They're in the Trees 001

Summary:

"The Kaldorei are not nice. They're intolerant, savage, spiteful warriors of nature."

Waking up as a young Night Elf Druid, son to Tyrande & Malfurion, Turion Stormrage is just in time to witness the destruction of the Well of Eternity, whilst Malfurion & most other druids have gone into a slumber, and the war against the demons has devistated the land.

Purify the corruption, dominate the Orc, form your own faction with the Tauren, Furbolgs, Harpies, Moonkin, and cleanse the Barrens. The Night Elves will not play second banana to a man who was a gladiatorial slave for half his life, nor to a young emotionally compromised mage. As one of four primary factions from Warcraft 3, they will not become servants of the Alliance or the Horde.

Ishnu-alah, the elves are in the trees.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Opening his eyes, he was met with a verdant landscape covered in giant trees, lush greenery, and a peaceful ambience deep within his bones. 

A tiny blue wisp flew by his head, disappearing into the starlit night sky. 

The wonder, however, was not to last, as the scent of smoke met his nose, and the distant whine of saws entered his ears. 

Standing upon a small hill, his attention was drawn towards the distance several miles away. His eyes at that moment were particularly keen, and he could barely make out muscular green bodies laboring away, destroying the forested land, transforming it into a barren wasteland. Their work was brutal in nature, leaving not even any roots behind, eliminating any potential for future regrowth. 

Despite the devastation, what was most striking of all was a tattered red banner, one that held a brutal symbol in the center. 

That flag could only mean one thing, it was the: 

Horde. 

Upon witnessing this, the dawn's sun slowly began to rise, and deep brutal horns resounded throughout the valley he found himself in. The green figures began to rapidly scramble about, shout, and prepare for war. 

At that moment, memories pierced his mind like a migraine, and this man from Earth absorbed them like a sponge absorbs water. 

His name was Turion Stormrage, son of Tyrande & Malfurion. A Night Elf twenty years of age, and a Druid novice, he had come here, to Warsong Gulch to prove himself. Scrappy, and full of youthful ignorance, the foolish boy had wanted to step up whilst his father, and almost all of the other Druids who supported him were trapped within the Emerald Dream. 

Lost in an endless slumber, the co-leader of the Night Elves, Malfurion Stormrage, could no longer act in his capacity as a ruler. Therefore, the man who was slowly poisoning Malfurion, and was somewhat insane after his son's death-Fandral Staghelm-was now the co-leader of the Night Elves, alongside Turion's mother, Tyrande Whisperwind. 

As a Druid, Turion was nominally under command of Fandral, and due to his overeagerness, had been placed at the very furthest front lines. In other words, this noob idiot was expected to die. Just like Fandral's own son. The ancient bastard was probably hoping that his death would drive Tyrande insane, and exact some sort of twisted ‘karmic justice.’ 

In terms of the timeline, it should be somewhere between the end of Warcraft 3, and the start of Classic WoW. 

Fortunately, when Turion considered the awful reality he had found himself in, a System activated. It was remarkably similar to the WoW interface, but also drastically different at the same time. 

[Name: Turion Stormrage 

Class: Druid 

Level: 11

EXP to 12: 0/12,000

Mana: 10  

Regen: 1 mana per minute

Wrath: A nature spell that explodes upon contact with the enemy

Healing Touch: A direct healing spell

Moonfire: An instant arcane damage-over-time (DoT) spell that burns with holy-arcane fire 

Mark of the Wild: A stat-buffing spell that provides a one-hit shield

Thorns: A damage-reflecting buff

Entangling Roots: A crowd-control root spell

Rejuvenation: A periodic healing-over-time (HoT) spell

Nature Speak: A passive that allows communication with trees/beasts

Bear Form: 

Maul: Empower claws with supernatural ferocity 

Growl: Taunts others, can cause fear in weaker lifeforms

Talent Points: (3) 

Talents: N/A

Quests (Repeatable) 

Heal 1 Ft Corrupted Environment 0/1

Plant 1 Tree 0/1

Nurture a Tree to Adulthood 0/1

Save an Animal 0/1

Heal a Plant 0/1 

Hunt, Consume & Use ALL an animal's parts 0/1

Kill an Enemy of Nature 0/1 

Reward 500exp each

Upon seeing all of this information, it was quite overwhelming. For one, that mana situation was so dismal, he didn't even want to look at it. Without the Well of Eternity, was this what had become of the Night Elves???

