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Old 06-02-2018, 02:48 PM
Krainz Krainz is offline

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Default Reddit Battle For Azeroth Fanfic Contest

There's a fanfic contest for Battle For Azeroth in Reddit going on right now, and the prize is a beta key.

Here's my piece:

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Scars of Honor

Dusk had settled. The wind howled across the vale and shadows gathered, swirling their way across the landscape.

There were no more outcries, no more battle shouts nor screams of pain and agony. Just the sound of blood dripping from the blade and touching that once fertile soil.

The smell of torn flesh and unliving corpses was enough to intoxicate and fill the lungs of anyone who dared come there.

Soothing pleasantries were whispered by the trees as their branches and leaves swung in the rhythm of the wind, a stark contrast from the war drums, the gallop of the horses and rams, and the tasteful sound of steel crushing through armor and meeting flesh.

Death was everywhere. And it wasn't alone.

Warlord Ogdrol was standing on one knee, looking at the fallen dwarf laying on the ground a couple feet just ahead. The tall and muscular orc, sword in hand, surrounded by corpses, drenched in blood, had but one thought in his mind: "What honor is there in this?".

Bomgnar Hammerbrew, a red-haired leader within the military ranks of Ironforge. Clad in sienna-colored armor with burgundy jewels, the characteristic uniform of the Anvilflame Warband. Many others in a similar attire were there, resting upon the soil, their souls leaving their bodies, and in their faces lied the finest expression of shock and despair.

Blue flags and tabards depicting a golden lion were torn, ragged, scattered close to the bodies. All stained with blood.

The orc's gaze met them with even more questions.

His red shoulderplate, adorned with spikes and white fur, had been crushed by a dwarven warhammer on the left side. His red beads reflected the agony and despair carved on the face of the corpses surrounding him. His right arm, broken by a strike fierce enough to shatter his bones. His tabard, partially torn, just like his loyalty towards his leaders. Just like his heart.

Tears were rolling down his face.

His long, white hair, aged by a lifelong journey of bloodshed, that was soon to be ended in yet another war. He knew his hour had come.

The long, curved blade in his hands had seen many battles. He, who once faced the armies of the dead. He, who once faced legions of demons. He, who once laughed at the face of death, now had to put former allies to rest. He had come for Kohrgal, but his old, wisened yet weary eyes couldn't seem to find him anywhere.

Kohrgal said he missed nights by crackling fires and honorbound companionship. Tales of victory and mutual respect. He said he never expected to see so much in common with a different race, from an enemy faction. By the gates of Ahn'Qiraj, in the stormy winds of Northrend, and the desolate landscapes of Argus, Kohrgal and Ogdrol had the opportunity to fight alongside the Anvilflame Warband of Dun Morogh.

There are many mysteries in life, many lights of hope that make old enemies share beer and gaze at the cosmos beyond. The luck of coincidence is one of those, bringing honorable souls to fight together several times around.

Perhaps, with more time of comraderie, these orcs could achieve something beyond the limitations of pride and ego, and that was true in their feelings. Their minds saw true honor, akin to theirs, in the hearts of Bomgnar's warband. Kohrgal and Ogdrol had the scorching spark of hope, an ardent desire to restore the Horde's values.

Those nights are no more. Kohrgal's heart was pierced by an elven arrow just moments before. He had fought tooth and nail to complete his mission, spearheading the Horde's advance in the forest. Many night elves died by his hand that day, and the galloping warband was sent to retaliate the unstoppable warriors under his command.

It was all part of the plan. Of the greater picture. Of the ruthless strategy employed by the generals.

Atop the pile of elven bodies, Kohrgal's orcs were surrounded, having no possibility of retreat. The flock of rams hammered on orcish armor, horns carving through flesh and hammer meeting skull. The Alliance dwarves were crushing the Horde, too exhausted and worn-out to fight on par. One by one the orcs fell, meeting their end in the first acts of the war.

Forsaken Deathstalkers were at the ready, jumping from the shadows and ambushing the dwarves. The brave warband, however, didn't falter. It wasn't the first time their axes and hammers faced assassins, and even their scars could tell tales of many battles in which they survived against all odds.

Once Ogdrol had heard of the Horde's plan, he immediately left his position. Kohrgal and his orcs had just left Orgrimmar, and thus Ogdrol was certain he could thwart a tragedy. Heartbroken, he couldn't possibly agree with the idea of sending to death a hero of the Horde, who even fought under Saurfang in Ahn'Qiraj and Northrend.

Atop his wolf, Ironfur, the Warlord arrived only to see Bomgnar's warband standing, surrounded by elven, orcish and forsaken corpses. His remaining oxygen swelled his lungs to the point of bursting, and his blood boiled. Shaking in fury, an uncontrollable desire to kill, Ogdrol jumped from his wolf and bellowed a deafening war cry, unsettling the warband and making their hearts quake.

Bomgnar and his men were all exhausted. Having just had fended off the Deathstalkers' assault, after a clear victory over Ogdrol's orcs, the warriors of Ironforge could barely stand. Seeing what was to come, the dwarves readied their axes and hammers as a barbaric orc charged towards them.

It all happened in the spur of a moment, hasty seconds shorter than a breath. Or at least was what it seemed, to the band of dwarves who were just realizing that a former friend was on the other side of the battlefield, sword in hand ready to kill them.

Moved by an unstoppable force, Ogdrol swung his blade in a manner that he cut all his surrounding enemies at once. A bloodthirsty steel tempest that left no room for pain or regret. The dwarves fought their best, yet nothing was enough to stop the rampaging orc.

Seeing the demise of their companions, and completely scared, the flock of rams fled towards their staging point. Not long after that, the storm had ceased and Bomgnar's heart was the last one to meet Ogdrol's blade. The orc, however, wasn't able to muster a single word. And then, the pain came, and the Warlord had to kneel, else he would fall to the ground just every single living being around him.

Shadows gathered, and once more they swirled their way across the landscape.

Before his last breath, Ogdrol mustered all his remaining strength to gaze upon Faranell, the Forsaken Apothecary who was calmly, yet eagerly approaching Bomgnar's body.

"What honor is there in this?", said Ogdrol, his voice carrying an assortment of anger, frustration and grief.

Yet Faranell only chuckled, in a silent celebration of victory.
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Last edited by Krainz; 06-03-2018 at 02:07 AM..
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