Conquest of the Horde

"Ramirez!"

Felfire flew everywhere, this was Hellfire alright, back during the Burning Crusade. Ramirez was in the 32nd Elwynn Division, pinned down in the rocks below Honor Hold. His commanding officer yelled at him again.

"Ramirez! Move!"

Ramirez snapped back to reality, a felsteel blade came down next to his head; felguard rolling over the rock with a loud roar. It ripped the blade free and slammed into the footman. Ramirez fumbled around coughing on the chalky red dust filling his helmet as he hit the ground. His hands hardly making it to his shield, rolling over with it in tow.

Shlink!!

The felsteel greatsword hardly shearing the shield, falling to the side, Ramirez rolled forward under the brute. He scooped up his sword and turned with a slight stumble. The beast turned with a heaving of the blade, he ducked low, charging, shield pushing to the side. The blade fell to the left, he then drove the sword up into its torso. The beast snarled, dropping its blade, it grabbed the poor man and threw him across the trench. Ramirez's helm was dented inward, he spat dust out again, crawling away from the demon. His commander was before him, standing valiantly, aiming a street sweeper at the demon.

"Keep your head down."

Ramirez curled up into a ball somewhat as the gunfire started and the man charged forward. After a ringing five blasts and the short scuffle afterward, the felguard was on its back, blood coursing from its mouth and wounds. The commander turned quickly and took Ramirez's hand, pulling him up.

"We are not done! Footmen lead the way! Lets go!"

Ramirez tried to grab his sword and shield, other footmen rushing after the commander out of the trenches. Ramirez hardly made it over the hill when he saw the bloody sights for sure. Horde and Alliance, Demons and Illidari, battle all around, he tried finding where his unit had went. He rushed forward, shield blocking arrows, shadowbolts and other horrible things. His eyes darting from person to person, blade parrying the occasional axe or mace to the side. He hardly paid attention as he ran, he slid to dangerous stop. The massive canyon of the path of glory. He reeled back, rocks falling into the canyon. His commander caught the back of his tabard and pulled him back behind a ruined siege tank.

"Thats a long fall!"

A fel orc came around the corner and swung his axe at the commander, the warrior brought up a shield.

"Thats a big axe! Ramirez!"

He span, throwing Ramirez around to the fel orc's side. With a heavy grunt the unprepared footman slammed into the fel orc's side, making his weapon hit the ground. The fel orc grabbed him by his throat and picked him up, and the commander put a crossbow right past Ramirez's side, bolt point blank with the orc's eye.

Thump.

Ramirez groaned, just finishing taking off his armor. Other soldiers in the barracks were in bad condition, they were the new guys. By Alliance historical standards, the average footman's chance of death in heavy melee is very high in their first combat unless healers are within the regiment.

Out of two hundred men, they had twenty priests. Two priests were alive by the end, and about one hundred and five men actually survived the battle.

Another young man across the room grumbled.

"Our commander is nuts... I know... We go in first. But that was suicidal..."

One of the footmen walking into the room was clearly a field medic, blood all over his armor, right arm carrying a white armband; or at least was a white armband. He sat down next to Ramirez, removing his helmet. Ramirez smiled, noticing his long time friend Mithas Gande.

"Mithas... It is good to see you."

Mithas sighed, leaning forward off the bench.

"So many good men we can't do anything for, not until the second wave shows up. We can just... Try to keep their bodies in one piece and their hopes up until actual healers are here or finished healing themselves... James. Promise me you will not end up in those rooms."

Other soldiers winced at the talk, Mithas grumbled with a depressing look. His hand left his side, holding a clump of dog tags.

"Never... Let them down guys."

He reached forward and sat them on the table, other footmen clammered over, checking the tags. One man actually bursting into tears when he was told of his brother's tags being on the table. Ramirez shook his head and placed a hand on Mithas' shoulder.

"Get your armor off at least... We need to take this time to rest."

Mithas sighed, standing slowly.

"Your right... Lets get some food after I change."

"Mithas!!"

