Thanks to those who've left reviews, The Stormreaver progress smoothly. the Veneficus Trilogy has been completed, and is in the final editing process, which when completed will turn toward editing the rest of Age of Magic. finally, when that is completed, the alternative time slot opposed to Stormreaver will be filled with Project: Raven's Flight... standing codename for an original work that I will be commencing. exciting things will be happening right shortly, and I am so pleased by all that has happened thus far. ~F
Chapter Seventy Three
Opening Skirmishes
Nobu'tan wasted very little time when he returned to Black Rock Spire. Quickly he summoned Warchief Nek'rosh to him, and informed the orc of the oncoming attack on their northern holdings. "I want every available warrior prepared for battle and ready within the hour to march."
"Yes, Lord Nobu'tan, the Horde will assemble." Warchief Nek'rosh replied, turning away to gather his warriors. Nobu'tan smirked as he turned toward the wide balcony. Establishing the Dragonmaw orc as Warchief in his stead couldn't have been a better move. While many of the orcs clearly forgot that he was indeed human, there likely was a small cabal hidden within the Horde that retained that knowledge, and would also plot against him if he was to lead the Horde openly. That was of course if they weren't already plotting against him anyway.
The best policy to prevent that sort of treachery would be to keep the Horde occupied with fighting their enemies, and therefore happily engaged in what they were most strongly attuned to. A forest troll approached, and Nobu'tan recognized the gangly creature as one of their scouts watching the Redridge Mountain Valley for signs of attack from Stormwind.
"What news?" he asked, watching the painted creature as the troll carefully observed their surroundings, checking that they were alone likely.
"A group o' humans be aprroachin' from da south…" the troll informed him.
"Military, or otherwise…"
"Dey not be Alliance Military, Dat be fo' sure… Some oder group o' humans…" the troll clarified.
Nobu'tan thought for a moment, and realized that it indeed was getting close to the time that VanCleef had said that he would bring his masons to the Burning Steppes to work on the southern borders.
"I understand, I will go and meet with them. These humans are not to be harmed, or even engaged by any of the Horde for any reason. They are workers that I am paying to build up out southern defenses. Go and move back our defenders from the south, and do not return until I say."
"Yes, Warchief…" the troll affirmed, departing as the Grand Warlock dismissed him. It was amusing that the allied races with the Horde; all those outside the orcs, acknowledged that Nobu'tan was the true leader of the Horde, and did not care that he was not one of them.
Opening a portal to the massive gates on the southern border, Nobu'tan moved swiftly into Redridge Mountains, in order to head off the masons before they arrived in the midst of his Horde forces. Once out of sight of the Horde warriors, Nobu'tan shifted back to his true human form, and waited patiently. It did not take long for the caravan of well disguised masons turned mercenaries to start up the hill from Lakeshire toward him.
"Greetings, sirs…" Nobu'tan said casually, just in case they were being observed. "What brings you to these parts?"
"Work," the disguised man, whose voice betrayed the fact that it was Edwin himself, said. "We are but humble stoneworkers seeking employment to the north."
"I too am journeying to the north, might I join you, and perhaps we can find a common sense of safety in the perilous lands northward…" Nobu'tan added, starting to walk alongside their slow moving carriages as they retraced his steps back to the black iron gates of the Burning Steppes.
Only when they actually were standing beneath the gates, did they drop the rather terrible lines that they had previous agreed upon to dissuade anyone from following. Nobu'tan had grudgingly agreed, but he did not personally feel that it would have made any difference if someone was determined to follow them.
Still, once they reached the appointed place, Nobu'tan turned back to VanCleef, "do you have all the tools and material that you may need to reinforce and strengthen this defense-work?" he asked pointedly.
"I believe so, the surrounding mountains will have plenty of stone and metal that we can use as well, if you don't mind some natural boarders being incorporated." The man said, looking carefully and critically at the black stone on either side of the metal gate.
"Excellent. My forces aren't too far away, in case you come under attack you can always flee further into the steppes and we will defend you. There is a small problem that we are having to the north that I have to see to, but I will return as quickly as I can to check your progress and see to any needs that may arise while I am away…"
"That is acceptable, and we ought to be able to defend ourselves from anyone that might be following us, I'm sure you've heard of the trouble in Stormwind?" Vancleef replied.
"No, I've been away for a time, what is going on to the south?" Nobu'tan asked.
