NationStates Jolt Archive

Quel'thelas was a forested world, lieing somewhere between the location of the bastion of Northrend and the Horde's numerous domains. Populated by a race of magickal Elf like humanoids; it was a ripe jewel for the taking. Their magecraft was remarkable; and it was doubtless that this race possessed a powerful and ancient gift which would be nessecary to face the wars which loomed on all sides (And unknowingly, from below). The GFFA was in turmoil; and Ner'zhul was determined that he would endure this time of troubles.

No matter the cost.

The Icecrown loomed over the world; an immense floating citadel-ship and bastion of Undead might; at it's side lay the immense Necropolis class Battleunit; Naxxramas. Ner'zhul and Kel'thuzad had come forth; and with them, came but a vanguard of the Undead. Troop carriers and minimal cruisers lay like foreboding shadows over the domain of the Elves.

"Begin."

The chill whisper of Ner'zhul sent troop transports and landing pods hurtling towards the realm eternal; wondrous Quel'thelas; alive with magic and all manners of life. Life to be tasted, to be enslaved, to be snuffed out.

It would be his.

The outskirts of the Elven Capital, Silvermoon

The great hulks of pock-marked metal and sinister gasses slammed into the ground; doors openign as the Undead poured forth; waves of unliving troops; armed with weapons ranging from swords, to plasma rifles. At the front lines, a Death Knight rode forth; one Lord Shadowsword. He tugged at the leather reins of his undead steed; whirling it about. Undead tanks trundled forth, seeming to stir with fetid energies; before they let loose; trees felled by heavy explosives, shrapnel and the malevolent energies of the Scourge.

"Cower little elves; Cower....Death itself has come."

Kapitan Felfner had never understood the concept of peace keeping. If two small nations went to war, what peace was there to keep? But he was a Boozian. He took orders.

A frigate, the size of many a cruiser despite its unglamorous title, warped in on the edge of the system.

"Unknown fleet. The spooky looking one. Please state your identity and intentions."

We are the Scourge; our business is our own. Identify yourselves; and why you dare to intrude upon the affairs of the glorious Lich King?

"sir a weird energy reading coming from aneraby system, requesting perimission to sacn area for any knownvessels on our database" asked the ensign

"permission granted, get in closer to there, mght be something of interets" general Cody ordered, Cody's vessel, the Horde was a great ship armed to the teeth but as with vessels of similar potency never actually been used in battle, "realy default message to foreign vessels if any are found"

"this is the S.S. Horde of the Bekhaeran empire, idnetify yourselves"

"OPEN FIRE!" Shadowsword's voice cut through the chill air as the weapons of his warriors unleashed volleys of devestating fire; trees splintered and burned beneath the advancing undead; their landing zones (Codified as Deatholme) disgorged the undead Scourge against their foes; while Shadowsword proweled the front lines; claiming elven souls with mere gestures of his gleaming black Blade.

The men advance well; soon we shall have our victory; and the power you claim; my Lord Alone in his chambers, Kel'thuzad's thoughts sought his Masters superior mind.

Indeed. We shall grind them under our heel; yet another race to be ours in slavery; released into glorious undeath. Level their structures. Burn them from the earth

It shall be a pleasure; my Lord. A true pleasure

Far below the Elven defenders fought with an unbridled ferocity; frail as they may have appeared they were certainly not going to surrender their world to these legions of the animate Dead. magic streaked across the skies; flame an dlight cleansing the undead assailants; water elementals rose from the Abyssal Maw of the elemental realms; rock reshaped itself into golems hungry for war. The arcane power of the Elves rewrote the tapestry of Existence. Amongst their number, the young Ranger-General makes clear her words.

"Onwards brothers! Onwards sisters! We shall resist these butchers!" A gout of black flame tears an archer from her side and she spins; the enemy General is near. Her breathing tenses; chest tightening. Fear, Anger. Outrage. Who are these ghouls to raid their proud world? Who are they to threaten their ancient legacy. Her fists tighten around the grips of pistols, before she whirls out; tearing two shambolic corpses from the land of the living. Another volley of fire; this time backed by nearby archers, draws the attention of Shadowsword; his eyes alive with crackling malevolence.

"Ahhh, good. A fight! I was beginning to wonder if all I would claim were weaklings and cowards; dieing on their knees" A tongue laps at deadened lips. "Come; face me!"

And Sylvanas Windrunner holsters her pistols; reaching for the keen edge of her blade, a smile crossing her lips in half-hearted reverie.
"You wish a challenge, fiend? Come. You shall recieve your fair share of agonies!" Lunging forth, she strikes at the undead steed beneath him; the beast shrieking in the cry of the already dead; faltering even as he leaps from it, landing behind her; lashing out with malevolent fury

"You know nothing of pain; woman. Allow me to educate you"

She blocks, forcing his blade back, a fight amidst a brutal and bloody war unfolds. Yet the true aims and strengths of the Scourge have yet to be played...

Back in orbit, the hissed voice of Kel'thuzad fills the airwaves

We are the Scourge. Servants of the eternal and glorious Lich King. I am Kel'thuzad; our business is our own; our objectives are our own. Your curiosity, children, shall be the death of you.

"We are the Boozians. We kill stuff. And any rulers "gloriousness" is in the eye of the beholder. One of our mobile fleets ought to be quite capable of reducing your ships to a metal haze, but if you improve your manners, we might join you in some good natured head-crackery. What do you say?"

You speak with fire and venom; you would do well to ally with us. This world is ripe for the Scourging; you may be allowed a sliver of the glory and the spoils; but ultimately the world and its people shall belong to us. We have much vested in this operation

"dont they sound like a friendly bunch" laughed Cody on the bridge of the Horde, "like spoilt children"

"sir should we head back?" asked the ensign, the crew on the bridge then all looked at Cody,"what should we do then?"

