He’s back! Love the stories as always.
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“An Azeroth Home Companion”
“The Forest Lord: Part II”
Greetings!
In my last story, my friends and I set off to Alterac Valley where we found ourselves facing a desperate situation. Horde resistance repulsed our quick offensive, an attempt to “rush” Frostwolf Keep. The initial strategy of maintaining a static defence meant that we had little recourse. The Horde forces, seemingly better organised than ours, managed to recapture their Relief Hut and the red banners flew above Iceblood, Tower Point, and the Keep itself. Our resolve hadn’t collapsed, as seen by the efforts on our side to repel any northward movement by the Horde. The present military situation had devolved into a stalement.
Following Archdruid Renferal and her aides, my friends and I rode trying to keep up with their apparent haste. Given the urgency of the situation and what could possibly come, it was understandable. Not a word was said to us, and thankfully the road was clear of any opposition. While knowledgeable of nature and Elune, the druids weren’t exactly the fiercest combatants. We couldn’t stray far from them in their tireless ride to the Field of Strife. Surely, the Horde were near, as Captain Balinda proudly called out, “Filthy Frostwolf cowards! If you want a fight, you’ll have to come to me!”
The enemy forces had once again retreated, perhaps using this as a clever ruse. Huddled behind a massive cliff at the graveyard, the Field Marshal waited patiently for their next move.
Having been recruited from the cities, our forces weren’t exactly a cohesive unit under the command of our Alliance’s leadership. Marshal Chadwick, and priestess Healsanna, a Field Marshal, who both led the so-called “snowblower” manoeuvres, saw my friends, the druids, and I, but offered no assistance, “you’re wasting your time”, we heard her yell. The crowd erupted with laughter.
Despite this, a few privates and sergeants present, saw our determination and broke formation. They weren’t operating under strict orders, meaning they would not be reprimanded for doing so. We were largely vigilantes, recruited from the cities, offered temporary titles and privileges, afterall.
Healsanna’s formation remained huddled together, a “death ball” as she called it, a name not quite befitting Stormwind’s priesthood, I think. A campfire gently crackled beside them. Scraps of armour and tattered fragments, even some copper pieces, littered the ground we trod upon. Following the druids, we simply didn’t have the time to scavenge for anything of use, or any interesting mementos.
The Horde’s next wave could strike at any moment. We reached the Calling Circle, a large round tablet, where the druids leapt off their tigers.
“We must focus our thoughts on the Circle of Calling, the Forest Lord is to come! We must hurry! Concentrate your energies!”
Everyone leapt off their tigers, rams, horses, and even a mechanostrider, and touched the ancient tablet. Our hands radiated violet and plum light, growing stronger until it enveloped our entire bodies! This was unlike any magic any of us had experienced!
Suddenly, a violent quake shook the ground, enough to make us stumble. To our south, a wave of Horde began their advance. Riding their vicious worgs and thick-skinned war kodos, we didn’t have much time before they engaged us. Outnumbered, and isolated from any help at Stonehearth Bunker, we faced a contingent of Horde racing across the Field of Strife toward us.
The rogue, whispering me, said “I’ll be back, if you think this is huge, wait ‘till what I’ve got in store for them!”
He vanished with smoke, demonstrating an air of dastardly showmanship, but I didn’t feel safe without knowing his plans. The warlock who had stumbled over the Circle of Calling, hadn’t yet regained his composure. Reaching out, the paladin tried to pull his friend up. The druids and others remained focused on the stone. With one fewer person, our isolated and exposed condition, our divided attention, the odds of fending off the enemy seemed grim. Meanwhile, the nearest help was isolated waiting for an attack that wasn’t going to arrive.
We couldn’t do more than wait. That moment was frozen, much like the ground upon which we stood.
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Bump! Keep them coming Tree!
“An Azeroth Home Companion”
“The Forest Lord: Part III”
“Not Quite A Duel”
Currently, the Horde and Alliance are in an unusual truce, with intermittent fighting occurring in regional hotspots. One of these is Alterac Valley, where the Stormpike Expedition, led by Vanndar, had been engaged in a stalemate with the Frostwolf forces they had encountered in what had been thought was an uninhabited valley. The present situation was that the Alliance and Horde forces had been fighting all day yet nothing had changed.
Today wasn’t an exception. Yet another stalemate had devolved into trading blows for little gain by either side. A few of us broke from the main group, led by Field Marshal Healsanna, and her adjutant, Marshal Chadwick, in a desperate effort to summon Ivus the Forest Lord. Horde attackers drew near, we were largely unaware, and a few hadn’t quite regained their composure after the ground shook.
“Wicked, wicked, mortals! The forest weeps. The elements recoil at the destruction. Ivus must purge you from this world!”
