Tag Archives: dranosh
Days of future past
The trip from Kalimdor to Northrend isn’t exactly a short one, but normally it’s never really felt long to me. This time, though, it felt like it took forever. A short way into the flight, I took Edwin down below deck to talk to him alone and laid out the story for him – how his other self had managed to mess up the timelines, and how that’s led to everything being a disaster in this world. The worst part is that he barely responded to any of it. Just sat there, listening, staring at the floor most of the way though.
I was expecting him to get angry or argue with me or something when I told him what we needed to do, but he didn’t say a word. Just sat there, almost-but-not-quite nodded…I guess it shouldn’t surprise me. It’s an awful lot to get dropped on you all at once, and then that’s without it even being YOU that’s responsible, in a way at least. And without it being your BROTHER whose meant-to-happen death is the lynchpin to the whole damn thing.
Liadrin was there to greet us at the Argent Vanguard. The place was much more heavily fortified than the last time I’d been there. Over the last several months, Horde and Alliance forces had been pushed back from the Borean Tundra and Dragonblight, and so now most of the combined troops have been consolidated here. The base was expanded and reinforced, with more buildings, ramparts, a keep for the command base, a docking tower for airships…really impressive, actually, until you stop to think what made it necessary.
When we arrived, the base was in the middle of fending off an attack by Nerubian tunnelers. Nothing to worry too much about, according to Liadrin – these Nerubians crop up every so often and are more of a nuisance than anything. Fitting enough for a big ol’ batch of cockroaches.
From the docking tower, we could see Saurfang and Bolvar leading some of the troops around and beating the bugs back. While Drok and his crew tended to the Windrunner, a couple of Liadrin’s aides took Jaina, Faranell, Dontrag, and Utvoch down to their temporary quarters to get settled. The rest of us stood on the docking platform, watching the skirmish below.
DRANOSH: Definitely not enough of them to really get anywhere. Why even bother?
LIADRIN: To be a disturbance, most likely.
GARROSH: Why waste soldiers – or, well, bugs – just to annoy your enemy?
LIADRIN: Think of it from the Lich King’s perspective You have an effectively unlimited supply of minions. They don’t need to eat or sleep or rest. You enemy does. Why wouldn’t you use some of those minions to disrupt your enemies’ sleep and stop them ever settling in for a meal in comfort?
GARROSH: You know, when you put it like that, it’s actually kind of creepy smart.
DRANOSH: I think I’m going to go down and give the good guys a hand. It’s been a while since I’ve been on the winning side of a fight. <smirks at Garrosh and gestures toward Saurfang below> Besides, can’t let the old man get too big a lead on me. You want in?
GARROSH: Go ahead. I’m going to stay up here and get caught up with Liadrin.
DRANOSH: Up to you.
Dranosh leaps down from the docking tower. Liadrin and Mokvar move to either side of Garrosh. They continue to watch Dranosh while they talk.
LIADRIN: Have you told him?
GARROSH: No.
MOKVAR: Are you going to?
GARROSH: <pauses for a long moment> If I did, do you think there’s any chance at all that he would turn back?
MOKVAR: <shakes head> No.
GARROSH: Then let him go to the end not having to know who killed him.
We watched the battle for a while – Mokvar and I filling in some of the extra details on the Great Time FUBAR for Liadrin – until it finally wound down and the Argent troops returned to their stations. Liadrin and the others went into the keep to see about squeezing in a meal uninterrupted, but I wasn’t feeling very hungry, so I stayed outside and figured I’d take Mortimer out to stretch his wings some.
There was an orc soldier at the stables tending to another wyvern when I went to get Mortimer. We got to talking while I saddled Mortimer up. Guy name of Gar’lok. Turns out he was one of the soldiers at the Wrathgate. He asked a million questions about the demon attack on Orgrimmar, but above all he was worried about whether his kid had gotten out in time. Something told me not to ask, but I couldn’t help it. His kid was a boy. Named Gurtash. Of course. I wrapped the conversation up quickly and took Mortimer out.
We circled around the base a few times, then as we were flying over the keep, I spotted Mokvar and Edwin standing outside, looking over the base. I brought Mortimer down and joined them.
GARROSH: Everyone still inside?
MOKVAR: Back in their quarters now, mostly. Liadrin was going to meet with Bolvar. I think she’s going to have him take charge of the base while she’s away, once we’re ready to go.
GARROSH: What about Saurfang?
MOKVAR: I think he’s assuming he’s coming with us. Can’t blame him, really – how often does he get to go on a mission with his son?
GARROSH: This will be his last one, if we manage to pull this off.
MOKVAR: You know we will. Especially now. I mean, come on, bringing two Saurfangs? That’s not even fair.
GARROSH: Heh. Let’s hope. <looks to Faranell> You hanging in there okay, Doc? You’ve been pretty quiet.
Edwin stares silently into the mountains.
Doc?
Edwin continues staring wordlessly.
Edwin?
Edwin turns to face Garrosh, still not speaking.
Look, I know you’ve had an awful lot dropped on you today, so I can see why you might be having trouble wrapping your head around it all.
