The jungles of Ama'Ray Island were filled with life. Birds flew from the trees, feeding their young. Snakes slithered through the tall, wet grass. The fresh, clean lakes held fish that swam through the water comfortably.

            These were the results of years of work.

            Zam'Thas smiled as the sounds and sights of the jungle came to life before him. Over the past years, after his father had led the attack to retake the island from Cra'man, Zam'Thas had worked with the Witch Doctors to regrow the blighted, destroyed land. Through heavy, heavy labor, they had succeeded in doing such, though there were still portions of the island that were unable to support life, or could only support small plant life.

            In addition to the regrowth of the earth, a number of species from the eastern continent had been brought to the island. Because the climate on the island was almost exactly like that of the eastern jungles, the animals were able to live and continue reproducing on the island. This had given the Trolls much to hunt and tame.

            The city of Ama'Ray, which had been damaged during Cra'man's reign, had been rebuilt to something of its former glory. Trolls had begun living in it again, and much of the society had returned to normal.

            Zam'Thas' advisor, Juel'Malor, walked over to him, carrying a wet, beaten scroll. Zam'Thas turned to greet him.

            "How ya' doin'?" Zam'Thas asked. "Whatcha need?"

            "Sorry for comin' in on you," Juel'Malor replied. "But I think I got somethin' that might be of interest to you." He said, handing the scroll to Zam'Thas.

            "What is it, mon?" Zam'Thas asked.

            "A Witch Doctor found it on the northern beach. He said there be a demonic aura emanating from it. He thinks it might be of Cra'man's ownership."

            Zam'Thas unrolled the scroll. As he did, he felt his eyes burn and tear up slightly. This scroll was surely demonic, as the aura coming from it was causing this. Zam'Thas set the scroll down on a table made of clay and wood, and looked over it.

            Demonic runes and symbols had been written across the scroll. Zam'Thas was able to read some Demonic, though it was difficult for him to make out what the scroll was saying. It seemed to be written in some sort of code, though he did recognize the words "Troll", "Cra'man", "Remu'Kel", and "ship". Judging by these, it was most likely something dealing with either Cra'man's escape from the island, the escape of the late Zam'Thas' followers, or the retaking of the island.

            Zam'Thas handed the scroll back to Juel'Malor. "Take it to the council of Witch Doctors. Have ‘em purge the energies from it, and see if ‘dey can decode whatever it be saying. If not, destroy it."

            "Yes, chieftain." Juel'Malor replied, and quickly left the room. Zam'Thas didn't dwell on the thought for long, but he wondered if the scroll was fairly new. The paper, wet as it was, seemed fairly new, not historic in any way. However, the Demonic energies inside it might've preserved the paper, to an extent. Zam'Thas left his throne room, and went outside into the day.

            As Zam'Thas walked through the dirt road, he saw three female Trolls brewing coffee in a large iron pot. They offered him a clay mug, which he accepted. He drank the coffee, and thanked the women. Coffee had become a popular drink among the Trolls while living on the Eastern Continent. The Ogres had previously used the beans themselves to feed to soldiers in early mornings, to wake them up. A small number of male Trolls had experimented with the coffee beans, and eventually discovered that grinding them up and boiling them would serve the same purpose, only more appetizing to drink.

            Zam'Thas, more awake from the drink, decided to go head to the Witch Doctor council to help them with the scroll. He wouldn't be able to rest until this damned scroll was figured out...

***

            "You insolent idiot!!" Cra'man yelled, picking up the Rogrell, a humanoid-figured demon.

            "I...apologize master! I was attacked by the Elves! I couldn't let them get to the scroll! I beg you for forgiveness!" the demon yelled, clearly fearful of Cra'man.

            "I have given you multiple chances at redemption, and you have continually failed me..." Cra'man said, raising his left hand. The demon's eyes were filled with fear as Cra'man's dagger, the one which once belonged to Remu'Kel, floated into his hand. Cra'man brought the dagger, which was roughly half the size of the seven foot tall demon, down into its neck, dropping the body onto the floor.