The warlock gasped, and the paladin’s “By the Light! He’s here!” was helpful enough to refocus our attention on the task at hand. He cheerfully offered a quick prayer granting a Blessing of Kings onto him. Ivus, the Forest Lord, looked formidable, but we knew that he, like us, was vulnerable for now.
An orc, donning a suit of armour more formidable than the rest of his company, gave a mocking guttural laugh. The others stayed behind, deferring to him. Much like Chadwick, he was a mighty warrior. His axe, quite an impressive sight: its handle was painted to resemble a black dragon’s claws and scales. Two fearsome blades, adorned with red gem inlays, was patterned after the dreaded Shadowflame. The top was decorated with two dragon heads, with rubies in place of the spikes lining the drake’s spine.
Given his obvious strength, we were clearly outclassed even if we held a numeric advantage. Our challenger held many prestigious ranks and titles. The medals he wore, even in battle, attested to this. They weren’t simply ceremonial, but were a source of great pride to him. Somewhat battered, we faced an enemy with strength and enthusiasm far greater than ours. He immediately charged, rushing toward the warlock, who stopped moving from the blow.
The paladin, upset his friend got charged, shouted, “Oy, don’t ya do that!” He hurled a blue and purple spiritual hammer at our foe, who shrugged it off.
“Watch yourself!” I shouted before surrounding the orc’s feet with roots. The warlock inched away and his “dog”, really a felhunter, began nipping at its legs. The orc, visibly upset, touched a badge on his chest to break free from the roots. While our foe was distracted, the warlock cursed our foe surrounding his body with a purple glow with green stars surrounding him.
He took a quick swig from his flask, and laughed even harder. Nothing would contain this foe—for now. The audience behind him roared, and our small company wasn’t quite aware of what was happening.
The orc swung his mighty blade at the felhunter, knocking it several yards away due to the force. Turning his attention to the paladin, he again charged, leaving our friend unable to move. The warlock quickly attempted to frighten him, to no avail.
I began focusing on the paladin’s vitality, hoping to uplift his spirits. The paladin regained his senses, raised the massive insect’s claw, and delivered a blow to the orc’s head. Again, the orc grunted, exclaimed “kek” before delivering a striking blow that left the paladin winded. The warlock channeled other bizarre incantations, causing the foe’s body to slowly burn, yet it failed to deliver pain to his extremities.
Again, the orc’s axe swung but crashed into the paladin’s shield. The paladin, barely holding on, was slowly buckling under the force pushing him down. He swung his claw repeatedly, only scratching the enemy’s armour. The orc then bounced back, charged the paladin once more, then smashed the hapless knight. The paladin, holding his red and gold-trimmed green cloak, fell to the ground, draping it over his face.
I stood in horror, realising that my acquaintance might have died. The warlock laughed, as though he wasn’t going to fall without a fight. Short on breath, he drew out his wand, pointed it at the orc, and began using what strength that he had left to dispatch our foe. He began a barrage of sparks, hoping to whittle down the warrior’s vigour.
A surge of moonfire on my part inflicted little pain on him. He turned to me, seemingly viewing me as the bigger threat. I moved forward, hoping to avoid his paralysing charges, his axe swung!
It merely grazed my arm, and he was caught in roots. I continued running past him, channeling a blast of the star’s fury against him.
WOOOSH! It hit! The orc, staring me down, didn’t realise what had happened. The warlock’s subdued attacks were a clever ruse. The paladin’s cloak shifted, then he rolled over. His face, beaming, was visible. The paladin’s apparent death was a ruse! He pocketed a small object, grabbed his insectoid claw from the ground, then ran to the orc shouting “not today!”
The warlock, erupting in laughter, conjured a massive Shadowbolt that hit our foe. He began conjuring another, when the paladin outstretched his hand, pointing his “mace” at the warrior, when a blast of light radiated from his hand, flew across the ice, and hit the enemy with as much force as he could deliver. The paladin, short on breath, laughed as the warlock’s second Shadowbolt impacted on our formerly invincible foe.
He threw his axe into the ground then fell to his side. His allies shouted at us, in a clear disapproval of the outcome. They began fanning around us, knowing they outclassed and outnumbered our force. Nobody else stood between them and the Forest Lord we had to defend at all costs. Our allies, coming to their senses, were about to panic, Archdruid Renferal and her companions ran forward to meet the Horde.
The Forest Lord, behind us, stood patiently, waiting for his time to strike. Nature’s force, while powerful, are neither omnipotent nor perfect. The Forest Lord himself, a paragon of this, wobbled a little, brushing off some snow and ice from his body. Such a powerful, majestic being needed to build up strength and resolve before committing to act. Until then, we needed to make our stand not only for our defence, but for his as well.
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Very good stories here. Thank you! I can relate to your adventures
Mr Treeclaw 
“An Azeroth Home Companion”
“The Forest Lord: Part IV”
“YAW!”