"The King has returned, and they are going over the sea to slay a dragon or something to that nature." He replied with a shrug, "long and short of it, most of their standing forces, and many heroes are going to the west, and will not be around to interfere with us here."
"Convenient," Nobu'tan said, smirking. If they were not focused here, that also meant that he could safely move his forces north to deal with the undead attack without fear of reprisal.
"I must go, the attack ought to be coming shortly, and I need to transport reinforcements swiftly to the north…" he added, conjuring a portal for himself back to the mountain.
The last thing he heard as he stepped through was one of VanCleef's men speaking to their leader, "We ought to learn how to do that from him, as part of payment. It would make smuggling so much easier for us…"
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Teg'Ramm had a bad feeling that something was happening without his knowledge to the north.
Nevertheless, he was not free to abandon the newly rebuilt Rockard, and the Balefire Clan of ogres that manned it with the aid of the Horde. They had big plans to take control of the region around the Dark Portal once more, as Nobu'tan had declared that it was a sacred site for the Horde, and by their right as the last remnant of the faithful of Gul'dan who first opened it was theirs to claim and control.
To that end, Teg'Ramm was to start pushing to the north, ignoring the Alliance fortress of Nethergarde for the time being, and sack the sister fort of Stonard from the imposter Horde. They had to move with great care though, because they didn't want to tip off their enemies to their desires too early, and there was a great deal of watchers from the swampy lands to the north.
It also didn't help that their scouts that they sent into the swamp reported a great number of trolls in the eastern ruins, set amid a large lake within the swamp. Teg'Ramm knew that that would end up posing a problem for them after they took the fort on the edge of the swamp, and they would have to deal with them afterward, either encompassing them into the Horde or eliminating them altogether.
"Chieftain, there are orc scouts heading into our lands from the swamps!" one of the ogre magi reported, as part of Teg'Ramm's large network of spies and scouts utilizing the Eye of Kil'rogg ability.
"Ours, or theirs?" Teg replied, while Ramm moved them toward the entrance of the great hall.
"Theirs," was the reply, "and it seems to be large enough for a raiding party…" the ogre mage added.
"It might finally be time for our attack…" Ramm suggested, and Teg nodded, "have our brutes and magi assemble," he told the nearest orc supervisor for their laborers, "it is time to expand our control into the swamp and take back Stonard."
The orc smiled toothily before running to fulfill his chieftain's orders. Teg'Ramm found it amusing that there was a group of orcs that were more than willing to join his clan, many of the saner ex-members of the Twilight Hammer Clan that had remained with the Horde rather than vanishing with the rest of their people after the infamous and mysterious Cho'Gall followed Gul'dan to his death.
Soon enough, a full group of thirty warriors had arrived in the center area of their fort, with more still gathering their equipment, all looking toward Teg'Ramm eagerly. "Orcs of the false Horde are on their way into our lands, likely wanting to probe our defenses and investigate the change of leadership," Teg reported, while Ramm watched the last stragglers assemble.
"We shall crush this little band, and push onward back into the swamp, taking their fort for ourselves, and providing the Horde with many prisoners and slaves for our Warchief!" Teg shouted, and the warriors of the Balefire Clan roared in appreciation. "Onward to battle, for the Horde!"
The warriors turned and surged as one cohesive unit toward the gates, spilling out into the dusty landscape of the Blasted Lands, and turning north. Teg'Ramm was in their midst, as a true Chieftain would be expected to be, not standing at the rear but rather the front, knee deep in the blood and battle with his clan, even as the mounted the ridge that led to the road the other Horde's warriors were slowly taking toward them.
"Lok'tar Ogar!" the orcs in their group roared, even as Teg'Ramm and the other warlocks channeled their power to inspire the lust for battle in their forces, "For the Warchief!"
Whether the other group of orcs, with their vastly different banners and colors were expecting a counter attack or not, Teg'Ramm couldn't tell, as their own spell casters also fortified their warriors, and they replied in kind, charging to meet their attack head on.
But orcs were not nearly as powerful as the ogres of the Balefire, and the disparity in physical strength became the deciding factor of the battle, as the heavily armored ogres of the Horde steamrolled right over their lines of foes, and trampled many under their booted feet.
Teg'Ramm himself took great pleasure in ripping the head of a blue-skinned troll from the gangly creature's body, tossing the shaman's corpse aside as their force continued on their devastating pace toward the divide between the Blasted Lands and the Swamps of Sorrow.
