The Black Sphynx
Joined: Mar 01 2003
Location: Westside of Dawn
Ok, I haven't gone through and edited it like I had planned yet, but I do want to re-post it in order to give our newer members a chance to read it. This was written a while ago, and my writing ability has increased dramatically since then, and hopefully I'll edit it and post it again in my current glory.
'Till then, deal with this.
Some of it is narrated funny; I was trying a new style at the time. I switch to a nice third-person someway through the story. This odd and retarded narration is one of the problems I intend to edit out.
Part One: The Awakening
It had returned to me.
Deep within the darkness of the Twisting Nether, the malevolent force known as the Gorefiend was tortured by demons with the rest of his Warlock kindred. But unlike them, he was not cast back to Azeroth as a Lich; no…the Demons could not have that. His power was too great, his potential too unlimited…they had to keep him imprisoned…
Unfortunately for them, Teron had his own agenda…
They placed his spirit in the care of the Doom Guard Arloginoth on what was left of his shattered homeland, Outland. There he waited until the Lord of Outland, in a battle against Illidan Stormrage, called Arloginoth into battle. This was a battle he could not and would not survive. As the breath of life left Arloginoth, Teron felt it enter him…but he had no body. For weeks he searched the plains of Outland for a suitable host, one in which he could enter and overwhelm the will of his victim to take the body as his own.
One day his astral form was drifting over a group of Draeni fighting a party of Orcs. He saw within the Orcs a sorcerer of power nigh equal to his own, and physical strength nearing that of the legendary Blackhand himself, this was his new puppet. For three long weeks the Orc known as Ghar fought a fever, a fever which brought nightmares. In order to overwhelm Ghar, Gorefiend played in his mind repeatedly the torture Gorefiend had been through…and allowed him to feel the pain as well. At the end of the fourth day, Ghar died, leaving an empty husk…a husk, which was soon filled by Teron Gorefiend…
As I opened my eyes, I saw the world through the sight of a mortal once again. The guard outside the tent heard my movements and came in to check, seeing an Orc whom he thought was Ghar once again walking after being pronounced dead but an hour ago…he was understandably scared.
“My dear Orc,” I cackled, “You have no idea what now lives...”
With that I began to laugh deeply…oh it felt good to see fear again... and I set the poor fool aflame before he could so much as take in the sight of me. Of course the cries he shrieked in his death throes called the others to the tent, as they entered they saw me… and I saw them.
“You have two choices, snotlings. Follow me back to the land of green earth and pink flesh... or face the same fate as this poor Grunt.” With that I motioned towards the twitching form of my first kill... all of the Orcs in the room knelt down and placed their hand over their heart. Here was when I noticed the mark on their shoulder, a skull with a bone clenched in its teeth. The Bonechewer Clan was once a mighty clan, feared for their prowess in battle, their Necrolytes, and their cannibals... and now they were mine.
Shortly after gaining control of the Bonechewer clan, Teron Gorefiend went about finding a way into Azeroth; he found the portal to Dalaran some two years after his resurrection…two years spent in conflict with the new Lord of Outland, Illidan Stormrage. Illidan felt that the Orcs should not have a leader, because they were his and his alone, so he instead decided to slay them all.
Once in Azeroth, Gorefiend fled to the forgotten realm of Alterac; there he encountered the Laughing Skull Clan who eagerly joined him in his quest for the Horde. For that is what his goal became, to find the Horde and take control of it as he should have ages ago… and with it march to the fortress of ice and death and destroy Ner’Zhul… a feat he had long been dreaming of…
It was because of the fool Ner’Zhul that I was tortured, he and his reckless opening of portals angered the Demons…who chose me to torture the most because they feared me. Rightly so, for there will come a day when every Demon in the Nether… from Kil’Jaeden to Illidan Stormrage will bow to me…
Through countless leads and astral projections Gorefiend at last found the presence he had been searching for, the idealistic WarChief Thrall. Within weeks his army swarmed the undefended nation of Kul Trias and commandeered a fleet with which they fled across the sea to Durotar and Orgrimmar therein. His fleet landed some two months later and at once he went to Orgrimmar, he requested a parlay with Thrall and entered Orgrimmar as a friend… but due to the ill words of Thrall left as an enemy…
I has always thought I would never meet a greater fool than Ner’Zhul…but in this pup who turn to the Druids and Shamans of the world as opposed to the Necrolytes and Warlocks of old…he chastised me for my beliefs and cast me from his chamber. Now I have found a new goal in life. It was not to control the Horde, now it was to destroy it. Fortunately for me my view on the world is shared by another…one who is even at this time is calling forth to him Orcs of similar mind, a new Horde is being born.
