Act Three Scene Four
Magina looked into the sky and saw only horror. Winged abominations of the Scourge covered the skies. On foot, the undead minions were like sand on a
seashore. Countless foul creatures, ghouls and crypt fiends crawled everywhere in a mad flurry. Skeleton warriors under the sway of their foul masters the necromancers marched in huge columns, a grisly sight of macabre nodding skulls.
At both sides of an immense riverside plain, a brigade stood against numerous legions. It was a strategic nightmare. They would be crushed if they clashed.
Magina's hand reached for his blade. He gripped his warglaive with a death-like vise. They were too outnumbered. However they cannot lose. The price of defeat is too great. He must make sure the battle is won without great losses on their side.
The legion of foul spawn was nothing compared to the sight of their so-called heroes. Magina's throat went dry when he saw them. Their grand foes. Leading the front was the Lord of Avernus, chief of generals that served the Lich King. Abaddon, with vast and haughty strides rode forth, came towering, atop a massive beast armed in adamant and gold. His shield was a sun-eater, dark and devouring. His blade gleamed wickedly and his sharp face was pure venomous frost.
Unholy abominations followed the fell destroyer. Weak faithless soldiers quailed before them, as they would before the giants of Anak.
Horrid Pudge the Butcher, a foul misshapen lump of corpses lumbered on. Dried blood crusted everywhere on its belly, if it could be called a belly, for it was a bad stitch of skin on voluminous entrails. On its bulging arm it twirled a large evil hook to snare its foes and its face had a set of heavy crooked teeth crunch on their skulls.
Two of them. Just two of them sent jolts of fear through the Kal'dorei.
Abaddon whipped his horse into rearing its iron legs. It gave a sulphurous bray; if such a monstrous beast could be called a horse for it was a construct of bones and evil magic.
Arrogance glittered in his deathly eyes.
Abaddon stood and taunted for all the Sentinels to hear. “Why are you all coming out to fight in such few numbers?” he called. “I am the hero for the Scourge's legions and you are a puny force. I see you scared and running. You will know why. All six hundred of you may charge at me. Even in lone combat I will tear out all your hearts and send them to your homes and raise your worthless bodies to eat each others flesh!”
The night elves stood swaying, their faces paralyzed.
Magina could not bear to look on any further. He rode on his nightsaber and addressed all his men. His face was fierce and his spirit was flaring.
"My brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of our people fails, when we forsake our friends, and break all bonds of fellowship; but it is not this day! This day we fight! This day they shall face the steel of the Kal'dorei! This day they shall remember that the Kal'dorei stood for what is good and right! That we stood by our friends and honoured our bonds of friendship and blood. By Elune and by all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Kal'dorei!"
They answered him with a huge roar. All doubt blown away by their renewed courage.
Abaddon narrowed his eyes and hissed in rage.
Magina Stormrage placed his forehead on the flat of his blade as if in prayer. He whispered only one word.
He shouted, "Abaddon. I challenge you to a duel. Man on man!"
"Bring it Stormrage!"
In the Blink of an eye, he disappeared from the front lines – and he leap'd high above Abaddon, bringing down a deadly blow.
Abaddon raised his large shield and intercepted the ruinous blow. From under his shield, his deadly blade lashed out, intent to catch Magina with a
No mortal after being cut by Abaddon's blade could stand and fight - for his foul blade not only steals life, but also strength.
Magina was quicker than the blade. By a hair's breadth he avoided that deadly cut. Yet Magina sprang back as if wounded. The sheer force of that slash nicked Magina. Foul magicks from the fell blade snaked greedily for the wound like a blood-frenzied shark.
At Abaddon's beckoning, all his undead rushed forward, intending to trap Magina.
The soldiers under Magina lost heart to see their commander surrounded by a deadly trap. Leaderless, the army of the Sentinels froze. it was Terrorblade who took over and set them on the right path.
Terrorblade, far behind with the healers and not far in spirit from battle, burst to the front line and cried out hoarsely, “Foul! Foul! Foul! Dishonour to be
repaid with Death! Slay the foul knight!”
The soldiers, once disheartened to see Magina trapped by so foul a trap were now filled with a spirit of vengeance. They raised their spears and glaives, swords and lances. All were braying for blood.
Battle was joined on that day. Half a league, half a mile, half a mile onward. All in the plain of doom six hundred met ten thousand.
“Forward, Kal'dorei! Charge for Stormrage!”
The Kal'dorei shouted and charged.
Undead to the left of them, Undead to the right of them, Undead in their front. The Night Elves, Wardens, Druids and Sentinels, all six hundred of them met the thousands. Boldly they rode and ran. Into the jaws of death. Into the mouth of Hell. Glaives flung out like metal waves, meeting rotting flesh.
They flashed bare moonsabres; flashing as they turned them in the air, sabr'ing ghoul and necromancer in their charge. Right through the lines they broke. Gore and screams had filled the sky. The dying lay dead and the dead lay mangled.
