A story of TW

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Jiranthos
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Re: A story of TW

#421 » Post by Jiranthos » 30 Mar 2016 07:49

Nice work, you should upload it all in PDF form on some cloud storage, too, by the way.

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Re: A story of TW

#422 » Post by Blacklustersoldier » 30 Mar 2016 15:22

Did you just call yourself a fucking warrior? That's it I'm coming out of the grave and taking over this mission!
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Re: A story of TW

#423 » Post by Bluebell » 31 Mar 2016 01:54

There are no classes in the story. Paladins are a title. Druids are a lifestyle. Warrior is simply a description of anyone who fights in a war.
Why join the winning side if you can change the winner?

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Re: A story of TW

#424 » Post by Blacklustersoldier » 31 Mar 2016 06:25

I want a forced resurrection anyway!
I don't want to miss out on all the fun D:
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Re: A story of TW

#425 » Post by Bluebell » 05 Apr 2016 14:55

Some changes for this chapter, I'm trying to make the Angels have older style language, so I'll change that for the previous chapters, as well as making the wings of paladins much more rare, something not seen by most and thought to not be real.

Also the following structure to Angels council:

Nyeriah - Arch Angel leader of Dalaran
Chasity - Guardian of Stormwind
Syntax - Guardian of Orgrimmar
Demol - Guardian of Ironforge
Dymond - Guardian of Silvermoon
Doctor - Custodian of Dalaran
Kindzadza - General of Dalaran

Chapter 37 - A City at War
Spoiler:
****
Kindzadza
*****


Within the ancient council chamber of the high Angels, Kindzadza sat, his finger tapping on the long table. Solemn was his stare at the dust ridden furniture, abandoned by his people filled with memories of times gone by.

“Lord Kindzadza?” asked Nephyx as she patiently waited at the table, “Is there a reason you called us here?”

Sat at the desk the two other Angels idled, they looked to the golden clad leader as his mind wandered, trapped deep in thought. Only the furious tapping of his finger onto the wooden texture echoed from his seat. Nymunne looked around nervously, her eyes scattering throughout the oval dome, its daunting history enough to humble even an Angel.

Suddenly the tapping stopped, and Kindzadza murmured, “They are gone.”

“Sir?” replied Nephyx.

“Everyone who was once seated here.” he continued, “The old council. The new council. They are all gone. The Guardians of the Four cities. The Custodian. All gone. And no one remains to redeem their mantle.”

The two remaining Angels looked at each other. Kindzadza's stare remained firmly locked on the counter. Slowly, his face etched up, wearily his eyes drifted over them, bloodshot and drained his cold stare seemingly went through them.

“But Sir.” protested Nephyx hesitantly, “The..the bloodline, she lives. Their journey was a success. Is that not favourable fortune? Are the humans not saved?”

“How could he commit such crimes?” went on the former Arch Angel ignoring his subordinates, “I see it now. So clearly. A millennium of corruption streaming through the lands.”

“Of whom do you speak?” questioned Nymunne.

Twitching, Kindzadza looked to her, “Him. Intervention.” his fist slammed down onto the table causing her to jump, “He has done this. All of it. I should have acted then, on the death of Peithne.”

“But he is gone, you defeated him. And a hero of the humans has returned, surely victory is it hand?”

“You fool...” whispered Kindzadza before shouting “Fool! Do you not see? What is left of those below? What is left of their faith in us? Shattered beyond mend! Orgrimmar bows to a new God, Stormwind is in flames, Ironforge Kingless while Silvermoon is like a hound to Orgrimmar's masters. Who prays unto us? From where do we get the strength to fight on? The council, is gone.”

“Dalaran still stands.” confirmed Nephyx proudly.

“Yes. For now.” replied Kindzadza

“And the humans, they can survive” Nymunne mentioned hopefully.

Kindzadza then stood up. His dominating figure at the crux of the table, his large white wings softly bowing behind his back. Slowly he stepped around them, his foot steps booming throughout the silent hall.

“Have you lost hope? Will you not protect the kingdom of Roel?” they asked him.

Suddenly he came to a stop, “I have done all I can, fulfilled my duty to protect the children of Roel. And I shall give every ounce of my being to protect this city. But when the hordes of hell cometh, to whom do Angels look? Who shall be our saviour? Make ready the soldiers. For soon, Dalaran's hour shall come, and we shall be at war.”

****
Teraan
****


Departing the tavern at the crack of dawn, the trio promptly made their way out. Teraan begrudgingly trudged through the door, the sunrise glistening through the distance horizon prompted him to rub his eyes and groan.

“Why so early?” he protested, “We do not need to meet those Outlawz fellows for another day.”

“We cannot stay here. Our location is known, we must be on the move” Merkava told him before throwing him a bag, “Now carry your own and get a move on!”

“He is right.” Bluebell instructed, “Although I do not feel so safe in the wilderness either.”

For a few moments nothing was spoken. Only the gentle brushing of trees in the wind accompanied by the snapping of twigs upon the floor. As Teraan began to wake up, he started to enquire more into Merkava's turn of beliefs.

“So. Mr Stormwind” he mocked causing his counterpart to glare back, “If you're not a Paladin anymore. Does this mean that I can be the Justicar?”

Suddenly Merkava dropped his items and grabbed Teraan by the collar. Thrusting him into a nearby tree, his hand dragged the smiling Paladin up the trunk. Bluebell took a deep sigh and rolled her eyes, watching them tussle.

“That get a nerve, huh?” continued Teraan looking down at the fuming Stormwind knight.

“Do not take such a name so lightly, fool.”

“Why? It's not even your people any more. Why would you care?”

“The name carries more weight that you could ever. It is the only thing we have to mention the greatness that is now so belittled, and what has become of the Paladin order.”

Merkava's grip loosened and Teraan began to slide back down the trunk.

“And you think casting the name of the Paladins away will help with that?” Teraan jived back.

Enraged once more Merkava flung the Orgrimmar leader up the tree. Teraan whinced in pain as his back clattered into the wood.

“Always such jokes. You do not deserve the title of which you wear. Paladins are an ancient people, filled with honour and pride. Not frivolous mockery and twisting words!”

Etching free Teraan began to feel uncomfortable. His shoulders twitched as he attempted to get down, only for Merkava's strength to prevail and push him further into the flaking timber.

“You know nothing of their heritage! You bring shame to the very nature of their origins. In the caverns of the most sacred place, the Exodar of Angels you were lost. In a place of such magnitude you understood nothing! I should expect no less from an Orgrimmar grunt!”

“Woah. Woah. Calm down big guy.” demanded Teraan, his voice becoming sterner as he attempted to struggle out.

“Generations of ignorance have whittled the traditions. I throw my title away so not to be associated with the likes of you. A Paladin with no concept of prayer, no realisation of the greater importance and who ignores the lessons of history!”

“Enough!” bellowed Bluebell, slamming her first onto the floor.

Small shock waves spread through the dusty ground causing the dirt to fly up. Reaching the two they separated instantly, Teraan quickly dropped while Merkava was sent tumbling down. As they crashed, both began to pant for breath vehemently. Raising his sight to her, a golden light permeated throughout the landscape momentarily blinding them.

“I care not for your quibbles” she said, “I care for the people out there, for the ones that depend on us. On you. Getting along. So put your pathetic differences aside. Orgrimmar. Stormwind. Paladin or a nobody. It will mean nothing unless you put it behind you and think of the bigger picture. My understanding is you are both respected men of high standing. Now act it.” she demanded.

The two crossed gazes and nodded obediently. Teraan rose first to his feet before walking over to the crouching Merkava. The Paladin lowered his hand in aid, only for the offering to be snubbed as the Stormwind knight ignored the open palm and went past him. Gritting his teeth, Teraan clenched his fist as they picked up their equipment and continued on their way.

****
Knewklear
****


Sprinting through the Stormwind pathways the intrepid Ironforge soldier made his way back to the camp. Gasping for air he continued, his body begging him to stop but the smoke over the roof tops calling him back. It meant one thing. Ragnorak had found the rebel command post, the bell of Stormwind filled the air waves clanging at the top of the tower.

Unbeknownst to the majority of the Stormwind civilians, a constant conflict raged throughout their streets. Imperial troops tried their best to quell the noises, but the people were becoming aware. It had only been small squabbles, until the day of the execution. Since then, the fights had sprung up throughout the capital. Propaganda from both sides pinned to every wall, while more and more soldiers patrolled every part of the city. Finally, it seemed they had found where the rebels hid.

A simple shop keeper gasped as Knewklear jumped over his cart, sending the goods tumbling to the floor. Without a moment of remorse he continued. Weaving his way towards the base he knocked a collection of brooms onto the floor, much to the annoyance of the owner. Promptly the shouts of complaints were drowned by the clanging of the city bell.

A call to arms rang all around the city. Looking through the gaps of the streets he saw flocks of troops storming to the same point. Drawing closer the air came thick as fire filled buildings flooded the surroundings with smoke. Covering his face under a veil he pressed on, unrelenting in his charge.

Clang, it continued overhead. Just then, a different battle cry was heard. A great tusk of a mammoth, found only within the mountains of Ironforge. Darting under near by collection of boxes he finally reached the courtyard.

“Hold them!” shouted Smeldor stood a top some barrels behind a phalanx of Ironforge troops.

Resting briefly, Knewklear looked on. Heavily armoured Ironforge soldiers wielding square steel shields, donning the orange colours of their city formed around the building. Behind them Smeldor shouted orders, his face red from commands. Above him Obliviana held the roof tops, her archers covering the retreat of fleeing rebels. The structure they defended was caught a blaze, fire pouring through the windows.