Cody looked out over the sytem and saw stars and planets...

"head to that system but keep or distance, anyoen attacks us will feel the Horde's wrath"

"Well, yipee! The schnapsetruppen will be arriving shortly."
As if in answer, a trio of vast military transports warped in, carrying in their hull First Corps, First Army, the Eisensturm. The voice on the communicator was now an older one, that of General-der-infanterie Hitzig.
"You give us a landing zone, we'll come down with an infantry division, guns blazing, secure the area and bring down the heavy stuff. Im Stalh und Feuer!"
The last words were uttered with the translator off for dramatic effect

You are free to chose; Mortals. Might I suggest attacking any additional Elven settlements while we prepare to push towards Silvermoon. Any regiments of reinforcements would have to be cut off before they arrived in the vicinity...

Blade clashes against blade; metal on metal; a roar builds in the Undeads throat as he tries to cleave the Elven bitch asunder; yet she resists. She moves like a shadow, a dazzling array of parrying and thrusts; till her final blow drives the blade straight into his shoulder.

He hisses, runes of blazing light searing his undead flesh; his eyes alive with dancing madness; reaching up, snapping the blade; before he lashes out again. It cuts across her arm, making the Elven General reel in pain; grasping for her pistols and firing. The bullets snap and crackle against his armor; advancing; rising up, Runeblade gleaming in the sunlight; preparing to smash down upon her.

She rolls; dodging to one side as the raw gouts of magic begin to thunder upon him, daggers swiftly replacing pistols as he plunges into the fray; slashing and cutting at him; driving him back.

All around them there is death; Elven bodies stir and rise, assaulting their former brethern; abominations whom only flame can truly save. The dead feast upon corpses and upon the living; and madness seems to rule amidst the decaying, burning forests. Bodies are burned without ceremony; forests soon follow; a line of burning trees is visible from the heavens; as little by little; the Elves give ground; sacrificing the beautiful and noble forests rather than have undeath despoil and consume them....

It has begun in earnest.

the Boozians moved in close and deployed their Smaug dropships, paridly descending to a medium sized settlement, marine grava-chuting down and spreading chaos in preparation for the main army insertion.

The Necrons are.

That isn’t to say that every nook and cranny in the galaxy has been surveyed anew by the necrontyr civilisation. But even in the last centuries the agents of that ancient people have walked under thousands upon thousands of stars and been to countless civilisations. Some are considered worth taking note of: of sufficient interest to pique curiosity, greed or wroth, and resources are devoted to them. But most such civilisations are simply dismissed as irrelevancies, left for Contact at another time, under the watchful but discrete eye of a long duration cultural survey probe.

---

System log, Remote Culture Survey Probe 9,242:
[Timestamp: IY_B373.265.02:25:26:585:989]
Anomalous energy detected. Starships landing on planet.
*Alert Status Three, Full Passive Analysis*

[Timestamp: IY_B373.265.02:25:26:585:993]
[PASSIVE SCAN RESULTS APPENDED TO LOG; FILE 92938] {Expand to view scan results}
No known matches for vessel designs, relay to monitor vessel.
Classifying new fleet: Θ#

[Timestamp: IY_B373.265.02:25:26:585:994]
[HYPERBEAM TRANSMISSION SENT] {Expand to view abstract}
Scanning landing areas. Activity consistent with invasion, preliminary assessment begins.
Assessment: Capability[…] {Expand to view assessment}

[Timestamp: IY_B373.265.02:25:26:786:552]
[NEW VESSEL DETECTED] {Expand to view scan results}
Intercepted Signal Record:
"Unknown fleet. The spooky looking one. Please state your identity and intentions."
Classifying new vessel: Ψ1

[Timestamp: IY_B373.265.02:25:42:894:157]
Intercepted Signal Record:
"We are the Scourge; our business is our own. Identify yourselves; and why you dare to intrude upon the affairs of the glorious Lich King?"
Reclassifying fleet: Θ# → Θ(Scourge)#
Update monitor vessel, establish continous hyperbeam
[HYPERBEAM TRANSCEPTION ESTABLISHED]

---

Had the little Culture Survey Probe been a human, it would have been jumping up and down in excitement as it dutifully monitored the situation and reported to its superior. The reason for its existence was being fulfilled. A 0.1 sapience probe was capable of a rudimentary form of happiness, and it was ecstatic.

---

OOC: A little info request. What's the elf-population of this planet like: How many of them are there, what's their technology like?

OOC; its pretty much entirely populated with Elves; numbers; god...Not sure, few million maybe?

Not too technologically advanced; highly magically advanced, but technologies around about gunpowder; while mine is a mix, depending on what I have with me :P

OOC: In that case, if you don't particularly mind, I'd like to try for extracting them shortly. I'm not a fan of the 'NPC bashing' affair, and it would please me to move them offworld. You get your planet, I get elves, everyone's happy... Except the elves, who'll probably a bit miffed about the whole thing but will just have to like it.

OOC: So long as I get to kill enough that I have a decent amount that I could raise back up and use to help populate the world; if you like, while posting their escape; you could also RP them.

I don't like NPC bashing either, but I was afraid that anyone else might cock them up.

On the plus side, the Survivors could be future Blood Elves; lol...

OOC: Not a particular NPC bashing fan myself, but civil wars and incudents like this make it unfortunately necessary.

Reactions are sometimes stunningly fast. The Solarian Patrol Fleet is the group of necron ships designed to be pleasant to be aboard. A quick assessment of the anthropological data on the planet designated by its inhabitants as Quel'thelas showed a population of less than ten million souls. Enough to fit, if not comfortably, into a single Sickle class cruiser. The Solarian fleet was chosen for this task because it was capable of carrying passengers without terrifying them. Older necron ships were designed for intimidation, instead.

