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Constantine

Monster Kill Posts: 266 Joined: 27 Jul 2006 686 gold

Fall Of Troll Warlord Chapter 1 and 2

Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2007 1:33 am

Introduction

It is the 46th year of the war against the Scourge, and it has been 10 years since the passing of the Old Guard. The Old Guard, under Furion, was notable for its champions, such as Purist Thunderwrath, and its acceptance of people of all races and backgrounds to fight for the World Tree. The Old Guard is no more however, and power resides in the hands of six politicians, the War Council, which include the archmage Ezalor, who has been given a new body and position at the head of the human forces, termed the Allied forces.

In the 6th Auxiliary Army, an army of humans, trolls, ogres, and orcs, under the command of Purist Thunderwrath, is Jah'rakal, son of the chieftain of the Shadowaxe clan and Warlord of those trolls that have decided to join the Sentinel. Also stationed there is Rylai Crestfall, sorceress and consort of Ezalor and Rhasta, a shaman known for his gift for prophecy.

On the outskirts of the 6th Auxiliary Army is Terrorblade, Soul Keeper of the Lich King and Field Marshal of the Scourge, one of the most powerful Scourge champions. His brother, Magina, acts as the infamous Mage-Slayer of the War Council.

Prologue: A Shadow in the Night

The soldiers smashed their cups together, carousing into the night and singing loudly, all the while gulping down huge quantities of cheap ale. Jah'rakal strode past the celebrating humans and trolls, though secretly sharing in his men's noisy festivities. The night was still young, though, and the young troll warlord had the feeling of being watched. He looked up at the shadowed hills, these ancient structures silently judging these mortals rejoicing below. Still the feeling persisted, though try as he might, Jah'rakal could see nothing out there but shadow and moonlit bushes.
Irritated, the warlord pulled aside one of the trolls sitting apart from the others. Manith, trapper and Jah'rakal's close friend, had always been shy, and his interactions with the other soldiers had been minimal. Silently he listened to his warlord voice his fears before assuring his companion and commander that if any scouts were observing them, the undead army was still leagues away, too far to stage a night attack. Satisfied, Jah'rakal made his way back to his tent, where he nodded off to the tune of a drinking song being belted out by what seemed to be competing herds of elephants.

Terrorblade continued scanning the camp below, noting with interest the presence of the young sorceress which in Terrorblade's eyes was clad in wreaths of bluish magic, barely standing upright as she drank down another tankard to the loud encouragements of her comrades. A particularly forward suggestion was answered with a slap to the face, which made Terrorblade smile. He loved women with spirit. They were always the hardest to break, but when they did...
Terrorblade turned his attention back to the camp as he saw a messenger arrive. The human spared a few words for the sorceress before rushing off to the commander's tent. He narrowly missed a pair of brawling trolls and stopped to shout something at them before an axe sent him running, though the drunk's weapon went speeding off into the bushes beyond. The troll scratched his head, wondering whether to retrieve his axe or not, and Terrorblade remembered that these pitiful creatures could not see as well in the night.
Sight, what a strange word. Terrorblade raised a clawed hand to the blindfold wrapped around his eyes and tried to remember what it was like to be able to see. His own “sight” he knew, was different from others, for where they saw flesh and blood creatures, he saw souls. The pulsing beat of magic attracted his attention, as did the alluring souls which these magic-users had, these souls submerged in raw power. Once again, Terrorblade looked at the sorceress. Yes, she would be delicious.

Chapter I: The Mage Slayer

Rylai awoke with a pulsing headache and tried to remember the night before. Dimly she recalled having drunk way too much, and a messenger...The messenger! Rylai jumped out of bed and hurried to her wardrobe, quickly dressing herself as a dread feeling emerged in her stomach. Letting the magic rush through her body, cleansing her, the headache disappeared, as did everything but the sweet sensation of magic.
She didn't know how long she stood there, basking in the bliss of channeling, but she was restored to reality by a tap on the shoulder. One of the officers, a friend named Wrenlock, hurriedly reminded her of the urgent situation. Together, the two humans ran through the camp, halting at the commander's tent, before pushing through. There they met the equally anxious eyes of their fellow captains.
The commander, one of the most famous war heroes in history though now much past his prime, cleared his throat before announcing what everyone already knew. “Captains, today we have a special arrival from the capital. The War Council has sent us the Mage-Slayer and his spellbreakers on a special mission. We are required to offer them any aid they need, as well as obey any orders they may give us.”
Purist Thunderwrath looked around the room before continuing, “I know what they say about Magina, and I know how much power he holds with the council, but I'll be damned if I let some elvish scum take over this camp. I know what they say, that I'm old and obsolete, but I still hold enough sway to make my say respected. You're my men, and I owe you, and be it undead or Mage-Slayer, if anyone thinks they can take you down, you can bet I'll be there on the front lines with you, fighting till the end.”
The officers cheered, emboldened by their leader's brave words. It was said that the Council had asked Purist to step down more than once, but with his retirement, at least half the army would have mutinied. Thunderwrath was the last link with the Old Guard, a regime which, in stark contrast to the Council's reign of fear, was spoken of with pride. Thunderwrath loved his men, and they loved him, and for that, he was too dangerous for the Council to remove.
Still, though he was brave, there was nothing Purist could do against Magina. The Mage-Slayer held as much power as a high commander, and Omniwrath was but a general. Seeing her distress, Wrenlock smiled at Rylai, assuring her that there was nothing to fear from the Empire's most dreaded assassin, a killer who's victims were as often Sentinel as they were Scourge. Putting a brave front, the Crystal Maiden smiled back at him.

