The Lion and the Serpent - Chapter Sixteen: Warlord

((long overdue i think, but here it is folks, i'm finnaly finishing this story, enjoy o/))

A young knight asked me a question once, his eyes shining with inexperience and the curiosity of youth. His question was simple, though the answer was not.

What makes a warrior great?

I asked him why he thought I of all people would know, his face shifting with confusion. You see, one thing i definatly am not, is a great warrior. There are those stronger, faster, smarter than i. There are those who can best me in battle, with ease, as if i am nothing. Just another speck of dust on the wind.

There are also those whose great actions far outshine my own, a shade of grey against the glisten of gold.

Warriors fight for their own reasons, some personal, some selfish, perhaps even out of debt or zeal. Each has a cause, a cause they deem worthy to risk their life for. My cause doesn’t matter; it’s the willingness to follow one that does in our trade.

I deal in the acts that some consider too ‘harsh’ or ‘crude’ for them to do themselves. These things do not make anyone ‘great’, instead perhaps it degrades a man’s moral fibre. War is an ugly thing that always tarnishes someone, or something, its acts are unclean and bloody. Though in doing them, they prove your loyalty to the cause. And loyalty is the currency by which my kind pays our way; it is our gold and silver, our bread and water. it is our sacrafice to the world, so that others may not have to suffer such terror's themselves.

My deeds are cruel, many would tell you. I kill without question or thought. My rage and, dare i say, lust for war, drive me. Why anyone would wish to aspire to live such a life, i will never understand...

I am no great warrior... just a loyal soldier, a leader of men alike to me.

Perhaps i scared that young knight... he became a farmer i think...

As fascinating as that is... now is not the time to reminice mortal!

Sharp heated breaths, a fire in his chest burned the air he took in like a roaring furnace. His legs thrust forward as he leaped forward, right after left, running with strength and determination, crushing anything in his path. The charge, a beautiful thing in war, It sounded the commitment of a man to battle, to the cause he deemed worthy of risking his life for. It had finally begun.

The ground shook with thunderous rage as they hurtled forward, the voice of war making her presence heard. Soldiers beyond number poured over the hill, a wave of steel and warrior spirit. The ground and air humming, pulsing and screaming with movements as the warriors were finally unleashed, a sea of rage aimed like a spear toward the Gurubashi.

The Arathorian’s led, Seiken at their front. Running forward in a tight nit group, the forty or so northern soldiers moved as a team, sprinting together, none being left behind. Behind them, to their left were the mercenary forces, including Aegnian and his men. They headed to cut into the Troll slaves to the very north, and secure the vale pass. Meanwhile just behind the Arathorian’s came the knights and paladins of the holy orders of Stormwind. The disciples, the Strand and the Lightbringers being led by Fortesgue, Aarian and Maelmoor. It’s not that the Stormwind regiments didn’t want to keep level with their northern allies, they just couldn’t keep up.

Far to the rear amongst the hills could be heard dwarven and darnassian yells. Burgen was obviously preparing to fire a volley of rifle fire and artillery into the enemy, while the Huntresses of Natures grasp stringed their bows with arrows to rain death on their foes from above.

Seiken had no time to think now, Battle was a reflex, and thinking only slowed him down. His sword passed from right hand to left, back and forth while his legs thrust forward with a power he’d never known before. Zeal and hatred, makes men go beyond their usual limits.

“Wedge!” Screamed Arador from just behind him, he didn’t need look back at him. It was an obvious choice. The Warriors of Stromgarde pulled together tightly, the knights massing together, forming into an arrow. Its tip forged by the presence of Seiken, Arador, Antirius and Trohad.

The army’s of the Gurubashi and their allies were in disarray. Tziak screamed orders at the top of his lungs, a stark shriek of terror for his minions, and commands to be followed by his most loyal. The slave army across the bridge shifted around in panic, the poorly armed and armoured foot soldiers being screamed and struck at by Troll Blood-drinkers, whipping and yelling commands to get ready.