And so, shortly, the cruiser, accompanied by a pair of destroyers and a trio of frigates in an ad-hoc flotilla of typically massive necron vessels (even the frigates were a kilometre across) were dispatched to Quel'thelas.

From across the Necrontyr empire, those willing to engage in ‘charitable pursuits’ were rounded up for the difficult task of persuading doubtless frightened people to leave their homes and trust in strangers.

---

OOC: I don’t really know enough about Warcraft to RP them well, so I’ll leave that to you.

Our endeavors are being challenged, my Lord.

It matters not; let us wait and see what this new development entails. Our work shall be done regardless; the World shall fall to us, and what we seek shall be in our hands. These Elves are nothing; frail warriors backed by Magickal fury. Should it come to it; I shall intervene myself...

"patch me through to the elven homeworld" ordered Cody as the Horde edged closer to the planetary system, "Relay the message of help and evacutaion if needed"

The smaugs continued to descend, their vast hulls opening even before they touched down. General-Leutnant Hakenpeffer made full use of their size and wait, crashing them straight in to the more opulent, delicate looking structures.

The second after the landing, schnapsetruppen charged, one company in a battalion advancing under the cover of the other two and the heavy weapons.

Hakenpeffer surveyed the scene of chaos as fesh battalions emerged from the dropships and began some classic pillaging, aided in their chaos spreading tasks by the pioneer battalion, who's platoons dashed from building to building, adding to the destruction with explosive charges as the mechanised units and artillery began to role out. He chuckled.
"I'll make General-Oberst for this."

In space, however, the Boozians were not so audacious. One frigate could hardly face off against a task force using similar size scales to itself, so the ship swung around out of range, observing.

“You do not yet comprehend the danger you are in,” Anárion snapped, drawing a disapproving, even hostile reaction from the settlement’s chief Athaniar, a tall – the elves here were all tall, around six foot or more, and generally pale blonde or even white hair – elf with glowing violet eyes. That was, in itself, a remarkable feature in the eyes of Anárion.

The local elves were called Quel’dorei, a different species from Anárion, who was one of the dominant species of ‘elves’ in the C’tan. It was one of the great curiosities of anthropology that elf-like forms appeared independently in so many places, from ancient Naogeddon to Earth to many worlds beyond. The running joke was that elves were The One’s favourites, and that ‘he’ was fond of pointy ears.

Anárion had arrived shortly before, at the edge of the settlement where he’d been confronted with commendable paranoia by elven rangers that reminded him of his own past. Indeed, he was dressed a little like them, his clothes including a blood-red robe that went down to his knees, meeting with high black boots. Over this he had burgundy armour-weave and bistre jackets, all of which was under a green cloak much like their own.

He’d asked to be taken to someone In authority, and had then attempted to explain the situation and the offer of the C’tan fleet in orbit extended.

Athaniar had, wisely, asked why the C’tan, if so powerful, could not deal with the threat, which he evidently had some knowledge of. In truth, Anárion was certain that they could. But there were many wars on, the occupation of Mirkai, ongoing operations to recover from the blast on Mars, the C'tan were preparing forces to fight 'Orks' on Rudan prime and they had countless other ongoing operations that tied up the ground-resources neccessery to liberate Quel’thelas.

“You do not yet comprehend the danger you are in,” Anárion snapped, drawing a disapproving, even hostile reaction from the settlement’s chief, “You cannot out-fight this threat. You understand the benefits of high ground,” this got a contemptuous, patronised, look, “The invaders, this ‘scourge,’” Anárion sneered a little in distaste, “have the ultimate high ground over you. Even if you destroy their invasion army, they can simply head out system and direct a few asteroids at you. The impacts will blast vast quantities of earth and dust into the sky, and blot out the sun for years. Even assuming you’re able to continue agriculture, the temperature drop will be completely lethal. You must come with us or you must die…”

He’d still taken it with a dubious look.

“Right, how about I arrange a demonstration of what your enemies can do?” he said, and began speaking, rather than in the translated format he was using, in sindarin into a small communicator device attached to his gauntlet. “Does anyone live on that mountain,” he asked, pointing at a peak about five kilometres away.

The elf denied it, and Anárion continued talking, after another check. The ship replied that there were no signs of habitation anywhere near the target area, too.

A projectile zipped down moments later, a streak almost too bright to look at as the dense scarab-drone impacted the tip of the mountain. The top mile or so of the mountain was blasted into a fireball of rapidly expanding dust five times larger than the sun. Seconds passed, and Anárion studied their reactions. About ten seconds after the impact, the ground shook beneath them, and he had to reach out to avoid falling. “Listen,” he said, “that’s nothing, in comparison to what practically all space-faring powers are capable of meting out. You can’t win,” he said, “you can only come with us and trust that we do,” he sighed with annoyance, asking people to trust to such a degree was… difficult, “mean only the best for you. It’s that or be conquered by what seems to be a horde of undead. I know which I would choose.”

Some didn’t make up their minds until the winds from the explosion reached them, almost three meters later, but eventually, Anárion found himself telling the elves in the settlement to gather what belongings were precious to them, not more than two bags full, and come back to the town’s square. There were thousands like him, displaced to the ground from the orbiting ships, still remaining away from the ‘scourge’ fleet, on the far side of the planet, or its moons, or wherever was necessary to avoid precipitating conflict, each of them dispatched to towns of several thousand inhabitants. Anárion’s demonstration was rather too dramatic to be repeated often, but it served for several nearby towns, thankfully none of them closer to the impact site than Anárion’s one, as well.

"ATTENTION ELVEN HOMEWORLD. THIS IS THE S.S. HORDE OF THE BEKHAERAN IMPERIAL FLEET, WE WISH TO OFFER YOU EVACUATION AND ASSISTANCE IF NEEDED R.V.S.P" the message read, it was sent to any available comm system that would pick it up on the planets surface

"i just pray that were not delaying the inevtiable" thought Cody as the assailant tore at the planet with great malice and fury, "what are they?"

