NOTE: This is my first attempt at fanfiction... I'd like people to comment on how it seems so far 
Thanks!
Prologue
The Scrolls of the Guardians relate the History of Azeroth. Unfortunately for the races
of Azeroth, the Scarlet Legion had burnt most of the records in their latest attack in
which they retook Scholomance (the dread school) and Strathholme, a very important keep. Once again the Burning Legion threatened the land with utter destruction. Just like ancient times, the two factions of Azeroth, they couldn't imagine banding up again together to destroy the Legion. In fact, last time it happened, a human ended up becoming the Lich King himself - the leader of the Burning Legion, Arthas. The Scrolls do not exactly relate how the Burning Legion was finally defeated once more in Azeroth, yet it does show that Arthas himself was found missing - he had deserted Icecrown. Many theories have been developed as to what happened to the Dark Prince. Amongst them, the most accepted is that Kil'Jaeden himself finally appeared in the Lich King's presence, and utterly obliterated the very fabric of the Dark Prince, sending him to a place worse than the Twisting Nether itself. Such places should never be spoken of, and thus we shall not speak of them anymore.
After the Burning Crusade was expelled, most races estranged from each other; the Horde slowly separated, as well as the Alliance. Soon enough, Gnomes and Dwarves were alone, Humans found themselves unallied with the Night and High Elves; the Orcs were stuck with Trolls once more as the Tauren returned to Thunder Bluff and the Blood Elves deserted their partners. About the Undead - no one has dared to venture into the Undercity since Sylvanas' disappearance. Varimathras has decided to take control in her absence - Dreadlords can't be trusted.
And thus, heroes came and went, as usual; Paladins and Shamans, Warriors and Archers. The Scrolls don't speak much about the new heroes - Thrall, Jaina, such heroes are the only ones worth remembering. The more recent heroes all lacked the sense of good. In fact, the so-called "heroes" had one thing in mind - glory and power, much like villains themselves. After such a point the Scrolls stop retelling the history; each race has found its resting point, they have their own conflicts. Old allies still visit each other, and some old grudges are still kept. The only considerable major change is possibly the Alliance's acceptance (although reluctant) of the Blood Elves. Apparently, Orcish Warlocks deprived them of their precious magic. Thus, King Kael'Thalas of the Blood Elves went on insane rampage, and ended up cursing his existence before hurling himself into The Great Maelstrom, as the scrolls tell.
Seemingly enough, it seems the Blood Elves are allies of those as long as they can sate their never-ending hunger for mana.
*****
A Blood Elven child had been born not too long ago. The mother was unknown; she had died during childbirth and no one could recognize who she was. A few Blood Elves pointed her out to be a local whore, but many disagreed and insisted she was a barmaid. All possible answers turned out to be the jobs of those considered poor and degenerates in the Blood Elves society, deep in Quel'Thalas. After Arthas had defiled and utterly destroyed their homeland, Prince Kael had thought it to be destroyed and riddled by the Legion's filth. Surprisingly enough, he returned with a band of scouts to find it in ruins - yet not defiled. With extreme joy, he ushered his people once again to the magical city of Quel'Thalas, hoping to finally rid his people of the dependency on others for their mana addiction. In fact, Blood Elven researchers had soon found a way to sort of rebuild the Sunwell that empowered them so. Taking caution not to commit past mistakes with simple gates, Quel'Thalas was now protected by a nearly impenetrable magical barrier. The Blood Elves had succeeded in locking themselves away from the world to roam freely in Quel'Thalas.
It wasn't soon until they felt a need to expand, but not in the sense of taking over lands, but rather exploring new lands. Thus, a portal had been reconstructed where Sylvanas had kept her post during the dark ages of Arthas's maddened destruction which led to new, unexplored lands filled with a nearly endless number of miles to explore. Soon enough, Blood Elves populated the new lands, and created their own society throughout Quel'Thalas, part of the continent known as Lorderon, alongside Azsha'Kin, their new land, honoring their original queen, Azshara, with its name.
It was thus in one of the most degenerate towns in Azsha'Kin, Jirin, that this child had been born. With the mother's last breaths and words, the babe looked at her with a strange look on his face; one could say the newborn could feel the mother's pain. Quickly, the few elven maidens that had found the child's poor mother rushed to the local infirmary, carrying the newborn male elf. The hospital demanded that the mother would be taken to see if she could indeed be saved and save the babe from a dark fate. The maidens nodded and set off.
In minutes, the doctor whom had received the newborn marveled at the uniqueness of him. He could nearly lift objects with simple glances - magic truly resided in this one. Most strange indeed, it would usually take years for a toddler to develop only a part of the Blood Elven innate magic, and, in such cases, the innate magic is simple things such as making flashes or distractions. But, this child could nearly move objects with magic, yet the power wasn't connected to telepathy. Upon the arrival of the young elfmaids, the expression on the doctor's face revealed the future - the mother had little to no chance of survival.
The elven child, now motherless was taken to a nearby scholastic academy of magicians where perhaps the nurse ward could take care of the newborn, and eventually be accepted in the school to be trained in the use of magic.
*****
The gnomes were known widely throughout Azeroth for their massive genius in tinkering that was, sadly, undependable. Most trinkets and inventions backfired in one way or another. For example, a teleporter that worked from anywhere in the world that would take you to Tanaris in Kalimdor would sometimes cause people to appear in mid air, or worse, to be replaced for an hour by one's evil twin! Other gimmicks, such as the Harm Prevention belt would cause the user to shift out of existence for some time, becoming intangible, almost like an ethereal being. But, most famous of all was the Gnomish Death Ray, the invention Gnomes take the most pride in. Sadly, no users that have experienced the backfire effect have been seen.
Due to their ingenuity in tinkering, their home town, Gnomeregan, was run by machinery. They trusted a goblin (which are basically either rivals in technology, or close friends) called Thermaplugg in keeping order in Gnomeregan. The High Tinker himself had entrusted Thermaplugg with the task of Master Tink-Guarder (highest aspiration for a gnomish guard), but the evil little goblin reconfigured half of Gnomeregan, and eventually gained control of all the gnomes' machines and turned them against the gnomes themselves! Thus, the gnomes were forced to retreat to their dwarven companion lands in Dun Morogh with its capital (not too far away from Gnomeregan), Ironforge. The dwarves prided themselves in being able to build such an amazing town in the very core of a volcano. Lava runs through nearly everywhere in Ironforge, with a giant anvil in the middle pointing to King Magni Bronzebeard himself, symbolizing their amazing talent with blacksmithing and their strength and heritage in the Ironforge Library.
The Gnomes had eventually convinced King Magni Bronzebeard to aid them in the recapture of Gnomeregan. After about the thirty-second try, the dwarves gave up, Thermaplugg had them figured out. This time, however, the strike force had made some success in taking back part of Gnomeregan. The Workshop (or rather, the largest part of the town) still was under Thermaplugg, but all the land before it had been recaptured. Sadly, a gnome decided to try out his new invention and, well, it had catastrophic effects to which we won't delve too deep into (those with weak stomachs would faint). After weeks, they are still working to remove all the excess hair in the few survivors' bodies. Due to the gnomes' curiosity, once again, Gnomeregan was completely lost. The Light of the Forge, the dwarven Holy Order, were the last to retreat. Only one of the small strike force provided to aid the gnomes survived; a young dwarven priest known as Kartros Lightforge. His tale, half true, half exaggerated, now had him acclaimed a hero throughout the lands of the dwarves, and word was reaching Darnassus and Stormwind, Night Elf and Human (respectively) capitals.
Recently, Kartros was named Archbishop of the Light of the Forge, not quite the leader, but head of the main Force. He had his own regiment of paladins, priests, templars, and was a senior Bishop (in other words, he could begin teaching apprentices as soon as King Magni felt him ready to). Due to this, he had decided to keep aiding the gnomes. Recently, no progress had been made by the gnomes themselves (due to many backfires in inventions they were sure that "would work" [which roughly meant `Won't backfire 50% of the time']), but instead by the force led by Kartros.
*****
The dwarven priest twiddled his long, thick, red beard, the dwarves' most precious sign of pride, as he thought of what to do next. His plans so far had been thwarted by the machines' AI (gnomes were indeed extremely intelligent, but their eccentric nature caused the backfires). Thermaplugg needn't worry about defenses - the machinery had their own plans of defense!
