Post by Patty
((Yes, I suck at writing. I am aware of this. I also know that I cannot portray battles to save my life. Nonetheless, any feedback is greatly appreciated. I get the Sneaking suspiction that Neon will enjoy this, 'cuz it involves a bad-ass gnome. Wanna read Part 1?
Clicky. /equips anti-flame shield.))
--
“Lok’tar o’gar!” a deep voice echoed across the mountain side, as a bulky orc smashed a large naga into the ground. He licked the blood from his lips with a snarl, the Doomhammer and his uncle’s axe in his strong, green-tainted hands. Swarms of naga slithered their way towards the fairly enclosed mountainside, trying to penetrate its defences.
The Warchief ducked a magical assault from a female naga, charging into it and hearing a loud crack as he punched the creature, before decapitating the monster. He swung and slew another pair of the fishy aberrations, slamming into a fourth with his spiked shoulders and hearing a satisfying crunch as the faithful Doomhammer found its target once again.
A goblin scurried over to a group of naga wearing some strange goggles, and threw an explosive device at them - ducking behind a large rock and covering its extended ears before hearing a
*BOOM!* And the splatter of naga remains.
‘Not bad, I’ll have to order some more of that stuff.’ they thought to them self cheerily.
“Take ya aim…Fire!” the troll commanded, loosing an arrow from his longbow, hitting a fishy creature square in the chest. A flurry of arrows almost darkened the sky before hitting the ground - the tides of naga decimated by the archer’s accuracy.
The orc fiercely growled, dodging an attack from something he had never seen before. It looked like a squid…but bred with a naga? Its scales were red and black, its tentacles grabbed tightly onto the war chief, trying to suffocate it. Saurfang’s eyes widened, he was being constricted and the Doomhammer slipped out of his grasp. Using the last of his strength, he swung his family’s enchanted axe; which severed several of the protruding organs. The creature howled in agony and backed away. It hissed
“The Empress does not like such gamesss, she will -” but was cut off as its head rolled down a rocky and unkempt slope.
The Warchief turned to his forces, and yelled
“For the Horde!” as he heard an explosion and the movement of the mountainside. The goblins had worked quickly to contain the threat; which was dispersed by his own forces. He picked up the Doomhammer carefully, and marched back into the caverns carved into the rough mountainside.
He placed his weapons in his private chambers and changed out of his darkened plate armour in favour of something more comfortable. He rubbed his raw, deeply bruised ribs as he removed his breastplate; he would need a shaman to see to that.
Several moments later, the wielder of the Doomhammer walked into a room with maps pinned to the rough, natural walls. A stout, green goblin was standing on a chair, talking to a tall, blue skinned and lightly furred and slouched troll.
“Thrak - ‘ow did dey find us?” The troll asked, clearly concerned. His face had some minor wrinkles, and his red hair was losing its vivacity.
The orc grunted, shaking his head. "I wish I knew, Tra‘jin; but I don’t." He murmured. "Nice work too, Crank." Thrak complimented the goblin, running a bloody, dirty finger across an old scar across his cheek.
The goblin grinned widely, with a hint of mental instability “Ah, we play with ticktockboom-4000 all the time!” He exclaimed, the troll frowned at him in response. “You know - it’s good fun…” Crank murmured, taking off a whizzing contraption on his wrist.
“How’s Themra?” The vertically challenged green-skinned creature enquired.
“Age has not been kind to her,” Thrak mumbled, propping himself against a table. “Nonetheless, her spirits have not been dampened. I don’t think these caverns are doing her breathing much good.” He nodded. The troll agreed.
“But, we need ta find a new ‘ome for ‘dat; and Ah don’t tink dat dey will give us dat easily.” Tra’jin noted.
“I will negotiate with the tauren if they have not been wiped out by their bastard cousins,” Thrak mumbled, making a mental note to himself. The goblin and troll both simply nodded, and the three leaders parted ways as the Warchief staggered towards the shaman’s cove.
--
“The Battle for the reclamation of our homeland has begun! On this day; we will show the Azshari the might of mortals!” a squeaky voice yelled, her voice resonating across the cold, barren land. Heavily armoured feet thumped into the ground and soldiers bashed their shields with their weapons - cheering loudly.
The gnome placed her trademark rose-tinted goggles on and equipped her weapon of choice, an arm cannon which fired beams of destructive light. Her bubblegum pink hair was tied in two pigtails and she had pale skin. She was wearing fully mechanised plate armour, designed to fire rockets from her chest among other unique features.
“Queen Trixy,” King Bolvar nodded - wearing the lion’s belt and protective plate with a shield strapped to his back and a gleaming sword in his hands.
“Bolvar, are our forces ready?” the High-Tinker asked nervously, clambering into her chopper. The human nodded, and a dwarf hobbled towards them.
“Ready when ye are, my grandpa would’a liked to ‘ave led them himself but…” the Prince stopped, frozen by the legions of the enemy which marched and slithered across the snowy home of the dwarves.
“Magi!” Trixy called, the robed casters stepping forth. “Show them no mercy, give no quarter; for they will give us none!” She shouted at the top of her voice.
The naga began their assault as their Dark Iron allies charged, slamming into the vanguard of Trixy’s forces after a barrage of magic assailed them. Bolvar smashed into one of the dwarves with his shield, spinning and slashing his sword as three more thudded to the ground. Trixy ran circles around a group of the enemies, firing her arm-cannon at will. She pressed a blue button on her vehicle and oil dripped out, before pressing an orange one which sent a spark to the oil; burning several of the Azshari forces alive.
“Press on!” She cried - firing another one of the dwarves creatures square in the chest with her gun.
--
The Empress stirred in the dark palaces of Nazjatar, staring idly at a large portrait of herself. Her eyes traced the walls; and she smirked smugly as she saw the decaying heads of Varian and Garrosh mounted against them. She was sat on her throne; carved of the skulls of her enemies and her tentacles curled into themselves; metres upon metres of suckered, slimy and scaled flesh wrapped tightly.
A servant was brushing her serpentine mane. The Empress tutted, as clearly she was being handled roughly. One of the creatures bit the servant; savagely ripping its finger off. One of her four scaly arms were being carefully treated by a further servant, cream being rubbed into her fishy forearm.
Lady Vashj slithered to the Empress by her long snake-like form, and her six arms gesticulated frantically. “The Wuffuboffal is dead, Queen-Empress.” she bowed, not knowing which title to use. Her golden breastplate glimmering in the tangible light, greatly contrasting to her blue-white scaled form.
Azshara’s smirk disappeared; and she growled before she returned to a more pleasant expression. “There is more where that came from.” the Empress smiled, and Vashj madly nodded.
“Thank you once again for returning me to life as well…I will be eternally grateful.” the Lady naga bowed deeply again, her face mere inches away from her mistresses‘ infamous cleavage. Vashj bit her bottom lip.
“Were you not already grateful?” Azshara hissed, her beastlike hair hissing with her as she frowned with rage in her once-golden eyes. Vashj gulped, nodded and slithered away. The Empress exhaled again, demanding a mirror. Her smirk returned as she looked into the item and revelled in her unquestionable and unmatched beauty.