They met on the field of battle.
The pale green grass underneath sabers’ paws and horses’ hooves barely mattered to the soldiers gathering, though far ahead of the impatient units, a lean but broad-shouldered night elf was petting the ground with one open hand. Beside him a dark-haired man with enough scratchy hair on his face some might call it a beard waited for his assessment of the earth below their feet. Over three rises and three matching slopes, the soldiers could see the opposing, waiting army standing on a tall hill strewn with jagged boulders and ogre bones.
As if it could not grow any more bizarre, a Tauren was sitting noticeably on the ground far, far ahead of them with a scowling, pacing Forsaken circling her. The duality was dumbly apparent, but no one on either side cared: they were there to fight, not to compare motivations or life stories. Easily enough, the rage from years of abuse came up to the surface seeing their enemy so nearby.
Nonetheless, both druids on each hill spoke inaudibly to their leaders, and each general responded in fairly similar ways. The human in his heavy plate armor threw down his helm and stormed back to his men to explain the situation. The Forsaken merely stood her ground near the Tauren for a few moments before nodding quite slightly then moved to her soldiers. Her gestures were absolutely mild compared to the general across the way; he looked like his undershirt had caught on fire whereas she simply gestured once, then twice, then her unit split up to make camp.
However, the Alliance had long grown restless through the hours on the highlands, and not all followed orders to set up tents and start fires for dinner.