The settlement was in ruins, Schnapsetruppen stragglers wandering drunkenly through its charred streets, looting and killing. The smaugs had been transformed into an HQ, from which Hakenpeffer and the leader of the second divion to be landed, General-Leutnant Hankhels, could direct their forces.

The mechanised regiments, accompanied by artillery, anti-air, recon, and all the other support a fighting unit required and trailed by equally vital supply colums were ranging ahead of the main army, over-running resistance.

"So, what do you think the new fleet is up to?"
"Well, they landed ground elements and fired some kind of orbital weapon system. Maybe they just want another piece of the pie. I shouldn't worry about them. We are, after all, fighting against elves and alongside zombies. I have known less strange days."

Sylvanas fought with a fury uncommon to the noble Elven race; driven deeper into despair by each advance of the Undead force. Their bastions and gates; their noble defences were torn asunder by the ravenous hordes. For each they slew; ten more would take its place. It seemed futile; futility in the face of overwhelming odds. But the Rangers fought on; even when the orders to evacuate began to filter through.

"No sisters! We shall not flee; these craven curs shall be destroyed. We regroup at Silvermoon proper! The final battle for them or us shall unfold there! Back Sisters! Back!"

Bridges were destroyed and all around the forests burned; portals materialised, disgorging both the Lich King and Kel'thuzad.

"My Lord...Our forces make excellent progress; hampered only by the Elven Rangers. The Ranger-General shows much priomise; she even slew Shadowsword."

"Why else do you think we are here, Lich?" He chuckled; a sound like the cold whisper of amused death "We shall lay low their final strongholds and take all they possess as our own"

"What of the strange vessels that have come? What of the reports of mass elven population movement?"

"Little concern." Ner'zhul strode forth; beholding the burnign forests. "Why else would they flee if they did not know that resistance was pointless? Why else would they run, if they did not know that death had come to claim the High home of the Elven race. That no matter how much they resist; they shall be consumed and scourged from the face of Existence"

The necron ship’s ‘bridge’ was more of an observation deck than anything else. The planet was framed beautifully on the ‘screen’ in three dimensions.

Anárion frowned at the sight, “It’s a shame that this planet has to fall. It’s actually quite beautiful.”

“I could blow it up if you like. Displace a cyclonic warhead into the core, kaboom,” the ship mused. There was something of a competition amongst the ships of the fleet about who would get to actually blow up a planet next.

“I think that would be rather counterproductive. Its rightful owners can’t take it back if you blow it up, ship.

“So, where’re you sending me next?”

“Planetary capital. Silvermoon.”

“Oh, nice..” Anárion said, “very nice.”

And with an eardrum-straining pop, he was back on the ground, a slightly lower gravity area. He had to admit things didn’t look as though there was any real danger. “Which way,” he asked into his bracer.

“Twelve o’clock of course, what, do you think I’m some sort of amateur…” the ship replied.

General Hitzig was now on the ground, directing operations personally. His Army Corps had set off on a rampage across the surface of Quel'thalas, burning all they could find, and now they were drawn up outside Silvermoon. The heart of the matter.
"Get our dead allies on the horn and tell the men to hand in their wills. We're moving."
"Aye, sir."

Anarial Boughstrider paced up and down in the small room she was currently sharing with her son. It was a different aesthetic to her own home, but nevertheless, not that unpleasant. The thing that was unpleasant though did not know where her husband was. She’d asked the voice of the ship – it called itself a ship, even though it had nothing in common with the graceful elven ships she’d been on in the past – when it had greeted her, but he said that the ship had not located her husband. He’d been out near to Silvermoon when the disaster had started.

Anarial wanted desperately to cry, weep, and even beg the ship – it seemed to be capable of a great number of things – to find him, but she had her son Mariel with her, and she would not humiliate herself so in front of the young boy. At least she had him, she consoled herself.

Nevertheless, her heart felt as if it would explode, torn apart by the prospect of leaving her beloved behind. She whispered his name softly, and leaned her head against a wall.

---

Anárion, meanwhile, unaware of the coincidentally named elf’s anguish far above him, was busily talking to Sylvanas Windrunner, the general in charge of the rangers of Silvermoon.

“Listen, we can’t hold them off, and neither can you,” Anárion said, “we only want to help you evacuate the area. It’s your only real hope of survival.”

“Can you not help us slow down the enemy at all? If not,” the blonde haired ranger demanded, “you’re no use to me.”

Anárion sighed, and began speaking in his own tongue once more.

“Ship,” he said quickly, “We need you to send support down to the capital.

“What kind of support?”

“You have monoliths don’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s entirely appropriate to deploy them now.”

“You think the convenience of your monoliths is worth more than these people’s lives? How little do you value these people?”

“I can give you a credit value per human if you like. I’ve yet to compute the value of these elves”

“Never mind. Just launch them.”

“Is there no other way to deal with the matter? I’m here to evacuate people, not to fight…”

“Monoliths have autoreturn, don’t they?”

“Yes,” the ship replied.

“Then dispatch them. It’ll only take a second or so to fade them out when you want to flee.”

“I predict that over eighty percent of my vehicles will be knocked out just trying to land in Silvermoon. Unless they assume I’m joining the attack, anyway…”

“Right, we might get lucky. Launch, damn you…”

---

The ship turned its underside to face a different direction, and banks of ten-meter squares detached from the underside, hundreds of tear-drop shaped monolith and smaller, purely combative, obelisk ground vehicles being fired onto a trajectory that would have them perform a perfect reentry in and around Silvermoon.

---

“There,” the ship said, “they’re on their way now. ETA fifteen minutes, I hope you’re happy.”

