Lost Lion
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Volume 3: Interlude 2
***Tirisfal Glade – Capital City ***
Anduin Lothar, Highlord of the combined forces of the Kingdom of Stormwind, stepped through the portal and into Lordaeron's Capital City. Upon his arrival, he was immediately greeted by a delegate accompanied by an entourage of royal guardsmen. The man leading them looked similar in age to Anduin himself. Though, where Anduin's hair was a dark brown with streaks of white, this man's hair was bright golden, with its own touches of silver showing through.
"Highlord Lothar!" the delegate leader greeted him warmly while the royal guardsmen stood at attention and pounded their fists to their breastplates in salute. "It is an honor to meet someone of your standing, my lord. I have been tasked by King Terenas to escort you to the war room."
"You are too kind, Lord..." Anduin trailed off deliberately.
"Ah, where are my manners? I am Lord Dorus of the Hillsbrad Foothills.".
The name struck a familiar chord for Lothar and soon, the connection came to him.
"You are the father of Turalyon."
"You honor me by knowing my son's name, my lord," Dorus replied, inclining his head cordially.
"My son spoke highly of yours, Lord Dorus," Anduin Lothar said. "He believes your son is an untapped talent who will surprise us all in the future."
"Truly?" Dorus asked in amazement. "Hierarch Callan said that of my son?"
"Aye. He sends me frequent letters, and in them, he not only speaks highly of your son but also considers him a friend," Lothar answered with a fond smile. "Did Turalyon not mention it?"
A pained look flashed across the nobleman's face.
"My son and I… are not as close as I would hope," Dorus admitted with a sigh before shaking his head. "Though, that is a personal matter. Now, if you would please follow me, I shall escort you to the war room."
"My apologies if I have offended," Lothar said, blinking as he realized there were issues between Dorus and his son.
"None taken," Dorus replied with a sad smile. He then stepped aside and gestured toward the carriage waiting for them. "This way, my lord."
Without further ceremony, Anduin followed the leader of the welcoming party into the carriage. His own guards were provided steeds so that they could bring up the rear, while the Lordaeron royal guards took up the front. Dorus did not sit with Lothar but instead rode at the head of the procession, a display meant to emphasize Lothar's importance to Lordaeron.
Lothar sighed at the unnecessary pomp and ceremony but understood its value in the north. Still, all the fanfare paled in comparison to hearing news about the outcome of his son's bold plan. And make no mistake—in Lothar's eyes, Callan's plan was incredibly risky.
Venturing that deep behind Horde lines with only two Alliance Legions and relying on Proudmoore's son's fleet for support? It was tactically dangerous, and Uther, a veteran knight, should have known better. Yet, apparently, Callan had more influence than Lothar had realized. His son had managed to convince not only Uther but the rest of the commanders to go along with the plan as well.
Now, finally, after weeks of uncertainty, King Terenas had sent word of the mission results. It was just one of many updates the King of Lordaeron shared about the ongoing war effort. While other kings, such as Genn Greymane or Perenolde, might have struggled with the distances separating their kingdoms, Stormwind—despite being farther south—was essentially a neighbor thanks to the portal network. At King Llane's command, Anduin had been ordered to travel to Lordaeron to hear the results firsthand. Still, it galled Anduin that Llane had sent him here. His place was by his king's side, yet he couldn't deny the gratitude he felt for his friend's understanding.
Even as he was lost in worry for his son, he still took the time to admire the grand sight of Lordaeron. Very little had changed since the last time he had been in the city, but it still managed to captivate his attention.
Eventually, the carriage approached the heart of Capital City, Lordaeron Keep, and they were allowed through without so much as a cursory check. He frowned at that; in the wrong hands, such a lapse in security could be exploited. Anduin made a mental note to bring the matter to Terenas' attention.
The carriage continued for a short while longer before coming to a stop in front of the royal palace. There was a polite tap on the window, followed by Dorus' voice.
"We're here, Highlord Lothar," he announced.
Grabbing Ashkandi, his runeblade, Anduin strapped it to his back and stepped out of the carriage. He followed the Lordaeron noble through the great gate. Inside, they traversed the winding corridors until they arrived at a familiar set of doors. Anduin immediately recognized the royal guards stationed there, their distinctive armor signifying a royal presence beyond. The guards exchanged silent communication with Dorus before reaching for the doors and pulling them open to allow him entry.
