Lost Lion
Disclaimer! I don't own Wow. Blizz does, and your soul too.
Volume 2: Chapter 19
*** Arathi Highland – Stromgarde Keep ***
The walls of the castle shook at regular intervals, but I didn't have the time or leisure to worry about it. That was because the Blademaster had scaled my section of the wall. I recognized him from his looks alone. The ponytail hairstyle—along with the half robe that covered him from the waist down, leaving his chest bare save for a very large bead necklace—was a dead giveaway. Oh and to top it off, his sword was one of the more well-crafted swords I had ever seen an orc wield.
I raised my sword, arcanite champion, in a defensive position in anticipation of his attack. My shield had been ripped off earlier by another orc, and I unfortunately had no time to search for it. Hopefully, it was still around. My men must have sensed that the orc was different as they opted to engage the other grunts around him instead.
'Thanks...' I thought to my soldiers. Oh well, there was no helping it. I charged the orc right away while uttering a Holy Word. "Aegis."
The blademaster roared in defiance and met my attack head-on with equal speed. My sword and his saber met and rang louder than the clashing of steel around us. Had it been a year or two ago, my sword would have definitely been ripped out of my hand from such a clash. A blademaster was just that strong.
But...
I was no longer the same person back then, especially with my Light-enhanced strength on top of my own natural ones, I gave as good as I got. I saw the blademaster's piggish eyes widen when his raw brute power could not overwhelm me. We both retracted our blades at the same time and swung at each other again.
While the blademaster fought with a different style than most orcs, his nature remained the same. On some level, he psychologically wanted to intimidate his opponent. The best way to do that was by showing off the difference between our strengths. In his mind, he must have gotten a good measure of what humans were like and probably found most were unable to match up to him in one-on-one.
However, psychological attacks worked both ways. What would happen if his opponent was not moved by his attack? Once might be a fluke, twice might luck, but to do it over and over again? I saw the subtle shift in his expression as he realized he couldn't intimidate me. That small hint of doubt was what I was waiting for as I charged toward him and swung at a different angle.
The Blademaster reacted quickly, parrying the first blow. The second blow was parried too, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. My sword constantly came at different angles, striking at him again and again in a flurry of slashes. I didn't let up because I knew that the moment I did, he would counterattack—and there were few things as dangerous as a Blademaster on the offensive.
However, it wasn't a simple mindless assault; there was a purpose to this. That aim was achieved when, after my last parried attack, I retracted my sword and stabbed at him. The move—different from what I had been doing—forced the elite orc warrior to take a few steps back. I saw his piggish eyes widen a fraction, and I gave him a look to convey that I knew exactly what he just did.
Orcs, I have come to realize, were not used to fighting defensively. They can, but against weaker races like humans, they prefer all-out offenses. That someone they regarded as weak, like me, could force a blademaster of all people to take a step back was ludicrous. Now, the seeds of doubt had been planted in their minds when his retreat was seen by all. I had embarrassed and humiliated the elite warrior and for him, there was only one recourse: to kill me by whatever means necessary to redeem his honor.
"Narrgghhhh!" The blademaster roared as he became a whirlwind of death, spinning like a tornado and killing even his fellow orcs in the way as he came toward me. "Die, human!"
The orc spoke in Common, but he wasn't the first. I chalked it up to the orcs using magic to learn our language. I would have to ask our conjurer or Kael for the orcs' lexicon when I get out of here. In the meantime, I had an angry Blademaster to fend off, and I wasn't planning to fight fairly.
"Penance!" I shouted as I fired orbs of holy light at the blademaster. The orc was forced out of his whirlwind attack after three of the orbs struck him. He hastily parried the remaining four balls, but was made to retreat from me once more.
"Coward!" The Blademaster spat at me. He was further incensed when I shrugged my shoulders at him in an uncaring manner.
"Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." I smirked condescendingly at him. "So… this about all I can expect from a vaunted Blademaster?"
The orc's piggish eyes turned red with anger and before I knew it, there were now four of him. I didn't know the workings of the blademaster skill 'Mirror Image,' but all four of them leaped at me. It was hard to know which one was the real one and which one was fake since the skill wasn't powered by magic.
I made my best guess and parried the first attacking Orc, but I was met with nothing as the blademaster weapon passed through me. I quickly spun to my left to block the second, only for that one to also be a fake. Unfortunately, I was too late to block the third attack that was aimed at my side. That one struck true, and had it been anyone else, even Liadrin, they would have died.