"So yer sayin' that the back entrance be a shortcut to the workshop? Hermm. Well done, laddie! Arrite you basta'ds! Prepare for war! Tomorrow we set off through the path Private Ironchin found `er!" shouted Kartros
"Aye, Archbishop!" responded most of the soldiers in unison. Kartros smiled. He liked the authority he held in Ironfroge, or maybe just the dwarves in general.
Night fell in Ironforge and eventually crept its way onto the Archbishop's campsite. Guards had been posted around his tent and teams, each composed of two men, were dispatched to patrol the surroundings and inner pathways of the campsite. The night went by silently, save for the loud snoring of the dwarves.
The sun soon poked its way into the sky, burning away the chill of the night. Archbishop Kartros was the first one to wake. Quickly outfitting himself, he walked outside his tent and took a long, deep breath. He looked at his surroundings and nodded. He could feel the Light empowering him. Members of his regiment began to wake up slowly, he could hear the rustle and shuffling of boots and armor.
A small emissary came rushing up to the revered Archbishop.
"Si- I mean. Archbishop. King Magni wishes you good luck and sends you his blessings. He has sent some men of his own to aid you in today's battle," said the young dwarf, pointing to the back.
Kartros nodded in approval - steam engines, or rather, steam tanks as dwarves liked to call it and mortar teams. These would prove useful against the dreaded machinery inside Gnomeregan.
Gnomes awoke from their tents (quite late) and immediately rushed towards the tanks to inspect their gears and craftsmanship. Dwarves were soon sent to pull them off the tanks before any harm would be caused by the little rascals.
After about an hour, the army had been geared up and the tanks and mortar teams were in position. Kartros smiled and perched himself atop a small boulder.
"Al' right! Today, we march towa'ds Gnomeregan, as ye all know. Yet, this time, we shall emerge from the mechanic hallways of evil with Thermaplugg's head on a pike with our victory banners high up in the sky! There is no room for mistakes today, lads! Today is all or nothing!"
A roar of applause and cheers exploded from the army as the pikemen and templars began to bang their shields against their weapons. Kartros and his captains made one final inspection to make sure the gnomes had no gadgets that could cause more mayhem, and set off marching towards Gnomeregan.
The dreaded place loomed ahead, any dwarf could swear they heard a voice urging them towards the devilish town. Inside its halls, deep in the back of the whole city, Thermaplugg grinned madly. He knew such a day would come, but he had saved the best for last.
*****
Although the Scrolls depict not how the Legion had been defeated, a short passage does indeed tell that Kil'Jaeden perhaps had devoured Sargeras when he was at his weakest and became a Titan himself - or perhaps something even more powerful... Such a theory isn't proven, but it is indeed quite possible. Kil'Jaeden was Sargeras's most trusted soldier, but he had plans of his own, which can be furthermore seen when he created the Lich King. The Scrolls tell no more of the Eredar, Kil'Jaeden.
*****
Whereas Dwarves, Blood Elves, and all other such races ignorantly dealt with their own problems, evil brooded elsewhere.
"Foolish mortals of Azeroth. You shall all fall. The Aspects will not be there to help you, nor will the Old Gods attempt to intervene. C'Thun has fallen as his brother did, and the other three are chained in the darkest depths of Azeroth; the core of the world itself," a slow smile spread itself over the demon's face as a low chuckle was emitted from his mouth.
Chapter 1
Many years later after the birth of the Blood Elf
Fire scorched all, purged all. Searing flames surged through the ground and air like an incandescent hurricane, consuming all that stood in its way. The two cloaked figures, small black dots against a background of fire, cackled insanely at the scene like amused children watching a wildfire. Children and women ran for their lives, their husbands and fathers now piles of ash. In seconds, the fleeting villagers' spines began to crack and bend themselves in ways never meant for them. Bones began to disfigure themselves, began to break through the skin and snap in half in a grotesque symphony of cracks.
A village in flames, two figures laughing at each other as everything around them turned green and black and plagued. They turned their backs on the now desiccated village, a `snap' echoing in the distance.
A freezing arrow pierced the figure on the left in between the eyes. The other shrieked in horror, his fun put to an end by death as Night Elves jumped out from the woods around the village and rained death from the sky.
The elves furiously pursued the figure, but it was no use. After the figure ran about a mile, a thick fog seemed to rise up from the ground and consume everything around him in a multicolored haze.
"Damnit all! Goddamn wizards and their teleportation spells! We almost had the renegade elf!" shouted the expedition leader, clearly angry at one of the few times anyone ever got away from his Huntsman Force.
A druid coolly stepped next to Cyronis, the leader of the Huntsmen.
"The Arch-Druid requests an audience with you, Cyronis. He will be expecting you in the usual tower. I am sorry to have disturbed you, but as you know, the Arch-Druid is an impatient one."
Cyronis' brow furrowed at the mention of the Arch-Druid; an expression of worry spreading across his face as the druid began to cast a spell.
"Please step through, Cyronis," said the druid, gesturing to his self-made portal.
"Yes, Exalted Son of Cenarius."
A portal ripped open in front of him and Cyronis slowly crept into it, carrying the fallen hooded wizard. With a vicious bang, the portal enclosed itself.
*****
The figure traveled through the very fabric of space and time as it tumbled around due to its impromptu portal to save itself from the rain of arrows earlier. The figure, a Blood Elf, (the high elves who lost their lands to the Chaos brought by the Horde and the Burning Legion, whom crave mana constantly) was deposited by the portal in a strange spot, overrun by beggars and thieves. He drew his hood backwards, uncovering the pointed ears and long, platinum-colored hair that trailed down to his back. Eyes with crimson pupils searched its surroundings as the Blood Elf tried to recognize where he had fallen. His light-gold colored skin was covered due to his velvet-soft red robes, ornate with golden and black runes inscribed onto them. This wizard held no staff, but rather a dual-bladed enchanted and fabled sword, along with his legendary robesà stolen from Light knows whereà
Memory struck him - his `partner' stricken down by a feeble arrow shaft. Anger coursed through his veins. The Night Elves would pay.
*****
A disc-shaped portal began to rip open in the middle of Darnassus, the Night Elf Capital in the lands of Kalimdor, home to the purple-skinned ancient elves. Stone and wood buildings towered and riddled the beautifully artistic and nature-like city. The buildings, if made of wood, were trees themselves. The color of green seemed to be prominent - the grass was allowed to prosper, yet knew when to control itself to a point where it would not hinder or bother any passerby's. Strange colored plants of blue and purple also adorned the highly ornate city. The Night Elves treated Mother Nature as the Goddess of the Moon herself. As two entities stepped out of the portal, they looked at their surroundings and smiled.
"Home at last. It's good to bask in the beauty of Darnassus after spending years in the harsh, endless winters of Northrend, Exalted Son," said Cyronis to the young druid. The druid nodded, and pointed towards where the Arch-Druid waited for the Huntsman, Cyronis. Suddenly, the seasoned Huntsman's purple-tinted face paled.
"Ughà Yes, I'll go now," said he, fear and resentment clear in his voice, and stomped off in the direction of the High Tower of Druids. He currently stood in the center of Darnassus, where an awe-inspiring tree towered and shaded the center. A myriad of bridges connected the larger island-like zones of the city to the rather small center.
Cyronis tried to maintain his calm as he walked towards the tower. The arc that lay before the entrance stunned him with beauty. Branches from the ground had sprouted and held an orb with swirling green mists in it aloft from the ground. As soon as he set foot, an emissary rushed towards him.
"Eh, Cyronis, I presume? Yes, The Exalted One indeed sent for you, but as you know, he's busy with his countless problems, and thus sent me instead to tell you of what he wished to converse with you about," said the emissary.
Cyronis pondered the young man, perhaps he was new. No one spoke of the Arch Druid as the Exalted One except newcomers (most people started hating him at one point; he is unnecessarily strict and rather angry).
"Yes, what was it then?" Cyronis replied at last.
"You are to report to Priestess Maiev Shadowsong immediately. She has need of you. After her failure from her capture of Illidan, whom, by the way, is nowhere to be found, she was once again given the post of Head Warden. She needs new guards. Apparently, she believes you to be fit for the task."