            "What did this pathetic sorcerer do to incur your wrath, Lord?" Fireus, the lieutenant of the Council, asked.

            "I gave him the task of taking a recently written, important scroll to the north, to bury near the Elven lands; in a place they would be unable to find it. It would have been unsafe in our own lands. However, he was attacked by Elves, but instead of saving the scroll, which was much more important than him, he threw it into the ocean!" Cra'man's rage boiled inside him, and he stabbed the dagger into the corpse in his anger.

            "What did the scroll contain, if you do not mind me asking?" Fireus questioned.

            "Plans I was hoping would allow us to attack the Trolls. However, there is a large chance that the scroll will wind up on their island, as it still attracts demonic power. Therefore, I am unable to continue with it."

            "May I speak my opinion, Lord Cra'man?" Fireus asked.

            "Very well. What do you have to say?"

            Fireus considered his options, and spoke. "I do not question your authority, milord, but what of the Elves? If we diverge our forces from the frontline, we will only be fighting on two fronts, something which we can't afford to do quite yet." Fireus said, choosing his words carefully.

            Cra'man thought, and turned to Fireus. "You are right." He said. "I was simply overcome by hatred, is all. The fact that I failed to fully corrupt my former race is something that eats at my soul continually."

            "Thank you, Lord Cra'man." Fireus replied.

            "However, one single thing continues to pester me..." Cra'man said, sitting in his large, golden throne.

            "What is that, my Lord?"

            "These Elves..." Cra'man said. "Our soldiers are much physically stronger than them. However, the Elves are more cunning than our warriors. They are able to kill our forces because our armies charge blindly toward their doom, whereas they attack with stealth and subtlety. Soon enough, they will begin their push into our lands."

            "Yes." Fireus said. "But how will we counter their attacks? Their soldiers are much more willing to follow strategic orders than ours."

            "This is why we must bolster our forces. If we can find an unsuspecting source of soldiers to aid our cause, the Elves will certainly be overwhelmed."

            "The Trolls are much more cunning than the Elves. Perhaps..."

            "No." Cra'man said. "The Trolls that were corrupted, along with their offspring, were all killed during the retaking of Ama'Ray. Every Troll that exists now is against our power. They will surely not accept corruption."

            "I am sorry, milord." Fireus replied.

            "Do not be. However, I do have a plan..." Cra'man said, an evil grin spreading across his face.

            "What is that, Lord Cra'man?"

            "The Ogres..." Cra'man said. "The abominations that the Trolls have allied themselves with. Such beasts will be perfect to aid our cause."

            "But they are such dim-witted creatures! Even with their strength, they will not be able to match the cunning of the Elves!" Fireus implied.

            "Yes, but the blood pact that I used with the Trolls will certainly change that. If I have these Ogres drink my blood, they will certainly be able to use their heads much better than they do..."

            "But what of the fact that they are allied with the Trolls? Zam'Thas would have certainly told them of us by now, and they will resist our offers!"

            "I don't think so." Cra'man replied.

            "Why is that, Lord Cra'man?"

            "Look at the society of the Trolls. The Trolls themselves are the tacticians and hunters of their society. The Ogres are the frontline meat shields and workers of their society. Yet the Trolls reap the benefits of the Ogres' work! With this as an excuse, I could easily convince the leader of the Ogres to rally his people, and serve us. With this, we could obtain new servants, yet at the same time, we could destroy the Trolls!" Cra'man laughed wickedly at his plan.

            "Ingenious!" Fireus replied. Though he did have his doubts, he didn't dare question Cra'man. "But I must ask, how much wiser would the Ogres be?"

            "Smart enough to introduce a number of them to magic. I'd say the intelligence of an Orcish magician..." Cra'man said absent-mindedly. Suddenly, a thought swelled in his mind.

            "Lord Cra'man? What is it?" Fireus asked, noticing the change of the look in his master's face.

