"sorry for being premature, that's a bob thing"
- CrackHeadJeb
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| Desecration at the Gardens of War | | | Author: | | | IP: | ts1-11.aXXXX | | Date: | 04/20/01 05:04 | | Game Type: | Warcraft 2 | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 6, Min: 6
Lifetime Rating for Fizban_: 7.0000 |  | 
For Those of you who do not know me, I was once a regular on this site and in Nohunters. For those of you who do remember me, it has been quite some time. With this battlereport, I once again step into the spotlight. So, without further ado, I give you A clash of titans...
The stench of hogs permeated through the dense brush in the Gardens of War, the tell-tale sign of the arrival of the orcish hordes. I, sir Fizban_ of Stromgaurd, stood ever watchful from my humble docile hidden in the pine forests near the edge of a grove. My life in the ever-beautiful gardens has been peaceful for the many years I have called this place my home, and then they came...
Two tribes of the orcish hordes had recently made their camps in the outskirts of this great garden, setting up their obnoxious homes on the sacred meadows, now defiled by their evil hands. This, however, was not the worst of the injustices. These two clans, lead respectively by their leaders Mojo-maker Blackraven and Big-Basher Auntie-Christ, had declared war on each other soon after making their residence here. Apparently, a drunken bar fight between the officers of the two clans resulted in the death of Blackraven's son. In retaliation, Mojo-maker Blackraven poisoned his rival's drinking water, killing a score of peons before it was discovered. This leads me to the current situation, the war that was fought this very day.
In their respective camps, the two commanders began the construction of their Town Halls, the centers of their war-machines. Blackraven followed the construction of this with a farm and barracks, blocking the entrance into his camp. Soon after the construction of this, he expanded by beginning a second town hall southwest of his main camp. Auntie on the other hand followed his town hall with two farms, a barracks, a troll lumber mill, and a blacksmith.
Seeking to find the location of his enemy, Auntie sent forth his loyal grunt Bluggergutt into the maze of trees. Meanwhile, he continued to produce more orc grunts while outfitting them with better weapons and armor from the blacksmith. Bluggergutt meandered through the hedges until he came upon the decrepit pig farm of Blackraven. Seeing this, Bluggergutt yelled his battle cry and ran headfirst into the enemy camp, gleefully tearing the working peons in half as he raged. Ten additional troops from Auntie's base soon charged to aid their compatriot. A red foam dripping from their tusks, the orcish grunts threw themselves onto a barracks blocking their passage, tearing the structure to the ground within seconds. Their path now clear, the orcish soldiers quickly demolished the surrounding buildings and drank heavily of the blood of their enemies.
Blackraven was not idle during this time. Whilst he watched his expansion town fall to the axes of his opponent, he had begun to call forth the great dragons to aid him. Soon, their wings beat the air and their noxious breath could be smelled within the city. Their orders already known, a duo of these great beasts charged into the fort of Auntie, their fiery breath deeply roasting the foolish peons as they mined gold. A single death knight stood in defense, but he alone could only manage to kill one of the marauding wyrms. A trio of bloodlusted troll axethrowers, however, were more than enough to finish the weakened second dragon.
Small skirmishes continued through the day, small bands of ogres crushing the attempts at expansion by Blackraven. Horrid death knights, riding upon the fiery-hoofed nightmares, summoned death and decay upon the working peons of Auntie. Their bloated, rotting corpses piled high before the gold mines of the villages. The future looked very bad for the Mojo-maker Blackraven, very bad indeed.
A valiant defense was erected to defend the final stronghold of Blackraven, the Mojo-maker in his Fortress watching the armies of Auntie in the horizon. A deafening cry of "I'm ready sir. I'm not ready" could be heard for miles in any direction, chanted by the ever-growing force of twin-headed ogres. The final trumpet sounds, and all hell breaks loose...
Throngs of ogre-magi pour forth onto the battlefield, their bloodlust running deep within their bodies. The deep-voiced undead knights call forth the magics of their evil god upon the souls of their enemies. Troll berserkers go into a frenzy as they hurl axes endlessly into the crowds that await. Mojo-maker Blackraven joins the battle, his enourmous spiked club held defiantly. A foolhardy grunt charges him, its axe aimed at the heart of the orcish commander. In a mighty arc, the head of the grunt craters, the body slumping as a dead weight. It was futile though, as any could have seen. The numbers too great, the powers too strong, Clan Blackraven was simply no more. The twisted body of Mojo-Maker Blackraven lay trampled on the blood-soaked earth, his kin dead around him.
The gardens changed that day, in a greater way than any could imagine. The once vibrant forest was now skeleton, devoid of any life and substance. The air, once crisp and clean, is now forever marred with the taste of blood. The quiet peace is replaced by the sound of steel on steel. The beauty gone, I must now say good bye to the home I have loved for much of my adult life. A final, fleeting glance over my shoulder is the last memory I'll ever have of the Gardens of War.
The end
This is my first writing in quite some time so my skills are not quite as finely honed as they could be, but I do hope you enjoyed this.
Fizban_
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