"But. I failed my last assignment. I am not fit for th-"
"You will report to her. Now go. Contact the druid that brought you here once more, he can teleport you to the Jail. Oh, and, congratulations on killing Xenex's apprentice or whatever that dammed Blood Elf was... curse our cousins.. It is amazing only we are daring enough to hunt him."
Cyronis nodded reluctantly and let out a slight chuckle and headed back to where the young druid awaited him. He waved for him and the druid understood. He had, after all, been briefed, but protocol forced him to send him to Kalimdor. The portal once more opened, but the druid didn't step through. Cyronis found himself alone traveling through the ravages of Time and Space.
*****
The young druid sighed, and walked to the Cenarion Area, where druids would train and go about their jobs. The emissary that had briefed Cyronis stopped him.
"Wait. His Exalted Majesty is pleased with your job. He wishes to speak to you in private later. In private, no pesky people such as me around. Please report to him tomorrow at dusktime, he will be waiting for you."
The young druid nodded happily, clearly excited, and went about back to his druidic business.
A few hours before morn, the druid set off to the High Tower. He could barely hold his excitement in, but he had to keep his sanity and self-control if he wished to ascend to a higher "rank". He entered the High Tower as memories of his Druidic Testing rushed back to his mind. He shuddered, remembering his near-failure close to the end, but shrugged it away, took a deep breath, and continued on.
The Arch Druid sat in a chair, facing opposite of the long spiral stairs, hands in his face, clearly frustrated and tired. He heard the small echo of leather-booted feet skittering up the stairs and nearly shouted in anger.
"LEAVE ME BE! Can't anyone understand all the things I have yet to complete! Who is it the- Oh! Yes, you, whatever your name was. I called for you, right?"
"Yes, Exalted One," said the druid, clearly jittery and nervous.
"No need for such formalities, young Son of Cenarius. We are, after all, brothers and sons of Cenarius with all our druidic brethren."
The young druid nodded.
"Now, we have matters to discuss. After all, that's what I called you up here for. As you know, Maiev Shadowsong returned, failing her task of capturing Illidan. again," said the Night Elf, emphasizing the word `again', "She wishes to rally troops to go after Malfurion's brother once again. You should know that she has cost us massive amounts of troops, along with ancient spirits that have, sadly, gone to Cenarius himself. Should she convince her elders to capture Illidan, this will surely cost us. I have no power over our army; the Elders are in charge of that. That is aside from the point though. When she called for Cyronis, I saw my chance. I spoke to her about him and exaggerated the truth, and she believes with him and the little troops she returned with are enough to capture Illidan quite stealthily. Due to Cyronis' failure in capturing that damned Blood Elf traitor (Damn them! Kael'thas has betrayed us all!), I wish for you to undertake the task of tracking down and capturing our evil brethren. I have seen you train and whatnot, you have pleased me with your briskness of undertaking tasks. You are fit for this. Now leave me! You know what to do! I must go about with my business once more."
The young druid understood, and quickly left the presence of the High One. He rushed down the stairs and was stopped by the emissary, whom asked him what he would need for the journey that awaited them (obviously, he had eavesdropped). The druid told him he needed a small force of skilled hunts and woodsmen, along with a few wisps to set up a small encampment wherever he is sent to. But, first of all, he had to contact his human, dwarven, and gnomish companions (if they still were alliesà) for information on a platinum-haired Blood Elf whom wears ornate red robes. "Shouldn't be hard to spot," thought he. Blood Elves weren't known for their skills in illusion, but then reminded himself that the old Alliance had lost their companionship with the Night Elves long ago; people would regard him dubiously instead of amiably, but at least he could travel to their lands.
He would have to travel to the lands of the Eastern Kingdoms, east of Kalimdor. He would take a Hippogryph to Darkshore and there catch a boat that would take him to Menethil Harbor, the human Eastern Kingdom port. And so he left the next day to the Eastern Kingdoms, destination set first in Ironforge, capital of the dwarves.
*****
The Blood Elf shook his head as he tried to forget the event that had occurred just a few moments ago. He remembered the horrified look in his apprentice. She had looked to his side, her beautiful eyes wide open, her skin becoming pale. Her mouth moved, but no sounds came out of it. As she fell forward, a smile crept on her face, her rich, silky, long radiant hair spilling over her face. He would always remember her hair; the color of lava; a lovely balance of orange, red, and black locks that seemed to fit her perfectly. Indeed many Blood Elves envied her features. Her mouth moved once more, making out the words that lovers use so often.
The platinum-haired elf, Xenex, shook his head as he tried to push the image out. He suddenly looked around. Heat was obviously present throughout the air. He could see all the beggars and con men walking around. Further away, many short, bearded men stood guard.
"Ughà the Ironforge Auction House. how the hell did I end up here?!" muttered he under his breath. Xenex decided to pull his black hood over his head to avoid any detection by, well, basically anyone.
Xenex Sunstrider was known basically throughout the world. He had been responsible for countless numbers of deaths out of pure fun, people would say. Still, the elf claims he does it out of his (along with the rest of the Blood Elves) insatiable hunger for mana. True, Illidan promised them a fountain of mana, yet, Xenex did not deem it enough. The elf was a Spell Breaker, known colloquially as an `anti-mage'. Spell Breakers specialize in bending mana to their own will. Most of them, however, only know how to reverse magical effects or destroy them. Xenex, however, had more than surpassed the caliber of most Spell Breakers. He could draw out mana from other people and make it ignite violently, charring the body. Yet, this was only a simple "trick" for the remorseless elf. He could cast countless numbers of other terrible and powerful spells. Very few Blood Elves, High Elves, and even Night Elves were born with such an affinity for magic since young.
Most people, both inhabitants of the Alliance and the Horde, would regard Xenex with apprehension and caution when approaching him. Surely enough, he wouldn't assault anyone out in the open; at the contrary, the Blood Elf took extreme caution when he made the preparations to murder his target. All living entities contain even the smallest amount of mana - warriors and such other non-magic users inclusive.
As the times passed, people began to drop their fear of the renegade Blood Elf. Yes, renegade. Xenex Sunstrider decided to leave Outland, leaving behind his whole family, kingdom, and whatnot. He knew Azeroth was still a fresh land, unlike the rugged and harsh Outland. He took with him several numbers of people, including a very young elfmaid. Those he took with them were basically his "students", although they were more his followers. He refused to teach them, but eventually ended up doing so unofficially. Yet, out of the view that decided to leave with him, he was most impressed by the youngest; Kyrian. In comparison to all the others, she had shown the quickest growth in magical power and was never hesitant to try out new spells and whatnot.
Eventually, she became Xenex 's top apprentice. To truly test her devotion to the art of Manabreaking, as Xenex would call it (Spellbreaking was on a lower level to him), he proposed one final test to the eighteen-year-old Blood Elf.
Recently, the platinum-haired elf had been angry at the rest of the others; they would constantly make, with caution and extreme subtlety, derogatory comments about Kyrian Bloodrage. Xenex had also overheard various conversations in which his other followers spoke jealously at how he had chosen her over the rest. He wouldn't tolerate such nonsense.
As a final test, he had sent Kyrian to systematically kill each of the few elves that still followed Xenex throughout Azeroth using her favored methods - be it subtle or not. Not to the male Blood Elf's surprise, after a few days, only he and the female remained. At that exact moment, he smiled at her as a sadistic grin spread over her face. Xenex realized how this Kyrian was both a stunningly beautiful and powerful rarity.
From that day forth, the two traveled together, their hobby becoming killing innocents for pure fun, using the excuse of their mana addiction when ableà not that that excuse would save them from any punishmentà Most of these people still deemed such deeds childish. Both Xenex and Kyrian were relatively young; the elfmaid was barely 18, whereas Xenex was 32, both extremely young ages for elves.
It was not long until the Night Elves found out that mass killings were taking place in the Eastern Kingdoms, and that possibly could soon spread to their beloved home in Kalimdor. The Arch Druid quickly sent out hunting teams to search for these two evil beings that had grown in fame amazingly in a few weeks. Thus, after years of stalking, at least one of the two renegade Blood Elves had been taken down; the younger, female one. Unknown to them, the two held a strong, loving, tender, and passionate relationship.
