Warcraft: A New Dawn

[PWH]

But... But... Its BRANN!
But fine! *Looks away* How about Baelgun? Muradins second-in-command?

 

[Deolrin]

Uhh, Arthas kinda murdered him in Azjol-Nerub, didn't he?

 

[PWH]

Not as I recall, he is listed as alive in Wowwiki, but I don't know if that's in wow or warcraft lore. But tbh, idc, it's not Brann, it could be anyone

 

[SasuhKun]

That's on WoW. On WoW, Muradin is ALIVE as well. But not here, no. They do not use WoW Lore. That's on the 1st post I think.

 

[tagg1080]

That's on WoW. On WoW, Muradin is ALIVE as well. But not here, no. They do not use WoW Lore. That's on the 1st post I think.

Um, Muradin died when Arthas grabbed frostmourne.

fyi ^_^

 

[lightning brigade]

PWH, honestly, Brann is not built for a leader. >___>
He's an EXPLORER, not a fighter, or a commander. He goes around places, talks to people and digs stuff out. He doesn't fight anything. Seriously, just invent a new character and let him take the lead. You really think they'd let Brann command the forces and not, say, Thordin Stoneforge, captain of the Ironforge guard, or Aggronor Sharpshot, commander of the dwarves' rifleman corps?

We must remember that this is our story, and since Brann isn't mentioned in warcraft 3 much, that gives us a LOT of leeway, and it also gives us the chance to make our own story of brann, and his ascendance to the throne and his internal conflict about leadership. These are all literary ideas that would make the story good.

 

[PWH]

In WoW, Muradin is alive, assisting Varian and ruling the Frostborn and so on, shortly said, Bronzebeards are awesome...
But we could make another Bronzebeard, just a cousin or so? Munin Bronzebeard, one of the finest Mountain Kings of the Dwarven, has claimed his post as king of the Dwarves, being the closest living (who's not lost somewhere) relative to the late Magni ect. ect.

 

[The World Is Flat]

Laertes said it well, brann could be retrofitted, or a new cousin or whatnot could be made yes.

 

[Mtsensk]

Hmm, maybe a conflict between, Brann and this cousin who claims he has right to the crown. A dwarven cival war perhaps. Just an on the spot idea, but it could provide for some nice storyline imho. 2 Dwarven champions who wish to claim the right to the throne, a brother and a cousin of the last king. With their own specific faction of dwarves to back them up in their fight.

 

[PWH]

I honostly can't imagine a civic war among the dwarves break out now, when their need for being united is greater than ever. I would even have suggested involving the Iron Dwarves on their side, if it wasn't because they're WoW lore

Anyways, Kalimdor lore inc
The Alliance was formed shortly before the Second War ended, but was the most vital part of the legions defeat. After the Battle at Mount Hyjal, the mortal races begun building, or rebuilding, their civilizations. While the interference of Daelin Proudmoore threatened to ruin the peace, Jaina managed to keep the peace, but it meant the death of her father.
After Malfurions and Tyrandas hunt in Lordaeron, which taught them of the rising threat of the Scourge, the mortal races realized that they had yet another enemy to fight.
Knowing the Scourge, Jaina decided that the best way to fight them, was to attack them before they could deploy the plague in Kalimdor, and so, the invasion of Northrend begun.
With the remaining paladins leading the attack, the Alliance managed to get foothold in the south-western part of Northrend, and fought their way towards the Icecrown Clacier.
The first fights they fought, very minor fights in fact, was mostly just renegade Scourge, small packs of them without anyone controlling them.
But as they came nearer and nearer to the Icecrown Glacier, the fights eventually began being real Scourge forces, deadly, containing necromancers rising every corpse possible, and gargoyles sweeping down to lift soldiers up in the air, and then dropping them to their doom.
The Alliance managed to cope with these forces, but was progressing very slowly. Ultimately, the Alliance was ambushed by fallen nerubians, which turned the tide of the battle, and the Scourge begun pushing back the Alliance. While the Alliance had built fortresses, some large and a lot minor ones in fact, the Scourge simply stormed the smaller ones, and laid siege to the larger ones, having no need for food.
The Alliance was eventually pushed back to the first fortress they built, the Justice Keep. Ships were evacuating the soldiers, while the paladins, devout as ever, held the ground, allowing the rest to get away.
The Lich King, being furious for the Alliance troops getting away, begun preparing his own army for an invasion, trusting Kel’Thuzard and Anub’Arak to be victorious in Lordaeron.
But while the Scourge prepared itself, the Alliance fortified their coasts and chokepoints, with many of them having experienced the horrors of the Scourge before.
While the Alliance managed to keep the Scourge off the lands of Kalimdor for some time, the nearly unending undead numbers eventually succeeded, and every race begun fighting for its own survival, instead of the one of the Alliance.
To the north, at Mount Hyjal, the night elves has barricaded themselves, and now tries to fend off the undead, while trying to heal the World Tree, believing it would give them the upper hand.
In the barren Durotar, the orcs are doing fairly well. Their shamanistic ways are fairly effective against the unholy undead, and the mighty tauren assists them as much as possible, their mere size and strength, as well as a very defendable land, allows them to help their allies.
But the defenders of Theramore has drawn the shortest straw, having lost many paladins during the invasion of Northrend, while the magi has taken up the role as the new defenders of humanity, while the Dwarven and gnomish designs helps their warfare.

But now, every race fight for itself, the Alliance shattered years ago. The night elves and the orcs mistrusting the humans, while the elves focuses on defending themselves, while healing the World Tree.
Hope you liked, but please say if you've got ideas for it, it seems a bit unpolished to me.

 

[The World Is Flat]

I've already read it myself, fine fine.

In other news, happy birthday to me, I'm taking the day off.

