Everyday Duels

I found an old unfinished short story on my old laptop. Even though it was terrible, I liked both characters I matched up. So I took them both and wrote a short around them. It is all based on the Warcraft lore. If you are going to review, it would be cool if you knew some, buy hey, not everyone knows it. Otherwise, hope you enjoy.

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The Blightcaller

He had barely felt the harsh, jagged cold of Northrend on his bones. But this place, this place made his bones chill. Here, where he once was at peace, there would always be unease. A third eye in the back of his head, and a hand firmly gripped to his quiver.

Nathanos Blightcaller stood atop Marris Stead, once his home, but now a wrecked ruin giving only shelter to a growing wildlife. He still remembered the horrors of his near assassination attempt by the Alliance, several years before. Ambushed at his very home in the middle of the night, he barely escaped a brutal end.

Yet, one of his two loyal blighthounds gave his life for his safety. This is why he reluctantly would return to this place from time to time, honoring his final resting place. Beside him sat the elder female blighthound, named Moro, still by her master’s side.

This time, it would be quite a while before he would return. War was coming.

***

Months of secrecy had led them to this moment. The Forsaken push into Arathi Highlands had already begun. And within days, the Forsaken army would march for Stromgarde, personally led by The Champion of the Banshee Queen; Nathanos Blightcaller.

A marvel in life and a legend in death, his legacy had only continued to rise. As such, his position as commander of the armies had been welcomed and respected, and his soldiers would give everything for him, as well as their Queen.

He had been given the complete confidence of his beloved Queen, and would be leading the attack without her. The undead’s place within the Horde was pretty clear, they were there only as a necessity. They were the rusty knife threatening the Eastern Kingdoms, though its wielder was not themselves. It was Garrosh Hellscream. And his Horde.

Sylvanas had spoken to him the day before their departure. She had said the Alliance would know the full wrath of the Forsaken. As would the Horde.

***

Two days later, an undead army of five thousand men and women left the gloomy tombs of Undercity and marched through Silverpine forest and towards Stromgarde.

Among them were several sieging weapons and machinery. Included were a giant ram, two trebuchets as well as several ballistae and catapults, all being hauled by big grizzled bears. Save for several dozen even bigger monstrous abominations to stampede through the gates once they were open, the remainder of the army consisted of regular ground troops. Seeing as the Stromgarde forces had gone through hard times and was lingering on, the army marching for the Caste – about a third of the Forsaken forces – seemed appropriate against roughly eighteen hundred men.

At the front of this convoy of death, Nathanos Blightcaller rode atop his skeletal steed. With a dark leather coat and a matching black cape with the red emblem of the Forsaken embroidered into it, he was draped from top to bottom. For years he wore this attire, his rotted flesh no longer visible to the world, only his face would show. Strapped across his back was The Black Bow of Atiesh, his worn but trusty weapon.

To his right, far away but never out of sight, was Moro. Behind him in the skies, his Queen’s loyal Val’Kyr followed closely, ready to swoop down in the aftermath of the battle, resurrecting their fierce adversaries and gaining fodder for their own ranks.

The Castle of Stromgarde was already in peril, it had been for quite a while. Point being; riding to the left of Nathanos was Galen Trollbane, the fallen Prince of Stromgarde. The Blightcaller had personally led a lonesome assassination of the Prince a long time ago. Now they ironically rode together, towards the location of their last brawl. Having the Prince among them would make coercing any fresh dead into following their Dark Lady much smoother.

The army had chosen to gather up for a rest at the ruins of Southshore rather than to go into Tarren Mill. As his soldiers took a deserved rest, Nathanos had taken his top lieutenants to the river crossing just a few kilometers ahead. There they saw troubling conflict.

Pouring out of the pass towards Aerie Peak, were several hundred Wildhammer dwarves. He figured there were at least seven or eight hundred men, possible upwards of a thousand. News must have reached ahead, far ahead.

“How could they possibly have known this?” Abrev, one of his lieutenants spat.

Beside him, Nathanos grinned annoyingly. “Our cover is blown either way; we’ll meet them head on before they get to the Castle.” His eyes moved from the Aerie Peak pass on his left towards the shady outlining of Stromgarde to his left. “We’ll have to move quickly.”

As they turned from the events unfolding several miles ahead of them, a runner approached them hastily.

“Commander! Sire!” He yelled as he climbed the small hillside.

“Night Elves were spotted in Tirisfal, and we met a sizeable forest party while traveling to you!” The lightly clad Forsaken now stood up before them, “The Sentinel Army has crossed the sea.”

As if they needed a moment to let it sink in, silence came upon the group. They all eyed the Blightcaller until, finally, he turned his back on them and gazed towards the Dwarves.