The fighting in Alterac Valley had escalated that day. Emissaries were in the Alliance and Horde cities, each one recruiting as many as they possibly could for the next push. The Stormpike forces bolstered their numbers, but the battle was at a stalemate once again. The present state of affairs has the Alliance in a defensive position behind Stonehearth, waiting to halt the Horde’s next push, except it won’t arrive as expected. A small force had broken off, having sought the assistance of the Forest Lord, who now stood in the middle of the Field of Strife. Outnumbered, they were slowly getting outflanked by Horde. The Forest Lord, vulnerable in his present state, needed to build resolve before moving forward.
Little did we know, however, that our rogue acquaintance, had retreated to Dun Baldar, carrying a stack of frostwolf hide. While the forces had been skirmishing all day, he had been ahead of the lines killing hapless stragglers and luring others with diversions, such as leaving false banners atop towers. Even the wild worgs surrounding their fortifications weren’t spared his blade. His ruses worked, and he knew this was his time to finally deliver the offensive that the Alliance needed for victory that day.
The Alliance had held Stonehearth, the Forest Lord had been summoned, but we needed additional strength if we were going to go beyond enemy lines. His retreat was strategic: first, it would deliver additional forces to the front line. Second, another element of surprise would cause temporary disarray in the Horde lines while the Forest Lord and Field Marshal Healsanna’s so-called “deathball” was moving.
Having been busy carefully laying traps all day, the hides were all he needed now that there was a reason to push forward. The stable master, after telling him that having enough rams wasn’t enough, was quite pleased to have the hides given to him.
“The stables are full again! Our cavalry is soon to ride!”
The commander, sitting behind him, said “We ride on your command!”
In yet another display of showmanship, our friend said “YAW! Er, to the front lines with you!”
The sun high above, and the road clear of any friends or foes, our friend and the ram riders rode off. His cheerful optimism kept him going, fueled by a desire to win, and a hope that we’d hold out long enough to see him again.
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Yaw! Keep them coming Tree!
“An Azeroth Home Companion”
“The Forest Lord: Part V”
“Ramming Through”
Galloping quickly as they could, the rogue and the cavalry rode south along winding mountain roads. Aside from the feral ram, an Alliance patrol, or stray harpy, the passes were clear. Icewing Bunker could be seen atop a hill, the blue and gold lion waved undisturbed. The scenery was deceptive: Alliance forces were amassed south of the bunker. One large party was camped, awaiting an attack that wasn’t going to happen. The smaller of two bands was outnumbered, overpowered, and surrounded. The Forest Lord, vulnerable in his state, needed to muster his resolve.
Meanwhile, haughty Field Marshal Healsanna, the burly Marshal Chadwick, and their band began arguing amongst themselves.
“We can’t just sit here! We’re not going to act like turtles, are we?”
“Excuse me, kiddo, I’m the Field Marshal and know what I’m doing!” she wagged her finger at the Knight, who simply groaned in disbelief.
Marshal Chadwick flexed, “It’s brawns over brains, my little friend! We’ll smack them when it’s time!”
Healsanna flung her curled, golden hair to the side and laughed.
Someone else chimed in, “then why aren’t they here? And what happened to those other guys?”
“Brother, those guys are clueless. How they got their rank, I dunno. We’re going to wait to mow the Horde down! Huh?”
A sound of clomp-clomp-clomping could be heard approaching. In a “V” formation, a team of elite units, the ram riders, galloped past Stoneheart Graveyard and the Field Marshal’s “cubby” or camp. The cutpurse could be seen riding behind them, so as to not break the piercing formation. Members of the camp stirred, to see what’s happening.
“By the Light, what is that fool doing?” Healsanna clutched her staff, clearly expressing anger. Her plan was being foiled by this, as others got up and began turned around the massive snowdrift to observe the Field of Strife. In the distance, a few figures were surrrounded by a diamond formation, with a large Ancient standing nearby. To Healsanna, this was child’s play. However, the situation had quickly spiraled out of her control whilst others paid her little mind.
The mounted units paid them no mind, only looking for their fight. To the south, a few disparate units, the warlock, paladin, and I were exhausted. After the Horde forces fanned out, some arrows flew past me, hitting the Forest Lord himself. This is when he took notice of what stood before him, but the archer appeared to faint, as if performing a practical joke on forces beyond their present understanding.
If this was to be our last stand, so be it. Archdruid Renferal and her aides charged at the nearest Horde, the warlock, through clenched teeth, began summoning a torrent of fire and brimstone from the heavens, a sort of unholy storm. The paladin ran with the druids, hoping to join the fray. Their target, a heavily armoured Tauren, leapt from his kodo and stomped, leaving the paladin and druids dazed and confused. The warlock was hit by arrows, causing him to sidestep and the torrent of flames to end.
I protected myself by converting my body into a barklike armour, which, albeit temporarily, protected me from the rain of arrows. My body was being recharged with a flash of nature, allowing me to regain some energy that summoned a gentle soothing breeze around my friends.
