Resistance - 6 - Final (Patreon)

"That was Tortolla. That was Tortolla the Wise, Eldest of All." Anessa whispered, still dumbfounded and occasionally reaching up to touch her forehead in disbelief. Amusing as it was to see the girl so awed, Aderic was simply glad that the girl was capable enough to keep her hippogriff on task, following Caedan and Featherstorm over the slopes and valleys of Mount Hyjal as they moved to their next destination. "You woke an ancient from his slumber. With just words. Why... why did Shan'Do Stormrage never do that? They've been gone so long..."

"Because he didn't know where old scaly butt likes to nap?" Nari chirped with a toothy grin. He might not be as invested in manipulating the girl's beliefs as Aderic was, but he still found them amusing. "Grandfather made sure I knew the exact spot; he's played tricks on Torti enough to remember it fondly. He always goes back there when he's hurt."

Aderic chuckled; to be truthful, that was the source of most of his lord's memories of his family. The times that he had played tricks, pranks, or otherwise bothered them with his actions. "Cenarius is too young to be the eldest's peer. There is nothing wrong with that, but he is merely the child of an ancient."

And a goddess, though Aderic was quite happy to ignore that part of things. The Forest Lord was likely more powerful than his lord even at his prime, but it came from an aspect he'd come to dislike further over recent days.

The scythe on his back was an unhappy thing. Conflicted and furious with itself, mixing disappointment with resentment and regret into a tangled mirror of hate and rage. No wonder those spawned from such a mixture became what they did – but it would serve one grand purpose at last.

"Can you not feel it?!" Drek'Thar bellowed over the wind separating their mounts. "Descend, Caedan, descend!"

Far down below was a simple vale, a small lake fed by a waterfall overlooked by a path atop a sheer cliff face into which dozens of caves had been dug. The homes of the Great Wolf's children, just as the shrine upon a small rise marked with overgrown pillars of white stone marked the home of Goldrinn himself. This was the sacred reserve of the wolves and their god, and even the fortifications which now sat upon the lone pathway had not dared to enter into the vale.

Wise of them. He had been regaled with many stories of the ire of wolves before being sent upon this mission, and even should they succeed neither he nor Nari had much belief they would survive. Waking Tortolla was safe enough, he had lived, but Goldrinn? He had fallen, and drawing a fallen god from their dreams was not without price.

At least it would be a fitting end for them both, proving once again that Lord Renard was superior in both character and ability to Goldrinn.

"Follow them down, girl!" Aderic snapped at Anessa as she started to overfly the vale. He pointed to the line of ancients climbing up the road, passing by the fortifications with carts of wounded and supplies following them. Proudmoore must be expecting to fall soon. "We've little enough time as it is."

Anessa's head turned downward, and her gleaming eyes went wide once more. "Mother Elune, so many. So many... and we're still losing?"

"That's what it means to be fighting the Legion, child." Nari chided her as he rolled his eyes; they had avoided fighting, any signs of the undead, and made their way carefully to the sacred places they had needed to go. She had been spared the truth of what assailed them so far. "Now, let's go wake up that mangy mutt from his nap. Figure it's about time someone did, he doesn't get to sleep on the job while Grandfather suffers."

The way the girl's anxiety and fear rose in pitch was palpable for the moments it lasted, then they fled as her eyes narrowed and she brought their mount into a sharp dive. "When Great Goldrinn skins your hide, it will be a deserved fate." She said coldly.

"About time!" Aderic let out a whooping laugh as they fell through the air. "I was wondering when you'd find your spine, Anessa!"

-oOoOo-

His toes curled into the grass that struggled to rise between the stones, feeling the defiance that saturated the spirits of this vale. Life bloomed here, and would bloom here, no matter what came. It would struggle and fight for every moment in the sun even if all the world were to die around them – this place might even be the last. The earth itself sang of how it defied the weathering of wind and rain, how the passage of time would not reshape its image.

That the whole mountain rumbled and churned with the footsteps of the god they had awoken amongst the silty fields meant nothing to the spirits of this place. They would remain, unyielding and unbroken, to the very last.

The scent of wolves in the air, dozens of packs hundreds strong scenting each tree and stone to mark their part of this valley. The others could see as he could not, yet Drek'Thar knew that, in this place, he could see more than even they.