They made a great deal of noise as they entered the swamp, and Teg'Ramm knew that it would serve to herald their arrival, allowing their enemies time to prepare, but there was little he could, or indeed would, do to stop his warriors from feeding their bloodlust in the most brutal manner possible.
The earth shook as they pounded down the road, orcs from their group climbing the towers that they passed and slaughtering the scouts and watchers within. Luckily, they carried no torches with them, so Teg'Ramm didn't have to worry about them trying to burn the towers to the ground as they passed. It would be useless to them if they couldn't repurpose the defenses of their enemies once they were in command.
The bunkers outside the wall of the fortress were rife with spears and arrows, firing rapidly at their approach, and there were a few of their number that went down in the initial charge. Teg'Ramm hissed as a spear dug deeply into his shoulder, but simply broke the shaft and pushed through the pain, it feeling much less than what he had already endured long before.
The frontline defenders stood a far better chance after the Balefire warriors had ran the entire distance to this place, and were able to take on the brunt of the charge crashing upon them, fending off the initial swings with large shields or deft parries with their board axes.
Teg'Ramm felt the glorious rumblings of battle within him, and allowed himself to indulge in a bit of wanton mayhem, hurling bolts of shadow and flame across the skirmish at the enemy ranks into their base, where more defenders were trying to rally and strike with more ranged weapons.
The battle seemed to be in their favor for the time being, but Teg'Ramm was choosing to be cautious in his commanding, and kept a strong eye out for any change in their opposition. If he had not been doing so, he might not have seen the myriad of signals that were being sent throughout the ranks of their enemy. "They're up to something!" he roared to his troops, "Prepare!"
Just as he called this, the ranks within the fort widened, allowing a counter charge of wolf riders, the great beasts leapt at the first row of the Horde's advance, jaws snapping at claws slashing at the toughened hides and strong armor of the Balefire Clan.
An impressive tactic, but Teg'Ramm knew that his forces would withstand it. This was a battle that was only just beginning.
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Thrall urged his mount faster.
Rallying the might of the Horde, and surging out from the gates of Orgrimmar toward Duskwallow was the easy part of his pledge to the humans of Stormwind. Making sure that they kept the proper pace to head off the Black Dragon matriarch and prevent her from trying to escape her lair was another matter altogether.
Passing through the small camp in the north, set at the crossing of the two major roads in the barrens, Thrall had issued his command to rally all adventurers of the Horde to his side, and set out again with all haste, hoping to meet up with the Tauren coming up from Thunder Bluff before they passed into the marshes.
He knew that Rexxar, the Champion of the Horde who had assisted them against Admiral Proudmoore, had set his Stonemaul ogre warriors there and established an outpost for the Horde before returning to the wilds of the world, and that was the staging ground that the Warchief planned to use in their fight against the black dragon's minions.
Thrall wished that the powerful Mok'Nathal beastmaster could be with them at this time, as his steady wisdom and firm courage would inspire the other members of the Horde to greater valor, but last he had heard Rexxar was wandering the western wastes of Kalimdor, living out his same wanderer's lifestyle that he had adopted long before joining the Horde.
Still, Thrall had many allies to aid them in this hour. As they passed the road that led into the verdant lands of Mulgore, a great sound of horns was heard, and the ground rumbled as a massive herd of Kodos appeared. Astride the lead beast was his close friend and ally, Cairne Bloodhoof, and behind him came a mighty assembly of his Tauren warriors.
"Hail Warchief, the Tauren have come and will aid you!" the Bloodhoof Chieftain called, even as his Kodo came up and stomped alongside the pace of Thrall's wolf.
"Trom-Ka Cairne, I am glad that you were able to come swiftly." Thrall said, grimly setting his sights on the curve of the road ahead, and the sloping hill that led down into the Duskwallow Marshes.
"Yes, it is a dark path that lies ahead," the Tauren replied wisely, "but the light of peace may come of it in the end, so for the sake of hope, we ought to pursue it."
Thrall smiled. Cairne was always the advocate of peaceful solutions, and while he may be against this wanton bloodshed of the black dragons, the idea of establishing peace with the Alliance and ending the long feud between their factions was a worthy goal in his eyes.
"Hopefully this will lead to some measure of peace," Thrall commented, even as they started down the long hill into the swamps. "And yet somehow I feel that it will prove more complicated than it appears."