 

[The World Is Flat]

Sorry for double post, but good news on the art-front, Blizzards new custom 'Blizzard Dota' will have the blademaster and sylvanas models, probably alot more, so those will be easy conversions, and apparently they are adding war3 stuff to sc2, so... looks like its time to GO.

Once I finish data editing all of the units, which shouldent be long, we will have a working alpha up.

I guess what we need now are coders, seeing as cyber and stat havent felt like doing anything, I belive i may be taking ovver this area aswell!

 

[Grey Nightmare]

I'm back... Pleasantly surprised to see this still on track ^^
gj! And happy birthday TWIF, sorry I missed it =\

EDIT: That Blizzard DOTA could indeed prove useful to you :O
I couldn't find any release est. though =/

 

[SasuhKun]

Blizzard Dota was the best idea ever. On many levels, of course. First, we have the Dota fans. Then, we have the happy medieval map makers that can now once again make
medieval (and cool) maps, without yet resorting to make custom models (Because there are NO custom models...yet. Although without that release, model makers, would be somewhat forced to begin working on them and thus stimulating the work on custom models... So. But its ok! ) Including WC4!

Um, Muradin died when Arthas grabbed frostmourne.

fyi ^_^

Also, read. On WoW.

 

[The World Is Flat]

Ya, Damn excited about the models and availability, gonna expidite things well.

 

[The World Is Flat]

WIP of the lore revamped, loads of work to do.

We have a new team member, Bulgaria's wc3 Esports National Manager, And hes helping with melee esports.

Walle and me have a new unit wip of lore

Javalin Tank

Now heres my lore WIP.

The world of Azeroth – a glowing droplet within the environ cesspool of the frigid cosmos; a lively grain in the dark monotony; blossoming with fanatical flames of life – is much an aged stool whose knobby legs teeter even under a leaf’s slight weight. It rests unguarded, perched along doom’s trail, like an unwanted slave-boy left to die. Barbarous, malicious malcontents have wrestled with it and trodden upon it. Worn from years of unwelcome and ungrateful guests it quakes in fear at the faintest stirrings, making to quickly fortify what strengths it can still flaunt. This is the condition of Azeroth in this time, a world slowly strangled by its garrulous comradeship and the garments of its own weaving. A cruel vine entwines the hilt of a sacrificial blade, extending and pressing mercilessly into the tender, bare neck, vying to spill Azeroth’s supple life and leave it an empty vessel of death. A desperate knight hacks the entanglement with one hand, yet draws a suffocating cord tighter with the other. Peasants animate their listless, waif-like selves to accommodate the bidding of their portentous masters, painfully clawing open the earthen mounds that will one day contain their rotting corpses.

Through the uncountable eyes which enamor the mountains of this earth, the radiant golden and resplendent silver gleams of the celestial bodies are lords that come and go. At times they terrorize those who lie beneath them, at others they guide and shield. The winds sing softly of their noble deeds, the rocks grumble darkly of their vial despicability. Soil frowns or laughs by night or day. The sky and its clouds ring of their claims, whilst the land and the seas are the graceful tapestries they have wrought. Sugary sweet waters that trickle and babble through the fields and forests, and traipse themselves elegantly from verdant mountain slope to valley, hum their timeless melodies through this zoo. The regal Stags, the virulent Furbolgs, the timid Rabbits, the avaricious dragons – they share their visions of the lives they cross over; in clacking hoof, scratching claw, or thumping tail.

Now sneering upon Azeroth’s land of Lordaeron is a new monarch, his ancestors bred in subtle farm houses, atop fortress ramparts, in the dark reaches of the earth and a myriad places beyond. While the serene moon swings perpetually, in tandem with the menagerie of stars, always dancing from the sun’s imperial grasp, a rank and vulgar ceremony drones on. Beneath the shimmering veil of a Third Great War, the peoples of Lordaeron bandy needle, thread and knife – crafting cloth of violent battle, unendingly. The formidable Scourge Civil War is the repository for their yarn, the quarry for the masons, the ocean for the fishermen, the coals of the blaze. Like the unfailingly reliable ebb and flow of the tides, lives are dragged into the most stagnant of doldrums, laced up with blade and armor, thrust among the ranks that seem to seek only death. It is as though the Third War bids its actors to disregard the lavish wonders of life and turn to the foreboding despairs of dungeons for solace. An infinite war seems the curse that has been delivered.
Now – years ago, before life sparked into being for the many that now constitute the Civil War’s hearts and limbs, the infamous demon lord known as Archimonde the Defiler was drawn from his scabbard of the nether void, demons sparking forth behind him. The Burning Legion had blown over once more to incinerate the resilient mortal beings which had defied their will for thousands of years. Conducted by the demon lord known as Kil’Jaeden, Archimonde ushered the Burning Legion towards the soul of Azeroth. However, a misfit alliance of Humans, Elves, Orcs and other creatures baying for the invasion’s demise were already assembling in preparation at Mount Hyjal, at the forested, root-clad base of the World Tree. While Archimonde and his gust of terror corrupted and scalded countless lives and lands, including the Well of Eternity which supported the World Tree, the Burning Legion was truncated by the strength of this Alliance and by the Elves’ great sacrifice during the Battle of Mount Hyjal. Nonetheless, the celebratory cadence came upon the crest of a wave of sharpened steel. After Archimonde’s collapse, the menacing juggernaut of the Undead Scourge in Lordaeron reached a golden minaret of might, perched upon the revitalized strength of Ner’zhul, once an Orc shaman resurrected to become the magnanimously powerful Lich King.