In between blows, Magina remembered. His body fighting purely on reflex. A painful flashback started.
That starry night he met Shendelzare. She glowed, her beautiful skin shimmering in spite of the dull blue tunic she wore under her breastplate. Her eyes were like twin moons.
“Will you come back home? Come together with me?”
“I will come back this morning. Even From Quel'thas o'er the sea.” Magina promised, his gravelly voice nearly breaking.
He can't lose her. He cannot.
So Magina raised his head bravely against the heavens torn by screams; striding from out the carnage, he called on the name of the goddess.
The goddess must have heard him and answered him.
Standing, he shouted there, conjointly the gift-giving goddess, and trouble immense was caused thereby to the undying.
All their minds were amazed--the fell necromancers and knights of great abomination, such fear was awakened in their bosoms, even though they were backed by vast lines of meat wagons, their evil machines of war.
Aghast, they surveyed the untameable blazes
, horribly round the brow of high, heroic Stormrage burning, ignited by her the gift-giving Goddess.
Magina Stormrage was cloaked with magical flames.
Magina stood, flame-capped and shouted. Undead broke ranks in fear.
A noble stroke he raised and so swiftly moonblade fell on his foe, that no sight nor quick thought could detect it, lest Abaddon's large shield could
intercept, such a ruinous blow; ten paces huge, Abaddon's back recoiled, the tenth on bended knee, did he recover.
Abaddon raised a gloved palm in parley and spoke falsely and breathlessly,
“This bodes ill for you young elf. Fifty and ten score years you may be, but you are still one millennium too young to face me. Stand not between my defence of my master's land. We are as numerous as the sand on the seashore. You might think to fight me to win renown for yourself, but you and your brethren will face only certain death. Surrender and you may live.”
Before Abaddon even finished, a deadly dagger snaked forward, Magina parried the treacherous blade.
Magina hissed back, “Liar, this land was once free from the stain of the undead. Today day this land will vomit you out!”
Magina summoned a bolt of arcane energy and slammed the chaotic mix into his enemy's face. However, Abaddon was waiting,
Abaddon merely shrugged off the attack like it was nothing.
“You and what army? Your men are beaten into a rout while my legions will hound them all,” Abaddon sneered, pointing at his vast horde chasing down the retreating Sentinels.
Their charge was slowed by the ranks of the undead and forced to flee.
“If you have difficulty killing me, you ain't seen nothing yet.” Magina grinned.
“-What?” Abaddon frowned. Something had changed.
It was Furion, dressed in green and gold and raising a long gnarled staff. The druids answered his call.
A contingent of druids led by the Prophet Furion himself burst from the ground everywhere. They had burrowed deep in the ground days before, using their gifts from nature, digging underground everywhere.
The charge led by Terrorblade had already retreated to a safe place and took up a defensive position. The undead gave chase, thinking they routed their foes. It was a trap.
The Sentinels took up positions and waited for the undead giving chase. When they did, Furion sprung the next trap.
The druids diverted the river to flood the plain, whose soil was riddled with tunnels. In a matter of moments, a great north wind blew in huge heavy and dark clouds laden with rain and lightning. Earth that was hard and sun baked became mud. Where there were tunnels dug, they became a quicksand traps, trapping undead in the quagmire.
Legions of the Scourge found themselves stuck in mud and quicksand which they could not extract themselves from.
To their handlers merit, they quickly reacted by getting their minions to dig themselves out.
However Furion's trap was not complete.
Furion scattered seed from his pouch. With the support of his druids, wild and thrashing vines grew and multiplied, burying the struggling undead into the
muddy swamp and keeping them down. Slowly but surely, the vines broke down bone and marrow.
One brigade took down legions of the Scourge that day. The druids had won the day.
Abaddon was brimming with rage. He was completely out-witted. In his evil rage, he brought down his large wicked blade on Magina's head. Magina could not react in time. It was a fatal blow. Magina was struck down.
He didn't even have time to regret. He was only dimly aware that Shendelzare would cry over him.
Shendelzare. Shendelzare. Please don't let the darkness take my memory of her away. Magina struggled in his dying wish.
He tried to remember her eyes. Or the smell of her hair. Or the touch of her hands. They were slipping away. No
Remembering her face was getting hard. Everything was being consumed by the darkness.
No. Don't let her go.
Magina could not hold on anymore.
He felt a surge of wellness and was at peace.
Shendelzare felt a chill in her heart when she saw Abaddon roaring in triumph. She felt totally powerless. She could not do anything. She was powerless.
Not powerless. She felt the key in her breast. Shendelzare was powerless. But she could do something. Her sister. No matter what they said about her. She could help. She was the only one able to.
Terrorblade was beside Magina, having cut down many foes in his desperate charge to save his dying twin. He was grimy and flecked with gore while his
warglaive was slippery with blood. He broke through five ranks of undead to reach his brother.
Everyone told Terrorblade to come back and save their wounded. But he would not listen. Even with injured night elves in his way, he paid them no heed. He had one goal.
