Title: Call for Champions
Author: John Hofileña
Category: Fanfiction, Defense of the Ancients, from Blizzard’s Warcraft III: The Frozen Throne
Keywords: DotA, Warcraft III, fanfic
DISCLAIMER: We do not own the DotA heroes. If you want to get a glimpse of them, install Frozen Throne in your PC, download the latest DotA map here and play. Not claiming, harming, or selling anything through them. Don’t sue us, we’re penniless anyway. Just having a little fun with stories Ü
Author notes: John wrote the first episode here, and i continued the story here. This is the third installment of our ongoing DotA saga.
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The light of Elune bathed all of Kalimdor in a soft, milky white light. Malfurion Stormrage [better known as Furion to the rest of the Sentinel] stood high up on a bluff, the north wind carrying his heavy locks to air, taking in the waste that lay before him.
Tsk tsk… the ancient wood elf let out something close to a smile in his mind. Archimonde will never know now how close he was to destroying the Nordrassil, the world tree. Even he himself had doubted what the wisps could do to protect their ancient. But he could still remember the blinding light, the burst of energy that almost set his own mana on fire, and the Dreadlord Archimonde’s scream as the wisps literally consumed him. The Scourge’s irresistible advance was finally stopped. And yet his high-elven gift of foresight knew…
Ah, better not to worry now. It is the time for rebuilding. And there was a lot of that needed to be done. The Scourge had gone through all of Kalimdor and Lordaeron like a damned locust plague. And most people had taken to manual labor to blunt the edge of the grief that lingered. And again he remembered… how so many have fallen — Aghanim – the Archmage of Dalaran, Thrall — chieftain of the Orc horde, wood elves, orcs, and humans alike… all consumed by the Scourge. Even the mighty fortress of the high elves, Quel’Thalas… Furion could not bear the thought that there was going to be more… more fighting, more death, more pain, but he knew it was going to come. It was just a matter of when. The old elf took a lot of effort in blocking the thought, temporarily.
The leaves and the bushes behind him stirred. Someone was coming.
“They have to invade some time soon. I know I would. It’s scary thinking how thin we’re spread.” It was the general of Lordaeron’s remaining forces, Purist Thunderwrath, the Omniknight. Furion remembered him a child playing in Lordaeron castle’s courts. Of course, compared to him, almost everyone would consider himself a child. Young Thunderwrath was Arthas’ second-in-command. With the prince’s demise, the knight has taken responsibility of leading Lordaeron’s army. A full-pledged paladin now, Furion knew that the young one would have to do.
Behind him was the beautiful young mage, Rylai Crestfall. “And you might want to know that Jaina has already left to secure Dalaran, or what’s left of it. She left an hour ago,” she said. Rylai was referring to Jaina Proudmoore, now saddled with the title – Archmage of Dalaran. Rylai was Jaina’s protege, but it seemed like everyone had to step up one level or two in these times. “We should take an inventory of the resources we have, both arms and people. We need to know what we can defend with when ole King Freezy comes strolling down,” the young mage added.
“That we have to do, young one. I fear it might not be that long ’til we find ourselves in the battlefield once more,” Furion said. “Purist, have your guard scour Kalimdor and Lordaeron for all the warriors still willing and able to fight. We need all the help we can get. We will meet in council at the foot of the Hyjal in a Kal-Elune… errr, that is, in a fortnight.”
The three figures walked away from the bluff, and by seeming coincidence or by a cruel joke of Elune, a freezing cold wind blew at their backs as they walked away.
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“I’ve dealt with worse scum than you, Banehallow. Don’t think for one moment that you and your puppies can stay my blades.”
Yurnero had been chasing for a good 4 hours now. They were in the woods outside of Quel’Thalas, where the Blademaster caught the Lycanthrope snooping around. He was getting frustrated — everytime he got near, Banehallow had always summoned gigantic black wolves to his aid, thwarting the blademaster’s attacks.
“Fool. You maybe stronger, but I am much, much faster. Eat my dust, ugly!”
I have to catch up with him. The Lycanthrope was probably spying on the elves rebuilding their city. That meant that somebody was gathering information on the elves. That might also mean that Banehallow was not the only one spying across Lordaeron. That meant that the Scourtge may be preparing another attack. That meant he had to get rid of this dog-lover before he can escape with whatever information he had. That meant he had to get this information to someone higher up. That meant… Ok. First things first. Cut the head off this wolfman.
“Why do you even try? Just go home and play with your knives. You’ll never catch me.” And with his fists clenched, the Lycanthrope summoned two great black wolves. To the blademaster’s surprise, another two came after the first pair. Now, four gigantic wolves surrounded the Orc.