Blood Elves weren't known for their passiveness and "calming down" when such members pass away. Their blood boiled at the knowledge that such events occurred. Xenex would seek a way to make sure whoever was responsible for the death of his beloved feel as if he were passing through hell constantly; after all, his barely-ripe emotions (due to his young age) would blind him from reason.
*****
"Keep pushing, lads!! Don' let yer courage fail ye now! Destroy even the smalles' of them machineries!" urged the warrior-bishop, Kartros. Even himself could be seen in the midst of the battle, destroying machines like thee was now tomorrow.
"Sir, we're giving it all we got! The machines seem to be retreatin'!" answered a smaller dwarf manning one of the mortars as he lay siege to the machine-city. An explosive roar erupted from the throats of all the soldiers as the dwarves and gnomes noticed machines falling back. Every minute, they gained some land back. Apparently, they were extremely close to the Workshop of Thermaplugg himself; about one more day and Gnomeregan would be taken back!
"Good job lads! We set up camp in `ere to make sure Thermaplugg makes no move! As for you gnomes, good work as well, but pleas', don't ruin the progress, eh?" said Kartros. The gnomes nodded in unison before they scurried off to scrounge the working parts off of the fallen machines.
"What's the casualty count, Crasuk?" asked Kartros to his second in command, Crasuk Holybeard.
"The deaths tally up to, err... three! Two dwarves and a gnome."
"Brilliant! The battle went a lot more smootheÆh than I had expected. Thank the Light!" shouted the Archbishop, overrun by joy. Crasuk nodded, and walked off to set his own tent up. Tomorrow would be possibly host the battle that would decide Gnomeregan's true owner.
All the warriors slept soundly through the night. In fact, their spirits were so high that they felt no need to post warriors to survey the area in case of surprise attacks. Awaking nearly at the same time as the gnomes (whom usually awoke earlier), the army was assembled by the time Kartros groggily stepped out of his tent and rubbed his eyes.
"We're ready sir, as soon as you give us the order, we will retake what was rightfully ours!" said the High Tinker Mekkatorque, King of Gnomes. The dwarf smiled; he personally knew Mekkatorque, he was no foolish gnome. Unlike most of the small, tinkering people, the King of Gnomes had a wit like no other, although he was a bit eccentric.
"Aye. We shall depart soon enough! Today, Thermaplugg shall fall!"
"On your order, Kartros Holyforge!" shouted the gnomes alongside the dwarves. A tear nearly formed in the archbishop's eyes - he hadn't seen such fervor since the Burning Legion had attacked, back when Jaina, Thrall, and the like were still allies.
In mere seconds, Kartros geared up and readied himself for battle. Grabbing his Bible and Staff, he raised it in the air and shouted a dwarven battle cry. An amazingly loud roar exploded throughout Gnomeregan, and the army charged, led by Mekkatorque in his mechanized Battle Strider, Kartros following behind with amazing speed.
Mekkatorque led the battalion through Gnomeregan's maze-like halls, knowing precisely when to turn and where to go to have a better chance of reaching Thermaplugg before most of the remaining machine guards realized the army was moving.
A small alarm-bot patrolled a nearby pathway, its sensors picking up a high amount of movement nearby. The alarm went off, resonating through Gnomeregan's empty halls.
"HALT! Stand and fight men! You two, pick off the bot before more reinforcements arrive!" shouted Mekkatorque. A Gnomish Death Ray blasted away and charred the bot into a pile of junk. Leper gnomes (basically degenerate, crazed gnomes infected by the irradiation that Thermaplugg had brought about with his experimenting) mounting metallic battle-striders resembling those Mekkatorque rode on materialized seemingly from the ground. The gnomes produced from their belts rather large, rusty swords, clearly infected by the deplorable conditions and ambiance in Gnomeregan.
"Templars, ready your cleansing spells; charge!" shouted Kartros. The army collided with the pack of leper gnomes head on. The infected gnomes were taken care of in a matter of seconds. Gnomes chopped at their legs whereas dwarves swung their heavy battle axes at their heads. Apparently, the gnomes were actually machinations along with their striders.
"Such blasphemy!" whispered Kartros. Mekkatorque ran up next to Kartros and urged him to the front. A small parchment had been found in an obliterated strider's remains (gnomes had a tendency to explode things with their inventions.). The priest picked it up and opened it up. His mouth opened in amazement as the parchment fell from his hands. Too late had he realized the grave mistake he had made.
"What is it, old friend?! What?!" the king of gnomes inquired.
"D-Demonic... writings." was all the bishop managed to say.
The ground burst open as a dark green smoke emanated out of the fissure. Green and red fire erupted through the ground's wound and red-skinned lupine creatures crawled out of it. Eyeless they were, with two leathery tentacles that twitched at the very slightest movement or sound.
"Felbeasts!!" shouted a nearby templar. The felhound leapt at the templar, piercing the flesh around his neck its claws and positioning its suction-tipped tentacles in the forehead. The very life seemed to leave the fallen dwarf's body as the felhound trembled with pleasure and seemed to grow in power. Two more felhounds leapt out of the fissure.
"Don't let `em suck yer mana, lads! Fight back!" shouted Kartros. The magic-users fell back as the heavy infantry moved in. Dual-wielding dwarves and gnomes moved to the front and came in slashing and swiping heavily at the leathery creatures. The felbeasts were no easy enemy though, and evaded most blows with ease.
The fighting raged on for quite some time as more and more felbeasts ascended from the demonic fissure. After hours, many casualties had occurred since another crack had erupted from the back of the warriors. Once felhounds stopped creeping out, the dwarves fell to the ground tired with exhaustion.
"Rest, rest. We will need it." was all the commanders managed to say before they nearly collapsed.
"Well, well... what have we here..." resonated a high-pitched, and rather annoying voice.
*****
Orcs in Azeroth were viewed by the humans as stupid and brutish in olden times, before the Legion's second attack; the first one for the earlier races (which only excludes Night Elves and their Highborne brethren [whom left as dissenters and became the High Elves, whom later became the Blood Elves]). Upon the forging of the fragile alliance between the Horde and the Alliance, the humans saw the orcs as worthy enemies, and even better allies. The orcs proved themselves to be civilized when need be as well as skillful and apt strategists; but most of all, they had a true sense of honor that outmatched those the humans or any other race held. As soon as the Legion (led by Arthas the second time) was expulsed, the alliance quickly broke, and the two factions fell to war once more, save for few orcs and other `enemies to humans' whom had dedicated themselves to the righteous cause of the Argent Dawn, which was a rather large organization of people from nearly all intelligent (roughly meaning able-to-speak) races that dealt with the movement and war against the crazed but once-righteous Scarlet Legion and, of course, the dreaded undead Burning Legion. Note: The undead of the Bruning Legion should not be confused with the
rebellious Undead led by Sylvanas Windrunner, whom are allies of the Horde.
Gorgath Hellscream, descendant of Grom Hellscream (the orcish hero whom defeated Mannoroth, cleansing the orcs of the demonic curse, alongside Thrall at the cost of his life) was an orc of quite high status in the Argent Dawn. He dates back to the times of Thrall himself - although he was one of the last ones to be set free from the imprisonment the Burning Legion had placed many orcs in. After seeing such destruction brought by the ruthless demons and undead, he had dedicated himself to the cause of the Dawn. In fact, he was quite famous after beheading Baron Rivendale in front of the Dawn when Stratholme was taken back to reconstruct the once grandiose garrison and city once more to its original status. The city-garrison had been in flames for nearly a decade, under the rule of the fallen Dreadlord, Balnazzar
.
In the past few days, he had been working on scavenging the ruins of Naxxramas, the Dread Citadel under control of Kel'Thuzad, Arthas's right-hand-man, the endlessly powerful ice-lich (whom fled as he saw his men fall in the Citadel), for artifacts that could be of use to the Argent Dawn. Yet, he never expected to find such a legendary weapon in the midst of the ruins. A glowing hilt stuck out of the chest of Sapphiron - the dreaded Ice Wyrm, pet of Kel'Thuzad. Apparently, Thuzad's haste had cost him dearly - he had dropped the weapon, and, additionally, upon impaling Sapphiron's chest, the hero had perished as well, along with his party - only skeletal remains were visible aside from the wyrm's massive corpse.
