08-24-2012, 08:19 PM
For six days, the refugees of central Quel'thalas hid in a squalid old bunker, resting helplessly under the dim lighting of torches and surviving only by the miracle of a novice sorcerer's conjured food. The villagers were fortunate that they were warned of the Scourge's onslaught, and more fortunate that their shelter was unnoticed by the undead.
A week prior, a band of Farstriders lead by Porcia Agricola were sent to the villages of west-central Quel'thalas to protect and evacuate the common folk. They had less than a half-day to complete this task, and the villages they arrived to were more than half-emptied by elves fleeing north. The rangers found no better shelter than an antiquated bunker, once used as a Farstrider outpost and now dusty, cobwebbed, and abandoned. They made haste as they brought the villagers to safety, but could not gather more than thirty refugees before a warning horn was blown and fires were seen blazing from the south. With not a second to spare, the trap-door entrance was shut and covered by a thick layer of dirt and grass. Of the six rangers accompanying Porcia, only three returned to the shelter before it was too late.
The days spent below ground were quiet, with all moods dampened by the catastrophic circumstances. The villagers were overwhelmed with fear, and they grew lethargic in their uncomfortable shelter. On the third day, a few elves began contemplating what the undead monsters might be like. When the ranger-corporal Myrallion Sunchild began sharing a gruesome story about the Scourge, Porcia ordered him to stop, not wanting to exacerbate everyone's fears of the undead.
But it was Porcia and her rangers who worried the most, though Myrallion was quite the exception. Each day the restless young corporal insisted that the rangers should visit and scout the surface. It was not until the sixth day that Porcia consented to this idea, but she refused to send more than herself and Myrallion on the mission. Her band had already been halved, and she was afraid to leave the bunker undefended.
On the seventh morning, the two equipped themselves for their task. Porcia donned a tight suit of purple leather, gilded on the edges, with brown boots and gloves. She tied her long brown hair into a tail, and slung a quiver of twenty arrows behind her back. She held a longbow in one hand, and kept a single curved shortsword at her waist. Myrallion Sunchild wore a near-identical outfit that was green where Porcia's was purple. He left his short golden hair unkempt, and in his quiver he placed the band's remaining fourteen arrows. Both of the Farstriders were under-supplied, and likely to be outnumbered in any skirmish that might occur. Even the haughty Myrallion Sunchild hesitated before they ascended the bunker's crooked steps and pushed up against the trap door. As it opened, a bit of dirt fell on the two; they wiped the dust from their dimming blue eyes and scanned their surroundings.
The heartland of Quel'thalas was where Porcia had lived for all of her nearly one-hundred-and-fifty years, but today it was almost unrecognizable. Where she expected the light of morning, Porcia was greeted by a hazy gray sky that smelled of smoke and rot, and the breeze that swept the air felt cold and unpleasant. Bruised trees sulked, and the forest's vast stretches of defiled grass showed few signs of the wildlife.
The pair stood by the bunker's entrance for a few minutes, accepting the changes around them with much reluctance. The reliably brave Myrallion finally spoke, "We should get moving."
Porcia nodded in agreement. "Right. We can't draw attention to this location." The duo trekked northward through the woods until they found a road, now covered in potholes. They remained vigilant as they followed it east, but neither could find a single soul, living or not.
Porcia's ears perked as she heard a faint sound of footsteps coming from the opposite direction. She alerted her companion, and the rangers moved away from the road, taking cover in the density of the woods. They readied their bows, and some twenty seconds of waiting revealed the origins of the footsteps: a gang of four trolls, carrying spears and jogging quickly down the path. As soon as he faced their backs, the reliably brave Myrallion fired a swift succession of three arrows, the first two slaying one of the trolls and the third piercing the thigh of another. One of the survivors reacted by chucking a spear in the direction of the arrows, but all he pierced was a decaying tree. Porcia sighed, and unleashed a few arrows to clean up her corporal's mess. With all four lying dead, the rangers rushed to the corpses to retrieve their ammunition; all but two of the arrows' shafts had split.
"I could never reproach you for killing trolls," Porcia said to Myrallion, "but we didn't need to waste our arrows."