The potency of harmony once more outweighed that of discord. Kil’Jaeden contorted with displeasure, yet in his vast wisdom saw a more crucial matter to arrest. Aware his concoction had become an unruly weed, a power-hungry entity, he cast about for the means to end the Lich King and the Scourge. He uncovered the lacquered name written by the powers that be – Illidan Stormrage, a tainted and antediluvian elf of demonic powers who had emerged free from the lock of his ancient elven prison, during the final chapter of the Burning Legion’s defeat. Kil’Jaeden sought out this promising demon hunter and beseeched that he obliterate the rapidly richening usurper. In return, Illidan would find an exalted place awaiting him among the demon lords. This grandiloquent promise of near omniscience was too well writ for him to decline, like a peasant offered his dearest dreams. Striding on burning soles of haste, Illidan began harvesting the ingredients for his assault. It would take more than a mere blade and those of his allies to rend life from the dark and brooding Lich King. Thus began Illidan’s foray in pursuit of the Tomb of Sargeras and the untold magnificence of the legendary artifact contained within.

While the potent Archimonde had swept on, he left three notable Dreadlords in his wake – Balnazzar, Detheroc and Varimathras, brothers fractured from the same slab of mutilated power. In the nefarious combine of the avaricious, they harkened to smote crowns of the Undead Scourge for themselves, to rebuild the lost presence of Archimonde’s Legion. This was the beginning of the dire schism that wrought the Civil War within the plague tended lands of Lordaeron. The Lich King scowled his distaste from the Frozen Throne, sealed in the frigid clutches of the roof of the world. The disunity of his Scourge at these demons’ behest was a most troublesome wave of fate’s staff. The Lich King’s champion and servant – tainted under his penetrating whispers of power – the prince known as Arthas, lowered and tossed from the scales of power, was deeply spited by this vial obstruction. To the Dreadlords, Arthas was a regrettable stain upon fine silk, a rupturing chisel wedged in otherwise uniform rock, the poisonous bite of a snake in tender flesh. A poultice had to be found with which to repulse this scum from the throne he claimed to belong…

In a separate land, pitted in war against the last respite of the elves in Quel’Thalas as was the Lich King’s bidding, Arthas wielded his blade against the defending ranger, Sylvanas Windrunner. Before his virulent onslaught, no more than a battered corpse lay to tell the tale of her defeat. In cruel punishment for the mithril laced stance that she had led against the Scourge, the corrupt Prince drew from his knowledge of necromancy to resurrect the once stalwart and graceful High Elf as an aggrieved banshee, shackled to him in eternal enslavement among his retinue of concubines. With this act fulfilled, Arthas then proceeded along the path that was charted, walking unrestricted to the lush, blossoming waters of Sunwell. Therein, he submerged the feeble remnants of the deceased necromancer, Kel’Thuzad. Sprouting from the nourishing energies of the Elves’ great Sunwell, Kel’Thuzad rose from death anew, with the capacity of his powers vaulted far beyond their former heights. The pure waters of the well were left tainted and twisted, no longer fit even for a scamp to bath in. The posts of the Lich King’s design were falling efficiently into place.

Under Kel’Thuzad’s coercing, Arthas marched victoriously back to Lordaeron, the newly born Plagueland. In the dark, gaunt recesses of the horizon, thunder growled its formidable notes. Illidan and the sea of forces surrounding him had attained an antidote to the Lich King’s poisonous existence. Channeling the powers inherent in the Eye of Sargeras, Illidan split the frosted scalp where the Lich King dwelt. The very ice and the very metal that were host to Ner’zhul’s spirit would have been incinerated, had it not been for the elf druid Malfurion Stormrage, Illidan’s brother. Nigh a moment from uttering the last intonations of the fatal magic, Illidan was interrupted, allowing the Lich King to endure. Albeit, the entity survived like water steadily leaking from a flimsy barrel, his clutch of power diminished and receding with the steady passage of days.

Arthas mirrored his master’s defacing, like the inner side of a shield showing the ugly markings of an unkind battle. With the raging current of power chocked, Sylvanas was able to worm free of the rot that surrounded her. She tore herself from the heavy chains of bondage to walk her own path, mind resplendent with plans of revenge and power. For the hunting Dreadlord brothers desperate to wean Arthas of his remaining strength, she was the repost. A glowing light striding from the dourly ranks of Arthas’ minions, they saw her as an emerald chalice resting temptingly upon the table. If they secured her fealty, they would secure one of their enemy’s main masts. Still walking on the stilts of Arthas’ mastery, she was of great value. She seemed a strand of silver thread in a gold dress that could undo the prince – she was the prized key to the deep lock of Arthas’ downfall.

The earth can tell you the movements of the rivers. Some, in their youth, when they trickle across the soil and the mud and the rock, will travel straight and true, tugged gently by the beckoning of time and earth’s persistent grip. Through their chiming, graceful waters that are as beautifully clear as the finest crystal, and tediously carve runes of stone and clay along their bellies. When the banks are rife with the ebullience of green life and when the sleek, star-like bodies of fish dart down the watery paths and drink delicious gulps of the sweet nourishment, the river has reached the peak of its childhood, where innocence and inquisitiveness mingles with intelligence and reason. While time marches to a steady beat, these rivers writhe and twist in their earthen bondages. The river long and slim like an arrow will curl as the earth adjusts its weight. A shimmering snake of waters winding through the forests will break into half moons of lakes and offshoot streams as the waters wear at the fabrics that cloth them. The ox-bows emerge and disappear in repeated gestures of worship and the earth bears these oddities in silence.