            "The Orcs..." Cra'man said. "Why should we stop with the Ogres?"

            "I must ask, Lord. If we take the Orcs under our corruption, how will we transport them across the sea? Certainly, we cannot use magic to bring such vast forces, and sailing so many bloodthirsty monsters in ships would be foolhardy..."

            Another look crossed Cra'man's face. "We will not bring them across after they swear allegiance to us."

            "But then what shall we do with them?" Fireus asked. It wasn't until after he asked what he realized what Cra'man's mind was brewing.

            "The Eastern Continent is inhabited by weak races. Humans. Dwarves. Elves. They are all pathetic, lowly creatures. The Orcs and Ogres will become vessels of destruction. If we can take the lands of the east for ourselves, we will certainly overwhelm the Forest Elves..."

            "I must compliment you on your plan, but I must ask two things." Fireus said. "My first is that I ask, shall we continue our efforts on this front? And how will you convince the Orcs to take up the corruption?"

            "Or course we shall continue of efforts, you worm! I should slay you on spot for asking such a pathetic question!"

            "I...I am sorry, Lord Cra'man!"

            "Yes...As for the Orcs, they fight a relentless war with the Humans of Laramoth. Anything that will allow them to destroy the Humans will convince them."

            "Very well, Lord Cra'man. When do you plan to put this plan into action?"

            "I will go to the Eastern Continent in exactly three weeks. You shall continue to lead our forces on this front. I will take my elite forces to the East to aid in my efforts."

            "But what if our forces are depleted? You are the only one that knows how to create more Demons."

            "Which is what the three weeks I am staying here shall be for. I will train you, along with a number of elite warlocks and sorcerers, to create Demons. This shall be the answer to such a problem."

            "I will be glad to do so." Fireus said. He knelt down on the ground, bowing before Cra'man.

            "We shall begin training at sundown." Cra'man said. "For now, continue the strikes on the Elves."

            "As you command, milord."

***

            Elan Forestfury enjoyed the outdoors. Of course, he was a Forest Elf, so this was to be expected. However, there was something he found truly invigorating about the outdoors. He enjoyed the fresh air of the forest. The cool, quiet breeze swept through the trees, making noises in the warm air.

            Elan Forestfury was General of the ranger division in the Rena'Mal army. A skilled archer himself, Elan had been one of the original Forest Elves that defected from the Trolls. He had been a lowly soldier during the first parts of the Troll Wars, but had been good friends with the Ranger General of the time. When the General was killed by a Troll spear, and his entire company became lost in enemy territory, Elan successfully led the men back home. Because of this, the Elven king, Veroth Starsinger, had given Elan the rank of General, in the fact that he had exceeded the duty of his expectations, and saved hundreds of lives. He had also become extremely respected among the Rena'Mal armies, based on the same facts.

            Elan was 7'2", fairly tall for an Elf. His skin was a deep gray, his body fairly more muscular than a normal Elf. His hair was long, flowing down past his shoulders. It was unbraided. Though he appeared to be roughly thirty-four, by Human standards, he was a Forest Elf, meaning he did not age. He only appeared as such because of the age he'd been when he became a Forest Elf.

            Elan had a very likeable personality. He was extremely level-headed and open-minded. However, he was always ready to follow his orders, and would do his duty and make sure his end of a job or bargain was always fully completed. Because of this, he was able to retain his rank, keeping his honor intact.

            Elan looked down from the branches of the tree he was hiding in. Elan had been charged with eradicating a demon sorcerer group that was marching in on the western part of the forest's borders. This area was known as Immoraga, a dark, heavily forested area. Though it was the perfect place to move an army in unnoticed, it was also the perfect place for an ambush.

            A female archer tapped Elan's shoulder. He turned around.

            "What is it?" he whispered.

            "Are you absolutely sure that these Demons are preparing to march through this part of the forest? It seems strange that they'd choose the most open area of this place to march their forces through..." she said.