Thankfully, my powerful Holy Word: Aegis was still up and instantly nullified his critical strike. The blademaster strike left him open, and I immediately capitalized on it. Caught off guard and in a bad position, the orc could only sloppily block my attack. My Light-enhanced strength staggered him and made him desperately try to regain a steady footing.
That was all I needed.
"Now, Falconcrest!" I shouted.
From start to finish, I wanted the blademaster to be blinded by rage. I farmed his hatred and in doing so, it grew into his mistake. A mistake that he now paid for when Falconcrest's two blades burst from his chest, having been stabbed into him from behind. The blademaster looked down as if he could not believe it. Still, wounded as he was, the blademaster still spun around to cut down his attacker. Luckily, Falconcrest was able to retract his blade and bring it up into a guarded position.
However,I never allowed him the chance to do so. My sword came down on his shoulder even as he turned and with my strength, enhanced with the Light's power, it cut cleanly through his shoulders and de-armed him.
Literally.
Now weaponless, the Blademaster suffered two more stabs by the future Syndicate leader. It did not end there as my arcanite champion pierced his back to the hilt. A dying orc was still a dangerous orc, especially one of the blademaster's caliber. The orc stared at the both of us with intense hatred, but I didn't care as I brought my sword up and split his head in two.
"For the Alliance," I said before I kicked the blademaster's corpse off of the rampart. Quickly pulling the Light to me, I unleashed a powerful Halo of Light to heal all the wounded defenders all around me and even in the nearby areas.
The orcs who had been fighting some flagging soldiers cried out in pain when the Halo struck them, once again proving that Fel and Light did not mix. The orcs' skin burned from the touch. Worse, they saw the flagging soldiers they were fighting become revitalized before their very eyes. I could feel the shift in momentum already. The holes that the blademaster had made were slowly being covered and the color green was beginning to thin on the rampart.
Now was the time to focus on the contraption that had been making the wall vibrate.
"Bring those jars of pitch and oil up here. Hurry!" I shouted, soon hearing my orders being echoed by my men. Pretty soon, the militia men that we had hastily trained made their way up the stone steps. "Give it here."
With one of the jars of pitch in my arm, I walked over to the wall, though I had to backstep to dodge a thrown boulder by an ogre. Beyond that, there was a massive battering ram hammering at our gate since early morning. Around it, the debris remnants of the battering rams we had destroyed in the weeks prior had been cleared out, leaving it with ample space to do its work. Not that it would be able to for long.
"I got a present for ya, you bunch of twats. Oil them up!" I shouted. A few dozen barrels of oil were poured down onto the battering ram and ogres below us. Seeing them nice and damped, I then threw the pitch as well and saw it hit one of the supporting beams of the battering ram. "Give me a torch!"
I didn't care who gave it to me, but I was able to aim at where the pitch was and threw my torch to it. The torch struck the pitch and flame spread out instantly, setting many of the orcs and ogres on fire. Screams of pain and agony assaulted our ears as the siege engine workers were roasted alive. Humans weren't usually this cruel, even Azeroth humans, but when pushed into a corner like this, it was normal to derive pleasure from their misfortune. At this moment, all I saw around me were wide beaming smiles.
Suddenly, the flame that had been consuming the orc siege engine slowed and started to simmer down. My eyes snapped from left to right and sure enough, I saw a couple of shamans waving their hands, trying to contain the flames I had brought forth. There was no way in hell I was gonna let them do that. Turning to my second in command, I saw the Ranger Commander cutting up orcs with her knives. Every now and then, she would duck under an attack and in one smooth motion, unsling her bow and fire an arrow directly into an orc's face.
"Sylvanas!" I shouted for her attention. "Shamans!"
After killing the last orc near her, she traced my finger to the targets. Without needing to confirm with me, she already had an arrow nocked and fired at the shamans. Just like I couldn't heal someone on the far side of the wall from my position, the shamans of the Horde needed to be as close as possible to control the elements. It was just my luck that they were within Sylvanas' striking range.
It took two of the shamans dying before the third one realized what was happening. He didn't have to think on it for long as another elven arrow sprouted from his eye socket. Only someone of Sylvanas' caliber could have such precise aiming. With the shamans dead, the fire became unrestrained once more and resumed consuming the battering ram.