The room was much as Anduin remembered—a large table dominated the center, though this time, it was covered with maps of the various fronts. Miniatures representing Alliance forces were positioned to denote their current stations, while Horde markers indicated their last known locations. At the head of the table stood King Terenas, who looked up from the maps and greeted him with a wide smile. To his left was Lord Maris, leaning close to whisper counsel to his king. On Terenas' right stood King Thoras of Stromgarde, deep in conversation with Daelin Proudmoore. Both men ceased their discussion upon noticing Anduin's arrival.
King Thoras gave Anduin a welcoming smile and a nod. Daelin, however, shot to his feet, his face twisted with anger, and pointed an accusing finger at him.
"Your son owes me a battleship, Lothar!" the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras declared loudly.
Anduin blinked, taken off guard by the sudden accusation, and had no idea how to respond. He glanced at King Thoras, who looked exceedingly pleased with himself as he stroked his beard, while King Terenas exhaled in visible exasperation.
"I—I beg your pardon?" Anduin replied as diplomatically as he could manage. "Why would my son owe you a battleship?"
It was Thoras, who had remained silent until now, broke the tension with boisterous laughter. "It's because your son sacrificed one of the Lord Admiral's ships of the line to take the Horde coast!"
Lothar frowned, recalling the plans laid out by Callan and the other commanders. Any assault carried inherent risks—surely Daelin hadn't believed his ships would suffer no losses?
"My Lord Admiral," Anduin began, his tone measured. "In battle, no one is ever free of loss; it is expected. I am certain the other commanders, along with Callan, did the best they could under the circumstances. In the end, they succeeded, if I heard Thoras correctly—and isn't that what matters?"
Daelin looked taken aback by Anduin's firm defense of his son. Rather than bristling at the rebuke, the Lord Admiral sighed heavily and waved a hand in Lothar's direction.
"Thoras, you tell him," Daelin said, before sitting back down heavily. He poured himself a drink, then raised the cup in Anduin's direction with a nod.
The sudden change in demeanor caught Anduin off guard. Just moments ago, Daelin had been seething with anger over the loss of his ship.
"Your boy, Lothar, won us an incredible victory!" Thoras said, standing and clapping Anduin heartily on the shoulder. "And all it cost was one of Daelin's ships—Katherine's Joy, no less. His wife's namesake."
Anduin's eyes widened in alarm. That was the ship Callan had been on!
"Terenas!" Thoras laughed again, turning toward the King of Lordaeron. "Isn't it about time you showed the Highlord here the report from that front?"
Lothar turned to King Terenas, who seemed to have been quietly enjoying the exchange. With a faint smile, Terenas passed a stack of parchment to Lord Maris. The chief strategist of Lordaeron stepped forward and respectfully handed the papers to Anduin.
Taking them in hand, Lothar quickly leafed through the documents. They included after-action reports from the leaders of the Dwarven Expeditionary Force, Archmage Modera, Lord Commodore Derek Proudmoore, Paladin Lord Saidan Dathrohan, and Ranger-Captain Alleria Windrunner.
Finally, he reached the last report—the one authored by his son, Marshal Callan Lothar.
Anduin quickly delved into his son's report and couldn't help but smile at the blunt, methodical manner in which it was written. There was no unnecessary flourish or exaggerated flair; Callan simply got to the point. The format he used was unconventional, with numerals to denote important points and letters beneath them to elaborate on the subjects as needed. By the time he finished reading, Lothar understood the gist of what had transpired: the fleet had taken advantage of the Horde's newest allies, the goblins, and their laxity, overwhelming them in a swift surprise attack. This action by the Alliance Legion had blinded the Horde to their movements.
Lothar felt a wave of relief and allowed himself a small smile, though concern lingered as the report confirmed the goblins were now firmly allied with the Horde. To him, goblins had always been merchants peddling shoddy equipment. When his ancestors first landed on Azeroth's shores, the goblins had offered their services—for a price. But their poor craftsmanship had quickly been revealed, and trade with the greedy creatures had been abandoned ever since. Shaking off the impromptu history lesson, he decided to skim through the other reports.
Moments later, Anduin's eyebrows shot up as he absorbed Derek Proudmoore's account. His heart pounded as he read Archmage Modera's confirmation, followed by the Paladin-Lord Dathrohan's report, and finally, that of Ranger-Captain Alleria Windrunner. Shuffling through the stack, he found Callan's report again and reread it, comparing it with his peers' accounts.
