New Poll on profile page for those interested in my old Star Wars related trilogy. please go read it and vote to show me the engagement the idea presented there has. Otherwise, R&R, and enjoy the chapter! ~F
Chapter 101
Blood and Bone
Voldemort could sense the familiar aura of death ahead. Ignoring the squabbles of the living around him, the Death Knight turned his senses ahead, trying to recall where he had sensed these presences before.
"You sense them as well…" a cold voice said, even as the Banshee Queen appeared at his side. The former dark lord withheld any reaction as she came within striking distance. "The Four Horsemen are some of the Lich King's greatest Death Knights…" Sylvanas explained, looking ahead and fingering her bowstring, as though eager for the battle that was to come.
"You seem very familiar with them, and all of this…" Voldemort said, restraining his disdain from his voice as he spoke.
"I see that you are free from all outside control…" Sylvanas said, looking sidelong at him, "Perhaps I was hasty in my attempts to deny you your formidable will…"
"Well, hindsight…" Voldemort replied curtly, "and after this is over, know that we go back to being hated enemies…" he added threateningly.
"That would almost be amusing," she retorted "if I didn't have greater enemies than you could ever hope to be…" Falling silent, the two undead led the way into the next wide chamber.
Only once the assault force had entered, casually slaughtering a host of ghouls that had accosted them, a voice echoed out of the darkness speaking to them, "Invaders! Cease this foolish venture at once! Turn away while you still can!"
Voldemort sensed that Sylvanas tensed at the sound of the voices, even as a female one rang out, "Come, Zellek, do not drive them out. Not until we've had our fun!"
A third spoke, sternly rebuking the first two, "Enough prattling. Let them come. We shall grind their bones to dust."
It seemed that the rebuke fell on deaf ears, as the female spoke again, "I do hope that they stay long enough for me to… introduce myself."
The first, Zellek, continued as well, "Perhaps they will come to their senses… and run away as fast as they can."
A fourth voice, clearly dwarven in origin, added to the din, "I've heard enough a' yer snivelln'! Shut your flytrap before I shut it for ye'!"
The other voice spoke again, finally silencing the rest, "Conserve your anger. Harness your rage. You will all have outlets for your frustrations soon enough."
"Seems they are more than expecting us," Nobu'tan said, approaching the pair of undead. The Banshee seemed less than thrilled to have the Grand Warlock this close to her, and Voldemort saw her tighten her hold on her weapon, though Nobu'tan did not seem to care.
Voldemort pulled a small pouch from his belt, which contained arcane-charged splinters, and threw it to the warlock. Nobu'tan caught it with a smirk, before stowing it in his robes. Sylvanas watched curiously, but said nothing. Voldemort would not permit any to learn of the secret deal that he had struck with the warlock.
It had been clear that the splinters of the staff-key of Karazhan had been spread throughout the dread citadel, which made little sense to him, but apparently the Lich Lord of the fortress sought the same complete staff that they did. His minions must have been secretly collecting the splinters to reassemble the staff themselves once they had all the pieces.
The fragments were rather large, and although Voldemort had no idea how many there were, or if they even had enough to piece some part of the staff back together, they would be able to use this portion to at least seek out and find the remaining, no matter how far or wide they had been dispersed across the world.
"Well, it would be a shame to make our hosts wait any longer than needed," Nobu'tan said, beckoning the rest of the Dark Horde forces to advance. The half-demon warlock stalked forward, casually throwing small spheres of highly destructive Felfire at the milling undead that gathered to impede their progress.
Voldemort smirked at the path of devastation that Potter was leaving in his wake, where the Horde and Alliance forces had to pick up the scraps and keep up with his advance. "Your master seems to care little for the protection of those around him," Sylvanas commented snidely, but the Death Knight only smirked.
"You wouldn't believe how large his bleeding heart truly is…" Voldemort retorted, "he simply has a single-minded focus when it comes to his enemies…"
With the threat left at her feet, Voldemort followed after the members of the Dark Horde, cleaving the skull of a ghoul that leapt from the shadows at him.
It had become almost repetitive how the undead Scourge would try to attack them, and they cleared the long causeway to the final chamber with ease. Standing on the threshold, Voldemort saw the next chamber and felt his anger stir once more.