            "These aren't the dim-witted melee forces you're used to. These sorcerers aren't as strong, and aren't as likely to come slicing through the forests as the foot soldiers are. This is the perfect place to march spell casters through." It wasn't the wisest logic, but Elan was used to making up excuses for his plans. This section of the forest was just a guess, but the area was so small, they'd be able to hear anything suspicious.

            Elan heard rustling beneath the trees. Any talking that'd been going on ceased and the forest became completely quiet, save for the rustling and grunting coming from below. Archers pulled arrows from their quivers, and aimed them downward.

            Two demon sorcerers exited from the trees, into the open zone. The majority of demon sorcerers bore resemblance to the Urug that served Sorth'Renal. These ones were no exception. They wore golden chains and cloaks, signs of strength and experience.

            One of them called out into the trees. A number of sorcerers, forty or so, were beneath the trees. A small group, but strong nonetheless. Elan had only brought ninety archers on this. He hoped it'd be enough. Demons, even when small in numbers, were extremely strong. The sorcerers were especially dangerous, with their powerful, chaotic spells.

            Elan kicked a twig down from the tree, giving the order to fire. The twig had been so small that it attracted no attention. That's soon change...

            Instantly, ninety arrows flew down from the trees. They hit the demons, completely surprised by the sudden attack. Six of the sorcerers fell from the strength of the arrows. Others were wounded, but not enough to die. The survivors pulled the arrows from their bodies.

            One of the commanders yelled something in Demonic. Elan's brow began to sweat. Almost immediately, chaotic bolts of energy flew into the air, burning through the tops of the trees. As the bolts flew up, ten archers were hit, and fell to the ground. The demon commanders yelled the commands to fire almost immediately after, hitting another five archers.

            "Fire at will!!" Elan yelled. Archers quickly pulled arrows from their backs, shot them, and repeated. Eleven or so of the demons were felled by the arrows. The commander realized what Elan had said, and ordered his men to do the same. Elan watched as a number of the magic bolts flew upward, burning any of the arrows they touched. Another five archers fell to the ground.

            "Evacuate the trees! Land in the brush and don't make a sound!!" Elan yelled. Elves, quietly as they could, jumped from the trees, and landed in the brush beneath. The sounds of the chaotic magics were so loud as they burned through the leaves, the demons hadn't noticed anything.

            Five seconds after the Elves jumped down, the demon commanders ordered the sorcerers to stop. He yelled something else, and the demons began looking around the site. Only twenty-three demons were left, sixty of the archers left.

            Elan threw a rock to the southern part of the open area. Every sorcerer turned around. No Elves were on this side. Elan raised up his hand, and quickly lowered it. This was his order to strike.

            Immediately, all sixty of the archers charged out, small swords and daggers in hand. They jumped the backs of the demons, stabbing them relentlessly. However, only four of the demon sorcerers were actually killed by the attempt.

            One of those demons killed had been a commander. The surviving one yelled for his men to fire at will on the Elves. Immediately, the demons shot chaotic magics at the archers. A number of them fell. Elan had lost count of the bodies. The archers that'd survived carefully dodged the hellish magics and jabbed at the demons.

            Elan jammed his blade into the neck of one of the sorcerers. The demon cried out for help as it died, and was met with the assistance of the surviving commander. Elan attempted to jump onto the demon's back, but was met with the tip of a sword slashing a large gash in his chest. He fell to the ground in pain.

            Elan was blacking out. The demon had armed its weapon with some form of poison, and was preparing to make the final blow on Elan. He attempted to crawl off, but his legs were failing him.

            The demon laughed as he stood over Elan. He uttered something in demonic, and his sword began to glow blue. Elan closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. He heard the demon laugh maniacally, and then stop suddenly. Elan opened his eyes.

            An arrow was jutting from the demon's skull. Black blood dripped from the wound, and the demon's eyes were glowing ominous colors. Suddenly, the sorcerer's eyes burst, and blood came from its mouth. The limp corpse fell to the ground. Elan attempted to stand, but the poison was preventing him from doing so.

