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With a flick of his wrist Xiph smashed the rotting door from the small shack behind the vine encrusted church. Basking in the soft black glow pulsing from the defiled sanctuary he looked to his Commander. Orrien nodded and Xiph reached, grabbing an armload of dusty shovels. Orrien looked to the church and offered a short prayer. He then shifted his weight and unslung the massive spiraled horn from across his back. The shimmering black dragon horn had been ripped from the skull of the mighty Wyrm T’hxxil. The horn had been prepared by Xiph and inlaid with Thorium runes along its six foot length. Orrien grimaced in pain remembering the epic struggle he had faced while combating the ancient beast. Beside Orrien his massive black wolf Falameezar whined and circled him protectively as he sensed his Master’s discomfort. The Commander of the Horde quickly put the image from his mind and raised the now hollowed horn to his lips.
The seductive dark light escaping from the church windows pulsed faster as Orrien drew a great shuddering breath to his powerful six foot Orcish frame. A deep, resonating rumble issued forth from the horn which now radiated with the same powerful black aura. All around the church the earth began to shake as the Minions of Mortis awoke from their slumber and begin to issue forth.
From the church a low chant began to pulse in rhythm with the light, growing stronger with each cycle.
Commander Orrien continued to blast forth his call to arms and a continent away citizens of the alliance looked uneasily to the darkening skies...
From the broken canyons of Durotar, a small group of Trolls lifted their heads in unison and shouldered their packs, leaving the half eaten carcass of a gnomish mage to rot in the blazing sun. In the Barrens, a company of Orcs dropped their pursuit of a band of Kolkar and turned to follow the fell notes in the air. On the plains below the Thunder Bluff the mighty Tauren froze in the long grass. As one they stood and broke off the hunt for the grassland lions, for there were greater prey to be had, the call had promised them.
They had all heard the call. Their Dark Master had summoned them; the time of reckoning was at hand. None had forgotten their pledge. They had waited for so long, and now their prayers were answered. Lord Mortis had called them home, and they ran as if the fires of Hell were chasing them.
As the last of the Minions clawed itself out of the earth and the Horde poured out of the hills joining ranks, Orrien allowed the rumbling of the horn to fade. Before him stood a hardened and grim faced Horde. Not a sound escaped their bloodless lips, only the rustlings of the swamp cut through the heavy air. Wordlessly Orrien turned and strode to the sealed double doors of the fallen cathedral. As he approached the steps a pair of gargoyles sprang to life above the doorway with red rimmed eyes. Orrien’s companion burst forward with snapping jaws but Orrien silenced the three snarling beasts with a motion of his gauntleted hand. Orrien brushed his cloak aside and reverently knelt before the massive doors and waited with his head bowed. Behind him, as one, the Minions fell to their knees.
The chanting from the temple came to a crescendo, then ceased, echoing out into the swamp. A sharp crack boomed from the doors as they split and began to swing outwards. Decades of vegetation shriveled and fell from the entrance as the velvety black aura crept forth from the temple interior. From the darkness a tall, gaunt figure robed in black moved through to the steps.
The air grew still as the presence stopped in front of the massive Orc Orrien. “Arise my friend” spoke the soft compelling voice of Lord Mortis. Orrien’s heavily battle scarred frame stood and the love shining in his eyes was clear for all to see. “I have done as you commanded Lord; the Horde stands ready to do your bidding”.
Lord Mortis nodded with a slight motion of his cowled head.
Orrien spoke out “I have chosen those who will help our cause Lord. Eber, Cogrin, step forth!” barked Orrien as he turned to face the company.
From the ranks a pair of grim faced Undead covered in weapons smartly stepped out of formation and moved to Orrien’s feet and knelt. The blank expressions on both belied their ability to instantly produce any weapon they possessed at a moments notice. A sense of cold, unfeeling ambivalence to those living was evident in their faces. They had no time for the weak, less then the amount needed to draw a dagger in fact.
“You are responsible for adding those worthy of Lord Mortis to our ranks, seek out the loyal, the strong and the faithful. Weed out the weak and cast them aside. Do not fail in this vital task.”
“Yes Commander, we serve” rattled the Undead pair
“Jahklar, Bega, Phys!” Orrien’s voice boomed forth once more. A large droopy eyed Tauren following a shapelier female and a shifty eyed Undead moved quickly to their knees beside Cogrin and Eber. Those in the Horde knew not to anger the sleepy appearing Druid. His wrath was slow to build but it took much blood to cool his anger. The skeletal Rogue was known as The Scales. His sightless stare measured the value of every penny and if you were worth more in body parts then a functioning being you were not long for this world. The female though was the most fearsome of the three. The shamanic gear adorning her body all but crackled with power. Many had wilted beneath her iron gaze and many more had fallen to her fell magic’s.
