Wrath of the Light

Chapter Nine: The Prince, the Prophet, and the Culling

The ogres of Lordaeron were angry. They had suffered enough in the Second War and had tried to avoid the humans. But the humans hated them, as they hated all who had once dwelled on the world of Draenor. When a drunken fool had stumbled into their camp, they had killed him. From that word had spread amongst the weak villagers.

Then she appeared. The sorceress came as they rested, cloaked in blue and wielding terrible magic. Calling upon water elementals, she slew all who stood in her way. Most of the warriors in the southern clan had been killed. The women and children had fled by stealth far to the north, to the lands around Hearthglen. There a mighty ogre strongman dwelled.

He gave them shelter, a new home. His warriors thirsted for revenge, yet he bided his time. He sensed that the humans were soon to have the tide of the world turned against them. And sure enough, the dead began to walk, a terrible plague swept through their lands. The ogres took satisfaction from the suffering of their enemies. They waited safe and sound as a terrible battle raged.

The humans were victorious. Yet while their forces were resting, the ogres made their move against their villages. They would avenge their losses tenfold.

It was a tranquil little village, thus far spared from the bloodshed of the wars. Here Arthas passed through alone, still stewing over his humiliation. Even as he did so, however, a soldier rushed up to him.

'Prince Arthas, ogres have come down from the hills!' cried a militiaman. 'It appears they're looking for a fight!'

Arthas hoisted his hammer as he saw a force of ogres approaching the village. Their leader was massive, a sign of age, and was clad in black armor and wielded a spiked club. The militia around him looked to him to lead them, terrified. 'And we will give them one! For Lordaeron!'

Arthas led the footmen in a charge against the ogres, and the two sides met in mortal combat. Two footmen were crushed beneath the blows of an ogre. Another was bashed aside, his shield shattered and his arm broken. Arthas healed his wounds, then brought round his hammer to crush the skull of an ogre. A footman ducked between an ogres legs and hamstrung him as he passed by. As the beast fell to land with a crash, another footman cut his head off.

As the fray raged on, the ogres' leader struck again and again, and with each strike, he killed a man. Arthas rushed towards him and caught the ogres club mid-fall with his hammer. The air seemed to warp around the collision, and both of them recoiled. The ogre struck at Arthas, who stepped aside and hit him in the chest. The blow rang against the armor and sent his enemy staggering back.

Leaping into the air, Arthas brought down his hammer and caved in the beast's skull. The ogre slumped to the ground dead, as the ogre warriors lost heart, and fled, leaving behind many dead. The militia cheered at their victory, yet Arthas looked to the dead.

Suddenly he realized that he could see their spirits. Their souls had not yet left this place. And something within him awakened, a power he did not know he had. Raising a hand, he called to the spirits of the fallen and sent them back into their bodies. The dead arose, but not as undead. They were alive once more! Friends reunited, and many slaps were set to backs.

Arthas smiled, before departing that place alone.

It was a bitter day for the ogres when their warriors returned. They dragged the bodies of their chieftain and many of their warriors. They lined the bodies up and burned them, as was their custom, and many wept. As the flames rose high into the night, and the armor of the Ogre Chieftain was given to his son.

They cursed the humans. Cursed the Alliance and swore a thousand oaths of vengeance. As the flames subsided, they looked to their defenses. They would ride out the storm.