Suddenly he heard a thunder behind him. Turning to face it, he saw Orgrimmar cavalry charging down the narrow street. Instantly Knewklear dived for cover, his breath still heavy. Stomping past him went the terrifying force of man and animal. The mounts donning the red and black of the Eastern city.

“There they are! Onwards!” shouted the apparent leader directing his sword forward.

Clang went the bell in the distance, before the drums of war began to beat accompany the constant sound. Hiding behind boxes he watched on as one by one the Orgrimmar troops stampeded into the courtyard. Without a moment's thought the Ironforge formation turned to face them, bringing shields into a fearsome wall, while their spears pointed out.

As the final cavalry charge passed, Knewklear recovered and ran towards the fight. Looking back over, he saw the mounted division had encircled the Ironforge troops, escaping the deadly spears while floods of Orgirmmar reinforcements came from every angle.

Running towards his country men, he carefully stepped over corpses littering the floor. Looking left and right rebels fought Orgrimmar troops, sparring in formation or merely cut off from the main groups.

Before he could reach his King, a mounted hostile charged towards him. The galloping horse was suddenly cut down, only for the threat to fall to the ground crashing next to him. Covering his face, he looked up. Obliviana tipped her head, and saluted down, and then returned, aiming her bow once more.

Desperately Knewklear weaved between the battle, arrows raining down around him as bodies dropped dead. Approaching another rebel fighting fiercely, he stabbed the attacker in the chest, allowing the two together to run to cover.

Relinquishing their guard slightly, the Ironforge troops parted ways to allow the stragglers through. A few more followed, before they returned to formation, dropping their shields and weapons. Smeldor jumped down from his vantage point to welcome them.

“You made it!” he cheered at Knewklear.

“What happened? Is everyone ok?” gasped the scout in response.

The King nodded his head, “They found us. We were unprepared. Our guards taken out before we could respond, their fire bombs through the windows to force us out. Luckily we were able to arm ourselves and fight them back.”

Knewklear looked around. More rebels that he could count lay dead, and many more still inside burning and screaming. Clang went the bell in the background as the drums of Orgrimmar drew closer, banners from the red and black city bobbled through the streets. The feet of their bearers sending tremors into the cobbled ground.

“Now they send the full power of Orgrimmar at us, and the evil powers that they name allies. But they do not know the will of an Ironforge King. Ha!” laughed Smeldor, “It's ready!” he shouted up at Obliviana.

Looking down, the former Stormwind commander nodded. She then raised her hand up high. Two archers to her side shot blazing arrows into the air. Watching on, Knewklear turned to see rebels scuttle along the near by buildings carrying great poles. Suddenly they thrust them into the roof tops.

As soldiers began streaming into the narrow courtyard, their numbers growing to the point of overpowering the small battalion the sound of stones dampened their booming drums. Crashing down came the walls of structures. Stones flew through the air as the rebels destroyed the outlying city, bringing the Orgrimmar army to a standstill. Many were crushed beneath the plummeting bricks, while the men behind them were left unable to help continue their rush. Clouds of dust began to settle as the entry points to the courtyard became mere dumps of rubble.

“Now is our moment men!” shouted Smeldor triumphantly, “They cannot escape nor can they come!”

With his commands the group of soldiers dashed forward to engage the confused Orgrimmar men. Knewklear continued after his leader as the courtyard became filled a blood bath of carnage. Pouring out came multiple battalions of Stormwind home guard to reinforce the Ironforge contingent flushing forward to meet the dwindling Orgrimmar forces.

****
Ragnorak
****


Stepping through the collapsed road blocks, the war chief entered the courtyard. Economist walked nervously in his shadow, every crunching step over decaying bricks another reason to close his eyes in suspense. As they fully came to the scene of the battle, Ragnorak stood still. His guards abruptly stopping behind him, his cloak blowing calmly in the wind, a stark contrast to the bloodshed beneath his heavy iron boots.

As the troops looked to him, the tranquil silence was broken and Ragnorak sniffed the air. Inhaling the fumes of the smoking building, ripe with the stench of battle. Closing his eyes he took it all in, before turning to Economist.

“You said they would be crushed.”

“Yes...yes sir. It seems there was more than our reports informed us. Their tactics unorthodox and not what we expe-”

“Unorthodox.” repeated Ragnorak inspecting the fallen debris, “Some fallen stones and the great army of Orgrimmar becomes stumped?”

“We did not think they would decide to fight us sir. We thought they would-”

“Falling into such an easy trap. Not when I was in the army. Oh no. The training of my days prevented such simple miscalculations. They are weak on the young now.” he continued, “You did not think? Think? You did not think they would stand and fight? Would you not stand and fight when the lands of Orgrimmar were overrun?”

“Some good news, sir.” replied Econmist, his hands shaking, “We were able to catch their leader, their King. Again.”

“Oh?” asked Ragnorak intrigued, “Then perhaps this was not a complete unmitigated disaster. Take me to him, I shall not make the same mistake this time.”

As the advisor bowed and continued on, Ragnorak took off his great war axe fixed upon his back. Tracing his hands along its sharp blade, he smiled and looked up to the smoking building. A torn Stormwind banner was strung across it, blackened at the bottom while flames trickled up the sides.

Striding towards the former rebel stronghold he pushed barricades from his path to enter. Within the halls were scorched walls and destroyed portraits. Corpses lay on the floor, some with weapon wounds others carrying burn marks from the deadly fire. Patches of flames blazed across the room while a small group of soldiers were hunched around five kneeling rebels.

“Here he is, sir” told Economist as they approached.

The rebel faced the ground, a brown bag over his head. Rows of tables around with torn maps and plans set a backdrop for the failed rebellion. Ragnorak smiled as he lowered his hand and dragged the cover off.

Suddenly the figure spat into the war chief's face. Retracting, he wiped his face before slapping the face of the rebel.

“Long live Stormwind! Glory to the Alliance of the two cities!” shouted the prisoner.

Instantly Ragnorak spun his axe slicing through the neck. Before the blood could spill to the ground he set loose upon the surrounding room.

“Fools!” he yelled.

Throwing a table up Economist looked away. His rage getting the better of him once again as he made his way through the rebel base. Flinging tables through the air, smashing them around. Looking around, his advisor saw flames blaze with increasing furiosity the more his leader's anger grew.

“That is not their leader! How could you even think such a thing?!” he snapped.

Ragnorak screamed as he tore through documents and maps leaving the shreds to whittle to the floor. Impulsively he continued rampaging, kicking tables and breaking stools as the room felt the force of his wrath.

“Sir, we may need those plans-”

“Do I look like I give a damn?” he yelled, slamming his fist into the wall denting it.

Walking to the door, the guards disposed of the remaining prisoners. The courtyard had begun to be cleaned, the remains of battle removed as the sun came up. Fires roared all around as Ragnorak took one more inhale.

“No where left to hide, Stormwind scum. I will find you.” he spoke looking through the rubble, “I will find you.”
Why join the winning side if you can change the winner?

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Re: A story of TW

#426 » Post by devil5000 » 28 Apr 2016 03:22

More, We need More!
Horde Main : Marick
Alliance Main : Anastasiya

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Jiranthos
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Re: A story of TW

#427 » Post by Jiranthos » 28 Apr 2016 10:28

devil5000 wrote:More, We need More!
^ I agree fully.

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Re: A story of TW

#428 » Post by Bluebell » 30 Apr 2016 17:02

I've posted some chapters to the Google docs, and I've got another to add, so you can check there for updates. I'll try get round to posting the other 3 chapters here when I've got time!
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Re: A story of TW

#429 » Post by Dr. Who » 30 Apr 2016 17:19

i can't believe you havent named me in your story even once... :cry: /cry
many veteran's and even some new people got in the story but not me? WHY ??? :?
Bluebell i want the divorce... i dont love you no more... :twisted:
You did a bad think? Does it affect me? No? Them Suffer in Silence.
You Crying now? You have no reason to cry, if some one cries is because they are sad.
For example,i cry because people are stupid what makes me sad.
And i'm not insane, my Mother had me tested.
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Re: A story of TW

#430 » Post by Bluebell » 05 May 2016 16:22

Finally got some time off, so, 3 chapters!

Chapter 38 – Old friends
Spoiler:
****
Belendor
****


Crashing heavens above awoke the dark paladin from his slumber. Brushing down his red armour he removed leaves and plants infesting his body placed by the druids. Weakened was his gaze as he scanned the scene, covering his eyes from the blazing fires. His legs buckled briefly before giving enough strength to stand. Scraping along the floor, his fingertips ran through rubble covered ground, pebbles now sat where walls once stood.

Squinting he surrendered his ears to the sound of explosions far away. Checking for his weapon at his side, he surveyed the landscape. Crumbling pillars and falling structures littered his vision, while behind him only a wall higher than his sight could reach towered over. Unable to turn back, he set forward stepping onto the bleak path ahead.

Gradually the rocky floor of destroyed buildings turned to squishy corpses. Only once he had stumbled through a great number did he hear his boots piercing their bodies. Looking down to his feet, he saw the true horror. Layers of soldiers paving the way, their sigils covered by steins of blood. Just then, a light far into the horizon caught his attention, it called unto him as he gazed upon it. Hand on his blade, he made his way towards it ignoring the bloodshed at his feet.

“Belendor!” came a shout from the right as he made his way there.

Ignoring the voice, the paladin continued on. Stomping through the horrors beneath he drew closer to the light. Above him the sky was black, lightning streaking down around the battlefield.