Teron Gorefiend sought out the enigmatic WarChief known as Grom Hellscream. Teron wondered as he searched if he was about to meet another Risen One… another Orc of Old…regardless of this WarChief or his past, Teron would pledge his loyalty and the loyalty of the newly re-forged Bonechewer clan to Grom Hellscream and his Horde.
I will go to the WarChief and I will give him my loyalty, and I will by my honor and death uphold it. My time of betrayal had drawn to a close…I led a lifetime of it and all it got me was death, torture, and pain…I will now take a new path of servitude. I have no problems being a footnote in history to the great WarChief Grom…
Teron did find and pledge his loyalty to Grom…though his history was yet a mystery to him. After much time and talks, Grom came to him with a proposal to be a Chieftain of the Horde…how could Teron refuse? He was once again placed at the head of the Bonechewer Clan and given hid own banner…now there was but one task left to him…he had long awaited his chance and now he was to take it…
I had long contemplated bringing about a second Shadow Council. I had hoped that Thrall would share my idea and help me make it a reality, but after that fool cast me out I had all but given up hope. Now though, I have a position of power, now I have a chance to do what Gul’Dan never had the bones to do, faithfully serve a power other than my own, with the fire and shadow that only the Initiate of the 1st Circle of the Shadow Council can. Should Hellscream give me this chance I will bring together the greatest Majik wielders in the entire world. Shaman and Warlock alike will march under the banner of Hellscream and the New Horde. Spies, assassins, sorcerers, advisors…whatever The WarChief needs from my ranks, it shall be his.
Part Two: The Hunt
Blood is in the air…
It has been three days sense the hunting party left to capture a Kodo for my research…they are taking too long…
Two seasons after his joining of the Warlock-Horde, Teron Gorefiend had begun insidious experiments on Kodo beasts, tuning them violent and blood-crazed. Unfortunately, they died far too quickly for his needs the longest lasting a moon or so. WarChief Hellscream ordered the experiments to stop until the Kodo population could be replenished, so a group of the finest Iron Claw Raiders went to a near by Shaman-Horde outpost to ‘restock’, but that was nearly three days past. Teron was growing impatient.
I am quite pleased with the way the new Temple of the Damned has come along. I have several hundred Undead Orcs tending to my every need over a twenty-acre fortress. Aside from the Kodos, I had made several other experiments, all of which had been successful. I had managed to once again raise the Orcish Death Knights of old, and now I prepare to lead them to this outpost.
Teron Gorefiend and his Dark Horsemen thundered across the plains for a day and a half, never ceasing.
The Raised Steeds of the Riders and myself never tire, and they need neither food nor water. They are the perfect mode of transportation anywhere.
They reached the outskirts of the camp a few hours before sundown, but decided to wait out the day in a cave, Gorefiend insisting that night was the best time to strike.
As the sun set, a low howl came shuddering up from the camp, reaching the cave in which the Riders where waiting…
As the light of the Sun waned, the Riders and I heard the sounds of a Shaman-Horde patrol. The wolf mounts of the scouts had picked up the scent of death and decay, and were now directing the scouts to the very cave we were in.
I ordered the Riders to prepare for attack, and spread them out on the outside of the cave, positioning them behind rock and on cliff walls, with myself staying in the cave.