“This refresher orb is a very handy tool, don’t you think? I got it off that old mage when we attacked Dalaran,” the Lycanthrope laughed as he held on to a glowing green energy orb. “My pets have tasted orcblood before. They very much like the taste of it. Die, ugly.”
The blademaster had no choice but to guard up. Drawing the two legendary Orc blades Sange and Yasha, he prepared for the wolves’ attack. They pounced, and blademaster started his deadly blade dance, slashing and parrying.
The Lycanthrope watched his pets attack, sitting himself on a big rock.
Ok, enough! Yurnero suddenly called upon amazing speed and started turning, blades drawn outward. The wolves, with one mind, just continued to attack, one by one impaling themselves to the Orc’s deadly spinning blade dance. One by one, the wolves fell.
The Lycanthrope saw that it was time to run again. He stood up on the rock, only to find that … what?!? The rock was moving!
Banehallow realized that he was sitting on a sleeping Stone Giant. This one woke up because of the noise. Facing a Stone Giant was an fearful concept, but he thought surely, he could outrun this one. He started running. The Stone Giant looked at the Lycanthrope running away, and then at the Orc starting to give chase. He was still annoyed at having been disturbed from his sleep. Deliberately, he picked up a stone and threw it at the direction of the one that sat on him.
The throw was surprisingly accurate, hitting the Lycanthrope square on the head. Banehallow fell, stunned by the projectile from the Stone Giant. Yurnero saw his chance. Unsheathing his twin blades, he blinked to the Lycanthrope, slashing at his body. Banehallow, broken from his daze, started to run again. They were nearing the edge of the woods. If he could just get there… but it seemed like no matter how fast he ran, the Orc was there at his side, unleashing his sword attacks that he could barely block. He had one last chance… reaching into his tunic, he held on to the refresher orb. Calling on two wolves to block the orc’s path, he took advantage of the orb’s extra energy to shapeshift himself to a blue wolf, running away faster. He was bleeding, and may very well bleed to death. But he wasn’t about to die by the hands of this ugly orc.
That was it. Yurnero knew he had failed. He had two wolves blocking his way and he did not have enough energy to blink to the wolf now running away. As he sank his blades into the last wolf, he looked at the figure of the bleeding Lycanthrope running away. Then it looked back.
“I’d rather kill myself than die at the hands of a filth-blood like you. Hahahaha!”
Then someone screamed in the background what sounded like a spell… Suddenly the sky grew dark, and a huge finger of blue lightning reached down and struck the Lycanthrope dead where he stood. Yurnero was dumbstruck. He just stood there as the most beautiful elvish sorcerer he has ever seen approached him.
“That was my kill,” Yurnero yelled, not really thinking about it.
“Yeah, as if you could reach him with your puny swords from where you were,” answered the elf while picking up the refresher orb. “Hmm… this is Aghanim’s orb… a worthy prize for the day’s work.” Noticing the approaching orc, she turned to him and said, “You’ll get to kill more of those, if you are willing. I am called Lina Inverse. And you are who they call the Juggernaut?”
“I have heard of you,” Yurnero said, which was an understatement. Lina Inverse was the most renowned mage-for-hire in Lordaeron. So powerful was she in the arcane arts of fire that you needed a huge amount of coin to get her services. Plus, she wasn’t exactly bad to look at as well. “What did you have in mind?”
“There is a call going out for able warriors to go to war. You get to run your blades through undead flesh. Are you up for it?”
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They were here. Furion looked around at the crowd that has gathered at the base of Mt. Hyjal. Some of the faces he knew, and these nodded back their recognition as he walked past them deliberately to the middle of the clearing.
There was, in the group, probably the only remaining Ogre magus (magi?!? It had two heads.) in all of Azeroth — Aggron Stonebreaker. Fortunately or unfortunately, he was away from their village when the Scourge struck, investigating the loss of their relic, the Mekanism. There was the Tauren hero, Raigor Stonehoof, who acquitted himself very satisfactorily in the defense of Kalimdor. The knight Davion was among them also, dragonkin-blood coursing through his veins. The only living daughter of Cenarius, the dryad demigod, was among them — Aiushtha was hungry to avenge the death of her father and sisters. Then there was the great dwarf sharpshooter Khardel, who fought with himself and Aghanim in the War of the Magi. He was a friend, and he was glad to have him by his side.
Then there were some that he knew by reputation — the rogue knight Sven — said to have god-like strength, Azwraith — most have heard of him as a master of the lance and the art of illusion, Rikimaru — the satyr prince, Gondar — the infamous bounty hunter, and the Orc blademaster Yurnero.
And there there were strange ones that he had not known of, but these showed up also to fight.