Well, it wasn't all bad, as it appeared he had all of the same spells as a level 11 Druid from WoW. Unlike the base game, however, he also had 3 talent points at level 11, instead of just 1. Ordinarily, there were three branching talent trees for him to invest in. Normal gamers would min-max, and all in on one talent tree…however, in his case, it appeared that although he had 3 talent points, he could only put one point into one tree at a time. Meaning if he ever reached a ‘late game’ level, all three talent trees could be filled to the max! 

Other features of his System included a 24 slot inventory space-that could hold weapons, armor, clothing, materials & miscellaneous objects smaller than a demon's head-and a profile window where he could view his equipment. There was also a map and reputation feature. 

Among his equipment, the only thing special he had on him was a necklace gifted by his mother. 

[Elune's Tear]: Heals one fatal injury. After use, must rest in a Moonwell for a month before being used again. 1/1

Now that was a nice piece of gear! 

Lastly, a rating system floated at the edge of his vision, revealing the path of advancement in this world: 

Common (1-10) (average infantry) 

Advanced (11-25) (squad leaders) 

Elite (26-40) (low tier officers) 

Heroic (41-60) (high tier officers) 

Epic Hero (61-80) (Generals/Army Leaders) 

Legendary (81-90) (low tier faction leaders) 

Mythic (91-99) (high tier faction leaders) 

Demigod (100) (Aspects/Titan Keepers/Old Gods)

Starting off at level 11, it appeared he was in the Advanced bracket. Before he had time to freak out due to his transmigration, or gather himself further, a shadow had approached him from behind. 

“Come, young Stormrage, the Commander has called for you to withdraw.” A strong looking woman dressed in dark red/black leather armor placed an iron grip on his shoulder. 

“Lynore, of course.” Turion nodded, recognizing her as the personal guard that his mother had demanded follow him. 

When he focused upon her, he saw a portrait depicting her name, health status, mana capacity, and level. At level 59, she was a bonafide Hero unit, and close to promoting to the next tier! Turion tried to recall where he had heard her name in the game, but there were just so many NPC's, it was impossible to remember them all. 

Marching along the raised hill, and walls of Silverwing Hold, he passed by countless female warriors. Standing at a staggering 7ft on average, and brimming with lithe muscle, these women were extremely intimidating. Fortunately? Turion had inherited his father’s physique, and was built like a refrigerator with biceps that could make any bodybuilder blush. Apparently these were the lore-accurate Night Elves, and not those sissies from WoW. 

Not that his build mattered for much, as the warriors he saw upon the wall were all either in their high level 20's or were Elites. There wasn't a single ‘average infantry’ warrior among them. To add to their deadliness, their weapons gleamed pale white with enchantments, and their aura was sharpened to an extreme edge. 

Amongst them, there were a few handful of male warriors here and there, but they were a rarity. Ever since the Well of Eternity was destroyed, and the Night Elves suffered catastrophic losses, more and more men were dawning their old gear. Without Druids on the field-the most common male dominated role in N-Elf society-the army needed to make up the numbers somehow. 

That being said, despite their Advanced & Elite status, there were only a few hundred Night Elves present. Meanwhile, thousands of Orcs had gathered in the distance, making up for their lack of talent with sheer numbers. In general, the Night Elf population was larger, given that the Orcs had to cross the ocean. However, not every Night Elf was a combatant, where as 90% of Orcs could be given a weapon, and would be happy to fight. 