And there it lay - The Ashbringer.
Thanks!Prologue
The Scrolls of the Guardians relate the History of Azeroth. Unfortunately for the races
of Azeroth, the Scarlet Legion had burnt most of the records in their latest attack in
which they retook Scholomance (the dread school) and Strathholme, a very important keep. Once again the Burning Legion threatened the land with utter destruction. Just like ancient times, the two factions of Azeroth, they couldn't imagine banding up again together to destroy the Legion. In fact, last time it happened, a human ended up becoming the Lich King himself - the leader of the Burning Legion, Arthas. The Scrolls do not exactly relate how the Burning Legion was finally defeated once more in Azeroth, yet it does show that Arthas himself was found missing - he had deserted Icecrown. Many theories have been developed as to what happened to the Dark Prince. Amongst them, the most accepted is that Kil'Jaeden himself finally appeared in the Lich King's presence, and utterly obliterated the very fabric of the Dark Prince, sending him to a place worse than the Twisting Nether itself. Such places should never be spoken of, and thus we shall not speak of them anymore.
After the Burning Crusade was expelled, most races estranged from each other; the Horde slowly separated, as well as the Alliance. Soon enough, Gnomes and Dwarves were alone, Humans found themselves unallied with the Night and High Elves; the Orcs were stuck with Trolls once more as the Tauren returned to Thunder Bluff and the Blood Elves deserted their partners. About the Undead - no one has dared to venture into the Undercity since Sylvanas' disappearance. Varimathras has decided to take control in her absence - Dreadlords can't be trusted.
And thus, heroes came and went, as usual; Paladins and Shamans, Warriors and Archers. The Scrolls don't speak much about the new heroes - Thrall, Jaina, such heroes are the only ones worth remembering. The more recent heroes all lacked the sense of good. In fact, the so-called "heroes" had one thing in mind - glory and power, much like villains themselves. After such a point the Scrolls stop retelling the history; each race has found its resting point, they have their own conflicts. Old allies still visit each other, and some old grudges are still kept. The only considerable major change is possibly the Alliance's acceptance (although reluctant) of the Blood Elves. Apparently, Orcish Warlocks deprived them of their precious magic. Thus, King Kael'Thalas of the Blood Elves went on insane rampage, and ended up cursing his existence before hurling himself into The Great Maelstrom, as the scrolls tell.
Seemingly enough, it seems the Blood Elves are allies of those as long as they can sate their never-ending hunger for mana.
*****
A Blood Elven child had been born not too long ago. The mother was unknown; she had died during childbirth and no one could recognize who she was. A few Blood Elves pointed her out to be a local whore, but many disagreed and insisted she was a barmaid. All possible answers turned out to be the jobs of those considered poor and degenerates in the Blood Elves society, deep in Quel'Thalas. After Arthas had defiled and utterly destroyed their homeland, Prince Kael had thought it to be destroyed and riddled by the Legion's filth. Surprisingly enough, he returned with a band of scouts to find it in ruins - yet not defiled. With extreme joy, he ushered his people once again to the magical city of Quel'Thalas, hoping to finally rid his people of the dependency on others for their mana addiction. In fact, Blood Elven researchers had soon found a way to sort of rebuild the Sunwell that empowered them so. Taking caution not to commit past mistakes with simple gates, Quel'Thalas was now protected by a nearly impenetrable magical barrier. The Blood Elves had succeeded in locking themselves away from the world to roam freely in Quel'Thalas.
It wasn't soon until they felt a need to expand, but not in the sense of taking over lands, but rather exploring new lands. Thus, a portal had been reconstructed where Sylvanas had kept her post during the dark ages of Arthas's maddened destruction which led to new, unexplored lands filled with a nearly endless number of miles to explore. Soon enough, Blood Elves populated the new lands, and created their own society throughout Quel'Thalas, part of the continent known as Lorderon, alongside Azsha'Kin, their new land, honoring their original queen, Azshara, with its name.
It was thus in one of the most degenerate towns in Azsha'Kin, Jirin, that this child had been born. With the mother's last breaths and words, the babe looked at her with a strange look on his face; one could say the newborn could feel the mother's pain. Quickly, the few elven maidens that had found the child's poor mother rushed to the local infirmary, carrying the newborn male elf. The hospital demanded that the mother would be taken to see if she could indeed be saved and save the babe from a dark fate. The maidens nodded and set off.
In minutes, the doctor whom had received the newborn marveled at the uniqueness of him. He could nearly lift objects with simple glances - magic truly resided in this one. Most strange indeed, it would usually take years for a toddler to develop only a part of the Blood Elven innate magic, and, in such cases, the innate magic is simple things such as making flashes or distractions. But, this child could nearly move objects with magic, yet the power wasn't connected to telepathy. Upon the arrival of the young elfmaids, the expression on the doctor's face revealed the future - the mother had little to no chance of survival.
The elven child, now motherless was taken to a nearby scholastic academy of magicians where perhaps the nurse ward could take care of the newborn, and eventually be accepted in the school to be trained in the use of magic.
*****
The gnomes were known widely throughout Azeroth for their massive genius in tinkering that was, sadly, undependable. Most trinkets and inventions backfired in one way or another. For example, a teleporter that worked from anywhere in the world that would take you to Tanaris in Kalimdor would sometimes cause people to appear in mid air, or worse, to be replaced for an hour by one's evil twin! Other gimmicks, such as the Harm Prevention belt would cause the user to shift out of existence for some time, becoming intangible, almost like an ethereal being. But, most famous of all was the Gnomish Death Ray, the invention Gnomes take the most pride in. Sadly, no users that have experienced the backfire effect have been seen.
Due to their ingenuity in tinkering, their home town, Gnomeregan, was run by machinery. They trusted a goblin (which are basically either rivals in technology, or close friends) called Thermaplugg in keeping order in Gnomeregan. The High Tinker himself had entrusted Thermaplugg with the task of Master Tink-Guarder (highest aspiration for a gnomish guard), but the evil little goblin reconfigured half of Gnomeregan, and eventually gained control of all the gnomes' machines and turned them against the gnomes themselves! Thus, the gnomes were forced to retreat to their dwarven companion lands in Dun Morogh with its capital (not too far away from Gnomeregan), Ironforge. The dwarves prided themselves in being able to build such an amazing town in the very core of a volcano. Lava runs through nearly everywhere in Ironforge, with a giant anvil in the middle pointing to King Magni Bronzebeard himself, symbolizing their amazing talent with blacksmithing and their strength and heritage in the Ironforge Library.
The Gnomes had eventually convinced King Magni Bronzebeard to aid them in the recapture of Gnomeregan. After about the thirty-second try, the dwarves gave up, Thermaplugg had them figured out. This time, however, the strike force had made some success in taking back part of Gnomeregan. The Workshop (or rather, the largest part of the town) still was under Thermaplugg, but all the land before it had been recaptured. Sadly, a gnome decided to try out his new invention and, well, it had catastrophic effects to which we won't delve too deep into (those with weak stomachs would faint). After weeks, they are still working to remove all the excess hair in the few survivors' bodies. Due to the gnomes' curiosity, once again, Gnomeregan was completely lost. The Light of the Forge, the dwarven Holy Order, were the last to retreat. Only one of the small strike force provided to aid the gnomes survived; a young dwarven priest known as Kartros Lightforge. His tale, half true, half exaggerated, now had him acclaimed a hero throughout the lands of the dwarves, and word was reaching Darnassus and Stormwind, Night Elf and Human (respectively) capitals.
Recently, Kartros was named Archbishop of the Light of the Forge, not quite the leader, but head of the main Force. He had his own regiment of paladins, priests, templars, and was a senior Bishop (in other words, he could begin teaching apprentices as soon as King Magni felt him ready to). Due to this, he had decided to keep aiding the gnomes. Recently, no progress had been made by the gnomes themselves (due to many backfires in inventions they were sure that "would work" [which roughly meant `Won't backfire 50% of the time']), but instead by the force led by Kartros.
*****
The dwarven priest twiddled his long, thick, red beard, the dwarves' most precious sign of pride, as he thought of what to do next. His plans so far had been thwarted by the machines' AI (gnomes were indeed extremely intelligent, but their eccentric nature caused the backfires). Thermaplugg needn't worry about defenses - the machinery had their own plans of defense!
