The cold was the first thing to strike him about the mountains. As Izulde Netherstar shifted in the seat of his yak, lazy flakes dusted the thick bear furred coat he wore. The snot and muzzle of the creature covered his long raven locks shielding him from the bitter wind. He had rode down to meet the advancing Horde army. They had seen Alliance banners flying in the distance but they were always out of reach by longbow, but whenever Izulde looked back he saw them grow closer.
The storm has rolled off the top of Neverset. All the normal means of transportation were left at Zouchin Village which was overrun with Horde soldiers. Their Thalassian Hawkstriders stood in a line of brilliant hues, while long lines of Kodos and Raptors stood in the distance. It was easy to say whatever wasn’t covered in fur would die in the cold, but that fact didn’t discourage the soldiers from ascending into the steeps.
The party sent by the Reliquary was headed by Izulde himself. However, the Lord of Emberlight cared nothing for the relic they sought. However they were accompanied by a Blood Knight contingent and several Farstriders. It was a pleasure to see so many of the Horde’s soldiers enter the theatre. Twice has the Alliance sought to push them from the Garrosh’ar advance. Twice has the Horde defended it with vigor.
There were over a hundred champions in all. But there had to be over three thousand warriors ascending from the beaches of Zouchin. There was not special creed to race or heritage. If any tribe was sworn to the Horde there would be some representation present. A coven of Forsaken dressed in black and purple lined the left flank. Brilliant Sunwalker Tauren on the right. Troll Tribesmen in a gorgeous array of feathers watched from the back and golden mailed Sin’dorei made the the center.
It wasn’t long before battle was fought. The Alliance had prepared for them on the road from Zouchin near the Temple of the White Tiger. Their plan was to strike from three fronts against the arrowhead of Horde. However their timing was miserable, each spoke of their trident rushed in unsupported and were properly routed.
The next few hours was spent chasing down the remains of their forces. The sun had set its weary head behind the tops of Neverset and deep black clouds replaced what was. It was going to snow soon, there wasn’t a doubt about it. Heavy fat flakes stuck to everything they touched. Izulde’s hair was quickly covered in it, forcing him to pull up the bear mask jacket.
Eastwind was in disarray. The Pandaren there has suffered dozens of assaults by the Alliance. Charred out husks of tents remained in a raid. Bodies lined near the pitched palisades. General Nazgrim has left weeks ago but left a stout greasy goblin marksman to tend to the camp. Coppernuts was the only name he would be referred to. A long rifle sat in his squat arms pointed towards the Westwind. He explained all that had come and gone. Without the Horde forces all would have been lost. Now redoubled with soldiery the camp was defended enough for his men to rest.
The raids came and went. Alliance attempted to assail the camp several times before being pushed away. There were reports of teams missing in the night. Patrols would leave and never return. It wasn’t until the order was given for all soldiers to return to Eastwind did the raids stop. By then more than a hundred were dead and missing. It was less than seven miles from bulwark of Alliance soldiers. The distance was short enough to keep Izulde wondering.
There was some solace in the cold however. Lord Netherstar knew that he could rest easier with the blanket of snow covering the field. There was talk of an opening in the clouds however. He knew that they would need to brave the snow to reach the Tomb of Lu Bian. The pure white would turn sloggy red and black.