Marched by his bodyguard into the central war room, Turion-as the child of the High Priestess of the Moon-was expected to listen, and not speak. 

Inside, there was a large map in the center, depicting the south western portion of Ashenvale & their location-the Silverwing Hold-and its incredibly important strategic position in the south east of Ashenvale, guarding the entrance to the wooden domain from the Orcs and their land, the Barrens. 

About a dozen Elite officers were surrounding a level 61 Epic Hero, who was going over some final details. Standing taller than even Turion, the beautiful ancient warrior sported braided white hair, and had a fierce aura. A companion to his mother, this woman was over 10,000 years old, and was like an aunt to him. Her name was: Haldrissa Woodshaper, and she was the leader of the local armed forces, Commander of the Silverwing Sentinels. 

Upon his entry, she spared a glance, but continued to speak with her officers in hushed whispers. 

“It is confirmed then, the Orcs will begin their assault within half an hour. Sisters, the slaughterers of Cenarius, the Warsong Clan have come to do battle once more. Their leader, the cousin to that foul murderer is known as Drum'ga Hellscream. He leads a host of about 3,000 Orc Warriors, a dozen Ogres, 20 Tauren Warriors, 200 wolf riders, 500 Troll spear throwers, and a dozen catapults.

In contrast, we have 600 archers, 300 sabercat riders, 150 male Sentinel Warriors, 50 Dryad's, 24 glaive throwers, a pair of Chimera, and a Mountain Giant. Reinforcements are on their way from Astranaar, however, they are light in number, and cannot spare much manpower lest they fail in their own defense. Therefore, we must hold out until nightfall where they shall ambush the enemy from the rear, and once we sally forth, we shall rout them.” Haldrissa concisely explained. “Sisters, you know the price of failure. Elune-Adore, may the moon mother guide your bows.” 

She then began to assign the various Captains & Lieutenants to their posts, giving encouraging words along the way. Her adjutant, the sole Hero Sentinel under her command, shared a look with Haldrissa, then swiftly departed. 

Before long, there were only five people left within the war room. Turion, Lynore a level 59 Warden, Haldrissa, a level 40 Priestess of the Moon, and a level 50 Druid. 

Besides Turion, the rest of them represented 4/5ths of the high end combat power gathered at Silverwing Hold. 

The Druid had big bushy eyebrows, and nearly manic glowing yellow-lit eyes. He sternly glanced at Turion, then beckoned him to follow. “Come, child, we will counter their Shaman together.” 

Nominally speaking, this Druid was Turion's mentor, but from his memories, he hadn't actually been taught anything. In fact, he appeared to be half insane, prone to muttering, and emotional outbursts. All of those spells Turion knew were results from the System, and treating this guy as a teacher or mentor figure was idiocy. This unstable guy with a scowl on his face was a creature belonging to Fandral, and doubtlessly was told to be as tough with Turion as much as possible. In essence, being dragged along to ‘fight’ this Shaman was literally suicide. Only a fool would follow such a command. 

“He is just a boy.” The white robed Priestess of the Moon stepped forward, attempting to soothe matters over, and spoke in a soft tone. 

“And unlike the rest of our youth, is protected by a Hero. A strategic asset like that is needed on the battlefield. Flowers that remain within the glasshouse shall wither & wilt away. Only when the thorns have tasted blood can they grow sharper.” The Druid said with a stern look. 

“I am Commander of this base, not you. Whilst I fought demons to free our people, you, Druid, hadn't drawn breath for several thousand years.” She said in a strong tone, then turned to the child of her friend. “Turion, although you are not assigned to my unit, this theater of war is under my purview. Out of respect for your mother, I leave the choice to you.” Haldrissa said, looking like she might knife the Druid if he so much as said another word. 

The Druid held his tongue, but a haughty, confident sneer covered his face. This was not the first time he had spoken like this to Turion. The youth of the past had fallen for such rhetoric time & time again. Growing up on tales of his parents’ legendary feats, he had been eager to prove himself, and had been willing to undergo any hardship if it meant earning their love & respect. 