Upon the central dais stood four mounted figures, and at their forefront, the same Death Knight that he had battled before the slopes of Blackrock Mountain.
"Mograine is mine," said one of the Paladins, who had followed swifter than most of the Argent Dawn. Voldemort hazily recalled the man's name: Tirion Fordring.
"Do as you will, Paladin," Nobu'tan said, "Voldemort, I trust you wish to exact your revenge on these, if you'd take the elf head on, we will provide the support you both need."
"We fight this together," King Varian Wrynn said, arriving with the Alliance and Horde in tow, "I call the women."
"The Dwarf will be left to me, then," Saurfang said, the old orc flexing his shoulders in preparation for battle. Having fought the wily orc one-on-one, Voldemort knew of the creature's skill and power, but he focused his intent on their united plan. Like it or not, dividing their forces would be needed, and each of these Death Knights were sufficiently powerful alone. They would need complete agreement on their strategy, and could broker no arguments at this stage.
They were not unobserved in their preparations. The four horsemen stirred in their saddles, and the one female, her face wrapped and helmed so that it was impossible aside from her voice to tell, spoke, "The first kill goes to me! Anyone care to wager?"
The dwarf, looking tiny upon the massive skeletal warhorse, spoke next, "I'm gona enjoy killin' these slack-jawed daffodils!"
The elf spoke next, addressing their company directly, "Do not continue! Turn back while there's still time! Flee, before it's too late!"
Finally, the last, the massive sword already in hand, spoke, "Life is meaningless. It is in death that we are truly tested."
"Enough of these useless taunts!" Nobu'tan shouted, "Now is the hour, for Azeroth!"
The assembled force roared at the cry, charging forward. Voldemort took the most direct route to the pale elven horseman, even as the four of them scattered, splitting their force in four to try and deal with the separate targets all at once.
"I have no choice but to obey!" Zellek said, even as he lashed out at Voldemort from his horse, runeblades clanging heavily off each other as the former Dark Lord defended himself with Blightbringer. Explosions ripped across the chamber as the mages, magisters, and warlocks unleashed their spells liberally, even as the many warriors battled the Death Knights.
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Thrall leaned forward into the pounding of his wolf. The Horde would not allow their enemies to escape without their say. At his side, Cairne thundered along on his kodo, and at their back the entire military might of Thunder Bluff charged at the fleeing members of the Dark Horde.
Up the slopes of the mountains they fought, lightning and fire flashing from the shaman as the routed those that dared encroach on the lands of the Horde.
"For honor!" Cairne yelled, the runespear of the Bloodhoof Tauren finding more than one foe as they rode through the fleeing ranks of demons and the ilk.
Rapidly, they crested the height of the pass that led into Stonetalon, and Thrall observed as their foes fled in all directions before the spear point of their counterassault. "The Dark Horde has made allies of the centaur…" Cairne said, the anger in his voice apparent to Thrall, which was mightily out of character for the old Chieftain.
"They pervert the very nature of the land around them," he added, dismounting and examining a patch of the soil that had become tainted by the Fel. "This enemy is the same that we faced on Mount Hyjal," the old bull mourned.
"I, too, am weary of these constant battles," Thrall said, sighing, "but there is nothing we can do, except fight to defend our lands and people, and strive to end this threat once and for all."
"If we do not stamp them out at the source, they will return with greater numbers," Cairne wisely surmised, "but who knows how many they have in Desolace."
"We will need allies to break their fortifications," Thrall said, recalling the power wherein the Dark Horde held onto the Arathi Highlands.
"I will speak with the Night Elves," Cairne suggested, "we have always been on friendlier terms with them than the rest of the Horde."
Thrall was concerned. While he knew that the Night Elves would be no allies of the Legion and their minions, it was equally unlikely that they would wish to assist the Horde for any reason. The damage that Grom did in killing Cenarius, and pillaging much of Ashenvale for lumber, had unknowingly stoked the fire of rage in the northern neighbors. Such resentment for the Horde, and orcs specifically, still ran deep.
"I trust you to do this," the Warchief finally said, knowing that Cairne was right. Out of any of them, the Tauren were the most peaceful race of the Horde, and their druids were constantly in communication with those of the Night Elves. If they had any chance for a temporary alliance with Teldrassil, then it would be the Tauren that led the way.
