Death of a World: A Warcraft Story

RedMageNeko

Imperial Guardsmen
Joined
Feb 27, 2007
Posts
1,276
OOC section here: https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=523603

(**)​

Kneeling down, a plate covered gauntlet dug into the loose soil, feeling it. It was dry, dusty, completly and utterly devoid of life. The mere fact that trees and the like still even stood here was a testament to the corrupting powers of the plague.

But the soil was not his primary focus. The shifting of the dirt, the disturbances of the tracks. At least five of them, four using the lanky gate of Ghouls. The fifth's were more normal, human. One of the necromancers of the Scoruge.

Slowly standing, the click of armor was dulled by the cloth inset in the joints to dull the noise. Moving quickly, his hand went to the double handed sword on his back as he ran, following the tracks. The tracks were fresh, so they were close.

It wasn't long before he saw them. Four gaunt, ragged creatures barely recognizable as the humans they had once been, limbs elogated, faces made hideous by the flesh of the body rotting and tighting to them, giving them the look of having wax poured over their faces, half melted before drying in place.

They were escorting a hooded figure, supporting himself with a staff, his mouth and nose wrapped with a filth encrusted cloth. Kneeling in the dry dirt, hidden amongst the corrupted trees, he watched them, waited for them to start passing.

As the final one drew close, he jumped from the trees, slashing down with the heavy blade, cleaving the gaunt creature in two before it even realized he was there, shrieking as its twisted form was ripped in half. They others turned at the shriek, seeing the armored figure ripping his blade free.

The necromancer stumbled back, eyes wide. "Kill him you fools!!!"

The ghouls lunged forward, shrieking incoherently. Gripping the sword with one hand, he swung, cutting deep into one and flinging it aside. As the second launched himself at him, he lashed his armored leg out into a kick, catching it in the face and sending it sprawling as he skewered the third on the end of his blade. The creature continued to try to move forward, hissing and howling in rage, only to be silenced as he swung the blade upward, bisecting it. The third started to rise, only to be silenced for good as its head was removed from its shoulders.

Stumbling backwards, the necromancer cursed, raising his staff to prepare a spell. Idly raising a hand, the armored knight ripped the magic straight from his body, making the necromancer scream as something that was as a part of him as his hand was removed forceibly from his body, drawn into the knight. Falling to his knees, he looked up stumbling back. "You ... how dare you elf!?!?! You defy the might of the Lich King!?!"

The figure reached up, slowly removing his helm. Beneath it was a worn, scarred face, elegant and fierce all at once. His ears drew back into peeks, twitching as he listened to the wind. A single green eye stared at the necromancer, they other hidden beneath a dark leather patch. "And I always shall fool. I will see your empire of death fall."

The necromancer laughed, glaring up at him with dark, beedy eyes. "You shall die Blood Knight!!! This world shall die!!"

The Blood Knight, a paladin of Silvermoon, drew his lips back into a cold, smile, raising the blade. "Perhaps, but you shall go first."

The blade slashed down, drawing a spray of blood that splashed across him and the dead earth.

(**)​

He could feel the eyes of the caretaker, an old Night Elf priest, glaring at his back as he sat at the foot of the steps to the tomb of Uther the Lightbringer, one of the most powerful and noble of Paladins, slain during the opening days of the Third War by his own pupil, the thrice damned Arthas Menethil, once prince of Lorderon, now a servant and host of the Lich King. A holy site to the Alliance, it was one of the few places in the Plaguelands that had once been Lorderon could never quite gather a foothold. The light of this place was to strong, driving them away.

As such, it was the perfect place for a meeting.

The old priest had not wanted him in this sacred site, but after showing him the signet of the Argent Dawn he carried, the old man had, if reluctantly, allowed him to stay, even providing him with food and drink, though the water was stagnent and the bread had seen far better days. Still, one could ill afford to be picky here.

Picking at the bread, he thought of the request made of him by the Argent Dawn. Rumors were spreading like wild fire, rumors of a new sickness creeping through the lands, of men, women, and children being spirited away into the night. Such things were common rumors, but still must be investigated. And as the Dawn had dug deeper, they had begun to fear the worst.

Another Plague was begining to appear.

With the lands of Draenor once again opened, both the Alliance and Horde had poured into these new lands, heedless of the threats that remained at home. All attempts by the Dawn to get aid for their search had been in vain. Now they were forced to use outsiders, adventurers and mercenaries they felt they could trust.

One of those had been Uriem Ventril, exiled Blood Knight of Silvermoon.

Now he waited for the others to arrive on what could be called neutral ground, drinking stagnant water as he waited for the rest of his allies, gathered by the Dawn, to arrive.
 
Tsuza

The night elf had not slept in several days. Her purple hair, once flamboyant and lively, looked like straw. The dirt and soil of the land mixed with the ashes quickly made its marks on all travelers new to the region. She had walked from Southshore, on request of the Argent Dawn, to meet a group of adventurers with a like goal. To stop the plague before it started. The scourge had once again shown themselves and began to grow inside Stratholme.

She was high ranking in the Argent Dawn and had done many missions for them. For her services, she had received a bow of great magics and powers. She had yet to know all of its powers, but it was said, there were no equal in the whole of Azeroth. Few had seen its power in battle, and few had seen its powers up close, but none lived to tell another soul of their find. The bow was said to have belonged to Malfurion Stormrage himself and touched by Lady Sylvanas Windrunner. Of the powers she knew, she told no one. Several had made attempts to find out themselves, but were left to wonder no more as its powers unleashed itself upon them. There seem to be a kinship of sorts with the bow. She carried a sword on each hip, well versed in teh ability to use them with deadly force and accuracy.
She was beautiful to look upon with her purple eyes and hair. She was wise beyond her years. She knew how to use her body as a weapon, just as well as she knew her physical weapons. She was a warrior to the core, even if her title didnt suggest that.
She spotted the Tomb of Uther. She had been here several times in the past, on her way to one place or another.
"Hail, Brother Uton" she said in a soft voice"
"Sister, it is always a pleasure for this humble servant to see you."

She nodded. "I will catch some sleep now. Wake me when the others arrive please."
She noted the blood elf. Bowed her head to him and continued towards a door and disappeared.
 
Back
Top