Poor kid was traumatized by his father, who spoke in riddles, never smiled, and had a dark fury hidden beneath that veneer of calm. Meanwhile, his mother was extremely over protective, and wouldn't even let him climb trees. Despite this, it was a fact that Tyrande & Malfurion were the most important, strongest beings in Night Elf society. Imagine being a kid trying to live up to those expectations? Therefore, the Turion of the past had always buckled under this kind of pressure. 

Now, however? Seeing that he hadn't learned a damn thing from this sanctimonious old man, Turion didn't plan on listening to him any further. What he was about to do next wasn't very intelligent, at least, if he were to speak to a rational thousand+ year old, it would appear like nothing more than child's play. 

However. Night Elves were extremely temperamental people. Malfurion almost drowned the entire zone of Ashenvale with his tears, so sorrowful was he. Tyrande nearly killed herself collapsing a bridge trying to eliminate the enemy. Illidan spent 10,000 years in prison, and never reformed, seeking power at any cost. Maiev hunted Illidan down, sacrificing almost all of her companions, willing to sacrifice Tyrande for jealousy, all to satisfy her dark obsession. Night Elves, Turion rationalized, were irrational people. Age did not wizen them so much as made them more petty with time. It was no wonder-with attitudes like this-that these were the arrogant assholes who blew up the world in the first place so long ago. 

Furthermore, those who could be swayed by Fandral were those Druids who were extremely compromised, only one step away from falling. This so-called mentor was loopy, and unworthy of his loyalty. In his mind, it was better to create a rift now, and firmly align himself with the loyalists belonging to his mother's camp. 

“That's okay Aunt Haldrissa, I'll defend this base.” Turion said, unwilling to sit in what was essentially a bunker whilst free exp was out there to be taken. 

Haldrissa sighed, and looked down, as if she had failed Tyrande, the woman she viewed as a big sister. 

“Heh. Come along then, boy.” The Druid twirled around towards the exit, only to stop when Turion didn't follow. 

“But I'll do so in my own way.” Turion added, smiling at the somewhat downcaste ancient woman. 

“Careful, child. To break from your mentor at a critical stage like this means severing our student teacher bond. Think very carefully about your next words.” The Druid darkly intoned. 

Turion knowingly smirked, and shooed the man away dismissively, intent to sever ties with this irrational actor, and start his own path. “Go, brave one, the Orc Shaman will not wait. Or perhaps you would like to explain to my mother why you fled on the eve of battle?” 

The Druid grit his teeth at the backhanded threat, and then, unable to mask his scowl, transformed into a hawk, and rapidly flew out of the conference room. 

“Whilst I admire your courage, Turion, severing this bond is no small feat. I fear Fandral will not assign a new mentor to you at this time…nor would your father should he have heard your lip.” The ever serious Haldrissa somewhat grimaced, but then had a small smile grace her lips. “However, I am proud of the way you stood up for yourself, and will tell Tyrande such.” 

“Perhaps this is providence. A powerful aurora shone down upon the Moonwell when the young one was born. The crescent briefly formed upon his forehead at the time, this is proof that he is her favored. Perhaps…” The Priestess muttered to herself, but perhaps only Lynore heard, as the two ‘nephew’ and ‘aunt’ were busy speaking to one another. 

“Do not worry, Aunt Haldrissa, I have my own means.” Turion replied in a confident tone. 

Then, focusing upon a spell, he lifted a hand, and instantly cast [Mark of the Wild] on Haldrissa. This buff added absolute protection from one Advanced tier attack, then enhanced her Strength, Agility, Stamina, and Intellect by a small amount. 

After expending the mana, he could quickly spam about 9 more spells before running out of energy. With his current gear & life rating, it would take ten minutes to fully recharge. Which wasn't actually that bad if he also regen'd mana during combat. Compared to native residents, it was a straight up cheat code. However, once he gassed himself, he'd have to resort to other means of attack…like transforming into a bear, which interestingly enough, didn't cost anything.  