Burning in his empty eyes, a figure seen only in dreams of the vision he did not have, atop the hill before them was a sleeping wolf like no other. His fur was like the strongest forged steel, his fangs made from the stuff of gods, his dreams themselves giving strength to the vale in which they stood. When they had met the turtle god he had knelt and offered his respect to the living spirit of this world, for what else could he do when he found one so like the furies of home given physical, living, form?

Here his respect was not enough. Wise-Ear carefully shook out his fur beside him, grooming himself in an attempt to become more presentable, and Drek'Thar ran a hand through his companion's fur. "You have given us a gift I had not thought possible." He said to the others, tears running from his eyes.

They had abandoned their homeworld, and with them the spirits of that world. He had heard the elements of this world and listened, but none like those for whom the Throne of the Elements had been forged.

Now, he had. The Wolf itself slept before him and was mightier than even they. Breathing deep of the air suffused with the Great Wolf's spirit he could, just for a moment, feel the cold winds of Frostfire once more, the warmth of the pack surrounding him as they sheltered from the relentless storms. The scent of Home filled his mind and allowed him to return to a place that would never be again.

"I'm glad our sacrifice makes you happy." Nari muttered as his soft paws landed on the stones. The nervous flicking of his tails disturbed the air as he looked about. Wolves approached, the dens emptying as they felt the intrusion into their home. Their sacred home. "But it's time to wake him up. C'mon, Aderic, it's time to die."

"No." Drek'Thar spoke and stepped forward with Wise-Ear at his side. "This is the land of the wolf. No matter your intent, it is our sacrifice to make. Let the Frostwolves earn their place in this world."

He could still remember the day the Whiteclaw had died, their sister clan which had chosen to stand defiant against the Horde and their evils. In the cold around the fires, when the winds blew and the elements sang to him, he wondered if theirs had been the right choice. Durotan had saved the lives of the Frostwolves by bowing to Blackhand and bending the clan to his whims, yet they had lost their very souls.

It had taken years to claw back some fragment of what they had lost. To gain the trust and faith of this new world they lived in. Yet that guilt still remained, it flowed in the veins of every orc to have lived through those days, to have heeded the command of Blackhand and Gul'Dan.

Even he had taken up the Fel magics. Wielded them against the screaming innocents. Only those too young to have taken part were guiltless now, and they were few and far between.

Stretching his back, his spine clicking and crunching as his old bones protested his movements, he felt the weight of all his years. His blood pounded in his ears in time with his footsteps, his heartbeat matching that of Wise-Ear as he climbed the hill. For a slope so small, there was a pressure that pulled at his steps – a weight that was not of the physical world.

In his empty eyes, the sleeping wolf's ears flicked from side to side.

"You think you can manage it? You think your mutt is good enough?" Nari hissed darkly and menacingly, challenging Drek'Thar's resolve. "We aren't allowed to fail here! Even if they might win without him, we don't leave that to chance, not against the Legion! Not when Grandfather is afraid!"

Wise-Ear turned and growled lowly at the fox spirit. He was the eldest of all the Frostwolves, a mere pup when Drek'Thar had bonded to him, and... the last to be born on their homeworld.

"We will be enough."  Drek'Thar spoke not just to him, but to the wolves that encircled the hill. Hundreds had gathered and watched, their scent close and curious – yet strongest amongst them all was the challenge they presented. "Or we shall die showing our resolve to the slumbering god." There was no fear in his heart as he stood before the sleeping god, as he was watched and judged.

"Alright. We, ah, be gettin' out the way. Right lassie?" Caedan said, Featherstorm's wings blustering as he and the elf girl's hippogriff took to the air. "You be owing me a drink! So dinnae go dying on me!"

Aderic followed him up the hill, the ethereal sound of the scythe cutting through the ground as he dragged it behind him. "Well, you'll get your chance. But it's not like we can't take part." He tutted and slapped Drek'Thar on the back. "Make it a good one. Goldrinn! Brother of Renard! Son of Freya! I bear your fang and the fury you wield against the moon! Wake, Great Wolf, for the world demands your savagery once more!"

All around them, the wolves growled angrily as their god twitched in his slumber, disturbed but not woken. The moon faded behind the clouds, the warm light it offered vanishing into the dark.

"Wake up, Uncle! Or are you too much of a co–" Nari shouted at his kin, but he was interrupted as the first wolf lunged.

