Battleground Tactics – Strand of the Ancients
Color returned to the world with a rush. She was in a massive courtyard. Down the hill on the right were the remains of a shattered golden gate where a moving battle raged, inching its way up the hill. Uphill on her left, on stairs leading to another set of doors raged a smaller skirmish.
There was shouting, explosions, smoke, the thrum of magic in the air which itself had a metallic taste to it… of fear. There were shadow priests in that scuffle somewhere. But above all this was the sound of heavy machinery, the stench of burning oil… she felt the very ground shuddering with the push of the heavy siege machinery.
Advancing “south” is confusing.
No longer in the void, with her senses reengaging, she tried to get her bearings and find her friends. Continue reading
Thunderspank raced down the hill of shattered violet rock towards the smouldering remains of a Fel Reaver Contruct. Upon reaching the flagposts, he wheeled his mount around to scan the shattered battlefield. They almost had the Fel Reaver ruins secured. To the East, Horde flags were rising atop the hill at Blood Elf Tower, its alabaster walls gleaming in the surreal light of the shattered land. Across the chasm to the North and North East he could see the blue Alliance colors rising at the Mage Tower and Draenei Ruins.
Who needs bases? Its thunderpunt time!
“Those halfwits are at it again” said a low deep resonating voice next to him. Continue reading
Thunder sat crosslegged on the ground, focused on wiping his shield and sword with embersilk rags so he’d have something to do. Combat always enraged him and he found that keeping busy right after a fight helped his mind find balance. Well kept armor was easier to stay balanced in too. The sword had a few notches on the leading edge and scores on the flatside where the dragons had parried his cleaves – dragon nailcutters must be constructed from some magnificent steel indeed. His shield had a coating of soot on it along with assorted clawmarks and dents. Full repairs would have to wait until they reached a town with an armorer but for now his gear was serviceable enough. That was his gear though, his throat was hoarse and hurt like hell. Continue reading
[Loosely based off my wonderful guildies]
Seargent Thunderspank pushed his helment visor up in stunned disbelief, the terminally belligerent mage had done it again. He heard it before he saw it, the whispered mutterings in an arcane tongue that hurt his head whether they were directed at him or his foes, and then a whistling blur of arcane energy that made a beeline for the dragonkin’s bottom, spread across it with an impressive crackle and disappeared with a fizz.