“I also know several healing, offensive, and debilitating spells.” Turion said in a hurry, worried that Haldrissa would still try to keep him at the very back. 

The Silverwing Sentinel Commander stared at him with a deep look, and then sighed quietly to herself. “So much like his Uncle…” Then she squared her shoulders, and looked at him like she would any other soldier, and not her friend's child. “There are a pair of Ancient Protectors-one on the east flank, the other on the west-that have gone dormant due to past conflicts. Your former mentor refused to heal them, claiming he was reserving mana for his duel with the Shaman. You're the only other Druid on hand, and nature magic is the only cure. Accept this assignment, Turion Stormrage, and may Elune guide you.” 

Haldrissa saluted, and then sent him on his way. The ancient Commander pensively stared at his back, and then towards the map once more. An invisible weight pressed down upon her shoulders. This would be the first time a host this large would clash with them since the Battle for Mt. Hyjal. Two years had passed since then, and the Orcs & Kaldorei had assassinated one another, and fought deadly skirmishes in the woods, finally culminating in this first step towards war. 

Now, however, the Orcs had advanced to this point, and she would not let them take a single step further. 

“Ishnu-alah, Turion, Ishnu-alah.” 

~~~~~

[Timed Quest: Restore the Ancient Protectors Before Nightfall 0/2 Reward: 20,000 exp] 

Seeing that a timed quest had popped up, then faded from view as Haldrissa assigned him a task, Turion nodded to himself, glad that there were alternate means to leveling up besides his repeat quests. 

Leaving the meeting room, he saw dust fall from the rafters, and then a distant-yet all too near-boom shook the foundations of the fortress. This sound, and subtle tremor was followed up by 11 more. 

Turion's eyes widened as he realized that the attack had already begun. The Horde were besieging Silverwing Hold. Without wasting any more time, he jogged out of the keep, and had a good look at the area. 

Silverwing Hold was a relatively small fortress sitting upon a tiny hillside, with a mountain to its flank. At the back was a central keep with its own porticulus, and was essentially a tall tower standing at about four stories high. Going outward, there was a small base surrounded by a horizontal wall. When facing the fortress, there was a large ramp to the right, sort of like the ramp leading to Helms Deep in LOTR. In the middle, at the base of the hill was a tunnel gate that sloped upward inside the earth & into the base. This served as the primary entrance/exit, and was relatively narrow, making defense with small numbers a viable strategy. Meanwhile, the ramp on the right was sloped, and the Night Elves had prepared barrels full of slippery solutions to be dumped upon the invaders. Anyone who had seen a Japanese game show would understand the power of a sloped surface, and slippery liquid. Compound that with fierce arrow fire, and a dense press of soldiers, and falling down would be only a matter of time. 

With two towers on the east & west sections of the wall to complete the defense, this was the layout of Silverwing Hold. 

Meanwhile, the Orcs had constructed a large amount of wooden ladders, and it seemed they were intent on assaulting the tunnel & stairs, whilst also using their numbers advantage to scale the hill/walls. With so many attackers, the Night Elf forces were stretched thin. The advantage of defending such a narrow corridor appeared like it wouldn't be enough. 

Furthermore, a giant stone Earth Elemental-about the size of a giraffe-was slowly taking form. The guttural chants of the Orc Shaman resounded across the valley beneath the fortress, making Turion's blood run cold. 

‘No, I must heal the Ancient Protectors. Even if it's not enough, I refuse to cower in the hold and do nothing!’

Resolving himself to resist the Orc, and prove himself useful to his new people, Turion ran towards the west side of the fortress first. This section received the least amount of attention from the enemy, and was also the least guarded, as reaching this portion involved scaling the sharp, vertical hillside. 

However, these ladders were clearly lacking in the intelligence reports, and tons of Orc Warriors-aka Grunts-were charging forward with gusto. As if whoever scaled this portion first would receive a reward. 