"I will take our forces and lay siege to their battlements, and wait for word from you," Thrall suggested.
"Take heart, young Warchief," the old bull said, patting Thrall on the shoulder, being as tall as the orc while mounted, "Tyrande is not as cold and disconnected as you might believe. Her heart weeps for Kalimdor just as much as ours."
"Go with haste," Cairne said, climbing back onto his Kodo, "I will come to you with the reinforcements we need!" and he thundered off down the path, a handful of his warbraves following swiftly after their chieftain.
Watching him go for a moment, Thrall wished that all the races of the Horde were as peace-loving and friendly as the Tauren. They truly embodied the spirit of the Horde that Thrall wished to establish. But war seemed to be their eternal calling, and Thrall was resigned to that fact. Raising the Doomhammer, he rallied his forces and pushed onward, continuing the pursuit of their enemies.
They couldn't let up the pressure until they were back at the divide between Stonetalon and Desolace.
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Teg'Ramm found himself surprised at the viciousness that these four Death Knights held as they fought. The priests, shaman, and paladins devoted to healing were kept very busy as the four warriors spontaneously turned and lashed out at those trying to flank and keep them separated.
Even more devastating was the magic that the undead warriors used, gouts of fire and blasts of shadow magic from three of the four horsemen wrecking havoc among their opponents. Strangest of all though was the elven Death Knight, who still held power over the light, and was wielding holy magic to great effect against the Death Knight Voldemort.
But numbers were in their favor, and Teg'Ramm could tell that, even as direly as they fought, the four Death Knights were rapidly wearing down. The pair that emphasized this most was the paladin Tirion and his opponent, who traded blows like men possessed. Teg'Ramm did not know for certain, but from what it appeared there was some sort of history between the two, and the Paladin was glowing with the fury of the light as he swung him warhammer heavily at the Death Knight.
A high pitched scream turned one of the Ogre Mage's heads. In all the chaos he had lost sight of the Alliance King, and it seemed that his viciousness had been sorely underestimated. He had already dismounted his opponent, the female Death Knight, and defeated her, cutting their opponents drastically.
The dwarf was next to fall, the High Overlord knocking the small undead from his mount and slamming the massive axe into the dwarf's chest. "What a bloody waste this is!" the irritable creature cried, before expiring.
With the renewed forced converging on the remaining two Death Knights, the battle was effectively over. The elf was slain next, whimpering like a coward as the runeblade of Voldemort drove through him.
The final Death Knight seemed to become enraged at the fall of his allies. "You will all find no peace in death!" he threatened.
"Alexandros…" Tirion retorted, "Your father would be ashamed to see you so fallen!"
The Death Knight swung again with a roar of rage, but the Paladin was ready. Driving his hammer upward, Tirion broke the Death Knight's grip on his weapon, sending the massive two-handed sword flying into the air.
The sword spun in what seemed like slow motion, and the Paladin seized the skull-adorned and glowing green weapon. "Light, give me strength!" the Paladin cried, and there was a blinding flash. Teg'Ramm was forced to look away, and when it dimmed, the blade in the Paladin's hand had changed, shining with the power of the Light and a strange golden brilliance.
"The Ashbringer is reborn in the Light!" Tirion shouted, slamming the newly empowered blade into the mounted Death Knight, unseating him instantly and throwing the undead creature backward.
The final Death Knight fell quickly thereafter, and the booming voice of the Lich Lord rang through the halls. "You have no idea what horrors lie ahead. You have seen nothing! The frozen heart of Naxxramas awaits you!"
The still silence that followed was something more than just the lull after a battle. Teg'Ramm could see that every member of their group seemed to sense that the end was near, and that meant the powerful Lich himself. Nobu'tan especially seemed withdrawn at the notion of fighting the master of this flying fortress.
But the burning light of the purified weapon in Fordring's hand seemed to bolster their resolve, even those who were undead themselves. It was a resolved force that took the teleporter back to the center of the citadel, and looked to the upper dais, which blazed with a cold blue light, indicating a new place of transport to the very center of the undead stronghold.