Once more the same echo, “Belendor!” this time from the left, but more aggravated.

“Leave me!” he demanded, forcing himself forward.

Suddenly a voice all around him whispered “They are against you....they will turn....do not trust.”

“Who are you?” cried Belendor.

“They want your power!” it hissed, the words resonating in his mind repeated time and again.

Enraged, he drew his dark demonic blade and spun around to face his tormentor “Who are you!”

“Belendor!” shouted the first once more.

Panting heavily and clutching his sword tightly the paladin turned towards the light. His eyes had turned deep red, sweat dripped from his brow yet his attention flickered all around, desperately trying to locate the voices. Crunching steps came from in front as a figure made its way towards him. Lightning illuminated it from within the shadows showing heavy brown armour wielding the Orgrimmar crest. Unable to make out the on comer he raised his sword, the darkness blinding his sight.

“Who are you!” he screamed, his eyes still darting nervously, “Tell me! Where are we” his sword trembled forward at the tip of his outstretched hand.

“Calm yourself, Belendor.” said Ragnorak, “You are safe. It can be over. It is not too late.”

“Wh..what?” asked the paladin as his old friend drew closer.

Ragnorak gradually came into full vision. Clutching his mighty war axe in one hand he approached and smiled. Lightning bolts forced themselves down heavier than before while jolts of thunder dominated the skies. Belendor's eyes then stopped flickering to lock onto to axe.

“You are safe.” he reassured once more, “It is ok. The city is safe.”

“Orgrimmar? We won? The war is over?” asked Belendor in response, his shoulders relaxing as his grip loosened on his blade.

The war chief came closer, “Yes. We won. She helped us.”

“She?” remarked the paladin, his eyes opening wide as his sword dashed up once more, “She?!” he exclaimed.

Ragnorak's weapon sat still in his hand. Blood tipped and sharp the edge looked ominous mere metres from him. Slowly he etched his eyes up his old friend. The armour was damaged, scorch marks and blade wounds covered it as he looked up the body. Reaching his head, Ragnorak smiled back and offered out his hand.

“Yes, she is here. She has saved us. She has made us see clearer.”

Belendor's world slow downed. He saw Ragnoral's hand extending over to him, coming closer. His eyes then looked up, past the war chief. He had forgotten about the light. Its beams beckoned once more to him, but now it was near him. A loud thud snapped him from his daze as an explosion of gold blew him back. Suddenly the lightning above stopped while the thunders ceased and Ragnorak returned to normality.

“Her...” whispered Belendor looking back to Ragnorak, “Her? Traitor!” he shouted.

The Orgrimmar leader looked back surprised, his hand began to retract. Taking one more look at the axe, Belendor launched his attack. A demonic blade surged into the exposed Ragnorak, slicing through his feeble armour. Opening his eyes wide he gasped as his life drained from him.

“You would surrender to her! Give it all up! To them! How could you!” he screeched.

Ragnorak simply gasped back for air, his axe clattered onto the floor while his hands grasped the blade desperately. Corrupting and twisting in his body, it burned at his skins as he touched it, black shadows rising from it.

“Be...Belendor...” he whispered looking into the glowing red eyes of the paladin.

Removing the sword from the body allowed it to drop to the floor and join the countless souls lying at his feet.

Instantly the light blinked towards him. A figure with golden wings sped to the scene forcing him to raise his sword defensively, it oozed of Ragnorak's blood. A blinding figure stopped directly in front, the light pulsating into his eyes as it motionlessly looked over him.

Taking a step back, he made it out. Bluebell in her silver armour standing over Ragnorak's corpse. Golden swirls danced through the air around her as his heart pounded. Her green eyes looked straight through him, his body trembling with fear.

Without saying a word he forced his hand and launched an attack. Black shadows ripped into the streams of light, only for a golden sword to snap it away. Taking another step back, he looked up. She wielded a slender blade, it flashed with energy while a glowing green gem sat at the hilt. Suddenly his attention was drawn to her eyes, locked upon his own with contempt.

In one motion she dragged her sword down and swept it up. A great gush of power flung him flying through the air, defenceless he flew back. His weapon departed and dropped into the flood of bodies. Mid flight he looked up, high into the dark clouds Bluebell ascended like an Angel before he crashed onto the cushion of bones and rubble.

Panting heavily he struggled up. Lights pulsated above as the black clouds separated, the weather now tranquil. A rapid series of steps through the crushed skulls around him dragged his attention. Spinning around he tried to sense the movements only to see shadows. Just then, he saw her.

“Kapern..” he was cut off.

The priest appeared directly in front of him. Robes swaying in the gentle breeze as her cold stare directed up to him.

Looking into her gaze he felt his body weak. His eyes simmered to their standard blue and traced down. A dagger was lodged firmly at his heart, his breath became heavier once more. Her pale hand firmly rooted upon the hilt, pushing it deeper. Around him the lightning returned accompanied by a symphony of thunder and falling rain.

As his weary sight began to wane he endeavoured it up. Before he could look upon her face once more, she disappeared into the night, whisking away like a ghost. His legs finally gave way as he plummeted onto his back, only the dagger a memory of their encounter as his lids covered his eyes, giving into the sweeping darkness.

Shooting them open he gasped for air. His hands scattered over his body, hunting for the deadly dagger. Unable to locate it, but thumping his heart multiple times he realised he was safe. Sitting up, sweat dripped from his forehead as he looked around. Leaves fell from his body as he inspected the room. Quiet albeit the shouting of soldiers outside made him take a deep sigh of relief.

MadPanda burst into the room, “Sir? Sir? Are you alright?”

Belendor looked towards him, “Yes. Yes I am fine. Just...another vision. We cannot trust them, MadPanda. We must not trust them.”

“Trust who, sir?” asked his advisor.

“Anyone” he replied, his voice scathing with anger, “Where are those druids? Those foul practicers of pathetic arts.”

“Meditating outside, sir. Would you like me to call for them?”

“No. That will not be needed. Dispatch of them at once. If they do not leave by noon, have the blood paint the walls.”

MadPanda looked glumly at the floor, “Yes, sir. I shall have them leave in the next ten minutes.” he then swivelled for the door, “Any orders for the men, sir? Or where we shall make camp next?”

Lying back down in the bed, the dark paladin replied, “No. Here is fine. For now. But make ready for Silvermoon.”

****
Teraan
****


The three adventurers continued through the wasteland of the barren plains. Keeping off the main roads they managed to go unnoticed from the patrols and finally made their way to the wailing caverns.

“It's over there” pointed Teraan towards an oasis in the distance.

“Finally.” remarked Merkava, “Some company other than yours.”

“Oh here we go again. Blah blah I'm so great. You're just a low life Orgrimmar, not worth a conversation blah blah.”

“I see you're finally getting it.” mocked Merkava carrying on towards the goal.

“You know. Just.” continued Teraan, stopping momentarily.

“Just what?” jived Merkava not ceasing from their path.

“When we take Orgrimmar back. My city. I may just refuse to help you. Let your city rot in the history books where it belongs.”

“No.” commanded Bluebell, standing herself forcing Merkava to stop and look over his shoulder.

“No?” asked Teraan, “I was only kidding! I know we have a mission, I'm not so petty as to let such differences stop me.”

“No. Orgrimmar will not be first. We cross the seas to Stormwind, from there we can launch a counter offensive on Orgrimmar.”

The knight looked on gleefully as the paladin's face protested. He struggled for words as he glanced over to her, biting his tongue.

“Why? That doesn't make sense!”

“Oh here he goes” mocked Merkava once more, “Typical Orgrimmar whiner, complaining when he doesn't get his way.”

“Stay out of this, you!” he snapped, “It makes no sense to go there first! Orgrimmar is weak, Stormwind is so heavily under wraps. We are so close to the main city now, why would we go all the way over there?! Not to mention it will be hard enough to get these Outlaw folk to help, never mind getting them to cross the seas!”

Bluebell stepped forward. The wind blew behind her, whistling in the distance as the two attendants became silent and simply watched.

“Orgrimmar is an impenetrable fortress. My understanding is that it has not moved on from its militaristic traditions of my own time, we will need more than a few good men to conquer it. Furthermore, I sense there is something that belongs to me within the walls of Stormwind, an artefact that I would feel powerless without, it calls unto me. A weapon my son so callously let fall into hostile hands. What fate did he appease after all?”

“We...We sent him to Theramore, ignored his call for aid against the first waves of Orgrimmar and demon raids.” replied Merkava nervously.

Casting her eyes over to him she sighed, “His own fault for putting such faith in establishments then.” she then looked back to Teraan, “If their honour is as bold as the girl informed us, then they shall come. The people of Orgrimmar are in the lands you say, all those loyal to your cause have fled the capital. So what need is there for us to take it? Still hope lies within Stormwind, the city's people are for whom we cross the sea for. Not walls or crowns but those that suffer within.”

Bowing back, Teraan responded, “I hope you are as wise as you are confident”.

Turning away from him, she walked past Merkava onto their destination. The knight shook his head back at Teraan before switching around himself and following her. The paladin sighed, before looking at his back. The wind rustled yet he felt a disturbance in the distance. Shrugging it off, he continued after the others.

After a few minutes of trudging along the dust ridden soil they reached an overlook of the caverns. A small oasis below with various foliage springing up around sat outside the small opening in the ground, numerous tunnels within were noticeable. It seemed empty, devoid of contact for years as no sign of life caught their attention, until a figure draped in a long hood wandered into the cave.

“Well.” announced Teraan, “Here it is, the Wailing Caverns.”

“So. Where are they?” asked Merkava.