            He looked up, and saw the female elf he'd talked to shortly before.

            "Are you alright?" she asked, running over to him.

            "I'm...fine....thank you..." Elan replied. He felt his mind slipping into an unconscious state.

            "Come. I'll get you out of here. You're in no condition to fight."

            Elan smiled, nodded, and fell into a deep sleep.

***

                        The southern fields of Laramoth were always under constant danger. Being so close to Tor'Skan and Orc-held lands, it was a wonder that the farms in southern Laramoth even continued to exist. While the occasional military barracks could be found around the land, the Laramoth government preferred to keep farms, owned by brave souls, in the southern portions of the land. The numbers of Orc attacks on the southern borders were all too common to hold any true important military strategy points. However, the one barracks near Tor'Skan had proven to be an extremely important strategy point in the battle for Tor'Skan. The barracks was held and led by a Human rifleman (an uncommon sight, as rifles were more popular with Dwarves) named Aelenis Forbain.

            Aelenis was an extremely broken man. At the age of thirty-four, he had suffered more than most did in their entire lives. A slim and slender man, Aelenis did not look like material to be a captain. However, his hardened senses and mental strength surpassed many other captains in the land.

            Aelenis had been born into a high class family. For many years, he had lived a good life, until his father died from a deadly flu that'd terrorized Laramoth's population. After the death of his father, politicians and other noble families had hounded his mother, creating false stories of misdemeanors his father had done in life, with little proof. In a few short years, the government and other families had taken almost everything the Forbain family had owned. Aelenis' mother had taken up work as a tailor, while Aelenis and his older brother had worked several jobs around the city. Including doing work for a blacksmith.

            While working for the blacksmith, doing jobs such as bringing in water, cleaning the furnace, and other such things, he developed a friendship with the blacksmith. The blacksmith, an old cripple named Harold Whitefren, took Aelenis under his wing as an apprentice. Aelenis began working here as a permanent job.

            Aelenis' brother, Tairon Forbain, eventually began gaining political power, from what his father had taught him. After their mother had died, the Forbain family had been somewhat forgotten. Tairon had managed to put his family's name back into the list of the nobles, and even redeem his father, punishing the politicians and nobles who'd told lies about him.

            The Forbain family had been going strong, until Tairon had been killed at the age of thirty-eight. Aelenis had been twenty-seven at the time. Tairon had been on an expedition into Tor'Skan, in order to oversee the building of a town in the area. The construction site had been attacked and demolished by Orcs (who still inhabited the area at the time, during the civil war. Rand'Drek had only united the Orcs three years ago). Aelenis slipped into a heavy depression afterwards, as he was the last survivor of the Forbain family.

            Aelenis had found love two years after the events of his brother's death. His depression finally began to wear off afterwards. However, the woman he'd fell in love with was raped and murdered shortly afterward, only putting Aelenis into further depression.

            Shortly after the death of his love, Aelenis attempted suicide by jumping off the roof of the church. However, he only broke his hand in the fall, and went back to drinking heavily. Shortly afterwards, Harold Whitefren, the old blacksmith whom Aelenis had looked up to as a father figure, died from age, only making things worse for Aelenis.

            However, Aelenis' depression ended when he found Harold's blacksmithing prints. Aelenis began to become anti-social, and went into crafting strong armor and weapons, which he eventually sold the plans for to the Dwarves, who began to use his plans in their own armor. The money he made, along with the fact that he'd become recognized for his deeds, convinced him to join the Laramoth firing squad. He crafted his own gun and armor, and enlisted.

            Aelenis had eventually made his way up to captain of the firing squad, and had been stationed in the south. This was where he resided now, and planned to stay there until he died. He enjoyed the solitude and silence, excluding the occasional Orc attack...