A couple wizards jumped off their skeletal warhorses, and apparated some yards forward, trapping us in ice and blasting us with icy wind, colder than those of Alterac itself. A Private snapped out of it, using his medallion, and sliced part of its robe. The wizard laughed, making eye contact with him, the unmistakable eyes piercing into his soul, much like two small suns in its sunken, decayed face. It was as though one of them had known the Private in a former life, causing the man to gasp in horror.
“Hey, is it you, Bob? Why…?”
His opponent let out a guttural laugh, making an odd gesture, then pointing his wand at the Private. While his former self would show mercy, even compassion, in his new life he wouldn’t. This wasn’t a friendly reunion, much like others of this sort, and the circumstances wouldn’t allow for any mediation. A large spark flew into the Private, knocking him down, with him writhing. The man got up, took another spark, and simply flung his sword, knocking the wand out of his former comrade’s hand. The other wizard, reappeared on the other side, then emitted a second nova encasing us in frost.
The other Horde began moving forward, an Orc waved his hands around himself, then hit the druids and paladin with lighting that formed a link across them. A druid fell, the paladin let out an “Oy, that smarts!”
Some of the Horde began running past us, knowing something was amiss. A trail of snow was kicked up, when a team of several dwarves began charging into the crowd. The rogue, jumping off his Alterac-bred charger, disappeared in smoke, much like the last time I saw him. Second later, the shaman ceased moving, and was dealt some blows to his back. The mounted riders had caused disarray in the Horde formation, some began moving back, while others were relentlessly pummeled by the rams front hooves.
Having taken notice of this, the Forest Lord gave chase before he stopped, raised his trunk arms, and a large BRAAAAP flew. The undead wizard, known as Bob, was hit, and fell. He turned to see the Forest Lord’s fury before getting hit by a Moonfire much larger than my own. BOOM! Bob’s figure slowly faded, as though it had been called back to the spirit world. The Private shook his head in disbelief, and remorse, seeing his old friend that final time.
Knowing that summoning the Forest Lord was a miracle, I kept watch over him, because he had finally shown the resolve to act. I granted him a Mark of the Wild, as he began his march.
“I have come to raze your bases, Frost Wolf Clan. Ivus punishes you for your treachery!”
With the Horde in disarray, the stalemate was changing. Initiative and momentum were on our side. Newfound help in the elite riders and the Ivus the Forest Lord might give us the push that we desperately needed to advance into Horde-controlled territory. After seeing what happened from a distance, even the camped assembly that represented the bulk of Alliance volunteer forces knew that time for idling was over. To win this battle, the fight would need to be waged not in this vast No-Man’s Land, but beyond the sturdy wooden barricades and towers themselves.
These are really good, thank you for posting! I love some good in-character chronicles. Say Hi to the druids next time you meet.
“An Azeroth Home Companion”
“The Forest Lord: Part VI”
“Rendezvous at Iceblood”
Our rogue companion slinked away once again. The last sighting I had of him was dealing swift blows to a shaman, when he disappearing in the confusion of battle. He snuck past the myriad of defences, like Tower Point and the wooden gate to its north. While Alliance forces were gaining moment, he carefully picked off those first to flee. He left little evidence of his doing, leaving a few stunned in their tracks. A few were dealt minor wounds with poison affecting their movement. The Horde retreat, disorderly as it was, was partially crippled by the actions of one man. This allowed him to sneak into Tower Point, looking for one man: Wing Commander Slidore.
The Frostwolf’s prisoner lie on the floor, face down and his arms outstretched. He clearly took a nasty blow, likely kicked downstairs by Commander Louis who kept watch over the Tower. Little did the commander know that our friend, the seemingly agile outlaw, stirred.
“I heard mocking laughter as my gryphon crashed and burned.”
“Pardon?” replied his rescuer.
“’Slidore, you stink!’ They shouted. Nobody talks to Slidore that way! Help me get out of here so that I can show them who the real stinker is!”
“I got your back, Slidore, but to be honest, you do stink. Take a shower, man.”
The Dwarven man quickly got to his feet. Sword in hand, he shouted, “Cover me, I’m making a break for it!”
Without caution, he ran out of the bunker. His rescuer, knowing it wasn’t going to be an easy escape, knew that he had to help the Wing Commander rejoin Alliance forces. Archers, seeing what happened, began shooting at them! Luckily evading their arrows, they both ran north along the road. Ahead, heavily armoured guards and their officer, Lieutenant Stronghoof, stood watch at Iceblood Graveyard, and to the immediate left was an orcish Lieutenant watching the northern entry to Frostwolf territory.
Clutching his pistol, our friend thought “here goes nothing!” as he carefully aimed at the Lieutenant.