"So yer sayin' that the back entrance be a shortcut to the workshop? Hermm. Well done, laddie! Arrite you basta'ds! Prepare for war! Tomorrow we set off through the path Private Ironchin found `er!" shouted Kartros
"Aye, Archbishop!" responded most of the soldiers in unison. Kartros smiled. He liked the authority he held in Ironfroge, or maybe just the dwarves in general.
Night fell in Ironforge and eventually crept its way onto the Archbishop's campsite. Guards had been posted around his tent and teams, each composed of two men, were dispatched to patrol the surroundings and inner pathways of the campsite. The night went by silently, save for the loud snoring of the dwarves.
The sun soon poked its way into the sky, burning away the chill of the night. Archbishop Kartros was the first one to wake. Quickly outfitting himself, he walked outside his tent and took a long, deep breath. He looked at his surroundings and nodded. He could feel the Light empowering him. Members of his regiment began to wake up slowly, he could hear the rustle and shuffling of boots and armor.
A small emissary came rushing up to the revered Archbishop.
"Si- I mean. Archbishop. King Magni wishes you good luck and sends you his blessings. He has sent some men of his own to aid you in today's battle," said the young dwarf, pointing to the back.
Kartros nodded in approval - steam engines, or rather, steam tanks as dwarves liked to call it and mortar teams. These would prove useful against the dreaded machinery inside Gnomeregan.
Gnomes awoke from their tents (quite late) and immediately rushed towards the tanks to inspect their gears and craftsmanship. Dwarves were soon sent to pull them off the tanks before any harm would be caused by the little rascals.
After about an hour, the army had been geared up and the tanks and mortar teams were in position. Kartros smiled and perched himself atop a small boulder.
"Al' right! Today, we march towa'ds Gnomeregan, as ye all know. Yet, this time, we shall emerge from the mechanic hallways of evil with Thermaplugg's head on a pike with our victory banners high up in the sky! There is no room for mistakes today, lads! Today is all or nothing!"
A roar of applause and cheers exploded from the army as the pikemen and templars began to bang their shields against their weapons. Kartros and his captains made one final inspection to make sure the gnomes had no gadgets that could cause more mayhem, and set off marching towards Gnomeregan.
The dreaded place loomed ahead, any dwarf could swear they heard a voice urging them towards the devilish town. Inside its halls, deep in the back of the whole city, Thermaplugg grinned madly. He knew such a day would come, but he had saved the best for last.
*****
Although the Scrolls depict not how the Legion had been defeated, a short passage does indeed tell that Kil'Jaeden perhaps had devoured Sargeras when he was at his weakest and became a Titan himself - or perhaps something even more powerful... Such a theory isn't proven, but it is indeed quite possible. Kil'Jaeden was Sargeras's most trusted soldier, but he had plans of his own, which can be furthermore seen when he created the Lich King. The Scrolls tell no more of the Eredar, Kil'Jaeden.
*****
Whereas Dwarves, Blood Elves, and all other such races ignorantly dealt with their own problems, evil brooded elsewhere.
"Foolish mortals of Azeroth. You shall all fall. The Aspects will not be there to help you, nor will the Old Gods attempt to intervene. C'Thun has fallen as his brother did, and the other three are chained in the darkest depths of Azeroth; the core of the world itself," a slow smile spread itself over the demon's face as a low chuckle was emitted from his mouth.
Chapter 1
Many years later after the birth of the Blood Elf
Fire scorched all, purged all. Searing flames surged through the ground and air like an incandescent hurricane, consuming all that stood in its way. The two cloaked figures, small black dots against a background of fire, cackled insanely at the scene like amused children watching a wildfire. Children and women ran for their lives, their husbands and fathers now piles of ash. In seconds, the fleeting villagers' spines began to crack and bend themselves in ways never meant for them. Bones began to disfigure themselves, began to break through the skin and snap in half in a grotesque symphony of cracks.
A village in flames, two figures laughing at each other as everything around them turned green and black and plagued. They turned their backs on the now desiccated village, a `snap' echoing in the distance.
A freezing arrow pierced the figure on the left in between the eyes. The other shrieked in horror, his fun put to an end by death as Night Elves jumped out from the woods around the village and rained death from the sky.
The elves furiously pursued the figure, but it was no use. After the figure ran about a mile, a thick fog seemed to rise up from the ground and consume everything around him in a multicolored haze.
"Damnit all! Goddamn wizards and their teleportation spells! We almost had the renegade elf!" shouted the expedition leader, clearly angry at one of the few times anyone ever got away from his Huntsman Force.
A druid coolly stepped next to Cyronis, the leader of the Huntsmen.
"The Arch-Druid requests an audience with you, Cyronis. He will be expecting you in the usual tower. I am sorry to have disturbed you, but as you know, the Arch-Druid is an impatient one."
Cyronis' brow furrowed at the mention of the Arch-Druid; an expression of worry spreading across his face as the druid began to cast a spell.
"Please step through, Cyronis," said the druid, gesturing to his self-made portal.
"Yes, Exalted Son of Cenarius."
A portal ripped open in front of him and Cyronis slowly crept into it, carrying the fallen hooded wizard. With a vicious bang, the portal enclosed itself.
*****
The figure traveled through the very fabric of space and time as it tumbled around due to its impromptu portal to save itself from the rain of arrows earlier. The figure, a Blood Elf, (the high elves who lost their lands to the Chaos brought by the Horde and the Burning Legion, whom crave mana constantly) was deposited by the portal in a strange spot, overrun by beggars and thieves. He drew his hood backwards, uncovering the pointed ears and long, platinum-colored hair that trailed down to his back. Eyes with crimson pupils searched its surroundings as the Blood Elf tried to recognize where he had fallen. His light-gold colored skin was covered due to his velvet-soft red robes, ornate with golden and black runes inscribed onto them. This wizard held no staff, but rather a dual-bladed enchanted and fabled sword, along with his legendary robesà stolen from Light knows whereà
Memory struck him - his `partner' stricken down by a feeble arrow shaft. Anger coursed through his veins. The Night Elves would pay.
*****
A disc-shaped portal began to rip open in the middle of Darnassus, the Night Elf Capital in the lands of Kalimdor, home to the purple-skinned ancient elves. Stone and wood buildings towered and riddled the beautifully artistic and nature-like city. The buildings, if made of wood, were trees themselves. The color of green seemed to be prominent - the grass was allowed to prosper, yet knew when to control itself to a point where it would not hinder or bother any passerby's. Strange colored plants of blue and purple also adorned the highly ornate city. The Night Elves treated Mother Nature as the Goddess of the Moon herself. As two entities stepped out of the portal, they looked at their surroundings and smiled.
"Home at last. It's good to bask in the beauty of Darnassus after spending years in the harsh, endless winters of Northrend, Exalted Son," said Cyronis to the young druid. The druid nodded, and pointed towards where the Arch-Druid waited for the Huntsman, Cyronis. Suddenly, the seasoned Huntsman's purple-tinted face paled.
"Ughà Yes, I'll go now," said he, fear and resentment clear in his voice, and stomped off in the direction of the High Tower of Druids. He currently stood in the center of Darnassus, where an awe-inspiring tree towered and shaded the center. A myriad of bridges connected the larger island-like zones of the city to the rather small center.
Cyronis tried to maintain his calm as he walked towards the tower. The arc that lay before the entrance stunned him with beauty. Branches from the ground had sprouted and held an orb with swirling green mists in it aloft from the ground. As soon as he set foot, an emissary rushed towards him.
"Eh, Cyronis, I presume? Yes, The Exalted One indeed sent for you, but as you know, he's busy with his countless problems, and thus sent me instead to tell you of what he wished to converse with you about," said the emissary.
Cyronis pondered the young man, perhaps he was new. No one spoke of the Arch Druid as the Exalted One except newcomers (most people started hating him at one point; he is unnecessarily strict and rather angry).
"Yes, what was it then?" Cyronis replied at last.
"You are to report to Priestess Maiev Shadowsong immediately. She has need of you. After her failure from her capture of Illidan, whom, by the way, is nowhere to be found, she was once again given the post of Head Warden. She needs new guards. Apparently, she believes you to be fit for the task."
