons for everyone, including the slaves they had liberated and a large number of them had been forced to carry sticks and stones.
'Yeah, but we should look for food and water' grunted Galgesh.
'Think I saw one of those farms of their' added Haseen. 'Didn't hear any pigs though'
'Alright, we should come back for these' spoke Arren with a nod as the band of pirates headed to the main entrance of the barracks where soon they were back under the night sky where it must have been early morning now. The wind howled across the sandy paths of the settlement where they saw no signs of other living beings which served to unnerve the pirate band for indeed it felt like they were going over a place that had been destroyed long ago.
Looking about to the many destroyed structures, they spotted one particular building which Haseen had pointed out to and it looked like one those round buildings where Orc laborers grew food and could hide in when under attack. Picking up their pace, the pirates soon found the stone stairway that lead down to the front door of the farm which had been broken down into many pieces and there were streaks of blood upon the walls. Sand covered the stairway and they could see that it went into the interior where the food must have been grown.
Once inside, the pirates used their hands to begin digging around the floor and see if there were any crops beneath. Around the edges of the structure close to the wall they found a stone floor beneath but in the center was sandy earth where their true prize was located. Root crops such as carrots and potatoes were found which brought relief to the pirates whose stores of hardtack bread had already run out and they had been forced to survive on what little fish they could catch or what they could steal.
As Arren continued to dig about, his gloved fingers then touched something hard, cold and metallic before slightly grasping it and he found it to be sharp but thankfully he had been careful enough to avoid cutting his fingers. Brushing aside the sand, he saw something shiny like gold gleam under the torchlight and soon enough he saw what looked to be a curved blade buried beneath. Brushing away more sand, he Arren soon found the hilt of the blade and with both hands he reached down to pull it free.
The other pirates took a step back as Arren picked up and held aloft the strange weapon which had a design he never saw before for it looked like a cross between a sword and an axe. Strange sigils were etched along the blade's surface, glyphs depicting odd runes alongside symbols of skulls, birds, insects, serpents and other things. The pirates also noticed the gleam of its material for it looked like it was covered in gold or some else that was shiny like brass or bronze.
A gust of cold dry wind suddenly then blew into the farm building from the ruined front door as well as from the windows slits where the Orc laborers could throw spears at attackers. Such was the strength of the wind that the lights of the torches were blown out and they were plunged into darkness which drew surprised gasps from the pirates. That chill went up their spines again and something else was felt, their hearts suddenly began to beat more rapidly along with their breathing for a sudden sensation of fear was felt by them all, a deep innate fear that mortal men tried to suppress for it was the fear of death but amplified a thousand fold.
A loud boom suddenly was then heard as sand was sent flying all over them and one of the men screamed in surprised terror but the pirates could barely see in the gloom as their eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark. Fear turned into terror as the pirates lost their nerve and quickly sprinted towards the doorway while more booming sounds were heard and they soon found themselves outside under the light of the moon and stars once more. Clouds of sand was being thrown up all over the settlement as skeletal things emerged from beneath and realized that the undead had just buried themselves deeper than they would have bothered to look.
Drawing their weapons, the pirates desperately looked about for an escape route but there were so many of the dead things around the settlement while the ground beneath them began to shake. A loud skittering sound was then as the ground writhed with a sea of tiny things that headed towards them and the pirates just ran back to the gate with every man for himself. Ignoring the screams, Arren did not look back to see his fellow pirates, his eyes were focused on the rising forms of skeletons around him as he nimbly weaved between the things where he caught glimpses of gold decorating their bones, while strange axe-like swords and shields were carried in their hands.
Suddenly, something flat and hard smashed into his face and Arren was knocked down into the ground as his vision spun from the painful impact and it felt as if his nose had been broken. When his senses came back to him, Arren saw what he thought to be a man standing over him with the tip of a spear dangerously close to his throat. To his horror he saw that the man was another undead thing, a long dead corpse wearing golden armor and wrapped in ancient worn bandages wrapped over desiccated flesh.
Staring death itself in the face, the undead creature maintained its gaze before unleashing a long, dry sibilant word spoken in an alien tongue from dry, withered lips. It spoke more words that Arren did not quite catch but one spoken with great emphasis that almost sounded like reverence from the dead thing. It spoke the name again that sounded something like Halida or Calida, something like that and the word Lebaras.
Claw-like skeletal hands then grabbed him as Arren was flopped over on his belly and he felt the undead things quickly shackle his wrists with chained manacles. A small part of him knew that he should have listened to Haseen, that it had been a trap and he just walked them all right into it.