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Master Mahan seethed as he paced the dark warlock cave. Banehollow watched dispassionately as the warlock raged, "You promised that we would see nothing but victory! But their shaman Warchief just waltzes in and demolishes our entire offensive in one swift blow!"
"I did not advise that you attack immediately. That was your decision…" Banehollow commented, completely unfazed by the anger surging around him.
"Of course you'd willingly shift the blame away from yourself, even as our mutual enemies march on our territory, what more can we even do to stop them!" Theodore complained angrily.
"There is… something…" Banehollow said temptingly, and Mahan sighed.
"Of course there'd be something tucked away that you'd spring at the last moment," he said, anger still smoldering at the Dreadlord and his false promises…
The vile demon merely smirked, and Mahan knew that he had little choice in the matter. Their enemies were assembling in Stonetalon, and they only had limited time to prepare their defenses. "Tell me…" he demanded of the Nathrezim.
"There is a ritual," the Dreadlord explained slowly, "that will allow you to summon and bind into your service the mighty Doomguards of the Legion."
Master Mahan froze. The Doomguard were some of the most powerful soldiers in the Legion. If there was a way for them to recruit them in large numbers for the cause, then it would indeed turn the tide. However… "What's the catch?" he demanded, knowing that it was too good to be true.
"Shrewd of you to ask," Banehollow said, smirking, "summoning the Doomguard requires a living sacrifice…"
Mahan did not respond. It made sense that such a powerful demon would demand something to come into the world. The warlock remembered the massive battle on his homeworld, where scores of hapless prisoners were sacrificed to usher in Archimonde the Defiler to their world.
At the same time, what choice did they have but to make the required sacrifice, "prepare this ritual, I will procure the appropriate sacrifices…" he commanded the Dreadlord, who bowed his head in acknowledgement.
Mehan stalked from the cave, thinking swiftly. They had some prisoners from various battles as they pushed through the mountains toward Thunder Bluff, as well as others that resisted their strength here in Desolace. They would do just as well to tempt the most powerful demonic warriors to their side of the field.
Still, there were some other things that needed to be addressed. Chiefly, there was a need to greet their newest guest. The Grimtotem Chieftain Magatha had be secluded in a large tent among her people, and while the highly affronted Tauren was pleased with their attack on their enemies, there was still some anger at the manipulation of her clan for the purposes of the Dark Horde.
"It's about time that you showed your face…" the Tauren complained, flanked by several of her massive bodyguards.
"Calm yourself," Mahan said, completely immune to her grating voice. "I have only come to make sure you have what you need. There are far more pressing things that I have to take care of, and I don't need backbiting from someone so recently rescued from her enemies."
The Tauren clearly was affronted by his retort, but she controlled herself well. "Yes," Magatha admitted, "my need are well met, and it is good to be out from under Cairne's scrutiny. But I must know why you thought that it would be wise to assault Thunder Bluff with my own people as your front lines?"
"Simple." Theodore said, "They knew the routes through the mountains, and understood how the Bloodhoof would think as we attacked. If not for the orcish Warchief we would have secured victory as well."
"Hmph," she gruffed, "so you believe. And yet here they are, pounding on your door like an angry mob."
"A small problem that will be remedied in due time," Mahan said, smirking, "what concerns me more is what you plan to do afterward? There is unlikely many places you can go, and if you do not wish to remain, I cannot think of a safe location in Kalimdor for your people to return to…"
"Thanks to you for that," the Grimtotem chieftain shot back, before calming again, "but yes, we have nowhere to run that the Horde would not eventually find us."
"What if we could shepherd your people across the sea, and secure you among the rest of the Dark Horde?"Mahan offered.
The female Tauren scowled, "I would demand what the price of such a boon would be," she said.
"Wisely so…" Theodore admitted, "We cannot evacuate your people while the enemy is on our doorstep. Fight with us to preserve our hold here, and when we have the freedom, we will open portals back to our stronghold in Blackrock Mountain for your people to seek safety."
Magatha Grimtotem pondered for a long moment. "We have little choice, so I accept your proposal, until such a time as a better option opens itself."
"Excellent," Mahan said, feeling for the entrance once more, "then we will see you on the battlefield when out enemy decides to arrive."