The upside was that now that there was a massive burning deterrent at the main gate, I could leave my section to reinforce the others. Unfortunately, while there were upsides, there were downsides as well with the battering ram up against the wall, the fire was also burning our main gate, even though the wood hadn't caught on fire. Still, the fire was going to weaken the structure significantly, causing damages that we couldn't see.
Now that my sections were somewhat secure, I looked around to search for areas where I was needed. Sylvanas, Liadrin, and Archer's sections never needed help, but a few of the other sections under the other knights did. With that in mind, I directed my soldiers to shore up those sections while I ran to the trouble spots.
With the additional reinforcements, the orcs were eventually kicked off the walls, and we became victorious for yet another day. I didn't even need to say anything as the cheers went up almost on cue. The Horde warriors could do nothing but slink away in defeat once again. I didn't have time for that as I went to the sections where I told the militia to bring all our dead and wounded.
Gathering the Light to me, I cast the spell I had become intimately familiar with over the past weeks. Constantly calling upon the Light like this was thankfully increasing my reserves, though this was from my own observations. Pretty soon, familiar pillars of Light shone and those who were once dead lived again. Unfortunately, there were still a lot who were left completely dead. I estimated that my return rate for the resurrected this time was around half.
As training, I let the other newly found priest apprentice practice their healing abilities to heal the newly resurrected people. It was a shame that, after our attack on Ragnaros, half of the priests—mostly the elderly veterans— had become burnt out and lost their ability to wield the Light. I felt guilty about it, but they didn't blame me. Instead, they thanked me for allowing them to really bathe in the Light's presence.
I don't know why that happened to them. Maybe a Naaru would know? I could only theorize that they went beyond what they could use. It was as if the Light was water and their body was a bowl. Did I somehow crack the bowl, if not outright smash it?
It was something I put out of my mind when I went back up to the battlement. I saw soldiers who were mentally exhausted, leaning against the walls between the gaps. Others had their head pressed against their sword hilt in prayer. I made eye contact with Sylvanas who no longer looked as immaculate as she once did. She gave me a tired nod in greeting.
Returning it, I gazed out beyond the wall and saw that the Horde was pulling back. They too were exhausted as their warriors just walked away, shoulders hunched. I would have attacked them then and there, but most of the archers had already run out of arrows. I caught a few orcs turning around and gazing at our wall with respect and resignation before continuing to fall back.
'Just a bit more…' I thought as I saw the orcs' backs.
Five weeks.
That was how long we had held out for. I had prepared for a siege, but this went on longer than even my time in the Redridge mountains. I doubt the orcs had prepared for such a long siege either. The Horde had never been good at besieging a city; they just didn't have the patience for it. They only succeeded in taking places like Shattrath and Stormwind by using a trump card.
I didn't know what trump card they had at the time, but our entire game plan hinged upon us tanking whatever they threw at us. We did that within the first two weeks of the siege, stopping Ragnaros. After that, it was just an endurance match. The longer that we held out, the more that the orcs' morale would plummet. It all came down to a contest of wills: Could the orcs' power overwhelm our resolve?
Now, after so many weeks, it felt that both sides were at their breaking point. I was pretty sure that whatever Ner'zhul was doing to hype up his warriors was falling on deaf ears. For my part, I had long since stopped trying to make pretty speeches. There was nothing I could say that would make our losses palatable. We only had four thousand soldiers left and two thousand militiamen.
The only bright spot was that the Horde suffered far more. The two little lakes of water were now choked full of their dead, the water having since turned red from their blood. If we could break the Horde spirit one more time, I believed they would just pack it in and be content to just stare at our walls. The question was if the soldiers had it in them for one more fight and if it did, what if they needed to do it twice more?
"No signs of stragglers, sir," my trusty right hand, Falconcrest, spoke up first. The man had seen better days and had been in the thickest of the fighting with me for weeks now. His armor was dented, and there were plenty of blood splatters to decorate it.
The future Syndicate leader had also decided to forgo honorable face-to-face combat and pick off orcs otherwise engaged with our people. One might even say he took to it like a duck to water. Attacking people at their weakest and being a terror on the field, he had all the makings of a rogue assassin leader.
"My lord?" The man looked at me, seeing me unresponsive.
"Sorry," I apologized, though I was surprised at how hoarse I sounded. Without my asking, Falconcrest handed me a canteen of ale diluted with water. After taking a few good gulps, I handed it back. "My mind wandered a bit there."
