“They called it a forest of hope, a forest of dreams, built with pure elvish blood, built with pure elvish frame of mind. It made Silvermoons fall all the worse, to watch the towers of a once great city topple and crash down upon the ground. Among the great losses of the fall of such a… proud city, the loss of hope was the greatest. But now the elves exceed themselves in rebuilding, reclaiming that lost hope. But the harvest must come. The Harvest must come.”

“Dogs! Hurry yourselves up!” Lasakris bellowed.
“Y-Yes… Yes Master…” A Scourge soldier replied.
“Lasakris! Where do you want me?” The Viper asked.
“I want you away, looking from beyond, you have a key-note to play, today is not the day you make yourself killable.” Lasakris commanded.
“Masters words!” Skaag cackled, gripping on to his two handed axe.
“Good, good child, my child…” Lasakris sighed.
“Arm yourselves!” Pallidus yelled.
“Yes. Arm yourselves!” Savalis sneered. “You know this is my order, Pallidus, go to your own business…”
“I’d go to my own business… If you weren’t doing such a shoddy job of this.” Pallidus replied.
“Quiet!” Lasakris roared. “There is much to do in very little time. Skaag! Issue your warriors together, we make a skirmish upon the Farstrider Building, with their keenest hunters out, we can situate ourselves upon the cliffs overlooking Silvermoon, it is but one step till we conquer the souls of that stupid city.”
“Yes master…” Skaag grunted.
“I don’t see why I should be left out, Lasakris, you and I both know that I am the most powerful here!” The Viper sneered.
“Yes… And for that, I both envy and hate you… Boy… I gave up my life to possess a fraction of what you possess.” Lasakris sighed.
“Then let me in!” The Viper roared.
“No!” Lasakris replied. “You will follow your path and not dwell in mine!”
“Master, your army is ready…” Savalis cackled.
“Good… Good… Round them up…” Lasakris replied. “Skaag! Come here with your soldiers…”

Each face looked as pale as the last, each bony structure, the ghoulish fingers, the hollowed eyes, they were the faces of death. Scourge were odd things, bent by their will for their master they were easily ordered about, awkward to kill, they were the perfect weapons. You cannot kill what is already dead, the nation of man knows that too well.

“Children! My children…” Lasakris roared.

A very, very loud clattering of weapons, shields, robes and chain followed as the Scourge chanted in their deadly tongue, Skaag roared, Pallidus and Savalis stomped their feet and The Viper watched Lasakris in anger.
“I open my eyes and I see a black sky that tears apart and screams with a voice that is thunder, 'Rise up, rise up my children, and take your place at my side’ it bellows. For you shall be my scythe and your face shall shine like a thousand suns and the streets shall be sanctified by the steaming black blood of those enemies who wish to oppose us in our conquest. And together my children, together we shall build a new empire, a kingdom that will last for thousands and thousands of years.” Lasakris roared. “And in the end, they only have one choice… Death, for all must serve the one, true King.”

The Viper looked upon Lasakris in awe, the shocking battle-speech left him somewhat startled, the soldiers around him chanted in their grimacing tongue, words of gibberish but words of death. The clatter of sword, shield, spear, axe and hammer, the stomping of feet, the bashing of armour. A horrifying sound to the elves of the Farstriders Post.

“Take your soul with me!” Lasakris roared. “Take your flame! Take your axe! Take your fury that runs deep from your past! These are your enemies! Make them fear! Make them wish it all but a bad nightmare! Let the streets be filled with the blood of our enemies…”

The chanting continued to get louder, the pulsating beat began to throb to those who could feel pain, the sound echoed across Eversong. The Elves of Farstrider began to get themselves ready for the onslaught that would commence.

“CHARGE!” Lasakris roared.

Across the stream, the water sprayed upon the grass as the army trampled to overtake the small post, the elves had high ground, and poured their iron arrows upon the soft grass, weeping as it was. Metal clashed against metal, snarl against sneer, shadow against light, elf against Scourge. Skaag pulled his axe blade out of a young elf roaring horribly, leaning down and beginning to plunge deep into the elves poor body, ripping at the organs and stuffing them down his throat. Screamed they did.

The Viper watched on with peculiar interest, as he watched his kin being torn apart he kept repeating something to himself which Lasakris had said earlier.

“For you… Shall be my scythe…” The Viper whispered.

Skaag roared with fury, swinging his axe around cleaving the flesh of any poor victim, his blood-curdling cry made the onlookers cringe and deep down their hearts became terrified. A stitch came lose and one of Skaag’s arms soon became loose, yet he continued to fight on.

Never had the grass witnessed so much blood.

The elves put up a good fight, their armour flaring red and their swords and shields clashing with the ghoulish fingers and dripping tongues. They did not flee to the sanctity of Silvermoon, they wanted to stay, and they wanted to meet their almost certain death.

It was no longer than a few hours later the elvish defence squad was completely obliterated. A few remained, yet a dozen Scourge still loomed around, ghouls, warlocks, the General himself, they scrounged off the carcasses of their enemies. Gore.

“Poor lady Kadolyn, a voice so full of hope, she thought she could destroy the unloving ones, a story of woe, now her head lies on his front-desk, now her soul is his.”