As the scouts approached, the first of the four Riders slowed them with his Majik, and then the second raised the rocks around them, forming a cage. The third made the very earth beneath them quicksand and the fourth Rider lowered the rocks and solidified the ground, trapping the scouts waist-deep in the earth.
“Hmm, it seems that you have become trapped in the very earth you strive to protect…” I mused as I stepped forth from the shadows.
The Orcs’ eyes flew wide as they stared at a type of Orc they thought long-gone from the world. I took note of their expressions and for the first time sense the possession, I truly looked at myself through a reflection in the captive's armor. Red-skinned with black eyes, sharp pointed teeth, and a black tongue. I laughed deeply at their fear as I kneeled down to look them in the eyes.
“Fool, where are the Fel Orcs that were sent here three days past?” One of the captives looked me square in the eyes, without fear and said, “We slew them in their sleep. A force of five against a whole army, they barely scratched us.”
My eyes narrowed as I neared closer the fearless one. “And what of their corpses?”
He smiled into my scowl, and chuckled “We chopped then burned them, and scattered the ashes into the four winds. They will never serve you again, Fel One.”
I closed my eyes, thinking on the situation. After some person deliberation I re-opened my eyes and said to him, “No, but you and your scouts will.”
With that the clam bravado of the captive was gone, replaced by one of fear and outrage. “You would deny us a Warrior’s Death?”
“Of course not, you will receive your Death and another, and another, and many more until I find your spirit tiresome.”
With that I stood and drew a black-bladed scimitar with a diamond-etched blade. Silver demonic runes ran down the blade, producing an eerie glow that lit the darkened crucible.
As I raised the blade above my head, the captive began muttering a shamnistic prayer, calling upon whatever pathetic gods they had. My stroke reached its zenith and then plunged down, burring itself in the skull of the brave captive. At the same moment, four similar blades plunged into four similar heads, slaying all of the captives.
Their eyes rolled back into their heads, revealing the whites. The whites then darkened to black, and their bodies flailed around, then became slack. The bodies collapsed on the dirt with a wet thud.
“Release them,” I growled to the Rider next to me.
He waved his hand and the sand around the bodies loosened. Then with a raising gesture he brought the bodies out and laid them upon the ground at my feet. They then struggled to their feet, finding their footing. The black, emotionless eyes of the brave captive locked into mine.
“I…am yours…master,” he struggled, finding submission in death as difficult to submission in life.
I smiled into the lifeless face in front of me.
“What is your name, brave one?”
“I am called Throm Darkaxe,” he answered, brandishing the axe for which he received his name. Black it was, black as night. The blade was curved from the top third of the axe, up to another two or so inches above the handle. The handle too, was made of black wood. A type of wood I hadn’t seen in many a season.
“Where did you get this axe?” I asked.
I could see by the expression on his face that were it not for my relentless control of him he would not have answered. “It is an heirloom, from my family's days on Dreanor.”
I smiled to myself as I raised the mounts of the scouts. “Mount up; we have a long ride ahead of us.”
“But sir, what of the Kodos?” one of the Riders asked me.
“They are unnecessary for now, my experiments on them are complete…they will re-populate on their own.”
With that I mounted upon my steed and spurred towards the Temple of the Damned, still some two days ride away…
With that one ‘failed’ raid, Teron Gorefiend recruited a new champion for the Horde. The mighty Throm Darkaxe would come to prove himself time and time again, as personal guard to the Initiate of the First Circle of the Second Shadow Council, Teron Gorefiend...
Part Three: The Dark Ones
Teron was brooding deep within the temple when a shock came through his body.
His arms flew around and he tried to stand, but fell. His eyes began to dart back and forth fearfully as his mouth foamed and nose bled. He began to have spasms, flailing about and knocking over his many ceremonial candles.
Then, just as soon as it had come, it ended.
Teron stood and straightened up, checking his robes to see if he tore them in any place.
He found that he had burns and scratches from his candles and tools, but none too serious. His spasm was caused by a vision he had while meditating.