Drek'Thar felt its approach, catching it by the ruff with his hands. The earth beneath his feet lent him strength as he flung the furious beast overhead and into the packs beyond. "Come, then, sons and daughters of the Wolf." He growled, hands clenching and unclenching as Wise-Ear howled beside him. "Let us prove ourselves worthy!"

Wolf after wolf came, a tangle of fangs and fur as Wise-Ear proved their better – Sons of Goldrinn or not, these were not Frostwolves, the children of Draenor who lived on the edge of death at every moment. His hands grew bloody as he caught fangs aimed for Aderic's neck, water washed over them as he cast away pups who nipped at their heels, and the earth rose and fell to bind those already beaten in mud.

Not a single wolf would he slay. These were pack, his family, his kin. This was no battle, for all they wished for his blood and the meat on his bones. The thunder of fury boiled in his veins, but he was its master. Durotar surrendered to it in order to save Geyah, Durotar slew even Stormfang in his rage, but Drek'Thar was old and knew the hatred of the Fel.

The blood rage was no equal to that foul fury. There was no equal to that foul fury. So even as they came as a pack, harrying and bleeding him, as their blood spilled on the soil and he was forced to suffer wounds to protect the fox spirit and the witch who stirred the god, he fought without death.

With honour.

At last, after too long, the attacks ceased. His left ear was gone, caught by claws and torn away, and blood flowed freely into his skull, giving all the sound of being underwater, yet thicker.

"About time, old man." Nari hissed tiredly, slumped over in exhaustion on top of the unmoving body of Aderic. "Don't forget who won the stupid contest..."

In his empty eyes, the sleeping god looked down at them. Still resting, still slumbering, but with open eyes that belied his awareness. He was watched and judged by one greater than he – but still, the god did not wake and move. Did not rise to take form once more and unleash his power in defence of the world.

Snarling, Drek'Thar took a step towards the Great Wolf's form, but his knee gave out beneath him and he sagged to the ground beside Nari. Instead, Wise-Ear took his place, limping forward on three legs to stand before the god.

There was a long moment of silence.

Then, at last, Wise-Ear toppled over – falling to the ground with a growl in his throat. Furious that the Great Wolf did not stand to defend his pack, his world, from that which sought its doom.

"Goodbye." Drek'Thar wheezed, hearing as his oldest companion breathed his last, the life seeping from the last wolf of Draenor's veins. "Old friend."

The god stared and the world trembled, the valley itself shaking with the weight of the god's anger. Then he blazed with Life and seared himself into Drek'Thar's empty eyes – and at last, howled his rage, his undying fury and endless defiance against what came for them all.

-oOoOo-

The humans and their allies had fought well, far above and beyond what Tyrande had imagined they were capable of. She could easily admit that she had underestimated them – and indeed, underestimated their ties to the Ancient Guardians. "Rest well Aderic Longtooth, Elune blesses you this day." She said to the sleeping man who rested in the waters of the moonwell. "We owe you our thanks for returning the ancients to us."

"Nahlen'do, Longtooth." Sister Amara bowed her head to the man who had won their respect.

His words had been sharp, igniting anger amongst their people for his dismissal of their long vigil, yet no matter his words his deeds spoke louder. Matters of their duty, of their supposed failings, would be put aside until the battle had been won and he had been rightly honoured for his part in their efforts.

Turning away from where the three souls rested, the orc, human, and fox, she looked down the slopes to where Tortolla and Goldrinn fought a brutal battle against the general of the Legion. His army had been crushed under the mountain Tortolla had brought low in his descent, slowing their assault further even as they fought against two of the greatest ancients of all. The slopes of Mount Hyjal trembled with each blow yet neither would relent – snapping jaws tore flesh from bone, Fel flames seared shell and fur alike, and fangs stole their bloody due.

Yes, the humans had done more than she had ever imagined possible, held firm against the Legion's advance; even their pit lords, doom guards, infernals, and dreadlords had fallen against them. Yet, in the end, the humans had turned to the power of the kaldorei and their gods to survive.

Without Tortolla's intervention, Lady Proudmoore would not have escaped. Without his brave charge down the slopes, striking with all the power of the wilds at his back, her magic would not have prevailed against that of the Defiler.

