Chapter 13

Blood on the Sands

As the tireless sun beat down upon Gerita's neck, the young Blood Elf knew that immortality would soon be hers. As she clutched the sacred relic in her hand for all to see, her heart swelled in her chest. As cheers were thrown up, she sheathed her sword to wave the relic about with two hands, careful not to lose hold of it while it was on display. Her robed followers were in a similar state as she, tossing weapons into the air or simply jabbing them skyward. Hoods were pulled back to let the air assault their suddenly-numbed senses, embracing their triumph with glee.

But as the cloud of dust drew nearer, Gerita knew there was still one final test they must pass. She stopped tossing the relic about, dropping it from view and gently placing it next to her on the stone platform. The crowd began to fall silent, sensing the inevitable speech that indeed came, after the Blood Elf stood up once more, and directed her powerful gaze back to the gathered.

"Students, disciples, friends, chosen ones!"

Their voices rose in a brief cheer as she called out to them.

"We have arrived at the doorsteps of the zenith of life; we are on but the brink of enlightenment!"

They cheered once more, though longer and more passionate.

"But there is still one more step to take. Beyond, approaching on the burning sands we so bravely traversed ourselves," she paused, pointing toward the cloud of dust that masked the advance of armored resistance, "is the final test. A test I doubt any one of us can fail! The infidels, along with their ignorant servants, have come to stop us! They chose not to follow the One True Prophet, and now they envy our chance at immortality!"

She stopped once again, pacing back and forth along the platform. She looked into the eyes of her robed legion, and when she saw only fiery resolution, she smiled.

"Shall we share such a well-earned gift with them?"

"No!" answered a staccato of voices.

"Then what shall we bless these unfortunate fools upon this day?"

"Death!"

"Ready your arms, and strengthen your resolve! The beast rears it's ugly head once again!"

She pulled her sword free as she spoke, pointing the elegant blade at the increasingly visible figures as they drew closer. The robed zealots got into tight, undisciplined groups, their weapons brandished. The dust settled as the approaching enemy ground their advance to a halt. When they emerged from the beige gloom, Gerita gulped visibly.

Twenty heavily armored figures stood in two neat battle lines. Shoulder to shoulder, they were beyond imposing, and twice as deadly, no doubt. Gerita knew she could hold her own, but she was not so sure about the armorless zealots under her command. Then, her fear turned into blind rage.

Emerging from between the two ten-man battle lines of armored warriors was a small group of mottled appearances. An Orc, Troll, Dwarf, Night Elf, and a Human. It was the Human that stirred her anger, and the rest that turned it into a seething hatred. The Human was no doubt the one the Prophet had warned about, Stefan Dreis.

At one point or another, you shall cross paths with him. He is a trickster, and a foul warrior. He has slain countless innocents, and made several attempts on my life in response to his ignorance. Many times I have tried to convince him of his wrong ways, but never has be accepted my benevolence. He is an enemy, and upon meeting him, he shall probably be accompanied by several others, each of whom is just as sacrilegious, if not more so.

As she looked upon the man the Prophet had talked so lowly of, she could not see the evil, black-hearted man beneath the Human's attractive features and lively eyes. But as their gazes met, she knew that the trickster was lying in wait somewhere beneath the pair of mesmerizing, brown orbs. And she would be ready for it.

---

"I'm not sure if we are ready for this, Stefan," said Iyana.

"With an attitude like that, they'll win by stomping on your toes," he replied.

"Pretty toes they be, I might add!" added Gordreck. Another look from Iyana quickly silenced him.

There was room for Iyana's concerns to be voiced; combined with the soldiers of Cenarion Hold, they were still outnumbered at least four to one. The blood-crazed look in the robed figures' eyes only added to the odds against them.

"Enough, lads. This is the worst of times for petty squabbles," said Stefan, turning to appreciate each of his companions with a stern gaze. "It is time you shake the pre-war jitters from your limbs."

He turned back to look upon the endless sea of brown figures.

"Because if an ogre can burp and defecate at the same time, I'm sure as hell that we're in for quite a battle."

---

As adrenaline began to steadily flow into her hands, Gerita watched intently as Stefan Dreis stepped forward from the perfectly-aligned formation, his weapons still at his side. She listened excitedly as he raised his voice to carry over the zealot crowd.

"Salutations, Blood Elf! I am Stefan Dreis, and I come with allies of Cenarion Hold to stem the bloodshed that has recently transpired upon these soils! Our first concern is not to match blade to blade, but to come to a compromise! Will you cooperate?"

She had the words on the tip of her tongue.

"Once I have your head upon a platter before my master, vile infidel!" she shouted back. Her remark was bolstered by the cheering of the crowd.

"Fair enough! If you shall not comply, then a test of might is inevitable. May I know the name of your master, so that when the time comes, your remains may be transported with all possible speed to his doorstep?"

Gerita only hated the man more for his insolence. And she wished one thousand deaths upon him, because she knew the name of her master was already known to the Human.

"The One True Prophet, the Blessed Benevolence, Rok'Roham! He shall lead us to victory and immortality, if blood must be spilt in his wake!"

The crowd cheered.

"Death to the infidels!"

"Death!" was her reply from the brown robed warriors around her.

They charged, and at the same time, Stefan Dreis's own forces charged as well.

The two factions closed as the edge of the sun's glowing mass brushed against the edge of the horizon.