A hive of silithid have burst from the mountains bordering Ahn’qiraj and there has already been several days of bloody fighting, with the Ramkahen Legion forced out of the field.
The sacrifice of a Horde warband, early to arrive, allowed the tol’vir to withdraw to Orsis, where they now wait for promised aid from the Alliance to arrive.
In the Eastern Kingdoms, the Lionheart are urgently called to Stormwind Keep to answer a plea for aid from Uldum, intended as the vanguard of a force being hastily called up.
Koramak dropped down into a slide to descend the dune quicker, coming to his feet and folding up the goblin spyglass he was using to observe the carpet of black carapace surging across the desert towards their position. He let out a faint growl as he looked around, the heat was getting to him, but the blood was pumping still and he shook off the growing fatigue.
His warband was in good shape, comparatively, and had blooded themselves well, but they had been too close to the hive or a spawning pool, he reckoned, and attacked too soon. The silithid had kept swarming no matter how many of them died and they had been forced to retreat. The actions of his shaman and mage had bought time for their withdrawal, but they were too exhausted to do it again. The silithid swarm would outrun and envelop them before they and the Ramkahen legion could reach Orsis.
Still, his course was clear, and he began meeting the gaze of his warriors. He had handpicked each and every one of them, and they knew each other well. They knew what he was about to say before he even began; “We’ll engage again and keep them occupied.” He announced, and the Tol’vir commander - Atenet - regarded him, his scarred visage creasing into a frown, “You will die.” He said.
“Likely.” Koramak replied, bluntly, “But you won’t. Get to your fortifications, make them stronger with the time we buy you, and then you’ll have to hold until the Alliance arrive.” It was simple logistics and luck that had allowed his warband to get here early. They were no great heroes, just mere soldiers, and he had realised quickly once they arrived that they were not the solution to these silithid, but the Horde had nothing else to spare. So it fell to the Alliance to finish the job, in his mind.
“Will they?” The Tol’vir asked. He wasn’t sceptical, but he was making his own calculations in his head, Koramak realised - he was deciding whether to stay and fight and die if fleeing again merely meant delaying the inevitable, or not.
“They will come.” The orc replied as he started adjusting his gauntlets and checking his gear, his warband following his lead and doing the same without complaint or objection. He was certain the Alliance would send aid. He did not hold the prejudices of many of his kin. He was of no clan by choice, his clan was the Horde, and he had seen that whether it was to the Horde’s benefit or not, the Alliance had always kept their word, he paused his checks to look towards Atenet, considering adding something else, but he found he didn’t need to. The tol’vir nodded, and turned about, barking orders, within minutes the legionnaires turned and sped away at a faster gait now they weren’t keeping pace with the slower warband.
“Warriors!” He raised his voice, and his axe, “We will fight until we are dead or we are relieved! Lok’tar ogar!”
His rallying cry was echoed, and the ranks of armoured orcs, trolls and tauren fell in to his left and right as he led them back up the dune, and they started to chant as they did so, psyching themselves up, throwing off fatigue, working back up to the infamous blood rage that characterised the Horde armies - though his warband was different. He had channelled the blood rage; they fought as a unit and did not seek personal glory. He had, in many ways, used human teachings and tactics just like Thrall had done. So it was that when the warband reached the top of the dune to see that the golden sand ahead of them had turned black from the surging mass swarming towards them, it was a single wall of metal plate and shields, not a ragged line of individual warriors.
This was how it was supposed to be, Koramak thought as he joined in with his warband’s chanting. Victory or death, in defence of someone else, no matter who they were. That was honour. That was the Horde. They’d die, but they’d die showing the rest the future.
The swarm met them, it was held back, wave after wave repelled, but eventually the warband disappeared under a carpet of night.
Tomorrow, our mini-campaign - Abyssal Sands - begins! Continuing the Lionheart’s fight to stem the Black Blood.
