People in this chapter:
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Teraan Coo Ragnorak Gorecleave Voyonkor Economist Rohan Dje Blackluster Gnurg Obliviana Smeldor Wilcox Chillmaster Icedmilk |
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**Ragnorak** Amidst the decaying ruins of the Alliance stronghold the Horde troops dragged the corpses onto a raging bonfire. Ragnorak watched from the battlements as his troops slide the slaughtered Theramore guard along the floor, their capes tearing along the rugged ground. He sniffed up and closed his eyes, breathing in the fumes of their burning bodies. Most of their weapons were melted down to be reforged, but Ragnorak chose to keep the greatest prize for himself. In his hands he inspected the sword of Wilcox, its green gem dimming slightly, chain mail gloves stroked across the bloodied blade which had slain his men. He laughed mockingly as he seethed it to his side. After a short time of watching the clean up process, Ragnorak departed down the stone stairs into the courtyard. Soldiers bowed as he walked past before continuing with their duties, none seemed bothered by the stench of burning corpses, some even seemed to share Ragnorak’s enthusiasm for it. He walked into the keep, a square stone building with heavy wooden doors, and into the main chamber, where a large wooden desk had a map sprawled over it. Tattered and dirty, it showed the world as the Horde knew it, a number of officers both Horde and Demonic stood over looking around it. Gorecleave, surrounded by two guards dressed solely in heavy black armour bar blood red capes, stood at the head of the table smiling as Ragnorak entered. “We were just discussing our next move”, motioned the Demon lord, “Our enemy has finally started to mobilise, and they hide in their great city of Stormwind. Our scouts tell us even the army of Ironforge will entrench themselves there”. “Ha!” mocked the war chief, “Great city? I will crush their greatness into the ground! How soon can we march on the gates? They hide like little girls behind their walls, cowards!” The room looked up from the map, Ragnorak’s booming voice causing them to stand to attention. Voyonkor walked up to him with parchment in his hands, he lent over to his commander as the others watched and whispered into his ear. “Sir, we cannot move out for some weeks now. We should fortify this position, we should wait for reinforcements from around the Horde and then plan to inva-“ Voyonkor told him before being promptly cut off. “Rubbish! You incompetent fool! You stay here to rebuild and plan all you want” snarled Ragnorak, disregarding the discreetness of Voyonkor's whispers, “Economist, you are my new second in command while this planner sits and…” As the room waited for him to finish his sentence, Economist said under his breath “plans, sir?” Ragnorak suddenly bellowed “Plans! As he sits in this pathetic ruin they call Theramore, we shall sail the seas to glory!” Economist bowed in respect to his new promotion while Voyonkor stood motionless in shock, scared to even speak before slipping into the darkness. Ragnorak then stepped forward, took one look at the murky map and slammed his fist onto it, before scrunching the paper in his fist “Ready your ships Gorecleave, we sail for Booty Bay in 3 days, and march on Stormwind in 5” ordered Ragnorak. Disgruntled, the dark knight replied back to him “They will be ready when I say they will be ready. Do not fear my friend; we shall destroy our enemies in time.” Ragnorak squinted around the room angrily, knowing he needed both Gorecleave’s troops and his ships for his campaign, and walked out back into the courtyard. The advisers quickly scrambled for the map to begin planning again. **Teraan** In the aftermath of Orgrimmar, Teraan had fled the capital and attempted contact with as many still loyal to old order of the Horde. They resided far from Belendor’s reach, in the green valleys of Ashenvale. The guards who escorted Teraan on his quest for information about Virdo’s disappearance were the first to make camp, since then they had helped others escape from Orgrimmar. Stragglers had been found wandering the plains outside the city walls, and rescue crews were often sent as search parties. Some were successful, brining valuable resources and recruits to the rebellion, whereas others simply never returned. His armour was heavily dinted despite much repair work, and the once shining plate was now covered with dirt and mud. He walked around the small makeshift camp inspecting the new influx of food and resources whilst ordering his men where to take each one. Trees and foliage surrounded the base whereas wooden huts were used for both storage and housing. The camp itself was located on a hill, an old dirt path led to the clearing in the trees up the hill. Many of the tools they used were cut from the near by forest giving it a very natural look among the backdrop of green and brown. The rebels, has they had been labelled, attempted small