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Diplomacy 101: Chapter 16
🕑 Added 2024-08-04 21:19:35 +0000 UTCFrom Lor'Themar's perspective, an endless wave of green-blue Forest Trolls were dismounting their boats every second.
A constant barrage of arrows were traded between both sides. The defense of holy wards and lightning shields were put to the test to determine the skill of Elven holy magic, and Troll shamanism.
Accompanied by this ranged exchange, mages and shamans dueled, hurling fire and lightning at one another creating magnificent explosions on either side.
The Trolls shields would burst under the superior fire rate, and punching power of Elven spells.
While on the Elven side, they were blessed with the Spellbreakers. His Majesty’s royal guard= initially created to police rogue mages-were put to ample use in this fight.
The Spellbreakers magnetized the enemy lightning into their shields, then responded with one of two reactions. They either smothered the lightning entirely, absorbed it into their gear/weapons to provide a lightning enchantment, or redirected it-towards the sky or the Amani line-whichever action they chose, they denied lightning from getting through.
As a result, not a single Elf had fallen to the Amani’s crude, yet powerful magics. The Trolls, however, were perishing by the dozens every second. Their totems burst as they became overcharged from using all their energy, then the Amani became defenseless as an animal put to slaughter.
Fire rained upon their ranks, and Trolls screamed in agony as their flesh scorched. Lor'Themar knew through interrogation that the Troll healing factor was activated at all times. That when the flesh was burned, it could not regrow, but the healing factor pushed, and pushed upon that skin constantly in an effort to regenerate.
For some Trolls, this merely caused an annoying itch, for others, it was debilitating pain. Numerous Trolls who did not perish from a direct fireball, and who did not receive immediate healing rolled around on the sandy beach in grief and pain.
Lor'Themar grimly watched on as those who survived were ignored, and all to often, stomped on by their peers as they rushed to climb the steep embankment, and meet the Elven line.
While he assessed the battlefield, Lor'Themar would occasionally choose a target-typically a powerful looking shaman or expert healer-and would pluck his bow about once every 10 seconds, eliminating the threat.
As the commander of this force, he could not afford to unleash all his arrows into every enemy that presented itself. Instead, he had to conserve his strength for the inevitable clash between Heroes. As every arrow of his was both enchanted, and coated in his own mana, he had to be conservative with how he spent his energy. Besides, directly killing their foes was only part of his duties.
Prince Kael'Thas had given him command over the beach, and command he shall!
“Paladins, bubble! Bubble for the initial charge! You are soldiers of Silvermoon, whatever comes up that beach, you will hold!” Lor'Themar ordered as he saw the mass of larger, and stronger Amani were about to collide with the line.
His voice, practiced to mass combat throughout the ages, pierced the din of battle, and within seconds, the paladins began to coat themselves in holy, Light based bubble shields.
Warriors who stood beside them likewise received bubbles from the priests and priestesses standing at the back of the formation.
The front line consisted of a little more than 1,000-2,000 heavily armored warriors and paladins. Their weapons glowed white or red, indicating powerful arcane or fire enchantments upon their gear.
Unlike human armies that preferred to fight in dense formations that could properly utilize their large numbers, Elves preferred to fight about 5 ft apart from the next Elf standing on the line. As the Highborn were an extremely individualistic and long lived society, they had long honed their skills toward agility, and precision combat.
As a result, leaving some space for maneuvering in battle was key toward Highborn combat methodology. Of course, Standing in a compact formation was also a good way to have the entire unit blasted apart by a powerful area of effect spell.
The front line was further bolstered by over 100 arcane golems. Large in size, there was no standard, but most of them stood around 9ft tall. The golems were positioned on the left and right wings of the army, and served as a funnel for the Trolls to direct all their attention on the Elf center.
Resistant to both magic and especially physical attacks, the golems needed no wards for protection, and served as the Elven vanguard. Charging to meet the enemy before the warriors and paladins, they ran down the slope allowing their heavy weight and momentum to turn them into unstoppable killing machines.
The golems heavy bodies were unblockable at the steep angle of the hill. Every footfall of the golems came down at Troll head, or chest level, resulting in a squashed head or ribcage. Hundreds of Trolls were instantly pancaked during the golems charge.
Roaring in defiance, a group of giant Trolls, enlarged by shaministic magics rushed towards the golems, and began grappling with them.
Covered in tribal tattoos, and muscular beyond belief, these giant Trolls were at least 10-12 ft in height, yet wide with an incredible wingspan. Their tattoos glowed with mystical power, increasing their already incredible strength by several magnitudes of order.