He quickly took his leave, as just being in the same building as the dour old Tauren grated on his nerves. The elements around her sang of death and destruction, and she was terribly old and repulsive, despite being bovine in appearance.
Ordering guards to bring groups of prisoners to the cave, Master Mahan returned to Lord Banehollow, finding the Dreadlord already finished conjuring a powerful altar of Fel magic, and drawing runes of sacrifice and blood around the stone ground. Three other warlocks assisted the Nathrezim. All looked to him as he appeared, "our prisoners are on their way for sacrifice." He announced, taking his place in the empty section of the circle.
Soon enough the orcish guards appeared, dragging one of the centaur that had resisted their offers of alliance and power via the blood of demons. "Since you will not aid us willingly," Mahan said, stepping forward as the horseman was placed violently upon the altar, "We will make use of you without your consent."
Banehollow produced a sacrificial dagger, and the Master of the Great Secret lifted it high. The centaur tried to thrash in his captor's arms, but the orcs held him fast, baring the creature's chest for the blade as it viciously stabbed downward.
Even as the blood splattered in all directions, the runes etched into the altar and around the circle flared to life, tearing a hole into the Nether and beckoning the most powerful soldiers of the Legion. The first doomguard towered over even Banehollow, almost touching the high ceiling of the cave.
Mahan smirked, even as the other warlocks invoked the spells of enslavement over the newly summoned demon. They would have the most powerful army in Kalimdor, quicker than even the orcish Warchief could advance on their lands.
"Bring the next prisoner!" he ordered, withdrawing the ceremonial dagger and preparing for the next sacrifice.
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Lor'themar was truly surprised at how well their combined group was fighting together. He had been sure that the Horde and Dark Horde would have come to blows long before now, especially with how the Amani Trolls glared at himself, his blood elves, and Sylvanas. The hatred over the sacking of Zul Aman was obvious, and while the Regent Lord fully expected to face them on the battlefield in the future, he could appreciate that their strength and cunning was quite effective against the Scourge.
If not for the generations of bloodshed and war between their people, he felt that they would have been able to hold back the Scourge from invading Quel'Thalas if they had fought together. Not that there was anything he could do to pursue peace now. The hated between their people ran too deep, and only total extinction would end the animosity.
Lor'themar set his concerns aside for the time being, as he and the Horde representatives stepped through the central teleporter, entering a large, vaulted chamber that had an unnatural chill lingering in the air. It was not difficult in the slightest to figure out the cause, as the massive skeletal dragon in the center of the chamber left no room for doubt.
"Sapphiron…" Sylvanas stated, recognizing the particular Frost Wyrm.
Almost in response to hearing its name, the dragon came to life, rising to its clawed skeletal feet and roaring, shaking the entire chamber.
"Looks like we have little choice but to face it before we can get to Kel'Thuzad…" the warlock, Nobu'tan, said as he and the Dark Horde appeared behind them.
"If we lock down its magical capabilities, we will have a great advantage over it due to our numbers," Lady Proudmoore chimed in.
"We'll still need to take extra precautions against its ability to attack from any direction," Lor'themar reminded them, but even as they quickly strategized, it seemed that the Frost Wyrm lost what patience it had, and started forward to attack.
"Scatter!" Sylvanas said, and the leaders of the four factions broke apart, avoiding a chilling blast of frost from the gaping jaws of the dragon's skull.
Lor'themar drew an arrow out of reflex, but wondered if it would even do anything against the skeletal dragon. Eyeing his target, the Elven lord spotted patches of ice and frost between the bones, keeping the skeleton together like the ligaments of a normal body. A few quick arrows proved that he indeed could harm the dragon by chipping away these magical bonds keeping the undead dragon moving.
"Aim between the bones!" he shouted to the rest of the attack force, and those nearest, ironically the Amani Trolls, narrowed their eyes to see what he was calling out. Soon a hailstorm of throwing axes filled the air as the two troll warlords added their ranged attacks in unison with Lor'themar, shattering some of the holds between the massive hind legs of the Dragon, and causing the creature to turn toward them in retaliation.
Lady Proudmoore appeared between them as the frost breath started up again. A howling wind blasted away from the Mage of Theramore, combating the Frost Wyrm's breath in a terrible duel of magical will.