The hulking and frankly enormous structure that was Naxxramas disgorged approximately four, far smaller, yet still formidi9ble structures; tearing through the atmosphere at the front lines of the Scourge advance; hovering ominously above the ground. These necropolis class heavy assault units loomed like the spires of ancient cultures above the forests; the ground beneath them seeming to die as they slowly began to move forth; the army following; carving a road of death and destruction through the once proud forests; straight towards Silvermoon.

Elven explosives; hurled from trebuchets or left to detonate along the path of the Undead; hidden behind trees and around them; began to go off; sending the undead ranks into disarray. Magickal assaults caught them unawares; but still they pressed on; the hammer against the anvil; the steady blow against defences; again and again and again. This would not be resolved through trickery and mayhem; no; as they drew nearer to the defences placed by the Necron defenders; it become clear that the Elves would only be utterly destroyed by brute force and its glorious warlike application.

"Sir, we have detected the same enemies that attacked us.They are attacking a planet that is populated by elves."

"Well then send the 1st,and 4th fleets to attack them."

1st fleet stats

1 Liberty class SSDs
2 Executor class SSDs
12 Imperial I SDs
30 Hapes Nova class heavy cruisers
60 CC-12000 frigates
6 Endurance class carriers
total 111 ships
------------------------

4th fleet stats
1 Executor class SSDs
8 Imperial I SDs
24 Hapes Nova class heavy cruisers
40 CC-12000 frigates
4 Endurance class carriers
total 77 ships
----------------------

total force 188


The fleets jumped in system and took up position mid-system. The crew of the Liberty would have its revenge.

"This is Admiral Johnson. I am dedicating this battle to our fallen comrades that were killed by these creatures when they attacked 1010102. My fallen friends let your spirts guide us to victory in this battle!"

The entire fleet opened fire with all turbolasers and proton torpedoes at the enemy ships, and the Liberty fired its superlaser at the largest of the enemy ships.

"Sir, the Icrcrown forces seem to be under attack."

"So. They can take care of themselves."

"It's a boit closer to overwhelming strength than I would like to be facing sir."

"What are we talking about here?"

The tech rattles off some numbers. "Right then. Let's go. Adverse correlation of forces is right."

Nearly 100 ships of the Solari System Navy disappeared from their home system through wormholes generated by their FTL drives. They would arrive in just a few minutes. Until then the Scourge were on their own.

occ: why are you helping him?

The shields of the Naxxramas and Icecrown lit up like the surfaces of suns; blazing with furious intensity even as some of the smaller vessels were cleaved from the Great Darkness. The retaliatory blows split the heavens; immense volleys of unknowable energies; projectiles and blasts of raw power surging against their foes. The hulls of the allied vessels were seared and scored; but endured; allowing them the chance to hurtled their own fire straight into the hearts of the enemy fleets.

The Scourge were merciless in their rampant hunger; limitless in their sickening depravity; and as the missles streaked forth; amongst them were those missles containing the Blight Plague.

They would break their foes from within and without; and soon; they too would come to serve Ner'zhul

occ: why are you helping him?

OOC: Because we are allies. Why are you fighting him?

OOC: Because we are allies. Why are you fighting him?


occ:I was in an Rp and he tried to wipe me out.
Icecrown : what about my shots? and how do shields with stand a superlaser 3/4 of the death star's power?

OOC: Your shots hit things; shields caught most of it but you damaged my hull. This I posted. By right you shouldn't even be here; ergo; get on with it and don't balls my plot.

OOC: Your shots hit things; shields caught most of it but you damaged my hull. This I posted. By right you shouldn't even be here; ergo; get on with it and don't balls my plot.

OCC: how does it not destroy the ship it can blow a planet to peices?

OOC; Because our shields were at full and you were uninvited. Rude weapons do less damage. Next?

occ ok then. i assumed that it was open because it didn't say otherwise.

"Sir the largest enemy ships have survived.... and we lost 23 ships to the return fire."

"well launch fighters and fire again!"

The Icecrown and Naxxramas had lauinched their own fighters to dogfight with the oncoming enemy craft; while making a strategic retreat towards the opposing side of the globe; launchign long range missles and area of effect weapons to stem the tide of the enemy assault; while ensuring that they stuck to the plans in place; safeguarding the Invasion

"sir they've launched their fighters and are retreating!"

"press on and have the fighter fall back right over the highest concentration of AA batteries."

"yes sir"

The fighters started firing and then retreated and spun around and waited. for the enemy fighters to start attacking.

100 small wormholes shattered the fabric of space, and the Intimidator led the way into the system. Resplendent in red and black, bristling with heavyt MAC guns, and imposing like no other vessel in the SSN. Right on its heels were a trio of other impressive vessels, Bismark, Bristol, and Hood. The powerhouse leading quartet of any Solari action, they would ride in the vanguard, backed by Heavy Cruisers to take out the enemies capitol ships. Light Cruisers, Destroyers and Gunships sped along the flanks of the Capitol ships, screening against any attack by fighters or opposing light units.

The Intimidator began charging its massive spinal PPC. As soon as it was ready the weapon would be unleashed in a hellstorm of destruction. Shattering shields and hulls with equal effectiveness.

occ: please explain some of that tech and how a nation barely a month old can have 100 some ships?

The battle was joined on the surface. Amazingly, it seemed that the attackers, to their own detriment, had failed to take heed of the necron vehicles as they descended. Low slung ‘obelisk’ ‘tanks’ prowled the larger ways of the forest, cutting through tree, and bone, and undead flesh alike.

The necrons themselves gave the impression that they should be on the other side. Their machine-bodies were designed to give the impression of skeletons, or desiccated corpses, designed to say to any humanoids ‘Here is Death.’

They did indeed draw some ‘questioning’ reactions as they disembarked from bile green portals set into the larger monolith ‘transports.’