scale attacks on the Horde. Strikes on supply lines partly funded the rebellion, and they hoped dented the Horde's efforts. Their presence inside the great cities was very low, with virtually no activity or attacks. However, some inhabitants of the agricultural Thunderbluff were sympathetic towards the rebellion, and a large portion of their food supply came from the wealthy Matsy, who had an abundance of crops and foods. Within this out of the way camp they saw themselves as safe to perform their hit and run tactics. Belendor’s execution squad never ventured into the lush forests of Ashenvale, believing the rebellion to be of little threat and not worth investigating. The sound of hooves could gently be heard heading up the dirt path, the men all stood to attention at the incoming visitors and looked for their weapons. Despite their perception of security, they knew they would never be safe and it was required of all able bodied rebels to be ready at every moment. “Friendlies approach, search party Delta!” announced the spotter, as the rebels returned to their posts and the guards stood down. As Delta team entered the camp they slowed their pace before coming to a halt. Stewards aided them off their horses, the worn faces of the men showed a tired expression. Teraan walked up to greet Coo, the leader of the pack. An archer dressed in green and brown striped leather, a great bow strapped to his back and a dagger to his side. “Any news?” asked Teraan, “I see no new faces, did you speak to the Alliance? Will they help us?”. The archer continued unstrapping his quill from his horse, “Theramore has fallen. We dared not move while Ragnorak commanded the armies out there. We found only one fellow survivor, Icedmilk, but I’m afraid we were too late. She was dead before we arrived.” Teraan looked at him and attempted a grim smile; he nodded in acceptance at the sad news. With the fall of Theramore, the rebellion was left alone on the continent as the only resistance to the new Horde. Despite the tensions between the Horde and the Alliance, Teraan had hoped they may offer protection in these dark times. Coo had been sent to meet with Wilcox of Theramore, with an intention of a pact between the two. If a deal could be brokered, Teraan planned to use the Alliance's fleet to journey to Stormwind. It would allow any rebels who wanted simply to flee to make home on the Eastern isles, and any fighters a chance to hold in the mighty Alliance stronghold. They at least hoped to start trading with the Alliance, building towards future allegiances, and the establishment of the rebels as their own faction. With Wilcox's death, there was no chance of official recognition of their war efforts in the eyes of the Alliance, no possibility of trade and the last opportunity of escape dissipated with the Horde capture of Theramore. The two then turned to the rest of the camp, and walked off the brown path to the green grass to prepare the base for any potential attacks. Their time of being under the radar was over, and Belendor’s arm may now stretch into Ashenvale and beyond. Despite there being only one path to the base, any potential blockade would be futile. They did not have the resources to create a blockade strong enough to withhold a full frontal attack, and the protection of the trees was not a solid defence. Their best hope was simply to have constant patrols and try keep tabs on any potential attacks, in the meantime they tried to stay out of the way and hidden within the forest. **Rohan** A messenger sprinted down the bridge of Stormwind. The white stone paved the way, arching over the reflective blue water below. Large marble statues stood watch either side of the pathway, wielding great golden weapons. Ancient heroes from Stormwind's past, a wise mage, a mighty warrior, a nimble archer and a noble admiral. He had little time to take notice of their glory as he hurriedly made for the giant gates. He finally came to the exit and passed the stationed guards to find Rohan stood in his heavy brown armour shouting instructions up and around the walls. His blue cape had been attached to his back and blew gracefully in the wind, the golden trails around it shone in the sun. Nervously he slowed his pace and walked over to Rohan, “S...sir, your presence is required. By the council”. Rohan gestured him away with a dismissive hand movement before bellowing orders back up to the craftsman on the wall. With the news from Theramore, the Divinity leader had begun improving Stormwind's defences. Much of their wall and battlements had fallen into purely scenic purposes, used for ceremonies and displays. Rohan planned to turn the mighty stronghold of the Alliance into a fearful battle station, able to survive a siege indefinitely, Suddenly, an arrow flew through the air and landed at Rohan's feet. He took a step back, placed his hand on his sword and looked up to see the assassin. After a quick scan he noticed Obliviana stood with her bow out, she reached back into her