Soon it would be the Horde's turn to take to the fore, to fight against the Legion's armies, and Tyrande had no doubt they would impress her as well. She had witnessed the orc that had aided the human's defence, Eitrigg, return to battle time and again without hesitation. No matter the injuries he took he would not back down, fighting day and night without rest if it was needed; only the paladins and the druids of the claw had matched his clan's efforts in that battle. His people could do no less, with the example he had offered for them all to follow.

Enough time would be bought for Furion to gather the spirits of Ashenvale to turn the Defiler's victory to ash, should he prevail against them all.

Yet, more than ever with the return of the Ancient Guardians, there was hope that such a great sacrifice would not be necessary. Many spoke hopefully and joyously, as their heroes had been recovered by Sentinel Anessa and Thane Kindfeather, that victory was within their grasp.

Tyrande was... hopeful, and Elune be willing it, would be made true. But she would not underestimate the Legion or the Defiler.

Seeing Archimonde land a blow upon Goldrinn's chest, a torrent of molten earth erupting forth and throwing the Great Wolf aside, reaffirmed her certainty that a contingency was necessary. Majestic Malorne had been laid low by the Defiler once before, the ancients defeated and driven back – mighty as they were, they were not all-powerful, and two was not even a tenth of the number that had fought ten thousand years ago.

The Bear Lords, Ursoc the Mighty and Ursol the Wise, Omen the Moon's Wrath, Ashamane the Shadowed, Agamaggan, the Razorboar, Aviana, the Mistress of Birds, Malorne, the White Stag...

Lord Renard, the Silver Tongue. So many that had once been present yet now were not. Even the dragonflights, Ysera's children with whom they protected the Emerald Dream, were absent. No, for all their foes were weaker than they once were, so were they.

"High Priestess, a new force approaches from the northern passes." Sentinal Wolfheart spoke uncertainly, unbefitting her station. "It is... Illidan and his allies. Humans and orcs."

Her beloved's brother returned to them? "Good." She said, smiling lightly at the Sentinel of Astrannar. "See that they are brought to the gathering, Furion wishes to convene before the assault upon the Horde's encampment begins."

Sentinel Wolfheart nodded her head. "At once, High Priestess. I will order the orcs to allow them through the passes."

Far below, the pit lord, Azgalor, struck a blow against Tortolla's shell which shattered his own weapon. His scream of rage echoed across the mountain slopes as he tried to break the armour of the great turtle, and though he failed to harm the ancient, his distraction left Archimonde free to focus upon Goldrinn alone.

The demons were rallying after the collapse of the mountain. "Quickly, sentinel." She ordered, taking up her bow and moving to mount Ash'alah. "Time grows short."

-oOoOo-

"You are a fool, brother." Illidan spat as he examined Malfurion's work. "Did you think this would be his end, that mere power was enough to vanquish a demon? Foolish. Ignorant. A demon's soul is eternal, destroying his physical form will simply banish him beyond this world and return him to the Twisting Nether. You would sacrifice much for simple respite."

Hearing his brother's barbs, Malfurion bristled in anger. He should never have allowed him to be freed – that he knew so much of their foes showed that he had fallen too far into their embrace. "And what would you do in my stead, Illidan? Would you unleash the Well of Eternity and crack our world in half once more?"

Illidan sneered at him, one hand resting upon a glowing skull at his belt – if his mere presence had elicited hushed and dark whispers, the presence of that skull had nearly brought about his swift death. "I would see our foes dead, brother."

"It isn't as foolish as you say." The Son of the Silver Tongue said, poking at Malfurion's sketched design in the dirt with his paws. "Ignorant, sure, but why would the great Malfurion Stormrage, the 'First Druid' and disciple of Cenarius himself, know anything about how souls work? It's not like the Emerald Dream is part of the cycle of reincarnation for Azeroth or anything. Nope. Not at all."

"We have studied the dream for longer than you have been alive, fox." Fandral said with gritted teeth. "And we serve alongside its creators. There is no cycle of reincarnation. Merely the dreamers and the dream."

Nari looked up at him exasperatedly, then all at once every single one of his tails pointed down the mountain, where the battle between Goldrinn and Archimonde still raged. "Yeah. Tell that to my uncle. I'm sure he'll believe you, what with him not reincarnating to fight for us or anything. Oh wait..."