He looked at the core of his group, whom he considered his closest friends also – Rylai, Purist, Lina Inverse, Traxex — the Drow elf ranger, Chen — the only living Orc paladin, and Tyrande Whisperwind — high priestess of Elune and lady of the Sentinel.
It was not much, but it will have to do.
The old woodelf raised his voice. “There are some of you that know me, and some of you who don’t. All of you came for different motives, I assume. But let me make one thing clear right now — all of Azeroth needs you to fight. We are the wall, the only wall that stands in the way of Ner’zhul, the Burning Legion, and the Scourge having their way with this world. I, my friends here included, will have to trust that the motive of defending this world is at the heart of everyone here. You in turn will have to trust us, also, to lead you to the battlefield.”
“If I may, old one, grant me this chance to speak.” It was the satyr prince. “Of course, prince of the woods, speak your words,” Furion invited him to the middle.
“I am ready to fight for my piece of Azeroth. I’m sure all of us here are. In this place, our differences are indeed petty in comparison to the threat that comes from the north. But I’m curious… why do we turn away our friends who want to share the burden of defending this world?”
The wood elf made a curious face. “I’m not sure I know of someone we have turned away, prince. You can speak freely in this council. Tell us where we might have done wrong.”
Rikimaru looked sharply at the Lady Tyrande. “You can ask her about it. One of your elf wardens came here to protect the Nordrassil, and she turned her away!”
“You, satyr, do not know what you are saying! I, on my authority as Lady of the Sentinel, turned her away because she was a traitor, a murderer… and as far as I’m concerned, she stays that way for the rest of her life,” Tyrande spoke softly, but the venom in her voice and the fire in her eyes were unmistakeable.
“Enough! Enough…. enough.” A sad a look was on Furion’s face as he appraised Rikimaru. “My apologies, prince. I assure you that your… concern, will be dealt with.” To the gathering he said, “Let it be known that the defense of Azeroth is a responsibility for everyone. Unless any of you have any valid reason to turn someone away, all who are willing and able to fight with us will be allowed to do so.”
“But enough about that. We have a defense to think about. Even now I know that Ner’zhul draws near. Ultimately, his target would always be the Nordrassil. He will eventually make his way here. But if we can prevent that, we will need to cause him grief even as he makes his way here. In that light, some of you will be deployed to the advanced defense guard, to the lands of Lordaeron. Each one will do his or her part. That is the most that we can do. In your courage and skill lie the future of our lands. I hope you keep that in mind as you drive these demons back to where they should be.”
There were nods all around.
This time the Omniknight spoke, “This council is at an end. We will be planning the defense at length. Start your preparations now. You will be informed by nightfall where your skills are needed. The smithy will try to address your blades’ and armor’s needs, and suppliers are here in the camp to provide trade for the things you may need.”
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Epilogue to the chapter:
“Mortred came and you did not inform me?” The sadness in Furion’s voice cut through Tyrande’s pride.
“Why do you grieve her, Malfurion? Her sins were done to the wood elves, and I can NOT bring myself to grant her access to this grove for what she has done in the past. Given another chance, I would not hesitate to send her away again, just as I did.” Tyrande was adamant. A murderer is a murderer is a murderer. How could something so simple disturb Furion this much? No thought should even be wasted on this.
“I grieve her, Tyrande, because in her spirit she called out to ME for forgiveness. She only wanted to help, and I was not here to accept her and re-instate her honor by allowing her to protect not only world tree, but the only legacy she now has as an elf. Now she has nothing. We took everything there was left of the elf in her.”
“I… I only thought of the morale of the Sentinel. To have a murderer amongst them is…”
“You were thinking of your pride, Tyrande. You sent her away the first time, and it could not be good for your image that it be seen as your mistake sending her away the first time.” The old elf sighed. “This was a mistake, Tyrande. Your mistake.”
“No, Furion, I stand by what I did. It was my right! And I’d do it again, given the oppurtunity.”
“Then I’d have to make sure you don’t get the oppurtunity to do it again, Tyrande.” Furion’s voice grew softer. “It pains me to do this, earth sister. But I’m going to have to ask you to leave these lands. Leave Kalimdor, Tyrande. I cannot have your pride destroying the defense of our ancient.”
“Furion?!? How could you…?”
“I neither have the strength to say those words again nor explain what is in my heart and mind. It pains me, earth sister, so leave now, or I’ll have Purist and Rylai escort you to the docks.”
“I’ll go on my own.” She turned her back on Furion for the last time and started walking away. Before mounting her great white tiger, she threw her much-vaunted Elven glaive at the feet of Furion. “Give it to Luna Moonfang. She’s next in line.”
With that she urged her cat forward and it bounded into the woods in great leaps, anger in her heart and for the first time in years, tears in her eyes.
* images from dotaportal