FARANELL: <looking down at the ground> I’m not doing it.
GARROSH: Um…
MOKVAR: Oh boy…
GARROSH: You WHAT?
FARANELL: I said I’m not doing it.
GARROSH: You understand this whole thing kind of HINGES on you, right?
FARANELL: Yes, I do. I also understand that if we do what you were talking about doing, it means Patrick is going to die. Hell, not even just die – what did you say? – he gets turned into some undead mastermind working for the Scourge? He doesn’t even get to rest in peace!
GARROSH: I know, I know, it’s wrong and it’s awful and it’s not fair, but it’s the only way to set things right in this world.
FARANELL: And who decides what’s “right,” Garrosh? You? I’ve heard people talking – here and in the future – and I don’t exactly get the sense that you have this great track record for deciding what’s “right.”
GARROSH: Edwin, this isn’t what was supposed to happen. Hell, you were in Orgrimmar – did you not see those demons overrunning the place?
FARANELL: You also said back in my time – where I came from – the Scourge was going to overrun Lordaeron. So if you’re so fired up to go change the past, why don’t we just go stop that from happening, too?
GARROSH: Because like it or not, the Scourge invasion was what was supposed to happen, it’s what ALWAYS happened—
FARANELL: It always happened to you, Garrosh! Why is it okay to fix your present and not mine?
GARROSH: Things only ever happened like this because the past got MESSED with, Edwin!
FARANELL: Your past! Not mine – these events you’re talking about that “had to happen” – they haven’t happened yet for me! They’re my future! Who the hell says Patrick wasn’t “supposed” to be alive?
GARROSH: He’s only alive because you – he – the OTHER you went back and mucked things up so he WOULD!
FARANELL: So what? Good! I’m glad he did!
GARROSH: Edwin, that’s exactly the kind of shit that an ENTIRE DRAGONFLIGHT devoted their lives to preventing!
FARANELL: Well—
GARROSH: You can’t go back and change the past just because you don’t like how it turned out!
FARANELL: I—
GARROSH: You see how things play out in the future so you decide you’re going to go back and prevent it? Nothing good can come out of that, Edwin, it—
FARANELL: Don’t go to Pandaria!
GARROSH: …
MOKVAR: Oh…crap.
GARROSH: Did…you not hear ANYTHING I was just saying?!
FARANELL: What, you don’t like a little tinkering with your future? I thought that’s what we did around here.
GARROSH: What happened with Patrick HAPPENED. And if we don’t set it right… Look, I get that you care about him, but look around. You’ve got to realize people are DYING because of this!
FARANELL: You’re asking me to kill my brother!
Garrosh punches Faranell, knocking him down. While Faranell gathers himself, Garrosh stands over him.
GARROSH: Listen to me carefully because I’m only going to say this once. I get that you’re scared. I get that you’re upset. You have a right to be. I am too. And if you want to be angry at me for laying all this on you, you want to hate me, you go ahead. <glares at Faranell a moment, collecting himself> But don’t you DARE stand there and talk to me like you’re the only one losing a brother.
FARANELL: <head hanging> It’s…it’s not right…
GARROSH: You’re right. It’s not. <looks around> There are a lot of things that aren’t right. <looks back to Faranell> I think you need to see some more of them.
I pulled him back up, brought him to the stables, and had the flight master set him up with a gryphon. Then we took off and flew a path around Icecrown – taking care more than once to steer clear of the frost wyrms that seemed to be in flight nearly everywhere.
We flew over Ymirheim, where legions of vrykul were marching, training, lining up in squads. We flew over the Shadow Vault, back in Scourge hands, where saronite from the Weeping Quarry was being used to build massive siege engines. We flew over the front gates of Icecrown Citadel, surrounded by thousands of flesh giants and colossal skeletons. One battalion after another of zombies and ghouls. Gargoyles enough to blacken the sky, until I got the bright idea that we maybe didn’t want to be flying around out there. On the way back to the Argent Vanguard, we flew over the Broken Front, where an army of Scourge was gathering and marching east, while frost wyrms circled over Scourgeholm.
We landed back at the base, on a hill where the Argent people had put up a large tent that served as a makeshift chapel. From where we stood, we could see the mountains beyond the Breach, and part of the field swarming with gathering undead.
GARROSH: This is what we’re facing. You know those Scourge I told you about, the ones that wiped out Lordaeron? They weren’t even a fraction of this. And they’re coming.
FARANELL: Patrick… Right now, Patrick is safe in Thunder Bluff.
GARROSH: Right. He’s safe in Thunder Bluff NOW. Before that he was safe in Hearthglen. And safe in Andorhal. How long before he runs out of places to be safe?
Faranell lowers his head quietly.
Liadrin’s people will fight to the last person to hold them back. I’ve got no doubt of that. But sooner or later, it WILL be the last person. And then all of this gets unleashed on the rest of the world.
FARANELL: I just don’t want him to die.
GARROSH: Doc, it doesn’t make me any happier to tell you this than it makes you to hear it. But Patrick is going to die. The only question is, how many others are you going to let die with him? How many would he LET you?