"It's alright, sir," the Alteraci replied. He then looked at me with a bit of hesitation.
"Spit it out, Falconcrest," I bluntly said.
"It… Should we get the elderly to fight?" he asked hesitantly.
We have for the most part stripped the population of Stromgarde and the refugees of able bodied fighting men. Fewer of the women volunteered, but it was mostly elderly and teens that made up our surviving civilian populations now. Stromgarde, while not as large as Stormwind, usually had a population of fifty thousand. We were now holding at a hundred and twenty-five thousand. It was cramp, but these were the seeds for Stromgarde's revival. If they lose these people, these children, their nation would have no future.
"No," I shook my head. "They only act as fodder for the orcs. It is not worth it."
"I see..." the Alteraci captain said before bowing.
Seeing it was done, I watched from the battlement as the sun completely set and night fell on us once more. There was no need for me to issue any order or direct anything. Everyone was to get as much rest as possible, Sylvanas and her remaining rangers would keep guard through the night. I too didn't realize that I had fallen asleep leaning against the rampart until the sound of a rooster crowing woke me up.
+++ Orc Encampment +++
Ner'zhul hated Kil'jaeden, hated the demon's ilk. He hated their existence with every fiber of his being, and if he had the power to tear them apart, he would have. The once-revered shaman despised the way the demon's powers corrupted his people. Their people, fueled by uncontrolled hatred and rage, were little more than the animals that they hunted. He always believed that if they returned to their shamanistic root, the power of the demons would prove inferior.
The presence of the great elemental lords like Ragnaros only reaffirmed that fact. His people's defeat of pinkskins magick wielders at the bridge only confirmed their superiority. As if to prove his point, he felt the ancient power of the spirits that infused the lands around the human castle. These humans too realized the strength of the spirits. It was unfortunate that those spirits' works were being used by the humans, but Ner'zhul was certain that it would only be a matter of time before the human walls fell.
He was wrong.
The humans use the foul Light magicks that the draenei had used and denied them their victory. He had thought such potency was exclusive to the humans of the south as the Horde, Grom's Horde, had not met anyone of such caliber on their travels north. Even during the battle to secure the crossing, none of the major foul Light users showed such skill.
Ner'zhul had been certain that they would claim the humans' castle within the first day. He had gathered his shamans to create a great storm and wielded its lightning as a hammer on the unsuspecting humans. Then...that damnable draenei Light showed itself. Despite his shamans' efforts, they failed to crush the defenders on the wall.
Not wanting to lose orc lives senselessly to take the walls, he decided to call upon the great elemental lord of fire himself to burn the human defender. Though the price was costly, Ner'zhul had been all but certain that the humans would be swept away before the spirits lord's fury. However, the elemental lord was slain instead. To make matters worse, the shamans who had been tied to the summoning died as well from the human's abominable spell.
Blademaster Kajind had dared to dismiss the shamans' effort and promised to win against the humans through combat. He was dead now, slain just yesterday after weeks and weeks of unsuccessful attacks on the walls. The fool sacrificed two-thirds of their forces to try to grind the human defenders down. Now, all that was left were warriors whose spirits had been scarred and bodies had been savaged.
This was not how an orc warrior should be and so Ner'zhul, as much as he loathed the demons, found a way to reignite their warrior heart. He remembered what they did at Shattrath, the draenei's mighty city. Fueled by the demon's power, the orcs were fearless, frenzied, and reckless, but they had overwhelmed their tenaciously dug-in foe. Using the spirits, he had found a way to breathe life into the embers of the demonic power used that day.
Ner'zhul swore that this would be the last time he would do this to his people.
+++ Stromgarde Keep +++
I looked through the embrasure of the merlon and watched how the orcs were starting to gather. Their attitude was a far cry from before when all of them used to be bunched up, eager for combat.
"Milord." A Stromgarde footman came up to me with bread and meat for breakfast. After I took it and began chewing on it, he unslung a familiar shield from his back. "The blacksmith did as best as they could to fix it, sire."
Putting my ale cup on the embrasure gap, I took the shield that my father had gifted me and saw that many of the dents had been beaten out. Some of the shallow cuts remained, but they were no longer as deep as before. Even though the familiar golden lion's head had many scratches on it, it still was in one piece and recognizable.
"My thanks, soldier." I inclined my head toward the footman.