“The Wildhammer Dwarves aren’t going to Stromgarde.” He said quietly.

Quickly turning towards them he continued. “And the Night Elves turning up at our doorsteps will not go for Undercity.”

“That would be foolish!” Abrev replied.

“That’s not the point, Abrev, this was all a trap.” A boneless finger sprouted out of his robe, pointing back towards the west. “One third of our full forces are camping out defenseless.”

“We came here for a siege, now we will be fighting a battle on two fronts. Three, if the armies of Stromgarde will leave their city.”

He began to stride quickly down the hill, and his entourage followed.

“What do we do, Nathanos?” Both of his lieutenants exclaimed.

He moved quicker, almost running now. “Our only option is a tactical retreat. If we don’t, we’ll sooner or later be devoured.”

“Sire, the Sentinel Army is creeping our forests, an ambush would be expected at every turn of the road!” The young Forsaken clamored.

Halting as their gathered army came into view; he turned and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Runner, return to Undercity and tell them to expect us. Stick to the forest and move quickly, avoid the elves at all cost.”

After a salute, he ran off.

“Tell the men to abandon the siege vehicles and order our larger troops and abominations to go through the mountains of Alterac. We can’t bring them through the forest. We leave within ten minutes.”

His lieutenants urged forwards towards the temporary encampment.

Nathanos Blightcaller watched the men receiving the news and how quickly they were to comply with changes and urgency. After a few moments he turned from them and looked out towards the sea. In a rare occurrence, he now removed his hood, gazed up to the sky and inhaled the moist morning mist that hung in the air. His jaw croaked and his teeth grinned as his skeletal hands clenched in angry fists. This was a giant failure.

***

Shandris Feathermoon

General of the Sentinel army, Shandris Feathermoon stood next to five of her finest archers, all of them forming a single line. From their advantage point upon a small hillock, they all had perfect view of four Forsaken scouts fleeing towards their home below them. In unison, all five archers notch an arrow in the string and release simultaneously.

Below them, all four of their targets fall to the ground, the furthest scout with arrows protruding from both the top of the spine and the side of the skull.

“Excellent. Arya, Mareen, retrieve the bodies and hide them in the foliage. Watch for roaming adversaries and clench any glowing lanterns off the roads.”

Two of the archers quickly jumped the small hill and were soon out of view. Shandris and the remaining archers slowly strolled down the hillock on the other side, towards a small campfire recently lit.

“Fifteen downed corpses and still counting, will the convoy pass by us before morning, my lady?” Ariana, their youngest comrade asked.

“It would be exquisite, but I doubt we’ll see them before after sunrise.” The General replied. “The darkness would cover our attack well, and Undercity guards patrolling the nearby skies would be blind to our actions,” She crouched by the campfire, “but we’re not that lucky.”

Almost twenty-four hours ago, six ships had landed on the shores of Tirisfal, leaving roughly five hundred of Kalimdor’s greatest fighters before taking to the seas again.

Since then, they had split up and formed forest parties throughout Tirisfal, Silverpine and sent scouting groups into Hillsbrad. Every runner or scout they had come across had fallen before they could react properly. All save for one. The General had deliberately allowed one runner to pass by, into Hillsbrad and towards the Blightcaller.

The Forsaken could easily conquer Stromgarde; it was necessary that the convoy knew they were boxed in, with the Sentinel Army knocking on their door and the Wildhammer Dwarves of Aerie Peak pushing them back. It was vital that they retreat.

***

The night had passed and it was already midday before the Forsaken army thundered through the forests of Silverpine. Thinking strategically rather than being consumed by panic and rushing his troops toward home, Nathanos had taken his time to strategically place them.

He had transformed his entire army into a moving freight train, with a spearhead consisting of shielded; armor clad spearmen as well as single shields spread throughout the rest of the convoy, at every single line. Enemy archery volleys would be their main threat. His strategy would have them running for Undercity after initial contact, unless they managed to face the bulk of them in melee combat. To that end, he also placed shielded men at the end of the convoy, to retain from backdoor attacks.

Several lieutenants had been placed towards the front of the convoy, issuing his commands. He had placed himself further to the end of the convoy, for a better view of the field as well as to keep track of fallout.

Keeping an incredibly fast pace, several hours went past before they encountered any night elves within the Silverpine forest. It appeared to be only a few scouts. However, just a few minutes after their first encounter, the might of the Sentinel Army roared from the skies.

Raining down upon them were hundreds of arrows, some of them ablaze. Undead were susceptible to blunt melee force, and unless the arrows were perfectly placed, they weren’t too fatal. Yet, burning arrows would burn whatever flesh they had to the bone, and spread.

Shortly after, new orders from the Blightcaller had reached the front and the entire train instantly split in two, hastened their speed and decreasing the distance between themselves and their adversaries.