Faranell paces around for a moment, occasionally looking back toward the marching Scourge, then walks up to the entrance to the chapel tent. From inside, Argent Confessor Paletress steps to the opening to meet him.
FARANELL: You’re the confessor?
PALETRESS: <nods> I’m Argent Confessor Paletress. Do you need to unburden your spirit?
FARANELL: Yes, Confessor.
PALETRESS: Tell me what it is you’ve done, friend.
Faranell looks past the Breach as waves of Scourge gather, frost wyrms circling in the sky above them.
FARANELL: I couldn’t even begin to tell you what I’ve done, Confessor.
PALETRESS: I’m sure it’s not as bad as you believe. Guilt often weighs on us far more heavily than the true weight of our sins.
FARANELL: It doesn’t matter. What I’ve done isn’t what I’ve come to confess.
PALETRESS: What do you wish to tell me, then, my friend?
Faranell watches a frost wyrm tearing down the tower at Crusader’s Pinnacle in the distance. He looks down and rubs his hands over his face, then finally lifts his head, not quite returning his eyes to Paletress.
FARANELL: I’m going to kill my brother.
“The Light does not abandon its champions.” If only she knew.
The parting of ways
Dranosh and the others arrived with the Windrunner this morning, along with a surprise – Jaina Proudmoore. The message I’d sent to Dranosh in Theramore said there’s a chance to fix things but we need to get the Focusing Iris from Northrend, and when Jaina heard that part, she volunteered – check that, insisted – she join the party. Imagine my delight. Still, the enemy of my enemy, I guess.
So far this morning, we’ve had an uncharacteristic run of mostly good news. Based on the head counts, most of the civilians got out of Orgrimmar in time. Military losses were heavy – in addition to Vol’jin and Zaela, it turns out Nazgrim didn’t make it out – but still not as disastrous as they could have been. Dranosh brought the remaining civilians – Horde and Theramore alike – with him along with a few support officers. Thunder Bluff is farther from the combat zone, it’s separated by natural barriers, and its position on these mesas makes it easier to defend. There really isn’t anywhere SAFE to tuck away the civilians anymore, but this is the safest of unsafe options.
The better news is that a couple hours into scouring the city this morning, Utvoch earned his keep and spotted Edwin over on the Spirit Rise. He’s spooked as all hell, no surprise – he got dropped into this world just in time for the attack on Orgrimmar, without warning or context or any friends from the Caverns of Time to help make sense of it for him. I’ll try to start filling in some of the blanks for him on the way to Northrend. Gotta say, I’m not looking forward to explaining how his brother fits into all this.
Other than loading up the Windrunner with a few supplies, there’s just one piece of business to tend to.
CAIRNE: I understand the honor you show me today, Warchief, and I will strive to be worthy of it. As I have watched over the tauren, so too will I watch over the people of the Horde.
DRANOSH: I’m hopeful that we’ll return soon successfully. But if we don’t, I need to be sure that our people will be left in good hands. Now they will. May the spirits guide you, Cairne. Let everything you do be done for the Horde.
Dranosh salutes Cairne. Cairne responds in kind.
They’re yours now, Warchief Bloodhoof. Lead them well. Aka’Magosh – for the Horde!
CAIRNE: For the Horde.
ALL ASSEMBLED: For the Horde!
DRANOSH: <clasping Cairne’s hand> I hate to abdicate and run, but I have a few last preparations to make before we go.
CAIRNE: I understand, Warchief.
DRANOSH: <grins and walks away> Call me Dranosh.
Dranosh walks off. Garrosh approaches Cairne.
GARROSH: I should probably go help him in a minute.
CAIRNE: You have important work ahead of you, I know.
GARROSH: <glancing around and nodding> So many things that aren’t what they should be.
CAIRNE: Overlord, if I may offer a word of counsel?
Garrosh nods.
Do not trouble yourself so deeply over what should be. It is something I have noticed in you, Garrosh – your readiness to point to what should be, and recoil against the world for failing to be so. As if it has wronged you. It is, I suspect, the source of so much of your anger, your impatience, your…
GARROSH: <faintly grinning> Are you saying I have a temper?
CAIRNE: You’ve heard this before?
Garrosh chuckles.
I merely mean to say, Garrosh, that there is little to be gained in fretting away one’s life with should be. “I should be higher rank by now.” “This land should be ours.” “He should agree.” “She should love me.” There is no should be; there is only is. And there is no deeper well of discontent, no darker shadow to impoverish our lives as they are, then a misguided sense of should be to nag at us by false compare. “Should be”: so simple a phrase to nourish so many agonies of the spirit.
Cairne hesitates a moment, then tilts his head with the hint of a smile.
Pardon me, I prattle on. You’ll forgive an old man his ramblings.
GARROSH: You wear it a lot better than Tirion ever did. <pauses, then grins sadly> I think I should have listened to you more.
CAIRNE: There you go again. <smiles> But you are listening now.
GARROSH: Well, hopefully you’ll let one more “should be” slide. <looks up at Cairne a moment, then offers his hand> Dranosh made the right choice. You should be Warchief.