"Sir!" The footman gave me a sharp salute and left for his post.
Gulping down my food quickly, I tightened the shield to my left arm and checked our combat readiness. I looked to Sylvanas who gave me an encouraging nod and then turned to Liadrin who gave me a look filled with conviction. Section by section, my eyes roved over until they finally settled on the men directly under me, seeing that they were ready. Before I could do anything else, the familiar sound of orc drums being beaten resounded through the silent morning.
"They're coming," I said. "Get ready."
"Ready, men!" Falconcrest shouted out my orders.
The orcs began to gather on the other side of the main road. Their remaining catapults were revealed a moment later but stayed just outside of the range of ours. I checked to their left and right flank, but there were no orcs gathered there. It looked like they planned on abandoning the attack on the west and east wall entirely.
'Should I gather everyone in the middle?' I debated. We were spread thin as it was, but did I dare risk a sneak attack or infiltration team?
"Milord, can—" One of the few Kul Tiran marines that survived the disastrous battle at Ignaeus Pass asked me. "—can we still hold?"
"Yes," I replied, making sure that everyone could hear me.
I get it; they were exhausted and pushed to the breaking point. They had dug so deep inside of themselves to keep them going, but nobody's mental fortitude was limitless.
Guess it was time for a speech after all
"Soldiers of the Alliance!" I shouted. "As tired and filled with as much doubt as you are feeling right now, know with certainty that it is much worse for the Horde!"
I then pointed my sword in the direction of the gathering Horde.
"Remember how many times they have tried to take these walls and remember how many times they have failed!" I reminded them. "They attacked us with nature's fury, and we held. They summon a foul demonic creature, and we slew it on the spot!"
It felt like such a long time ago that those things happened and yet I saw that the soldiers were remembering it.
"They tried to overwhelm us with their numbers, but who is it that still holds these walls?" I asked them before pointing my sword at a surprised footman.
"W-we do, sir," the footman replied hesitantly.
"Say it louder!" I demanded.
"We do sir!" he shouted. I then pointed my sword at another footman, then another. Each person gave the same loud answers.
"That's right! We still stand here, victorious! Despite their best efforts, they have taken nothing from us!" I shouted in a frenzy. "It would be the same today! No, it would be better, for today, we will take from them instead."
I looked around at all the soldiers on the wall.
"We will take their pride! Their dignity! Their will to fight!" I bellowed. "We will do all of this in the name of the Alliance!"
"For Lord Lothar and the Alliance!" Falconcrest drew his sword and raised it high into the air.
'Wha—'
"For Lord Lothar and the Alliance!" Came the rallying cry.
'...'
I guess sometimes...it just be that way. Moving on from my name being used as a rallying cry, I watched as the Horde finished bunching up. Gone was the chest pounding, the stomping of feet, and the other attempts at intimidation. Now, all I could feel was their grim trepidation at the thought of going against us again.
"Sons and daughters of Azeroth!" I shouted. "Stand ready!"
There was a slight movement within the orcs' ranks before Ner'zhul showed himself again. Since the first two weeks, he didn't cast any more great spells, I could only presume that was because of the failed Ragnaros summoning ritual. If Ner'zhul wanted his spells to hurt us, he would need to come in closer. I had Sylvanas engrave his name on an arrow just for him. The shaman knelt for a moment while mumbling something before he stood up and spread his arms out.
"Destroy the humans!" he shouted before slamming his hands together. " For the Horde!"
A moment later I saw their eyes reddened with an unnatural glow while their faces became more twisted than usual.. It was bloodlust… I had not expected them to have it this early as Bloodlust was introduced by Gul'dan ogre magi. Somehow, Ner'zhul found a way fifteen years before the shaman should have been able to use it. The once subdued orcs became frenzied and ran past the famous shaman.
'Fuck.'
"They are in a berserk state, do not turn your back on them unless you're certain they are dead!" I warned as the orcs got closer and closer. "Archers, loose!"
A few dozen arrows flew and struck many orcs, but just like I knew they would, they ignored the pain from them. It didn't help that our arrow supply have been all but depleted at this point. The orcs began to set up the ladders like they had done so many times before and climbed them.
"All priests, cover as many soldiers as you can—shield!" I uttered the 'Power Word' on those closest to me.