POP! They were confused at what happened, since it clearly didn’t injure anyone. However, the timing couldn’t have been better. Horde forces began turning round the corner en masse, while the Forest Lord lead the charge. BRAAAAP! BRAAAP!
My friends, the warlock and his companion, the knight, were not far behind. Field Marshal Healsanna and her team had caught up to the action ordering “quick, everyone rendezvous at Iceblood Graveyard!” They charged into hapless Lieutenant Rugba and those spared by Ivus’ wrath. This was definitely an unexpected rout, as those who weren’t trampled by Healsanna’s band and the ram riders kept running south, hoping to regroup in friendlier territory. The marksmen atop Iceblood couldn’t repel such a massive advance.
The rogue felt relieved, seeing the retreat and disorder, as the Wing Commander began swinging his blade at Stronghoof and his guards.
“You won’t be taking this son of Ironforge without a fight!”
Marshal Chadwick’s steed reached the flag first, where he crushed one of the guards with his massive obsidian blade. He, the rogue, and Slidore made quick work of the guards while the Horde banner was piled on, taken down, and a blue beacon was put in place. Its timer began: TOCK TOCK TOCK.
Healsanna, assessing the situation, knew the situation wasn’t entirely controlled. Captain Galvangar was neither aware of the rapidly deteriorating situation nor was he willing to leave the bunker. The marksmen at Iceblood Tower fired at passersby, hoping to drop any stragglers.
The Forest Lord was charging anyone hostile unfortunate enough to be left behind. BRAAAP! My friends, eyed the tower with concern and maybe a little hope for retribution after their last time atop it. Knowing some of the area, they both took Healsanna aside, with the warlock showing her his diagrams of the tower. Dropping her jaw, she clearly agreed after the initial shock of what the warlock’s carefully plotted diagram depicted. Tapping her shoulder, the paladin caught her attention and made gestures showing that they were boxed in some kind of a triangle. She pointed at it, nodded, and they began walking northwest. Field Marshal Healsanna even broke a smile, “Light be with you”.
Without consulting anyone, I adopted my feline form and blended into the snow, carefully following them. Wing Commander Slidore and his escort were nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, they would make it back unharmed. The warlock and paladin, carefully tucked behind a tree, pored over their notes and glanced over their shoulders at the tower, partially visible over the hill. This was their chance to complete their prior mission, and they didn’t forget what happened that fateful evening.
The overall situation had drastically changed in the span of a few minutes. The stalemate appeared to have turned into a breakthrough, thanks to a mighty push and cooperation between forces. The Horde and their volunteers hadn’t recovered from the shock. The Forest Lord had frightened his enemies and delivered a morale boost to the Alliance volunteers, even those who hadn’t believed in him.
Best tree is a cut tree, no offense meant friend. Hope to read that the forest lord was more useful than matchsticks.
“An Azeroth Home Companion”
“The Forest Lord: Part VII”
“Rocket Man”
From the relative safety behind the tree, my friends, the warlock and the paladin, carefully planned their assault on Iceblood Tower. The warlock, sitting with his back to its trunk, carefully slid into his boots and calibrated an apparatus resembling a small box with a red button. Turning to the paladin, he said, “I reckon these will work, but we’ve got just this one time to try.”
The paladin chuckled, “they always do, mate! Remember that poor sap, what was his name… boom!”
His friend laughed, “we won’t see him again soon, unless you’re able to raise him from the dead!”
I had previously met them both in another engagement, at this spot, and I was always impressed by both their camaraderie and past travels together. If I ever could, I’d love to talk with them at length. Something drew me to them, because unlike others I’ve met, they had heart.
“We have better chances than last time, but let’s not hope for unwelcome company.”
The paladin, having wound his chronometer, carefully pocketed it, nodding in agreement.
“Hey, mate, ya reckon something’s afoot?” he carefully drew the silithid’s claw, a large purple bit of claw, forcefully broken off its host.
Turning around, he carefully scanned the ground. The warlock, staring me in the eyes, knew I was there. “Well, hello, are you here to help? We’ve got an old debt to repay and would love for you to join us.”
Without regaining my usual shape, I whispered, “of course, friends.”
“Right-o!” cheered the paladin.
“Did you hear everything?” asked the warlock.
“Absolutely.”
“Shall I begin?” the paladin got up, slowly marched to the tower, while his comrade and I followed. His pace increased and he began to run, shouting at the sharpshooters above.
“Hey, you! You’re not so good! Come on, try me!”
He began bouncing side by side, shield in hand. The archers, clearly annoyed by his words, carefully loaded their quivers. ZIP ZIP! One hit his shield, the other grazed his leg.
“Is that all you can do?”
The warlock pressed the little red button on that tiny contraption, and faded away. Meanwhile, the paladin hurled a boomerang at one of archers, knocking him senseless. I carefully hid by the entry, unseen. What clanking I heard from the rickety ramp was masked by the commotion outside.