quill and took aim again. “Are you going to come, or do I need to fire another,? Maybe I'll aim a bit higher this time.” she quipped at him. Not wishing to antagonise her any further, he nodded and headed towards Stormwind. The council of Stormwind awaited and most likely wanted to discuss the defence of the city. Rohan did not want to waste precious time talking when there needed to be action. Before he even managed three steps, Oblivana turned around towards the city and spoke again, “You better pick that arrow up, I may need it later”. Belittled, Rohan gritted his teeth, “Boy” he motioned to the messenger, “Pick up the lady's arrow and let her have it”, the boy stumbled to the arrow and returned it to Oblivana as they made their way back into Stormwind. Walking back down the stone bridge, they walked through the archways of Stormwind. White blocks of stone held up various layers and walls, laid down by generations of architects. They finally came to the centre, where stone was replaced by wood and thatch work. This was the communal hub of the city, where trade took place. The ground was cobbled with pebbles and a large oak tree took centre stage, towering above the neighbouring buildings it was often the most peacful part of the town. Beneath the tree a small stand stood, a long queue waited near it to be served. With the news from across the seas a recruitment drive by the army had begun and many eager volunteers signed up to serve. Marching through the city they came to Stormwind keep, and proceeded into the council chamber. Obliviana took her seat to the right of Rohan, the Divinity leader looked around the room noticing something was a miss. “We are not all present?” he asked the council. Dje, leader of Inquistion sat in his white robes, the purple lines crossed along his clothing as he stroked his matching white beard and replied back “Chillmaster is still out at Westfall gathering crops. We hope to have our wheat stocks filled within a few days.” Around Stormwind, the countryside was littered with outlying Alliance towns. To the south Westfall and Darkshire fed the city, their futile lands gave plentiful harvests. To the East lay Redshire, a border town between the mountain lands where bandits reigned, it sat by a great lake providing many fish. The nearby forests of Redshire also held many creatures, a playground for hunters and traders wishing to make a profit from meat and furs. On the outskirts of Stormwind itself sat the small village of Goldshire, its name taken from the vast amount of mines surrounding it. The inhabitants of this small village were known for their loyalty to Stormwind and often served in the army in times of need. The gristle nature of the mines served them well in battle, and the supply of vital metals from mining operations were in constant need. Gnurg,the only other member of the council wearing plated armour, who had returned from Theramore unsuccessful then spoke out, “We have begun recruitment drives all over. All towns agree to send troops, but we are pushing to have even the most unlikely to join our ranks. You may have seen our stand in Stormwind, the people believe in our cause.” Rohan faced her, shaking his head, “Tell them all to come. It's not a case of sending their fighters to our war, the war will come to them whether they want it or not. Inside these walls is the only safe place for any Alliance members right now!” Blackluster perked up into the discussion “We cannot force anyone!” Dje stood up, in response to Rohan's refusal to sit down, “Blackluster has a point. We cannot force anyone to come, we can only offer sanctuary and request they defend our lands with us. But you will be happy to hear we have good news.” “What news do you speak of?” asked Oblivana eagerly. Sitting back down, Dje nodded to Blackluster, who then stood up himself, “News from Ironforge. Lord Smeldor is on his way, they will bring as many troops and armaments as they can muster. They shall arrive here within a few days. When Chillmaster returns we shall have enough food to feasts for weeks and an army to defend our walls” he said triumphantly. Obliviana seemed to lighten up at the sound of the good news, the room then turned to Rohan, his hands placed firmly over the table as he lurched over it. “You fools think this is a cause for celebration? Look at you, cheering that we have food from our farmers and fighters from our friends. An unstoppable war machine sits out there, waiting to strike. We have not the time for politics and games. Our city is a shambles; its defences outdated and its army untrained. We have but days to make it ready for the greatest battle of our time and you sit here happy we have some wheat?” he viscously said to them all, “If anyone needs me, you can come and find me”. He then stormed out, Obliviana rushed to her feet and followed him out. The chamber looked around and scurried to their feet to try find something important to do. Only Dje remained, rolling his eyes at Rohan's behaviour. |
