When Worlds Collide - A short story (still in progress) by me

[Muridin]

When Worlds Collide.

Prologue
Two worlds. Floating through space, in a peaceful bliss, unaware of their counterparts. One, the magical world of Azeroth, sistering Draenor. The other Naja-Gall.

Azeroth held a dark past, shrouded in war and hate, bound by the Twisting Nether to its magical existence. Thousands of wars, wars have been fought over racial conflicts, extermination and domination. After 50 000 thousand years of conflict, the world seemed to settle to a dull stupor. Every living being in the living and dead world seemed to just coincide peacefully. The Alliance and The Horde, giving up their hatred, forming into one huge bi-continental coalition to work for the greater good for the living world and preserving history for future generations.

Naja-gall, is suffering constant conflict. Humanity spreading their disease all over the world, for thousands of years upon the earth, slowly turning the once beautiful, lush, emerald forests into cities of metallic grey, twisting towards the darkened light. Society reached a peak in the Naja-Gallian year 1268, when the fighting stopped. The hate for others of different skin colours ceased, and a utopian society built itself it upon the ashes of the burning ruins of the old humanity.

Azeroth and Naja-Gall. Two different worlds. Different life cycles, bound to the ever shifting universe by the Twisting Nether. A sudden dimensional pull, and the worlds, trillions of miles away from each other join as one.







Chapter 1.
The beginning.

The early morning fog rolled in from the Great Sea as the sun was edging over the horizon, shining a pale light casting colossal shadows. The sentry, was pacing the inner-city walls as the citizens started to arouse to the new day.
The inn was full of weary travellers, on their way to the elven lands over the sea.  The keep, full of recruits for the Alliance, was awake long before the sun had risen, and had started their daily training in the marshlands.

As muddy recruits make their way over the marshes, platoon sergeants bellow orders far from reachable. By the time the furnaces were lit in the blacksmith for a new day of business, the recruits bee-line their way back to the keep for the morning meals.

Waking to a bird singing out his window, Mountaineer Niridum rose slowly from his bed, a hazy dream slipping from his memory. As Nidirum washes his face in the water basin by his window, he looks out onto the nearby river flowing down from the mountains. A small, beaten track lays among the bushes, and todays’ assignment for him is to climb that track, and take over for the guardsmen on the tower at the end.

After Nidirum finished dressing, he doned his cloak and hood, both of the emerald green colour of the Mountaineers. He left his room, and locked it. Descending down the stairs, he could hear the inn staff fussing over the mornings’ breakfast. Honey sweetened crocolisk steak and poached raptors’ egg. The smell made him hungry, but he wasn’t allowed to sit down and eat.

At the site of Nidirum, the innkeeper motions for him to come to him. Nidirum walks over puzzled.
“Listen ‘ere lad,” the innkeeper starts to say,” there’s a great brekkie this mornin’. Sit down and have a bite!”
“Unfortunately, I’m on important business. Please give me what I’ve ordered. “ Nidirum answers.
The innkeeper, while looking hurt at the blatant refusal of his meal, hands over the silk bag, and proceeded to shoo him away like a nasty beggar in Stormwind.

Ahh, he will get over it, Nidirum thought.
Walking out of the inn, the sun was settled over the marshes, and the skies predicted a warm, humid day. A bad day for hiking. Nidirum thought of unhooking his ram, and riding him up, but with great reluctance left it there, as the track twists all of a sudden at one point, and the large ram might fall, and kill them both.

As Nidirum started along the high mountain path, storm clouds were gliding down from the plains of old Lordaeron. As quickly as the high lords of Azeroth can count their money, the storm had settled down over the marshes, wrecking small boats docked at the harbour nearby. The mountain path was a small river, making the climb up even harder. Around high noon, when the storm still had some gusto level to that of a woman in love, the then drenched dwarf sought refuge in a small crevice. It was damp, and cold, but protected from the winds and rain. As he lit a small fire to dry his self, the denizens of Menethil Harbour were too ducking for cover. As rain pelted against century old windows, another storm, was yet brewing.

As Menethil Harbour was being rocked of one storm, yet another was pounding the Naja-Gallian port city of High Lakchewn. The city was under cover of a hailstorm of epic proportions. As mortar and artillery shells knocked high buildings to rubble, and bullets perforated bodies.

Prophecy of old foretold a day of infamy, when all that is known to man, be brought down by its one creator.
High Lakchewn was the last bastion to the old world. Parks to meet the horizon, and the ocean as clear as the oncoming destruction of paradise.

As a seminary to the old world, the Kraakon Aristocrats, rulers of the city, built its city on the teachings of a prophet. The Emerald Plain, was a world of peace and prosperity, were all men were created equal, and petty squabbles between neighbours be settled with not a fight, but with talk.

High Lakchewn was the last pocket of resistance to the new world order. And much was yet to change.

As the very few embers of life were snuffed out, a new powerful force was awakening in the centre. Out of the ground rose an arch of marble black, and within the arch, a rift was opening.
On Azeroth, thousands of light specs away, the very same drift was starting to form out in Baradin Bay.

Little known what was happening, but as Niridum looked out into the sea, and the monks in High Kraakon looked to the city centre; much was changing, a mirage had appeared.

A demonic army was marching out but moving nowhere. Then there was an explosion, and all of the two worlds were sucked into ablivion.

[Tolwen]

gr8 job Mur! looking forward for the rest to come

[Gailzee]

Keep up the good work Mur!

[Blackjack]

nice mur!!

we used to have free writing class at school.. too bad they took it out 

i remember i always liked writing fantasy stories like the one u are.
cept i didn't know about WoW then or i might've already written your book 

[Muridin]

i actually finished the first chapter last night sometime, and ill re-post it later