Post by Neonhyper
So like, if you missed the last chapter (or, are like me, and need to read it again to get a good idea of what's going on), Voosh!! WARNING! THIS CHAPTER IS REALLY LONG! READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL!
Now... On with the show!
This chapter switches to first person mode. It's only for this chapter >.>
The battle was bloody.
It startled me to think about how peaceful the air had been before. How long... minutes, hours, days? Time was lost to me. However, as I mindlessly struck my blades, my mind wandered back to the events that had happened before this.
I remembered as James came running into the barracks as I lay on the cot, still half-asleep. He had been shouting that King Wrynn was here. I dismissed his claims as being slightly mad in the head, as the King had not been scheduled to arrive for several days since then. After a few forceful shoves and some dragging, I saw that James was not crazy, as several lines of Alliance soldiers were in file, and the King was walking down them.
We saluted as he walked past; Lady Jaina Proudmoore was at his heels, begging that he quit the ‘foolishness’ that was the battle to come. He dismissed her talk and eventually reaching the end of the lines where Wyrmbane stood and greated the two with a bow. The leader of the 7th Legion stepped off to the side, and was about to speak when Miss Proudmoore lashed out at him with a few harsh words. King Wrynn replied to her with the same tone, and this continued for a while before the mage vanished in a dazzling light.
There was silence until the King began his own speech, restating the troubles that the Horde had brought upon them and that justice was to be served. He continued, the Alliance present was captivated by his words and the promises of victory. As the King ended his speech, the soldiers cheered, and Wyrmbane announced that they would be moving forward at the dawn of the next day.
The foot soldiers had a party near the end of the day, to drink a supposed ‘last drink’ before the war started. James forced me to come, against my wishes for sleep, along with having a few drinks which increased my grogginess the next morning. I never even got time to change out of my armor before I collapsed, asleep, from exhaustion.
I dropped a Forsaken wretch to the ground before looking over my shoulder the 7th Legion Camp. There we had camped and waited for the Horde to come out of hiding. A man named ‘Wyrmbait’ retold a story of how he brought a frost wyrm down with nothing more than himself, his gryphon, and a carrot on a stick. I counted him as absolutely nuts, as nobody would be foolish enough to think frost wyrms are attracted to carrots.
I was pulled away from my thoughts once more as an orc leapt onto me and tried to push my body down to the ground. His plate was thick, so it was with effort that I managed to ram one of my swords through his tabard and into his chest. The mongrel refused to back down. He grabbed an axe and tried to sever my arm, but I brought my second sword up into his body and the green-skinned beast fell to the ground.
That gave me a moment to look around at my comrades. I saw many of them fallen upon the ground, killed from a single blow they could not dodge, or an enemy they did not see. It pained me greatly, and I found the emotional stress more taxing on my ability to fight than the physical wounds I held. I had to pry myself away from the sight of bloody corpses to focus on the task ahead: fighting for survival.
The Horde were merciless. Blood poured from the sky like the heavy rains of Stranglethorn Vale; every step you took, your boots pressed into the organs of your enemies and your allies. Bones cracked underneath swift strikes of blades, lightning struck the ground in waves from the hands of shamans, and the elements of wind and water battered both sides.
My vision was a mix of red and black. Thick, dark scarlet liquid was splattered against my face and the darkness of fatigue taunted me from the edges of my sight. I don’t know how I kept going, but I continued to fight. The blades clutched in my grip pierced the flesh of many Horde-scums, the metal edges dripped with blood and entrails.
At that moment, I felt a sense of dread that loomed over me. It was only then that I noticed, in the distance a shadowed blood elven figure held a bow in perfect aim to my heart. My adrenaline pumped to extremes, but I readied my blades, preparing to charge upon the elf at a moment’s notice. Then I realized that even if I did charge, I would most likely be too late. The elf’s bow would fire, and the arrow would pierce my heart before I even blinked.
Showing weakness would make me even more vulnerable, so I stayed in a fighting position, ready to pounce. Then the elf stepped into the light. I saw it was a female, one with a figure hidden beneath layers of black armor. Her face was still darkened by the shadows cast from her mangled tresses, yet the piercing glow of her fel green eyes could not be masked.
We stood there facing each other for who knows how long. Only by the Light was I not attacked by other Horde while watching the woman who had me at the mercy of her jagged arrow’s head.
She never let the projectile fly.
The elf lowered the bow and backed away; so did I, but never letting my weapons drop in case it was a trick to make me lower my defenses. When she dropped out of sight, I quickly ducked to the side to find another Horde to kill, trying to push the odd experience out of my mind.
I felt a numbing sensation near the base of my leg, like something was trying to crawl up it.
When I looked back to see what was happening, I saw fire creeping its way around my boot and leg armor, eating into the metal to try and get to my flesh. I looked around, seeing the elven mage charging another firebolt to finish me off. As the magic flames ate away at my skin, I closed my eyes and prepared to see my life end after having almost avoided it.
I looked up; standing in front of my injured form was James. He had his claymore gripped with two hands, one on the hilt and the other directly on the blade. The fireball struck where the blade was, and I saw that James was more resourceful than I could have imagined. A translucent shield came from his sword and blocked the fireball as if it was nothing.