"Nari, if you would get to the point, please." Jaina said, sitting with her staff held close. She was tired after her efforts, brave as they had been. "Your grudge against the kaldorei grows tiring."

It most certainly did, Malfurion had dedicated his life to healing the wounds inflicted upon the Emerald Dream by the Legion. Even now, he looked upon Tyrande with a longing to remain by her side forever more, to not return to his slumber; yet as the darkness in the dream grew ever stronger, it was necessary for their work to continue.

"Our patience has its limits." Tyrande said without threat, simply speaking the truth to the child of the Silver Tongue. "We may honour your efforts and your ancestor, but your welcome will fade swiftly once this war is done lest you cease."

"Indeed." Malfurion added his support.

Sniffing in disgruntlement, the fox's tails curled close and defensively. "This is Grandfather's mountain more than it is yours." He snapped before sighing. "Anyway, souls. Souls, souls, souls. Demons have souls. Hard to destroy a soul, takes a truly absurd amount of power to destroy one, and not even a demon soul is eternal – just takes a lot of power, such as, say, an exploding world tree, to destroy it."

Glowering down at Malfurion's sketch he added a few details, Arcane markings that made Malfurion's skin crawl. Things that reminded him of the work of Xavius with the portal that brought forth the Legion so long ago.

"I... see." Illidan murmured in surprise. "Yes, yes, that could work. It would require a channel, of course, something to–"

"You're not eating the world tree, stupid elf." Nari smacked him with his tails. "That's what the bloody tree is for. And the spirits. Encase the demon with the spirits and souls, contain him with them so that no iota can escape, and destroy him utterly with the power invoked." The fox looked up at him with accusative eyes. "Now help by translating it to something the magical neophytes can understand. Ignoring the lifeblood of the world because it's unnatural; I was born with Arcane magic in my blood, as was Grandfather, just as Great-Grandmother made us. Unnatural my furry butt."

Unwilling to look at the smug expression on his brother's face, Malfurion turned to Lady Proudmoore. She looked with curiosity at the additions, but offered no explanation.

Then Jarod cleared his throat. "If I am understanding this correctly, you are saying that this effort would kill Archimonde permanently, whereas our pre-existing plan would not?"

"Once more I must counsel against it." Fandral spoke over him. "We have the ancients on our side now, we hardly need to sacrifice the blessings of the world tree which we have nurtured for ten thousand years when victory is within our grasp. That it must be... changed to account for the demon's immortality only makes my belief certain."

"And mine less so."

Malfurion turned at the sound of his Shan'Do's voice. "Cenarius, you have returned to us!"

The Forest Lord sported new wounds upon his side and cradled one of his children, a forest nymph, in his arms gently. "I have, and soon I shall go to do battle alongside my father's family. He will defeat us in time, though we shall fight him for every inch of ground, and he will ascend the mountain." Cenarius' eyes burned with anger scarcely seen from the demigod of the wilds. "Archimonde slew my father, Azgalor's kin Ashamane, Agamaggan was brought low by the relentless hordes. The greatest of us all were once brought low, do not in arrogance believe we shall prevail as we are, Thero'shan Staghelm."

He laid down his daughter and Tyrande rushed to her side, calling upon the blessings of Elune to heal her wounds. "You shall be well soon, Lunara." She whispered.

"Well, are you willing to help, old stag?" Nari asked without looking up at Cenarius. "You'd make this a lot easier."

Rubbing at his chin, Cenarius examined the drawings and sketches strewn into the dirt. "Yes. I shall." For moment he looked at Illidan, who stared defiantly at their old master, and then he nodded. "Illidan, you are my student no longer, but I shall call you Thero'shan all the same. Your freedom is well earned this day and upon those before; I thank you for protecting our forests from the demons."

Illidan crossed his arms and grunted dismissively. "I did not do it for you nor our people."

"Lady Tyrande, General Feathermoon," Jarod spoke urgently, "we must also plan our additions to the defences from here. Let us leave the work on our final plan to those able, and give them the time they require."

Soon they departed, and Malfurion worked beside his brother, beside forces that wished to wield both dangerous Arcane and demonic magics intertwined with that of Nature itself to strike against Archimonde. It left him ill at ease, his Shan'Do's acceptance of their work, but he would not speak against it.

Not if it truly offered a chance of avenging his honoured teacher's father as he so desired.