Lothar found himself clamping down on his growing anger. His son hadn't exactly lied or omitted critical facts—he had simply downplayed his daring stupidity and reckless behavior!
"Here ya go," Thoras said, passing him a cup of freshly poured spirits. "A toast to your son. By the Ligh, I wish my boy was half as ferocious as yours."
Lothar took the cup and drank, more to calm himself than to toast. His son, the foolish boy, had veered from their carefully laid plans and rushed the beach with a force of only five hundred. He could now understand why Daelin was so irate. For a seafaring nation like Kul Tiras, each ship was a proud symbol of its people, a mother to its crew, and a protector of its nation. To see it fall nobly in battle or return battered but victorious was a mark of honor. Under Callan's command, however, Katherine's Joy hadn't fired a single shot. Instead, it had been used as a shield—no, worse, as cover. The proud work of the Kul Tiran people and its fleet had been reduced to a throwaway barrier.
Yet, as hard as it was to believe, Callan's decision had been the right one. Somehow, he had caught a force that outnumbered him off guard. Then, to Lothar's growing exasperation, his son had further split his already small force into even smaller fragments—an error so tactically egregious that Lothar himself would never have considered such an order.
Despite all odds, Callan—wielding the Light with devastating effect—had been described by Saidan Dathrohan akin to an Avatar of Retribution, cowing the enemy with his presence alone. By the time the rest of the fleet landed, Callan had already forced the Horde forces to surrender almost entirely on his own.
Pride and anger warred in Anduin's chest.
As a father, he was proud of Callan's heroics, but he was equally furious that his son had risked himself in such a reckless manner. What might have seemed foolish to conventional tactical sense had been turned on its head by Callan's extraordinary use of the Light. Lothar couldn't help but reflect on how the Light—long a respected religion with little direct impact on the secular world—was now changing the face of warfare. If the templars or paladins could accomplish even half of what Callan had, their army's overall strength would increase significantly.
From his perspective as a general, he wished he had sent a larger force with Derek's fleet to capitalize on this newfound advantage. As a father, however, he wanted to throttle his son for his recklessness—and hug him for his courage. Sitting down wordlessly, he finished his cup of spirits and poured himself another. Only then did he feel steady enough to set aside his fatherly concerns and meet Terenas' gaze.
"Thank you, King Terenas," Lothar said, inclining his head respectfully.
"No need. It is but a small matter," the Patron of the Alliance replied with a dismissive wave. "That said, shall we get down to the business for which I requested your presence?"
Lothar betrayed no reaction, but inwardly, he noted that the reports could just as easily have been sent to Stormwind. He turned his attention to the slightly older man and motioned for him to continue.
"With the possibility of Uther reigniting the war at the Bulwark, and our levies still being trained up to standard, is it possible for Stormwind to spare any more of her legions for the northern front?" Terenas asked.
The well-regarded monarch actually looked embarrassed, which left Lothar wracking his brain to figure out why.
"As you know, Stromgarde has given all it can, but its strength is depleted. Daelin's forces are more suited to sea warfare than land," the King of Lordaeron continued. "Genn has contributed a sizable enough army, but we cannot press him for more. That leaves Stormwind, which has recently been able to enjoy relative peace."
Lothar finally understood the source of Terenas' embarrassment. The kingdoms had united to combat the Horde, with the expectation that the war would primarily be fought on Stormwind soil. Yet, in a reversal of fortune, it was the kingdoms of Lordaeron that had borne the brunt of the Horde's assaults, while Stormwind's borders had seen no major confrontations since the Horde was shattered in the Black Morass. In fact, skirmishes along Elwynn Forest's borders had ceased entirely in recent weeks. Garona had suggested the possibility that the Horde might be at war with the Gurubashi trolls in the south.
If that was true… Lothar shook his head, clearing the thought before responding to Terenas.
"That is something I would need to discuss with my king," Lothar answered diplomatically. "However, we are awaiting word from our covert forces monitoring the southern Horde movements. We suspect the Horde may have inadvertently earned the ire of the Gurubashi trolls."
The three rulers were visibly stunned by this revelation, though they were quick to grasp its implications.
"Truly?" Terenas asked, his surprise genuine. "They've opened yet another front?"
"Another front?" Lothar echoed, raising an eyebrow.
