Jonathan flexed and tensed his muscles as he stood back, his grandfather's hand resting gently on his arm. The massive form of Lukaran Harmarth of the Ebon Blade stood by. "I should be up there. Let me go." Jon growled.
Lukaran sighed. "You're exhausted, Jonathan. You've been fighting all day; take a rest at least for a few minutes. Besides, your great grandfather's on his way, he'll be here soon, and then we'll go in together."
Jon let out a deep breath and fell to one knee. He knew his grandfather was right. But he was far from alone here; countless soldiers, fighters, and heroes were here to hold back the Iron Tide flowing from the Dark Portal. The thought that these Orcs were, whether they realized it or not, attempting to replicate what the original Horde had done thirty years ago burned in his mind. And he refused to let that happen. That made sitting back here behind the lines unbearable. But Lukaran was right; he needed some rest before he went back out there. And with Blazieth on the way, while he hated to admit it, it was best to wait.
As if on queue, Jonathan could see the spec against the skyline that he knew would be gramps. Blazieth Harmarth, Jonathan's ancient great grandfather and a masterful mage, was making his entrance on the flying disc he'd received as a gift from Pandaria's Loremasters. He had sent one to Jonathan as well, knowing the difficulty he had getting around in the air, given most creatures' aversion to carrying him.
Blazieth landed next to the pair, and slipped the disc away. "Sorry I'm late. Are you alright, Jon?" Jon just gave a quick nod as Lukaran explained quickly that he was simply worn out from fighting all day.
"I'm good to go. Just give me a minute."
Blazieth shook his head with a small smile. "Come now, we can't have that. Here." He said, conjuring a small snack for Jon. All three of them knew that just a few bites would have Jon back to full strength, so none were surprised when he leapt to his feet. In a flash, Jon's bladed gauntlets were back in hand, and Blazieth too turned his gaze to the battlefield, a fan of small daggers made of ice forming in his hand. Lukaran, meanwhile, simply pulled two of the many large weapons off his back. "Now then... let's teach these motherless Orcs to fear the Harmarth name."
"Come now, father. Surely considering last time, we should do this as a family?"
All three heads turned back, and glared at the figure of the red-robed Forsaken who stood a few dozen feet away, clutching a wicked serrated scythe. On either side, he was flanked by a small, floating arcane eye. And who knows how many others he's got floating around here, hidden. Jon thought to himself.
Donovan Harmarth allowed himself a small smirk, but it faded quickly. "Enough. Despite what my history would suggest... I've not come to fight the three of you." The three Harmarth men did not relax. Donovan sighed. "We have more reason than you realize to oppose this Iron Horde, and I've no interest in squandering the opportunity by wasting my time fighting you. I've come to offer my assistance."
Jonathan began to growl, but Blazieth placed a hand on his arm. "I believe him. This Iron Horde threatens the Horde too, not just us. That includes him." Jonathan started to argue, but promptly stopped himself when he realized that there was no point. That, and he had to admit to himself that he too, would rather focus his attention on the new invaders.
Donovan stepped forward, and joined the other three Harmarth men as they surveyed the battle raging ahead of them. "The last time I fought against Orcs, it was two Harmarth men, and we most certainly left our mark. Now, we are four. And this time, I intend to leave more than a mere mark." A fireball sprung to life in his decrepit hand, as the other clutched harder to his scythe.
"We'll leave an Iron bloodstain." Jonathan growled, tensing himself as, across the way, Archmage Khadgar began to shout. It would seem that Donovan had arrived just in time; it was time to push through the Dark Portal itself.
***
((*to be continued*))
Lukaran sighed. "You're exhausted, Jonathan. You've been fighting all day; take a rest at least for a few minutes. Besides, your great grandfather's on his way, he'll be here soon, and then we'll go in together."
Jon let out a deep breath and fell to one knee. He knew his grandfather was right. But he was far from alone here; countless soldiers, fighters, and heroes were here to hold back the Iron Tide flowing from the Dark Portal. The thought that these Orcs were, whether they realized it or not, attempting to replicate what the original Horde had done thirty years ago burned in his mind. And he refused to let that happen. That made sitting back here behind the lines unbearable. But Lukaran was right; he needed some rest before he went back out there. And with Blazieth on the way, while he hated to admit it, it was best to wait.
As if on queue, Jonathan could see the spec against the skyline that he knew would be gramps. Blazieth Harmarth, Jonathan's ancient great grandfather and a masterful mage, was making his entrance on the flying disc he'd received as a gift from Pandaria's Loremasters. He had sent one to Jonathan as well, knowing the difficulty he had getting around in the air, given most creatures' aversion to carrying him.
Blazieth landed next to the pair, and slipped the disc away. "Sorry I'm late. Are you alright, Jon?" Jon just gave a quick nod as Lukaran explained quickly that he was simply worn out from fighting all day.
"I'm good to go. Just give me a minute."
Blazieth shook his head with a small smile. "Come now, we can't have that. Here." He said, conjuring a small snack for Jon. All three of them knew that just a few bites would have Jon back to full strength, so none were surprised when he leapt to his feet. In a flash, Jon's bladed gauntlets were back in hand, and Blazieth too turned his gaze to the battlefield, a fan of small daggers made of ice forming in his hand. Lukaran, meanwhile, simply pulled two of the many large weapons off his back. "Now then... let's teach these motherless Orcs to fear the Harmarth name."
"Come now, father. Surely considering last time, we should do this as a family?"
All three heads turned back, and glared at the figure of the red-robed Forsaken who stood a few dozen feet away, clutching a wicked serrated scythe. On either side, he was flanked by a small, floating arcane eye. And who knows how many others he's got floating around here, hidden. Jon thought to himself.
Donovan Harmarth allowed himself a small smirk, but it faded quickly. "Enough. Despite what my history would suggest... I've not come to fight the three of you." The three Harmarth men did not relax. Donovan sighed. "We have more reason than you realize to oppose this Iron Horde, and I've no interest in squandering the opportunity by wasting my time fighting you. I've come to offer my assistance."
Jonathan began to growl, but Blazieth placed a hand on his arm. "I believe him. This Iron Horde threatens the Horde too, not just us. That includes him." Jonathan started to argue, but promptly stopped himself when he realized that there was no point. That, and he had to admit to himself that he too, would rather focus his attention on the new invaders.
Donovan stepped forward, and joined the other three Harmarth men as they surveyed the battle raging ahead of them. "The last time I fought against Orcs, it was two Harmarth men, and we most certainly left our mark. Now, we are four. And this time, I intend to leave more than a mere mark." A fireball sprung to life in his decrepit hand, as the other clutched harder to his scythe.
"We'll leave an Iron bloodstain." Jonathan growled, tensing himself as, across the way, Archmage Khadgar began to shout. It would seem that Donovan had arrived just in time; it was time to push through the Dark Portal itself.
***
((*to be continued*))