The Recovery of Stromgarde

The smell, oh man the smell. He couldn't stand it anymore, the cess pit of a marsh, the drunkard dwarven stinking the place up. He could have stood it if they had actually dedicated themselves to the cause. Alas they simply took advantage of the atmosphere, they wanted to fight he knew, they were simply too afraid to disobey the Senator. Nygarth appreciated the reasoning they used to slither out of fighting, he sympathised with there situation. They wanted to wait for reinforcements, excellent, more to help and the Span would be safe from infiltration, what Nygarth was blind to was that retaking Strom wasn't the most important thing of their agenda.

His home was being defiled, ruined. His beloved Stromgarde had forsaken and troll footprints down its ancient halls. The books containing secrets of old were being read, medical supplies were being used up on the side they were meant to help harm. His Ancestors home was being destroyed and no sane Arathorian would let that go amiss. Stuff the dwarves and their stinking marshlands, Nygarth and his kin wanted their home back, just so happened they wasn't alone.

Lightbearers, Darnassian Watch, First Company of Lordaeron and plenty from Stormwind were running around the Harbour, ready for battle. Sparring here, having a good luck drink in the bar there. All were ready for a slaughter and cowardice from Ironforge wasn't going to stop them. Messages to and fro. Sir Feilan acting on behalf of Sir Angelos, both the Leomin's, Eselan and his dear wife. Ancient Kal'dorei fresh from the slumber readied themselves for war.

The young Shar was to be left behind. War was no place for a young sixteen year old with no heir to the throne just yet, Arathor couldn't take the risk and even she, as stubborn as a mule wouldn't dare go against the vote of the council. The Dank'thar, Orin, Atir Magan, Kardonir and Caretaker. Lionheart, Nygarth himself, Theonar Dawnweaver, Cedojr West and Michael Dellore. They were all ready though, they were commanding the forces, they had the ultimate goal in mind and they was not going to fail.

Lionheart captured the hearts of the forces with a grand speech whilst Nygarth prayed. The mustering of the Grand Alliance was complete, the march through the Marsh was to be done.

Slow at first at a steady pace, mostly grand armoured horses trotted along side some exotic Sabers. Men and women alike chatted, trying to keep their minds off what was to become of them. "Did you hear about the Disciples scandal a few months back?, someone framed them for robbing a bank or something."

Nygarth's mind kept firmly on the matter at hand, the recapture of his homeland, with his Sister, Lynette and Fiance by his side he knew that he had alot to fight for. Family, love, his Queen. This was not a time for idle chatter.

Eventually the forces reached the Span, covered in Dwarven seemingly blocking the pathway. "Hail Dwarf. Be there a problem here!?" roared the almighty Dank'thar, obviously troubled by the signals the defending squad was giving off. Would they stop us from fighting? Would they attack us? Are they in league with the Horde? All these questions and more groped at the soldiers minds as they watched the smirking dwarves simply answer. "No, nothin'..." and allowed the crossing of the Span.

As they traversed into the Highlands they breathed fresh air, home. Many whooped with joy as the homesickness haltered to a stop, many more noble words were uttered from Lionhearts mouth. Peering at the native wildlife, Nygarth realised why he missed this place so much. The spiritual link was too strong to be ignored, whereas in the Harbour many had thought twice if they was doing the right thing. Was it wise to charge on forth without the Dwarves? Should we wait just a few more days? All answers to those doubts were revealed now. No way on Azeroth would any of the Arathorian have wanted to return, Strom was here for the taking and so it shall be so.

Just before they reached the Stronghold half the force had been devised to attack from behind, whilst the other half acted as a distraction. They would then break off and reclaim various landmarks, clearing them of any horde. Watching half your force leave you as you were about to be revealed to the enemy wasn't a pleasant experience.

Hearts fell and angers rose as they caught sight of the beloved Stromgarde. Utterly desecrated by scumbag horde, the fumes of the blight were visable to the naked eye, it was reasoned however that the highland breeze would soon sweep it away, and that it couldn't have been a strong sample as the living forces of the Horde were standing it easily without any noticeable contraption to aid in the breathing. As the leadership of both sides yelled and chanted various cries of anger, revenge, pity. Even the Alliance forces knew the cry of the Gurubashi, uttered in Trollish its words still rang clearly. "Blood, Fire, Death!" met with "Ah-hoom!", as the forces charged each other, the words they had hit eachother with turned to blades and magic.

With forces on the high walls, the Horde had the home advantage, as the Alliance fought onwards to take shelter under the bridge in the middle of Strom, awaiting the reinforcements from behind the Horde. They were too late, screams and crying filled the air, the Alliance were pushed back to the gates as the "secret" force revealed themselves from behind. A mounted charge was the only option, using the steeds they had marched here on they charged into the threshold breaking through, dodging the arrows and incantations of the devilish Forsaken. Under the bridge to reunited with the other half of the force, they looked alot more fiercesome together, as they battled onwards to the middle. Channeling the Light, the Orin made sure where the blades had once struck his kin left only an aching mark, where spells had scorched and corrupted left only impact print where they were flung at. It couldn't be done forever.

The priesthood stood acting with their Officer, inexperienced. Struggling to concentrate some were better off picking up a stick and charging into the scrum. Alas the sanctum was yet to be retaken, they still had a job to do. Regrouping was paramount, those fallen unconcious were ressurrected and medical aid was administered. The forces bravely fought the foe, as dwarf after dwarf marched into Strom, those would be punished it was sure. The help was needed, they were being beat back after attempt after attempt, with the added strength of the Dwarven however it was granted. The Sanctum was recovered and the horde had fled. The Alliance had won this day, the crumbled walls of Strom were able to be rebuilt, they had done it once, they could do it again.

"AH-FECKING-HOOM!"

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Something that I wrote on the forums. Might aswell post it here. Enjoy

Saihna approves <3

Nice story, also good to see that no army can win without Dwarves in the ranks!

Why of course! Someone needs to supply the nice mead at the aftermaths of battle!