As the tail of the convoy rushed through a clearing, an awaiting ambush cut them off from the others. Nathanos himself had very little time to react as he was slung off his steed within seconds. As his men franticly tried to continue their sprint, he lay unconscious on the wet, muddy forest floor.

***

Hunting Grounds

To her chagrin, the tactics of The Blightcaller had proven successive. The Forsaken army had, indeed very much like a freight train, roared back towards Undercity, even encountering reinforcements from their home before they reached it.

Shandris did receive some fortunate news though; the first and last of the human ranger lords, Nathanos Marris, otherwise known as The Blightcaller, had been captured. She now rode towards him.

*

Nathanos awoke on his back, his chest was heavy and a large night elven ranger stands above him, her boot pushing him to the ground and her bow steadily aimed at his face. Oblivious to this threat, he immediately unsheathes a dagger from his shin and thrusts it into her foot. As she yelps in pain, she is wrestled to the ground where he finishes the job.

Nearby Sentinels sprints toward the screams just to see his shadow disappear into the woods. They immediately set off after him.

Roughly ten minutes later, Shandris Feathermoon and her aide Ariana enters the clearing only to find the butchered remains of the Sentinel.

“He was here.” She exclaims harshly.

“Are we sure it was him? She could have fallen to the convoy.” Ariana quickly replied.

Ignoring her comment and doing a scan of the surrounding area, she sets off into the woods, leaving her aide to follow behind. Within the heavily wooded area, both of them track the previous Sentinels hunted the Blightcaller, their tracks taking the far into the forest.

For quite a while, the only things of interest they came across were undead corpses, fallen during one of the many ambushes on the convoy. However, after a while they stumble across the slain bodies of their Sentinel sisters. Lying nearly side by side, both of them had arrows protruding from their necks, an instant kill.

“His skill is impeccable.” The young aide proclaimed.

“He is myth, with lucky traits. I’ll bust him; Wide open.” Shandris retorted.

They both notched arrows to their bows and silently continued further along the trees, trying to pick which tracks belonged to whom. They could hear horns in the distance, now far to the north.

“If we hasten our pace and make our presence known, he’ll reveal himself, we rush him and our speed will outmatch his.” Ariana quietly suggested.

She quickly brushed off the proposal, “My personal feelings aside; it would be unwise to underestimate him.”

At that exact moment, a loud crack sounded from under the young ranger’s foot. Within seconds, a large construction, edged with a spear swung down from the treetops and impaling her before it collapsed to the ground, breaking the spear with it. Standing there in shock, it took several moments before Shandris snapped out of it and went to her young aide’s side.

Placing her hands around the broken spearhead and applying pressure to the wound, she locked eyes with the dying girl. She had tears in her eyes and her lips were shaking even more than her body. “Kill him.” She quietly whispered.

I already intent to, she thought as she closed the eyes of her dead comrade. She removed the spearhead from her abdomen, folded her arms and placed her bow between them before returning to her feet and grabbing her own bow, intent to continue the hunt.

*

The General was alone now; he had heard his trap go off a short distance away, followed by soft screams.

Slowly strolling down an archway of trees, crunching leaves under his feet, he resupplied his quiver with arrows retrieved from his slain hunters. Across his back, covering his legs and scarring his face were several new slashes, cuts and wounds. His left leg had a crushing limp, and he moved slowly. He was an easy target.

For better mobility he had shed his long black cloak and cape and his rotted, discolored flesh once again saw sunlight. His body no longer looked human; so thin, so bare, with a protruding rib cage and patches without flesh and only bone.

Despite his legend, he both feared and welcomed death. And this General, old beyond his years, most likely skilled beyond what he could ever accomplish and now, she had come to his homeland; to hunt him.

He had met her once, many years ago, more than he could count. Back when he was nobody. His skill had allowed him to travel the world, seeing the elves, walking the deserts and experienced cultures. She had been with her fearless leader of many centuries; Tyrande Whisperwind and he had noticed her impressive feats within the hunt. It was what he strived for. And yet, despite her years, she looked younger the he was, in either life or death.

This was before his own legend begun, when he left to join the High Elves, becoming the first, and last of the human ranger lords, trained by Ranger General Sylvanas Windrunner. And even longer before he fell to the Scourge, and raised as one of them. He still had vague memories of walking mindlessly, imprisoned. But his Banshee Queen had saved him, and he served her, just as he had in life.

Now he stood in the middle of the forests he once traveled as a young man, leaves falling all around him, and he felt betrayed. Betrayed by life. This wouldn’t be it. He would endure.

Time went by slowly, and he felt the burden of pain more and more over his shoulders with every step he took. Almost dragging his body behind his determined mind now, he could sense the General hastily approaching him from behind.