The younger ranger sneered. "Trolls don't live on this side of the forest. There's no shame in repelling invaders."
Porcia stepped slowly down the road, inspecting the trolls' tracks. "I don't think they meant to invade us... I think they were fleeing from something."
The air felt thicker and the sky grew duller as the Farstriders continued on their path. Once again they heard footsteps, but this time they seemed slower, heavier, and closer. Porcia and Myrallion hastily climbed two neighboring trees and scanned the horizon. They ascertained that the noise was coming from the north and east, and in the same direction the treetops were shaking. The footsteps became louder, and a low, guttural moan was heard.
The rangers did their best to remain undetected, but just after the rumble of the heavy steps was felt, something smacked the trees they hid in. Porcia and Myrallion were flung to the ground in opposite directions, and at that moment, the footsteps halted. Porcia pushed herself up and saw the beast from its backside. It was at least ten feet tall, she guessed, and nearly as wide. The beast, with three arms that carried massive cleavers, was colored by pale blotches of pink and white.
In awe of the monster, Porcia hesitated to pick up her bow from the ground. When she did, she heard the beast roar crudely, and it charged forward. She could hear a cleaver impale the ground with a booming thud, and immediately afterwards she heard a loud shriek. Porcia began to fire at the beast furiously, and each shot pierced its patchy skin. The monster wailed in pain, but the arrows did little to stop it. Porcia sprinted away, easily outrunning the colossal fiend. She turned around and halted her movement to fire another shot, but when she reached for her quiver, she felt not a single arrow. The beast began to catch up with its prey, and Porcia studied its front side - its head was twisted and gruesome, its arms were wrapped in loose chains, and from its belly bulged a purple mess of rotten organs.
The creature surged forward with two axes raised above its head. Porcia was almost frozen in place by her fear, but she managed to unsheathe her curved sword and ready herself for its charge. At the instant that it swung down its oversized cleavers, Porcia held up her blade with two hands and leaped at the beast. She tore a huge gash in its putrid intestines, and the beast bellowed with agony. Immediately, it lost its balance and fell down, flat on its face. The lone Farstrider fell with it, and was sandwiched between the ground and the monster's organs. The weight of the creature had hurt, but inside its belly, Porcia could move a little. She wiggled her hands until one found her sword, and then she forced the blade up with all of her strength. The abominable construct rolled a little on its side, but by the time Porcia carved her way through its back, it laid still, slain, and lifeless.
The beast's thick lavender slime now covered the ranger from head to toe. She removed all of her armor, stripping down to a thin pair of trousers and a sleeveless shirt. Her first thought was to find a stream to bathe her head in, but she considered the possibility of the water being tainted. Porcia then thought to return to the safety of the bunker. She picked up her sheathe and sword, and she scraped off some of the slime before sheathing the blade and tying it to her waist. The ranger faced west and began her retreat, but at that moment she heard the faint sound of footsteps once again.
She stood in place and faced the northeast. The steps became louder, and as they did Porcia discerned that they belonged to a very large group of people or things. She could hear heavier footsteps, moving with a militant rhythm, and lighter footsteps that walked with a much less deliberate pace. The ranger turned around, as if to resume her retreat, but curiosity had captured her better judgment. Porcia began walking toward the noise, and when the volume of the footsteps became constant, she climbed a tree.
The nimble elf hopped between the highest branches at a slow and cautious pace. After leaping four times, Porcia found no more trees to her east - instead, she saw a wide gap in the forest that continued endlessly in two directions. With much horror, she surveyed the source of the footsteps: a ghastly mass of undead. Many looked like hunched, half-skinned corpses, and others were ugly blobs of flesh and bone that resembled nothing Porcia had seen before. Among them were marching skeletons, some wearing armor and a few riding the corpses of horses. The ranger knew that they meant to sack Silvermoon, yet the scattered lot of some few hundred monsters was bound for the south.
Porcia continued to gaze at the wicked masses, still horrified by the sight and hardly believing it to be real. She at last decided it was time to return to the bunker, knowing that she had only bad news to share. Porcia carefully descended the tree's trunk and began to trek to the south and west. This time, she walked with one hand at the hilt of her blade.
