Chapter 3: A Turn of the Tide
As the chaos unfolded, a streak of silver fur darted through the underbrush on the Horde’s side of the battlefield. Aritzaga, a night elf druid, had shifted into her cat form, her lithe body moving with lethal grace as she approached the Horde base. Her mission was clear—capture the Horde’s flag while the battle raged at the center, distracting most of the enemy forces. The Alliance had put their faith in her, and she would not let them down.
The forest around the Horde’s fortress was thick, the ground beneath her paws littered with the remains of trees felled long ago. Each step Aritzaga took was deliberate, her ears twitching at the faintest rustle of leaves or snap of twigs. The red and black banner of the Warsong Clan flapped ominously in the distance, barely visible beyond the encampment’s palisades, guarded by hulking Orcs and ever-vigilant Troll warriors.
Her heart raced in her chest, not with fear, but with the anticipation that always accompanied such high-stakes moments. She had honed her skills over countless battles, from the verdant forests of Ashenvale to the deserts of Silithus, but something about this battleground, about Warsong Gulch, made her blood run hotter.
The Horde had decimated her homeland’s forests during the Third War, and the wounds of that time still ached in her spirit. This was more than just a battleground to her. It was personal.
Slipping into the shadow of a massive boulder, Aritzaga paused to assess the scene. The Horde flag room was heavily fortified, with several Orc brutes standing guard, their muscles tense, ready for any sign of attack. Above them, a Troll shaman—no doubt Nara—stood with her staff raised high, her eyes glowing as she chanted in the low, guttural language of the Darkspear Trolls. Overhead, thunderclouds began to form, crackling with elemental energy.
Aritzaga narrowed her eyes. Nara had always been Salove’s closest ally, their bond unbreakable. While Salove dominated the battlefield with raw physical strength, Nara was the embodiment of elemental fury. Her shamanic powers were a force to be reckoned with, and if Aritzaga was going to succeed in capturing the flag, she’d need to act quickly—before the storm Nara was summoning could descend.
The night elf druid took a deep breath, her feline senses sharpening as she prepared for the assault. Her plan was simple: slip in, grab the flag, and escape before the Horde could react. But simple plans rarely stayed that way, especially when the Horde’s most powerful defenders stood in her way.
Aritzaga moved like a shadow, her lithe form slipping through the tall grass and underbrush without a sound. She circled the guards, always staying just outside their line of sight, her instincts guiding her steps. With each passing second, the storm overhead grew darker, the rumble of thunder sending shivers down her spine. She knew she had to act before Nara unleashed her fury on the battlefield.
Just as she reached the outer perimeter of the flag room, the sound of heavy footsteps made her freeze in place. An Orc warrior, clad in thick plate armor, stomped past her hiding spot, his massive axe resting on his shoulder. He paused for a moment, sniffing the air as if sensing something was amiss. Aritzaga held her breath, every muscle in her body tensed and ready to strike. But after a moment, the Orc grunted and continued on his patrol, oblivious to the danger lurking just behind him.
Aritzaga exhaled slowly, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
As the Orc turned his back, she sprang from her hiding place, shifting from cat form to her night elf form in a fluid motion. Her hands moved swiftly, summoning the power of nature itself. Thick roots burst from the ground, entangling the Orc’s legs before he could react. He let out a roar of anger, swinging his axe wildly in an attempt to free himself, but the roots held firm.
With the guards temporarily disabled, Aritzaga sprinted toward the flag, her heart pounding in her chest. The Horde’s banner hung just ahead of her, the symbol of their dominance and arrogance fluttering in the wind. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the fabric of the flag.
But just as she was about to seize it, a voice echoed through the room, cold and filled with contempt.
“Did you really think it would be that easy, elf?”
Aritzaga’s hand froze as she turned, her eyes widening. From the shadows at the far end of the room, Salove stepped forward, her towering Tauren form imposing even in the dim light of the flag room. Her fur was matted with blood and sweat from the battle, but her eyes gleamed with a savage determination. In her hands, she held a massive, rune-etched staff, the weapon of a warrior druid ready to unleash her full fury.
For a split second, Aritzaga considered fleeing. She was outnumbered and outmatched. Salove alone would be a formidable opponent, but with Nara’s storm building outside, the odds of escaping with the Horde’s flag seemed slim.
But Aritzaga wasn’t one to back down.
Her jaw tightened as she summoned the power of the Emerald Dream, shifting once more into her cat form. If Salove wanted a fight, she’d get one.
The two druids circled each other, the tension between them palpable. Salove’s presence was like a mountain—immovable, solid, and crushing. In contrast, Aritzaga was the wind—fast, elusive, and deadly in her precision. Each of them knew that this duel would determine the fate of the battle. Whoever fell here would doom their side to defeat.
Salove made the first move. With a roar that shook the very walls of the flag room, she shifted into her bear form and charged at Aritzaga, her massive paws tearing through the dirt as she thundered forward. Aritzaga dodged to the side, her quick reflexes allowing her to evade Salove’s initial assault. She darted behind the Tauren, her claws raking across Salove’s hind legs in a flurry of quick, precise strikes.
But Salove was ready.
As Aritzaga moved to strike again, Salove spun with surprising speed for a creature of her size, slamming her paw into the night elf’s side and sending her sprawling across the room. Aritzaga gasped for breath, the force of the blow knocking the wind from her lungs. She struggled to her feet, her vision blurring as Salove lumbered toward her, ready to deliver the finishing blow.
“I’ll end this now,” Salove growled, her voice low and menacing.
But Aritzaga wasn’t finished yet.
Drawing on the last reserves of her strength, she shifted into her bear form, meeting Salove’s charge head-on. The two druids collided in a furious clash of fur and claws, each struggling for dominance. The sound of their battle echoed through the flag room, shaking the very foundations of the Horde base.
For a moment, it seemed as though Salove’s raw strength would win out. But Aritzaga had one final trick up her sleeve.
With a sudden burst of energy, she shifted into her cat form once more, darting between Salove’s legs and leaping toward the flag. Her claws hooked around the banner’s pole, tearing it free from its base as she landed gracefully on the other side of the room.
Salove let out a roar of frustration, but Aritzaga didn’t wait to see her reaction. She sprinted toward the exit, the Horde’s flag trailing behind her. The battle wasn’t over yet, but she had the flag. Now, she just needed to get it back to the Alliance base.
As she raced through the Horde’s camp, she could hear Salove and Nara giving chase, their fury driving them forward. But Aritzaga was faster. The night elf druid darted through the underbrush, her heart pounding in her chest as the sounds of the battle grew fainter behind her.
She could see the center of the battlefield up ahead, where Wy and Thieme were still holding the line against the remaining Horde forces. If she could just reach them, the Alliance might have a chance at victory.
With one final burst of speed, Aritzaga leapt over a fallen tree and into the fray, the Horde flag clutched tightly in her hands. Victory was within reach, but the Horde wouldn’t let it go without a fight.
The tide had turned, and the battle for Warsong Gulch was far from over.