Swinging their large blades around their blood red armour, the blood-drinkers managed to regain control. The wave of enemy troops chagrining them down however, made it rather hard, forcing them to cut down any who fled their post.

Three hundred metres and still coming. The ground shuddered as pebbles and dust vibrated and bounced. The emperor roared his commands with an almost hellish fury, his enemy plunging the proverbial dagger into his chest. The Tauren of the mist runner tribe burst into action, massive weapons and druidic forms passing over the great rope bridge with all haste.

Two hundred metres and still coming, Shrogan rallied his elite trolls, the emperor’s finest warriors into place. The high priest swung his large mace directing his subordinates here and there; his mail armour was shaped alike to molten rock, a shaman’s choice. A solid round shield sat upon his back, a long spike positioned perfectly at its centre. The high priest was a preacher for war; he even wore a soldier’s helmet.

One hundred metres, the distance narrowing. Slaves fled their position, screaming in terror, only to be cut down by a blood-drinker without mercy, an example for others not to run. Seiken still kept his pace, his men close at his back.

“Cut clean and deep! Let none flee! Forward as one!” Roared the Lion, pulling his sword back behind himself, ready to cut, ready for the kill. The warriors of the alliance all roared as one, the air pulsating with unbridled rage as those last fleeting paces passed under foot.

The front ranks of the troll slave army presented shields, swords, axes, maces and even farm equipment. Their poor armour couldn’t stop a fist let alone a real soldier’s blade. Their eyes widened, screams and gasps escaping their lungs as the Arathorian’s came within a metre, their enemies unrelenting anger plain to see. They were as good as dead the moment the emperor fielded them.

Blood, Fire, Death... feel your own word's.

Seiken slashed, his blade moving from right to left with force. The unfortunate troll he moved through was flung haplessly out of his way in two pieces as the prince stepped past him. The slaves small hand axe and wooden shield flew into the air, a shrill shriek and a fine spray of crimson were all the lion saw of what he felled. Never looking back, he only looked forward, to the vast numbers of identical fools stood in his path.

We have no time for the weak... make an example of them...

The first strike was his, though only one of limitless others which followed. The two armies collided. The tidal wave of Alliance soldiers smashed into the slave army like they were nothing, the first two ranks of trolls cut down or thrown aside like dirt. Battle was joined, as hacking, smashing, stabbing, commenced. the Butchers work.

The Arathorian’s surged forward, all their pent up anger released as one. The formation pushed its way through like a whirlwind of weapons, cutting down everything, making it look almost effortless, a dance they had practiced hundreds of times before. The Wedge of highlanders widened the gap in the enemy ranks, being further pushed aside by the massive weight of their Stormwind allies. These simple slaves were no match for professional soldiers.

Screaming, yelling, orders being thrown back and forth. It was a noisy mess, but when you’re in amongst it, everything around you seems to fall silent, eerie and focused. Only you and the one standing in your way matters.

Seiken pulled Silver-strand free from another torso, using his boot to push the felled Troll off with a wailing cry. The sword’s usual pure silver glow had become tainted, crimson stained and furious, it revelled in righteous vindication. The battle was more important to him, let the men have their revenge; he wanted the emperor’s head. His eye’s looked left and right sharply, analyzing the situation all around him.

His men were cutting down the enemy with little trouble, aside from two blood drinkers who had felled two of his knights, only to be shot through the throat by two of Arador’s arrows. Edgar waved the Alliance banner high and mighty, guiding the alliance’s hearts with great courage, slamming hapless Trolls aside with his huge hammer.

The slave army, massive as it was, was being cut down mercilessly; it would soon be washed away. That though, was just the first step. To the south, the Mistrunner tribe had nearly crossed the bridge, and was charging this way. While beyond them across the river, Tziak was readying archer volleys. The horde watch remained in reserve, Lorath sat atop his charger, waiting with head tilted in thought.

“Wach pa wo Ta sing!” came screams among the Troll ranks across the bridge, all visible as they strung arrows into their bows, lifting them into an aim. The Emperor would sacrifice his slaves to his own arrows just to avoid defeat.