I saw a dark form, it seemed Orcish, but with cold blue eyes. It beckoned to me, gesturing southward towards the Barrens. I met with Grom about this vision and he instructed me to question the rest of the Council.
I gathered them all in my meeting hall, all five circles. The Initiate of the Third Circle, a Troll by the name of Jez’Tar was first to speak.
“Why ‘ave you called us ‘ere mon? I was deep in me meditation,” The Witch Doctor’s eyes were glowing a deep blue that reminded me of the dream.
“That is the reason, actually. During your mediations did any of you have a vision involving a strange black Orcish figure?”
The other members of the council looked around questioningly. It was a member of the Fourth Circle, an Orc named Tarlock who spoke next, “I have, he made motions as if to say ‘go south’” He looked around the circle and five more members nodded their heads, Jez’Tar among them. But all were not comprehending, an old Orc named Ghar’Nock looked right into my eyes and said to me, “You sound eerily familiar, Gorefiend. I remember another Warlock, one named Gul’Dan who once come to the Council with a strange vision. He too was respected and powerful once, but betrayed us in the end. Be careful were this vision leads you, Warlock.” With that he stood and left the room, Throm made a motion to follow him and bring him back, but I waved my hand for him to sit.
“Well then, the five of you may stay, and the rest leave,” I said with unwavering tones, and then I added "Now."
The council rose to their feet and bowed reverently to me, then left the room with their cloaks whipping around them. “It seems that we all have shared a vision, a vision of somewhat ominous portent. Let us discuss this, for we need to decide a course of action.”
After this entry, Gorefiend makes no more regarding the meeting. Paranoid as he was, he didn’t want the more private discussions of action to fall into the wrong hands. What we do know is that shortly thereafter Throm was sent to Grom with a message, in half an hour he returned with a grim look on his face. The next entry in Teron’s Journal gives us some insight into what happened after the message relay.
It seems that Grom too shares the fears of the Council and would like us to investigate further. I once again called a meeting of the five who shared my vision, a group I jokingly referred to as the ‘Farseers’ in a mockery of the Shamantic WarChief’s advisors.
“Hellscream has asked us to investigate this matter, for it too troubles him deeply. It seems he too had a vision, though not as clear as ours. What do you propose?”
Jez’Tar stood and was recognized, “I can ‘ave me ‘ead’unters out to tha Barrens in less than two days, ridin' bats dey be dere in one, maybe less.”
Nishta’r, a Tauren Shadow Walker stood and said “If this is indeed a threat, a group of Headhunters will be an easy target, and we will have no information. I propose we send a Tauren escort with the Headhunters, no more than one for every two Headhunters.”
I considered this for a minuet or so, and said, “Any objections or contrasting ideas?” I was answered with reverent silence. “No? Well then we have a plan, twenty Headhunters, on foot, escorted by ten Taurens. Prepare your men, they move out on the dawn.”
With that the Council bowed to one another and walked from the room, Jez’Tar and Nishta’r walked the Barracks to prepare the scouting group…
Three days later, a red sun rose. The next day a Tauren stomped into the main fortress of the Horde, clutching wounds. He walked into the hall where Grom and Teron were meeting to discuss matters of the Shamantic Horde’s recent raids. The Tauren barely managed a bow before he collapsed. Grom and Teron ran to him, pulling him upright. He muttered incoherently about Black Orcs and the Dead, and then died. His clenched fist fell open and he dropped a flag, a standard from Grom and Teron’s nightmares of former lives…
…A flag that bore the mark of a crescent moon slashed with lightning, hovering over a tidal wave…
…The flag of the Stormreaver clan…
Part Four: Ashes to Ashes
Teron strained as once again he poured all his power into raising the fallen Tauren.
After Grom and I had stared at the flag for moments stretching beyond time, he turned to me and said "Raise him. Now".
I tried several times unsuccessfully, but I would not be deterred, this warrior had answers for us, and I knew we needed to unlock them.