CAIRNE: <gripping Garrosh’s hand> And so I am. In this, for once, you need not torment yourself, my young friend.
Garrosh looks around briefly.
GARROSH: I don’t know if we’ll be back here again.
CAIRNE: Nonsense. I have every confidence you will be successful, Garrosh.
GARROSH: <looks at Cairne uncomfortably> Still. Just in case. <stares at him a moment more> I don’t think I’ve told you that I admire you. If you don’t see me again…know that honor and respect for you went with me to the end of my days.
CAIRNE: <nods slowly> May they be many, Overlord. And thank you.
I left Cairne and made my way over to the docking station on the Spirit Rise to meet Dranosh. When I got there, he was standing on the edge of the rise, overlooking western Mulgore, and in the middle of a rather pointed discussion with…ahem…a familiar face.
DRANOSH: I understand your concerns, General, but I’m confident in Warlord Cromush’s forces at the new front.
KROM’GAR: I simply don’t see the wisdom of taking one of our newer gunships out of the fight in order to go on – I’m sorry – some fool’s errand in Northrend.
DRANOSH: Overlord Hellscream assures me—
KROM’GAR: Overlord Hellscream, as far as we know, may simply be putting as much distance as possible between himself and death by inventing some secret mission to fly off to!
DRANOSH: I’m going as well, Krom’gar. Are you going to accuse me of cowardice, too?
KROM’GAR: Begging your pardon, sir, but—
DRANOSH: Let me be frank, General. With the state of affairs in Kalimdor, one more gunship will not make much difference here. But one gunship in Northrend might be able to put an end to this mess before it’s even started.
KROM’GAR: But how, sir? Why do you even believe—
As Dranosh and Krom’gar talk, Garrosh walks over to them. Before Krom’gar can finish his sentence, Garrosh steps up next to him and casually shoves him off the edge of the rise, sending him plummeting to the ground far below.
GARROSH: Don’t listen to that guy. He’s a dick.
DRANOSH: <blinks a moment and glances over the edge> Wow, you really don’t like him, do you?
GARROSH: Let’s just say we have some history. Or did.
DRANOSH: Lucky for you I was considering the same thing when he started calling you a coward.
Garrosh looks over at the Windrunner being loaded with supplies.
GARROSH: You know…this mission we’re going on… I know I haven’t exactly been open about a lot of the details. I’m figuring based on where I had to go for information that you can guess some of the reason why. And yeah, there are some details going on here that I really can’t tell you, but you have to understand—
DRANOSH: How long have you known me?
GARROSH: Huh?
DRANOSH: Since we were, what, six? How many times has one of us saved the other’s neck? You’re telling me we need to do this. You think I need more than that? It’s getting done, period. You don’t need to sell me, Garrosh. I trust you with my life.
I’m going to skip over the part where I looked over the edge for a second and wondered if Krom’gar could use some company in splat-land.
Oh, but also, speaking of Krom’gar, it bears repeating:
Anyway. Here’s the plan from this point: we’re taking off for Northrend within the hour, and will rendezvous with Liadrin and the rest of our people at the Argent Vanguard. We’re keeping the group relatively small – me, Dranosh, Mokvar. Edwin. Captain Drok, obviously, since the Windrunner is his ship, plus a minimal crew to operate it. Dontrag, Utvoch…Jaina…you’ll notice who I just lumped together there. Jaina’s put her Kirin Tor friends on notice, so once we get the Focusing Iris from Coldarra, we’ll high-tail it to Dalaran, where they’ll be able to port us directly to the Caverns of Time. From there, with any luck, it’ll be a short trip to Normal-ville.
Time for me to get on board. More updates soon.
[Header image of Thunder Bluff provided by Angelya from Revive and Rejuvenate. “Dismissed” image provided by Rades from Orcish Army Knife. Both images used here with permission and many thanks.]
The fire in which we burn
Dranosh left with the Windrunner for Theramore. He brought Dontrag and Utvoch, which, I mean, I know this is really no time for jokes, but…HAHA! Poor fucker. Anyway, he’s going to see if he can find Faranell there, or in Thunder Bluff if need be. One way or another, Mokvar and I will meet him there when we’re done on our end.
We got Mokvar hooked up with a wyvern, and we both flew down from Ashenvale to Tanaris. Soridormi was there to greet us when we arrived at the Caverns of Time.
SORIDORMI: Overlord. Or do you still prefer “Warchief” in this reality? It’s so hard to know what to call certain people.
GARROSH: Doesn’t matter. Call me whatever.
SORIDORMI: Oh? So if I decide “Roshy” has a nice ring to it…?
GARROSH: Don’t get clever.
SORIDORMI: <wry grin> I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.
GARROSH: <grumbles> Fine, whatever. While you’re being all smug and smart, though, how about this – last time I was here, seems to me you might have, you know, neglected to mention a few minor details about this world.
SORIDORMI: In fairness, I did tell you all that there were other events that played out differently.
GARROSH: Which you totally made sound like “I’m just glossing over this since it’s not really that important.”