Several golems had their arms gripped by massive green hands, and the sound of shrieking metal pierced the air as the golems were torn limb from limb. Some of the golems fought back, and constantly erupted with Arcane Explosions, tearing away flesh, and contesting the Trolls with a mighty strength of their own.
“Mages, burn the big ones!” Lor’Themar directed, then sniped one of the giant Trolls through its eye, and penetrated its brain.
Fire followed up his attack soon after, and a dozen of the giant Trolls retreated in fear from the flames. However, even more of the Trolls went crazy into the pain, and their tattoos glowed ever brighter as they pressed deep into the golems. A few Elves that were to close got caught up in this wild charge, and were stomped underneath giant green feet the size of wheels one would find on a wagon or cart.
Some of the giant Trolls-much like the golems-seemed to have a suicide feature as well. By lighting up tattoos all over their body, they could erupt for an entire minute before their life force was drained, and they collapsed as shriveled husks. This eruption of power made these giant Trolls just as dangerous as the most veteran Elf, so much so that if all of them went at Lor’Themar at once like this, he wouldn’t say with full confidence that he would come out on top.
The golems were holding, but even with mage support, Lor’Themar didn’t know how long they could last against this onslaught. He wanted to personally advance, but it was too early. He was keeping his eyes and ears attuned to the battlefield, drinking everything in, and keeping himself apprised of any possible traps or enemy plots.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Amani rush towards the Elven line was halted dead in its tracks as they couldn't pierce through the bubbles set up by the priests and paladins.
For every Elf on the front line, four Trolls attacked them from all angles. However, Lor'Themar noted with some pride that his forces were acquitting themselves well.
Enchanted blades cheered through primitive stone axes, and cut through limbs like butter.
Skilled warriors who had trained for centuries effortlessly parried attacks, then using the smallest of wasted movements would riposte, stabbing their swords into the brains of the enemy.
Of course, like any war, there would be casualties. Some Elves either grew overconfident, or were just unlucky and would take one to many blows to their wards. Once these popped, the Trolls would leverage their superior numbers, and tackle the Elf to the ground. Once mounted, the Amani would then ceaselessly batter the Elf’s armor, or more often than not, slip a dagger in through the helmet's visor, ending the Elf’s life.
A dozen Highborn perished this way, and there was nothing the priests could do. Of course Lor'Themar and the rangers supported their melee fighters when they would be pushed over, and had saved over a hundred Elves from suffering a similar fate. But every death ate at Lor'Themar. It only made him want to win that much more.
Observing the heated combat, Lor'Themar noticed his front line begin to tire and wane. The loss of the Sunwell was a serious misfortune, and he saw that the front line was in desperate need of a minute to gather themselves, and consume a Mana Stone.
He had fought the Amani countless times, he knew they were cowards at heart. Create enough uncertainty, and they would break like an aged, moldy floorboard. One simply needed to know where to step and apply pressure.
Now was the time. When the enemy was at its most uncertain, and his allies at their most fatigued. Now was the time for him to take command from the front.
Running forward, Lor'Themar channeled his mana into his bow, causing it to glow a hot, arcane white. He then plucked his boosting 10 times. For each physical arrow that left his bow, 10 magically generated arrows spread out into the densely populated Troll formation.
Instantly, 100 Trolls fell to the ground, relieving the beleaguered front line if only a little.
“Rest but a moment, soldiers of Quel'Thalas! Absorb those Mana Stones, I shall cover you!” Lor'Themar commanded, and without breaking his stride, made it to the front line.
As soon as he emerged through the line of paladins and warriors, Lor'Themar was met by an axe.
Dropping his bow, and unsheathing his twin blades, Lor'Themar effortlessly side stepped the attack, then decapitated his foe.
A spear from another Amani came a second later, but Lor'Themar was left unimpressed as he cleaned through the spear from its tip to the shaft, cleaving the Troll in two.
Blood sprayed from the Troll like a water gushing from a waterfall, yet Lor'Themar was already out of the splash zone.
His next five steps saw twelve Amani laid out in the ground, gone from this world.
His next ten steps saw a hundred Amani staring blankly at the sky, their heads cut off.
Where once they were eagerly throwing themselves at him, seemingly recognizing him and trying to claim merits, the Trolls now flinched at his every movement, and backed away in fear.
By this point, the war drums had stopped, and there wasn't a single Troll chanting.
