Dawn of the Twilight Sickle

The dying sun threw it's last orange rays, the shadows of the trees stretched and grew, longing to encompass the ground. The air quickly grew a chill, the night had set in. The tall, old troll walked slowly, as he always had, his young vassal was already yards ahead. They were long past the desert, but small measures of sand detached from his robes and glittered to the ground with every heavy step he made. Any hunter that was following their path might be confused by his tracks, that of deep footprints, too heavy for a troll, and a long thin trail caused by the dragging of his weapon, a long oaken staff peaked sharp blade that was cruelly curved. His vicious scythe was dulled, the steel that once shone in the desert sun was beaten grey by long years of merciless use. Now it was nothing more than an ornament. When it came to combat, it was just one object between him and his enemy. His young apprentice being the other. Although he had not fought since the battle of Theramore, he endeavoured to practise every day in the raging sands of Silithus. He could not be more prepared for what was to come.

***

"Why must i ferry around this old fool?" Yala thought, "He may be kin, or so he claims, but i have no loyalty to my tribe. If it was not for the prophet's orders, i would kill the old trout now for slowing me down." She walked briskly, stopping every few moments to makes sure she hadn't lost the other troll. "What could he possibly know that is important? He still clings to the old values of the Twilight's Hammer." Yala's face curled into a scowl, "He must learn that we serve new masters now. The old ways won't cut it with the new enemies."
She stabbed her sword into the ground, it's blade slid deep into the baked earth. "Stop." Yala said, and gestured to the old troll behind her. Because before her, a hunting pack of sentinels stood, four slender night elves brandishing their deadly glaives, their faces steely, they did not look afraid. "Stop where you are, Darkspears!"
"Darkspears?" Yala sneered "You think we are allies of the Horde?" Yala looked back at her companion and laughed.
"These are alliance lands, you will go no further!" Certainly, the border was distinct, the brown earth of the Thousand Needles turned into the lush jungle of Feralas in a stretch of only a few yards.
"Alliance lands?" Yala kneeled, her head bowed. The old troll looked on with bemusement. "Then won't you come, detain us." The night elves looked as confused as the troll, so they approached with caution, glaives rotating slowly. A smile curled on Yala's cut and sand-blasted lips.
Yala forced her sword from the ground, sending red dust flying into the faces of her attackers. In one sweep, Yala managed to knock the blades from all four Sentinel's hands, sending two of them hurtling to the ground. The old troll seized his oppurtunity, igniting the earth beneath them, sending up a pillar of flame. The elves writhed in agony, Yala knelt before them, one by one, and plunged her sword deep into their necks, surging past their flesh and cracking their spines. She held up the severed head by their burnt hair, and showed them to the old fire sorcerer. He nodded in approval, and they continued on their path, heading northwards.

((finally started it ^^))

(( nice ))