“You will equip the Lord’s army and see to its treasury. You will ravage this land to serve our Master’s needs and make our arms strong.”
“Yes Commander, we serve” intoned the trio.
“Artimus, Manipulator!” A pair of warriors strode to take their place beside the ranks of the chosen. The first was nothing more then a suit of ornate plate armor with a red glow emitting from the lidded visor. An echoing shudder served as his voice, although he did most of his talking with the twinned pair of double bladed axes slung across his back. The other was once a towering Troll, all arms and legs. In death he was a mockery of his past life. His armor was a mish-mash of pieces that appeared to be bound to his body with his own rotted hair. His face was dominated by a mouth filled with crooked pointed teeth locked into a wide permanent smile. But, his most noticeable feature was a large pair of glowing yellow orbs that had obviously lost all traces of sanity ages ago.
“You will serve as my eyes and ears. I will be kept busy with our Master’s plans. I am trusting you to filter out those who would seeks to speak with me and weed out all but the most worthy. My time is precious; do not let it be wasted”.
“Yes Commander, we serve” they echoed.
“Ribz, Croaker!” A pair of identical Undead shuffled forward with a cold gleam in their eyes. Grr was so named due to his habit of using his hands to choke the life from gnomish victims. He claimed their dying breath powered his fell prayers to Lord Mortis. His brother also delighted in hearing the frantic gasps of Grr’s subjects. His name derived from the croaking laugh he exhibited while dancing on the tables as his brother worked. The pair were experts in both Horde and Alliance culture, or at least in the destruction of it.
“You will be our ambassadors in this realm. You will be the voice of our Lord. Go forth and prepare this realm for His coming!”
“Yes Commander, we serve” they rasped in unison.
Orrien began to bark out further orders when he halted mid-shout as Lord Mortis slowly lifted a clawed hand.
“A moment Commander, I wish another to carry forth my voice to the realm. Wugrutt, step forth” His soft voice carried over the company. A shaggy Tauren sprinted at a dead run to the feet of Lord Mortis and threw himself on the muddy ground.
“Know this Wugrutt, I am pleased with your efforts, you will assist Grr and Croaker in breaking this realm to my will”. Wugrutt remained face down in the damp earth and cried out in gratitude.
“You have chosen well Orrien, I approve of your officers. Who shall serve as your right and left hand” Lord Mortis spoke with a velvet whisper.
“Xiph and Trean my lord will serve as my hands. Their words will be mine and their actions my own”. A slight grey robed being stood calmly with his hands clasped to Orrien’s right. His only possession a faintly glowing Holy symbol of Mortis displayed proudly upon his chest. Few spoke of ill of Xiph, at least none more then once. To the left of Orrien another robed Undead priest was positioned. He was also adorned with a Symbol of Mortis upon his chest, but his glowed a faint red while Xiph’s was a soft blue. It was rumored that both were assistants of the Dark Lord himself in the more complex rituals.
Lord Mortis bowed his head and remained motionless while the heartbeat of Commander Orrien could be heard thudding in his chest. Lord Mortis lifted his head and smiled.
“I am pleased”.
A great unearthly cry arose from the ranks of the assembled Horde. Lord Mortis allowed this to continue for a length and then lifted a skeletal hand regaining instant silence.
“Know this, in this realm I have chosen a form that will allow me to ride with my army to battle. I will drink in the blood of our enemies along side you.” The stunned silence was deafening. Shock was etched plainly across the face of the Horde. “I may be attacked as we march to victory, who will form my honor guard?” Lord Mortis asked with a skeletal smile.
The horde leapt to its feet as one and ran to form a protective ring around their Dark Master.
“NO!”
The single word uttered by the Dark Lord blew the host from its feet. The concussive wave of power ripped outwards from Lord Mortis tearing trees from the ground with gale force winds and scattering the Horde backwards for a hundred feet. Only those who had been summoned forth by Orrien stood untouched by the devastation of the Word of Mortis.
“No” he repeated with a softer tone. The Horde knelt where it had been flung. “Your feats in the past realm have earned you the right to carry my standard, nothing more. My Honor Guard will be chosen from the deeds accomplished in this realm. Dedication, sacrifice, loyalty and skill will serve to weed out those worthy of guarding my flesh in battle. Nothing will be given, it must be earned.”
“This swamp will be my home until I see the qualities I seek. I miss the sands…” His voice trailed off as he turned and flowed back into the church, the black aura receded into its depths. The great doors groaned and began to fall inwards crashing together with a deafening boom, sealing tight the domain of the Dark Lord.
Commander Orrien looked out towards the Horde and saw the answering gleam of a hundred wicked red eyes wide with hunger. The invasion of Azeroth had begun.
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