Ramirez hardly was holding onto his friend's arm, they dangled on the ramparts of Hellfire Citadel, fire spraying about them. Netherdrake riders flew past, pelting young men with rays of horrible fire. Mithas kicked up the wall at an odd angle and caught the ledge, pulling himself up. Ramirez hardly was able to turn around when a fel orc punched him in the face and raised its sword up to run him through. Mithas tried to move forward, but another fel orc stomped on his hand as he reached for a sword. Ramirez's eyes widened as the blade sank into his torso, the shinking sound as metal twisted and bent. Mithas then reached with his other hand with a firm groin shot to the fel orc on him, rolling forward and tackling the orc assailing Ramirez.

Mithas struggled with his much larger foe for a moment, watching a netherdrake coing around for a pass, it aimed its glowing maw at Ramirez. The footman smiled and tripped the orc, then with a firm twist he slammed a foot into its back, sending it forward into the line of fire. The flames poured over the orc instead of Ramirez. The second orc moved forward, drawing its sword and before it could swing, the wounded Ramirez took an orcish crossbow off the ground and shot it in the knee. It fell forward into a well placed and powerful plated knee from Mithas into its face. Tusks and teeth shattering, blood pouring from its nose.

Mithas moved over and quickly pryed the bladed from Ramirez's gut, he quickly pulled his friend to the side and took a roll of bright blue cloth from his side satchel. Quickly he took a piece and folded it to put into the wound, he yelled out.

"I need a cleric!"

Then holy light poured over Ramirez, twice over. Two paladins rushed past them from behind. A priest knelt near Ramirez as well. Mithas looked around in shock as gryphons assaulted the keep, knights and footmen alike clammering up the ramparts. The Horde and Alliance seem to have stopped for a mere moment fighting each other, and that moment was crucial.

The priest poured light into Ramirez and the young man sighed in relief, completely healthy after that. Mithas stood slowly, Ramirez rising steadily as well. They looked over the combined might of the Horde and Alliance smashing into the Citadel, soldiers pouring into it, fel orcs being routed.

Ramirez laughed slightly, looking around.

"I nearly died. And then this happened... I would of never thought -"

The priest cut him off with a nod.

"It is odd, but the forces decided the Citadel should be raised before we continue our battle. Too many lives were being lost as it was, you are two lucky men. If it wasn't for the at least crude alliance we made, you would both be dead by now."

Mithas shrugged, his tone carrying off.

"I suppose. But oh well... At least we are winning."

At least we are winning...

Miller was another young footman around this time, he sat down, helmet in one hand; mug in the other. He sat down next to Mithas and Ramirez; they were looking about at the victorious peoples. Miller chuckled as he took a drink.

"Soon we are meeting with Draenei, before the final push past Hellfire Citadel."

Mithas rose a brow, taking a drink from his mug.

"I don't know about you, but I am happy that the dwarven battalions are here. We can drink, and still be on duty."

They all laughed for a moment, then Ramirez spat up some of us drink when a group of night elven sentinels walked through the gates. He watched the curvaceous femme fatales strut in. They were proud and strong women, little did these young men know; they were also far out of their league. Miller's jaw creaked open slightly.

"Daaaamn... Are they the morale support?"

Ramirez looked to a dwarf that was suddenly at his right, he looked left to the other footmen; then back to the dwarf. That dwarf, was Joren Bleakstout, a rifleman; and very stalwart dwarf. Joren sputtered at Miller's comment.

"Those are not women! Women have full bodies, have a mug in hand! And have curly hair that you can hold on too!!"

Ramirez pulled back from the dwarf for a moment.

"Wait! What?!"

Joren laughed and stumbled away, Miller shrugged and looked to the elven women again. Ramirez kept his eyes on them for awhile, still speaking.

"So... Draenei? What are those?"

Miller shrugged while talking, eyes still glued to the elves.

"I heard, some species from out here, recent number of them at Azeroth now. Big, blue and... Tentacles on the face from what I heard."

Mithas leaned back, taking a long drink.

"Guys. Tommorow is going to be a long day, lets get ourselves to sleep?"

Ramirez kept his eyes on the elves.

"Sure... You guys get to the barracks, I will be there in a bit."

"Battle after battle what do we learn?"

Kartu looked to Kathorg with a keen smile.

