untitled Warcraft fanfic

[Jason von Evil]

Chapter one

Draken Jordan eyes widened at the sight before him. The entire plain before the human army was covered by bodies. Green bodies. Orc bodies. Jordan knew that this was the army of rogue Orcs that the assembled army of humans were supposed to fight, by request of Chieftan Thrall. But, it was obvious that someone had done the deed for them, and as he and his fellow soldiers approached with caution, it became apparent that the battle was brutal. It was clear that many of the Orcs were running when they were struck down. This struck Jordan as odd, as the Orcs rarely, if ever, ran from anything.

The commanders, who were just as confused as their men, split the army into small groups of ten, each with their own task. Two of the groups stood watch while three more patroled the surrounding area. The rest were given the "lovely" job of either gathering the corpses and preparing them for burial or digging the large holes that the bodies would be buried in. Draken, a young foot soldier, took a break after he and another soldier finished tossing the body of a large and extremely heavy grunt into one of the pits. He looked around as he caught his breath, surveying the progress. So far they had put about half the dead into the mass graves. But, he knew it would take several more hours to finish. He didn't like that fact at all. The sun was already beginning to set and the sky was relativly cloudy. This put the entire army in danger. It would be very dark and he was sure his comrades were tired from digging holes or heaving bodies. Plus, they didn't know who or what had massacred nearly a thousand Orcs with such brutality, or if they were still nearby. He continued looking around and saw the few Elven priests that had accompanied them giving the dead last rites.

Hours later, the Orcs were buried and crude markers up placed, incase Thrall wanted the bodies returned. By now, the sun had set, the clouds had cleared away and the human army had set up camp several yards away from mass graves. The moon shone down on the human army as men sat around fires, some drinking ale, (the commanders were not about to deny weary men this pleasure) while others roasted rabbit. (which were easily retrieved from a nearby wooded area) Jordan leaned back and looked to the stars. His mind kept returning to the sight that he and the others had come upon eariler that day. "What possibly could've slaughtered an army of Orcs like that?" He thought to himself. He knew it couldn't have been a human nor a Night Elf army. Both races had signed truces with each other, a result of the great war against a demonic race that both the orcs and elves called "The Burning Legion." He had heard stories of the legion a few weeks before fighting in that massive battle, amazingly side by side with what was then the arch enemy of mankind. For a moment, the idea that the undead might've done it. He had seen and heard what these Scourge (as they called themselves) could do. He had heard and seen Ghouls rip both man and orc to shreds in a frenzy. The memories sent a cold chill down his spine. He lifted the flask to his lips and washed the chill away with luke warm ale. "There's no way the undead could be this far down." Jordan took another long sip from his flask and lay down, resting his head on his pack. He had worked hard today and was about to cash in on some well deserved sleep.

Unfortunatly for the young man from Duneshire, his stay in the realm of sleep would be short. The entire camp was woken by a series of screams. Human screams. Draken sat up, listening to the screams of pain...horror...of death. Jordan didn't have to guess the source of the gut wrenching sounds. It had to be the men standing guard out on the perimiter. Something was killing them and whatever it was, it wasn't being merciful. Jordan joined the other soldiers as they quickly put their lightplate and helmets on and grabbed their weapons. They rushed towards the now ebbing cries and what young Jordan and the others saw staggering their way sent perverbial ice siciles down his spine. A footman, stumbled towards his comrades. Both arms were missing, as was the skin and flesh from the side of his face. He bled from dozens of wounds on his face, neck and legs. He bore keep gashes on his back and chest. Gashes that Jordan seen before. It was years ago, when humans, orcs and elves stood shoulder to shoulder against a near unbeatable enemy. During the battle, he had seen a hideous grayish-white creature with black hair and a gaping jaw tear into an unlucky footman with its oversized claws. The marks the creature, which he later discovered was called a 'Ghoul', left on the poor man's torso as it tore into him were almost the exact same as the ones on the man who staggered, then collapsed before his comrades.

The human army stood infront of one of the hills that was situated in the rolling green plains. Each man stood in shock and fear at what they saw. Infront of them and fast approaching was something that filled every man with dread and undying fear - an army of the undead. Draken Jordan felt his bladder relax and release it's contents as the seemingly countless forces of the undead began to charge at army of eight thousand men and as he hefted his broad sword, the air was suddenly filled with screams of Hell itself. Jordan took a deep breath and wished he was back home, working the fields.

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I wrote this chapter in about six hours, a first for me.

[Crown]

Hmmm, I don't know anything about Warcraft, but I like your writting style. One suggestion (and I know that it sucks for me to say this), but perhaps split up some of the larger paragraphs into smaller ones? It just makes it easier to read, that's all.

[Jason von Evil]

I was thinking the samething about the paragraphs. The funny thing about the story is, that I didn't realize till I was done was that there was no dialogue. I liked that though, it sort of fits.

Anyways, the story takes place at Warcraft 3. I don't have FT, so I have no idea what happens in that. Think of it as an AU.