ZIP ZIP! CLONK CLONK! Two more hit his shield.
“Lousy shots; lousy I say!”
The pattering upstairs stopped, as the warlock reappeared in the opening, making eye contact with an Orcish commander, when he quickly mouthed a few quick words, “the King’s here!”
“Lok-Narash!” he grabbed his mace and ran, except the warlock’s boots activated and he ran off! PSSSSSH PSSSSH!
Soon as he landed, the boots gave off another PSSSSSH and he dropped a triangular canister that began shaking. A little light flashed near the top, waiting to detonate. Running in circles, powered by thrusters, the sharpshooters above couldn’t clearly see him, while the knight hurled insults at them. He bore the brunt of their concentrated fire.
CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK! Shook the ramp as Commander Dardosh ran out, and with a puzzled look on his face, screamed “Ka!” when the bomb detonated, stopping him in his tracks. Taking the initiate, I leapt on his back, tried to bite his arm, he swaggered a bit, then shook me off. The paladin, seizing the moment, ran forward then bonked his head!
The warlock hurled a massive bolt of shadow at the hapless Commander, while his regained senses, trying to hit the paladin back, whose shield cracked a bit, but took the blow. My body changed, growing immense, and quite featherly, channeled a massive burst from the heavens. WOOOSH!
The warlock, hoping to deter the Commander, caused a sense of immense dread, and the Commander ran around in circles. The paladin, shouting, “don’t forget me!” ran up to meet the archers.
Channeling another burst from the heavens, the Commander fell, albeit writing in agony. The warlock and I dashed to the top, where we found the archers’ swords drawn to give us a welcome. The paladin kept swinging his giant, magenta claw, or club, at them, dodging their strikes. One grazed his side, “oy! That smarts!”
“Get to the flag!” the warlock said as he went to his friend’s defence. Cramped in that little observation deck, I slowly unfurled the Horde’s red banner, their beacon, while my friends dispatched the guards. One expired after being dealt an unnatural wound caused by the warlock’s magicks, while the offer suffered blunt force trauma. The both ran inside, hoping to catch their breath, and to set their beacon.
After gently removing the red banner, the paladin handed me his own, and I slid it in place. He pulled his chronometer out, the distinct TICK TICK TICK, and he let out a big sigh, slumping with his back to the wall.
The warlock, his hands trembling, put them in his pocket. He let out a sigh of exasperation, too. These fellows, while not exactly young for humans, were pretty hardy.
Shrinking back to my usual self, I situated myself between them, also with my back to the wall. This was much like the first time we met, though we were fairly secure behind the lines. Even so, we didn’t expect reinforcements while Field Marshal Healsanna held Iceblood Graveyard, with the aid of Ivus the Forest Lord, stopping any potential charges against it. Still, the situation wasn’t entirely in our control. The Captain, with his Herald, taunted our forces behind his mighty garrison’s wall. Meanwhile, it was relatively calm in our immediate surroundings with just our breathing and the TICK TICK TICK breaking the silence.
Now, all we needed to do was wait.
Feed us more stories Tree!
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Greetings!
First, I must extend my apologies for any lack of stories and updates. This was due to unforeseen circumstances that required my utmost attention and energy. The column had not been forgotten; consequently, you, my readers, will have two installments that continue where we left off in “The Forest Lord.”
Regards,
Treeclaw Starwater
P.S. The second installment has notes, decidedly out of character, explaining my reasoning for events and conversation in that particular case.
“An Azeroth Home Companion”
“The Forest Lord: Part VIII”
“A One-Way Ticket to Frostwolf Territory”
People have strong opinions whenever Alterac Valley is mentioned. Some people think it’s a waste of strategic resources defending such cold, arduous terrain. Others believe it’s just another hotspot in the ongoing struggle to skew the balance of power for their faction. Officially, the Alliance is defending the Stormpike Guard, headed by a General who’s part of an influential family from Ironforge, in their search for the ancient mysteries of Azeroth. Believing some of them lie in the valley, they hope to uncover valuable data and artefacts in compiling an historical narrative of their kind and of Azeroth itself.
The Horde, fortifying the defences of an Orcish clan who sought refuge there, responded to our presence with force. Since then, it has been an ongoing battle that ravaged the landscape. Even today, it’s tragic to see wrecked siege engines, Orcish catapults, burnt-out tower frames, and littered remains through the valley’s lowest points, in the Field of Strife. Reminders of prior incursions are seen throughout areas controlled by the opposite faction. Unfortunately, the landscape is suffering from the conflict—the true victim of our conflict. Summoning the Forest Lord was thus unleashing the land’s fury. The forest weeps, and Ivus himself wants vengeance. Rumour has it the Horde’s shamans have unlocked the secrets of another powerful being; however, the day it’s summoned would indeed be a lamentable day.