---

"We learn that we shall succeed no matter what happens to us. Our victory assured."

Anar stated as he tapped Mathar's shoulder.

---

Kathorg nodded to Taje. The orcish sharpshooter taking aim on a scourge deathknight's head.

He drew his blade, looking forward, Bloodsworn with him near the edge of a scourge wall. The siege of Icecrown imminent.

---

Mathar slid on his helmet and his squire helped him with his shield. He took his blade and pointed down the slope from the side of the Storm Peaks.

"Warriors of the Alliance! We will show the scourge on this day what makes us the champions of our people!"

---

Kathorg moved into the scourge rampart, his men close behind him. War cries filling the air, the met with the scourge forces on the walls. They marched for Icecrown.

Kathorg cut down a scourge ghoul and then shouldered into a skeleton that was getting behind his mate, Lirshar Goresight.

---

Mathar and the Lionhearts, decended the cliffs with their gryphons, landing directly into the fray of the fields of Icecrown. The Horde and Alliance were in the thick of it there against the vile undead.

Mathar cleaved into several foes, pointing his blade at an abomination.

"Miller! Ramirez! With me!"

The two footmen scrambled to their commander and charged at the beast.

---

The Bloodsworn's battle was not over, a frost wyrm was coming back around, priming its frosty maw on their position. An unholy chill descended over them before the ray of frost landed on the wall. Kathorg yelled back to his warriors, pointing at the beast as it passed by.

"Set up those explosive harpoons the goblins prepared for us!"

---

Down in the fields, the scourge was dwindling down, then as the handful of Horde forces cheered victory; even alongside the larger Alliance force. Something was wrong.

Mathar looked about, then he walked up beside the orc commander that was there.

"So they are back for round two?"

The orc smiled as they all prepared for a unit of scourge deathknights that were riding towards them.

---

Murkthralog took a triumphant swing into the frost wyrm's skull as it was being beat down on by the horde forces. Its wings were blasted off, without flight; semi-skewered on the scourge wall it could not fight back too well.

Lirshar looked down with her one eye at the fields, the deathknights slamming into the ground forces. She looked to Kathorg.

"We need to take the bridge. They need a way out of that."

---

Ramirez was knocked on his back, runeblade being raised above him. The unholy laughter cut short by a gnome hugging his head and stabbing into the visor several times screaming some obscene words.

The Horde and Alliance forces there were being butchered. The Lionhearts were taking massive casualties; Ramirez looked to Mathar for a command.

---

Kathorg looked down on the scene and grumbled.

"We don't have enough time."

More scourge were setting down on them.

"Come on Tirion... Win already..."

---

Back in the fields, Mithas was dragging a soldier. Then as he turned a runeblade was circling straight for his head, he ducked; plume of his helm coming off.

Miller punched the knight in the face with his left. A resounding crack could be heard, Miller fumbled back, blood streaming from his hand.

"Light! What is going on! We are going to die!"

Mathar looked to the spire of Icecrown.

"Come on... Come on..."

---

Kathorg beat down on a skeleton with his sword. Shakaar rushed past him into a mob of undead.

"Taje! Take the necromancers out!"

Taje span around and took aim in the midst of the carnage.

---

The action was blurring.
Blood...
Steel...

Miller was on his belly. Mithas cried out as a saronite arrow took him in the shoulder.

Drumgar cut down increasing multiples of undead. The Bloodsworn were dominating their position.

Mathar picked up Ramirez and pushed him away.

"Get as many of them out as you can! -"

A runeblade went into his back. He roared and with a turn, his own blood pouring free, he span taking the deathknight's head.

"Get... Them out of here..."

Ramirez turned and yelled.

"Lionhearts! Pull back!"

---

Kathorg stepped beside Drumgar at the edge of the bridge. The tip of icecrown, there was a faint burst of light. The scourge seemed to scramble as it happened. Kathorg nodded with beeming pride.

"Victory is ours."

---

Mithas dragged Miller's unconscious body to the edge of a safe Argent front.

He looked over to Ramirez, Ramirez only giving him the words.

"At least... At least we are winning..."

At least we are winning...

"John..."