The Warsong Clansmen began to cry out in their old tongue, screaming a chant meant to discourage enemies, and rally morale. 

“WO LO LO!”

“WO LO LO!!”

“WO LO LO!!!” 

The sonic blast of a thousand Orcs charging at the western hillside were particularly harsh to Turion's elven ears, making him-for the first time-truly become angered by the greenskins. 

Hastening his step, he bypassed several dozen sisters who were picking and choosing their victims. Each twang of the bow determined the fate of someone. The bigger or more scarred an Orc, the more hatred he generated from the Night Elves. 

Typically, a volley swarm was the ideal method for taking out a large massed army. The brave English longbowmen proved how psychologically damaging a rain of arrows could be. However, unfortunately, the numbers disparity was too great. If the vaunted Kaldorei archers were to focus upon any one section-the ramp, tunnel, west/east/central wall-than any one of those areas could become overrun, resulting in a melee. Therefore, these Advanced & Elite archers were going after the most threatening of the bunch. 

Their bows were coated in a thin white film, revealing their enchantments. Likewise, their arrows were made of a special wood, made to be denser than iron. Many of the rangers understood a spell or two, and injected their mana into the ranged attacks. Arcane Arrows powered by a trace of spell power, Multi-Shot split one arrow into five, and Serpent Sting let loose with a magical poison. These enhanced attacks were effective against armor, multiple opponents, and those big Orcs that refused to die no matter how many bolts pierced their skin. 

Despite all this, the vaunted archers had barely kept the first wave from slamming their ladders down onto the hillside. 

Adrenaline fueling his stride, Turion eventually made it towards a funny looking tree. Appearing like an old man crouched in a fetal position-except made of leaves, branches & vines-he came across a 2-story tall guardian of the forest, a treant classified as an Ancient Protector. Just outside the wall, and on the hillside, this treant was barely within range for his spell. 

When he focused upon it, he was given a nameplate, and could see how much HP was remaining. 

[Ancient Protector LVL: 40. HP: 400/5,000 (dormant)] 

Running up to it, Turion activated [Healing Touch]. Juggling his hands left & right, nature energy suffused his form, granting him a brief, slightly stronger connection to the world. After about 2.5 seconds, a green light rained down upon the massive tree. 

HP 400 -> 500 

Turion was this figure, and despaired. It was going to take FORTY FIVE more casts of [Healing Touch] to restore this Ancient Protector. Or-after he blew his current mana reserves-about 35 minutes of nonstop healing. 

In the grand scheme of things, that was actually a relatively short amount of time, given that Aunt Haldrissa wanted to counterattack at night…however, watching the ladder runners desperately throwing themselves forward, and the AFK Druid hiding out Elune knew where, Turion felt like he had to do something drastic. 

He was going to cheat. 

What was the one thing that made Night Elves so fucking annoying to attack? Yes, the shadow meld invisibility, amazing warrior women, insane bow skills, and savage Druids were all lethal weapons, but there was one thing that the Kaldorei had that other factions could only dream of. 

That's right, they were: 

Moonwells. 

Shrines filled with water blessed by the Priestesses of the Moon, and the Goddess Elune herself, these pools of water held miraculous properties. Curing illness, healing lethal wounds, and restoring mana. 

These shrines were enough to make any attacker 404 and rage quit. What's that, the immortal, insanely skilled warrior women who are taller, stronger, and smarter than me also heal when stabbed, slashed or zapped?! Moonwells were such a toxic, strategic anomaly that even if Night Elves were numerically disadvantaged, they had something to rely upon. 

Typically, only a Priestess of the Moon could dispense this power remotely, otherwise one had to manually bathe in its waters to receive its benefits. From a strategic perspective, this was one of the reasons why the Priestess of the Moon was such a critical position for any military base. But seeing as Turion had already ran here, running back to the keep-where the Silverwing Hold Moonwell resided-would take about ten minutes there & back. Twenty minutes of wasted time. 