Currently, the Alliance, with the Forest Lord’s assistance, managed to break through the first Horde defences. Now, Field Marshal Healsanna sought to take the initiative to peel the artichoke. My friends, the eccentric paladin and the enigmatic warlock, routed Horde sharpshooters and their Commander at Frostwolf Tower, despite being outnumbered, through good fortune, undermining the enemy’s pride, and miraculous feats of engineering. The unsung covert operator, the Lieutenant Commander who disappears with an eye’s blink, escaped the fray along with Wing Commander Slidore.
Running past the fence, they made their break north, in open territory, across the Field of Strife. After the prior assault, nobody could be seen. They darted past the western side of Stonehearth Bunker, soon seeing a familiar face, Commander Randolph, saluted, remaining at his post. Turning northeast, they didn’t break their pace up the gentle slope leading deeper into friendly territory. Beaten, bloodied, the Wing Commander wasn’t giving up.
The road back to Dun Baldar was uneventful, with nothing to be seen aside from allied patrols and the occasional ram. A young man—clearly a man without a care in the world—cast his fishing line below. The Wing Commander growled in disapproval, but didn’t have time to file the paperwork requesting his prompt dismissal. Upon making it to base, he let out his breath and gave a rundown of the present situation to his rescuer:
“My gryphons are poised to strike at the front lines but cannot make the attack until the lines are thinned out.
The Frostwolf warriors charged with holding the front lines wear medals of service proudly upon their chests. Rip those medals off their rotten corpses and bring them back here.
Once the front line is sufficiently thinned out, I will make the call to air! Death from above!”
Jingling his pockets once again, and absolutely beaming with joy, he held out a Frostwolf medal.
“You mean these? You won’t believe how many guys I picked off!”
Wing Commander Slidore’s jaw dropped!
“The Aerie gryphons will be ready to strike in no time at all!”
“I didn’t say I was finished!”
Slidore jumped! “Whoa, buddy!”
The vengeful Dwarf shouted, readying his bird “My flight is ready! Soldiers come to my aid!”
The rogue, waving him down, yelled “I want a surgical strike, Slidore! Carpet the road with fire!”
Slidore threw a beacon that the rogue caught, leapt onto his bird, then flew off a split second after my acquaintance grabbed hold of he and the bird. It was too late, he had jumped onto the gryphon and was going for a ride of his life!
“Buddy, I don’t allow this but I’ll make an exception for ya!”
He laughed, already knowing his next moves on his trek southward. The view was phenomenal, even because ravaged countryside has a stark beauty in itself. Soon enough, they would provide an unexpected help to Alliance forces readying their next push.
“An Azeroth Home Companion”
“The Forest Lord: Part IX”
“Crossing Blades”
The beacon at Iceblood Graveyard activated, and Alliance medics were on standby. Field Marshal Healsanna, confident in driving back the Horde, with the Forest Lord’s advances, ordered her next plans. A small detachment was going to backtrack to Iceblood Garrison, where Captain Galvangar, the supposed assistant to Drek’Thar himself, maintains vigil, to drive him out. Without the Captain, it was assumed, our flank would have one fewer stronghold for the Horde to offer any surprises.
This operation would be spearheaded by Marshal Chadwick, part of the Field Marshal’s elite team. A small contingent of forces moved forward, saying they’d force his surrender—or else. To the say contingent was small was an understatement: it was only three people.
One of the people who volunteered for the task, a human priest of maybe thirty years of age, black hair carefully braided down his sides, a medium-dark complexion, and wearing a white robe accompanied him. While his vestments were not as prestigious as those of the Field Marshal’s, he made do with what he had.
A young Kaldorei woman accompanied them, holding a walking stick. Her hair was done in a style that was quite unlike others of her kind: she had bangs with a fringe above her eyebrows; a barrette kept her turquoise hair in place. It was shoulder length, albeit neatly trimmed. She knelt and picked a ragged flower, carefully pinning it to her blouse.
Chadwick murmured to himself, “does she think this is a hike?”
Thankfully, neither of them heard, though he didn’t let that shake his confidence. Afterall, he had emerged victorious in countless skirmishes in the Arathi Basin, braving assaults on the lumber mill. This assignment wasn’t exactly difficult, in his view, but his company didn’t exactly rouse his spirits. They were certainly odd to him, with one making a peculiar request.
“Hold on! This is important! I mustn’t forget this!”
The priest asked for a moment to stop, so they all did. They watched him pull some tattered, crumpled cap from his pocket. He held out his hands, they began glowing, and it suddenly crystallised. Before it fell, he swung his right hand to grab it, “ah! A remarkable one!” He held it out, proud that it had become something so radiant.
The night elf accompanying them clapped excitedly, having enjoyed the spectacle.
“Oh, brother,” he muttered.