Like these rivers – which are at one time like perfect foundation stones hewn from granite but are at another in a senseless jumble; that will at one time be reliable to the Captain and the Murloc, or at another a dozen separate ponds and streams with little semblance of the original and can be compared with no map – the corrupted Sylvanas no longer drifted in the punishment Arthas had sentenced. Her skin was of a sickly pallor and her eyes burning a hateful crimson in memory of the befouling condition that had shaped her, yet she had freedom and she had a piercing gem of scintillating intelligence within her. Arthas still waved her aside with a coldly barked command chasing her heels, and, still, she withdrew humbly from his sight to act upon his will. However, once his gaze was diverted, she sought her own path. In her mind, she awaited the red sky or the green cloud, the solar eclipse or the shooting star, the fatal lapse as the nobleman drops his guard – the opportune moment to act. And the moment was to come soon…

The Dreadlords had been observing Sylvanas from the shadows for some time. The gleaming rubies of prospect succored their minds. They unfurled from their dark, bodiless depths to deliver her an offer on a priceless tome. The resplendent engravings upon the plates of their proposal they hoped she would be loathe to deny. The prestige of notching into a grove within the construct of their new vision of the Scourge could be irresistible and irrefutable to one in her lowly position – they thought. Yet, Sylvanas hesitated. She was no stranger to greedy rulers and gilded portents of fortune. One can only assume that she had lengthy, expansive plans of her own. The offer was tantalizing, like a dwarf feast of the greatest caramelized boar and fine wine… but she turned down the menacingly hopeful tyrants.
The Dreadlords rotted in their self-contained disgust. Yet, Arthas had not sailed from their grasp so easily. Upon his trail like glass-eyed hawks reeling over a mouse exposed upon the grasslands or a pack of Dire Wolves hounding a stag, they gave chase. As the venerable tree survives the lightning storm, Arthas evaded their strike. To the brothers, he was a contemptible, retched fool that should have bowed and slipped the circlet of life off his head – yet, he had not. The Lich King’s pampered, black-hearted prince had led them into a trackless swamp of their own creation. From the hearth of some remote black cave growled the flames of their hopeless rage, licking hotly albeit without effect upon the slippery edifices isolating them from their quarry.
With time as a sprinting enemy that leapt fallen logs with ease, Sylvanas rushed swiftly to Arthas’ side like a faithful minion. She fought to subdue the thrashing beast of truth which clawed desperately inside her gut. She dressed herself in the rags of Arthas’ will, feigning subservience. He saw only her frailty; a dank, unlit torch awaiting his lighter. Unsuspecting, he was taken in by her ruse. Sylvanas eased closer and closer to the bare throat that screamed for her blade. While Arthas knew not what was transpiring, the unlocked, blood lusting essence of his former Commander was a raw sore in the eyes of another. In cold, metallic silence the observer waited while Sylvanas stayed her agonizing impulse to end her slaver’s life. Alas, the chamber was left unguarded and Sylvanas made her move. As unprepared as a sleeping babe, Arthas’ head would have taken flight of his neck – yet emerging in the harbor of time was Kel’Thuzad. The Lieutenant as unyielding in his loyalties as diamond before a blow, who stood by Arthas’ side like a night elf huntress beside her mistress, cloaked in shadow, handily impeded the attempt on his master’s life. The betrayer, the coin that was not the metal its owner assumed, had been thwarted. Nonetheless, the hooded reaper did not extend his scythe for her that day. The momentarily ensnared catch freed herself to roam once more.

It was not long later when Arthas felt a prying voice calling to him from over the lands and the seas. He suddenly abandoned what concerns he herded in Lordaeron and disembarked with a fleet of vessels for the glacial shores of Northrend. The Lich King, in his weakened condition, was endangered before the honed steel of a swiftly encroaching enemy. Every soul with hatred towards him and the hardiness to lift a stick was moving with unerring purpose to the monument of ice where he resided. Just as a fire fueled by enough dry wood will char the stone walls of a library and eventually turn its books to ash, they were coming relentlessly. Among the assailants charging forth was Illidan and his followers from the races of the Naga and the Blood Elves, struggling to redeem themselves of their initial failure. Only through Arthas’ efforts could there be any light flickering in the darkness for the mighty despot.