A few hours later the officers assembled in front of the camp to greet the War Council's envoys. Behind them, soldiers crowded to take a look at Magina, who rumor had it was actually a demon in elvish guise. Silently, the spectators waited as a small party of men came down the hill.
As they neared, the Mage-Slayer was eclipsed by the fiery colour of his companions' scarlet armour. The spellbreakers marched proudly, their extravagant armour shining in the sun and their leader's blood-red cape billowing out. The dark elf that was the Mage-Slayer passed almost unnoticed amidst such attention-drawing finery. But as he neared, Rylai reconsidered. Though the Mage-Slayer did not flaunt his power, he moved with the lithe grace of a hardened killer, and his eyes reflected a cruel streak which she had only seen in one other being.
Drawing near, Magina halted, his cortège of spellbreakers following his lead. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking over the trolls and the humans, briefly resting on Rylai in a searching glance that chilled her, then finally coming to rest on Purist Thunderwrath. The assassin's eyes studied the general, and the old hero glared back, standing straight and proud. Finally, the leader of the spellbreakers broke the silence by addressing the ancient Omniknight.
“Greetings, general. As you have been notified, the War Council has sent the Mage-Slayer and my spellbreakers on a special mission here. We will be glad to accept your hospitality and any aid you could offer us,” the spellbreaker glanced around at the crowd before dropping his voice, “Perhaps, general, we should speak in a less public setting.”
As if jerked back to reality, Purist looked away from the Mage-Slayer and wordlessly led the distinguished guests to his tent.

Magina glanced around at the hills, fuming. That incompetent relic of a general had opposed him at every possible turn; had it not been for his position, the Mage-Slayer would long have executed him for insubordination. Now, though, more pressing matters were at hand. The Council's personal assassin scanned the hills again. Somewhere, his brother was hiding, watching him.
When Purist had learned of the nature of the mission at hand he had hardly blinked. Magina had to admit, the general had guts. Terrorblade was not an easy quarry, and currently ranked as a very powerful general in the Scourge. Today, though, the Mage-Slayer would even their old score. Terrorblade was no match for his brother, Magina had learned a few new tricks since their last encounter.
The Mage-Slayer licked his lips. This time, there would be no mistakes. It would be a glorious night. Perhaps to celebrate, he would find that sorceress he had observed earlier. She was beautiful and young, and much too terrified to oppose him. Magina smiled as he thought of the night that awaited him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the crunching of boots behind him. Magina spun to see Nortrom signal wordlessly with his glaive. The night elf nodded back, pleased to hear that the plan was working. It seemed that Terrorblade had fallen for the bait. Silently, the Mage-Slayer and the Spellbreaker Commander made their way to the marked hill, watching the scene below unfold.
Purist Thunderwrath stood, sword out, confronting the mighty Soul Keeper. Terrorblade was laughing, but the Omniknight didn't even tremble. With luck, thought Magina, the two would kill each other and thus fix his problem.
Terrorblade called out loudly to the old knight standing before him, “So, Thunderwrath, it's been some time since I last saw you. As I remember, you destroyed my army, you and your companions. Today, we shall even that score. The drow and the centaur are dead and the Prophet shall receive his recompense in due time; you are the last one of the Old Guard that still fights on. I'm curious. Why?”
The general glared at the demonic figure talking to him, “There is more to life than power and greed, demon. I fight for the old ideals, I fight for what I have always fought for, and if I must die, a martyr for my faith, then so be it. But be it you or your damned brother that kill me, still I will stand, tall and with a sword in my hand, to the very end.”
Terrorblade chuckled, “Admirable words, Purist. Unfortunately, I'm afraid your preaching ways are over. Old man, did you really think that you could fight me?”
Magina stepped out behind the Soul Keeper, “No brother, but I can.”
Terrorblade spun to see spellbreakers come out of the bushes, surrounding him. The Soul Keeper looked around wildly, searching for a possible escape, but there was none to be had.
Magina continued, a pleased smile tugging his lips as he regarded his trapped brother, “Terrorblade, Soul Keeper of the Scourge, for crimes against the Sentinel, I, Magina, High Mage-Slayer, hereby do condemn you to death.” The Mage-Slayer raised a moonblade, preparing to finish off his brother.
Terrorblade smiled and disappeared. From the hills a loud cackle was heard, accompanied by the taunting cries of a murder of ravens taking flight. Magina stared dumbstruck at the place where the image had been. He could feel his fists clenching in fury.