The priest quickly pocketed it, unwilling to lose it by any surprises or trickery. They slowly walked on, seeing a scattering of arrows and footprints in front of Iceblood Tower. A few wooden splinters were strewn about; a shred of cloth was on the ground. The Kaldorei woman pointed at some animal tracks visible in the snow. (She quietly mouthed “a moonkin!” whilst picking up a feather.) A little soot could be seen, too, scattered about one set of footprints. Nobody was in sight.
Chadwick reflected, “Those crazy guys really did it.”
They arrived at Iceblood Garrison, finding the front door unprotected. Both the guards, generally Lieutenants, either abandoned their post or were trampled by the onslaught. Either way, Chadwick peeked inside to see and hear nothing. The priest crept inside, while the Kaldorei woman blended into the shadows. Chadwick readied his sword and quickly turned the corner!
The Captain, waiting for them, shouted “Die! Your kind has no place in Alterac Valley!”
He and Chadwick met with locked swords. The Captain, quickly swung his blade, having learned the art of swordsmanship long ago, presumably before his clan built a stronghold in the valley. Chadwick, an expert swordsman, matched the Captain’s skill, though his larger, heavier blade, forged of obsidian from the Molten Core, was less nimble than the opponent’s blade.
CLANG CLANG! Both men, with equal skill, constantly parried each other’s attacks. The priest, watching in amazement, watched a duel between master swordsmen. He was transfixed by the affair.
The Captain let out a mighty yawp but Marshal Chadwick grinned, “Is that the best that you can do?”
CLANG! Chadwick’s blade deflected the Captain’s reply, while the priest was scrambling about the room.
“Get a hold over yourself, man!” Chadwick shouted.
The priest, having regained his senses, surrounded the Marshal’s body in a glowing light that encapsulated his body. Taking a jump back, Chadwick raised his mighty sword above his head, then he himself had been taken aback by the Captain’s cry. The orc laughed, but a moment too soon. From the shadows, the Kaldorei woman grew and suddenly became an enormous bear, charging at him. With the Captain shocked, she began roaring at him. His sword couldn’t scratch her hide even if he swung. Chadwick, shocked at what this mild mannered person had done, seized the opportunity to begin hitting him with the broad of his sword. The ferocious bear stood her ground. Upon the next broad strike, the Captain dropped his sword: he had been subdued by this odd company.
The Captain, having realized what had happened, decided that he shouldn’t fight, knowing he’ll be reunited with the others someday, “I’ll never fall. I may be your prisoner, but this is still my Garrison!”
The priest, realizing he spoke decent Common, began discussing how they didn’t plan on his execution, congratulating him on a hard fought match, and even the Marshal agreed, “You know, Captain, you are a worthy adversary.”
He chortled, “you’d all fight bravely in Nagrand, if it still exists…”
The priest, unsure of what Nagrand is, look puzzled. The Kaldorei woman smiled, hoping to hear more about this place. The Orc shook his head, reminiscing of a world and time long past. He opened up to them, sensing they had honourable hearts.
“Ah, I can’t imagine humans… well, your peoples… have seen anything as beautiful as Nagrand. Before all this happened, before the Legion, it had spectacular vistas of water, hills, and wildlife…”
He trailed off, thinking it was inexplicable to tell them about a land that he wasn’t sure was still there. The only way he knew back, was long closed, and his people had turned their backs on what had led them here. Now, he was guarded by those who subdued him, but at least showed him grace and respect.
The priest nodded, wondering if he’d ever bear witness to such a place, in such a faraway and distant world…
Everyone sighed, realizing they had to stay put, in this quiet bunker, far removed from the rest of the battle. They had each other’s company, at least.
++++
Author’s notes (and spoilers for things beyond Classic): it has been suggested that Captain Galvangar is a blademaster, a rarity amongst the Horde. Generally, they’re fel orcs and can be seen later on in TBC, like Vazruden in Hellfire Ramparts. Another is Mekthorg the Wild, a fel orc whose patrol around Hellfire Citadel, who greets his enemies by saying they’ll be hung from the battlements. Lantresor, in Nagrand, is another who was featured in both the TBC and Warlords of Draenor expansions. Although Galvangar’s part of the Frostwolf clan, it still makes me wonder about his personal history considering the majority of blademasters remain aligned with the Legion.
Now, you might be wondering, “why didn’t you just kill him? We kill him for rep in AV.” The reason why Captain Galvangar was not slain was for a few reasons. First, a blademaster is difficult to slay on their own, with just our ragtag party barely scratching him. Next, he later appears in the Cataclysm expansion. To respect the character, and his connections to the Frostwolf, it was decided that he was temporarily subdued, being stunned and dropping his blade. The Captain, even in this episode, never faltered in his duty to the Horde and didn’t lose his Garrison. The party members didn’t dispute this, and never sought for his removal from Iceblood Garrison. They succeeded in their mission to simply disarm him. Finally, and without providing spoilers, it just wouldn’t make sense for him to die in AV.
I Tree