Lor'Themar knew it would take but one more stab at their weak point, and the Trolls would break like a dam filled past capacity.
Twirling his blades to flick the blood off of them, Lor'Themar smirked at the Trolls as they stood away from him in a semi circle.
He had advanced well past his line, and was surrounded, yet the Amani were too afraid to approach him.
Gesturing towards his face in a Trollish insult, implying that the Amani were tuskless.
“Watah wa boh boh!” One of them roared out in defiance, raising his axe high.
Lor'Themar slew him with ease, and eyed the remaining Trolls.
They took a step back. He took a step forward. They stepped back again. He began to jog forward. The Amani, now in a panic, routed.
Magic and arrows plowed into the retreating Amani backs as they abandoned all defense in a desperate bid to reach their ships. Golems continued to erupt with arcane explosions, tearing away flesh, and running over Trolls stomping them to death.
It was an absolute blood bath.
The force of 20,000 Trolls attacking their center had been more than cut in half. In contrast, 46 Elves had lost their lives in that brief encounter.
“Dee Amani neva surrender!” A deep voice boomed from the back of the Troll retreat.
Fleeing Amani immediately stopped in their tracks, and spread apart, allowing a familiar face to approach.
“Zul’Jin.” Lor'Themar hissed.
He should've never let this cancer escape that day.
As the Amani chief drew closer, the Elves and Trolls briefly ceased their warring and watched on. They all knew what was coming.
It was a tradition as old as Azeroth, it was a duel.
“I been waiting a looong time for dis.” Zul’Jin grinned, flexing his one good arm.
In the Troll's hand was a wickedly glowing axe. Its purple enchantment gave Lor'Themar a sick feeling. He must avoid it. Even a grazing blow would be deadly.
Standing nearly 20ft apart from one another, Lor'Themar eyed his aged opponent, thinking about how he would use Zul’Jin's lack of a right arm as his advantage.
“Jin! Jin! Jin!” The Trolls howled in support of their champion.
In response, the Highborn stared silently at them. Their eery cold magically colored blue eyes and silence unnerved a few Trolls, causing them to falter in their support.
“I show you the true strength of da Amani!” Zul’Jin turned toward his army in anger, lifting his arm in a showboating manner.
As soon as Zul’Jin turned his back to him, Lor'Themar saw the opportunity for what it was.
Brandishing his twin swords, Lor'Themar wordlessly charged.
Using the noise of the crowd to mask his approach, Lor'Themar reached Zul’Jin’s back within seconds.
Swiping at the nape of Zul’Jin's neck, Lor'Themar only just got his second sword up in time to parry a pair of eagle wings.
Bird wings had magically spread from Zul’Jin's back, each feather sharp as a blade, Lor'Themar was taken by surprise, and was forced to jump back as the feathers shot out from the pair of wings like arrows.
Caught in the unexpected attack, Lor'Themar’s thigh was pierced by a feather.
The Troll crowd roared in delight, much to the Elf contingents cold displeasure.
A stinging pain flashed through him as he felt crimson ooze down his pant leg, yet he paid it no mind as an axe came baring down upon his head.
Pushing himself off the ground with his wings and boosted by a magically induced draft of wind, Zul’Jin’s speed in no way was inferior to Lor'Themar’s.
The Amani chieftain closed the distance near instantaneously giving Lor'Themar zero breathing room.
Zul’Jin was relentless with his axe. Blow after blow came toward Lor'Themar, forcing him to constantly dodge.
Ordinarily he would've parried by now, and gone for the decapitation, however wind swirled around the axe, speeding it up to be just slightly slower than Lor'Themar could swing his own blades.
At this point, a direct confrontation was looking suboptimal. He would have to use his opponent’s weakness to win this fight.
Rolling under the next axe swing, Lor'Themar grunted in pain as the pain on his wound flared up, yet he could only soldier through it.
While he rolled towards Zul’Jin's missing arm, he scooped up some of the beach sand, and flung it into Zul’Jin’s eye.
The one second it took for Zul’Jin to blink his eye clear was enough for Lor'Themar to close the distance.
Appearing at Zul’Jin's side, Lor'Themar leaned forward, evading a blindly retaliating axe, he then stabbed one blade downward, cutting off a leg. His other sword, reaching toward the head however, it was unexpectedly intercepted.
When his sword was about to pierce Zul’Jin's brain, a giant eagle's claw pushed itself out of the nub on Zul’Jin's right shoulder, and reached out toward Lor'Themar.