Strange, eldritch energies flayed undead creatures into nothing but airborne calcite gasses, and vehicles ripped swathes of infested and defiled forest apart.

Here and there they were damaged, chunks of vehicle being blown apart and damaged to such a degree that they could no longer function, both necrons and their constructs regenerated, stooping to pick up and reattach limbs, or living metal bodies running like water to become whole once more.

Fearsome necron lords fought side by fearful side with elven rangers, incandescent energies dealing death to un-dead for every death suffered by their side.

And yet they were still loosing, not necessarily because the enemy was superior, but because the necrons wished to lose. All the time they sought only to pull back, legions of scarab-drones exploding in the midst of sacred forests with the power of very-small atomic weapons.

All a diversion, while Silvermoon’s evacuation proceeded.

---

OOC: Yay, it’s turned into one of II’s patented ‘everyone bring a starfleet’ threads. Joy.

And 1010102: Because he says so? Humm? By the way, you really could do with shortening that sig of yours.

"Damn it. If I'm not very much mistaken, thats Menkeln's "crazy mob of belligerant freaks. Just as well they haven't landed. Let's loot, burn, and go home, we shouldn't attract unwanted attention."
The Boozians pressed on, caught between living death and their commisars, there was little else they could do. Massed infantry firepower could, by virtue of the "stacking" firepower of a lasgun, blow the shields off a battleship. Of course, there wasn't enough mass here for that kind of infantry firepower, but it was formidable.

The Immense Necropolis structures opened fire; energy scything through existence, tearing the tears aside as they began to pound back against the advance of Necron and Elf; a fitting blow against these fiends who seemed to stalk like death itself; skeletal horrors amongst the trees.

The Undead were not to be fazed by this development; the will of their Master forcing them onwards; infantry fell in droves; torn asunder by the crackling limitless power of the Necrontyr. Yet the Undead forced themselves forwards; the ground shuddered as something moved and hissed beneath it; spider-like limbs dragging Elven rangers screaming into the cold earth; Crypt Fiends forcing themselves up from the ground; a select few from the bodies which had of late been discovered on Northrend; a mysterious, native species.

Focussed, glorious fire rained down upon the lines of the defenders; Abominations, immense fusions of weaponry and flesh, lumbered to the front lines; lashign out with chains and blades, and primitive gun-weaponry, while Ner'zhul and Kel'thuzad watched in awe and horrific pride. This was the true testing ground of the Scourge; this was glory....

occ: please explain some of that tech and how a nation barely a month old can have 100 some ships?

OOC: Play Halo, and Battletech, then be less of an idiot. And I can have 100 ships the same way you can have that many SSDs. It's not that hard to have 100, or even 200 ships at my size, especially when they don't have the obscene crew requirements of SW crap.

IC:

The Intimidator burned through space, bringing its 4 forward turrets to bear against the first target in range: An ImpStar Ace. 8 massive MAC guns fired, sendiing 600 ton slugs of Tungsten lancing through space towards their unfortunate target, while the Dreadnoughts and Battlecruiser selected their own targets from among those available. A pair of frigates, and a Hapes cruiser were the selected targets of the heavy ships. The Heavy cruisers that filled in the line selected other tarets of their own, mostly frigates or Heavy Cruisers, to best utilize their lighter 400 ton shells. Gunships, Destroyers, and Light Cruisers all spread out around the small task grouping. Making up over eighty percent of the small fleet, they were so light that they couldn't effectively engage heavier ships except in swarms, which is why some 200 light shells flashed through space to target a single ImpStar. There was something to be said for strength of numbers, even when you were yourself outnumbered.

It was hell made incarnate on the ground. ‘Hell on Earth’

But necrons were built for hell. Some were toppled into dark abysses, barely even ceasing for a moment, fighting continuously. Necrontyr minds, with all their wit and shining brilliance, imbued with implacable, machinelike determination. Anárion saw one necron warrior tumble into a crevasse locked in a deathly struggle with two skeletal antagonists. Even as it fell, it crushed one skull, and slammed its living metal fist into the other’s empty ribcage.

He himself was with Sylvanas still, his sword flashing now and then into those undead creatures that came close. He was thankful that the ship had provided ample protection for him, and the dagger drone flitted about protectively around him, eight-megajoule micro-missiles the size of raindrops zipping out and turning areas of forest into fireballs as the knife’s cutting fields slashed into those that got too close, the true cause of Anárion’s success with the sword. He only regretted not bringing a pistol with him.

He saw an elf flash-cooked by an energy weapon, and watched the same creature that had done the deed stagger from a pistol ball in the forehead, splintering burnished bone.

“Stand by…” the ship said into his ear.

“What?” he demanded.

“We are pulling out.”

“You have everyone?”

“Not everyone. Developing space combat and the resultant interference will prevent us rescuing the remainder of the population. We must leave, now…”

“Shit,” he said, with feeling, and looked at Sylvanas, “What about the rangers?”

“I will try,” the ship said.

Almost as one, the necrons, and the living agents of the C’tan, began disappearing from the planet.

The bridge again: Anárion sighed, “Did you get everyone?” he asked.

“No. I am presently carrying,” the ship was unflustered, even though it was overseeing tens of thousands of actions per second, “five million four hundred and seventy thousand, two hundred and twenty plus elves,” the ship said, “That’s not all, but I will not be able to get any more in the present condition, by remaining any longer I will only risk those I have…”

---

The ship turned and accelerated as the last of its surviving vehicles and troops disappeared from the ground, in a few more moments, it and its escorts were gone, hurtling through space at incredible, incomprehensible speed.

---

OOC: And the remainder, are screwed, it would seem. I leave Sylvanas’ fate up to Icecrown, because though I’d like her, I suspect he might want to repeat her WC3 demise.