Suddenly, the Tauren sat bolt upright from the ground, the horns of his bull-like head barely missing my chin. He stared directly into the eyes of Grom, and then turned slowly toward me. He opened his mouth, and in a voice neither wholly living nor dead it said, "Foolish Warlock, you no naught of what you face. We will not have this warrior serve you again, but we will instead deliver the message he intended. You have fourteen suns to leave this land before we come across you like a plague, none of you will survive." With that the body crumpled into dust, much to the shock of Teron, Grom, and the other ranking officials that were in the room.
Grom's frame shuddered in what at first appeared to be fear, but it quickly turned to rage. "They dare defy my rule of this land?" He raged. "Let them come, let them all come! Whoever they think they are, my armies will crush them!" With that Grom turned to the other Chieftain in the room, Kilrogg Deadeye of the Bleeding Hollow Clan. "Kilrogg, sound the muster. I want your swiftest scouts and messengers to range far afield. Bring back any scouts, raiders, and war parties we have out." Then Grom's gaze swung to me and he said in a low, almost rumbling tone, "Your Warlocks and Sorcerers, they too must be reached from their towers and caves. From wherever they are, all members of the True Horde must come to this very fortress in twelve days."
"But WarChief, the spirit gave fourteen! Surely by that time we ca-"
"No," Grom cut me off, "Twelve days. No more."
With that the WarChief of the True Horde stalked out to the arena to train. Many of the Gnoll and Satyr captives would die this day…
Here we must interrupt to explain "the arena." It is mentioned in few other places in the texts of the "True Horde." What it basically is is a gigantic gladiatorial arena where warriors of the Horde come to train against foes captured in raids. The majority of the captives were Gnolls, Satyrs, and Kobolds, but the arena also housed Night Elves, Humans, Naga, and a few Green Orcs. We are told from this text and many others that Grom Hellscream would often go to this arena with the sole intent of 'working out his anger'.
Deep within the Temple of the Damned I summoned every member of the Shadow Council, no matter how low, to my Citadel. "Brothers we stand at the brink of a dark tide, and we must brace ourselves for it. All are needed.
Over the next few days, war parties, scouts and armies from far corners of the territory flooded into the fortress. On the tenth day, great dark forms filled the sky with oddly mammalian shrieks as both Wyvern and Bat riders came in from their posts in the Stonetalon Mountains. Then on the eleventh, massive bursts of light came from the main courtyard of the Temple of the Damned, signaling the arrival of the Shadow Council in all its dark glory. On the twelfth day, Grom summoned his war council.
I looked around this room, carved from the side of a mountain from the sheer strength of the Horde. Gathered around the table were myself, Grom Hellscream, Kilrogg Deadeye, Kagar Bladefist, and many others whom I could not name. It seemed every race of the Horde was represented, Fel Orc, Jungle Troll, Satyr, Forsaken, Tauren, and Ogre.
Here and interesting entry was made. It states that Satyrs were members of the "True Horde," a most interesting fact because they share no ties to the Orcs, other than Demon Worship.
The meeting went as all normal War Councils would, we discussed plans, made arrangements, and every once in a while a general would yell a curse to the sky. This went on for roughly three hours until a deep pulse resounded through the halls.
Grom rose, and said to the gathered, "I know a war drum when I hear it. I knew the bastards wouldn't give us fourteen days." With that he strode from the hall, with the rest of us following quickly. He strode up onto the parapets of the fortress and looked out over his host. The Horde numbered in the thousands…the enemy numbered in the tens of thousands. The entire Horde seemed frozen in place as the drum pealed out notes of the oncoming massacre.
The enemy army neared us, and now I could make them out clearly, they were Orcs. Black Orcs. They bore the banner of the Stormreaver clan and seemed to be concentrated around a massive tent being carried by eight black Kodo Beasts. Spread throughout the army was one hundred more Black Kodos, each carried a drummer, and all of them seemed to be pounding their drums in unison.