The Horde passed swiftly into the marshes and rallied around the Stonemaul encampment, the ogres within rising up in mass to follow their Warchief, even if their leader was still very much absent.
Directing the swiftest of the Darkspear to go out into the marshes and scout out their enemy, Thrall took his command to the main structure, consulting a large map of the region, alongside Cairne, Vol'jin and Saurfang, the three closest advisors that he kept in times of battle.
"The Alliance will be landing likely along this part of the coastline," Thrall said, indicating the shoreline north of Theremore, "and will march down from there. My plan involves a prolonged siege of the lair, once we find it, and whatever defenses that the dragon decided to erect in the meantime, and waiting for reinforcements from across the sea."
Saurfang nodded, "As much as I distrust the Alliance, they are honorable warriors," he said, "if they say they will come and fight alongside us, we can hold them to their word that it will happen."
"We are nearly certain that the lair lies somewhere in this area," Thrall added, indicate a small, charred area to the south, "but I have a feeling that any resistance will come against us long before we reach that point. Cairne, can we expect the Tauren to lead the attack and spearhead against any threat that appeared as we probe their defenses?"
"The Bloodhoof will go by your command, Warchief," Cairne stated proudly, speaking well beyond the mere words that his people respected Thrall as much as their chieftain himself did.
Thrall nodded, accepting the praise as it was given, and settled to formulating their plans until the Darkspear scouts to return with information regarding the layout of the enemy forces. Several of the shaman heroes that had joined with the Horde's march were communing with the elements of the swamp nearby, and while Thrall would have liked to join them in preparing for the coming battle, the needs of the Horde as a whole were greater than his personal preparation.
"The stress weighs heavily upon the brow of the leader," Cairne said, the smooth voice of the old Tauren speaking much in its plainness.
"If you need a few moments, Warchief, we can take the planning from here…" Saurfang added, seeming to sense the younger orc's attention wander as they laid out the distribution of the forces.
"A few moments to commune with the earth would be welcome…" Thrall stated, "but this needs my attention more."
"The Horde would not want their greatest warrior and leader to suffer needless…" Cairne replied, and even Vol'jin was nodding.
"Da Horde needs you ta be at your strongest, Thrall… take da time you need ta be at your best…" the Darkspear leader suggested.
"I appreciate your support," Thrall said, submitting to their advice, "I will be only a short while."
"We will make sure you are not interrupted unless it is urgent," Saurfang stated, and Thrall turned to go further into the cave-like building of the main structure.
There was a calmness here, further away from the sound of the massive collection of the Horde's warrior, and he could sense the turmoil in the elements. The whole of Azeroth was in motion. "Spirit of the Earth, hear my call!" Thrall said, giving himself over to the torrents of the elements; allow them to center him once more out of the personal disorder that surrounded the concepts of war, especially a battle that could make peace at long last a seeming possibility between the Horde and the Alliance.
Even as he was lost in the peace of the stability of Earth, Thrall felt his vision carried away by the spirits of the wind. Flying upon the gale, he was able to see far off locations on the Eastern Continents, which the Horde had abandoned in the time before the Battle of Mount Hyjal.
He recognized the land as the Hillsbrad Foothills, with the ruins of Durnholde Keep dominating his view. The tragedies that occurred at that place were such that he was loathe to ever return to those lands, but what he saw there chilled him to the very bone.
Sylvanas had mobilized an army of her Forsaken, and was marching against a equally large force of orcs, forest trolls and ogres, with demons in their midst. It was frightening to him that such a force had mobilized on either side without news of it reaching him yet, and Thrall wondered how blind they had been by Onyxia and the black dragonflight to ignore such a large mustering in the world.
The vision changed, flowing down to glimpse the leadership of this force of the Dark Horde, and the banner of the Stormreavers once more was prominently seen amid the other clans and remnants that had joined the Dark Horde over the years. The young human, shrouded to appear exactly as Gul'dan had in life appeared once more, as well as another human, significantly older and yet graceful and strong as any of the alliance warriors.
Even as he observed this vision, Thrall noted that there were many humans hidden amid the orc ranks, each in various stages of age, from the height of the physical prowess to downright ancient, yet each and every one of them was as strong as Thrall pictured humans to be in their prime. What sort of faction of humans was so long lived?