A week prior, a band of Farstriders lead by Porcia Agricola were sent to the villages of west-central Quel'thalas to protect and evacuate the common folk. They had less than a half-day to complete this task, and the villages they arrived to were more than half-emptied by elves fleeing north. The rangers found no better shelter than an antiquated bunker, once used as a Farstrider outpost and now dusty, cobwebbed, and abandoned. They made haste as they brought the villagers to safety, but could not gather more than thirty refugees before a warning horn was blown and fires were seen blazing from the south. With not a second to spare, the trap-door entrance was shut and covered by a thick layer of dirt and grass. Of the six rangers accompanying Porcia, only three returned to the shelter before it was too late.
The days spent below ground were quiet, with all moods dampened by the catastrophic circumstances. The villagers were overwhelmed with fear, and they grew lethargic in their uncomfortable shelter. On the third day, a few elves began contemplating what the undead monsters might be like. When the ranger-corporal Myrallion Sunchild began sharing a gruesome story about the Scourge, Porcia ordered him to stop, not wanting to exacerbate everyone's fears of the undead.
But it was Porcia and her rangers who worried the most, though Myrallion was quite the exception. Each day the restless young corporal insisted that the rangers should visit and scout the surface. It was not until the sixth day that Porcia consented to this idea, but she refused to send more than herself and Myrallion on the mission. Her band had already been halved, and she was afraid to leave the bunker undefended.
On the seventh morning, the two equipped themselves for their task. Porcia donned a tight suit of purple leather, gilded on the edges, with brown boots and gloves. She tied her long brown hair into a tail, and slung a quiver of twenty arrows behind her back. She held a longbow in one hand, and kept a single curved shortsword at her waist. Myrallion Sunchild wore a near-identical outfit that was green where Porcia's was purple. He left his short golden hair unkempt, and in his quiver he placed the band's remaining fourteen arrows. Both of the Farstriders were under-supplied, and likely to be outnumbered in any skirmish that might occur. Even the haughty Myrallion Sunchild hesitated before they ascended the bunker's crooked steps and pushed up against the trap door. As it opened, a bit of dirt fell on the two; they wiped the dust from their dimming blue eyes and scanned their surroundings.
The heartland of Quel'thalas was where Porcia had lived for all of her nearly one-hundred-and-fifty years, but today it was almost unrecognizable. Where she expected the light of morning, Porcia was greeted by a hazy gray sky that smelled of smoke and rot, and the breeze that swept the air felt cold and unpleasant. Bruised trees sulked, and the forest's vast stretches of defiled grass showed few signs of the wildlife.
The pair stood by the bunker's entrance for a few minutes, accepting the changes around them with much reluctance. The reliably brave Myrallion finally spoke, "We should get moving."
Porcia nodded in agreement. "Right. We can't draw attention to this location." The duo trekked northward through the woods until they found a road, now covered in potholes. They remained vigilant as they followed it east, but neither could find a single soul, living or not.
Porcia's ears perked as she heard a faint sound of footsteps coming from the opposite direction. She alerted her companion, and the rangers moved away from the road, taking cover in the density of the woods. They readied their bows, and some twenty seconds of waiting revealed the origins of the footsteps: a gang of four trolls, carrying spears and jogging quickly down the path. As soon as he faced their backs, the reliably brave Myrallion fired a swift succession of three arrows, the first two slaying one of the trolls and the third piercing the thigh of another. One of the survivors reacted by chucking a spear in the direction of the arrows, but all he pierced was a decaying tree. Porcia sighed, and unleashed a few arrows to clean up her corporal's mess. With all four lying dead, the rangers rushed to the corpses to retrieve their ammunition; all but two of the arrows' shafts had split.
"I could never reproach you for killing trolls," Porcia said to Myrallion, "but we didn't need to waste our arrows."
The younger ranger sneered. "Trolls don't live on this side of the forest. There's no shame in repelling invaders."