He had to save Magina.
The Elder Stormrage tore forth, summoning all the power he had for the most powerful healing magicks he knew. The same one that saved Mortred from death.
Only to find himself trapped by the circle of the Scourge's generals. He could see it in their expressions. They were routed, but they would not go down without making the Sentinels pay.
“Save him.” He whispered in desperation. With his powers, he pumped healing forces into Magina. That deadly gash closed up. But Magina would not wake.
“So you'll fight me for a dead body? Foolish. Very foolish.” Abaddon drawled, lazily twirling his blade. That fiend was relishing his despair.
The elder Stormrage stood like a guardian over his brother's body. His blades unsheathed and ready to strike.
“Foul knave. In combat none was my match. Now that I have control over the druidic magics, you cannot hope to beat me, even if you are one of the Evils from the Twisting Nether,” Terrorblade declared.
The scary thing was that he was not bluffing about his power.
Abaddon shook his long graying tresses and his lined face showed supreme confidence. “Correct. But can you fight the five of us?”
Pudge the Butcher lumbered forward, its insides trailing about while its grotesque arms held wicked cleavers.
Anub'arak the Nerubian Assassin appeared out from nowhere, flashing his deadly pincers.
Kel'Thuzad the Lich floated, surrounded by levitating shards of ice. The powers of winter in his skeletal hands.
A winged being hovered above them. One of the Nathrezim, The dreadlord known as Balanar the Night Stalker.
Abaddon taunted him.
“We are merely holding back our powers. If all the forces of evil were to assemble here. We would tear this tiny land apart with our presence. This is the difference in our strength,” Abaddon exclaimed.
There were three Terrorblades.
“Now we are even.” Terrorblade grinned grimly.
Two of his images stepped forward, facing off two opponents each.
Leaving Abaddon for the real Terrorblade.
“You insult us, mortal.” Kel'thuzad remarked, readying a powerful spell.
Terrorblade sprang forward, his left foot propelling forward. He aimed a crushing blow at Abaddon.
Instead of crushing armour and flesh with his deadly strike, Terrorblade seemed to have crashed head on with an unseen wall.
“Pitiful, you failed to notice the coils of pure power surrounding me, my Aphotic Shield. It absorbs some of the damage directed at me....”
Abaddon drew himself to his full height, clearly enjoying the moment.
“I return it in a full and explosive force!”
Terrorblade's eyes widened. He felt the air being torn apart and a violent lash of energy whipped him in the chest. He was flung back, head over heels and
left sprawling in the mud.
Terrorblade quickly got to his feet, baring his weapons for another round. Involuntarily he coughed. There was blood.
This was bad. He had taken severe internal injuries.
Before he could take another step, he instinctively twisted, narrowly avoiding the shard of ice magic directed at him. Terrorblade looked all around him.
His images were cut down by the champions of the Scourge in the moment he struck hard at Abaddon.
“Like I said, you insult us, elf.” said Kel'thuzad, dusting his skeletal fingers.
This was harder than he thought.
Two more Terrorblades appeared. Ready to strike.
“We can do this forever,” Terrorblade taunted, bluffing about the strain he was beginning to feel.
“Perhaps, but can your brother wait that long?” Abaddon said lazily.
Terrorblade felt his own brother's spirit slipping away.
He hated losing but he would not lose his brother. His twin. His friend.
He gnashed his teeth in frustration and jumped back, preparing for another healing ritual. This time it was far more powerful than any he mustered.
Terrorblade gave a bestial roar, giving up even his life force to revive his brother. All his power exploded into that one vital moment.
The effort was tremendous and the elder Stormrage felt dizzy.
“He won't come back. He is dead,” Abaddon cruelly remarked. His tall imposing figure was saddled on a monstrous horse enjoying everything he as observing. Like a mad emperor playing a fiddle while the city burned.
The elder Stormrage could not move his body which felt like lead. Breathing deeply, fighting the blackness that began eating away at his vision, he
looked desperately at his brother's eyes. His spell had to work.
There was no other hope.
Magina. Magina. Please.
The nasty gash on Magina's head was closed up, with only a dried splatter of blood and gore dripping down his beautiful tresses.
However Magina's eyes were lifeless.
“This is war. This is Death. Naive weakling. Do you think this is one of the poems you read? There is no reprieve. No rescue. Two great heroes will meet
their end here,” Abaddon boasted.
All about him, his infernal train of followers cackled in their own diabolical manner.
“Pudge! Eat Elf!” bellowed the stupid monster, to all the devilish fiends' dastardly delight.
Magina's brother stretched out his hand to his dead brother. To clasp it.
An even more terrible thought seized him. The Terrorblade was going to die. Terrorblade didn't want to die. Not now. There was the sound of a wicked laugh and a sword being unsheathed. He felt his own body being scooped up by Pudge and its jaws unhinged to crush his skull.
This was the end.
“Hush now,” a gentle voice crooned.
There was a thud and screams and everything ended.