It was not something he had seen in his lifetime, although the Guardian seemed to be capable of such a feat. However, Medievh was a special case, infused with magic from many other mages in order to create a powerful being that could content with the Legion directly, and Thrall seriously doubted that there were any more such beings in their world.
The vision ended, and Thrall found himself in Duskwallow once more, physically relaxed, but mentally concerned. This threat with the black dragons was one small ripple, but the threat across the sea was something even greater to the survival of their world.
Slowly, he returned to the other leaders, far more resolute that they were doing all that they could with the present circumstance, and refreshed in body and mind and connected with the elements in preparation for the battle ahead.
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The horde of undead warriors had arrived.
Lucius stood proudly beside the orcs, trolls and ogres that were in charge of the various clans, tribes and groups that made up the mainstay of their forces prepared to push back this attack.
Repairs had been commenced on the massive wall between the lands, but the main gatehouse had not been reached as of yet, an addition to the larger hole in the northernmost part of the wall, and Lucius had put the massive collection of the Stormreaver Clan there, as he was most confident that the warlocks, Fel Centaur and Fel Veela could handle themselves without his direct commands.
At the same time, it seemed that the main push into their lands would be here, at the gatehouse and official point of entry into Arathi, as the main contingent of the undead forces, as well as several other members of the false Horde, were assembled.
At their head, Lucius could see a female corpse that seemed, despite the clear blueness of the dead and cold flesh, hauntingly beautiful. The red eyes sweeping over their forces betrayed the cunning and sharp mind within, and Lucius suspected highly that this was the leader of this force.
Clearly the undead had already set their plans in motion, as once the female leader removed her massive bow from her back and notched an arrow, the entire column of warriors roared and charged, rapidly closing the distance between their line and the warriors of the Horde.
"Archers!" Lucius called, and the ranks of warriors drew back on the bows, "Fire!"
The storm of arrows flew outward, although Lucius expected that the ranks of undead wouldn't be terribly fazed by the volley. And he was proven right; only a small number of the walking corpses actually fell, and many of those that did got back to their feet within moments and rejoined the charge.
Drawing his wand, Lucius focused his magic, knowing that wizard magic would be something that this force did not expect. Casting swiftly, Lucius threw half a dozen blasting curses, smashing them across the front-most ranks. Even as they fell back under the chaos of the sudden barrage of spells, Lucius shot sparks into the air, signaling their warriors to charge, and perfectly counter the attack of their enemy.
The crash of weapons on armor burst into existence around him, and while Lucius had not entered the fray himself, he did stay close enough to take down a few attempts at stealthy individuals trying to circle their chokepoint and attack the leadership of the Horde behind their lines.
At least, that was until the first siege weapon appeared, rising up over the ridge far past the wall. What worried Lucius was the sight of the canisters of green, glowing, sludge-like liquid that were being used as ammunition. "Warlord," Lucius said, turning to the forest troll that he had selected to command their forces here, named Voone. "We should pull our warriors back before that siege equipment gets in range."
The troll eyed the oncoming weapon, and nodded his tusked head, "I be thinkin' you be right…" he admitted, pulling out a warhorn and fitting it between his lips. The echoing sound was like a strangled scream, but its effect was instant.
The Horde started to fall back to the wall, but the catapult was already in range. The canister was launched into the air, and Lucius watched in horror as it smashed into the midst of the still fighting mob, splattering the slime across the front line of their soldiers. The screams of those caught by the sludge was earsplitting, and Lucius recognized that it had to be some sort of manufactured disease, as those that were only mildly affected were immediately overtaken by boils and other foul growths, while the ranks of the undead were unaffected whatsoever.
"Dey be using da plague against us!" Voone declared, shouting to their warriors, "Fall back, and close da gate!"
"Do not let them escape, for the Forsaken!" another, shriller voice called, piercing over the cries of the dead and dying, even as the undead charged once more, attempting to follow their forces into Arathi properly.
"No!" Lucius said, stepping forward, one of the few to do so even as their force gave way. An undead warrior leapt at Lucius, having broken easily through their ranks, and the elderly human in orc disguise leapt to the side to dodge, his wand raising. "Avada Kedavera!" he shouted on instinct, and barely took the time to notice the walking corpse fall to the ground once more.
Brandishing his wand like a sword, Lucius started to cleave through the attackers with powerful slashing and cutting curses, pushing his way through to get in range of the gate. The massive portcullis had been repaired, but needed to be triggered to fall back into place.
