The dull ache of exhausted muscles serves as a reminder that I am not capable of sustaining our defense indefinitely, and yet the onslaught shows no signs of relent. I fear rest will not come soon enough.

Taking a deep breath I focus my mind upon the task at hand, calling the force of nature itself to my aid. My breathing becomes sporadic and labored, my jaw aches from the sheer intensity with which I grit my teeth. Around me people are huddled together, the terror gripping their souls clearly evident as the abomination before us comes closer.

Scattered remains of each wave of putrid, deranged ghouls and constructs are piled around us, creating a nauseating stench that certainly invokes feelings of dread and despair.

The construct is almost upon us, barely noticing the blasts of nature’s energy I have unleashed upon it’s now charred skin. It roars, sending chills through even my battle-hardened spine.

From behind I hear a familiar roar, and a dark, feline form leaps onto the abomination’s head, rending and tearing it apart with a natural grace that only druid’s possess. A low, guttural, growl sounds like music to my ears as I seamlessly shift forms.

Throngs of scourge are visible on the horizon, rushing toward our position. The audible gasps and whimpers of the innocent, still huddled closely by my side, reveal their complete loss of hope at the sight of such a force. Almost instantaneously the air becomes so cold as to seem physically transformed into ice. Dread and despair are almost palpable, fear gripping hold of the souls of those around me.

My spirits soar, even in the wake of such apparently insurmountable odds appearing before us. Although no physical indication exists, I can feel our position being fortified by my brethren. The time has come for us to drive these vile creatures back from our lands, and the wrath of nature is not a force to be trifled with.

A startled cry from one of the children clinging to my leg brings a wry smile to my otherwise calm face. The sky grows almost pitch black, the sound of wings beating in unison almost deafening. The ground trembles as an almost perfectly synced roar erupts from the tree line. Eruptions of arcane and natural energies light up the battlefield, and the icy grip of death gives way to a warmth and comfort long since forgotten in these parts.

The scourge force is startled, freezing in its tracks. The fear that these people once felt is gone, turned back upon those before us. Even Arthas’s visage, visible in the distance, cannot bolster the former confidence his forces felt.

Night Elf and Tauren druids of all ages and experiences are visible, from the newest practitioners of the druidic ways to those remaining who are almost as old as Malfurion himself. Druids of the Claw, the Talon, the Wild… Druids of the Fang and Antler… even the Druids of the Grove. The balance of all things hangs by a thread, and Arthas cannot be allowed to upset the existence of all that we hold dear.

And so it begins.