            Aelenis was an agile man. Something that'd kept him in his line of work for a while. Through his line of work, he'd been required to stay in better shape than he'd been in for most of his life. His face was unshaven, a long beard growing from his face. Despite his age, his hair was turning white, purely from the stress he'd faced through the majority of his years. He wore a dark green cloak with iron armor underneath, padded with leather.

            Aelenis sat at the top of the barracks, a mug of beer in hand. Two guards stood at the door to the room, completely motionless. Aelenis would've liked to offer them a drink. However, a drunken guard was no use to him. He heard running coming from the stairs, and looked alert.

            A soldier with a half broken shield limped into the room. Aelenis stood up and ran over to the man, who would've fallen down.

            "What's wrong? What happened to you?" Aelenis inquired, holding the dazed soldier on his feet.

            "We found....an old Orc village." the soldier said.

            "There were Orcs there?"

            "No...Ogres. They were not of the Crushbellow tribe though."

            "Who did they serve?"

            "They were...most likely a renegade tribe. We....managed to kill them though." The soldier replied.

            "What were they doing in the village?" Aelenis asked, setting the soldier on a chair and handing him a mug of ale.

            "Making home. We found a number of cages filled with the corpses of starved Orcs. One was alive though."

            "Did you kill it?"

            "No. We were going to, but the armor he was wearing indicated he was a lieutenant or sergeant of some sort."

            "So you brought him back here?" Aelenis said.

            "Yes. He was so weakened; he didn't put up much of a fight. He's not dead, so we took him to the basement and put him chains. We also gave him some of the leftover bread from last week's meal."

            "What do you plan to do with him?"

            "Question him. He'll likely not comply, so we will most likely end up killing him anyways."

            "Very well." Aelenis said. "Head over to the barracks with any men that came back. You could all use some rest."

            "Thank you, sir." The soldier replied. At that, he took off his sword and broken shield, took them to the armory, and went to the sleeping quarters.

            Aelenis was worried. The fact that an Orc had been captured did not concern him. It was the fact that this Orc was highly ranked. Surely search parties would be sent out into Laramoth-held lands, surely to these barracks. Aelenis would need to put up better security if he would hope to save his men and himself.

            Aelenis would take a look at this Orc later. He needed to get some rest. Badly.

***

            "Where am I?"

            "Quiet, Orc! You'll have a better chance at surviving if you keep your mouth shut!"

            Nazgrum Duracall sighed, and relaxed his muscles. He'd eaten the stale bread he'd been given. Some strength had returned to him, but he was still too weak to make an attempt to escape. His head hurt, his body ached, and his stomach was bursting with hunger pangs. The Ogres that'd captured him had fed him nothing. They'd killed the Orcs he'd brought with him, only one of the wolf riders escaping. Agronak Gro'Malog, the Warlord of the Black Storm Clan, had arrived in the camp only a few days ago to meet with him.

            Nazgrum viewed his surroundings. He would surely be interrogated by the human commander of the barracks. If he refused to comply, he would be killed. If he complied and answered their questions, he would be killed once they were finished with him. He didn't have the heart to betray the Warchief. Hopefully, an Orc search party would reach him in time. He could only hope...

            Nazgrum was a six foot tall Orc. He had the average muscle mass for an Orc, which was rather muscular. He had a shaved head, which had grown some hair during his time in captivity. He also kept a shaved face, though he did have a small beard from his time being in captivity. His eyes, a dark yellow, showed his short-temperedness, especially in this situation. His skin was a dark olive green.

            Being short-tempered and unforgiving were two qualities that Nazgrum was well-known for. His father had been a warlock, who had stayed in Tor'Skan until the war had ended. Though Nazgrum was somewhat hateful toward shamanism, he respected Rand'Drek greatly, and had learned to respect the shaman population of the Black Storm.

            Nazgrum was skilled with two-handed axes and bows. His axe and bow, along with his quiver and arrows, had been salvaged from the Ogre camp by the Humans, most likely held somewhere in the barracks. He'd find them when someone came...

            Nazgrum felt his body give in to his weariness. He closed his eyes, his body gave in, and he slept.