From the Portal

The first thing he noticed was the smell.

There are many things you can learn from just sniffing the air. Train the sense well enough and you can smell anything.

Orkwar smelled a Demon. But not just any old Demon, he smelled a Pit Lord.

All Orcs know the smell of a Pit Lord. It is something etched into their brain. Even if they have never smelled one before, the scent carries nothing but pure, red rage. For a long time, it was all Orcs ever smelled – except for blood.

Lying face down, the Dark Portal humming behind him, Orkwar’s other senses began returning. The sounds of war were all around him.

“Lok-Narash!”

“Keep pushing forward!”

“Lok’tar Ogar!”

“Flank the sides! Make sure they do not get up the steps! Keep the Portals clear!”

“Arcanist Telas, keep those Portals open!”

“Are you dead, Orc?”

“Oy! I asked if you were dead!”

Shaking his head, Orkwar looked up to find the Blood Elf addressing him.

“Coming through the Dark Portal and dying on the spot. You don’t give me much confidence in Orcish endurance,” the Blood Elf said.

Orkwar’s eyes had adjusted and looking past the Blood Elf, he stared out across the field of battle. He was twenty meters from the stairs, heading down into a great pit. On his right, the Horde send wave after wave of reinforcements down the stairs. Grunts of all races of the Horde were sprinting towards the carnage below. Orkwar could not see the base of the pit but he could hear the screams of the fighting and dying.

“Stand up, Orc. Let’s get you out of the way.” The Blood Elf stood next to Orkwar and waited for him to do the same. Making his way to his knees and then standing, Orkwar shook his head to grasp at what he now saw.

The field at the base of the steps was littered with bodies. Remarkably, however, most of the bodies were Demons. Infernals, their rocky limbs shattered and broken, crumbled under the onslaught of the Horde reinforcements. Felguards moved among the broken rocks, their hatred for all life burning in their eyes. Their vicious weapons raking flesh from bone. The Demons pushed against the Horde line.

Each advance of the Demons was met with Horde violence. The front line of the Horde wall slashed and crushed Demon skin and bone, while the back wall of the front, a solid, unbreaking wall of Shaman Totems, spread the effects of the Element’s blessing. Priests cured and dispelled curses and poison being flung by the Demons. Mages stood in the middle of the stairs, casting waves of destruction and raining death from afar.

Orkwar then saw what he had first smelled. It towered over the field but neither advanced nor retreated. Moving along the back lines of the Demon army, it summoned the Infernals and Felguards from the Nether and thrust them into the fray. It laughed each time one of its summoning was destroyed, as if it fed off their death.

His ears picking up the speech of Darnassian, Orkwar turned to his left. A Portal had been opened and before his eyes, Night Elves, Draenei, Dwarves, Humans and even Gnomes came pouring through.

“About bloody time they showed!” said the Blood Elf, his exasperation evident in his voice. Turning to Orkwar he said, “Make your way to Lieutenant General Orion. He will tell you where you are needed.”

The Blood Elf stormed off towards the incoming Alliance, his attention focused on the Dwarf commander. Seeing the battle below him, Orkwar made his way to the steps. He pulled his shield from his back and unhitched his axe.

“If you are thinking about joining the battle, Orc, I’d reconsider,” another Blood Elf said to Orkwar. “That Pit Lord would devour your soul before you had even reached the line. The troops down there have been prepared for this fight. Leave it to them,” he said. “Even the Alliance down there know what they are doing.”

Orkwar watched as the Alliance quickly went to work and headed down the stairs, joining the Horde already in place. Their Mages synched with the Horde Mages in place and the death from above quickened. The Alliance Warriors moved into the Horde lines and Draenei Shamans began replacing fading Totems on the back line. The Paladins of both sides joining side by side to steal fallen comrades back from death’s grasp. Shadows coalesced as Night Elf, Forsaken and other Rogues struck from their darkness.