"The Wildhammer dwarves report signs of trolls fighting the Horde near their lands," Thoras interjected. "However, the Ranger-General of Silvermoon has noted no significant activity from their kin in the north."
Lothar nodded, recognizing the potential significance of this development. If the trolls were indeed at war with the Horde, it could alleviate some of the pressure on the Alliance. This could be the turning point they had been hoping for.
"Our spymaster expects confirmation of our suspicions within the next few weeks," Lothar said. "If… if that is indeed the case, then I don't foresee any problems with sending more of our legions to the northern front."
"Then here's to surprising fortune and eventual victory!" Thoras declared, raising his cup in a hearty toast.
Lothar and the other kings raised their own cups in reply. As Lothar sipped his drink, his eyes fell once more to Callan's report. Quietly, he prayed to the Light—and any other deity that might be listening—to protect his son and temper his son with patiences.
***Azeroth (Southern Continent) - Stranglethorn Vale ***
Garona, accompanied by a squad of the spymaster's best agents, had been tasked with uncovering why the Horde's movements in the south had gone silent. It was a risky mission since she had to cross contested territory, but such a task was nothing to her. She gladly risked it for her... friends. However, as she crossed from Elwynn Forest into Brightwood, all she found were remnants of long-abandoned camps. The Horde had indeed left Brightwood, and the only explanation she could imagine was that the forces stationed there were needed elsewhere.
If these Gurubashi trolls were as savage as Medivh had described, then they would undoubtedly clash with the Horde. Should the trolls and the Horde truly be at war, it could provide the Alliance with a golden opportunity to shift their forces east, uproot Durotan, and reclaim their lands.
As Garona entered Stranglethorn Vale, she discovered signs of Horde activity leading westward.
"The Gurubashi territory is further south, Lady Garona," one of the spymaster's agents informed her respectfully. His tone was calm and devoid of any condescension—it was simply a statement of fact.
How could these humans be as savage as the most brutal orc one moment and unfailingly civilized the next? Their duality continued to confound Garona, even after all this time. But now was not the moment to muse on such matters. She turned her gaze southward, following the agent's gesture, and then back to the tracks leading west.
The conclusion she arrived at was troubling: the Horde was not at war with the Gurubashi trolls as they had hoped. If that was the case, then what were they doing heading west?
"We need to know what they're up to," Garona said, pulling up a human-style bandit mask to muffle her breathing. "Follow me."
With great care, the group began their trek westward through the dense forest terrain, carefully avoiding dangerous wildlife. Garona ensured they maintained a safe distance from any creatures resembling hunters, as those beasts tended to be far more perceptive than others. By the time night fell, the Horde's trail became more obvious. They stumbled upon an area filled with nothing but tree stumps.
What would the Horde need with so much lumber?
That question would have to remain unanswered, as they were forced to stop for the night.
The group silently took out their dry rations—hard, chewy fare that was sweetened with honey to make it more palatable. Lighting a cooking fire was out of the question; the smell of burning meat would only attract wild animals, and they could ill afford such a risk. When the meal was done, most of the group settled in for quick naps while Garona scaled the tallest tree in the area.
From her new vantage point, she gazed at the alien sky above her, reflecting on the moments that had led her to where she was now.
Garona Halforcen had lived a harsh life. She had never known her mother, a female draenei captured and given to one of Gul'dan's most loyal warriors. Her father, a Bladewind Clan warrior of little significance, had been just as absent. Raised among the Bladewind, Garona grew up surrounded by others like her—half-breeds. One might think that such outcasts would find solace in one another, protecting and looking out for their kin.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
If she wasn't being beaten by a Bladewind warrior for daring to meet their gaze, she was forced to guard her meager rations from other half-breeds who would steal from her. Garona learned early that killing to protect what was hers was not only accepted but expected. With that knowledge, she made sure the other half-breeds in the Bladewind Clan understood the cost of coveting what belonged to her.
By the time she came of age, she was the only half-breed left in the clan.
Then the draenei struck, destroying the Bladewind and forcing her to flee into the clutches of a far crueler master: Gul'dan.
Garona avoided dwelling on her time with her former master. The memories were stained with torturous experiments and cruel conditioning. She had killed for him with such precision and efficiency that she became known as the Blade of the Shadow Council, the secretive body of warlocks who served Gul'dan. Over time, she became the council's most lethal assassin, silencing all who dared to oppose her master as he consolidated power within the Horde.
Yet deep within her heart, Garona hated him. She hated the Horde. She longed for the draenei to return and annihilate them all.
