Invasion of the Lich King

Invasion of the Lich King

Part One
Blowing the Bridges
Waking up had shown her better views…
The place was barren, save for a few die-hard weeds and dying trees. She hardly recalled the place once known as Ashenvale.
The Night Elf packed up and finished the scrapes of bread she called breakfast as her horse plucked up the last strands of dried brown grass. The black stallion had been her companion ever since she saved it from raiding scourge. He had been the only living thing she had seen in weeks, save for Tyrian, her loyal pet.
She studies the landscape and tried to orientate where she was, and where she should go. Using an old map she hoped to reach the ruins of Astranaar before nightfall. But it was hard to recognize anything on the map. As long as she could find this river she would be all right. She hoped she would fine some life there, anything at all would be lovely, but deep inside she knew it wasn’t going to be.
Since the army of the Lich king had invaded with its full force, the races of Azeroth had gone into hiding, no match for the mindless corruption of the Scourge. It had only been a matter of weeks before the great cities of Ironforge, Stormwind and Darnassus had fallen. Now she was trying to maintain her existence in this wasteland that had been left behind.
The last person she saw, of all people she could meet, was a Gnome. Among his rambling was the mention of survivors banding together in camps where they would hide from the Scourge. But for now the Lick King wasn’t too interested in the survivors, he was searching for more, powerful allies. The Dragons were one of these allies. If she ever found one that had turned to His side, she would kill it. In the whole her feeble attempts might fall away into nothing, but as least she was trying. At least, that was the belief that kept her going day in day out. Her actions might convince others to stand up and resist. Too many had given up. Too many had fallen trying just that. Hope was rarer to find than any sign of life.
The only race that hadn’t given up were the Forsaken. Undead that had escaped the Scourge and were lead by the Lady Sylvanas. Even she could not yet always see the difference between the two, but basically it was easy to distinguish them based on their actions. Scourge always wanted to kill her. The Forsaken, once they too realized the wasn’t one of the Scourge, would leave her alone. Sometimes even aid her. But they were few and far apart in this area. She figured they didn’t have anything to lose. They were already dead, and once you have become Forsaken, you couldn’t become Scourge again unless by your own free will.
The big cat purred as he nudged her to get up and get going. Of all friends she had ever known, he was the one who stayed by her side no matter what. And it had been a lot he had to go through. She probably hadn’t been the best of masters. Tyrian really was extraordinary. After hugging the cat who had the size of a small pony, she mounted and rode off. For an hour the only things she could here were the horses hooves and the soft thudding of Tyrians paws on the dry soil. It even seemed the wind had died or gone into hiding.
Finally she reached a small river. It flowed through the whole of Ashenvale and used to be its main life source. Now it was the source of its decay. Poisonous and filled with death, the once clear water was now a thick green slime, with a stench you could smell miles away. Somewhere downriver she saw movement. Sludges, slimes or whatever you wanted to call the disgusting things moved about. They were corpses that had infused themselves with the poisonous river. If it had been her corpse, she would have just stayed dead given that choice. The choice she herself had already made wasn’t a very good one, but at least she still looked somewhat like a Night Elf. Horrid disgusting things.
She turned her stallion upstream, away from the Sludges and rode on. She didn’t take as much time to reach the ruins as she thought. But when the town came into view, her spirits plummeted, even though she had been told what to expect here. The peaceful town of Astranaar was ruined, and swarming with Scourge, some of them the Sentinels that had once lived there. She dismounted behind a hill and left the horse there as she and Tyrian climbed it. On the top they had a good view without the risk of being seen. Out of her backpack she pulled fort a few charges. Nothing too spectacular, but plenty for what she was going to need them.
Scourge hated water. No one knew why, but they would not cross it, swim it and preferably even go near it. And Astranaar was a village surrounded by water, the only way to get in or out was via the two bridges. And it was those bridges she was instructed to take out. Tyrian carefully picked up the charges and stealthed. He was barely visible to her, who knew what to look for and where. The Scourge wouldn’t see him. Most were just mindless corpses, unable to think for themselves. The only thing that betrayed the large cat were the ripples in the water as he swam to the nearest bridge, where he dropped one set of charges before heading off to the other side of the small island. Nothing happened and Tyrian pressed his nose against her cheek when he returned. She got sprayed when he shook the water out of his coat.
By the time the charges blew the bridges to little splinters, the horse was already racing through the undergrowth, heading westward towards the coast. From everywhere she could hear the screams of the Scourge and the Lich that commanded them. It would be stupid to hope all the scourge would be on the island. No such luck in the real world. Within moments these woods would be filled with the undead minions of Arthas, searching for the one that had destroyed their bridges. But the huntress wasn’t one to be caught easily. Giving the stallion free reins to choose his own path, she reached for her bow and a quiver of crude, self made arrows. Actually hitting something with those things was hard enough, let alone on the back of a galloping horse, but it was the best she had. She couldn’t exactly walk over to a vendor and buy arrows these days. Well, not without killing him and making sure he stayed dead first. Every pursuer went down after one or two well-aimed shot. Tyrian also intercepted several Scourge and the stallion boldly knocked down any that stood in front of him. The undead was a thing it hated with a burning passion. They had tried to turn him into a mount for the dreaded Death Knights. Coincidence had Sarconda in the same place at the same time, and since then he had served her more loyally than any other horse had. He had sadly not remained untainted, gifted with a sharp intelligence, but an unholy fire burned within him, setting him ablaze when consumed with rage, and showing him for what he truly was.
But it was already visible now, as smoke rose out of his nostrils as he charged ahead, his hooves searing the ground ever so slightly. But he was alive, and that was what counted. It was more than most could say.
It wasn’t long before they reached the beach. The Black Phantom Depths used to be home to the Naga and Twilight Cultists, but both had gone since the invasion of the Scourge. Now it was abandoned. But before you could enter, you had to swim. This underwater passage, even if it was only a few yards, would seal her off from any pursuers. Her stallion was having difficulties in the sand, so she leaped off and guided him on by the reins. Tyrian had run off ahead, making sure the coast was clear. As soon as she reached the remnants of a road that led through the ruins of what used to be an Elven city, she mounted up again. Before she was fully in the saddle, the horse had leaped forward again. It didn’t need any guidance. He knew to follow the large cat.
Even if it meant plunging down into the water, several stories below. The shock of the water took Sarconda’s breath away for a few seconds, yet she swiftly recovered and took the reins again. The horse, who she had named Reaver, didn’t enjoy the prospect of going underwater, but followed her when she applied some pressure.
All the sounds of pursuit were gone when they scrambles up the bank. Sarconda took a moment to rest. She hoped the saddlebags were as waterproof as she wanted them to be, or at least the packs with the food and blankets. After a short rest she led her mount and pet deeper into the cave. Years ago, when she was still a young, and quite noobish, hunter she had come here, and there used to be another way out, on the far side of these caves. Hopefully it was still there.