Sensing immediate danger, Lucius turned and raised a shield charm, blocking an arrow that had been fired at him. The shaft shattered upon impact with his magic and a black mist rise from its wake. Looking across at the archer, Lucius locked eyes with the same female undead that led this group of 'Forsaken.'
"You will not win," the undead said, even as the battle raged around them.
Lucius hardly had the time to pay attention to the undead archer, as he was focused on his goal. His wand flashed upward, and the entire portcullis shuddered as he struck it with his spell. The female undead looked up, just as the entire metal contraption started to fall. Lucius staggered back as the thing crashed to the ground.
In a flash, several things caught up to him. The undead had dodged the falling portcullis, ending up outside the wall, but as he turned to fall back himself, Lucius found another black feathered arrow sticking from his chest. Pulling air into his chest exploded into painful fire surging through his body. He could sense the dark magic seeping into him from the tainted arrowhead.
Luckily, the fact that he was injured was not overlooked. A pair of orcish grunts ran to him, carrying him back to the medical tent. Lucius grunting in pain as he tried to alleviate what strain was being put on him by the rough movement and the arrow, but he grit his teeth and bore it for the time being. He just needed the arrowhead removed, and between his own healing charms and a few timely spells by a priest or shaman he'd be on his feet again.
"Keep the fight going," he told Voone as the troll warlord came to his side, "they must not be allowed to gain a foot of ground within our wall. Lord Nobu'tan is rallying reinforcements as we speak."
The troll nodded, sensing that the time for action was now, and he turned to face the wall, drawing the throwing axes that his race had perfected the use of into an art form.
Lucius knew that this part of the Horde's forces, while now deprived on his direct supervision, would last for the time needed for him to recover. He only worried about the intense look of loathing that the undead leader had given them, and the clearly keen and tactical mind that the woman possessed. She wouldn't just sit by and wait, but would already be plotting another route into their lands. Lucius only knew this because it was exactly what he would be up to in her position.
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Sylvanas snarled at the now very imposing wall, that once served as nothing more than a marker between the Hillsbrad Foothills and the Arathi Highlands, but now once more was indeed a true barrier, preventing entry into the now Dark Horde controlled lands.
She knew that she had hit their leader, some sort of mage, with her black arrow, but without confirmation of the orc's death, there was no way of knowing whether she had succeeded in eliminating their leadership.
So, while the catapults futilely attacked the walls, the plague canisters that they were designed for being more than ineffective against the reinforced stone, she was quickly trying to find an alternative way back into the rolling highlands.
She knew of the massive hole in the wall to the north, but her dark rangers had reported a large group of various creatures, all bearing the colors of the Stormreaver Clan guarding it, and she was not ready to send her warriors against a force with unknown abilities and allegiances, outside of their alliance with the Dark Horde.
There was the option of sending word back to Orgrimmar. She was certain that Thrall would see this advance of the rival orc faction as a threat to their integrity and come to her aid, but at the same time she wanted the resources of the Eastern Kingdoms to herself, and was not willing to share them with the rest of the Horde if they came to help liberate them for her.
Even flying over the wall was being denied her forces, as the archers and magi of the Dark Horde were carefully station on top of and behind the wall, staying well out of the sights of her catapults while still rising up to attack any attempts to fly over the top and assail them from above.
"Keep Firing!" she ordered her dark rangers, who were desperately trying to pick off the defenders on the wall, and open a hole for flyers to get through, but it was slow going.
Walking away in disgust, she returned to the makeshift camp that her forces had set up, in preparation to lay siege to the wall as long as needed. If only she could send out riders to gather her champion, as well as more forces, but they had the majority of the Forsaken already gathered to this place. It gave the Banshee Queen a perfectly objective view of how few in numbers her people truly were, and if they could not breach this sort of wall, what hope had they to overthrow the Lich King?
"My Lady," said the silky, demonic voice of Varimathras, even as the demon appeared in a flash of flames, "this siege cannot endure as it stands, you need more warriors…"
"Don't you think I already know that?" Sylvanas snapped back, "There are none to be had."
"We could always… recruit… more," the demon suggested, and Sylvanas tilted her head, surprised that the Dreadlord would even dare to suggest such a thing.
"If we sink so low as to kill and raise the dead of others, how better are we than the Lich King?" she responded angrily.