Two men sat at a desk, an Alliance Grand Marshal by the name of Alvin Tennalt on one side; on the other, a young man with a serious look about him.

"John Shepard."

The man nodded to Alvin. Alvin continued on gracefully.

"Mercenary commander, Alliance veteran, reportedly very skilled in the arts of warfare. Your reputation precedes you Shepard, but, the Alliance has use of a man of your skill."

John simply leaned back, sighing.

"When do they not need men of my skill."

Alvin smiled and took a ledger out, opening to a chapter and removing a folder. He opened it slowly then proceeded to read.

"Served in the Battle of the World Tree, your first and last activity as an Alliance soldier. Then you went on to serve as a mercenary throughout the strife of Blackrock Spire, Ahn'Qiraj, - Rather, almost every conflict. Then proceeded as a mercenary-paramilitary commander of neutral forces during the battles of Outland and even into Northrend."

John shrugged slowly.

"And your point Grand Marshall?"

Alvin stopped, and stood slowly.

"You are a man that has been forged in conflict, and we require great soldiers like yourself to lead our recovering paramilitary sector. Once it is up and running we can lead full operations again smoothly."

John sat there, silent, and Alvin kept speaking, his orating becoming more proud and strong with every word.

"You are blooded from Stormwind, your skills honed as a bladesman, tactician and elite warrior. You were able to survive battle after battle, not receiving a single major wound. Your prowess earns you respect and a chance to lead in a movement that can very well give the Alliance the upper hand in the wars to come."

Shepard cut him off.

"I thought you had a paramilitary sector."

Alvin sighed, looking down to the ground.

"It took many casualties during the battles of Northrend... One noticeable wound is the death of the commander and the slaughter of almost every member of the Lionheart Vanguard. They acted as a commanding force of the paramilitary forces. They need a leader, a commander..."

John sat up straight.

"So, you need a commander? And what would the first task be?"

Alvin pointed at his desk, John reached for a folder that contained pressing documents. Alvin kept speaking.

"First objective; we have found an important movement of Horde intel taking place in Outland soon. The caravan is being protected by horde forces, but moreover it is being lead and overseen by Warlord Kathorg Gorehallow. Gorehallow acts as a primary commanding officer of the Horde's high command of their paramilitaries. The Bloodsworn Honorguard is what his force is called, remove their leader and wound their intel. We may cripple the Horde paramilitary enough that ours can get the upper hand at last."

Shepard flipped through pages of the folder, information of all kinds on the Bloodsworn and Kathorg himself. He then closed it and stood, facing Alvin.

"Commander Shepard reporting for duty."

The day was a bright one, the sun shining through the trees above Terrokar Forest. The border to Nagrand was shimmering with the light of the day, Kathorg's war wolf pawed at the ground before it. He looked over the passing caravan with a stern eye. Another orc rode up beside him, it was Hulthar Ironbrow, another paramilitary commander.

"You grace us with your presence Gorehallow. You seem to care much for these documents you have us transporting. It is what? At least five hundred pounds of papers and books... What else is in those crates?"

Kathorg looked at Hulthar with a growl.

"Hulthar, you are supposed to be at the front of the line. Get up there. I have no time for screwing up today."

Hulthar shook his head then bowed slightly.

"Right away High Warlord Gorehallow. Right away."

---


There in the forest they waited. Footmen and otherwise, wearing mesh over themselves. Bows and guns aimed at the road. Shepard took a pair of binoculars from a gnome near him.

"They are getting close. And remember. Low casualties, I want them to remember this day."

Mithas and Ramirez were against a log and they watched the incoming caravan. Mithas sighed, looking over towards where Shepard was.

"So. We are supposed to beat them down and make them watch as he executes their leader? This... Is going to be fun?"

Ramirez shrugged and kept a firm grip on his broadsword.


---

Kathorg rode up beside Hulthar as they got deeper into the forest. Little did the Horde warriors realize they were standing in the middle of an Alliance force with over twice their numbers.

Kathorg stopped the caravan and looked about. Hulthar eyed him for a moment.

"What is wrong sir?"

"If I were the aggressor, this is a perfect ambu- "

"For the Alliance!"