SORIDORMI: Did I? Hardly. Every moment is important, Garrosh. But at the time, there was no telling how much longer I had to detail matters further. We were – if you’ll pardon the expression – working on borrowed time.
GARROSH: And now?
SORIDORMI: This timeline has taken…a much firmer hold.
MOKVAR: The last few times we’ve shifted, our time here has gotten longer, and our time in the original timeline has gotten shorter…
SORIDORMI: <nods> This timeline is taking over as the predominant one. That overwriting of your reality will soon be complete, if it isn’t already.
GARROSH: Well then, since we’re in like 2% less of a rush now, how about you fill in a few gaps for us. Starting with, say, why it is that Orgrimmar is overrun right now by the Burning Legion and the Scourge, both of which we had pretty well under control last I checked.
SORIDORMI: In both cases, everything hinges on certain unexpected events involving the Battle of the Wrathgate.
GARROSH: Go on…
SORIDORMI: After the Alliance and Horde set aside their petty conflicts and united against the Lich King, Tirion Fordring’s Argent Crusade was able to assemble a strike force of the greatest champions from both factions. The team that Fordring would lead into Icecrown Citadel for the final assault would be far mightier even than the one that defeated Arthas in your timeline.
GARROSH: Okay, so I’m not seeing how that leads to things being WORSE.
SORIDORMI: It didn’t, at first. But you’ll recall, in the time leading up to the attack, the Lich King’s chief researcher was not Professor Putricide – Patrick Faranell – but Putress.
Soridormi holds out her hand and summons an image of Rotface and Festergut.
IMAGE OF ROTFACE: Daddy make toys out of you! WEEEEEE!
IMAGE OF FESTERGUT: Dead, dead, dead! Daddy, I did it!
SORIDORMI: Putricide’s most formidable creations, while strong, were ultimately…limited. Undermined by a lingering sentimentality that Putricide would carry into undeath from another life.
She shakes her hand, and the image changes to that of Patrick Faranell.
IMAGE OF PATRICK: Between you, me, and the walls, I’d rather like to have a couple sons… I remember how much Dad seemed to enjoy himself with us.
SORIDORMI: Putress’ malevolent ingenuity would have no such…humanity to temper it. He would furnish the Lich King with constructs more monstrous and strains of blight more virulent than anything known to your timeline.
GARROSH: Um, didn’t I ask you THIS VERY THING about Putress the last time?
SORIDORMI: You did. I didn’t give you an answer.
GARROSH: INDEED YOU DIDN’T.
MOKVAR: I think we might have distracted her, actually.
GARROSH: Whose side are you on?
MOKVAR: I’m on the side of us not standing around bickering over who said what and why.
GARROSH: Fine. So Putress invented some powerful shit, boy, don’t know why you never thought of that, Garrosh, go on please.
SORIDORMI: Strengthened by Putress’ creations, the Lich King would ultimately defeat Fordring’s even mightier strike force.
MOKVAR: So some of the most powerful heroes against the Scourge, from the Horde and Alliance, were all killed.
SORIDORMI: <pauses grimly> It would have been a kindness had they merely been killed.
Soridormi waves her hand, summoning a likeness of the Lich King.
IMAGE OF THE LICH KING: You trained them well, Fordring. You delivered the greatest fighting force this world has ever known…right into my hands – exactly as I intended.
MOKVAR: By the spirits…
GARROSH: He raised them as his minions…
SORIDORMI: And then killed Tirion Fordring. <closes her eyes a moment> And then raised him…
IMAGE OF THE LICH KING: You could’ve been my greatest champion, Fordring. A force of darkness that would wash over this world and deliver it into a new age of strife.
SORIDORMI: …to lead his new army of Deathbringers.
Garrosh and Mokvar exchange troubled looks.
GARROSH: Okay… Bad news part one done… Now what about the demons?
SORIDORMI: A further consequence of the defeat in Icecrown Citadel… You may recall, in your time, after the fall of the Lich King, some of his former minions would find for themselves…new allegiances.
Soridormi conjures a shimmering likeness of Sylvanas Windrunner.
IMAGE OF SYLVANAS: With the death of the Lich King, many of the more intelligent Scourge became…unemployed… They are under my command now…
SORIDORMI: With the Lich King victorious, the val’kyr would never ally themselves with Sylvanas. Which would prove…unfortunate for the Forsaken.
Soridormi waves her hand. Above her palm appears an image of Sylvanas with Lord Godfrey and High Warlord Cromush at the Greymane Wall.
IMAGE OF SYLVANAS: Soldiers of the Horde! We are victorious! Lordaeron is w—
The image of Lord Godfrey draws a pistol and shoots Sylvanas point-blank. She immediately falls dead on the ground.
IMAGE OF CROMUSH: What have you done, Godfrey?!
IMAGE OF GODFREY: Something that should have been done a long time ago, you filthy animal. Gilneas belongs to me, and so soon will the rest of Lordaeron!
SORIDORMI: In your timeline, Sylvanas was resurrected by her val’kyr servants. Here, she had no val’kyr to save her. Sylvanas Windrunner died – for the second and final time. In the aftermath of her death, leadership of the Undercity would pass to Sylvanas’ second, her majordomo of several years.