We couldn’t survive sustained volleys; the momentum will be lost...

“Arador! To the south! Artillery across the bridge!” roared Seiken, turning left to his lieutenant. Arador looked up, pulling one of his short swords from the back of a Troll, a blood spurting body falling to the ground. The chaos of battle was all around and half between them. The noise would drive the deaf mad.
Arador nodded, not hesitating, flicked a silver coated ram’s horn from his side and placed it to his lips. A deep breath and the horn was sounded. A booming wailing call that sent a shiver up a man’s spine, one of encouragement. One long burst, then three smaller calls.

The pair looked to the north westt, where the Dwarven artillery was stationed, two large mortars and the mighty howitzer sat atop the hill where Seiken had formally looked down upon the trolls. Burgen had led the Dwarven infantry and rifleman down into the battle now, heading to support their allies. Though worryingly, he had left Dorik in command of the big guns.

“twenty four degree’s right, elevation somewhere up there! Aim at that trolls! Aim at tha trolls!” Dorik was too far away to be heard, but Seiken knew well enough what he would say. The dwarves and gnomes adjusted the artillery, aiming, and loading... the trolls pulled back hard on their bow strings, readying their aim.

“Twa Trong!” Screamed Shrogan, the command to fire.

The whistle of arrows flying through the air came first; the lion looked up to see a swarm of flying death descending on the alliance army, they were caught in the open on the road between the tree lines. Soldiers looked up and yelled, those who had shields raised them, those who didn’t... ducked, dodged and dived.

They hit, the distinct sound of an arrowhead piercing armour and flesh was like simple rhythmic music. Arador ducked and rolled, a black feathered arrow narrowly missing his neck. Knights of all regiments were struck down, some pierced in the shoulder, many in the chest, and three of Strom’s finest knocked were hit in the leg, arm and one unfortunate in the neck. The troll slaves were even worse off, their nonexistent armour didn’t stop anything, one arrow passing half way through a green leg, and dozens more into vital organs. Seiken had no shield, staring up at three arrows that had his name on them, he had no time to move.

Slam, it hit him from his right, knocking him down and covering him. Seiken struggled a moment before he realised, gazing up at the wolf-head wearing paladin covering them both with his large shield. Antirius had impeccable timing as ever.

Thump, bump, bash. They bounced helplessly off. Antirius grinned under the cover of his shield. “Lucky I’m around you are!” he leapt to his feet and burst off again. Seiken did likewise, gripping Silver-strand tightly as he gazed south over the bridge again. The troll’s were already preparing for another volley.
“Fire!” yelled a dwarven voice back north, Dorik was just in time. Boom, Boom, BOOM, came the sound of the artillery. The whine of shells high above was unmistakeable as they passed over, Dorik even yelling for immediate reloads. The mortars would take but a second, the howitzer a fair bit longer with its massive shells.

Seiken grinned, smashing the last blood drinker to his knees then cutting his throat away with a half interested slash. It was foolish to think he could strike when the lion wasn’t looking. The Troll’s on the other side of the bridge looked up, listening to that well known eerie sound. The sound shells make, on the way down. they leapt in all directions, the archers by the bridge that is. Taking cover however they could.

Boom, Boom... ... ... ... BOOM. Two mighty explosions ripping the dry dirt of the vale floor ten feet into the sky, followed by a far mightier explosion blowing a tree quite literally to smithereens’ by the road. The archers had been ‘displaced’, and already the two mortars fired again. They wouldn’t bother the main army anymore. And to top it all, the fallen tree had sent wooden shrapnel into unprepared foe’s flesh as it was ripped apart by the explosive shell.

the slaves are nearly defeated, shift south... across the bridge...

Seiken looked south, few slaves remained between him, his allies and the main force of his enemy. It was time to strike.