-oOoOo-

"Wind and Wave, heed the word of the Tides! Wash away those that would defile our waters!" Lord Stormsong called out with great fervour, a grand army of elementals rising up from the banks of the river that flowed through Thrall's camp and surging towards the oncoming army. "Fear the song of storms, fear the power of Kul'Tiras, fear the Tidemother's wrath!"

Seeing the human work, the new gathering of forces they had been infused with upon the arrival of their third army – one sent by ship ahead, meant to simply resupply their forces, yet numbering more than all Thrall had brought – left a dark feeling in Thrall's chest.

Day after day his people had itched for battle, waiting to prove themselves, but only Eitrigg's gathering, those of the Blackrock Clan who had stood beside him, had faced battle. A full week they had little more than time in which to prepare their defences, and many had grown restless. A restlessness Thrall now shared; what would it mean for the Horde to fail to stand up to the example the Alliance had offered? To fail to prove their worth?

"You are thinking too much, little brother." Grom slapped a hand on his back. "The battle is upon us! Look, foes to fight, blood to spill, and all of it worthy of our strength!" He started to laugh, true joy flowing forth and widening his mouth with a toothy grin. "We'll make good on our promises. We always do."

The grand tide crashed into the oncoming horde of demons and undead, smashing aside those of lesser stature and leaving behind only those that towered amongst the others. Even those, the abominations, were swept away at times.

Or doused, as one raging infernal screamed in pain as its flames went out and the stone forming its body fell to the earth, inert.

"Look. They even cleared away the riff-raff all for us." Grom's grin only widened. "And Stormsong said he hated my guts. Would a man who hated me do such nice things for me?"

Varok snorted from Thrall's left side. "Only you would think fighting Mannoroth's kin to be fun, Hellscream." Just past him, one of his satyr assistants with their bow looked at Grom like he was some kind of maniac. Thrall was... puzzled by them, but could not deny the kinship they held with those touched by the demons. "Most of us would rather they stayed dead when killed."

"If only it was the demon himself once more!" Grom did not laugh, but there was an eager thirst in his voice. One that called for bloody vengeance. "We shall make do. I think it is time, little brother."

Across the field the human's cannons, dozens of them, sounded and bellowed. Striking hard against the onrushing behemoths that had weathered the human shaman's efforts. Enough that they would smash against his fortifications and bring them low, simple as they were compared to the humans’ overworked bastions.

But the Horde needed no such things to prevail. "You're right. It is." Planting his feet, Thrall felt the thrum of the Earth, the howling of the Wind, the unspent anger of the Water, and the hungry hatred of Fire. The silent hatred of the spirits of this place for the invaders. "Elements! Heed my call! We go to fight! Storm, Earth, Fire! Wind and Wave!" The soil rumbled beneath his feet and drums picked up across the camp, and in the clouds above thunder boomed in time with their beats. "Grant us your blessing, grant us the fury of the world itself!"

The world rose up around them, filling each and every one of his people, his allies, with unspent savagery. Muscles bulged and stretched, tall tauren grew taller, vicious trolls gained swiftness and strength.

"LOK'TAR OGAR!" His horde bellowed as one. "Victory or death! For the Horde!"

"WARSONG! WITH ME!" Grom screamed, leading the charge with unmatched speed as he took great bounding strides towards the pit lord that had stilled the great spirit turtle. "FOR FREEDOM!"

-oOoOo-

Eitrigg felt every aching muscle as he tore a ghoul away from a young grunt and crushed its head with his axe. The battle did not end, the battle did not slow, not even for a moment. If the demons had felt fury at the efforts of the humans to defy them, they raged with madness against the Horde standing against them; day and night they came, to die in droves, and return again to die once more.

"We stand together." He growled tiredly to those beside him. A mound of corpses beneath their feet, friend and foe, those who could not be saved and those they must slay. "To the very last."

Again the demons came, and hammer and axe met their forces. The blood of the Blackrock Clan was spilled once more, Broxigar the Red Axe showing the worth of the Saurfang did not run solely in the veins of Saurfang the Elder. That honour was not his alone.

Each hour, each battle, saw more of his clan die. More of the humans join the bodies at his feet.

The elves had fallen back, aiding Thrall's camp in battle against the true foe. This pass was but one of many; crucial, vital, one that must be held. Yet it was a minor battle compared to the many.