“And how would I know that?” sarcastically replied the paladin.

“Bluebell!” boomed the cave causing Teraan to jump, its eerie voice like the wind.

Looking down the three watched the trees buckle as the sound of the cave bellowed out.

“So that's why it's called wailing!” excitedly mentioned Teraan causing Merkava to look angrily towards him, “What?” he asked, “I always wondered!”

“Enter!” interrupted the voice, “Enter the caverns Bluebell of old!”

As the voice finished Bluebell launched herself down the cliff face. Arriving at the oasis she made her way towards the cave, its shrieking sounds calling her name. The figure beckoned her in as she followed towards one of the many tunnels.

Before the others could reach her, a group appeared over a hill. Teraan noticed them first, looking away from the cave towards them. As they pointed towards him, they quickly sprinted in his direction. Drawing closer their swords became unsheathed and their armour clear.

“Silvermoon soldiers...” he murmured.

Merkava was preparing to climb down, Teraan's words caused him to turn and see the approaching force. The paladin then twisted round to face him.

“Go!” he shouted, dragging his weapon from its holster, “I will hold them!”

“What?” asked Merkava, the soldiers getting increasingly close, “Are you crazy? There's far too many of them. Come! We can retreat to the cave.”

“No. They may not trust us if we bring enemies to their gates. Go, hide. I cannot let them follow.”

“I will not let you die, you fool.” continued Merkava.

“Go!” screamed Teraan once more, facing him, “You said it yourself, you are no Paladin! There is no reason for you to give your life defending her. These are my lands. My people. I will die to protect it, and to protect her. Now go and save your own!”

Without restraint the paladin then pushed Merkava back. Suddenly the knight found himself falling down the cliff grasping for air as his counterpart vanished from view.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Teraan raised his sword in both hands. Opening them, he looked at the approaching enemies. Around ten soldiers charged at him, while Datz stood smiling on the hill top.

He nodded to himself, and closed his eyes once more, “For Orgrimmar” he whispered before opening and sprinting to meet them.
Chapter 39 - The Light Within
Spoiler:
****
Merkava
****


Falling rapidly the Stormwind knight approached the ground, his back crashing onto it as the sharp rocks below pinched into his skin. Their jagged edges making him close his eyes as the dust rose up from his fall. Aching, he grit his teeth, the sun glistened above while the distant sound of birds chirped far away and gentle winds eased through the air.

Suddenly it all dissipated from hearing. Ahead steel clanged and cries of battle sounded. Jumping to his feet, Merkava remembered Teraan, rushing to meet their would-be attackers. Viewing the daunting cliff face, his eyes scanned up and down. Taking a deep sigh one foot stepped forward. A glance over his shoulder and the safety of the cave seemed so close. His escape was easy, so simple to run away and hide within the caverns.

Shaking his head, he considered going back. Just then his mind was dragged towards the shouts of battle and clanging of steel.

“What are you doing, you fool.” he whispered, “You will get us both killed...”

Looking up the wall he considered scaling it. A scream of pain from a soldier above blinded his thoughts as he turned away once more. Taking a step towards the exit he searched the ground for answers, its desert landscape devoid of prospects.

“He ran in so quickly, no contempt for his own life...He calls himself a Paladin yet he practices none of the traditions, his mind is a vassal of emptiness when it comes to our history. How can he call himself such if he has little interest in the ways of the holy?”

Merkava placed his hand upon the rocky entrance. Inside he heard the wailing voice calling unto him and the gentle footsteps of Bluebell journeying in. He took one more deep sigh.

“Am I wrong?” he asked himself, “What does it mean to be a Paladin? What use are the traditions to us now?”

Dust spewed off the cliff behind him from the near by battle.

“You fight not for the Gods, not for yourself or the history. But for what? Perhaps this is what it means to be a Paladin. Perhaps our teachings were wrong. To give your life for others, to fight for what you truly believe...” he took another glance towards the scene of his fall.

“Roel be damned” he told himself, “What man am I to stand here!”

Suddenly he dashed towards the cliff face and jumped up, his hand clinging to an indent within. Slowly he edged himself up, his heavy silver armour dragging him down, tarnished by the brown dust.

“This is a bad idea.” he murmured, “A bad idea. Very bad.” he continued, “But he would give his life to save us...Such valour...such commitment.”

Pebbles plummeted around him as his boots scraped against the wall. His fingertips cut yet he continued on, struggling up higher to the battle. Drawing closer the noises became louder. Teraan still locked in battle above as his sword clattering cluttered the air. Gritting his teeth Merkava pushed his body up.

Finally his hand grasped the top of the cliff. Puling himself over, he managed to peer ahead, his eyes fixated on Teraan surrounded by three Silvermoon guards, while corpses laid on the ground. Panting heavily, Merkava climbed up the last ledge and onto the landing. Standing firmly up, he could see the battle fully now.

Taking a moment to recover, he noticed the soldiers back off. Teraan stood still clutching his chest, small pools of blood dripped onto the floor. Slowly Datz walked down to the Orgrimmar Paladin, Merkava's eyes darted around the battlefield counting the dead.

Before he could look back up, Teraan's shouts flicked his ears up. Fighting Datz in a duel the two warriors locked horns. Despite his injury they seemed evenly matched, pushing each other back.

Beginning to run towards them, Merkava watched on. Losing ground his companion began to give way to Datz. The Silvermoon leader dodged and ducked between Teraan's heavy attacks, smiling as the battle went on. Able to parry the oncoming attacks he took great delight as it went on.

Now sprinting, Merkava closed in but still too far to hear their words. The two seemed engaged in verbal conflict as their swords clashed, the guards simply watching on. Suddenly, Datz turned the pace causing Teraan to fall back. Slicing through his leg dropped the Paladin to his knee.

“No!” yelled Merkava stopping for a moment.

Datz then stuck his blade through Teraan's chest, blood spouted out as the body was pierced. Powerless, Merkava watched on as the Orgrimmar leader's eyes shot open, lifeless they looked on. Dropping to the ground, Teraan became motionless while Datz simply removed his blade, his back turned away from the incoming Stormwind knight.

“Datz!” screamed Merkava desperately.

Ignoring him the soldiers around Datz watched on as dust rose around the fallen Paladin. Storming towards them the Stormwind Knight clenched his fist, his sword tightly held in his hand.

Smirking, Datz remarked “Knight...” his back still turned.

Looking up to him the soldiers attention turned. Their eyes locked on his stance metres away from the scene, their comrades laying around him.

Merkava trembled. His fists gripped harder, his teeth gritting as his breath drew heavier. Slowly his gaze edged up from the unconscious Teraan to the Silvermoon leader. Standing within striking distance of them, a golden glow began to surround him.

“No...” he whispered, “Not a Knight.”

Datz began to turn, his smile still stretched across his face. Slowly the golden light grew around the infuriated Merkava and the ground began to tremble. Nervously the Silvermoon guard looked to the sky as it cracked with thunder.

****
Arockalypse
****


Amidst the council hut the chief of Orgrimmar sat lonely. He took a great sigh as he looked around the room, shields of long gone families dotted across the walls. His chair creaked as he lent back, the table empty of company, surrounding fitting similar to his own gathering cobwebs where his friends once sat. Rustling outside drew his attention before the door loomed open, and a face popped round.

“A bad time?” asked the face peering in.

“Every time is bad, Xgin” replied Arockalypse, “Come. Sit.” he commanded.

Stepping in, Xgin obeyed. His long black robes draped along the ground as he pulled a chair out. It scratched away from the desk and the door shut firmly to his rear. As he went to sit, Arockalypse peered up.

“Look around you. Do you see the talismans of the walls?”

Pausing, Xgin placed a hand on the chair and examined the surrounding room. Shields layered around it with various crests, their emblems ranging from mosaic patterns to animals and beasts.

“Families now without bearers.” continued Arockalypse, “So many dead at the gates of Theramore, Stormwind, even the chapel of paladins. For what do my people die? What cause is greater than their lives?”

Finally taking his place at the table, Xgin now faced Arockalypse and took his gaze opposing the chief. Resting his hands along the surface, they clasped together.

“Think not of the past.” replied the advisor, “Orgrimmar can still be saved. Reach out to what allies we still have.”

“Allies?” asked Arockalypse, his head shaking, “What can Orgrimmar now call her true ally? The ones that we help in war would not defend us, only use our men as fodder. Those that would give their lives for us we slaughter in the barren lands.”

“Theramore. Silvermoon. Even Stormwind would send aid if we needed.”

“Ha!” mocked the chief in response, “Marick is weak, he is folded tight around Belendor's finger. The man I once called friend is now crazed, I fear for his safety. Theramore? What hope does that desolate fort have of anything? And Ragnorak. His constant pleas for help suggest he would need us more than can offer to us.”

“And what of Teraan?”

Suddenly Arockalypse's eyes lit up, “Teraan?”

Xgin rose to his feet. Taking steps around the table his finger tracked along the wood, dust covering his tips to match his long garments. Looking up, the leader saw a flicker of the purple eyes gleaming back down to him.

“Yes. Teraan. My understanding is he commands a sizeable force, those still loyal to the true Orgrimmar. Or so they would perceive it. They hide in the forests of Ashenvale.”

“Yes. I know. Their enclave within the trees, funded by Matsy of Thunderbluff, right under the nose of my brother. Darchow would know the situation well.”

“And yet” continued Xgin, stopping in front of him, “You have not destroyed them? They grow in number, sabotage our trade, and yet. The armies of Orgrimmar have not gone to meet them. Why?”