Therefore! He would pull upon the Moonwell himself. As a child, Turion was practically a momma's boy, and had learnt more from her than his father, who was perma sleeping in the Emerald Dream. And one of the things he just so happened to pick up with ease was this connection! 

Blasting through his current reserve of mana, Turion instantly replenished himself, then cast [Healing Touch] over and over again. 

HP 500 -> 1,000 -> 2,500 (stabilized) -> 5,000

What should have taken 35 minutes was resolved in approximately 1 minute, and 12.5 seconds. 

As soon as the last green glow flowed upon the Ancient Protector, the treant shook himself awake, and blinked his wide bell-like eyes tiredly. 

Initiating the passive, [Nature Speak], Turion-who was standing upon the wall-met the nature spirit's gaze at eye level. “Greetings, forest friend. My name is Turion Stormrage. The little green animals-Orcs-their wolf mounts, and pale fleshy round ones-Ogres-have desecrated nature. Please aid us in our time of need.” He said in a humble tone, bowing before the mighty tree. 

“Storm-rage. Now that. Is. A name. I have not heard. In a long. Time.” The treant slowly stated over the course of one agonizingly long minute. “Have the demons. Been. Defeated. Sapling?” 

Turion was growing anxious, yet showed none of it, retaining a respectful exterior. “They are the spawn of demons, ancient one, they desecrate the land.” He said, pointing out onto the horizon, across Warsong Gulch, and at the barren landscape of the Horde fortress. 

At that moment, a row of ladders locked into place on the hillside, and about a dozen Orcs-braving the arrowstorm-made it up, and began to crazily chop at several thick wooden trees that acted as the final obstacle before reaching the walls. 

“THEN LET IT BE WAR.” The treant's voice boomed in an ancient, gravelly tone. The words were not in any civilized language, but the meaning was universally understood beyond species. 

A dense lifefilled aura spread forth, emboldening the Night Elves, and discouraging the Orcs. 

Reaching down towards the soil beneath his rooted feet, the Protector grasped at the ground, and then channeled his mana. A thick dirt clod brimming with earth magic was pulled from the ground, and yet the soil beneath him did not decrease in size, showcasing the magic of this technique. Holding it above his head, the treant then tossed this boulder at that group of Orcs. 

Exploding like a cannonball, the magic clod of dirt was full of shrapnel, and a powerful concussive force. When the cloud of dust dispersed, five Grunts were dead, two were crippled, and the remainder suffered minor wounds. 

Taking about 15 seconds to form, aim, and throw the shot. In other words, this form of artillery was equivalent to that of a peak cannonier's performance! 

Witnessing this awe inspiring scene, Turion completed the repeatable quest: Heal a Plant 1/1. Earning 500 exp. The old quest was replaced with Heal a Plant 0/5 Reward: 1,000 exp. 

However, he didn't have much time to enjoy this exp gain, as even despite turning this-what was essentially an automatic defense turret-online, the damned greenskins were still coming! 

“WO LO LO LO LO!!” The Warsong scream rang forth, and a fierce red bloodlusted light flowed from their eyes. 

The surviving Orcs who had made it onto the hillside had managed to get two more ladders up, and 5 were climbing towards Turion with madness suffusing their forms. 

Feeling a hint of panic, Turion noticed a conspicuous lack of arrowfire around him at that moment, as well as the disappearance of his bodyguard. Perhaps if he were paranoid, he would think this was a setup. However, he was more inclined to believe Lynore had pulled back on purpose, letting this relatively low stakes life or death opportunity serve as a test! 

If he failed, Turion envisioned that the no-nonsense Rogue would stuff him in Silverwing Hold's darkest dungeon if it meant keeping him safe. 

Taking a deep breath, he unleashed one of the instant cast spells he knew: [Moonfire]. 

A circular pillar of pure white holy-arcane energy about the size of a grown man fell from the sky upon an Orc…or at least, it struck the ground right next to him, as he missed. Gritting his teeth, and adjusting his aim, this time, Turion focused upon the nameplate of his foe, and saw his level, name, and HP. 