Men came from all around, and steel clashed. Kathorg leaped from his wolf and drew his sword, Hulthar took a crossbow bolt straight into the side of his head. Ramirez beat down on a grunt after taking a slash at him. Everything died down in a moment, Horde warriors on their bellies and knees, blades close to them. A light clapping could be heard, plate gauntlets thumping against one another.

"So. The mighty Warlord Gorehallow only has this to show me? A fumbling about group of idiots that cannot defend themselves?"

Shepard stepped out, his heavy blue tinted platemail, bright Stormwind tabard; he had two cruel blades on his belt. He watched the much larger than himself orc with his blue eyes. Kathorg looked over to the man, he stepped forward slowly, blade resting in one hand.

"And is this all the Alliance has to show me? An ambush with uneven odds? Cowards strike like this, and you human. Your name."

"I am Commander John Shepard the commanding officer of the Lionheart Vanguard. I am going to strike a true blow to the Horde today. Ending your life will be a testament to the Alliance's power."

"And to their foolishness! You strike at a warrior that has never wanted war between our people! You will prove only that the Alliance knows no difference between friend and foe!"

Shepard took his blades from his hilt and yelled back in defiance.

"Let us see Gorehallow if your supposed skill is so great!"

Kathorg aimed his greatsword at the human and snarled.

"May the spirits be kind to you."

---

The warriors charged at one another, Kathorg swinging down with his greatsword. Shepard sidestepped the blow and kicked at the larger warrior's knee. Pushing him to the side, he then rotated blade over blade onto Kathorg's pauldrons. Sparks flying off in chaotic directions, Kathorg growled and rolled to the side, the reaching for his blade, ripping his blade from the dirt and spinning for Shepard. The human ducked under the blade and rolled forward himself, spinning his right blade in his palm and driving it backwards.

Thump.

Kathorg dropped to his knees and sputtered.

Shepard ripped the blade from the orc and walked slowly around him.

"You lost Gorehallow..."

Kathorg reached up and detatched his faceguard. The metal plate fell the the dirt, blood dripping to the dirt slowly. He shuddered and coughed.

"I did..."

Shepard got on one knee before Kathorg, looking him in the eyes. He watched the proud warrior carefully.

"That is it then."

Kathorg took a moment to reach for the pendant near his neck. Shepard rose a brow and swatted Kathorg's hand away from it, he ripped the golden chain from his neck. Kathorg snarled and looked up at Shepard.

"You have no honor?"

Shepard flipped the pendant open and saw the enchanted image of an orcish woman on it. Shepard looked to Kathorg.

"Your... Ex-wife I take it."

Kathorg growled, he spat more blood out. His men watched helplessly as well as Shepard spoke.

"Don't worry. We only came for you orc."

Shepard stood up straight and drew a sword with his right hand, turning away from Kathorg and letting the pendant dangle in front of the orc's face. Kathorg tried to straighten up as he looked into the pendant, watching Lirshar's image spin in circles. He calmly spoke.

"Finish it..."

Shepard breathed in deep as he span around and took Kathorg's head from its shoulders.

"Gladly..."

---

The Horde warriors were being chained up and left there, the Alliance began taking the caravan's carts into their possession, Shepard motioned to Kathorg's body.

"We are taking that as well."

One orc yelled out.

"Your without honor! Pity or love! You steal away his body after his defeat! You bastard!"

Shepard pointed at the orc as Ramirez and Mithas moved Kathorg's body and blade into a cart.

"Do you think I am stupid orc! As soon as we leave you will clammer to Shattrath and out of pity they will bring the warlord back in moments! My work undone! No, this will not happen. I will take the body as proof of his demise. He will be safe in a tomb under my city, far from the hands of those who would see him breath again."

The Horde warriors seemed shattered and broken, yelling insults and roaring in fury as the Alliance made off. They could do nothing but that, nothing but yell out in defiance.

Shepard rode on his horse at the front, he tosses the pendant to Ramirez.

"Make sure that makes it back to his family. My gift to them."

Ramirez sighed.

"Of course sir."

Mithas elbowed him from his horse.

"At least we're winning right?"