But the dragon wasn't completely beaten against the powerful human mage. Slamming a front claw into the stone ground, the Frost Wyrm shot massive spiked of ice into the air, to rain down on Lady Proudmoore's position.
"Jaina!" the human warlock shouted, diving at the woman, knocking her out of the way as the deadly ice skewered he ground she had previously stood on.
The Sindorei Magisters took her place, exchanging frost for fire as they blasted the beast with a torrent of flame. The Dark Horde warlocks joined in, their Felflame erupting from the dragon's far side, sending the beast into a rage.
Lor'themar quickly scanned their forces. Most of their melee fighters were having great difficulty closing in on the dragon, between the sweeping claws, tail, and shattering ice that coated the ground.
Lady Proudmoore's advice to control the dragon's spellcasting ability had gone unheeded, and that was causing a great deal of damage to their formation and strategy. Rushing over to the Theramore mage and her warlock friend, the Elven lord dodged a flying spike of ice and ducked behind their magical barrier.
"We need that magical countering, now!" he cried over the din of battle, and Proudmoore nodded solemnly, closing her eyes. The barrier, conjured by the warlock, shimmered as the young man intensified it to protect them, even as the human mage started channeling the arcane to hinder and disrupt the power of the dragon.
Unable to actually assist with the magical disruption, Lor'themar contented himself to firing several more arrows, contributing in what ways he could to the damage of the Frost Wyrm, and slowly he noticed Lady Proudmoore's spell starting to take effect. The dragon's breath, now turned against the warlocks at the far side of the chamber, seemed significantly weaker than previous, and the wall of green Felfire was able to repel and negate the attack altogether.
The flash of Fel magic also sent the Frost Wyrm staggering backward, opening at last the space that their melee warriors needed to close distance and engage the skeletal dragon directly. Their force would soon see some headway in defeated the massive beast, the Blood Elf surmised, but glancing ahead at the frozen arch that blocked their trek further into the core of the citadel, he momentarily wondered what further horrors they would endure before the end of this nightmare.
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Tyrande Whisperwind looked around as her frostsaber paused in its tracks.
The High Priestess of Elune was out in the wilds of Ashenvale, patrolling with her personal guard of Sentinels, following some reports of Horde activity in the Stonetalon Mountains, and she was personally going out to see what those monsters were up to in the lands of the Night Elves. In all her ten thousand years of life, she had not seen a younger race so destructive as the orcs, barring the demons of the Burning Legion, and it burned within her to know that they shared her beloved Kalimdor with her people.
If not for the tenuous peace that existed since the battle of Mount Hyjal, and the role that the Horde had played in holding back Archimonde until Malfurion could awaken the spirits of Nordrassil, she would have been leading all the armies of Darnassius against the Horde until they were driven from the face of their lands.
But as they were making their way south from Darkshore, the earth rumbled beneath the feet of their mounts, and Tyrande called for a halt. "What is it High Priestess?" one of her guards asked, but Tyrande just listened, before looking up as the source of the sound appeared at the top of the rise.
Kodo beasts, bearing Tauren, were heading straight for the group of Night Elves. Tyrande almost called for her sisters to attack, but stopped when she recognized the lead rider as Cairne Bloofhoof himself. It was rare that the leader of the Tauren would venture this far north, and never without purpose.
"Hold Bloodhoof!" she called, attracting the attention of the group of Horde supporters, "what business have you in these woods?" she asked, looking up at the bovine face of the gentlest of the Horde races.
Tyrande knew of the great friendship that existed between her people and the Tauren, despite the cross faction affiliation. Druids constantly spoke of the wisdom of the Tauren and their practical nature as they conversed with them in the Moonglade, and Tyrande did not forget the brave heroes that followed Huln Highmountain during the War of the Ancients, when all of Kalimdor was torn asunder and the Legion was first denied their footing on their world.
"Tyrande Whisperwind," Cairne said, saluting her with a hand over his heart, "it is most fortuitous that we've found you here, rather than needing to seek you at Darnassius…"
The High Priestess found that concerning, that these Tauren were willing to venture that far into Alliance Territory just to seek her out, but said nothing.