Chapter 2: A Snake in the Dark

Damn night elves, damn them all. Jah'rakal and his hunters strode silently through the night, peering through the gloom for any sign of the enemy. That accursed elf had come back from his hunt all furious, and Purist Omniwrath had not looked much happier. Then the elf had ordered the entire camp to search for some so-called demon patrolling the hills. More likely, the Mage-Slayer had lost a moonblade and now was venting his anger on the army.
One of the hunters, a berserker from Outer Felwood, jumped back as the bushes rustled. The trolls stared transfixed as a squirrel leaped out and scampered away. Jah'rakal ground his teeth in frustration. Send his best hunters out in the middle of the night and now they were all jumping at shadows. Curse elves and their whole, miserable race.
The troll warlord sighed, and quietly told Manith to set up a few hunting traps to make their futile venture at least somewhat profitable. Another berserker yawned, muttering something foul about night elves which Jah'rakal was not inclined to disagree with.
The night was suddenly shattered by rough battle cries as a horde of small, dwarvish creatures surged out of the darkness. Kobolds! Damn beasts always had a way of attacking wherever and whenever you didn't expect them. Grimly, Jah'rakal hefted his axe, determined to show the world his frustration by bringing home a collection of kobold skulls. Beside him, his warriors held their axes lightly, ready to throw them at the first provocation.
As Jah'rakal had instructed them, his hunters only let loose once the kobold's eyes could clearly be seen, their small, deformed shapes silhouetted by the moon at their backs. The axes struck them straight in the chests and faces, causing the first few to drop down, but their comrades clambered atop their bodies, the fate of their dead companions unnoticed by the screaming savages. As the kobolds entered the melee Jah'rakal swung his axe up, hitting a roaring kobold straight in the chin. The troll did not let the surprised warrior recover from the blow and swiftly gutted him with the sharp blade on the tip of his axe.
Looking around, Jah'rakal was pleased to see his companions holding their own against the superior party of kobolds. It would take more than a dozen of the rat creatures to overwhelm the Shadowaxe's clan's finest, thought Jah'rakal proudly.

Maybe it was an instinct, or perhaps a magical warning, but Jah'rakal whirled to see a dark shape, yellow eyes pleading, the harsh sounds of a dying troll constricting the warlord's heart as he looked at his friend Manith. The eyes blinked once, one final effort which seemed to cost the troll all that he had left, but it was enough. That signal which he and Jah'rakal had long practiced saved the warlord's life. Jah'rakal dropped to the ground as a dagger came flying at him, piercing his arm and leaving a terrible, burning feeling in his body. The troll grabbed and weakly threw his axe at the darkness, but whatever figure had been there disappeared. Around him, the troll warriors rallied around their chieftain, dead kobold corpses behind them a testimony to their prowess in battle. Shakily, the trolls brought their leader home, leaving behind a battlefield where lay, all ready being torn by scavengers, a troll who had once called himself Manith and who had saved his warlord's life.