“Rally your weapons, we move south across the bridge! For the alliance!” roared Seiken, the soldiers of the alliance now inter-mingled as one following shortly behind as he charged toward the bridge. Edgar still held the alliance banner high, shivering on the breeze, waving it with zeal as he charged forth with his comrades. Courage was with them all, and to them, nothing could stop them now.

Vindication, Revenge and Victory! Onward! Slay them all!

Justice, we shall have justice!

“Roooaaargh!” came the booming cry. The Tauren had crossed the bridge at last. The large bodies of Mistrunner warriors charged forward first, wielding a primal rage in their eyes. Seven, eight some even nine foot tall. Armed to the teeth with man sized axe’s and hammers, sporting an array of half fitting mail and plate. All adorned with their traditional raiment’s, feathers and beads.

The gap closed faster than the blink of an eye, the finest knights in the alliance spurred onward and into the fight, they had no qualms with fighting those foolish enough to aid the trolls.

A real challenge...

Do not lose sight of our goal, cut them down quickly, then onto the Emperor... no mercy

Seiken was beaten to the punch this time, Arador loosed an arrow over his head and into the throat of the eight foot behemoth he was lunging for. No sooner had the arrow hit its mark did the lion slide to its right, cutting its hoofed leg away at the knee with a spin. Silver-strand was unstoppable, its cut clean and immaculate.

Not everyone was so untouched, the Tauren warriors smashed and flung aside anyone too slow to avoid their blows. They gave as well as they got, if it were not for the massive numbers and the peril of their isolated position, they could have made a difference.

Smash, Silver-strand blocked a blow from a spiked mace the size of a man. The force and strength of the swing sliding him sideward across the dry earth, though his body held strong. Another arrow whistled past, Arador’s aim perfect as ever, literally getting a bulls-eye. The Tauren dropped its mace with roaring cry of pain, grasping at the arrow. Blinded, Arador had no problem using his twin blades to thrust his way into its abdomen... shame he wasn’t taller, he could have reached its chest.

They began to recoil, seeing their position was impossible, the Shrill booming echo of a Kodo horn sounded the inevitable. They saw sense and knew when to retreat. They only lost a hand full of warriors, but no fool would stand up to that kind of bloody onslaught, they pulled back carrying their wounded across the bridge.

Now we can get down to business...

No hesitation...

“Forward! Across the bridge, Follow me to Victory!” Roared the lion once more, finally nothing stood in their way. He took the first step, followed by Arador, Maelmoor, Aarian, Trohad, Antirius, Burgen, Exaythe and many more... the tip of the proverbial spear thrust forward with all their strength. The mighty forces of the Vanguard following at full speed.

Their enemy was not idle, as the wave of the alliances finest crossed the bridge, they put all their manpower into blocking the other side. The shelling had stopped, they poured all manner of soldier’s into the craters and up to block their side. The real fight was coming.

And perhaps best of all, Lorath had finally committed himself to the battle, the blood Elf’s actions unclear as ever. Perhaps he finally saw the peril of the situation, or saw some hidden opportunity nobody else had detected. No matter the cause, he and his watchers came to the aid of Shrogan and the Emperor’s elite, standing by their side with weapons at the ready. The Blood-knight himself dismounted his charger and readied his mace and round shield.
Seiken’s heart beat furiously, adrenaline and that roaring fire in his chest forcing his legs forward with zealous power, passing the centre of the bridge with his allies and friends close behind. For those who do not understand battle lust, it has its perils, but the rush of the kill incites a man to do some of the most terrible and great things. Needless to say, this would be glorious.

“block the bridge! Block the bridge!” hissed a cruel angered voice beyond sight, Seiken knew it well. But speaking in common? Tziak didn’t know common...

How can he...

Because i want you to understand him... those who hear the Loa, hear each other...

The end of the bridge came rushing toward them, the charge accelerating as they came to the climax. Their enemy had thrown everything into blocking their path, a wall of shields and spears blocked the way, but as all Arathorian’s know. Barriers are only for breaking.

Silver-strand moved swiftly to his right, blood-drenched but untarnished. The whites of his enemy’s eyes coming into view, pupils widening, body’s bracing for the shock, Warriors of all races and creed’s throwing the universal cry of war to the wind, it was time.