"There is an urgent matter we must discuss, about the Dark Horde in Desolace, and their demon allies." The Tauren Chieftain continued, "We have come with request from the Warchief himself, after defending all of Thunder Bluff from the attacks of these vile creatures, and seek your aid in driving them from the face of Kalimdor."
Of anything that she expected for the Tauren to say, a request for aid was among the least of her thoughts, and Tyrande was taken aback. "Your Warchief expects much from us, who would be his enemies if not for the honor of the past." She said, seeking reasoning for their desire now of all times for the Night Elves' aid.
"We would not do so if the need was not dire." Cairne said honestly, "our forces are dwindled from other campaigns on the Eastern Kingdoms against the Scourge, and what we have left will not break the lines of demons and Fel-tained creatures that pollute the lands of Desolace. We beseech you, High Priestess, if you have any love for those who respect the land as much as your people, please aid us in freeing Kalimdor of the demonic taint of these warlocks and their minions once again."
Tyrande inwardly cursed the Tauren for his honesty and passion. Little else would stir her to action than a threat to the land she had defended for ten thousand years. And even if part of what the Tauren said was true, then there was no other course of action for her than to send Sentinels and more to defend her loved lands from these invaders.
She pined inwardly for the presence of her Beloved, but alas Malfurion slept once more in the Barrow Downs, and she was alone in leading her people. To ally with one clear enemy against another greater enemy had been his suggestion in the past, so why not do so once more.
"Shandris," Tyrande said, turning to her close friend and General of the Sentinels, "return swiftly to Darnassius and rally our forces. We will rendezvous with the Horde at the edge of Desolace, and fight the Legion and their minions once more."
"At once, High Priestess," Shandris replied, turning her mount and leaping into a full sprint. She tore across the road and disappeared back into Darkshore.
"We cannot thank you enough for your aid, Tyrande…" Cairne said, but the Night Elf frowned.
"We do not fight for you or the Horde," she retorted, "We fight only for Kalimdor."
"And by extension, all those who live upon its lands," the old bull replied, completely disarming the High Priestess. "I will return and tell the Warchief that your forces are coming, and not to presume an attack on two fronts. We will convene and plan our assault at that time. Farewell, Priestess of Elune. May the Earthmother guide you safely."
"Elune, grant you strength," Tyrande replied, almost surprised at the curtness and simplicity of the Tauren's words as the handful of Kodos turned and lumbered swiftly away, back into Ashenvale.
Whatever old Chieftain Bloodhoof saw in the young orcish Warchief, Tyrande did not know for certain. But for the peace-loving and gentle Tauren to take up arms and fight not just once, but multiple times in the defense of this Horde, meant that there was something that she might have missed in her swift judgment of the green-skinned orcs.
It was doubtful, as Tyrande was certain that in her ten-thousand-years worth of experience she had learned to read the lesser races with a fair amount of accuracy, but there was always a chance. She had mistaken Illidan as a potential ally during the war with the Legion after all.
So for the time being she would hold her peace, and fight to stop demons from invading their lands once more. It would take several days for their army to assemble, and Tyrande knew that they would seek her swiftly once they were on the move.
"Come, let us swiftly see to the patrol that we embarked upon," she said to the rest of her guard, "then we will make haste to Stonetalon and see what the Horde thinks about stopping this newest influx of demons."
They surged away, heading in the same direction that the Tauren had taken, into the thickest parts of Ashenvale. Using paths that only the Sentinels knew existed, they traversed the forested canopy with great ease, their saber mounts leaping across steams and up ridges to ease their travel over the uneven terrain.
All their secret watch posts had the same thing to report. The Horde was on the move through Stonetalon, and all was quite in Ashenvale as a result of it. Even the hotbed of conflict known as the Warsong Lumber Mill reported unusual tranquility for the time being. The deforesters had quieted themselves, and while Tyrande wished to know the reason why, she was not foolish enough to approach and demand an explanation.
Likely their many guards were conscripted into the Warchief's army for now, and the workers were not willing to endure the wrath of the Sentinels while their warriors were away. Technically it was the perfect opportunity to strike, but Tyrande hesitated.
Was it fair to kick their enemies while they were busy elsewhere, fighting a foe that would threaten the Night Elves just as quickly as the Horde?
