Rampage: Legacy
Previous I asked greatfather more about this legendary battle, and he seemed eager to tell me, as if the vigour of his youth was revitalizing his ancient bones.
Muroco and his retinue had arrived just in time to see the Alliance surround the blood elves’ war camp. Ranks upon ranks of night elven warriors filled the fields. Some carried bows and glaives, yet others were atop massive, muscular war sabers capable of leaping great distances. They had brought flying beasts to swoop down upon their enemies, and the earth trembled as furious treants lumbered towards the camp walls.
Yet the one thing they had in common were their black, pitless eyes, glaring out in fury from the artificial night they had created to conceal their movements.
Beyond their lines, more and more humans were coming to accompany their allies. The kingdoms of Stormwind and Kul Tiras had sent the might of their armies to crush the Sunguard in one final sweep.
“The blood elves,” greatfather said, “were vastly outnumbered. I could remember the looks on their faces as they viewed the enemy forces - they spanned as far as the eye could see. Everything had been staked on this battle…”
--
Muroco had taken command of the camp’s eastern defenses. Despite his penchant for simply doing whatever he was commanded of him, Muroco had developed an uncanny knack for leading groups into battle. Among his comprised forces, Lirelle Dawnbrook, Maaike Oureille, Jonathan McCallun, and Ashendrae Morrowmourn were there. Within the camp as a whole, Muroco heard mutterings of finality and last-moment embraces as defenders made their peace with their gods and said their final farewells, as if this would be the end.
He didn’t share their sentiment, for he knew that a true warrior always has their pride and must be brave until the very end.
From the base of the hill, Muroco could see hundreds of pairs of pitch black eyes staring back at him. The night elves were furious; enraged by the loss of their families, their friends, their homes, their precious giant tree. For a species that, apparently, controlled the entirety of Azeroth at one point, they had become a shadow of that former glory. They had become cornered animals in the bloody hedge maze of Azeroth’s history, and that made them all the more dangerous and all the more reckless.
It gave him an idea.
“Lirelle will man the ballistae,” Muroco stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “I will lure the enemy in. Maaike will shoot down any oversized birds the night elves try to send over the wall. Jon and Ashendrae, wait for the enemy to focus on me, then flank them.”
Everyone got into position. He could hear the unified shouts of the night elves as they advanced up the hill. Muroco stood before the gate, his axe in one hand, Mammoth in the other. “If anyone rests while Muroco Rockhoof still fights,” he bellowed, “then they may consider themselves dead.”
The night elves began their assault. Muroco raised his shield, blocking several arrows from piercing his face. Their battle cries became mixed with screams of agony as Lirelle fired the ballista upon them, her face a look of cold, calculated precision as ranks of night elves were slaughtered by the explosive shots. Hippogryphs and their riders dropped to the earth like flies as Maaike shot them clean from the sky. The sentinels that survived the onslaught made contact with Muroco. Jon appeared behind one and plunged his daggers into her back, her screams turning into gurgles as her glaive clattered to the ground. Ashendrae leaped into battle and beheaded another sentinel with her greatsword.
--
The battle dragged on for hours. The Alliance had taken so many casualties on all sides but were only slowed. The well-ordered camp had descended into controlled chaos as each defending side did all they could to prevent the camp from being overrun. The eastern gate had been closed as reinforcements from Stormwind had arrived. Muroco bounded towards the gate and used his might to hold it shut as the masses of soldiers outside attempted to break through. The tauren’s black-furred muscles bulged as the gate groaned and creaked, its iron bearings stretching and groaning from the pressure.
They eventually broke through, and a sea of night elves and human footmen rushed towards him. Muroco unsheathed his flail and bashed one footman in the head, the latter crumpling to the ground in agony. He gored another upon his horns. Raising his shield high, he battered through their advancing ranks, only to meet a half-dozen lances…
--
The old tauren hung his head. His elbows rested on the arms of his wicker chair as he held his hands up, searching for words, and I could tell what he was going to relate stirred mixed emotions. The battle,” he finally spoke, “was catastrophic, child. It was perhaps the greatest I had ever seen, and I would daresay that it was one of the greatest this world has ever known. The verdant grass had run red with the blood of the armies. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers lay dead upon the plains. Truly, the bodies were countless.” ”But...you were victorious in the end, right?” I asked. He nodded his head. “Perhaps it was not so much of a victory for us but a crippling upset for the Alliance. They had to mobilize great, slow-moving ranks of soldiers up a steep hill. Every step inflicted casualties. They had to march over the mangled corpses of their friends to meet our blades. They would have beaten us out, had it not been for reinforcements from Silvermoon. An army is at its most vulnerable when it is besieging, after all.”
“And what of Muroco?” I asked.
“When I found him on the battlefield, he had fallen near the gate, a great ring of dead humans and night elves around him. I approached him to help deliver his soul unto the Earth Mother.”
“And that is why you know so much of him,” I offered. “You vowed to carry on his legacy.”
Greatfather looked at me and snorted again. “What? Of course not! You haven’t been paying attention to your lessons again, I see.” The edges of his mouth curled into something of a smile. “I thought him dead, but he simply recovered consciousness, got up, complained about a pain in his axe arm and walked away to be treated. I think that enchanted shield of his made him difficult to defeat.” He sighed. “He fought again and helped defeat the Alliance for good, but events from then on would be far more complicated.”
Greatfather got up from his seat and went into his lodge. He returned with the helmet in his hand, sat down, and looked at it, remaining silent for a long time.
“A human trophy,” he finally said. He took his free hand, lifted up the visor, and slammed it down with an audible clank. For such old armor, he kept it in surprisingly good condition. “I think the man was from Stormwind. I’ve kept the armor since then to remind me…”
“Remind you of what?” I inquired. He gestured for me to come closer.
“The sounds of battle. The scents of fire, the ozone of magical spells being discharged, and death. The way the other dreadnaughts and I would charge into battle alongside Muroco. The looks of fear upon our enemies as we crashed into them with our axes and maces. The way it felt to stand triumphant over seemingly impossible odds. I keep it to remind me that sometimes…”
He looked at me dead in the face. I could see the echoes of long-lost bloodlust returning in the corners of his eyes.
“...I miss it.” @thesunguardmg