[Kuja]

I just finished skimming through it and I like it.

[Jason von Evil]

^_________________^

[Kuja]

^_________________^

You have a big mouth, you know that?

[Jason von Evil]

^_________________^

You have a big mouth, you know that?

You have a birthmark on your right buttcheek, you know that?

[Kuja]

You have a big mouth, you know that?

You have a birthmark on your right buttcheek, you know that?

-_^

[Jason von Evil]

Just wanted to say that chapter two will probably be up either tonight or sometime tomorrow.

[Jason von Evil]

I kept my word, here's chapter two.

Jordan slowly opened his eyes and stared at the light blue sky. His entire body was racked with pain and he was more than that he was bleeding. He managed to sit up, albeit with some effort. He looked around. He was surrounded by bodies, both human and undead. So much for the Westerfield Battalion. He thought as slowly stood. It wasn't until then that he felt a burning sensation in his left side. Looking down, he found what looked like a ghoul's claw or part of a crypt fiend's limb jutting out. Jordan grimaced, knowing he'd have to remove it. Why'd I ever leave the farm to begin with? Castrating a bull was safer than this crap. He took the leather strap that once was attached to his shield (which was lost at some point during the battle) and folded it in two. He bit down on it and gripped the object in his side and took a deep breath.

"Bloody damn hell!"
His words echoed throughout the battlefield as he pulled the claw/limb, inch by inch. He dropped to his knees after he pulled it out. Breathing hard and clutching his side, he looked around, realizing he hadn't bothered to check to see whether or not anyone else was still alive. With some effort, Draken managed to undo the straps that held his battle damaged chest plate to his body. It dropped to the ground with a thud, then a clank as metal struck metal. He then removed his tunic and wrapped it around his stomach, creating a makeshift tourniquet. Normally, he would've made his way to the nearest priest for a quick healing. Unfortunatly, the priests were killed and eaten by a group of ghouls last night. There was a memory he could've lived well without. But, in the end, it was their own fault. The commanders had told them to stay behind our own lines where it was safe. Of course, they didn't listen. He had come upon them during the battle, as they were being set upon by several ghouls, then promptly ripped to shreds and devoured. He would've and wanted to vomit right then and there, if he, himself hadn't been attacked by a ghoul.

Jordan knelt down and picked up a flask that was laying beside the mutilated body of what could've once been considered a man. His throat was dry and the water (everyone in the army was ordered to carry atleast one flask of water) was better than a pint of beer at the local tavern in Duneshire. After he took two gulps of water, he looked around again. He still didn't see anyone, besides the corpses. He was glad, seeing as how he would be unable to defend himself, should an undead happen to pop up. His sword was laying somewhere, broken in half during the tailend of the battle, moments before he blacked out. He frowned. He lost many friends last night and he was stranded. There would be no way for him to simply hike to the nearest settlement, even if he knew where one was. He'd either die of hunger (he was sure any food his fellow soldiers were carrying was probably tainted by the undead) or his wound would do him in.

The battle had been brutal, as he remembered it now. After the scourge charged at them, the shocked men of the battalion managed to regain enough of their wits to fall into a defensive formation. The pikemen managed to hold off the ghouls and skeletons for a few moments. Long enough for the archers to begin showering the opposing army with arrows. When they began falling back, Jordan and the others all thought they were winning and foolishly, the commanders ordered a charge of their own. That was the big mistake. If they had just kept the defensive line and slowly advanced, Draken's friends probably would've lived. But, sadly, that did not happen. The undead fooled them. They waited until the majority of the enemy infantry were deep inside their ranks before springing the trap. Draken closed his eyes and shivered as he remembered the howls of the gargoyles as they came out of nowhere and dived and carried away several footmen. Then, the young swordsman watched in horror as a group of mounted knights were frozen in a block of solid ice, as he heard the screams of frost wyrms. Those were just the monsters attacking from the air. On the ground, the battalion of two thousand men were set upon by abominations, with the entire army being supported by necromancers and as he would later observe, a Death Knight. The Abominations were the things that frightened him the most and he took care to try and avoid them. The rumors he had heard about them were apparently true. They really were nothing more than a mass of decaying body parts, all sewn together and brought to life via dark magicks. He had seen one of them rip footmen and knights (along with their horses) apart, alone before it was finally slain.

Jordan was snapped out of his stupor as he was hit by sharp wave of pain, he shouted out as he gripped his side. Looking down and seeing that the entire tunic that he had wrapped over the wound was soaked with blood, he sighed, knowing he would die soon. His vision started to becoming blurry as blackness began to engulf the edges of his vision aswell. He legs turned to liquid and he fell backwards, landing with a thud. The blackness was closing in and he was now breathing with alot of effort on his part. Before he blacked out, for what he thought was the last time, he thought he saw something shaped like a human in the distance. As it got closer and just as he passed out, he thought the figure looked like it was...purple...