"What’s in that tent?" Throm mused from beside me.
"Well, I assume we'll find out soon enough, but I'd guess their leader." I said.
"The first thing I intend to do is cut my way into that mass, head for the drummers and feed them their instruments." I turned to see where the voice came from. It was Grom, standing just behind me with a dark look on his face. "It seems there's a new Horde come to call…"
The last note was sounded loudly and echoed against the cliffs of the fortress. The echo drew my attention to the cliffs, which encased the fortress completely. We were trapped.
Without warning the lines of the enemy's army broke and poured over the plains in eerie lockstep. With a wordless cry, the True Horde also broke and charged forward, screaming in rage.
"Time to go," Grom said simply. He turned on his heel and jumped down into the central courtyard of the fortress, and he was soon joined by the rest of us. We charged through the gates, and into our destiny.
From my position I could see blasts of darkness. Not black blasts, but explosions that seemed to eat the light were they struck. I could also see the Orcs clearly, each was armored in bone armor, and carrying weapons made of sharpened bones.
Grom looked at the same battle I was, yet he saw it differently. "Teron," he yelled as he drew his axes, "I don't care how you do it, but get your Council out here!"
I stopped in my tracks as Grom and the others charged forth, weapons ready. Throm stood by my side with his ebon two-handed axe un-slung from his shoulder, ready to slay any that came close enough.
I then reached out to the minds of the Shadow Council, deep with my temple, and called out to them that the battle had begun. Before I even re-opened my eyes I felt them all around me. "Tear into them," I said bluntly.
All of the Council began chanting various spells of destruction, and all of a sudden Black Orcs fell to the ground screaming in agony as their flash boiled, some ran from the field, seeing monsters made from their darkest fears, and some simply burst into flames. Myself and twenty others began to chant in unison the same spell, bringing the most powerful tool a Warlock had to offer, The Flamewind. Calling together the powers of Whirlwind and Fireblast, the Warlocks conjured up a huge funnel that came down from the sky, and upon touching the ground it burst into flames. Seeing this, the Black Orcs nearly faltered, but within moments they recovered and fought on. I directed the Flamewind into the mass of enemies around the ominous tent; it sent the Kodos and guards flying and burning, becoming dust before they hit the ground. But just as the spell was about the tear the tent apart, it turned. It came back towards the Council. A dark figure emerged from the tent, chanting as he went. He stood upright, robed in dark purple and carrying a staff marked at the top by a crescent moon. Suddenly my mind was filled with words not my own. The same voice that came from the dead Tauren now spoke to me in my own mind.
"Gorefiend the betrayer, I am Lok'Dan, son of Gul'Dan and I have come from your head, and the head of Hellscream, and nothing will stop me from achieving my goal."
The Flamewind slowly made its way up the hill, Fel Orcs fleeing in its path. Grom turned his head from the slaughter only long enough to say, "Stop that thing, or it's your head!" With that he turned once again to the fray. His axes began to glow a deep, pulsing red, his red eyes rolled back into his head and foam flew from his mouth. The bloodlust had set in.
Grom's mighty axes hewed down Black Orcs in a single swipe, never pausing as they flew through bone, skin, and muscle alike, with a roar, Grom spun on his heel severing the head of his opponent with one axe, and then brought the other around to smack the head with it's blunt end. The head flew many yards to impale an enemy drummer with its spiked helm.
Turning my gaze from this ghastly sight I began muttering a counter spell while walking slowly towards Lok'Dan, holding my own staff high. Jez’Tar and Nishta’r took command of the Council and directed them to resume the bloodspells. Lok'Dan swung his staff into friend and foe alike, cutting a path to me. I ended the chant and the Flamewind burst apart into harmless sparks.
Lok'Dan and I stood two feet from each other, looking into each other's eyes. Mine a flame red of anger; his were a cold blue of amusement. "You really think you can win, don't you?" he almost laughed as he said it.
"Yes, I fully intend to make sure you don't leave this field alive." I responded coldly, stepping into a fighting stance.