Not one who waded in folly, before leaving Arthas had encapsulated the Scourge in Kel’Thuzad’s care. His right hand would see that the paltry remains of the old Scourge would stand with steeled resin before the trio of Dreadlords and their reformed Scourge. Harvesting the rarely ripe fruit, arising from nocturnal abodes, stealing the last of the ancient manuscripts, what many enemies Arthas had nurtured in his tenure of Lordaeron splintered forth to seize advantage of his absence. Among them was Sylvanas Windrunner…

~~~

The past slave had resurfaced to collect her revenge. Thickening the maelstrom of warfare, Sylvanas efficiently coerced throngs of the undead to rise from their senseless, deathly fetters and serve her. The flea-bitten, vulture-pillaged, fly-guarded corpses littering old battlefields supplied some, the waif-like frames of the recently dead or long preserved who defaced dusty dungeon cells supplied others. With the accompanying wails of torment, the Scourge Civil War began in earnest.

In the dreamy quiet of night the peasantry sat huddled around fires or lay sleepless on straw cots, breathing denied to better hear the faintest of sounds. The swinging of a pot on a hinge outside the door because of a common breeze would instill nightmares. The terror born of the lumbering groups and staggering individuals of scant flesh and dark shroud which strode, mesmerized by an untouchable power, under the touch of starlight. By day, there was little respite from the haunting grimness. In their poor clothing the peasants bent over hoe, plow, pick and saw, always entranced with racing heartbeats. Those who passed by the graveyards walked briskly if they were courageous, while the rest simply threw aside what they carried and turned to run in the direction they had come. Many a farm house stood with boarded windows and fresh iron bolts fixed to their door chambers. All prayed at every spare moment, that they might live.

Sylvanas was ushering a fate of her own. One could not count the minions that proffered themselves to her command. Many had been ignored or shunned by the very lords who resurrected them, hated and feared by the world of humanity like the bearers of a ravishing, punishing plague. Knowing no joy or freedom, ignorant to kindness, and no strangers to the harsh tongue of a tyrant, they swiftly conjoined like pieces in a puzzle. The resulting image, the suit of armor wrought from a thousand interlocking pieces, the newly woven faction of desolate, discouraged and twisted beings, became known as The Forsaken. By Sylvanas’ command they joined the tireless grind of the Scourge Civil War – and wherever a stone was overturned, wherever a bend in the path was met, Kel’Thuzad and the Dreadlords were crushed and beaten deeper down into their own hides.
Varimathras was the first Dreadlord brother to be strangled by the probing vines of the Forsaken. Swiftly, the imposing wall of darkness swept over him. When he laid no more than a blade’s thickness from the shadowy recesses of death, he pleaded for his life. In brazen rejection of his brothers, he offered the Forsaken every droplet of power condensed upon his flesh and every embossed scripture of knowledge at his disposal – it was his ardent hope that he would be spared Sylvanas’ wrath. This offer of rich services gave Sylvanas no reason to refuse him. Fueled as if by a prophet’s words of victory, the Forsaken spread its deadly wings. Varimathras’ blatant boon spread throughout the Undead lines like freshly crafted arms and armor. A bold and chilling wind grazed the grass blades and stones of Lordaeron, bearing the saturnine tidings of their blood-lathered, darkness-enshrouded conquests.
Cold, curtailed whispers washed over the remaining brothers as they learned of Varimathras’ treachery. A corroding sickness of contempt and animosity marred the intricacies of their thoughts. In riled pillars of rage they made ready for the confrontation that was to ensue. Balnazzar concerted his forces around Lordaeron’s ancient capitol, while Detheroc reinforced the meager defenses of his own fortress. What humans remained alive in the once bounteous kingdom of Lordaeron wore filthy rags, listless expressions and bowed before the insatiable cruelty of the Dreadlords. Enslaved, they bolstered their ranks with warm and trembling flesh, and it should be little surprise that few yearned for life. Armed with meager scythes, sticks and hunting bows for weaponry and devoid of combat training, they would succumb easily to a siege. In due time, Detheroc was defeated along with his minions, no more than a pool of wax where once a flickering candle had been, like his brother before him… but this time every trace had been erased.
With the Dreadlord’s pungent fetter expelled, the humans who had been mindlessly bound were freed, like frost thawed by spring’s warmth, like hungry sheep shown an open gate. Of the forces of Arthas, Balnazzar and Sylvanas, the humans’ liberators seemed the most humanistic. And thus, a cautious alliance was formed…

It became Balnazzar’s turn to feel the Forsaken’s might. Zounds of demons, humans and undead marched in consortium, like the defacing symptoms of a disease. Balnazzar’s strength paled in comparison, like a worthless, thin quilt trying to fend off a locust swarm. It was only a matter of time before the tatterdemalion flag of his reign was ripped aside, replaced by that of Sylvanas and the Forsaken. The once dominating Dreadlord brothers had been rendered obsolete, leaving the Forsaken to seize the Capital City without opposition. The tentative humans that stood wide eyed alongside the fleshless undead were suddenly betrayed and slain. A suffocating, unyielding blanket of darkness and despair befell the pinnacle of humanity. Like an axe sinking through soft soil, the Forsaken had become an unstoppable force, nothing standing within sight or hearing to resist them.

~~~

Meanwhile, Arthas had outpaced Illidan and drove away the last of his master’s assailants. What blood had been spilt trickled briefly and froze upon the frigid wastes. Swinging the cursed runeblade of Frottmourne, Arthas shattered the frozen waters surrounding the Lich King’s throne, fragments spraying like the shrapnel from a dropped glass. The artifacts which contained Ner’zhul’s spirit were renched free of their stagnant moor as Arthas doned them. In a marriage of consciousness and power, servant and master became one. Like the offspring of legendary flowers, their potency blossomed to unbelievable heights. And there upon the Frozen Throne he took seat, the tendrils of his mind steering his players in the undying war of the nations.

~~~

Elsewhere in Azeroth, the scattered vestiges of the old alliance which had armored Mount Hyjal from Archimonde nearly a year prior were being re-forged. The components of an ever-escalating conflict were being announced, like the arrival of prestigious dignitaries. The most recent notable plunged within the turmoil turned its blood-soaked blade towards the Lich King.

While the Alliance’s legions set out for the Lich King‘s lair in the white north, like leaves falling from a dying tree to return borrowed energy to the earth, the Lich King sent one of his Commanders, Anub’Arak, to the south. Instructed to aid Kel’Thuzad, who stood alone before the Forsaken like a parchment wall before a blaze, the Nerubian arrived swiftly. Backed by his crustacean kinsfolk, Anub’Arak brought fresh flames to the dwindling conflagration. Awestruck and demoralized, the undead renegades began submitting themselves to the power of the Lich King’s Commanders.

~~~

Sylvanas had been pressing a desperate barrage of attacks against the Scourge in Lordaeron, raving for its destruction. She sensed the two storm fronts gathering around her like formidable omens of doom. Time was of the tides, any moment liable to swallow the Forsaken like an island lost at sea. The demons and the undead had fought tenaciously with blade and mana – yet, it was to no avail, for it was then when Anub’Arak had arrived, surmounting the plain of war at the spearhead of his army of battle hardened Crypt Fiends and Crypt Lords.