Varimathras shrugged, "If you are truly committed to taking back this region, it may be the only option available at this point." He said simply.
Sylvanas turned away in disgust, knowing in her heart that the demon was probably right. If she wanted to take back this land, more loyal warriors would be needed, and if she did not want Thrall and the Horde of Kalimdor to have a say she needed to find them herself. Turning back to the demon, she gave her orders. "Send out some of our banshees, claim the control of key individuals in the surrounding area and dominate their forces to fight for us."
"As you wish, my Lady," the Dreadlord replied with a short bow. The Banshee Queen knew that this tactic was very questionable, but the Forsaken had taken such desperate measures before, and if they had to do so again to ensure they had what they needed to avenge themselves on the Lich King, then they must.
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"Lok'tar Ogar!" Thrall cried, waving the Doomhammer over his head as he gave the signal for the Horde's warriors to charge. The scouts had returned and shown the leaders of this force exactly where the black dragonkin were stationed, surrounding the massive cave network where it was speculated that Onyxia herself was hiding. Storming the front lines seemed the best method to delay any attempt at the black dragon from escaping until Wrynn's fleet arrived.
Tauren yelled in their native language, even as their shaman and druids joined into the fray, supporting the orcish warriors with spell and claw. Vol'jin took to the field directly, leading a strikeforce of Darkspear to cut their way behind enemy lines and strike at crucial targets, while Cairne and Saurfang led them from the front.
Thrall meanwhile, while preferring to be on the front lines with the others, contained himself to supporting his warriors with the powers of the storm, the earth, and fire. Lightning clouds gathered overhead at his pleading with the elements to aid him, and their deadly bolts rained numerously upon the heads of the fallen dragonflight members.
"For the Horde!" roared the mainstay of the forces of Orgrimmar, charging forward with axe and sword to meet the myriad of whelps and dragonkin that trudged through the marshes, trying to either hide in their camouflage of their ebon scales, or else lie in ambush for them.
These rose up in drove, lashing out at the waves of Horde warriors as they stormed forward, trying vainly to slash through the hardened armor that the blacksmiths of Ogrimmar had prepared for their soldiers.
The blast of a horn turned Thrall's attention to east, and the coast. Masts were visible over the trees, displaying the lion-headed banner of Stormwind, and human war horns were blaring over the din of battle. "Wrynn," Thrall stated, acknowledging that their reinforcements had arrived, and that they could unleash the full fury of the Horde and push their way toward the caves, instead of simply holding the dragonkin here.
"Storm, Earth, and Fire, heed my call! Be bathed in my power, my warriors! Drink in my might! Battle for the glory of the Horde!" Thrall cried, raising the Doomhammer once more, and the symbol of their glory was struck with the might of lightning, his rallying cry lifting up the hearts and sending his warriors into the thick of battle. They overran the lines of the dragonkin, pressing them from all sides and thrusting their way toward the caves.
The horns sounded again, far closer, and Thrall turned to see the mounted knights of the Alliance, and the pair of Varians at the head, charging the battlefield and yelling over the heads of their soldiers. "Glory to the Alliance my warriors!" one cried, while the other surged forward, a rage similar to the Horde's warriors in his eyes.
"Lok'narosh!" Thrall cried, kicking his wolf into leaping beside the leadership of the alliance, Doomhammer singing as he swung at the head of a rising dragonkin. The beast collapsed under the heavy weapon's impact, and the Warchief of the Horde met with the two Kings of Stormwind once more.
"Not a moment too soon for your arrival," Thrall said in greeting.
"Glad to know we could trust you to show up for a fight, at the least," the angered Varian replied sharply, waving his sword overhead and spurring his horse into the fray.
"Ignore him, Thrall," Jaina said, riding forward, "He's been eager for battle the entire trip, and did not like the Horde having gotten there first."
"He is welcome to all the fight that they have left in them," Thrall added good-naturedly, turning his wolf to the front and preparing. "We have a battle to win, then, and a dragon to slay."
"Let us be done with this business as swiftly as possible," the calmer Varian said, drawing his weapon as well, and together the leadership of the primary factions of the world leapt into the battle.
Thrall knew that there was more riding upon their victory than just the safety of one woman, no matter how important she was to the King of Stormwind. There was vengeance in the air, as well as the danger of the aftermath of a sated army of the Horde and the Alliance gathered so securely to a place that was once a meeting point of peace.