Even so, the enemy was great enough to spend mighty forces upon them. A brother of Mannoroth, one of the corrupting demons that had claimed their souls, strode forth at the head of a fresh horde of undead. A towering monolith of stone behind them demanded attention they could not grant; they needed reinforcements to break such a thing before it spilled its monsters upon their heads.

"To think so few gave the undead such problems." The pit lord spoke with a tired menace. "So few pawns are worth using, the weak..." He paused, fiery eyes narrowing and a wide and jagged grin splaying across his face. "Oh. Oh, it is you. The Master will reward me for claiming you." His Fel-tipped spear aimed past Eitrigg, past Uther, and towards Broxigar.

Meeting his clanmate's eyes Eitrigg found only confusion. But their course was set from the moment the demon had appeared; they would fight, and they would kill. Or they would die.

"Hekazi. Take Longfang and return to Thrall. We need wyverns and catapults to bring down the necropolis before it passes us." Eitrigg ordered calmly to the troll scout. "For the rest of us! We are Blackrock! We are orcs! We are free from Mannoroth's taint, and we will not fall before his lesser!"

The pit lord heard his defiance and laughed. "You face Ronokon. I faced the gods of this world themselves and brought them low." His jagged grin only grew more evil. "You will be no challenge."

Light shone from the hammer of the paladin at Eitrigg's side. "My brother was right." Uther the Lightbringer spoke. "You fight with honour. You fight with righteousness. We stand together, brother Eitrigg, to the very last."

As Hekazi fled, they readied their weapons. Human and orc stood side by side to fight to the bitter end.

-oOoOo-

Jaina collapsed to her knees once more as she finished her spell, gasping for air as her head pounded. So many, so many people... "Thank... thank you, Salther... Lord Saltheril..." She wheezed at the elf who had helped her cast, trying to force a smile of appreciation onto her face. Somehow, despite showing as much strain as he did, the once magister held his poise.

For a few moments before doubling over and vomiting onto the ground. "My, that hurts." He gasped painfully. "And disgusting. How... how do you humans manage such things?"

Despite how she felt, Jaina couldn't help but chuckle weakly at his attempts to wave off his misery. Rescuing Thrall from Archimonde's assault had proven just as draining, if not even more so, than her own. Once more, the Wild Gods had stepped in to distract him at the last moment, and would be fighting him now.

Only Lord Cenarius and Goldrinn; Tortolla was somewhere down the mountain, buried deep under a mountain of corpses, demon and undead alike. Yet the kaldorei held faith he survived. Jaina was not so sure, he had taken blows that would fell mountains.

Nearby, Thrall looked about grimly. Surveying the losses he had taken, those who had not been alive to teleport away. "Eitrigg is missing." He said darkly. "Where is he? Where is my adviser?"

A large hand reached down and helped Jaina to her feet. Cairne Bloodhoof looked down on her with a smile. "Thank you, Lady Proudmoore, for our prompt escape. We owe you our lives."

"Mage!" Thrall snapped, catching her collar and holding her close. "Where is Eitrigg! He fought for you, he bled for you! Why would you leave him behind?!"

"Because he died." Drek'Thar, the blind shaman, approached alongside Lord Stormsong – the latter holding his staff with a snarl of anger on his face. "The news did not reach you, Thrall, but only three survived the battle against the pit lord in that pass. Eitrigg is gone."

Alicia punched the ground. "Fuck. I liked that orc." She cursed. "Dawn's light, I actually liked that orc." A moment later she let herself fall into the grass. "Good bloke. Bloody hells, he was a better bloke than most I've known."

Thrall let go of Jaina's collar, clenching his fists and roaring angrily while Cairne caught her in his strong arms.

"He will be remembered." Saurfang said solemnly. "His body will be given to the mountain and his name remembered. Alongside all the others that fell."

"Anu Dorah." Shalissa said solemnly, the satyr's tail curling around her cloven hooves as she looked down at the ground. "We remember those lost. We remember what we have lost, and enact bloody vengeance upon those that took them from us."

"Our part is done. It's up to Malfurion and Tyrande now." Jaina said tiredly. The orcs began to bicker, some, like Grom, eager to return to the fight and wreak bloody vengeance upon the demons as they fought the elven strongpoint.  She would not, could not, take part.