The nathrezim Varimathras.
GARROSH: Varimathras? How? He’s…dead…oh no…
MOKVAR: <head sinks> The Wrathgate…
SORIDORMI: <nods> Without Putress in the Undercity, Varimathras had no collaborator with whom to conspire against the Banshee Queen. There was never a coup against Sylvanas. And without the coup against Sylvanas, Varimathras was never exposed as the traitor he was — his true loyalties to the Burning Legion never revealed. He carried on unimpeded, not only free to continue his scheming in the Undercity, but eventually becoming its leader. Much time did not pass before he carried out his master plan…
She waves her hand again, summoning the fiery red likeness of a monstrous eredar.
…and summoned Kil’jaeden the Deceiver into this world. Bringing with him countless legions of demons from the Twisted Nether. Bringing with him the Second Fall of Lordaeron. Most of the Eastern Kingdoms was soon to follow.
GARROSH: Fucking hell…
MOKVAR: Soridormi… Edwin is in this world now, we think. If we can get him here, is there still time to undo all this?
SORIDORMI: If we can get him back to Southshore, we should be able to reset the timelines with both Edwins at the points they need to be.
GARROSH: Okay, great, so we’ll just collect him and get him down here and—
SORIDORMI: Actually getting him to old Southshore, though, is no easy task, and not without problems.
GARROSH: Dammit, I thought if I said that fast enough we could get out before the “but” kicked in.
MOKVAR: What’s the problem?
SORIDORMI: Sending Edwin back to period to which he’s already time-traveled involves crossing his own timeline in ways that no mortal was meant to do.
GARROSH: Ah…the whole “no double-dipping” thing.
SORIDORMI: To open a stable time portal for such a repeat incursion will require me to channel immense amounts of power – far more than I can summon up myself.
GARROSH: What about the Noz? He’s the head honcho time guy anyway, couldn’t he pull it off?
SORIDORMI: I am…the most powerful member of the Bronze Flight here.
GARROSH: How does that work? I mean I get that you’ve got this secret super time vision and whatever, but no offense, how did you get to be more powerful than Noz?
MOKVAR: Garrosh…
SORIDORMI: I’m not.
GARROSH: So what gives? Where is he, any…oh…oh no…
SORIDORMI: <looks down a moment> For a number of reasons…the final confrontation with Deathwing proved…far more costly in this timeline than in the other.
GARROSH: I… Wow do I feel like a jackass.
MOKVAR: This is what it finally took, huh?
GARROSH: So…we need a power source to tap into, then?
SORIDORMI: That’s right.
Garrosh stares off to one side, thinking anxiously.
MOKVAR: Not to bring up bad memories, Soridormi, but I don’t suppose the Dragon Soul is an option?
SORIDORMI: I would be, yes…
GARROSH: Okay, so—
SORIDORMI: Except that it has already been returned to its own time, and retrieving it a second time would involve the type of crossing of timelines that we need the power source for in the first place.
GARROSH: Okay, seriously, you’ve got to start leading with the “but” part of these answers.
MOKVAR: What about the spell book that Malchezaar used to bring the demons into Orgrimmar?
SORIDORMI: <shakes her head> The Book of Medivh is a powerful source of portal magic, for portals within this reality, but hardly helpful for the kind of temporal manipulation we’re undertaking.
GARROSH: <staring down, hesitant> What about…the Focusing Iris? From the Eye of Eternity?
SORIDORMI: <nods slowly> The Focusing Iris would work, yes. As a dragon relic, in fact, it should lend itself all the more easily to my use.
MOKVAR: Do we know where it is now?
GARROSH: The Blue Dragonflight is keeping it in Coldarra.
SORIDORMI: I will give you my talisman to show to the blues. They will give you the Iris if they know you’ve been sent by me. They’ll know I would not ask were the need not dire.
GARROSH: Okay then. I think we have a plan.
SORIDORMI: Indeed, Warchief.
GARROSH: You know what? Just call me Garrosh. People calling me “Warchief” here either gets confusing like with Utvoch earlier, or it’s just creepy like with Malchezaar.
MOKVAR: We should probably get go—
SORIDORMI: Wait, Garrosh – Malchezaar saw you, and called you “Warchief”?
GARROSH: Yeah, why?
SORIDORMI: <fidgets with her hands nervously> You need to go. Now. Take my talisman and get to Northrend quickly to recover the Focusing Iris.
MOKVAR: Why? What is it?
GARROSH: I’ve really kind of had my fill of flying blind around here. What’s got you spooked all of a sudden?
SORIDORMI: The Netherspace where Malchezaar dwelled was a distorted region of time.
GARROSH: Right, I know. Time loop, round and round, now he’s dead, now he’s not, boom. So what?
SORIDORMI: The Netherspace rests at the intersection of countless times. Those who dwell there can see into the different realities – bits and pieces, usually, but one never knows. If Malchezaar knows to call you “Warchief,” he has seen your other world. And in that case, he may well know enough – or could deduce – how the worlds fit together and how they might be corrected.