"Sir now that Ctan has taken as many of the elves away as possible maybe we should just blow the planet to pieces. Then finish the enemy fleet. Or we can finish the enemy fleet then blow the planet up."

"Maybe, But I will ask the others if the will allow it. Just so we don't have a million and 1 declarations of war coming at us."

We wish to blow up the planet now that most of the population has been removed. Please reply with your honest opinions.

"Sir, Incoming fire!"

"We just lost the Incursion!"

"And 2 frigates and a Hapes!"

You shall do no such thing; foolish mongrels. We should have completely scourged you from the stars; let you burn into ashes along with whatever bastard race you called your own; all those souls which we ripped clean of their flesh. You shall NOT stand against our triumph here. Quel'thelas is OURS!

The Scourge fleet was not fooled by the movements of the enemy fighters; instead the largest and most potent of their weapons were directed at those places where the fighters gathered; and at any vessel capable, or seemingly capable, of a Planet Killing action. The weapons of the Scourge cut across the void in all the howling fury of a predestined Death blow.

Sylvanas was alone now; one of the few remaining living elves, let alone Rangers; she fought on against the undead foes who surrounded her. Serrated blade tore at bone with a remourseless fury. These abominations had consumed her home world; their allies had abandoned her. What hope was left, lay now with the Elves who had escaped; most notably with some of the Royal Dynasty. He blade met resistance as she whirled round, coming face to face with the Lich King incarnate.

"A fine battle, little elf. But the game is up. It is over."

She lashed out again; her attacks blocked by the immense runeblade; by the gleaming armor.

"Then finish it."

"With pleasure." A chuckle, wry and wistful drifted from between his pale lips; lashing out, driving her back; the fury of Frostmourne, its hunger boundless, evident as she struggled. She felt it cleave her flesh, felt it taste her life, a gasp escaping her lips as she let the daggers drop to the blighted, muddy ground.

"Oh...Gods...No...Finish it. My death...." She coughed, barely even to speak, blood staining her mouth, her chin. "Clean...."

"You think that after all the trouble you've put me through, I'd allow you the comfort of death?"

"No..." She felt his boot crushing her ribcage, forcing the blade from her; and then the black speech surrounded her, twisting her. The ground seemed to quiver and quake, the blight seemed to writhe and seethe into her physical form; and she screamed. Death was taking her, yet what lay beyond was even more terrifying than oblivion.

He moved from her, striding like a victorious tyrant into Silvermoon itself; a conquering hero. The dead lay strewn about; white marble stained with blood and ash. The Lich, Kel'thuzad stood, examining the glimmering pool of magical energy.

"This is the source of all their art; my lord. The Sunwell. The waters are not native to this world, but merely seem a conduit for grander, magical power. Were we to use it; we could increase our knowledge and power a hundred fold; were we to replicate it...The possibilities would be endless."

"I shall set you as Regent of this world, my Servant. Sylvanas shall aid you in your endeavors. And once you have mastered all that this orb has to offer us; then the universe...Shall know a far graver price."

"Incoming fire!Its heading toward the fighters and toward The Liberty!"

"Have the fighters dodge the fire and brace for emergency thruster maneuver!"

The Liberty was knocked to the side by its emergency thrusters.But it was not enough to avoid all of it. It took fire lowering the shields to 68%.

"Shields holding sir."

"how many fighters did we lose?"

"5%. They scatered and only a few shots hit them."

"Have them go and attack the enemy fighters then launch bombers and attack he enemy's larger weapons."

"Fighters moving into attack formation now, sir."

The fighters raced towards the enemy fighters firing and weeving as the went.

The foam flecked seas of the Highlands region of Duat were rougher than usual as they crashed onto the rocks far below the ‘school’ like all the schools of Duat, it was ‘private’ though the upkeep of most of its pupils, all thirty of them, was mostly paid for by ‘the state.’ Weeping willows hung from ornate gardens over the river that lead over a picturesque waterfall. Its class-rooms were more like small sitting rooms than anything, most of them open to the air, heated in the chill environment of the northerly, coastal highlands by complicated heated-air systems and micro-kinetic-manipulators that kept spray and rain from the windows.

The school generally housed the parents of its students during the day. The c’tan custom was to retire for around five decades before bringing up children, and usually begin a new career thereafter. Hence, most of the time, many parents could also be found in the schools of younger children, as this one was, often upstairs, either occupying their time with the many leisurely pursuits available to C’tan citizens, or studying for future careers, or simply for curiosity.

Children lounged and sat about on cushions, often in circles, usually with a single teacher, either looking out, as today, through the arched, glass-less windows, or out in one of various gardens and terraces attached to the school.

In the case of the class looking out through the one of end of the horse-shoe shaped building’s open pillared floor-to ceiling windows, there were two girls, two boys, and one male elf-child, who’d managed to get himself the couch near the windows, and was carefully doodling in the edge of a notebook made of heavy archival quality paper with a highly decorated cover.

The youngest children, as these were, in baseline-human terms, about seven and a half, usually had a curriculum that contained a minimum of subjects, notably reading, writing – an art practiced in its various forms with various instruments, though paper was rarely used by many in society, the skills of making marks on paper, and even stone, were often viewed as so essential that none would willingly have them pass from the command of future generations – and mathematics. Of course, they also contained one other “essential” of education, variously titled ‘culture’ and ‘wisdom’ and various other assorted titles.

It was the part of education where children learnt about the values held by their society – it was, also, the major choice parents made in sending their children to one educational establishment or another – some basics of their history, and of politics, manners and social conventions and why they were lucky to be born into the age they were, and so on.

The teacher, a tall, dark haired man dressed in dark terracotta and claret garb with elaborate traceries of crimson, with this particular group was talking through the latest news with the children.