The priests did their best just in time as the first bloodlust-enhanced orcs scaled the wall. He was greeted by our swords, but despite the many stab wounds, he stubbornly climbed over the rampart, ignoring all of his wounds. By the time he was fully over the rampart, he had stopped moving. I don't think that the orc grunt knew that he had died.
Unfortunately, he was not the last as like a rotten green fountain, the orcs swelled and spilled over onto the wall. Some orcs that made it didn't even bother swinging their axe and instead tackled the nearest human they saw, sending both falling to their deaths.
"Lock your shield! Lock 'em!" I shouted as I hoped that there would be strength in numbers.
Because the space on the walls was somewhat narrowed, only groups of twos or threes were able to be formed. I watched as a grunt threw himself onto the shield of a pair of footmen and ignored all of the stabs he received in order to crush the head of one of them. My instinct suddenly warned me of an incoming attack even before I saw a bloodlusted orc barreling toward me.
Using a technique taught to me by my dad, I met his charge with my own, but instead of colliding, I pushed down on his shoulder and spun around him so that I was behind him. I quickly stabbed my blade right up his spine, knowing that even if it didn't kill him, he would be paralyzed. However, despite that, the orc still struggled like a limbless zombie, forcing me to kick him off the battlement.
Of course, that was when the next orc engaged me, and then another. The orcs didn't seem to care that they were dying to rookie mistakes as long as they took at least a human defender down. The defenders were having a rough time adapting to the orcs' reckless attacks. Before, they had some semblance of rationality and fear of death, but now, the orcs would tunnel vision onto a defender to the exclusion of all else.
"You must hold!" I shouted in encouragement. "They cannot maintain this state for long! Hold for honor, for your family, for each other!"
I knew I was asking a lot, but the alternative was death.
Orc bodies littered the rampart along with human ones, staining the ground with their mixed blood. I threw out heal after heal as I fought off the orcs. Divine Stars were thrown and bounced through defenders to heal them while damaging the orcs that they passed through in the process. Other area of effect magic like Circle of Healing and Divine Hymn were used by not only me but also Liadrin and those priests skilled enough to cast them. Even my strikes were enhanced with the Light, though the cost of doing both at once was burning through my reserves quickly.
After I felt that I had secured my area of the wall enough, I left Falconcrest in charge and moved to the others. Several sections of the walls were on the verge of being swallowed up by the orcs when I barreled into them and attacked with Light enhanced sweeping strikes. Orcs were cut in groups of twos and threes, sometimes directly bisected on the spot. The civilian militia rushed to reinforce those weak points while I healed whatever defender I could before moving on to the next spot.
Even though humans were dying to desperately hold the way, I could feel our morale plummeting. Footmen, wounded or broken, were collapsing onto the bloodied floors while their attackers moved on to new prey. I even saw some of Sylvanas rangers hacked to pieces and their body parts strewn about by the orcs. We were holding on to a thread that was about to snap until suddenly, the manic energy was gone.
The frenzied orcs' eyes dimmed and their expressions slackened. Their attacks moved sluggishly and their reaction time was greatly slowed. A surprised footman blocked one of their lackadaisical strikes and was surprised to find that it was much weaker than normal. The footman then stabbed his sword forward and watched as his blade pierced through the slow-reacting orc's throat. Other similar scenes began to play throughout the battlement.
'What the hell?.' I thought. 'Why are they…'
And that was when I made the connection.
In the game from my previous life, 'Sated' was a penalty to the player's stats intended to prevent them from spamming the 'Bloodlust' spell. However, this was real life... What did that translate to for the orcs? They appeared to have reached a point where they had their fill of fighting, as if their hearts weren't truly in it anymore. A hungry person fights hard for everything they can get their hands on, but someone who is full might turn up their nose at even the fanciest buffet. These orcs after being filled with all that bloodlust was mentally done with fighting!
My eyes widened as I realized that I had to capitalize on it now.
Without having to worry about suicidal orcs attacking me, I began calling upon my strongest healing spell. I stopped and set my feet before reaching out to the Light. The Light, as always, answered and swelled inside of me like a raging ocean. Now was the time to turn the tide; now was our window to counterattack. The holy words came to me, filled to the brim with my power and intentions.
"Salvation!"
+++ Orc Encampment +++
"No..." Ner'zhul breathed in disbelief as the backwash of energy from the golden dome extended all the way to him. "No!"