For a time, the contested line remained stoic, the scales balanced between the desperation of the Forsaken and the reborn power of the Scourge. Nonetheless, just as old age subdues great warriors, Sylvanas and her followers began losing ground, like a flightless bird going hungry. The Demon Lord, Kil’Jaeden, observed the blistering conflict, like watching a stagnant lake flood another. Striding forth to Sylvanas with his demonic energies licking his heels, he proffered an alliance. Upon his word, teaming ranks of demons would reinforce her dwindling effort. However, Sylvanas was adamant with confidence in the Forsaken’s ability and refused him.

Thus, she bid her forces fight on – slaves laboring before a cat-o-nine-tails – confident the scales would tip in her favor before long, like wind and rain slowly crumbling rock. Better she had accepted Kil’Jaeden’s offer. The weeks passed quietly, Sylvanas ignorant of the defeat and loss stacking against her. However, reaching the foul and frayed end of the rope, she knew that her army had become mere kindling for a war that it could no longer win. Kil’Jaeden’s veiled advice drifted through Sylvanas’ mind. He had said that the Dreadlord, Varimathras, knew how to do it – that he knew of his plan.
While Varimathras had betrayed his brothers to save his own life, Sylvanas had no choice but to grasp his staggering reins and utilize him. She commanded that he summon the dauntlessly mighty Burning Legion once more – for she knew that it alone could grant the Forsaken victory.
However, from the sanctity of the Undercity built beneath Lordaeron’s old capitol, Varimathras could not due as he was bidden. Only in Dalaran could it be done. The magical city built long ago and once home to the Kirin Tor, reduced to ruins, would be the glistening archway to welcome the new armada. Sylvanas knew this was the only sailing ship to be offered to her. The Forsaken retreated from the dismal fug of the frontlines, regrouping around the oppressed ruins of Dalaran, stooped in shadows. There, Varimathras began to summon the Legion.

Across the great expanse of distance, Kel’Thuzad sensed the telltale signs of the ritual which he once performed, feeling the magical resonances. Aware of the dire implications, he ordered the Scourge to descend upon the familiar site, least the Burning Legion and the Forsaken rise up anew from the fading ashes of their last blaze.

Varimathras was successful – he summoned the demon lord, Kil’Jaeden, in a fiery plume of splendor. Shortly afterwards, the demon lord extended the portal to accommodate the Legion that was to follow. A maddened mob of enraged, blood-lusting demons rushed forth, like thousands of prisoners released from years in the darkest of dungeons, unleashed upon the world of Azeroth, given yet another chance to commit the devastation they yearned for.

The demon onslaught was unbearable, impartial to the thousands and thousands of lives who would drown beneath. Envisioning defeat before this wild abandon, the commanders of the Scourge swept upstream with their forces, retreating swiftly from the menacing death that Dalaran symbolized. This new war javelin in the hands of the Forsaken repulsed the terrorized Scourge deep into their own plagued grounds and turned their once iron resilience to liquid. Yet, all was not as it seemed…

Alas, redoubling their strengths and reassembling upon a battlefront of their own choosing, the Scourge made a stand. The glimmering scale of war balanced itself, neither side shifting the other – the restless swinging of a pendulum stilled in the center. While the cries of the suffering were distilled through the winds, Lordaeron had broken in half. Sylvanas, Kil’Jaeden and their minions held sway over the western lands, while those to the east belonged to the Scourge, like the dominions of morning and evening plunged into a final dispute.

~~~

At present, from the sanctity of the Undercity, Sylvanas dictates the Forsaken in the violent struggle against Kel’Thuzad. Varimathras keeps a careful watch over the Burning Legion as both ambassador and an observer, like a falconer’s regal bird. And while they attend to these affairs, Kil’Jaeden has resurrected the fallen city of Dalaran, enamoring the once glorious human enclave with the twisted, infernal powers of the Burning Legion, like an elegant tapestry morphed by defacing flames.

Seeking to expand his reach, Kil’Jaeden summoned two of his most potent commanders: his right hand, Mepihstroth, the Lord of the Dreadlords; and Azgalor, Lord of the Pit Lords. With segments of the Legion’s might at their beck and call, they ventured to the distant lands of Khaz Modan and Azeroth, bent upon conquering what fragments of weakened resistance could be found. Like a gout of icy water dousing torchlight, they succeeded.

From the accursed tower of Karazhan, Mephistroth now conducts the fate of Azeroth. The rivers that once sparkled thousands of hues from the vibrant stones beneath and the fields that once blossomed with lush life now reek of the defiling tyrant’s rule. He pits his forces against Outland, vying to regain control of it, intent upon slaying Illidan, who has become the ostentatious ruler.

Within the halls of Grim Batol, Azgalor watches over Khaz Modan. Like the thick blocks of a stone bridge collapsed into a river below, he cinches life of those who would defeat him – Khaz Modan was once the place of habitation for a myriad of dragons and dwarves, but they now fight desperately and doggedly to hold on, like trees growing upon a treacherous cliff side.

In the gaunt and tainted Plaguelands, from within the darkened and blighted walls of Strathholme, Kel’Thuzad rules. Armies of the undead heed his commands like fearful serfs, streaming to the west to battle the Forsaken.
As Sylvanas and Kil’Jaeden blindly plunge themselves in the tidal pool of a seemingly depthless and timeless war, the Crypt Lord Anub’Arak secured the human stronghold of Stromgarde for the Scourge. Thus, poised abreast the Legion fortress of Dalaran, he now wages a vicious onslaught.