Arockalypse took another look up at him, before turning away, “The actions of forest dwellers do not concern me.”

His advisor smiled. Quickly retracting his dust covered hand, he swivelled away and walked back around the table. His arms folded behind his back.

“Then you should know. A battalion from Silvermoon has found his trace. They follow him now, with two other paladins.”

“I have seen their posters” replied Arockalypse, “Belendor made sure they plastered throughout the land. Even from the other side of our world, his arm would reach.”

Bowing his head, Xgin replied, “They would ask our help. Their commander, Datz. Asks for soldiers in his hunt. Shall I send aid?”

“Send what we must. But I do not want a great number, the rivers already run red with the blood of our city.”

“Very well”, said Xgin walking towards the door.

“I want Teraan alive.” demanded the chieftan.

Xgin smiled, placed his hand on the handle and turned back around.

“Belendor will not be pleased.”

“Then he can answer to me.” proudly rhetorted Arockalypse.

Bowing back Xgin continued, “I shall pass your instructions on. And to where shall we take him? Will the gates of Orgrimmar be open when Silvermoon needs shelter?”

“The gates of Orgrimmar shall be open to any friend. But our soldiers will man the walls, not the roads to it.”

Xgin then open the door and retreated outside. The sun shot through, but he took only two steps before stopping. His ears perked up to a distance crackle, causing him to wait with the door ajar. Arockalypse peered towards him. Quickly the advisor turned to his leader and smiled, bringing the door fully closed leaving the darkness of the chamber.

Taking another deep sigh, Arockalypse alone once more took a scan of the room. He placed his hands on the table and sank his head into them with the future of his people in the balance.
****
Merkava
****
“Well, well.” remarked Datz, facing Merkava, “Look what we have here.”

Trembling before the Silvermoon soldiers, he stood still. His sword vibrating violently in his grasp, his gaze now locked firmly on the captain. Lightning crackled down as dark clouds drew above them, the nervous men looked up the rapidly changing weather.

Datz kicked the depleted Teraan. No reaction came from him as the boot smashed into the chest armour. Only concentrated breathing replied from Merkava facing him.

Simply smiling on, he spoke again, “This is no business of yours, knight. This is what you wanted, is it not? To be left alone? I have what I came for. Now leave. Leave this paladin.” he kicked Teraan once more, “And let me go find the other. You can go live a life of solitude, devoid of any commitments.”

Merkava glared angrily at him, the golden glow resonating even more, clearer to see amongst the drawing darkness above.

“Go on.” he instructed before kicking Teraan a third time, causing a gasp of pain to emit from the body.

Locking his eyes down to his former companion, a small relief came over Merakva before he etched his gaze back up.

“Leave him. What are you waiting for?” Datz pointed his sword towards Merkava, “Knight?”

“No...” he replied quietly, now looking down firmly at the ground.

“No?” asked the Silvermoon captain, bowing his head and turning his ear slightly, “Sorry. I didn't quite hear you there. No what?”

Merkava began breathing heavier. Strands of light flew towards him from around the landscape. Worriedly the soldiers looked on as flusters of gold streamed and weaved through the air.

“No” he spoke louder, his face forcing itself up, “I. Am. No. Knight.”

Taking a step back as the wind picked up Datz motioned to those around him, “Men! Get him!”

Hesitantly they looked at each other, some covering their faces from the torrential onslaught of nature's conditions. Gradually they raised their weapons and walked towards him.

“No!” shouted Merkava, “I am a Paladin!”

Suddenly a great surge shone from Merkava causing the onlookers to cover their eyes. The wind picked up blowing from every angle out of him as nearby shrubbery tumbled away. Screaming with agony his voice roared through the landscape and his face slowly rose up. Shocked, the men watched as the light's intensity faded revealing two golden wings pulsating from his back.

Stunned, they remained still. Gradually Merkava's foot stepped forward. The ground erupted beneath him in a flurry of flames. Consecrating the land as he walked, they finally began their charge once more and leapt at him. Raising his sword, it began to blaze with shimmering gold as the light emitted around his silver armour while he howled forward and dashed towards his first enemy.

Effortlessly he threw the Silvermoon guard to the ground, the others pushed back by the sheer force of energy pulsating around the Paladin. Panting heavily Merkava spun, his sword slicing through remaining soldiers, snapping the blade of one attempting to parry while crushing the armour of another.

As more joined, their feet became swept away as the ground shook, the fight continued as the winds grew stronger, blowing soldiers back. Merkava's shining wings gave him power to jump higher as he crushed down upon his enemies. Radiating the battlefield he made quick work of Datz's guard.

As he went to finish a final oncoming soldier, others quaked at the sideline, until a sword finally clanged into his own. Merkava's feet dropped to the ground, his gaze then met a smiling Datz, their swords clashing together.

Glaring furiously at him, he retracted his surging sword, swirls of light wrapping around it. Datz then dragged his sword to his side. The ground continued to burn at his feet, cracks trickled through as flames shot up between their fight. The constant sparks causing Datz to edge himself back.

“My. My. Now you do show your true colours. Tell me, Paladin. How many prayers from around the world does it take to power those? How much belief in the Almighties do you need to take the form of an Angel?”

Merkava merely stared back and recovered his breath.

“Not for a thousand years have the wings of Angels been seen on a mortal, or so I am told. And yet here I am! Witness to it!” smirked Datz, “And there I thought we put all the Paladins to their graves, not enough hope in the world for the power you possess. I guess, I'll just have to kill a few more of you foolish worshippers!”

“Enough!” shouted Merkava, his voice booming down.

Instantly his blade rushed at Datz, his eyes soaring with rage. Before he could reach, the captain blocked, their pupils staring into each other. He could feel his breath, blowing into his face. Using two hands Merkava pushed down, forcing his adversary back, yet he simply grinned.

Sweeping at the Paladin's feet sent him plummeting to the floor. Responding Merkava fluttered his wings, a back draft brushed along the ground as he returned to his feet and attacked once more. Constantly they battled, their swords clattering into each other as Datz ducked between the blows, taking great delight in the battle.

Shoving him back, Merkava attempted to use energy within his attacks, sending wind smashing into Datz as shots of light struck in silver armour. Finally his resolve seemed to weaken, as he panted for air and the paladin managed to strike his arm.

Retreating slightly, Datz wiped the blood from the wound. Looking down at his now red stained white glove, a smile weaved onto his face. Turning back around to the horizon he watched on, as the sound of trumpets filled the air.

“It would seem the good city of Silvermoon has sent reinforcements.” he told Merkava, before looking at Teraan, “I cannot stop you taking him.”

Matching his sight up to the cliff tops of the distance, Merkava noticed the incoming banners of Silvermoon troops. Sneering at the captain he walked over to the body of his companion and checked the pulse. Lifting Teraan gently up, he retreated towards the Wailing Caverns.

“We shall meet again!” shouted Datz from the distance.

Light around Merkava began to filter away, the clouds dissipated above as the conditions returned to their tranquil normality. Jumping down to the oasis below, his body became stricken by a heavy feeling as the wings faded from his back. His arms began to fold under the pressure, yet he forced himself on.

“This is not our last bought!” shouted Datz once more, “Of that I am sure. Paladin!”

Trumpets drew closer behind him, yet his attention was clear. Trudging forward he carried Teraan to the cave. Blood dripped onto the soil as the Orgrimmar leader's wounds worsened. Gritting his teeth Merkava continued, unrelenting in his task. Entering the cave he tortured his own limits as pain took a grip, his muscles stretching.

Coming to the weaving tunnels the first entrance drew to a close. Split between multiple entrances, he dropped to his knees. In the distance, footsteps rushed at him. His eyesight faded into blackness, his lids fluttering open. As he slowly fell to the floor, he saw Bluebell sprinting towards him.
Chapter 40 - The Wailing Caverns
Spoiler:
****
Merkava
****


Feeling water splash across his face, the Stormwind paladin opened his eyes to see Bluebell stood over him. A smile struck across her and a bucket lay dormant in her hands, droplets swished around the bottom. His body ached as he attempted to move, and looked around to see a gloomy cave covered in twirling vines.

“Not bad.” she told him, “But awaken, for we have work to do.”

Leaning up he forced his body off the rocky bed, “What happened?”

“It would appear you tapped into a holy essence, and saved your dear friend Teraan. Who knew you had it in you?” grinned Bluebell once more.

“Is he awake yet? I do not wish to wait any longer” shouted a voice from behind her.

Extending her hand the bloodline helped him up, causing cries of pain to emit from his gritting teeth. Onwards they travelled through the murky depths, puddles of muddy water dampened their feet as measly torches lit the path.

Coming to a wide open section he noticed a large group. Their dress code was scattered, some in simple garments, others in more traditional heavy armour while some wore leather straps of protection. Nearly all carried a weapon at their side or strapped to their backs. Yet their eyes eagerly watched the two paladins like daggers, every step carefully traced as the room fell silent but for their footsteps to the centre.

At the very back of the room sat a few individuals cut apart from the larger groups. Bluebell stood still in front of them, while their guide to the left turned sideways, his back to one of the larger groups. It was then that Merkava noticed him to be Arvit, the warrior from the tavern a few nights prior.

“For why have you called us, Arvit? Who have you brought to our hidden cave, a place never visited for hundreds of years by outsiders?” asked a rather large figure sat in front of them.

“These are paladins, that I have brought to see the council.” he continued.

“We can all see that! Their pretty armour and arrogant looks give credence to their heritage! Paladin scum!” spat another of the apparent leaders, a bald and pale individual.