Eventually, the draenei, despite their might, fell to the Horde. And so, Garona locked away the softest and weakest part of herself to commit unspeakable atrocities in Gul'dan's name. She had thought, with certainty, that she would never be freed from her master's leash. But then, salvation came from the most unlikely source—though at the time, she didn't view it as such.
Gul'dan had tasked her with killing a human, their newest enemy, one who supposedly wielded magical powers similar to the Draenei's.
The Draenei warriors who wielded the Light were known as Vindicators. Many of them had fallen to her daggers, and she expected the same fate for the human male. She was wrong. The human, Callan, did not fight her with just the Light, but also with a terrifying shadow ability—one that felt purer and more ominous than the necromantic power Gul'dan wielded.
Though Gul'dan's torture had made her feel pain down to her very soul, the shadow that Callan used consumed her mind and the essence of her being. He tore apart her reasoning, threatening to devour her very existence. Just when she thought he would finish the job, he stopped.
Garona had been certain that the human would end her life, but in a surprising twist, she was saved by Medivh. She was brought before the humans' Warchief, where after, she expected to be tortured. Instead, she was met with kindness. Perhaps it was Callan's mental assault on her, but the lock on her feelings—on her emotions—broke. She found herself receptive to the human Warchief's overtures.
The treatment she received was as different from her time with the Horde as night was from day. Of course, there were still issues. Lothar, Callan's father, understandably took issue with her attempt on his son's life.
However, even he became her friend when she stood with him to defend her savior, Medivh, from some faction called the Bronze Dragonflight. Through that, she earned their trust. As her reward, Medivh's mother, a great wielder of magic, granted her freedom. If Gul'dan ever tried to control her against her will, she would die to deny him. The human Warchief—King Llane, as they called him—felt that such a solution was too cruel. He could not understand how grateful she was to even have such a choice. And so, she pledged herself to their cause. It was an easy choice, as she had never been loyal to the Horde.
Before long, dawn broke. Garona signaled to the others to continue tracking the Horde's movement. They stayed close to the large nearby river to mask their footsteps, allowing them to move faster without fear of detection. The trail of deforested trees stretched for miles, as far as the eye could see. However, like all trails, it eventually came to an end. It took the better part of the day for them to reach it.
"Shroud yourselves," Garona ordered. The group of twelve slowly turned invisible to the naked eye; only those with great perception would be able to see through their cloaks.
Quietly, they made their way to the edge of the deforested area which turned out to be a short cliff that sloped down to a beach. However, the sight that greeted them on the beach left even Garona speechless. Judging by the stiffening of those with her, she wasn't alone in her reaction.
"W-what is this...?" one of the spymaster's agents spoke, his voice thick with fear. "Did they enslave the trolls?"
Garona's sharp eyes took in the scene before her. Her former people had never been sailors. They had fishing boats, but nothing on the scale of what lay before her now. Yet somehow, they had built a massive armada, with sizable ships like those she had seen in Stormwind's harbor. The ships dotted the sea in great numbers, all of them crewed by orcs and, to her surprise, trolls. The trolls walked freely among the Horde clans, even speaking to them as equals.
"They're not slaves," Garona corrected. "They're working with the Horde."
Suddenly, a loud, shrieking sound cut through the air, making everyone look up. A group of grotesque flying creatures flew overhead, ridden by orcs.
"Shreiiiiarrrk!" the lead creature screeched as they passed, heading toward the ships in the distance.
Garona's keen eyes caught sight of the banner on the lead orc, and the clan markings revealed the riders as being from the Dragonmaw Clan. She glanced at the others, who were staring wide-eyed at the flying creatures. No matter. They needed to leave and report this. The Alliance must know.
Wordlessly, she signaled for them to maintain their shroud and fall back to a safe distance.
Nodding at her command, the spymaster's agents began to withdraw slowly. But then, without warning, a flare of light erupted in the area. Before Garona could react, a spear, launched at incredible speed, struck one of the agents directly in the face, killing him instantly.
"W'here ya be goin'?" a voice called. Try as she might, Garona couldn't track its origin; the voice seemed to come from all directions. "Mighty rude o' ya to be leavin' after comin' all dis way, mon."
More spears were thrown, spears longer and faster than what even orc spear throwers could have been capable of hurling. Garona's eyes widened as the shrubbery near the trees and the surrounding ground shifted, revealing trolls wearing wooden masks. They had blended seamlessly with the surroundings. Worse yet, they outnumbered her group three to one.