~~~

The Lich King eventually attained victory over the stuttering, pitiable parts of the Alliance, trouncing the constituents like a cat bandying a crippled mouse. He chose to corral the living to the continent of Kalimdor. And there, his followers walking among them planted the sprouts of mistrust amid the different factions. Soon, they fell apart to bickering and malcontent, the alliance transformed into barley more than contesting bands – and, now, each of the pieces, like fish out of water, struggle for their survival.
Presently, it is Jaina’s budding hope to reform the stripped tatters of the Alliance – for she knows the immense worth of unity. Yet there is little golden prospect, for the garrulous Orcs are wary of their one time allies, while the aloof elves – the valor and nobility of their spirits now faded like a cord frayed to a strand of its former self – wish only to hide from the rampant disruption that is rife around them. In the reticent glades of Ashenvale they gather and in desperation attempt to restore the health of the World Tree.

~~~

In Lordaeron, the necromantic powers of the Scourge seem as without end as the mysterious vibrancy of the embracing blackness of midnight, the hordes of demons spewing from the demonic portals unlimited. So many fall to senselessness on each side as the war grinds mechanically and dutifully on. Meanwhile, Mephistroth bears his cruel weight down upon the flaking and crumbling beings within Outland. He drives his assault into the hearts and homes of the Illidari and contests with an unseemly coterie of Draenei, Night Elves, Dwarves, Humans, High Elves and Gnomes. The three distinct factions spin in a brewer’s pot, producing war’s fine amber ale. Like the mother war now waging in Lordaeron, in Outland no side can lay rest upon any solid stretch of land for long.

 

[Grey Nightmare]

Is that the guy from moddb?

I like the new unit concept, the name ain't particularly imaginative though ;p

I'll read the lore later, on bus/mobile(cell) phone atm.

 

[PWH]

Pretty amazing lore I'd say, looks much better than mine
But would you like me to try to write more like this? So far I've been keeping the lore short, thinking it should be that kind of stuff which could stand in a manual, not a minor novel

 

[The World Is Flat]

ITs very, very much a wip, way too much metaphor.

And no, i like writing alot, feel free to do the lore in your way.

 

[JetFangInferno]

Is the position for music already filled? I'm interested in making some music. I won the 2nd Hive Music Contest and I have other songs I can show if you want more examples of my work.

 

[The World Is Flat]

You can Definetly make music, We already Have WherewolfTherewolf, but having contrasting artists and more tracks never hurt a fly.

 

[WherewolfTherewolf]

Is the position for music already filled? I'm interested in making some music. I won the 2nd Hive Music Contest and I have other songs I can show if you want more examples of my work.

Yeah, having another composer could definitely help - you also seem to be better at soundtrack style compositions anyways.


@Twif

You honestly think most players are going to take the time to read all that? Please tell me that most of that is dedicated to what's actually happening in the game, and not just background information.

@The Tank Concept

Pretty cool idea, seems like it would be a great anti-cavalry type unit

 

[The World Is Flat]

@WT

Its about half of it, its more for fun on my part TBH.

 

[PWH]

This has taken way too long for me, sorry!
But I hope you like it


For long time, the Dwarves have inhabited the snowy lands of Khaz Modan, their will as strong as the mountains they built their civilization upon. While the Dwarves weren’t involved in the first war, they had a guerrilla war during the second, with the orcs having invaded Khaz Modan.
When the orcs were defeated, the dwarves begun rebuilding and enjoyed the years of peace.
However, their king, Magni Bronzebeard, suffered great personal losses, with his brother, Brann Bronzebeard, gone missing in barely known lands.
While Brann might just be lost again, the middle brother, Muradin, was surely not. And this was due to the corrupted Prince Arthas, the champion of the Lich King, having slain Muradin when gaining Frostmourne.
The dwarves survived the third war relatively well, but Dwarven lives were lost to the demons and undeads. But, with the Legions defeat and the Scourge civic war, peace seemed to have fallen over the southern Eastern Kingdoms and Ironforge stood proud and strong.

When the Legion was summoned yet again, the Dwarves feared the words, and rightly did so. Not long after the summoning of the Legion, Mephistroth and Azgalor, two commanders of the Burning Legion, invaded Khaz Modan.
While Magni defended the Dwarven lands with passion, coming from his love to his home, and the loss of his brothers, the Legion was simply overwhelming, the Pit Lords merely needed to walk to kill, and the stealthy and lethal Dreadlords wrecked havoc with their chosen field of magic.
Only one thing kept the Legion from taking Ironforge within the first weeks; the mighty Dwarven Avatars.
Having found and learned to control their titan heritage, these great dwarves could, as the only ones, meet the Pit Lords head-on, and even beat them. Despite the powerful avatars, the Legion took more and more land.
However, at the gates of Ironforge, the Legion was held, unable to penetrate the walls of Ironforge, with the Dwarven fortifications being too good, and Magnis leadership too great.
After a months siege of Ironforge, the Dwarves pushed out, the Dwarven avatars spear-heading the attack, killing demons left and right.
The demons were pushed back, but soon, the Pit Lords arrived, and the fiery leviathans stopped the attack, and begun pushing the Dwarves back to Ironforge-
However, king Magni, also being an avatar, charged into the field, his entre being the bashing of a Pit Lord, killing it immediately, with many demons following it.
His Killing spree rose quickly, until the massive leviathan Azgalor entered the field. Azgalor took many lives in little time, until Magni reached, and furiously, fought the demon, attacking his lands. While Magni and Azgalor fought, Mephistroth prepared a spell, a spell which could penetrate even the stony skin of the Dwarven avatars.
Magni managed to gain the upper hand in his fight, and was about to give Azgalor the killing blow, when Mephistroths spell hit him, killing him immediately.
Seeing their king fall, many Dwarves stopped dead in their tracks, making them an easy kill for the demons. And so, the valiant counterattack failed utterly, with Ironforge being taken within hours, and dwarves fleeing, hiding or lying as mangled corpses.
