Chapter 11

By the end of the hour, the orc camp was in the hands of the Alliance, yet one last group of them was held up in a small glade.

As Arthas and what men he could gather up passed into the glade, the land itself seemed to become tainted. At first, the grass had become dead, browned, and then had disappeared completely, leaving a darkened, charred soil.

As they passed over a small ridge, what seemed to be a freshly dug up mass grave surrounded by candles whose green flames licked the forest edge.

He heard cries of despair from the men as they began to notice the mangled and torn bodies of the greater whole of the village that had once been Strahnbrad. The stench was absolutely awful, and a great plume of black smoke rose over the grand sacrificial pit.

Around it were orcs adorned in onyx plate armor, something very rare within the Horde, Arthas had learned, both in this day and in the war long ago. They all bore an insignia on their forearm, a great black mountain rising in a blood-red background.

These were Blackrock orcs, some of the last of their kind. They had been the greatest renowned clan of their time, yet were nearly completely and utterly destroyed at the end of the Second War.

"Damn these orcs to all the hells that the Twisting Nether and Great Beyond hold for them! Slaughtering innocents! Children! Women!" Arthas bit down on his lip in absolute fury, began to taste blood.

With a rising heat, he unleashed his Paladin training, and let loose a wave of holy fire which instantly roasted the orcs closest to him. The men knew what to do, and charged the enemy. It was a vicious melee, but in the end, the last surviving orcs could do nothing to stop the onslaught.

As the fight winded down and his men chased the surviving cowards through the forests, one orc remained. Bearing a blade, the orc spoke out in the language of Common, something that surprised Arthas to his core, causing him to stop before striking the orc down.

"These paltry sacrifices will appease the demon lords, who will soon rain down from the sky and cleanse this land of your taint!" as if to mark his words, a brief thundercloud in the distance rumbled out.

The blade master then swung forward, nearly cutting into Arthas's shoulder spaulors.

Instead of retorting, Arthas threw his mighty warhammer at the blademaster, whom could not deflect an object of such mass as it smashed into his skull, splattering black orc-blood across the already deadened ground.

It was over. The hardest fought battle of what seemed all history had finished. Arthas was sickened by what he saw but knew that it was his duty as a paladin to save those who could be saved. He found more than one person still living in the piles of charred bodies and helped heal them with the Holy Light and the aid of several of the elven priests who had decided to stay in the Alliance after Quel'thalas's pullout.

Still burning with emotion, he returned to the camp and found Uther, quietly seeking a session with him away from the encampment where the men had finally begun to return, grime ridden, carrying to lost and wounded.

"Good job lad, this was a sound victory" Uther spoke out, his baritone voice filling the air, yet not producing the smile that usually preceded it. He knew about the townspeople, and he knew what the orcs were trying to do.

"I don't know Uther. The orcs seemed to be…sacrificing townsfolk. I think they were trying to summon demons!" Arthas said after a moment of silence.

"Yes, I've heard that rhetoric before. These orcs are just trying to hold on to dying traditions. We defeated their demons a long time ago. It has been a long, and hard day, and the closing to a campaign. Let's head home" he took Arthas's bloodied warhammer into his own gauntlet and led him back to the camp.

When they returned, however, troubled seemed to follow. A messenger from the Kirin Tor had arrived earlier in the day, bearing the seal of the Alliance High Command.

Onto the next assignment. Arthas pondered fervently, trying to clear the image of the hundreds of slain townsfolk. As he opened the wax sealed letter, he read:

Report to the hamlet of Urd Halls south of Anderhol by this time next week. A contingent of soldiers will be charged with you to investigate the plague that is sweeping the northlands. One of the Kirin Tor mages will accompany you to take records and cleanse the land of its malady.

The letter was simply signed, Archmage Antodias and the Chamber of Air. No matter how many scattered orc clans there were in southern Lordaeron, whatever this plague was, it seemed a more important matter than the orcs themselves. That made Arthas wonder.