MOKVAR: It would really be nice if there could be some stupid people on the bad guys’ side for a change…
SORIDORMI: The Burning Legion stands on the brink of a victory on Azeroth that it has coveted for millennia. If they realize what we’re doing, they will not stand idly by. We need to act quickly.
GARROSH: Got it. Be doing whatever you need to do to get ready, Soridormi. We’ll be back with Edwin and the Focusing Iris.
SORIDORMI: I hope so, Garrosh. Titans watch over you.
We winged it double-time to Thunder Bluff. I’m writing from there now. Dranosh and the others haven’t arrived yet, but I’ve sent a messenger to Theramore with the barest bare-bones of what we need to do. I’m guessing he’ll be headed here by nightfall, morning at the latest, and then we can get moving.
Next stop, Northrend.
[Sylvanas and Kil’jaeden images above provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth, reproduced here with permission and many thanks. Click on the links in the previous sentence to see the souped-up Postcards versions!]
Could we have the demons back?
We stopped at Splintertree Post first, but there was no Mortimer there. I was pretty much guessing as far as where to look for him, since I’d originally found him at Hellscream’s Reach, which, well, doesn’t exist as an outpost in this world. Our next stop was Silverwind Refuge, and there we finally had some luck. Good and bad, actually, depending on how you count.
On the good: among the windrider master’s batch of wyverns, I spotted that familiar mane. I’m not sure if he somehow remembered me from the other timeline, or if there’s just something about me that drew him to me in either world, or if it’s that I knew to call him by name – whatever it was, Mortimer saw me approaching, climbed down from his perch, and came right over. I notified Wind Tamer Shoshok that one of her wyverns was being requisitioned.
On the mixed-bag-ish: well…
DRANOSH: I know you said you need to go gather some information, but you know we could just give you any number of wyverns.
GARROSH: You can give Mokvar any number of wyverns.
DRANOSH: What’s so special about this one?
GARROSH: <chuckles> I wouldn’t even know where to start.
While Garrosh and Dranosh talk, there’s a murmuring among the Silverwind troops behind them, followed by the voice of…
UTVOCH: Warchief!
DRANOSH and GARROSH: <turning and overlapping> What?
UTVOCH: So glad to see you, sir! You won’t believe what’s been going on lately!
GARROSH: Um, Utvoch, are you talking to me or the Warchief here? You seem confused.
MOKVAR: “Utvoch, you seem confused.” There’s something you never hear.
DRANOSH: Uh, Garrosh, do you know this person?
MOKVAR: Not yet.
GARROSH: <rubbing forehead> Yeah, yeah, I do. Kind of. Warchief, let me introduce Scout Utvoch. I’ve had…some dealings with him…in the past.
UTVOCH: Sir! A great honor to see you again, sir, a very great inconceivable relief—
GARROSH: <smacks Utvoch> That’s not what that word means in any reality.
MOKVAR: Garrosh, you know, if Utvoch is here, that probably means…
DONTRAG: <calling from a distance while sprinting over> Utvoch! What are you doing?
GARROSH: <perks an eyebrow at Mokvar> You just had to jinx us, didn’t you?
Mortimer cringes and edges back from Dontrag and Utvoch.
UTVOCH: Dontrag! Look, Garrosh is here, and I’m just telling him and the Warchief—
DONTRAG: Oh for goodness’ sake, Ut, are you going to start bothering them with that idiocy about you being somewhere else only it’s not somewhere else only there’s nobody there except you other than the people who are there that aren’t here?
GARROSH: <spins to Mokvar> See? SEE? I told you!
UTVOCH: I’m telling you it’s true, Dontrag! I really was seeing it and – <turns back to Garrosh> and – and it wasn’t a dream of a hallucinationatory or anything!
DONTRAG: Idiot, you were standing right next to me every time you said it happened and I didn’t see a blasted thing.
DRANOSH: So, okay, who is this one, then?
GARROSH: This is Sergeant Dontrag, Utvoch’s…well, I’m not going to say “better half”…
MOKVAR: They kind of come as a set.
GARROSH: Kind of like peas in an incredibly retarded pod that almost, not quite but almost, makes you hope the demons win.
DRANOSH: That’s not funny, actually.
DONTRAG: I… High Overlord… I’m honored that you know me, sir. A great vast honor to think that my reputation would have reached you all the way in Orgrimmar, sir!
GARROSH: Wait, what?
MOKVAR: <aside to Garrosh> Uh, you never would have met them here. Utvoch only remembers you because…you know… <does Nozdormu’s “wibbly wobbly, timey whimey” hand motion>
GARROSH: <aside to Mokvar> Oh…yeah…right… <to Dontrag> Right, well, see, Dontrag, I always make a point of keeping an eye on the, um, performance of all our soldiers. Just part of my job.
DONTRAG: Oh, um, really…?
DRANOSH: It is?
DRO SHADOWFREE: <chiming in from nearby> Have you been satisfied with my work as well, Overlord?
GARROSH: <spitting his words out curtly with a quick, annoyed glance at Dro> Shut the fuck up, you don’t matter.