The line of Demons was being pushed back. Reaching the mid-point of the arena below, the bodies of Demons piling around them, the Alliance and Horde let out a unanimous cry of fury. The Pit Lord paused in his summoning to laugh at them.

“Foolish mortals,” he bellowed, his breath sending waves of heat across the field, “the might of the Burning Legion will crush you.”

At the taunt of the Pit Lord, the Azerothian line continued forward. Waves of Demons fell before their onslaught. Soon, the line of Azerothians stopped before the Pit Lord. The Demons’ advancement had been broken.

The Pit Lord stood facing the line. A Draenei Paladin at the middle raised his hammer high to the air. Whispering words to the Light for its blessing, Holy energy began crackling around him. The Blood Elf to his right followed his lead, raising his hammer as well, stealing Holy power from the Light, causing the air between them to ignite. Before them, the ground glowed as if a thousand suns were beneath the surface.

With a cry of hatred, the Pit Lord charged the line. Stepping onto the consecrated ground, his flesh began to burn.

“You cannot stop the coming of the Legion,” he raved. “You will all perish.”

Reaching the line, swinging his massive weapon in a wide arc, the Pit Lord cleaved a great whole in the middle of the line. Bodies were sent sprawling across the field – some never rising to join the fight again.

The Mages began their weavings of Arcane magics. Blast after blast torn through the Pit Lord while the Azerothian line collapsed around both sides of him.

Stomping the ground, breaking cracks in the red earth and stunning those around him, the Pit Lord spun to his left. His tail swept those behind him unlucky enough to be unaware. Rogues of all races nimbly climbed the back of the Pit Lord. They slashed and stabbed, hundreds of gashes appearing all over its back.

The Pit Lord howled in rage. Blood rained over the Azerothians, green drops falling like meteors from the open wounds. Warriors moved between the feet of the Pit Lord, finding tendons and soft spots on the underside, impaling their weapon to the depths of their forearms in the exposed flesh.

“Though you kill thousand,” the Pit Lord cried, “the numbers of the Legion are endless.”

With a great swipe, the Pit Lord cleared the line in front of him again, breaking through the ranks. He stormed, oozing across the red earth, towards the line of Mages. Reaching them, he brought his weapon back with both hands.

“For you and your world,” he roared, “there is no hope.”

As if with a single mind, the Mages encased themselves in ice, creating an impassable, impregnable barrier on the stairs. Behind the Pit Lord, Druids, Night Elf and Tauren alike, switch to their Moonkin forms and began a new assault.

Moonfire rained from above and stars fell upon the Pit Lord. His broken body shuddering under each attack, his breath staggering, the Pit Lord tried again to smash through the wall of ice to get at the Mages. Each cleave splintering great chunks of frozen enclosures, creating a minor winter storm at the middle of the steps.

As if realizing he could no longer ignore the barrage of the Druids, the Pit Lord heaved his great weight around, bones and tendons splintering. His tail struck the wall of ice and ripped from his body, connected only by flesh on one side. The Rogues had done their job well on its backside. Its great wings were torn from their holding and instantly ignited to flame, turning to ash before hitting the ground. Falling forward on broken limbs, the Pit Lord dropped his great weapon to catch himself.

The ground shuttered and cracked as he struck. His body spewed forth his blood, burning holes in the baked earth.

“Again I say, you foolish mortals,” he spat, pushing himself as tall as he could on his bloodied arms and facing those left on the line, “you cannot win against the Legion. In the end, your world will burn.”

Orkwar watched as the Draenei and Blood Elf Paladin approached the dying Pit Lord. Standing before the Pit Lord, both Paladins swung, the Blood Elf to his left, the Draenei to his right, striking the arms, snapping the bones within like twigs. As the Pit Lord fell, his body thrashed, all his useless limbs flopping around, trying to strike out.

