"I give my word as a battlereporter. /me puts hand on Rook"
-Drefsab
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| The Heat | | | Author: | | | IP: | spider-wXXXX | | Date: | 02/11/00 04:02 | | Game Type: | Warcraft 2 | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 6, Min: 6
Lifetime Rating for Elvenesque: 5.6667 |  | The heat. it is always there. The heat of battle. As I feel it once more slip into its accustomed place in my breast, my chest begins to heave. There is little time for reflection; the call goes up and we begin to move.
We are footmen, I and my comrades. The first line of defense for Lord Lothar and his newfound comrades. We are the first summoned from our humble barracks, and most often the first to seal our resolve with our own blood upon the field of battle.
There is some excitement among the younger members of my unit. Their swords show a slight tremble in their hands. They cajole one another, boasting of their own prowess and goading one another to anger. I have seen it before. The innocence of youth so quickly lost on the field of battle, among other things. This innocence is what we fight to preserve, and it saddens me to know that this innocence will so soon be replaced with the burning heat that drives the hardened veterans on through battle after battle.
I am startled from my reverie by the blood curdling war cries of the approaching horde. I strain my eyes....grunts. a small party of grunts is come to attack us. well. not quite so small; they number as many as my own unit. as the grunts approach my unit is joined by a small contigent of elves with barbed shafts notched to the strings of their bows. beautiful things. I am so often amazed by the grace with which the elves destroy their enemies.
The battle is upon us. The heat renews itself in my bosom as i raise my sword, cursing my enemies in the longtime tradition of the warriors of Azeroth. i see my comrades raining blows on the barbarians, bravely facing foes easily a cubit larger than themselves. I catch a glimpse of a snarling green face rushing towards me and it is only time-honed instinct that causes me to raise my shield and deflect the withering blow of the grunt-axe. my eyes fill with hatred as i continue the motion of the shield, causing the grunt's arm to flail backwards. In this instant I impale my enemy, seeing his red eyes dull in death as he falls limp to the ground. I look up and see the field free of orcs, for the moment. many have fallen with the elves' arrows through their necks in addition to the mutilating gashes of our swords. My unit is called back to protect guard towers under construction, and I am heartened to see a team of peasants constructing a stables.
The heat has died down: the battle is at a lull. I and my comrades have turned back assault after assault by the orcish horde, which has become more and more deadly with the accompanying trolls and ogres. Many of my friends have fallen, tranfixed by the brutal weapons of that accursed horde. At this memory the heat begins to swell within me anew, and my limbs find new strength. Just as well, for I am called on to join a newly formed assault team consisting of many knights and rangers, and even a mage. I pay my respects to the worthy mage as i join up with the other elite footmen called to join the team. We are away quickly; there is no time to bid goodbye. I feel a sudden sadness at this, so unexpected that I slow my pace, which merits a reprimand from the commanding mage. Odd...I had thought such feeling conquered.
I put back these thoughts and continue marching over the freezing ground. No snow has fallen as of yet, it is still early in the season. We make no effort to conceal our approach, this is to be a frontal assault. I can hear the noises of the orcish war camp in the distance. A cry goes up...we have been sighted. I can barely make out phantom shapes moving around, no doubt troops being rallied for defense against our assault. The mage takes the rear of our group, he is to support our initial assault with a blizzard. I see his wand elicit a sharp light....the heavens open up.
Hundreds of jagged shards rain down on the defending orcs. I hear the cries of death run rampant in the camp. Some buildings catch fire...the oil from their lamps must have spilled in the ruckus. Heartened by this, the lead knight calls the charge early.
I rush forward, straining to keep pace with the charging knights, to no avail. Only when they stop to tear down the guard towers and slay the defenders do I catch up. I raise my sword, it is fresh from being reforged by the camp smith. I strike at the nearest tower, already well damaged by a passing knight's spatha. In three blows the supports topple, and the attending orcs utter hideous cries as they fall to their deaths. I rush about, searching for another target. I see the knights crowding about the orcish barracks, they have nearly burned it to the ground.
I smile and let out a cry of joy, the attack has succeeded! In doing this I seal my own fate. A wounded orc stretches up from the ground and casts his axe at me. It cleaves through my breastplate. I fall to the ground, mortally wounded.
It is over an hour later now, my friends have gone, taking me for dead. The orcish camp is razed all about me. My own friends have probably left a garrison in the newly erected township and gone off to another part of the front. A tear slips from my trembling eye at the thought of them. It freezes on my face, and I feel more wet spots dot my face around it. It has begun to snow. Heaving out my final sigh, I realize just how cold it has become. My final thought is ironic....well, there's always the heat. |
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