Having witnessed the Troll’s body morphing technique once, Lor'Themar was somewhat prepared this time, and dropped to his knees to avoid the lethal attack.
However, dodging like this meant he did not land the match winning strike like he had hoped for.
“Clever mon, very clever, bet you never expected dis though?” Zul’Jin, also fallen to the floor, opened his mouth wide, and breathed out a torrent of green flames.
A small pale blue transparent shield sprang up around Lor'Themar at that moment, blocking the magical fire.
When Zul’Jin finished his breath attack, an enchanted necklace worn around Lor'Themar’s neck began to dim, and lose its luster.
“You Elves are full of surprises!” Zul’Jin remarked, standing up as his leg began to rapidly reform and heal.
“Sacrificing life span for improved healing. Troll ingenuity at its finest.” Lor'Themar bantered back.
Head turned toward the sand, Lor'Themar used his long hair to hide his grimace of pain. The eagle's claw had punctured his left shoulder, even lifting his arm felt like a struggle. Furthermore, he could feel the flesh in his leg begin to rot with necrosis. Whatever was in that feather, it was not doing him any favors.
Using this brief moment of respite, Lor'Themar stealthily reached into his belt for a potion.
“Aye, healing potions, enchanted armor, attacking from behind? You Elves are dishonorable mon.” Zul’Jin said menacingly.
Lor'Themar grinned mirthlessly at the Troll.
“I know you have something planned, but don’t think you can stall me enough to take that potion! For Zul’Aman, and countless innocent Troll deaths, die!” Zul’Jin shouted as he swiped down hard with his axe.
“Got you.” Lor'Themar smiled as the axe came down precisely onto the potion bottle in Lor'Themar’s hands.
“Hrm?!” Zul’Jin mumbled in shock as the potion exploded.
Hot white flame consumed the two. It was so powerful, not even Lor'Themar’s enchanted amulet could withstand its effect.
“Youuuuu foooool!” Zul’Jin madly roared in pain as he gripped Lor'Themar in a choke hold.
Lor'Themar let the immense pain wash over him as he thought of his lover, of his parents, of his lost daughter.
With this, he could finally rest now.
“Haha hah hahahaha, you really are a fool mon!” Zul’Jin madly laughed as green flames began to coalesce around his body, and eat at the flame.
In no time at all, Zul’Jin revealed his body to the world. He appeared to be nothing more than a monster of blackened sinew and bone.
As he was about to pass, Lor'Themar sighed in relief, no Troll could heal from burns like that. However, a second later, his hopes were dashed.
Green flame once more coated Zul’Jin’s body, and reformed his skin, returning him to peak physicality.
Lor'Themar fell to his knees, consumed in pain and regret, welcoming death's embrace.
‘I’m sorry King Anasterian, I have failed you.’ Lor'Themar gasped his last breath.
“Didn't cha hear me? We are dee Amani! We are invincible!” Zul’Jin held his arms aloft, and received a roaring approval from the surrounding Amani.
At least, Lor'Themar anticipated death then and there, yet he was still alive?
When Lor'Themar closed his eye, expecting to die within a second, an intense glow of light embraced him, returning strength to his muscles, and dispelling the flame.
Light pierced both his eyes as he was completely regenerated.
“It would be a little embarrassing for our people to go through three Ranger Generals in 20 years, no?” A cheeky, familiar voice entered Lor'Themar’s ears.
“Vandercross!” Zul’Jin’s triumph was doused as anger replaced victory.
Lor'Themar even thought he heard some fear in the Amani’s voice? How curious.
Feeling himself dragged to his feet, Lor'Themar felt a chill between his legs. Realizing his clothes had been burnt off, he never knew living through a sacrificial attack meant to safeguard the kingdom could be so embarrassing.
“Pick up those swords General, we have a war to win.” Vandercross spoke to him with his back turned to Lor'Themar.
Lor'Themar rubbed his eyes. For a second there, it felt like he was standing behind Highlord Vandercross when they first made landfall on the continent of Lordaeron.
“Of course…Highlord.” Lor'Themar picked up his undamaged enchanted blades, and formed up beside him.
Lor'Themar almost died, but he'd do it again if it meant he could secure young Vandercross’ safety. Between him and the Prince, the Highborn's future didn't look so bleak.
“By the way, you had better put some pants on, otherwise all the men will become jealous.” Vandercross spoke without turning his back.
Lor'Themar shook his head.
The future was bleak indeed.