Leaves would crunch, birds would leave their branches and the wind carried her scent. Time moved too slowly, and he could count the seconds in his mind.

He fell to his knees before a pond; bearing no signs of the forests decline, the months of heavy rain, blight and no, not even wartime. It looked peaceful. A couple of frogs swam towards the other side of the pond, away from him. His body leaned forward and allowing his hands to rest on the damp water bank. He could see his reflection in the glimmering mirror; he looked spent.

*

Shandris Feathermoon ran down an archway of trees, her hood drawn back and bow ready at her side. The wind was blowing her hair in front of her face, making it hard to watch her steps. Unneeded however, she was already aware of her surroundings. She no longer tracked her prey; she followed its very life force. A smell was in the air, a foul smell, but also a desperate one.

Her face was bleeding; sharp branches had slapped her during her brisk manhunt. Every once in a while she would stop to wipe her face, smearing blood onto her wrists. Energy flowed through her as it had done long ago. The thrill of the hunt soothed her mind, and such worthy adversaries were a rare breed. But he was wounded, yet deadly. She had learned the hard way.

Realizing a smile had curved her lips, she suddenly halted. The wind was still breathing around her, yet, she could no longer sense the Blightcaller before her. Neither could he be behind her, she had followed his exact trail.

Changing her pace to a more stagnant one, she soon came upon a pond, where two clearings out of this heavily wooded section of the forest where divided. Several moments went by as she examined the ground around her, unable to pick up his trail again.

Unsure thoughts quickly filled her mind, and she turned to gaze towards the direction from which she came. By the light of Elune, you shall not escape me, she cursed within herself as she struggled for direction.

Check both clearings, he’ll have a trail, she whispered to herself as she galloped towards the right clearing, ran for a minute before coming into view of a large empty field; untouched by any feet, least of all Forsaken.

“Wrong way, Shandris!” She told herself as her brow tightened and she turned to run back to the pond. As she again approached the pond, she instead took a right this time and went for the left clearing.

However, as the General darts by the bank of the pond; something jumps out of the shallow part of the pond, loud and heavy; she catches a glimpse of her undead prey just out of the corner of her eye.

Too little time to react and much too startled to do so properly; the General hears the all too familiar sound of an airborne arrow.

His undead body submerged and no longer a slave to the needs of oxygen, the Blightcaller has little time or vision to strategically place his mark, and his fingers let go at instinct.

As shot with perfect precision and time, the arrow flies perfectly and enters its jagged teeth into the General’s thigh.

Already in motion, she jumps with momentum behind the nearest tree stump and screams in agony. With little time to mend or even pay notion to her pain, the night elf brings up the bow still in her grasp, peaks out from her cover and spots him behind her, bow steadied at her location. The arrow he projects lands in front of her feet.

Ariana, I failed you, and myself. Pride has killed me. Tears are filling her eyes as well. Trying to clear her mind, she lets loose three sharp whistles into the moist, cold air. The clouds took the sun out of play several hours ago, the darkness formed around her, literally and figuratively.

Behind her, the Blightcaller was moving. The leaves were rustling, and she did all she could to keep up with his location. Feeling the need to move her body slightly, another rush of pain streamed through her; the arrow in her thigh squeezed the trunk of the tree. Thinking a bit illogical, she brutally grabbed it and harshly broke it off, causing even more pain.

Adrenaline took care of the uncontrollable agony for a short while; however, she had now lost the location of the Blightcaller. Dread filled her; her back was against the wall.

Closing her eyes, almost a minute goes by, and she can again concentrate. The wind blowing, the leaving rustling and even faint blood dripping from her wounded leg, she listened intently for him.

No, she screamed in her mind as something appears far behind her, the opposite side she is facing. In an instant, an airborne arrow jolts toward her. But it doesn’t land. She is untouched.

Quickly facing the other way, she meets the intense eyes of her beloved panther, San, who has heeded her call. Despite having taken an arrow to the abdomen, she beckons the General to climb her back. All she manages in such haste though, is to lunge onto her and hold on for her life as they struggle away.

At the pond, several minutes go by before Nathanos Blightcaller emerges from the shadows.

Looking towards the appearing stars; slowly inhaling the cold autumn air and clenching his fists, he soon lets out a prolonged exhale.

Standing for several minutes before falling to his knees, he gently lays his trusty bow to the ground and places both hands on the muddy grass knoll before him. Resting his head between both hands for a while, he let out soft screams of his own.

It was night and the moon shone brightly by the time he got to his feet again.

And he did as he always did; strapped his bow to his back, counted his arrows and went to retrieve whatever spent arrows he had wasted. Then he would return home.

One more day.

One more day of undeath.