“Calm your tongue, Arno” demanded the first member, “Please, carry on Arvit, but hurry you speech for we have little patience.”

“Thank you, Toxic” replied Arvit before coughing slightly to clear his throat, “She is the bloodline. The one that our ancestors spoke about. A hero reborn to our times and now she needs our help, to combat whatever it is that encroaches upon our lands.”

“A Paladin? Asking for our help? Bah! Good riddance to them!” scoffed Arno.

“If this, Bluebell is it? Is as the legends would have us believe, for why would she need us? And the burning of cities and empires has no impact on us.” continued another of the members, leather strapped with a bow across his back.

“They look like little use to us!” snapped a fourth, “I say we kill them for their ignorance of venturing here!”

This member was different to the rest. His green and red robes were tattered, carrying tears from many years of use. A skull of a deer was placed upon his shoulder like a trophy, while a bone tooth necklace covered his neck.

“I don't know Delerium” said Arno, licking his lips as his eyes looked up and down Bluebell, her arms folded, “I'm sure I could find a use for one of them.”

Suddenly the bloodline's eyes shot open and stared straight for the Outlaw leader. A force struck him back, pinning him to his chair and his body trembled, unable to move. Instantly a unison of swords unsheathed and bowstrings pulled as all weapons pointed at her. Unflinching, she stepped forward calmly.

Now standing directly below the leaders, she turned her back to them. Merkava's hand lowered to his weapon as he uneasily became alerted to the danger surrounding them.

“What did you do to him?” snapped the leather leader, “As Alka, the infamous bounty hunter I order you to release him from your foul paladin tricks or pay the price!” he then stood and raised his a blade from his side.

Bluebell waved her hand in the air. Arno fell forward from his chair gasping for air. Tensions were high as the Outlaws on-looked to Bluebell, nervously Merkava prepared for the worst.

“You call yourselves, warriors!” she suddenly bellowed, her voice booming through the room as her face turned from side to side, “Yet you threaten visitors, make crude remarks and hide in the shadows! I have heard the stories of your people. Fearsome warriors, the mightiest in the land. Yet here you find yourselves cowering from the storms outside!”

“Watch yourself, whench!” yelled Delerium, “Choose your next words carefully.”

She swivelled to face the leaders, looking up to them, “Out there, people cry out for help. You carry a façade of being distant. But I see within your souls, a deep care for the lands. Tainted as they have become, it burns within you that you are helpless. When you once roamed the plains of Orgrimmar, of Thunderbluff and Ashenvale, perhaps even beyond. You now look to hunt wild beasts and drink your woes away. I say no more! Take up the mantle of the ancients, reclaim the lost pride of these caverns! Join the fight against those that would burn our lands. Push back on the ones that destroy your people. Do not battle for mere trinkets and gold, do it for those that look to you!”

Arno struggled to his feet, and wiped blood from his lips. Scanning the surroundings, Merkava saw rows of soldiers struck with astonishment, paralysed as they gazed down at her.

“You speak of war” finally spoke Toxic, “Even if we were to join your cause, for what do we get? For who would be at our side?”

Once again she turned towards the larger groups, “You fight because you can. Is that not what you live for? The thrill. The excitement. And you fight for what you know is right. The honour, the pride and to show the world the full pride of an Outlaw. You all have reasons to be here. Thieves, bandits or scavengers. Some good, some bad. But I know deep down you wish the well of these lands. Now Outlaws, you have remained silent throughout the burning of history.”

Everyone looked down, their attention gripped by the bloodline. Merkava remained on edge, his hand gripping the hilt. Through the silence he could hear his own breath, accompanied only by the drumming of his heart beat pounding against his chest.

Turning to the council heads of the cavern Bluebell drew her sword, its sliding steel echoing through the caves causing the witnesses to retract back.

“But will you fight?” she shouted, pointing her blade at them.

Moments past into what seemed like minutes. Patiently the Outlaws looked to their leadership, all of whom simply looked down to Bluebell. Her eyes locked straight forward, she remained perfectly still in her pose. The Paladin behind her bit his tongue and shuffled his feet. No one even noticed his position.

Finally, Toxic stood up, the room looked on awaiting his declaration, raising a staff from his side he pointed to the top of the cave, “Outlaws! We will fight!”

As he shouted a large cheer took hold of the room. Bluebell took a sigh of relief and relaxed her shoulders as hordes of outlying soldiers threw their hands up. Astonished, Merkava watched pandemonium take a hold of the Outalws. A new ally had been found.

****
Knewklear
****


After a few days on the run, the rebellion had managed to locate more safe houses. Their efforts had become wide spread, garnering support from Stormwind locals as their voice grew throughout the communities. Within what was now a rebellion stronghold at the eastern part of the city, the leaders sat within the tavern Blue Recluse.

“What news from outside?” asked Gnurg before taking a swig of her ale.

“Silvermoon is yet to join the fight with any commitment from what we understand. Only fleeting engages. Orgrimmar is on full lock down while Theramore looks to be lost forever. Our sources tell us even the rebellion within Ashenvale has gone quiet.” replied Obliviana.

“And what of Ironforge?” mentioned Smeldor.

Obliviana shook her head. The orange bearded leader angrily looked back, took a full mug of liquor and slammed his fist onto the desk. Patrons briefly sent their attention to the group, before returning to their drinking.

Knewklear placed his hands on the King's shoulder, “We shall reclaim our kingdom, sir.”

“So it is us against the world?” continued Gnurg.

“There is still one.” told Spoiler, the last member of the table.

The group looked to him. He wore tarnished armour, parts of it from the holy order, yet some garments were more akin to traditional Stormwind guard wear. Once he had been a follower of the light, but left the order some years prior to the recent events. As they awaited his words, he took another drink.

“Of who do you speak?” asked Obliviana, “There are no cities left to fight.”

“Merkava. He lives, for that I am sure.”

“Who?” asked Knewklear.

“Merkava.” replied Gnurg, “He was the head of Stormwind's cathedral, the hand of Justicelight within the city. Shortly before the attack, he left Fjord in his position for a pilgrimage, we have not seen him since.”

“I felt it. My connection is not as strong as it once was. But I felt it all the same. One with the old ways has returned.”

“What are you babbling about?” mocked Obliviana.

“A bloodline. A hope. It is small, but it is there. The day of the execution, you all felt it. You may not have known it, but you did. Somewhere, out there. Merkava has done the impossible. Fjord sent Blackluster to find him, to begin his journey.”

“Blackluster...” whispered Gnurg, “I have not seen him since the battle. He managed to escape?”

Spoiler nodded, “His bloody runs true.”

“So what are you trying to say?” asked Smeldor intrigued, “A new empire rises to aid us?”

“No.” replied the warrior, “It is faint. But a sign of hope. There may be a light upon the horizon, or it could be a glimpse of what has been lost. I know not much further.”

“Great use that was” sarcastically replied Obliviana rolling her eyes.

“Any such allies can only be good!” retorted Knewklear, “We should be lucky there is anyone out there who still would fight with us.”

“Discussions for another time.” concluded Smeldor, “We have no way of contacting whomever it is. We should continue on the battle here. Our fight against Ragnorak.”

The others agreed. Once more they took to their drinks as a plan of the city was mapped out on the table. Knewklear took a back seat as the more experienced veterans of tactics took control vocally. His attention was drawn across the room. Despite the apparent safety of the Blue Recluse, the villagers were depressed. A feeling of fear gripped the atmosphere. Life was hard, and as he examined the surrounding people, it was increasingly apparent. The toll of constant fighting as scars ripped their faces, little talking while even friends simply drank to the bottom of their cups, devoid of contact with each other. The Orgrimmar occupation had stripped the Stormwind people of their lives, Knewklear took a sigh to himself.

“Patrol spotted!” yelled a guard outside.

Suddenly everyone ceased their actions and look to the door.

“They would be brave to come here!” snapped Smeldor, reaching for his axe.

Obliviana placed her hand on his stopping him, “We cannot fight.”

He looked at her in anger as the room then turned to the leaders, preparing to fight or flee.

“She is right, sir” continued Knewklear, “We do not know their numbers. If they come here, they will be prepared.”

“Fine!” he scoffed, “Move out!”

Around them the room began to pack up. Papers were torn to hide their secrets, as the drinks were promptly depleted.

Obliviana stood on top of the table, “You know the drill! Take what you can, destroy the rest! We move quickly and in groups of no more than three! Hoods up, heads down! Glory to the alliance of the two cities!”

Quickly they filtered out of the tavern. Knewklear waited and helped the remaining few out before leaving himself, looking back he saw only the bartender remained. A great group of Orgrimmar soldiers marched into the building, their ranks spanning down the city streets. While he walked briskly away, screams and the sound of windows smashing haunted his ears.

****
Merkava
****


“Teraan?” asked the Stormwind Paladin, crawling into a hole in the caverns, carved out to make a room.

“He is resting, his wounds are severe. It would be lucky if her were to live past the night.” answered his attendant.

“And who might you be?” asked Merkava.

“My name is Dokusei, I am treating him while you take refuge here.”

Lurching around the corner, Merkava looked to see blankets thrown over Teraan. A small candle sat next to him, while his eyes lay shut.

“Take care of him” he told Dokusei, who simply bowed in response before returning to his duties.

Turning from the bay, Merkava walked through the caverns. He passed by numerous Outlaw inhabitants, they brushed by him without even a murmur. Finally he came to Bluebell, who was crowded by multiple senior members of the tribe.

“I pray that he is ok” she said without facing him, “Be thankful you got to him when you did.”