"But. I failed my last assignment. I am not fit for th-"
"You will report to her. Now go. Contact the druid that brought you here once more, he can teleport you to the Jail. Oh, and, congratulations on killing Xenex's apprentice or whatever that dammed Blood Elf was... curse our cousins.. It is amazing only we are daring enough to hunt him."
Cyronis nodded reluctantly and let out a slight chuckle and headed back to where the young druid awaited him. He waved for him and the druid understood. He had, after all, been briefed, but protocol forced him to send him to Kalimdor. The portal once more opened, but the druid didn't step through. Cyronis found himself alone traveling through the ravages of Time and Space.
*****
The young druid sighed, and walked to the Cenarion Area, where druids would train and go about their jobs. The emissary that had briefed Cyronis stopped him.
"Wait. His Exalted Majesty is pleased with your job. He wishes to speak to you in private later. In private, no pesky people such as me around. Please report to him tomorrow at dusktime, he will be waiting for you."
The young druid nodded happily, clearly excited, and went about back to his druidic business.
A few hours before morn, the druid set off to the High Tower. He could barely hold his excitement in, but he had to keep his sanity and self-control if he wished to ascend to a higher "rank". He entered the High Tower as memories of his Druidic Testing rushed back to his mind. He shuddered, remembering his near-failure close to the end, but shrugged it away, took a deep breath, and continued on.
The Arch Druid sat in a chair, facing opposite of the long spiral stairs, hands in his face, clearly frustrated and tired. He heard the small echo of leather-booted feet skittering up the stairs and nearly shouted in anger.
"LEAVE ME BE! Can't anyone understand all the things I have yet to complete! Who is it the- Oh! Yes, you, whatever your name was. I called for you, right?"
"Yes, Exalted One," said the druid, clearly jittery and nervous.
"No need for such formalities, young Son of Cenarius. We are, after all, brothers and sons of Cenarius with all our druidic brethren."
The young druid nodded.
"Now, we have matters to discuss. After all, that's what I called you up here for. As you know, Maiev Shadowsong returned, failing her task of capturing Illidan. again," said the Night Elf, emphasizing the word `again', "She wishes to rally troops to go after Malfurion's brother once again. You should know that she has cost us massive amounts of troops, along with ancient spirits that have, sadly, gone to Cenarius himself. Should she convince her elders to capture Illidan, this will surely cost us. I have no power over our army; the Elders are in charge of that. That is aside from the point though. When she called for Cyronis, I saw my chance. I spoke to her about him and exaggerated the truth, and she believes with him and the little troops she returned with are enough to capture Illidan quite stealthily. Due to Cyronis' failure in capturing that damned Blood Elf traitor (Damn them! Kael'thas has betrayed us all!), I wish for you to undertake the task of tracking down and capturing our evil brethren. I have seen you train and whatnot, you have pleased me with your briskness of undertaking tasks. You are fit for this. Now leave me! You know what to do! I must go about with my business once more."
The young druid understood, and quickly left the presence of the High One. He rushed down the stairs and was stopped by the emissary, whom asked him what he would need for the journey that awaited them (obviously, he had eavesdropped). The druid told him he needed a small force of skilled hunts and woodsmen, along with a few wisps to set up a small encampment wherever he is sent to. But, first of all, he had to contact his human, dwarven, and gnomish companions (if they still were alliesà) for information on a platinum-haired Blood Elf whom wears ornate red robes. "Shouldn't be hard to spot," thought he. Blood Elves weren't known for their skills in illusion, but then reminded himself that the old Alliance had lost their companionship with the Night Elves long ago; people would regard him dubiously instead of amiably, but at least he could travel to their lands.
He would have to travel to the lands of the Eastern Kingdoms, east of Kalimdor. He would take a Hippogryph to Darkshore and there catch a boat that would take him to Menethil Harbor, the human Eastern Kingdom port. And so he left the next day to the Eastern Kingdoms, destination set first in Ironforge, capital of the dwarves.
*****
The Blood Elf shook his head as he tried to forget the event that had occurred just a few moments ago. He remembered the horrified look in his apprentice. She had looked to his side, her beautiful eyes wide open, her skin becoming pale. Her mouth moved, but no sounds came out of it. As she fell forward, a smile crept on her face, her rich, silky, long radiant hair spilling over her face. He would always remember her hair; the color of lava; a lovely balance of orange, red, and black locks that seemed to fit her perfectly. Indeed many Blood Elves envied her features. Her mouth moved once more, making out the words that lovers use so often.
The platinum-haired elf, Xenex, shook his head as he tried to push the image out. He suddenly looked around. Heat was obviously present throughout the air. He could see all the beggars and con men walking around. Further away, many short, bearded men stood guard.
"Ughà the Ironforge Auction House. how the hell did I end up here?!" muttered he under his breath. Xenex decided to pull his black hood over his head to avoid any detection by, well, basically anyone.
Xenex Sunstrider was known basically throughout the world. He had been responsible for countless numbers of deaths out of pure fun, people would say. Still, the elf claims he does it out of his (along with the rest of the Blood Elves) insatiable hunger for mana. True, Illidan promised them a fountain of mana, yet, Xenex did not deem it enough. The elf was a Spell Breaker, known colloquially as an `anti-mage'. Spell Breakers specialize in bending mana to their own will. Most of them, however, only know how to reverse magical effects or destroy them. Xenex, however, had more than surpassed the caliber of most Spell Breakers. He could draw out mana from other people and make it ignite violently, charring the body. Yet, this was only a simple "trick" for the remorseless elf. He could cast countless numbers of other terrible and powerful spells. Very few Blood Elves, High Elves, and even Night Elves were born with such an affinity for magic since young.
Most people, both inhabitants of the Alliance and the Horde, would regard Xenex with apprehension and caution when approaching him. Surely enough, he wouldn't assault anyone out in the open; at the contrary, the Blood Elf took extreme caution when he made the preparations to murder his target. All living entities contain even the smallest amount of mana - warriors and such other non-magic users inclusive.
As the times passed, people began to drop their fear of the renegade Blood Elf. Yes, renegade. Xenex Sunstrider decided to leave Outland, leaving behind his whole family, kingdom, and whatnot. He knew Azeroth was still a fresh land, unlike the rugged and harsh Outland. He took with him several numbers of people, including a very young elfmaid. Those he took with them were basically his "students", although they were more his followers. He refused to teach them, but eventually ended up doing so unofficially. Yet, out of the view that decided to leave with him, he was most impressed by the youngest; Kyrian. In comparison to all the others, she had shown the quickest growth in magical power and was never hesitant to try out new spells and whatnot.
Eventually, she became Xenex 's top apprentice. To truly test her devotion to the art of Manabreaking, as Xenex would call it (Spellbreaking was on a lower level to him), he proposed one final test to the eighteen-year-old Blood Elf.
Recently, the platinum-haired elf had been angry at the rest of the others; they would constantly make, with caution and extreme subtlety, derogatory comments about Kyrian Bloodrage. Xenex had also overheard various conversations in which his other followers spoke jealously at how he had chosen her over the rest. He wouldn't tolerate such nonsense.
As a final test, he had sent Kyrian to systematically kill each of the few elves that still followed Xenex throughout Azeroth using her favored methods - be it subtle or not. Not to the male Blood Elf's surprise, after a few days, only he and the female remained. At that exact moment, he smiled at her as a sadistic grin spread over her face. Xenex realized how this Kyrian was both a stunningly beautiful and powerful rarity.
From that day forth, the two traveled together, their hobby becoming killing innocents for pure fun, using the excuse of their mana addiction when ableà not that that excuse would save them from any punishmentà Most of these people still deemed such deeds childish. Both Xenex and Kyrian were relatively young; the elfmaid was barely 18, whereas Xenex was 32, both extremely young ages for elves.
It was not long until the Night Elves found out that mass killings were taking place in the Eastern Kingdoms, and that possibly could soon spread to their beloved home in Kalimdor. The Arch Druid quickly sent out hunting teams to search for these two evil beings that had grown in fame amazingly in a few weeks. Thus, after years of stalking, at least one of the two renegade Blood Elves had been taken down; the younger, female one. Unknown to them, the two held a strong, loving, tender, and passionate relationship.