Doing as she had done twice in three days had all but killed her, and earned looks of pity from those who saw her exhaustion.

Shalissa, who watched her closely for a time, walked away to a nearby moonwell and filled a vial with its water. Then a second. It burned her skin and fur where it touched, but she bore it and returned.

"Drink, mage." She passed a vial to Jaina and then Lord Saltheril. "Elune's Light shall bolster you as it can no longer do for me. These waters may be a pale reflection of the Well of Eternity, but I remember well what the Moonguard could do with such power."

As Saltheril greedily drank the waters, looking more reinvigorated than ever, Jaina slowly nursed the vial of Arcane power. "Thank you." She whispered, taking it up slowly. It was like nothing she had ever felt – and the thrill of wielding magic for the first time – all at once. If this was what it was like to be a High Elf, only to lose it with the Sunwell... she knew Kael'thas suffering all the better.

-oOoOo-

"Azgalor! Hold the whelp at bay. I tire of his games." Archimonde bellowed as he strode through the ruins of Malfurion's encampment. It had taken but a single day for him to tire of their defences and take the field himself, a single day where the Horde had lasted three and the Alliance five. "I shall claim my prize whether they do battle with me or not."

Upon his stump, Aderic grinned tiredly. The weight of his century of life felt all the heavier now, the scythe on his back quiescent, yet demanding more of him than he could give.

Nari was beside his side, watching in agitation as all they had worked for came to its culmination. Something that they had not even intended to see. All the chiding comments, insults, and ribbing that they had offered the elves were never meant to have consequences. Not ones they would live to see.

"As you will, Lord Archimonde!" Azgalor roared, charging and pressing Goldrinn back as the wounded wolf sought to engage the demon general once more.

Looking at the clever fighting of Goldrinn, how he used his speed to avoid blows and harry with fang and claw rather than simply ripping and tearing, Aderic hummed appreciatively. "Seems he took up some of Wise-Ear's good qualities."

"The old wolf was his better in every way." Nari snapped, his tails curling tight around them both as he bared his fangs. "In every way."

"He was a good wolf." Anessa murmured. "Few could stand before Goldrinn and call him a coward without fear."

Wise-Ear and Drek'Thar had shown Goldrinn tamed rage, restrained fury, controlled savagery. They had shown the furious god, the wild wolf, the savage guardian, the meaning of control. And as he battled against Azgalor, feigning weakness to allow their plan to succeed, he showed that he had learned those lessons. "A good wolf, even if he would have made a better fox." Aderic smiled wider, lifting his cup and sipping at his tea in memory of Wise-Ear the Frostwolf.

In the valley of the World Tree Nordrassil, Archimonde reached its roots and began to climb. Far away, atop another hill overlooking the valley, a horn sounded.

All across the valley, the ley lines started to shine. The well beneath the tree bubbled and roiled as the magic it contained surged, flowing through the roots. Thousands of spirits flowed from the trees, merging together and affixing themselves to the demon's hide.

Recognising something was wrong, but not what, Archimonde the Defiler swatted ineffectually at the incorporeal spirits of the wild. Aessina's whispering laugh spurred them on as they tied themselves to his very soul, encasing it and sealing its fate – one by one, ten by ten, a thousand by a thousand, they each began to glow. A great rainbow of shimmering magical broke forth beneath the bark of the world tree.

Then through the wisps that smothered the demon's form and into his very soul.

One moment all was silent, the world still from the power unleashed, and then light came, and with it, a wall of sound.

Leaves withered, grass turned black and dry, the tree shrank and curled inward, the bubbling waters of the well lost their glow and drained away. Nothing remained of the demon that had climbed the tree; not his bones, not his armour, not his weapons, and not even a fragment of his being to return to the Nether. The magic of the mountain had been spent to end a threat to the world like no other, and to do it forever more.

Yet, even at his feet, where blackened grass now lay, Aderic could see Life struggling through the ruined soil. Sprouts demanding their time in the light after all else had been burnt away. The magic would return, the mountain would mend, and the gods would come home once again.

"It's done." He said, lifting his cup into the air for a toast while his toes offered what he could to the little sprout to aid its growth. "We've won."

Now the question was, how was he going to top this story after he told it to his Lord? Renard always wanted something new and exciting after all. Maybe he should retire after all; it wasn't like he'd planned on coming back from this.