“I don’t get why anyone would want to invade a peaceful planet,” the elf said, his feet up on the end of the couch as a starling landed nearby – birds and animals rarely feared people on Duat unless they were in the areas where hunting was common. Even so, the habitations of humans were quite commonly host to animals, as many outside cities included systems that prevented animals, along with others, coming to harm in them.

“Well,” the teacher replied, “Lots of people seem to do so for hatred, more than anything else. We’ve invaded a few places for hatred of their ways, over the years, and there are plenty of people out there with sufficiently different perspectives for them to hate the way of life of anyone peaceful. Perhaps we should look at a few other xenophobes today…” the teacher said, smiling a little. In this school, at least, things weren’t sugarcoated very much.

"This is the CAGF(Commander Air Group Fleet). We are engaging the enemy fighters now,sir."

"good keep pressing."

The Scourge fighters unleashed death amongst the void; hungry and yearning for battle. The pilots were strapped into their chairs; chained and bound; their attention focused with raw carnal bloodlust against their foes. Even if they died; they would take their foes with them; waves of fighters; squalls and tsunamis of activity breaking against the shores of enemy defence; smashing against the sea walls of enemy activity.

The Larger vessels continued their assaults; waves of fire cresting towards their foes. The foes that now, the Lich King had decided, must taste the full wrath of the Scourge; a foe that must be utterly obliterated and subsumed.

Yet more missles streaked towards the largest concentrations of enemy vessels and life; missles saturated with the dreaded Blight Plague.

Turn back fools! Death itself stands against you!

"We have what we came for, that is, a good scrap. Let's go."
Feldwebel began kicking their men back to the Smaugs, and soon they were safely aboard their transports and heading home to Boozia.

"Sir we should call for more ships!"

"No then if we loose there will be nothing to defend the planets."

The Liberty and the rest of fleet fire a massive salvo toward the enemy fleet. The Liberty sent as much power as possible to its superlaser making a massive beam. It swept across the enemy ships. Then on any ships that lost shields the rest of the fleet attacked those.

"Sir I have an idea.We should get ships and use them as suicide weapons. Put large nukes in them and have them jump right in. Then boom.

"Sir we should call for more ships!"

"No then if we loose there will be nothing to defend the planets."

The Liberty and the rest of fleet fire a massive salvo toward the enemy fleet. The Liberty sent as much power as possible to its superlaser making a massive beam. It swept across the enemy ships. Then on any ships that lost shields the rest of the fleet attacked those.

"Sir I have an idea.We should get ships and use them as suicide weapons. Put large nukes in them and have them jump right in. Then boom.

OOC: I believe you were slapped in the face with several thousand tons of metal a while ago. I'd appreciate a reply to that. What with the fact that I specificallty stated which ships I was targeting, and the weights of the MAC shells.

OOC: I believe you were slapped in the face with several thousand tons of metal a while ago. I'd appreciate a reply to that. What with the fact that I specificallty stated which ships I was targeting, and the weights of the MAC shells.

OOC: sorry about that. i will edit in casulties to that attack.

Many of the smaller vessels were utterly destroyed; the shields of the Naxxrammas and the Icecrown arcing with energy; the hull mauled by the blast, but the power could not sustain indefinetly. Slowly, the remaining vessels began to retreat; hurling all their firepower at the Liberty as they did; knowing its shields would be low after that tremendous waste of Energy. The Scourge would triumph here; they would be gifted with the spoils of their war.

Anarial Boughstrider was still aboard the necron ship. Thankfully, she was in a much better condition than she had been before. He had been one of the last evacuees from the planet, grievously wounded, she’d been told. She was sitting at the end of the bed in what she’d been told was the ship’s healer’s department, though she’d seen no actual healers since she’d arrived there. She’d also been told that he would be better, but the burns across his body, which, although she couldn’t see them, she had been told of, suggested otherwise.

A plasma weapon had hit him in the leg, taking off everything below the knee. The pain from the injury wasn’t really very great as the nerves in the area had been destroyed, though the rest of his body below the neck had also been burnt, in many cases to the bone, and that was agonising. Fortunately for him, he was presently unconscious, partly due to the damage his body had sustained, and partly due to the medical care he was undergoing.

A depressing fact, though Anarial didn’t know it, was that her husband was one of the low priority cases. Such was the price of war, especially war in such cruel circumstances.

----

Her son was busy interrogating the ship. It spoke out of the ceiling, and when it wanted, it was able to display visual data on a screen set into one of the walls. With childlike innocence, he wasn’t aware of or concerned with the fate of his father, and the ship had been discrete enough not to say.

“So, what do you look like?”

The ship showed an image on the screen of one of its class, a crescent shaped forward section surmounted by several pyramidal structures, from which a pair of octagonal struts jutted out backwards, looking like rather fragile links to a smaller aft section that included secondary engines and near-vertical ‘wings.’

“What’s your name?”

“I am the Imperial Necrontyr Ship Erisavenus,” the ship replied, “in your language, this means Erisavenus.”

“How do you speak our language?”

“Initially, my representatives used magic, however, I have been listening to everyone on board and compiled a basic understanding of your language from this.”

“So you’re listening to everyone?”

“Yes and no. My sensors are listening, but I myself am paying no attention to people who aren’t talking to me directly. It’s only polite, after all, to afford some privacy.”

“Oh,” he said, “Well, where are we going?”

“Our destination is the planet Duat. We’re actually in orbit – near to it – now, but there’s some confusion about where precisely your people are going to go. We will probably be able to sort something out shortly though.”

"Sir we are geeting orders from Highcom on toops to fall ba". as the ship took a hit that made it shudder and the comm officer was throne from his seatand hit his head and was knocked out.

"Plot a course to Toops! we're leaving!"

To:unknown forces
From 1010102

We are leaving. we will never meddle in your affairs again. We ask that you do not follow us.

At that all 1010102 ships in system left.