Seiken’ leapt upward, his legs thrusting with a strength he’d not even known in his youth. Allie’s close at his sides and all around, leaping into the fray with open arms, the silent lord, death, would have his fill this day. Spears thrust past his body into empty air, shields moved aside under his weight, his allies crashing through their wall like water on dust. Displaced, the wall had been crushed.

Silver-strand cut downward, all his strength poured into the sword like never before. Unlucky, was the Troll who he fell upon, his arm cut clean from his body, passing through flesh and bone like it was paper, a scream and the fine spray of blood was all the Lion got for his troubles. Arador loosed a final arrow then drew his twin-blades once more, cutting into an unfortunate Tauren. Trohad loosed blasts of flames, dispersing enemy ranks with, dare i say, demonic fury. Exaythe smashed her priestesses hammer into the skull of an unsuspecting undead, again dare i say, it made his head more holy. Antirius shielded his friends from arrow’s with his massive shield, Aegnian ducking out from under it as if by surprise, two hapless foe’s cut clean in half by his Tauren sized sword. Burgen chased an undead in circles, before smashing her knees out and flattening her skull with his mace. Aarian and Maelmoor took the fight to the heart of the Gurubashi elite guard, their paladin spirit smiting down any who stood before them, Fortesgue close behind with his holy power words.

They were not without losses though, war is never so kind. Knights, mages, men, women, dwarves, Draenei had fallen. Seiken’s own men were being wounded, some hacked down to pieces, though he swelled with pride at their ferocious resolve to keep on fighting. Their enemy was no longer simple slaves, but hardened veterans of many wars and various campaigns. Lorath’s horde watch was now in the thick of it, the Mistrunner tribe too, and finally the Emperor’s elite guard. They got as good as they gave, It was savage.

Seiken only sought one foe, though an entire army stood between them. Tziak sat upon his raptor at the rear of the battle, directing and commanding, giving orders. Shrogan however, was within reach. The high priest drove his warriors into a frenzy, fighting alongside them, smashing aside warriors with his mace. He led the empires battle, at heart. It was time to repay a terrible debt.

Let the fun of battle begin...

He slashed in one direction, his own battle beginning, a yelp as an arm fell to the ground separated from a body. Another cut, a scream and a spurt of blood, the dust rising all around as the noise and chaos intensified. He marched forward with steady steps, hacking aside any unfortunate fool who barred his way. Shrogan was close now, locked head to head with Antirius no less, the paladin on his back foot as the troll hammered away at his shield.

Help your friend before he ends up without a scalp...

Another strike with his hammer, the paladin fell to his knees, his shield smashed into a dozen pieces. Antirius swayed, half consciously looking up through his wolf head mask, the visage of a Grinning Shrogan looking down upon him as he began swinging his massive hammer around and then Down!
Blocked, the Hammer hung in the air as if stopped by a wall, an immovable strand of silver barring its path. Seiken stared the troll down, their weapons crossed as arador dragged antirius away.

The Troll pulled a step back, to size up his foe. the troll's digists tightened and flexed around the grip of his mace, a hiss of distain and hatred following. but resraint was maintained, the troll seeming unwilling to make the first move...

Seiken narrowed his eyes, the sound of shrill horns pulling him back from his focus, the world around became clear again. the Trolls were sounding the retreat, the Emperor was already beyond sight, the remains of his army and allies scattering and disperssing into the jungle in all directions. Shrogan narrowed his eyes, turning his head in the direction Tziak had likely taken. with a spit to Seikens feet he turned and followed into the brush.
the dust began to settle, the screaming became only the wailing of the wounded. the clash of steel faded to be followed by the harshness of relieved breaths. they had won.

It is not over yet...

No, it has Only just begun...

And so the story of bloodshed, ancient hatreds, hardships, violence.. and did I mention bloodshed?..continues. We all know the end, but that doesn't make the story any less! Looking forward to the next chapter!