Sine dwarves successfully fled to Kalimdor, while others were… less successful. Resistance groups formed, with the most notable one being lead by Madoran Bronzebeard, the closest living, traceable relative of the late king.
While the demons took the human kingdom of Azeroth, the resistance groups organized themselves, and started their guerrilla war against the demons. In the start, the rebellion dwarves were always on the move, but eventually, they built the fortress Platinum Point, deep within the mountains of Khaz Modan. To this day, the demons have yet to find the point, which has served as headquarters for the Dwarves since it was built.
The Dwarves have, however, an easier time picking their targets, with the Pit Lord Azgalor ruling from the cursed and corrupted Grim Batol, his annoyance with the dwarves increasing by the very minute, with ambushed and sabotage missions executed.
While the demons are extremely annoyed of their harassment, the dwarves are slowly dying from within; their few fields cannot supply them very long, and their supplies are nearly gone, and hunting isn’t a valid option within the mountains.
For the dwarves, it seems that they must either get help, or deal a devastating slow to the Legion, in order to get that relative peace they so desperately need.

Please say if you find any spelling errors, grammatical errors, or, most importantly, got any ideas

 

[The World Is Flat]

Tis good, Tis good, i could see Brann coming to the rescue having found somthing in his adventures deep in the mountains if you really want him, but that rescue cannot be OP.

 

[PWH]

Well... That "cannot be OP" just ruined my ideas for the final campaign

But I've got a few ideas for the final parts of the dwarven campaign, if there's gonna be one.
Like there was the "Mar sara" (I think thats what the final missions was called), there's gonna be "Grim Batol" missions, with the choices before the final mission being
- The removal of infernals during the final missions (Having flooded some of Grim Batol blowing up the Stonewrought Dam, thereby "drowning" the infernals)
This mission would be leaded by... Well, someone, Idk.

- The removal of demonic fortresses (I don't know how much about those two units compared to each other, but I take that they'd be around the same amount of pain?), with Brann leading an expedition into Grim Batol, using relics he found to manipulate the earth, making a tunnel-attack.

Just a sketchy idea

 

[The World Is Flat]

It was char in sc2.

Maybe.... it could work, but thats if a dwarf campaign comes, which might not happen until later releases.

 

[PWH]

Of course it wouldn't, it'd need to be so epic, we had to save it for the last release

But just wondering, will the first 2-3 missions in a campaign be "nuff stuff" as I call it? (Driving a few demons away while outnumbering them ten times or something?)

 

[The World Is Flat]

The first campaigns in kalimdor with the humans wont even feature the demons, and they will be basic mission.s

 

[Grey Nightmare]

Yes, the first few missions should be on the slow side.
The need to familiarise the player with not only the world, but the events and characters that must be drawn upon later.

 

[PWH]

So something like securing fields, getting resources ect.?

 

[The World Is Flat]

Ya... about.

 

[rcshaggy]

Hoping for some skins/models for Starcraft II for our well known races fighting in the great Fourth War.

 

[The World Is Flat]

Sc2 is gonig to be updated with a massive repetoir of models from wow and wc3, so not many new ones, most likley all the heroes, and a few unique models.

 

[JetFangInferno]

Are you talking about the new models from Blizzard's own Dota?

 

[SasuhKun]

Yep.

 

[The World Is Flat]

And they promised to add wow and wc3 content dicimilar from that modification.

 

[pangahas]

I was wondering if anyone is into this kind of art style for WC4..its me experimenting,I handpainted the texture.I'm not so sure though if the outline shader can be recreated in the SC2 engine.Hope you dig

 

[The World Is Flat]

Link wont work for me

That would be really, Really cool, that would be an awesoem art style. Unfortunalty i know very little about sc2 shaders... i love the art.

 

[pangahas]

Link wont work for me

That would be really, Really cool, that would be an awesoem art style.

Yup..cartoony like the original WC3 & at the same time gritty with the sketchy lines & all that..Thing is I don't know how to do the pencil sketchy texture for the shadows in real time.

 

[The World Is Flat]

We need to figure this out.

 

[Grey Nightmare]

That would be pretty darn epic, yeah I see what you meant now.. the kinda borderlands style!

Cel-shading?

Found this (it's completely illegible to me, but maybe you'll understand it pang); http://www.konlabs.com/articles_data/cel_shading/index.htm

Example of a Cel-Shaded RTS

 

[pangahas]

Just a crazy idea- maye there's a way to filter the whole screen, get only the shadowed parts & like have the pencil sketchy texture over it set to multiply mode or something like in Photoshop..haha..the next Best thing I could think of is just to apply the texture all over the diffuse\Base texture..It's just that I don't like it that way ,I prefer the sketchy texture to only appear on the shaded parts..

 

[The World Is Flat]

Way out of my leauge, is it possibleto change the shadow texture itself?

 

[WherewolfTherewolf]

Idk much about the graphical possibilities of Sc2, but if Cell Shading is possible then definitely go with it - it'd be pretty unique compared to other games. Cell shaded games always seemed to have more character to them imo anyways

Example of a Cel-Shaded RTS

Lol, that's not an RTS though

 

[Grey Nightmare]

Tiny white lie there... ok it LOOKS like an RTS

 

[The World Is Flat]

I would definetly go with it if we could cellshade it.

My goal is to finish this project for sc2, but as far as what the team does afterwards, well, we might be skipping that engine all together and actually going on and making our own real indie games.

 

[WherewolfTherewolf]

Cool, though if ditch the sc2 engine afterward, you might as well ditch the wc/sc lore while your at it

 

[The World Is Flat]

Obviously the promised expansions would be released, and in sc2 aswell.

Other games tthat the team may or may not want to make may or may not be on the sc2 or wc3 engine.

 

[Reaper51]

Hello twify hows it going. Mmm whats all this then cell shading and making your own engine? Do tell what you have been doing over the past month. Any new plans and major team members?