Before Merkava could reply, Alka cut in, “There shall be festivities before any action is taken. We have an agreement with the Shadows of the night.”

“An agreement?” she asked inquisitively.

“Every five years, our two tribes hold a tournament. It is the only meeting we have with the outside world, beyond our raids.” answered Toxic.

“I see.” she replied, “For how long is it? A great gathering could put us at risk, even now.”

“For only one day. Tomorrow, before the sun rises.”

Slowly etching his way into the hustling, Merkava spoke, “I think we should stay here, it would be safer.”

“Ha!” mocked Arno, “Laughing away from the fights. Paladin scum.”

“No.” answered Bluebell.

Suddenly, the attention drew back to her. Alka grinned at her response as the others awaited her reasoning.

“You wish to fight, my lady?” he asked her.

“I never wish to fight.” she told him, “But perhaps, these Shadows of the night folk may be of some use. I wish to meet them.”

The group then broke into laughter. Arno in particular found it amusing, while the two paladins looked on, their faces still stern. After a few moments, Toxic tapped his staff onto the stone floor a few times, ceasing the mocking jibes.

“They will not join your crusade, Paladin. You should count your stars that we have chosen to be at your side.” he informed Bluebell.

Assisting with the explanation, Alka continued.“They would rather see your kind strung up on flag poles than at the front of their armies”.

Merkava then looked to her. A smile had crept along her face, despite the information pass down. Stepping forward, she remained resolute and looked up. Above them the rocky roof kept the outside at bay, yet her stare seemed permeate through the natural barrier into the sky above.

“Even so, I wish to meet them. Wake us in the morrow, and we shall journey with you to this tournament.”

“Very well” replied Toxic, causing Arno to fold his arms in disgust behind.

“Now, I shall leave you to your own devices, good night.” she told them, turning back through the tunnels.

Walking with her, Merkava remained silent. Slowly they strolled through the weaving pathways to their designated accommodation.

“You wish to speak.” she eventually said.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked her, “Going to such a place can only bring bad fortune. We should stay here, with Teraan. What are we to do, bring him with us?”

“Current events are unfolding which lead us to paths we may prefer not to venture. However, I am a believer not in fortune, but carving my own route. Teraan shall stay here. He is safe, but cannot travel. I could almost mistake your tone for one of concern and care. Sleep well, Merkava of Stormwind, we have a long journey to take.”
Why join the winning side if you can change the winner?

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devil5000
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Re: A story of TW

#431 » Post by devil5000 » 13 May 2016 03:52

Amazing chapters :D
Horde Main : Marick
Alliance Main : Anastasiya

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funkypants

Re: A story of TW

#432 » Post by funkypants » 24 May 2016 16:48

Bluebell, you created a drug for us. I enjoyed reading this :3 we need more! now we're addicted so you gotta provide this drug for us.

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devil5000
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Re: A story of TW

#433 » Post by devil5000 » 24 May 2016 21:10

Just check the Google doc file(its on first page).She ussualy posts theer first then copies here after some time.
Horde Main : Marick
Alliance Main : Anastasiya

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Bluebell
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Re: A story of TW

#434 » Post by Bluebell » 24 May 2016 22:43

Yeah, sorry. Been busy recently, just got back from holiday! And rewrote the first 7 chapters, turning them into about 15. I think it makes the whole thing flow better.

The Tournament Commences

People in this chapter:
Spoiler:
Merkava
Alkapawn
Bluebell
Fivecapz
Belendor
Marick
Scothtape
Hurtful
Spintowin
Arnoxis
Spoiler:
****
Merkava
****


Travel was fast. The Outlawz cared little for comfort as the convoy quickly sped towards the tournament grounds. As their hosts enjoyed the landscapes, the two paladins were blindfolded much to the annoyance of the former Stormwind Justicar. Bobbling along the road, his sullen expression was conveyed even with the absences of eyes. Finally, a bang on the wagon and their covers were removed.

Stepping from their transport, they gazed upon a mighty coliseum. Its stone constructs worn by years of use as trees sprouted around and through the cracks. Getting used to the sunlight, his eyes fluttered slightly before seeing hoards of people streaming in from various entrances, yelling and shouting. They stank, he thought to himself. A tough hand then grabbed him, pulling towards a door.

As they made their way to the entrance, multiple armed guards stood watch. They seemed to be checking for any weapons as the thoroughly patted down anyone who went near. Eventually, it was their turn.

“Your weapons, Miss” spoke the guard to Bluebell as she unstrapped the sword from around her belt, “And the shield.” referring to the blue gemmed upon her back.

As she passed them over, a similar individual requested the same of Merkava. With regret, he handed his sword over.

“I do not like this” he told her, “I would not want to be anywhere right now without a weapon, not least amidst these thugs.”

Without looking to him she smiled, “Even thugs have their security and rules. We are guests, and we should respect that.”

Entering, they came to a wide open area with rows of seats to either side. In the middle, a sand pit of circular fashion with two boards at either side. A great blue flag covered behind the left, two spears crossing one another. Opposite it, a green banner with the same symbol replaced by swords.

“I see you made it” said Alkapawn causing them to turn, “Please, come sit with us.”

He directed over towards the banner of swords. Walking behind him, Merkava looked at those around. Animal hides, fur, heavy metal, plant fibres, anything seemed to be used as a garment by the savages surrounding him. He went to hold his weapon tightly, only to be reminded of its absence.

“The rules are simple” continued the Outlaw leader as they walked, “Two combatants enter. The first to ten points is deemed the winner. There are five rounds, the last fighter to win remains on until beaten. The clan with last member standing wins.”

“Points?” asked Bluebell.

“Every solid hit struck dictates a point.” he explained.

“And what exactly constitutes to a point?” she replied.

“A clean hit, as deemed by the panel made up of a combination” he pointed towards a covered area across from them.

They finally reached their seats. Merkava pushed past the final spectator in his way, who refused to move much to the paladin's annoyance.

“You shall fight last” he told her, “Hopefully we win before that.”

“And what do you expect her to fight with? You took our weapons.”

“We provide our own, none lethal. Made from the local forest, wood weapons. This is a spectacle and sport, there is no need for blood. Ah! It's starting!”

Their eyes then gazed back down to the centre. Looking to their left, a member jumped down carrying a great spear, while opposing them a stocking man jumped wielding a longsword. As they walked to each other, a third went between.

“Thank you for gathering to here!” he shouted to the cheering of the crowd, “I could bore you with the words used within the cities! But that is not what we are here to witness!” bringing greater applause, “You are here to see the great Outlaws! Against the great Shadows, of, the Night! Let the games begin!”

Quickly, he sprinted towards a small ladder behind. The two combatants then took to the field, and prepared to fight. Bluebell leaned forward in anticipation, the contest was about to begin.

****
Belendor
****


After sailing across the great sea and marching for miles towards the northern city, they had reached Silvermoon itself. A tranquil land of lush landscape, blocked only by daunting trees from every angle of the natural garden. Coming to the city itself, its towers loomed over the forest, huge spirals like constructed mountains. Iron gates slowly opened to allow them entry, as they walked through.

Lines of guards watched them, carrying long spears and square shields. The crescent symbol sat upon their gear and their armour glistened in the sun. Behind Belendor marched his trusted guard, accompanied by numerous Orgrimmar grunts. In contrast, their gear was dark and red, smudged in mud by the long trip and months of battle.

Trudging over the cobbled pathways they weaved towards the citadel. Carefully, the soldiers of the city watched them as their heavy footwear boomed beneath. Citizens flocked out to see the coming army, some frightened while others intrigued. Their hair the same, blonde like the sun, watching them all the way, yet the paladin kept his eyes forward.

Reaching the palace, they stopped. Guards wearing elements of red in addition to the standard silver stood in their path. Behind them, the biggest of all buildings, enough to rival even the cathedral of Stormwind. Stone spires protruded out, atop marbled stairs layered with a fine carpet.

“I am Lord Belendor, commander of Orgrimmar's armies, leader of the great Empire and Justicar, I would like to speak with your Marick at once.”

More men flooded around them. The Belendorians kept their stern faces locked on those in front, whereas the soldiers behind nervously looked at the increasingly numbers surrounding.

“He is busy, currently. You will have to wait.” told one guard, a golden feather upon his helm.

“Wait?” he asked, gripping his red blade, “Do you know of who I am?”

“Not a King.” replied the apparent lead, “We can arrange accommodation for your stay with supplements. We shall notify when the King is ready to see you.”

Taking a deep breath, he inspected his surroundings. There was a great deal of troops now stationed ready to strike, his hands caressed the hilt as he looked.

“Sir” ushered MadPanda causing his gaze to switch to his side, “We are in no hurry. It looks a nice place to stay, the men have come far. We would do well to wait, and take the time to relax within the fine city of Silvermoon.”

“Relax?” replied Belendor angered, “We are at war, you fool! This is no time for leisure!”

“I understand, sir. However we may need to wait for his Highness before acting.”

Taking another glance around, he reluctantly nodded. Those behind let out a great sigh of relief and the Silvermoon soldiers lowered their weapons slightly.

****
Merkava
****

Watching from the raise platform, the two paladins marvelled at the spectacle. The raw fighting of the two clans was far flung from the safety of the mighty cities who outlawed such sports before even Bluebell's time.

The first two fighters were locked together for some time. Keeping his distance, the Outlaw's member spiralled around. His trail left in the sand causing a mosaic pattern of footsteps and lower spear, dancing through the arena. On the other hand, his foe violently attacked at every moment, dashing forward.

With one lunge he went, only to be blocked upwards by the spinning spear holder who quickly sliced down.