Porcia stepped slowly down the road, inspecting the trolls' tracks. "I don't think they meant to invade us... I think they were fleeing from something."
The air felt thicker and the sky grew duller as the Farstriders continued on their path. Once again they heard footsteps, but this time they seemed slower, heavier, and closer. Porcia and Myrallion hastily climbed two neighboring trees and scanned the horizon. They ascertained that the noise was coming from the north and east, and in the same direction the treetops were shaking. The footsteps became louder, and a low, guttural moan was heard.
The rangers did their best to remain undetected, but just after the rumble of the heavy steps was felt, something smacked the trees they hid in. Porcia and Myrallion were flung to the ground in opposite directions, and at that moment, the footsteps halted. Porcia pushed herself up and saw the beast from its backside. It was at least ten feet tall, she guessed, and nearly as wide. The beast, with three arms that carried massive cleavers, was colored by pale blotches of pink and white.
In awe of the monster, Porcia hesitated to pick up her bow from the ground. When she did, she heard the beast roar crudely, and it charged forward. She could hear a cleaver impale the ground with a booming thud, and immediately afterwards she heard a loud shriek. Porcia began to fire at the beast furiously, and each shot pierced its patchy skin. The monster wailed in pain, but the arrows did little to stop it. Porcia sprinted away, easily outrunning the colossal fiend. She turned around and halted her movement to fire another shot, but when she reached for her quiver, she felt not a single arrow. The beast began to catch up with its prey, and Porcia studied its front side - its head was twisted and gruesome, its arms were wrapped in loose chains, and from its belly bulged a purple mess of rotten organs.
The creature surged forward with two axes raised above its head. Porcia was almost frozen in place by her fear, but she managed to unsheathe her curved sword and ready herself for its charge. At the instant that it swung down its oversized cleavers, Porcia held up her blade with two hands and leaped at the beast. She tore a huge gash in its putrid intestines, and the beast bellowed with agony. Immediately, it lost its balance and fell down, flat on its face. The lone Farstrider fell with it, and was sandwiched between the ground and the monster's organs. The weight of the creature had hurt, but inside its belly, Porcia could move a little. She wiggled her hands until one found her sword, and then she forced the blade up with all of her strength. The abominable construct rolled a little on its side, but by the time Porcia carved her way through its back, it laid still, slain, and lifeless.
The beast's thick lavender slime now covered the ranger from head to toe. She removed all of her armor, stripping down to a thin pair of trousers and a sleeveless shirt. Her first thought was to find a stream to bathe her head in, but she considered the possibility of the water being tainted. Porcia then thought to return to the safety of the bunker. She picked up her sheathe and sword, and she scraped off some of the slime before sheathing the blade and tying it to her waist. The ranger faced west and began her retreat, but at that moment she heard the faint sound of footsteps once again.
She stood in place and faced the northeast. The steps became louder, and as they did Porcia discerned that they belonged to a very large group of people or things. She could hear heavier footsteps, moving with a militant rhythm, and lighter footsteps that walked with a much less deliberate pace. The ranger turned around, as if to resume her retreat, but curiosity had captured her better judgment. Porcia began walking toward the noise, and when the volume of the footsteps became constant, she climbed a tree.
The nimble elf hopped between the highest branches at a slow and cautious pace. After leaping four times, Porcia found no more trees to her east - instead, she saw a wide gap in the forest that continued endlessly in two directions. With much horror, she surveyed the source of the footsteps: a ghastly mass of undead. Many looked like hunched, half-skinned corpses, and others were ugly blobs of flesh and bone that resembled nothing Porcia had seen before. Among them were marching skeletons, some wearing armor and a few riding the corpses of horses. The ranger knew that they meant to sack Silvermoon, yet the scattered lot of some few hundred monsters was bound for the south.
Porcia continued to gaze at the wicked masses, still horrified by the sight and hardly believing it to be real. She at last decided it was time to return to the bunker, knowing that she had only bad news to share. Porcia carefully descended the tree's trunk and began to trek to the south and west. This time, she walked with one hand at the hilt of her blade.
![[Image: hFcyz.jpg]](http://i.imgur.com/hFcyz.jpg)