The ship fell under the colossal weight of the several millions of tons of water that came pressing unto its frame and snapped its frame like it were some kind of straw. Split not in half, but in many pieces that were tossed to the watery depths, many of those that had fallen under the water had been lost to the swirling tempest that came as the whirling waters thrashed and took the breath from lungs of the many and then dashed them onto the stones and rocks of the floor so violently with such a force that many of them had grown unconscious and drowned as they were mixed and mingled into the water and spun about as any breaths that were taken, were as quickly stolen away from the tumultuous torment of the sea. Those that had miraculously survived were tossed upon blood-crusted sands that were littered with bodies and remnants of bodies, destroyed weapons, ships and machines as well the foul stench of rot and decay that entered into the air and assaulted their senses like some form of gut-wrenching, sickening smelling salt that made them slip from their state of disorientation to a realization that their would-be saviors, were too, casualties of this war. In the distance, Horde troops barked orders as the sounds of grinding mechanisms and gears were heard as a column of Horde troopers came rumbling forth with their demolishers in tow. The cackling sniveling sound of those greed-hungry goblins were heard as a scavenger rummaged through the parts of a smoldering, ashen-colored siege engine that had its wheels broken, torn and tossed aside while a large armored Orc smeared with the blood of innocents grunted back to him in his primal language that was nothing but snorts, growls and grumbles. Silently a woman had awoken, turned and looked towards the troops and stood up, but then fell as she hit the sands that were tarnished blood red. Gasping with a cough, a hand went to her side to reveal that she had a splintered piece of wood torn through her rib cage and it protruded outside of her clothing on either side.
The sound and noise of the woman alerted the brute and his companion as a sneer was given and the goblin continued to act in accordance to his initiative, retrieving necessary parts to repair another, less-broken and easily-maintained demolisher that was back at their camp. With his two-handed, large axe risen in his hand, the orc flared his nostrils, catching the scent of blood and gore, ash and destruction and chuckled arrogantly as he pressed his plated boots into the sand and shifted out to the human woman that had fallen back unto herself. Speaking in broken Common, the grunt sarcastically and tauntingly spoke, “Oh did little woman hope escape? Hah, no. Get only death.” Grinning wildly with his yellowed, gnashed and sharpened tusks rising in his maw, he hefted his axe around within his grasp, raised it and poised a strike to lop off the woman’s head, to remove her of her misery. With a rise, the human woman attempted to shriek out in horror but could not as her lungs filled with blood and thus promoted a gargling rasp as she looked to the orc. Yet then her eyes flickered behind his form as she saw a male figure bound in charred, soaked, gold and blue clothing, prevalent to an Alliance naval officer ran through the sand and flashed in a vibrant plume of black and purple and then reappeared above the orc as he came rising down with a broken weapon, sharpened to a point fell into the base of the orc’s spine, causing him to open his mouth to roar, but then slumped over to his knees and finally hit the floor and peered through his slowly darkening eyes at a collection of tattered humans, elves, worgen and children that were shambling out from behind a large piece of the wreck. Soon, the rage and humor subsided as he died from the impact of the broken, sharpened tip of a sword being thrust between his spinal column and twisted.
The goblin figure started to call out from underneath the wreck of the war machine to the orc but received no answer. Grunting then, the sniveling green-skinned engineer pulled himself out from under the engine compartment of the demolisher, turned around and was met with a human figure, looking down to him with a gold and blue crest of an Alliance lion emblazoned on his chest. Blinking, then squealing, the goblin reached for his holstered sawed-off, one-handed blunderbuss but instantly felt a massive blow rise to his large nose and then once more to his eye socket as he had a hand wrestled around his arm. With brutality and efficiency, the raven-haired man grabbed the disoriented goblin by the throat and with the door to the engine compartment, began slamming the goblin’s head in between the frame, once, twice and finally thrice. With a grunt and gasp, the goblin’s eyes and throat swelled with pain as the door continued to close on his throat and finally, with a sickening pop and a crack, the door was slammed shut. Glancing then, the roguish fellow pursed his lips, reached for the goblin’s utility belt, retrieved a communicator and stuffed the earpiece into his ear while his hand went for the mouth piece that would fit his sleeve perfectly. Then, the hands went to the blunderbuss and sheathed dagger that was tied to his belt. Stripping the belt, the Captain turned his gaze to his band of survivors, many of whom were refugees and others that were his crewmen. Already, one had taken up the fallen orc grunt’s axe and hefted it in his hands. A cannoneer. Big, strong and boisterous, the axe while large and made for an orc, fit well in his equally large hands. Another, the Captain’s First Mate, took the pistol, the powder and the shot and the dagger and looked to the small belt with a rise of his brow as he tied it to his chest as a bandolier.
They were only going to survive behind enemy lines if and only if they stayed to the mountains, forests and away and off from the roads and trails that ran throughout the sylvan glade that had once been magical, but now was a nightmare. There had to be pockets of troops still within the woods and forest of Darkshore and Ashenvale. He knew, intimately, that the violet-hued sons and daughters of the Moon would have holdouts, small burrows and hideouts. They were survivors, strong and persistent much like himself. While he had been behind enemy lines before and operated with a small team, he did not do so with civilians, but ultimately would have to deal with the situation and get the rest of them out, someway or somehow. But that was something that he would have to plan farther along. For now, they needed to get off the beachhead and he needed to provide care.