When he cast [Moonfire] this time-so long as his target was within 50ft-he felt like the spell was locked on. He couldn't miss! 

Releasing that column of pure white once more, the common soldier tier opponent had his skin fry, and fell down screaming whilst covered in burns. 

Witnessing the fate of their comrade, the four other Orcs double timed it, scaling the wall at super-human speeds. Lumbering over the wall's crenellations, one Orc came face first with [Wrath]. With a 2.5 second channeling spell, Turion unleashed a green concussive blast onto the first Grunt, sending him flying backwards, and to his doom. 

The other three Orcs hefted themselves up, and ran at him with axes out. Quickly scanning them, he figured they were level 5, 5, and 6 respectively. Theoretically easy for him to defeat, but without any buffs, an axe to the chest-even from a so-called lower lifeform-would be lethal. 

There was but three seconds to react before the first one would reach him. Activating [Moonfire] to the one on the right, he then instacast [Mark of the Wild] on himself, and then instacast [Bear Form]. 

Transforming into a wild, bulky, purplish bear that was just as tall on all fours as an Orc, he ran at them with an animalistic roar. The second he transformed into this animal form, his enhanced hearing diminished, but his sense of smell, and raw power became greatly enhanced. Meanwhile, all of his mana converted into another energy system, the one all Warriors used to fuel their impossible feats: Primal Rage. A different subsect of mana, Primal Rage tapped into the breath of all life, and generated more power the more one fought. It was simple, barbaric, and extremely lethal. 

Swiping his claws at an incoming axe, the metal and nature's weapon brought up sparks. The clash, however, was brief, as his Advanced tier Bear Form was simply too powerful in terms of raw strength. Forcing one meaty paw forward, Turion battered aside the axe, and scored a wicked deep rake of claws across the Grunt's chest. 

Credit where credit was due, the Warrior did not buckle or fall over, but instead leaned into Turion, and gripped him tightly, giving his everything to bind him in place. 

Meanwhile, the other Warrior had finally made his move, and was stabbing at Turion's eye with a spear. The blade met a faint pink shield-the Mark of the Wild-that was coating his form. Yet every second that passed, the dim pink barrier began to bend & crack. It was clear as day that this situation could not last! 

Seeing that his Primal Rage bar had slowly increased until reaching about 20% full, Turion-who had his arm trapped-activated one of his skills. 

[Growl] let loose with a fierce taunt, and for a single second, jolted the Orc's grip loose as the effect against lower tiers activated. 

Consuming 10% of his rage bar, he then used the remaining 10% with [Maul]. 

A thin, ethereal red strand of energy coated his claw, and as he swiped it from left to right, the range of the attack exceeded 5ft, slashing into both Grunts. The power behind this attack was incredibly savage, completely disemboweling Orc #1, and taking Orc #2's arm off. 

Despite this loss, the spear wielding Warrior shouted out the Warsong warcry, and shoved forward, breaking through the last resistance of the [Mark of the Wild]. However, Turion wasn't static, and had already begun to lunge forward. With his claws down towards the ground, he had no choice but to bite his way out of this situation. 

Opening his jaws wide, he extended his head forward, and crunched down. 

The greenskin's neck collapsed, and a pungent scent entered his nostrils. Turion barely resisted the urge that was pulsing through his heart…the urge to consume flesh. 

When a Druid took on the form of a creature, some of that creature took on the Druid's psyche. And to a bigass bear, these Orcs were a source of protein! Shaking his furry, bloody maw, Turion didn't have much time to rest, as more and more ladders began to clang down one after another. 

Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for battle…night could not come soon enough. 

~~~~~~~

AN: You guys know the drill. More likes = higher chance of being continued. I plan to release a chapter every Friday for October, then we'll see where we're at after that.