Garona made her decision immediately. "Break and find a way through! Stop for nothing—we must warn King Llane!"
The Spymaster's agents needed no further instruction. They charged at the troll lines, intent on breaking through. But to Garona's horror, a few were caught in traps more cleverly disguised than she had realized. Two others were pounced on by lurking creatures with snapping jaws. She realized these hunters were master trackers—nightmares for people like her.
Grabbing a handful of mithril knives, Garona threw them at the nearest trolls with such speed that they had no time to react. One troll dropped dead before hitting the ground, but her follow-up—throwing a fan of knives—only caught two more trolls before they began evading her attacks.
Rather than trying to follow up on the attack, Garona jumped down the cliff and used her skill to vanish from their sight. It was a technique that wouldn't last long, but it was enough for her to reach the orc camps. She was counting on the fact that she resembled a female orc enough to confuse them. Garona could only spare a thought for the Spymaster's agents who were most likely dead by now.
Once inside the camp, she ducked into an empty tent and immediately shed her human clothes, quickly stealing some nearby fabric. She tore it into strips to cover her breasts and crotch—her nakedness would draw the orcs' attention. Taking off two wires wrapped around her arm—used for strangling—she redid her hair. Then, she smeared dark earth from the ground lightly on her face and body, blending with the orcs' unkempt appearance. Ditching the arcanite daggers gifted to her by Llane, she exhaled and moved into the crowd, hunching her back to blend in more naturally.
From the corner of her eyes, Garona saw the troll hunters enter the camp, looking around but not in her direction. The orcs were curious about their presence, but otherwise, they ignored them. Garona planned to stay low, mingle, and maybe seduce one of the warriors soon to erase her scent so that the trolls' animals wouldn't be able to find her from the scent on her thrown knives. When the time was right, she would slip away.
But suddenly, a hot, piercing pain shot through her body. She looked down to see a curved blade jutting from her stomach. Gasps erupted from the orcs around her, and many reached for their weapons.
'How?' she wondered.
Her answer came a moment later as a troll she hadn't sensed or noticed appeared behind her. He was even bigger and taller than the other trolls she had escaped from, and unlike the others, he didn't cover his face. The tusks in his mouth reminded her of an elekk, and she noticed that his reddish hair contrasted sharply with his blue skin.
Quickly, Garona elbowed his face in an effort to escape, but was rewarded with a brutal headbutt that sent her staggering to the ground. She tried to get up, but pain shot through her legs as the troll pinned both of them with the long spears strapped to his back.
"Like I be sayin'—" the troll spoke, and Garona realized it was the same one who had spoken to them earlier. "Ya be rude to be leavin' like dat. Tho', I didn't expect a female orc ta be workin' wit' da humans."
Garona could only glare at him hatefully, cursing herself for being caught.
"It wuz a good idea, but ya be reekin' of da shadow, like ya warlock kin." The troll smiled at her and tapped his nose. "Da stretch gave ya away, mon."
Garona realized, with horror, that it was her own magic that had betrayed them. There was a commotion before another troll, with white hair, made his way through the crowd.
"Vol'jin? Wat's goin' on here?" the white-haired troll demanded, glancing down at her. "Why ya be attackin' an orc like dat?"
"She's be a spy, fatha," the troll named Vol'jin answered. "Caught her wit' a group o' humans I did."
The father of the troll turned to give Garona a look. That was when another commotion broke out, and a large orc made his way through. Garona's heart seized as she recognized the orc before her.
"Well, well, if it isn't the missing Blade of the Shadow Council," Teron'gor, direct apprentice of Gul'dan, knelt down and smiled cruelly at her. "So wonderful of you to return to us. Gul'dan will be most pleased."
At the mention of Gul'dan, Garona felt something she hadn't felt in a long while.
Despair.
***Arathi Highland - Grommash Hold (Formerly Stromgarde) ****
In the heart of the human ruins sat the Chieftain's tent. Inside that tent were two orcs: one wielding the axe of their fallen leader while the other, an older orc, was dressed in robes and held a staff adorned with a series of multicolored crystals. The two orcs were in contrasting moods: the axe-wielding orc was happy while the smaller, older orc, with the staff appeared anything but.