“One!” shouted a judge from the side.

“That's Scotchtape” mentioned Alkapawn.

“And his opponent?” asked Merkava.

“The Shadow of the night?” replied the leader, “Cartod, I believe.”

Pulling a scowl, the swordsman jumped again. Skipping around, the Scotchtape avoided the attack, slamming his spear around into the back of the swordsman. A quick flurry of strikes followed using the tip.

“Two! Three! Four Five! Six!”

Wiping sweat from his brow, the Shadow of the Night contestant charged again. Using only the edge of his weapon, the spearman parried the attacks, pushing the sword up and down with minimal effort. Feet still slopping through the sand, he began to tire his opponent. Finally, the opportunity arose. With the swordsman fatigued, his guard dropped and the final blows were struck.

“Seven! Eight! Nine! Winner!”

Cheers from both sets of fans whistled all around the stadium. The two fighters bowed to each other, and then the crowds, before returning to their sections.

“He's not bad.” confirmed Bluebell.

Alkapawn smiled, “You should see the rest.”

Jumping down, came a similar figure to the last. However this arrival wielded a much greater broadsword.

“Oh great” commented Arnoxis, “It's Spintowin. The big galluf.”

The two took to the field and began circling. Scoring the first blow, Scotchtape managed to dab the armour slightly.

“One!”

Backing off and dusting himself down slightly, the swordsman readied. He repeated his attack, diving in, but this time pushed the spear to the side leaving the Outlaw wide open.

“One!”

Retreating, he repeated again.

“Two!”

Taking a moment, the Outlaw fighter prepared for the next moment. The two grinned to each other in delight of their bout.

Again he lunged in causing the spear to act differently, expecting the push away. Yet this time, the sword feinted the attack. Its wielded spun around hitting at the arm and then the chest one more.

“Three! Four!” yelled the judge, sending the Shadows of the Night into great cheers.

Instantly the attack was dodged by a step to the side, his feet then swept away by the longer weapon crashing him to his knees. Before he could get back up, the tip was pointed at his neck and hovered over.

“Winner, Outlawz!” shouted the judge.

“If there is a situation in which a combatant is placed in a lethal position, then the fight is also over, regardless of points.”

Bowing to the crowds, the two walked to their respective clans. A new contestant then entered. A hulking figure wielding a great axe, dust rose up as he collided with the floor.

As the battle commenced, the sheer force of power was too much for the spear holder. His feeble defences quickly pushed out of the way as the onslaught continued.

“One!” yelled the judge, “Two!”

As a quick succession of hits landed. Panting heavily, the Outlaw fighter continued. Skipping back as his attacker came forward.

“Three! Four!”

He took another hit, each one clearly taking a toll.

“Five! Six! Seven!”

As the match progressed, his speed lowered giving the axe wielder a significant advantage.

In a last ditch attempt, Scotchtape jumped through the air. The crowd wooed as he flew at his opponent, flipping as he went. Following his every motion his spear mesmerizingly twirled towards his enemy. Just then, the axeman was forced to duck out of the way as it came swinging down. Sliding his axe around, he narrowly missed the nimble attacker. His second strike was not so close, slamming into his chest.

“Eight!”

As he went plummeting to the floor, another blow hit, and as he could taste the sand within his mouth, the final one struck.

“Nine! Winner!”

Holding his chest, slightly wounded from the fights, he bowed to his opponent. Slowly he sloped off to the side as the crowd clapped to their new champion.

“Alright!” announced Alkapawn, “My turn.”

Looking to him bemused, Merkava questioned, “But you are a leader are you not? Surely you would not bother fighting here.”

Smiling, he replied, “We must all fight, one day. Even the leaders. That is what this teaches the people of our clans.”

Quickly he somersaulted off, landing firmly on both feet. The crowd cheered as his arms waved in the air to them.

“He's such a show off” mocked Arnoxis to their left, “He does this every time.”

Taking to position, the leader removed the bow from behind his back. His enemy grinned at him, his heavy axe at hand.

“He's not seriously going to fight that thing with a bow and arrow is he? 10 hits he must land?!” squeaked Merkava in dismay.

“As I said” continued Arnoxis, “A show off.”

“He likes his fun” said Toxic, “Let him have it.”

As the fight began, Alkapawn instantly fired an arrow hitting the target.

“One!”

“He will not care for the odd blow” remarked Merkava.

“That will be his weakness” commented Bluebell, her eyes watching intensely.

A second arrow flew before the axe man reached.

“Two!”

As he reached, Alkapawn fired an arrow directly into the air behind him. It flew straight, out of eyesight.

“One!”

His back was hit before he could turn. Instantly he jumped to the side and drew a short blade. Blocking the slow attacks he managed to trace backwards and loop around to his original position.

“Three! Two!”

Through their attacks they each landed a blow. Finally, they reached where Alkapawn was first stood. As the axe holder sprinted to attack again, the archer looked up. Following his lead, his opponent did the same, only to see an arrow come straight down in front of him Instinctively he stopped in his spot avoiding its blow.

“Four! Five! Six!”

During the distraction, Alkapawn managed to land three successive shots with his bow. Grunting back his foe marauded at him. The Outlawz leader smiled. Ducking under every swing, jumping every blow he dodged everything his enemy could throw. With the last attack, he knelt down and quickly shot an arrow into his enemy's hand.

“Seven!”

And then to the other.

“Eight!”

As the arrows struck, the pain caused his opponent to drop his weapon. Now unable to fight allowed Alkapawn to gloat. He turned to the crowds and put his hands up, causing them to cheer louder. He ushered them to keep going, to shout more and more. They loved it. Merkava watched on as they roared in excitement.

“Here” said Alkapawn, throwing down a sword, “Let us fight like men, shall we?”

He then threw down his bow to use his own blade. The two locked back in combat, the sword clanging violently accompanied by the sound of applause.

“Nine!”

Alkapawn landed a jab down the centre. Turning his back to his enemy he winked up to the Outlawz leadership camp.

“That was for you” said Arnoxis.

“I would certainly hope not.” replied Bluebell firmly.

As his enemy went to strike, he quickly faced him and swung the sword before it landed.

“Winner!”

“A good fight” Alkapawn told his opponent, “Although, I think you could use some speed training. Next time!”

They bowed and the next fighter began to enter. A slender figure wielding two swords, holding them over his shoulder with a smile etched over his face, teeth gleaming in the sun.


“That's Fivecapz” Toxic told the two paladins, “The dirtiest member of the Shadows council. Pretty good in a fight too.”

As they took to the battle, Alkapawn fired his bow, the arrow flying true. Defensively Fivecapz placed his blades in front of him forming an “x” shape. The bolt clanged to the ground. Another arrow fired, followed quickly by two more. Easily the Shadow leader blocked the attacks, his swords dancing around his body to stop them.

Having both remained in their positions, Alkapawn nodded, and smiled. His weapons dropped to the ground, dust covering them. Slowly, he attached the swords from around his belt. Nodding back, Fivecapz rushed at him, swords raised.

A great spree of clanging followed as they raced through the arena. Alkapawn began to show signs of struggle as his opponent outclassed him, slashing at his hand.

“One!”

Alkapawn dropped a sword, forced to only use one he continued the fight. Attempting to duck, the rapid attacker expected his moves.

“Two! Three!”

His legs were hit. He limped away. Nodding back, he acknowledged his opponent's strength. They engaged again, striking from below he forced his opponent to block with both swords, again forming a cross. Swiping his blade up, he twisted his body around and swung at the now defenceless chest.

“One!”

The crowd cheered as he landed a hit.

“You're a fan favourite, it seems.” smiled Fivecapz, “I love to watch them fall.”

Quickly they fought again, the Shadow fighter speeding up with every hit. Desperately Alkapawn tried to block as the blows swarmed from every angle.

“Four! Five! Six!”

Multiple blows landed. Alkapawn retreated back to his own section, and looked up to Bluebell.

“Enough!” he shouted, his head still facing her, “I concede.”

Arnoxis stood up in anger, “What! This is an outrage! Alka what are you doing? You never surrender!”

“I have an announcement!” he shouted to the crowd, ignoring his friend, “Outlawz forfeits its next two positions in the tournament, to allow our wild card an entry.”

Gasps came all around the stadium as the crowd began to whisper to each other. Fivecapz looked on intrigued.

“What is your game, Outlaw?” he asked, his sword pointing towards his former foe.

Smiling, Alkapawn replied, “For the next fight, live weapons will be used.” again the crowd began to talk amongst themselves, “Presenting, the next fighter. The legendary bloodline of eons ago, the Paladin of Paladins, Bluebell!”

Suddenly all eyes locked on her. Merkava gulped as the attention of the two clans focused on their tiny holding. Cautiously she stepped onto the pedestal as Alkapawn climbed up.

“Time to put your title to the test, paladin” he told her, “If you want to lead us, prove your worth.”

“A woman?!” exclaimed Fivecapz, “You give your positions up for a woman?” his eyes darting up her as they swapped weapons.

Removing her outer garments Bluebell revealed brown leather She handed her heavy silver armour up to Merkava.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I cannot move quickly in this heat, wearing that.” she remarked.

“If you get hit, it could be costly.”

She smiled, “Then I shall try my best not to be hit.”

Venturing to the centre, they raised their weapons. Bluebell's duel was about to begin.
Why join the winning side if you can change the winner?

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devil5000
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Re: A story of TW

#435 » Post by devil5000 » 26 Jun 2016 16:17

This waiting for the new chapter is killing me xD
Horde Main : Marick
Alliance Main : Anastasiya

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