Jumping to the Pit Lord’s neck, the Rogues, cat-form Druids, and Hunter pets made short work of the arteries, spilling the remaining blood from within the Pit Lord. A Human Warrior came forward hefting a massive axe. Staring the Pit Lord in the face, unblinking as the final breathes of the Pit Lord singed the hair from his body, he lifted the weapon above his head and sank the blade deep within the skull of the Demon.

With a final gurgle and shudder, the Pit Lord died.

“Regroup!” came the shouts from both sides. Orkwar watched as the Azerothians, looking like a single unit, moved to gather the wounded and regrouped at the base of the steps. Calls for heals began in all languages - Draenei healed Orc, Tauren assisted Human.

Orkwar turned from the field, he was no healer and the end of a battle was not his place, and strode to the left of the Dark Portal to find the Lieutenant General. He saw the armored Orc standing to the side of the Dark Portal. He was near a Mage who was holding yet another Portal open.

“We need more reinforcements. The Pit Lord is down, but he won’t stay that way. They always come back,” he told a Grunt with a weary voice. “Head through to Orgrimmar and inform Warchief Thrall. From there, make your way to the other capital cities. Let them know that we need more troops for Outland.”

The Grunt saluted and disappeared through the Portal. Curious, Orkwar watched hard to see if he could see the explosion of the young Orc as his body was teleported. He couldn’t and shrugged.

“Lieutenant General Orion,” he said, once the Grunt had disappeared, “I am Orkwar of Warsong. I have come to help.”

“I saw you at the steps, Orkwar of Warsong. You looked eager to join the battle,” the Leutenant General said.

“I am,” Orkwar replied.

“Forget this battle, Warrior. Join us in the war. Aided by the Alliance, my forces will hold the line here, but I need you to deliver my report to General Krakork in Thrallmar. With his help, we'll be able to drive these demons back into the abyss that spawned them! Speak to Vlagga Freyfeather who stands on the platform behind us. She'll speed you on your way. Lok’tar Ogar, Orkwar of Warsong.”

The Leutentant General saluted and Orkwar returned the salute with, “Lok’tar Ogar.”

The Wyverns were stationed on North side of the platform where the Dark Portal rested. As Orkwar made his way to them, looking for the Wyvern master, a great blast of hot air ripped through the ranks. The ground began to shudder and groan. Bolts of lighting and fire crashed from the sky and even reached from the ground high into the air.

“Hahahaha” A low, gravelly voice echoed over the wind.

Orkwar joined the rush back to the steps before the Dark Portal and looked down over the field. The line of Azerothian defenders had returned to midway up the steps.

“Prepare again! The Pit Lord is returning!”

Orders were issued in every language on Azeroth. Like a well oiled machine, places where taken, with Horde and Alliance standing together at mid-steps.

On the field below, the Pit Lord’s body trembled. Bolts of green light exploded in great shafts from his open wounds. Its skeleton was illuminated beneath its skin and even from this distance, Orkwar could see the bones mending themselves.

“Mwahahahahah,” the laughter echoed again, coming from all places at once. The wind blasted the ranks again, this time accompanied by intense heat. Orkwar smelled singed hair on the wind from those standing closer to the source of the blast.

“The might of the Burning Legion,” spewed the mouth of the Pit Lord, “is unstoppable.”

The skeleton’s light faded and all on the stairs could see, the Pit Lord’s body had not a mark on it. Its back was still to the stairs, its torn tail slowly reattached, tendons snaking out from the body to meet it. The head of the monster lifted from the ground. Its right arm reached out, unbroken, towards its fallen weapon. Grasping the dark blade, it used the weapon to help it stand. Moving to its full height, the Pit Lord’s new wings snapped open. It spun to face the defenders on the stairs. The forest of ivory teeth in its mouth barely preventing the strands of drool from escaping.

It spit at the line, “Come mortals. Face the might of the Legion once more.”

Slowly raising its arms to the sky, Infernals began to rain down on the defenders.

“Abandon your hope, for the Legion consumes all.”