"You should have seen it, Ner'zhul," the new Chieftain of the Warsong, Gargok, said, barely containing his laughter. "The pinkskin sent the pathetic Thunderlord warriors running like a runt direwolf with its tail between its legs!"
Ner'zhul appeared tense, and the Warsong Chieftain noticed this.
"What is the matter, Great Shaman?" the larger orc asked. "Is this not proof that you should back my claim as the real Warchief? Fenris lost, where I would have won!"
"I'm more concerned with the fact that the pinkskin are striking out now," Ner'zhul said in a grave tone. "You let good orc warriors die when you could join them in battle. Between you two the pinkskin attack would have failed."
Gargok growled at the accusation, but Ner'zhul's position was too highly regarded. He dared not be aggressive with him.
"They are not striking out," Gargok reassured Ner'zhul. "Fenris simply stuck his nose too close to their territory and paid for it."
Ner'zhul looked at the Warsong chieftain and wanted to harshly rebuke him, but if he did that, the Warsong might strike out on their own, and such unrest would weaken the Horde. As if oblivious to his thoughts, Gargok pulled out a skin map of the area and placed it before him.
"Unlike the cowardly Thunderlords who are cowering behind their position, I intend to launch a series of raids and earn us a mighty victory," Gargok stated with an eager smile. "All will know that it is the Warsong that brought them victory, and under the Warsong, they will break the pinkskins' grip!"
Ner'zhul opened his mouth to reply when one of the warriors from his clan came running in his direction. The Warsong warriors guarding their leader's tent made to stop the Shadowmoon warrior, but their leader waved away their caution.
"What is it, Grimbak?" Ner'zhul asked the winded-looking orc who seemed to have traveled in a hurry to bring news. "What has transpired?"
"Doomhammer—" the Shadowmoon warrior, Grimbak, began, breathing heavily. "—Doomhammer is here!"
A heavy silence seemed to settle over the camp as every orc warrior in the vicinity, including Gargok, stared at the orc who had brought the news. Ner'zhul felt his body tense, and his worst fear seemed to have come to pass: the Horde would tear itself apart with infighting, and the humans would pick the flesh from their bones.
Grimbak did not appear finished, and Ner'zhul was right. The orc warrior continued.
"Doomhammer has also called for a chieftain gathering, to decide who will be the one true Warchief of the Horde," Grimbak added.
"He dares?!" Gargok bristled, but he didn't look as eager as he had when directing harsh words at Fenris. "What right does a defeated orc like him have to call for such a gathering?"
"All of the other clans that are not with you or Fenris have declared for Doomhammer," Grimbak said. "Each clan that has submitted to Doomhammer has given him twenty of their warriors as a token of submission."
Gargok shifted uneasily at that news while Ner'zhul didn't feel much better. Grimbak's words meant that every clan south of them had likely declared for Doomhammer: the Shattered Hand, the Bleeding Hollow, and possibly the Laughing Skull. It also seemed that Durotan or his mate had rejected Ner'zhul's offer and chosen to support their friend instead.
"There is one more piece of news, Great Shaman," Grimbak began, his tone now almost fearful. "Gul'dan is also with Doomhammer and has declared that he wishes to bury any animosity with you, his mentor."
'Gul'dan!' Ner'zhul thought in despair and anger.
"And... where should we meet Doomhammer?" Gargok asked. If he had been undecided before, Gul'dan's involvement all but sealed his participation.
"It is to be where the Great Shaman had gathered the stones to summon the great fire being," Grimbak answered.
Ner'zhul steeled his shaking hand. Doomhammer must have known that he had plundered the elemental stones to summon the elemental lord. He had underestimated Doomhammer's cunning; being there would remind everyone that Ner'zhul's failed them.
"Gather the clan, Grimbak," Ner'zhul commanded before turning to the Warsong Chieftain. "Do not worry. I shall deal with Gul'dan. You focus on Doomhammer."
Ner'zhul was no longer the powerless shaman he once was. He would attend this Chieftain's gathering and, ancestor willing, help Fenris and Gargok end the two orcs once and for all.
TBC…
AN:
First of all thanks to Icura for helping me edit this, you da man!
Secondly thanks to all the patron supporters, your continuous support keeps blowing me away :D
Yes, it an interlude, figure I have give everyone a glimpse around at whats going on in the world and as a certain orc has finally arrived on the mainland. I wonder what people reaction would be and I look forward to it:D
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Finally, as always, CC and discussions are always welcomed!