Blood Elves weren't known for their passiveness and "calming down" when such members pass away. Their blood boiled at the knowledge that such events occurred. Xenex would seek a way to make sure whoever was responsible for the death of his beloved feel as if he were passing through hell constantly; after all, his barely-ripe emotions (due to his young age) would blind him from reason.
*****
"Keep pushing, lads!! Don' let yer courage fail ye now! Destroy even the smalles' of them machineries!" urged the warrior-bishop, Kartros. Even himself could be seen in the midst of the battle, destroying machines like thee was now tomorrow.
"Sir, we're giving it all we got! The machines seem to be retreatin'!" answered a smaller dwarf manning one of the mortars as he lay siege to the machine-city. An explosive roar erupted from the throats of all the soldiers as the dwarves and gnomes noticed machines falling back. Every minute, they gained some land back. Apparently, they were extremely close to the Workshop of Thermaplugg himself; about one more day and Gnomeregan would be taken back!
"Good job lads! We set up camp in `ere to make sure Thermaplugg makes no move! As for you gnomes, good work as well, but pleas', don't ruin the progress, eh?" said Kartros. The gnomes nodded in unison before they scurried off to scrounge the working parts off of the fallen machines.
"What's the casualty count, Crasuk?" asked Kartros to his second in command, Crasuk Holybeard.
"The deaths tally up to, err... three! Two dwarves and a gnome."
"Brilliant! The battle went a lot more smootheÆh than I had expected. Thank the Light!" shouted the Archbishop, overrun by joy. Crasuk nodded, and walked off to set his own tent up. Tomorrow would be possibly host the battle that would decide Gnomeregan's true owner.
All the warriors slept soundly through the night. In fact, their spirits were so high that they felt no need to post warriors to survey the area in case of surprise attacks. Awaking nearly at the same time as the gnomes (whom usually awoke earlier), the army was assembled by the time Kartros groggily stepped out of his tent and rubbed his eyes.
"We're ready sir, as soon as you give us the order, we will retake what was rightfully ours!" said the High Tinker Mekkatorque, King of Gnomes. The dwarf smiled; he personally knew Mekkatorque, he was no foolish gnome. Unlike most of the small, tinkering people, the King of Gnomes had a wit like no other, although he was a bit eccentric.
"Aye. We shall depart soon enough! Today, Thermaplugg shall fall!"
"On your order, Kartros Holyforge!" shouted the gnomes alongside the dwarves. A tear nearly formed in the archbishop's eyes - he hadn't seen such fervor since the Burning Legion had attacked, back when Jaina, Thrall, and the like were still allies.
In mere seconds, Kartros geared up and readied himself for battle. Grabbing his Bible and Staff, he raised it in the air and shouted a dwarven battle cry. An amazingly loud roar exploded throughout Gnomeregan, and the army charged, led by Mekkatorque in his mechanized Battle Strider, Kartros following behind with amazing speed.
Mekkatorque led the battalion through Gnomeregan's maze-like halls, knowing precisely when to turn and where to go to have a better chance of reaching Thermaplugg before most of the remaining machine guards realized the army was moving.
A small alarm-bot patrolled a nearby pathway, its sensors picking up a high amount of movement nearby. The alarm went off, resonating through Gnomeregan's empty halls.
"HALT! Stand and fight men! You two, pick off the bot before more reinforcements arrive!" shouted Mekkatorque. A Gnomish Death Ray blasted away and charred the bot into a pile of junk. Leper gnomes (basically degenerate, crazed gnomes infected by the irradiation that Thermaplugg had brought about with his experimenting) mounting metallic battle-striders resembling those Mekkatorque rode on materialized seemingly from the ground. The gnomes produced from their belts rather large, rusty swords, clearly infected by the deplorable conditions and ambiance in Gnomeregan.
"Templars, ready your cleansing spells; charge!" shouted Kartros. The army collided with the pack of leper gnomes head on. The infected gnomes were taken care of in a matter of seconds. Gnomes chopped at their legs whereas dwarves swung their heavy battle axes at their heads. Apparently, the gnomes were actually machinations along with their striders.
"Such blasphemy!" whispered Kartros. Mekkatorque ran up next to Kartros and urged him to the front. A small parchment had been found in an obliterated strider's remains (gnomes had a tendency to explode things with their inventions.). The priest picked it up and opened it up. His mouth opened in amazement as the parchment fell from his hands. Too late had he realized the grave mistake he had made.
"What is it, old friend?! What?!" the king of gnomes inquired.
"D-Demonic... writings." was all the bishop managed to say.
The ground burst open as a dark green smoke emanated out of the fissure. Green and red fire erupted through the ground's wound and red-skinned lupine creatures crawled out of it. Eyeless they were, with two leathery tentacles that twitched at the very slightest movement or sound.
"Felbeasts!!" shouted a nearby templar. The felhound leapt at the templar, piercing the flesh around his neck its claws and positioning its suction-tipped tentacles in the forehead. The very life seemed to leave the fallen dwarf's body as the felhound trembled with pleasure and seemed to grow in power. Two more felhounds leapt out of the fissure.
"Don't let `em suck yer mana, lads! Fight back!" shouted Kartros. The magic-users fell back as the heavy infantry moved in. Dual-wielding dwarves and gnomes moved to the front and came in slashing and swiping heavily at the leathery creatures. The felbeasts were no easy enemy though, and evaded most blows with ease.
The fighting raged on for quite some time as more and more felbeasts ascended from the demonic fissure. After hours, many casualties had occurred since another crack had erupted from the back of the warriors. Once felhounds stopped creeping out, the dwarves fell to the ground tired with exhaustion.
"Rest, rest. We will need it." was all the commanders managed to say before they nearly collapsed.
"Well, well... what have we here..." resonated a high-pitched, and rather annoying voice.
*****
Orcs in Azeroth were viewed by the humans as stupid and brutish in olden times, before the Legion's second attack; the first one for the earlier races (which only excludes Night Elves and their Highborne brethren [whom left as dissenters and became the High Elves, whom later became the Blood Elves]). Upon the forging of the fragile alliance between the Horde and the Alliance, the humans saw the orcs as worthy enemies, and even better allies. The orcs proved themselves to be civilized when need be as well as skillful and apt strategists; but most of all, they had a true sense of honor that outmatched those the humans or any other race held. As soon as the Legion (led by Arthas the second time) was expulsed, the alliance quickly broke, and the two factions fell to war once more, save for few orcs and other `enemies to humans' whom had dedicated themselves to the righteous cause of the Argent Dawn, which was a rather large organization of people from nearly all intelligent (roughly meaning able-to-speak) races that dealt with the movement and war against the crazed but once-righteous Scarlet Legion and, of course, the dreaded undead Burning Legion. Note: The undead of the Bruning Legion should not be confused with the
rebellious Undead led by Sylvanas Windrunner, whom are allies of the Horde.
Gorgath Hellscream, descendant of Grom Hellscream (the orcish hero whom defeated Mannoroth, cleansing the orcs of the demonic curse, alongside Thrall at the cost of his life) was an orc of quite high status in the Argent Dawn. He dates back to the times of Thrall himself - although he was one of the last ones to be set free from the imprisonment the Burning Legion had placed many orcs in. After seeing such destruction brought by the ruthless demons and undead, he had dedicated himself to the cause of the Dawn. In fact, he was quite famous after beheading Baron Rivendale in front of the Dawn when Stratholme was taken back to reconstruct the once grandiose garrison and city once more to its original status. The city-garrison had been in flames for nearly a decade, under the rule of the fallen Dreadlord, Balnazzar
.
In the past few days, he had been working on scavenging the ruins of Naxxramas, the Dread Citadel under control of Kel'Thuzad, Arthas's right-hand-man, the endlessly powerful ice-lich (whom fled as he saw his men fall in the Citadel), for artifacts that could be of use to the Argent Dawn. Yet, he never expected to find such a legendary weapon in the midst of the ruins. A glowing hilt stuck out of the chest of Sapphiron - the dreaded Ice Wyrm, pet of Kel'Thuzad. Apparently, Thuzad's haste had cost him dearly - he had dropped the weapon, and, additionally, upon impaling Sapphiron's chest, the hero had perished as well, along with his party - only skeletal remains were visible aside from the wyrm's massive corpse.
And there it lay - The Ashbringer.