Poachers threw grappling hooks around the druids, who were unable to shake them in their bulky animal forms. From there, either a poacher’s arrow or a zealot’s axe could finish them.
Overlord Nuuar slammed his mace across another Cat druid’s face, killing it instantly. Off to the distance he heard shouting and chanting. He saw Kolphis, he held his spear, purple with the blood of Elves, high in the air, at its top was what Nuuar initially perceived as an Elven head. Upon closer inspection, Nuuar noticed the antlers, and his heart swelled. “Glory to the aspects!” he chanted, almost instinctively before turning to face a druid in Moonkin form.
Glory to the aspects reverberated across the battlefield, warriors of the caliphate began to chant it as they looked up to see the head of a demigod, paraded around by their glorious leader. The druids almost lost their will to fight upon seeing it, they did not flee but they didn’t try to win either, not that they ever could. The battle was over in short order, Kolphis, nearly purple now in the blood of Elves screamed almost incoherently, he had become lost to bloodlust after killing the keeper. Him and the rest of the army.
Draaca however, while ecstatic over killing the Druid’s false god, still knew her duties. Saving Kolphis left a rotten taste in her mouth, perhaps making a few converts would cheer her up. The army advanced into Evergrove proper, the caliphate had no use for the demolishers, so it was still very much intact. Draaca could almost smell the fear radiating from the groups of citizens, huddling in the Elven homes. Of to the distance, Draaca saw Kolphis and a group of Zealots jumping into the local moonwell, drinking it, and dirtying it with the blood they were covered in.
Draaca ordered her Acolytes to gather up the enemy survivors. She noticed that there were noticeably fewer acolytes than before the battle, survival of the fittest she supposed. The survivors were sat down in a large group, a line of Zealots surrounded them, they were about two hundred in number. Most of them looked down in shame or fear, these were the ones who had not fought with their brothers, they had weakness in their souls, this Draaca could use.
“You have shamed the Aspects in your practice here.” Draaca said, “You have worshipped false Gods, a God that is now dead.” Draaca pointed at Kolphis, basking in the moonwell , still carrying the Keeper of the Grove’s head high in the air. “Your sacred sights are desecrated, your God is dead. And you are cowards.” her voice was smooth yet resolute. The survivors stirred and whispered in protest, a Zealot busted on across his face with the hilt of his axe, and the clamoring stopped. “Why then, would lord Neltharion take you in? What would make you worthy enough? The blood spilled because of your sin, must be repaid in blood given freely to the Aspects.”
The survivors began to stir once again, railing against their captors, the Zealots did not mind, they battered them into submission, they pulled people away from the main group, until there several groups of two surrounding the main group. “Now you will fight, to the death. Those who do not fight do not have to. Those that do, and survive, can remain here, in their home, under the rule of the caliphate.”
These were not the brave defenders, thought Draaca, these were the cowards, the civilians, they would fight, these were the type who would do anything to preserve their existence. In battlegrounds bordered by Zealots and Poachers, survivors fought, to the death, sometimes one of them wouldn’t fight, the other one however usually would, brother fought brother, friend against friend. There were sometimes a group of two who would not fight each other, both of them were killed. A few Tauren were among the survivors, most of them ended up surviving.
When the battles ended, only half of the original number remained, perhaps less. They were coated in the blood of their kinsmen, they had killed their own with their bare hands. Draaca could see it in their eyes, they had been broken. She could feel the hopelessness that now consumed them. It was in despair that the Wyrmcult grew. Draaca made good on her word, and allowed the survivors to live. They were given food and taken to the houses they used to occupy, under the watch of a Zealot of course. Draaca’s eyes were now fixed back to the west, to her home, where a Dragon egg that could change everything sat alone, hidden in her room.
Off in the distance, smoke billowed from the fire slowly consuming the Ruuan Weald.
Evergrove has been conquered by the Wyrmscale Caliphate. 100 population added to the Caliphate.
Fire is now consuming the Ruuan Weald, a result of misused magic.