Lok'Dan stepped into a like stance and replied, "Well then, good luck to you."
With that he charged, swinging his staff in a wide arc towards my head, I deflected it with and spin and I made a hard thrust towards his diaphragm. The blow connected, Lok'Dan backpedaled, and steadied.
"Well, perhaps you do have some measure of talent," Lok'Dan said with a defiant smile. But behind that smile lurked an expression of surprise, and the scarce beginnings of fear.
With a slight grunt he lunged forward and brought is staff whistling down in an arc towards my head. I held my staff in a defensive stance with all my strength, as the blow connected I felt the tension between my hands lessen and with a sharp *crack* my staff snapped in half.
Lok'Dan chuckled deeply as I examined my broken staff. I stared blankly at it for a moment as he laughed at my misfortune. Then, griping the longest, sharpest shard in my right hand, I moved forward as if to stab him, he deftly deflected the blow, but failed to see my left hand.
"Gaah!" Blood began to pour out of Lok'Dan, strange yellow blood that burned my hands and scared the earth beneath him. He stepped backwards a few steps, then collapsed. As I approached to make certain he was dead, he sat bolt upright and stared into my eyes with lifeless orbs that once held fire, "I shall return, my business here is not yet done…" then his body ceased to exist. There was no flame, no flash, no sound, nothing at all. One second the body was there, the next, it wasn't. I stared at the ground for a few moments trying to piece together what I had just seen. I could've stared there for hours, but a clamor from behind me roused me from my contemplations.
"The battle!" I yelled, and turned to see that despite the fact Lok'Dan was gone, the Black Horde fought on as vicious as ever. The True Horde was outnumbered at least two to one and we were falling fast. Grom, Kilrogg, and Throm were in a tight circle slaying any that got caught in their path, they literally had to step over piles of the enemy to get to the next foe. I felt my eyes roll back into my skull as I began to chant a powerful spell. My blind, all-seeing eyes sought a target, a strong and fit enemy. I saw him, charging Grom, two-handed mace held high…and in a flash of red light he froze in his tracks. The spell had been completed.
His head elongated and split down the middle, becoming a large fanged muzzle. Horns flared from the top of his skull as large, purple bat wings exploded from his back. His legs reversed and grew, as did his whole body. It continued to grow until he stood just over twenty feet tall, where an enemy Black Orc once stood, a Doom Guard fully under my control not towered. He casually tossed the mace aside and produced a sword from his own flaming flesh. Every warrior on the field froze and stared in awe at the demon that had suddenly burst among them. More than awe though, was fear. No one knew who had summoned it, and therefore no one knew its allegiance. With a mighty rumble, it roared at the mass of fighters, "For the Bonechewers, for the Horde!" With that the True Horde let out a cheer and the fighting began anew, with the True Horde taking down three of the foe for very one that was felled. The mighty Doom Guard waded into the melee with his sword swinging in a wide arc, hewing down the enemy ten at a time. Within minuets of the Guard being summoned, the Black Horde broke ranks and fled, with the True Horde whistling for their wolves to follow after. Grom mounted his wolf and joined the chase, they never intended to catch the fleeing enemy, merely to make sure they were driven from the land.
I turned my eyes from the victorious chase of the enemy to see the battlefield before me. All around me were the broken bodies of the fallen, both Red and Black. Trolls, Tauren, Satyr, Kodo, Wolf, and Ogres all scattered among the dead. Throm walked slowly over to where I stood and asked "Do you intend to raise any of them, master?" Looking down at the ground I noticed the body of Jez'Tar, the Troll still clutching his staff with what looked like shreds of black flesh in his tusks.
"No, not today. I shall wait for Grom to return, he'll want to pick out the ones I shall raise. Until then, I will rest." And with that I turned from the battlefield and slowly made my way up the hill to the Temple of the Damned wondering where the hell Lok'Dan had gone, and how long it would be until I saw him again.
Mind taking, baby! Accept no substitutes!