“Enchanted swords are the best, eh Skyguy?” James looked at me and grinned, before leaping onto the mage and ramming his weapon through the caster’s chest.
I saw the mage drop to the ground in a flurry of blood. James bent down and picked me up with some effort. The fires were still burning, but my friend dumped the contents of his canteen onto the flames once he managed to get me away from most of the fighting and to his horse. He saddled me on the stallion’s back and got on himself.
“You’re goin’ back to Wintergarde to heal up, you’re not dyin’ out here yet!”
He was right, but I felt helpless. My leg was broken, shattered, and charred; the fire might have even spread up to my upper chest. I looked behind me at the battlefield.
I swear I could see the blood elf archer staring back at me.
That was all that was around me.
Greyhoof had left me almost as soon as the battle had begun so that he could hack his way through the Alliance in the front lines. I commend him for his bravery. I, on the other hand, chose to stay back and not get chopped to pieces in a few seconds. The arrogant fool believes himself invincible, I wonder to myself if he’s a reject from his race, or just one zealously loyal to Hellscream.
I remember the warriors of the Horde walking down the icy paths and ravines that made the tattered landscape of the Dragonblight. We traveled with many. Rogues slinked to the side, our magi and warlocks traveled in the middle. Rangers and archers, like me, were scattered across the center. The warriors made a shield around everyone, and we even traveled with a few goblin tinkerers.
Little green twerps.
Zephyr decided to accompany me to this battle. With what little I could get out of his spirit speak—he wanted to make sure I would not be harmed. I admired the spectral cat for actually caring for my well-being, unlike many who decided to fight with me. He slinked at my side; I could feel the cold numbing chill that came by having his ghost like-form touch my body. Both of us had come accustomed to it.
I subtly made my way forward through the army, carefully pushing past the warriors, and making sure to shove a few elves around as I did. Leading the charge was Garrosh in his dark blue armor and dual axes. He was out for revenge, no, he was out to quench his bloodlust.
Make no mistake, I knew there would be blood, but never had I seen so much thrown across the ground like I did during this battle.
The snow was stained scarlet as far as you could see the war raging. Above rained blood mixed with rain, stormy clouds commanded tempests from the call of shamans’ hands. Hails of frost came down with the aid of magi, blasts of fire, and explosions of arcane. Bodies were strewn across the ground, their insides cut out and seeping into piles.
It was a disgusting sight, and yet more came.
The axes of the Horde came down in swift strikes, severing limbs, decapitating heads, and cutting out stomachs. On the other hand, the Alliance crushed the skulls of our warriors with their hammers guided by their so called ‘Light’. Their warriors had weapons that struck true as well, blades of steel that thrust their way into chests and hearts. While Garrosh would say our enemies were cowards, I admit they were as well trained as us.
I still laughed as I stood from the post I had made for myself on a hill. Zephyr was below, tearing his ghostly claws into the flesh of the Alliance. He snuck through the enemy lines and shredded their throats, before they knew what had happened, the cat was gone. While he ravaged their soldiers, I rained death from above. My arrows delivered a swift demise as the twisted points locked themselves in the hearts of the enemies. They never even knew I existed.
A warrior had turned to look at me as I fitted another arrow into my bow and pointed it at his chest. I couldn’t tell if he was afraid, as he raised his weapons in an attempt to defend himself. His hair might have been blond from the few strands untouched by the blood and gore surrounding him. He wore standard Stormwind armor, though his was much nicer, but he couldn’t have been much more than a footman. His gold plated helmet had a visor that seemed to make his eyes glow inwardly.
I grit my teeth and wondered why I was paying so much attention to the small details. I looked down at the warrior once more and stepped forward to get a better aim around his weapons. Then I saw what he was going to try and do.
He was going to charge.
Something pumped in my own heart as I realized what that could mean. If I let the arrow fly, he could easily knock it away and get to my position and plunge his swords into me. I would be dead simply because I didn’t manage to catch him off guard. So why did he hesitate?
I lowered my bow and backed away.
I still watch the warrior, and he was backing off as well. Maybe he thought that I was still going to kill him if he didn’t keep his guard up, but I wasn’t going to risk my life on one stupid soldier. Soon he was out of sight, and I quietly crept back up to my spot and continued a killing spree.
Somewhere in that battlefield I imagined Garrosh and Varian Wrynn clashing weapons with neither of them gaining the upper hand. Or maybe they weren’t fighting each other yet; maybe they were waiting to get each other last. To make the other see the carnage of the people they led into this battle, to make them regret ever bringing those people into battle.
I sighed and looked across the battlefield. The Wastes of the Dragons was stained with the blood of a massacre. Out of the corner of my eye, the temple of Wyrmrest stood as a reminder to everyone the lands we were killing on.
Nobody cared; they just wanted each other dead.
My gaze trailed over the fighting, past the bloodshed, to see a silver stallion running off into the horizon. Two figures were upon the horse’s back.
There I saw the warrior, and he was staring back.