They had been so close to victory! The humans were being overwhelmed! Even if the bloodlust had worn off, they still had numbers! Yet, he now heard the cries of agony on the walls, of the dying orcs, and to his horror, the sound of the humans' defiant roars. Ner'zhul was exhausted and could not see what was transpiring on the walls, but he felt it; the moment when the spirit of his warriors broke.
Brave orcish warriors who had marched against the draenei and the dwarves, were now fleeing from the humans. Some were even choosing to jump off the walls to their death in their desperation to live.
"No, damn you! Stay and fight!" Ner'zhul roared as the first retreating warrior ran past him. He tried to grab the arm of one of them, but he received a punch to his face for it. "Cowards! Turn back and fight!"
His words fell on deaf ears. Ner'zhul could do nothing but watch as his people fled. It got worse when the harsh victory cheers of the humans rained down on them from the walls. On any other occasion, it would have been an insult that an orc warrior would never tolerate.
There were however no more orc warriors here anymore. Only craven cowards.
'No,' Ner'zhul thought. He stood still, looking defiantly at a familiar section of the wall just above the gate.
Right away, he saw the pinkskin that spoke his name. It was the same one who had insulted him and called him a traitor as if he knew him. Ner'zhul wanted that despicable human to feel his hatred as they locked eyes. He vowed that he would take the accursed human's skull and wear it around his neck one day.
The human turned away from him. He dared to turn away from the greatest of all orc shamans and celebrated with his men! Ner'zhul glared at the walls, trying to use his willpower to tear it down. It wasn't until Dentarg touched his shoulder that he realized that some time had passed and that he was now nearly alone.
"What do we do now, master?" Dentarg, ever faithful Dentarg, asked him. What could he tell the ogre but the truth?
"Nothing..." Ner'zhul felt the weight of defeat on his shoulders. "We can do nothing for now. We must wait for—"
Ner'zhul stopped. The earth spirits were being disturbed. Something was coming this way. Something massive. Closing his eyes, Ner'zhul became one with the earth and the earth became his eyes. He saw them, tens of thousands of proud orc warriors making their way to him. At their head were their greatest warriors, the wolf riders, and leading them from the front was the Warchief of the Horde.
Ner'zhul, for the first time, felt unsettled as he returned to his body. His Warchief would demand an explanation for his failure. He would be punished in some manner for that, but that punishment meant nothing now. His eyes went back to the humans on the walls, and he could taste their despair as they bore witness to their Warchief arrival.
The human who had bested him turned and made eye contact with him. Ner'zhul smiled cruelly, letting him know that before the day was out, he would be dead. They would all be dead.
For the Horde!
+++ Stromgarde Keep +++
Despair flooded our walls and for once, there was nothing I could say to make them feel better. It wasn't until this new Horde army got closer that I was able to make out their banner and saw the white-painted face with an open jaw. I was intimately familiar with the banner just as much as the Horde symbol. In another life, I had fought that clan several times under a different name. I searched for their leader and found him. He was at their head and though smaller than most of the other orcs, anyone could feel that he was different from the others.
Grom Hellscream and his Warsong clan were here.
We could do nothing but watch as the large army gathered across from our walls. Fresh, eager, orcs ready to do battle with an extremely depleted foe.
"What are we to do milord?" a scared footman asked.
"Gather all the civilians to the inner keep and seal it off," I told the footman, somehow keeping my voice steady. "After that...we make these orcs pay for every inch of this keep."
The footmen didn't answer me, but I could see that he was less scared now.
God, I wish I had an 'I Win' bullshit ghost army right about now…
TBC...
AN: We're in the endgame for Vol 2 now.
First of all thanks to Icura for working hard on this editing to make it out!
Secondly thanks to all the new patron members and for the older member supports. You guys are once again amazing and I am eternally grateful!
And thus the final battle begins. I had to be a bit creative at the bloodlust part. I view it as a two separate blood lust. The WC2 Horde used bloodlust that made them stronger. Thrall clean shaman bloodlust made them faster. Since this was a dirty shaman with a demon inspired bloodlust, you got something that made them strong and fast but also burn em out. That how I see it anyway, no doubt there might be some disagreement. I wanted to show the tug of war of will between Callan and Ner'zhul. Spirit vs Spirit if you will. :P (Kudos for those that get it) In the end we have our winner but like a vulture here come Grom and the OG bad boys of the Horde. :D
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Finally, as always C+C welcomed, discussion eternally appreciated