Rhasta stomped through the camp, angrily kicking aside discarded objects and anything else that was in his path. What did the night elf think he would accomplish by sending out the army in the middle of the night, apart from alerting every Scourge scout within miles as to their position? The elf was young, too young to have attained maturity, and patience like others of his kind.
Rhasta slowed as he heard voices nearby, voices which he recognized. That was definitely his sorceress friend Rylai, and the other was the Mage-Slayer. What does he want with her? The troll shaman peered from the side of the tent, unnoticed by the two engaged in heated conversation.
Rylai gestured, her words soft and pleading, “Please sir, I don't even know you. I have a lover and...”
The Mage-Slayer's face darkened with anger, “You dare to refuse me? Do you know who I am? I'll damn well pass you around the army naked if I want!”
Rylai seemed ready to cry, “No, sir, please, spare me. I don't want to anger anyone I just want to go to my tent. Please sir, leave me alone.”
Rhasta's face was a reflection of the Night Elf's and he strode out, hardly believing what he had heard. That elf wanted to take advantage of such a young girl!
Rhasta's arrival surprised both the sorceress and the assassin, and the latter jerked his moonblade up reflexively. “Listen, you young thug, don't think you can take advantage of Rylai here. She's telling the truth, she does have a lover, and you know what his name is? Ezalor, Keeper of the Light, and you can go to the Seven Hells if you don't believe me. There is a reason the Crystal Maiden is an officer you know, and part of it lies in her connections.”
Chew on that, you dirty elf. The assassin was taken aback, and stood thinking silently for a minute. Finally he jerked his head up, glaring at the sorceress and the troll. The words seemed forced out of his rock set jaw, “My apologies, sorceress. I was unaware of your...circumstances.”
The elf glared and with the blink of an eye, had disappeared. Rhasta sighed with relief and heard the Crystal Maiden echoing him. He turned to look at her reassuringly but she was tense, her eyes distant and unfocused, as if in a trance. She was suddenly returned to earth and started running, dragging the troll with her.
“There's been an attack, and someone's been injured. Someone of great power, they're bringing him back here. If we don't help him, he'll die.”
Bewildered but trusting the girl, Rhasta sprinted to catch up with her, until they rounded a corner to see Jah'rakal's party limping along, carrying their fallen warlord. Rylai quickly took command of the situation, commandeering the makeshift stretcher and kneeling down to look at the troll. Rhasta's heart slowed as he saw Jah'rakal's chest rise and fall breathing, but then he saw the dagger embedded in the troll's arm.
Setting his teeth, Rhasta tore the dagger out, which was accompanied by a convulsion from the patient. Examining the weapon, the shaman's verdict was grim, “A poisoned dagger, and not a cheap one by any means. Whoever threw this, they knew what they were doing. If there's anything we can do, we'll have to do it fast, before it's too late.”
Rylai nodded absently. Already she was moving her nimble hands down the troll's body, magically testing for signs of the poison and other infections. Rhasta closed his own hands over the wound, channeling searching spells into it. After a few minutes, the shaman was sure of how far the poison had spread. He conveyed his discovery to the Crystal Maiden and they both moved the warlord inside a tent, while another troll ran to fetch the supplies the sorceress needed.
Searching inside his own bag, Rhasta found what he was looking for, a small jar of a pasty, yellow-greenish substance. Returning from his search, the troll berserker handed the sorceress a bottle, filled with glowing, blue liquid.
Seeing the shaman's questioning glance, the sorceress explained, “Healing water from the Fountain of Life, at the foot of the World Tree. This should help his body eliminate the poison, though I'm not sure I have enough to cure every trace of the attack.”
Rhasta nodded, “Once the poison has been eradicated, I have a healing salve to close the wound to prevent infections. What I'm afraid though, is of the damage of the mind. Jah'rakal might remain in shock for days.”
This last thought remained in Rhasta's mind as he saw the sorceress gently feeding the wheezing patient the healing water. After a few hours, it was deemed safe for the shaman to move his hand caressingly over the wound, closing it with the healing salve and some of the shaman's own voodoo magic.
Jah'rakal opened his eyes, “Where am I?”
The healers were at first stunned, then broke out laughing. Between laughs, Rhasta exclaimed, “You're made of sturdy stuff, Jah'rakal.”

Terrorblade glared at the night elf maiden standing across from him. Once a warden, she had sold her services to the Scourge and had been sent to him, the Soul Keeper, for whatever purpose he might find for her.
“You failed in a simple assignment to take down a troll. Not only that, but now you've revealed yourself to them. I've half a mind to deliver you to my brother in a hostage exchange.”
The warden purred, “My lord Terrorblade, it was an accident. That troll has the gods' own luck, there was no way he could have avoided my attack. Even now, he is probably dying of the poison which I put on my dagger. Come now, master, I could not have done better. I beg you to see the truth.”
Terrorblade's brow furrowed. Did the slave think to seduce him? Perhaps she did not understand her position. Maybe it was time to put her back in her place.
Swiftly, the Soul Keeper grabbed Mortred by the throat, lifting her high in the air. “You beg, my lady? Oh no, you're not begging yet. First, you get down on your knees.” Terrorblade smashed the elf on the ground. “Then you address me as, Master.” Barely able to breathe due to the clawed hand strangling her, the assassin coughed out a barely audible “Yes master.”
“Good, you learn fast slave. Now, next time I send you on a mission, you will not return with news of failure.”
“No master. May I go now?”
Terrorblade, grinned, a sadistic, terrible grin. “Oh no, slave. I'm hungry tonight, and I intend to be sated. Scared, beautiful one? You don't know what terror is.”The elf's eyes burned with hatred, but then she realized what her master meant. Her hatred turned to terror as the demon began gorging on her very soul.
Mortred's screams rang throughout the night, a symphony which only spurred the Soul Keeper on.

To Be Continued (really)...... Very Happy

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Last edited by Constantine on Thu Aug 16, 2007 1:35 am; edited 1 time in total