DRO SHADOWFREE: Oh…
DONTRAG: An honor to meet you as well, Warchief. Please don’t let my friend here bother you with his idiocy.
UTVOCH: You’re one to talk about idiocy!
DRANOSH: So, um, Garrosh, is this one the brains of the operation or something?
MOKVAR: I think that question might make the universe cry.
GARROSH: Yeah, uh, not so much. Think of them more as covering complementary parts of the idiot spectrum.
DONTRAG: <crestfallen> I’m…sorry, sir…
DRANOSH: So why are these two important again?
GARROSH: They’re not. They’re really, really not.
MOKVAR: Garrosh, if I could make a suggestion…we might actually want to bring them with us.
GARROSH: Dude, we’ve already watched the Burning Legion and Scourge overrun Orgrimmar, have we not suffered enough for one day?
MOKVAR: Well at least Utvoch. You know… <makes the “timey whimey” gesture again>
DONTRAG: Wait, why is he more important?
UTVOCH: Hah, suck it, Donty.
MOKVAR: More importantly, because of…you know who.
GARROSH: <eyes go wide a moment> Good point.
DRANOSH: Does someone want to fill me in?
GARROSH: Yeah. Right. Here’s the thing, Dranosh. Part of the idea I was talking about before, the way we might be able to undo everything that’s happened – it all depends on a human who was in Orgrimmar. A mage named Edwin Faranell. If we’re going to have any chance at all of doing this, we have to find him.
UTVOCH: Oh, hey, Edwin? But he’s still human now? It didn’t wear off or anything? I just figured he was still that way because of when that naaru soul crystal coldcocked him in the cellar.
DRANOSH: Okay, I’m going to give you thirty seconds to start making sense before I start taking an axe to you.
MOKVAR: Might as well save yourself thirty seconds and just kill him now.
GARROSH: POINT BEING. Utvoch knows Faranell, so he could be handy for helping look for him. Maybe.
DRANOSH: What’s so important about the mage?
GARROSH: It would take a really long time to explain. And a lot of it still wouldn’t make a lot of sense.
UTVOCH: It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me and I was there.
GARROSH: You just described LIFE for you.
UTVOCH: Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.
GARROSH: What’s important is that if we can’t find him, this whole plan is dead in the water.
MOKVAR: Last we saw him, he was on his way to the zeppelins with the last of the evacuees.
DRANOSH: Assuming he made it out, that would put him at either Thunder Bluff or Theramore.
GARROSH: Okay. So here’s the plan. I need some questions answered before we do anything else, and there’s only one place to get the answers. I’m going to take Mortimer here to Tanaris. I’ll need Mokvar with me. In the meantime, Dranosh, you’ve got to find Faranell.
DRANOSH: <grins half-heartedly> You’re the boss, Overlord. I’ll do a search in Theramore first and get our forces organized for a second front against the Legion. After that, I can head to Thunder Bluff.
GARROSH: We’ll meet you there after we’re done on our end.
DONTRAG: A question, Overlord?
GARROSH: <sighs> Yes, Dontrag.
DONTRAG: Who’s this Mortimer person?
“Wait, he named his wyvern ‘Mortimer’?” “I think that was already his name.” “Who gave it that name?” “I think they said he just already had it himself.” “How’s that possible? The wyvern named itself?” “I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” “I don’t speak wyvern, Ut.” “You barely speak orcish, Donty.”
The last Warchief
Dranosh kept staring down at the ruins of Orgrimmar as we circled high above the city. We were too far to hear anything other than the faintest sounds of the demons and undead, but the fires were unmistakable even from here.
I finally went over and stood next to him. He didn’t look away from the sight below. We stood there in silence for a few minutes.
DRANOSH: Do you remember the first time you saw Orgrimmar?
GARROSH: <nods> Thrall brought me, not that long after he came to Garadar.
DRANOSH: My father took me. He was so excited to show me the new home the orcs had built. So proud to introduce me around – every grunt, every merchant, everyone. I remember thinking how every last person in the city seemed to know him.
GARROSH: Well, he IS Saurfang.
DRANOSH: <nods, then pauses> Maybe Thrall should have chosen him. Or Cairne. Or…Vol’jin. <shrugs> Or you, for that matter.
GARROSH: I thought you said I’d be terrible at it.
DRANOSH: Have you looked down there? At what I’ve led us to? I don’t think you would have done much worse.
GARROSH: <staring down> This…this wasn’t your fault. You’ve been a good Warchief.
DRANOSH: Then why am I about to become the last one?
Remember when I said this timeline was the better one? Well, as long as time is getting screwed with anyway, let’s go back and erase that I’d ever said that. Orgrimmar was bad enough…but now Dranosh…
At least the Wrathgate killed him quickly. Not one little piece at a time.
We stood there silently for I’m not sure how long, until Dranosh finally turned around and gave Drok the order to set us on our way to Theramore. As we started to pull away, Dranosh took one more look down at the burning shell of Orgrimmar.
DRANOSH: I still don’t understand how this happened…
MOKVAR: Warchief? I think I might have at least a few answers for us…
Mokvar pulls a frog from until his cloak and dangles it by one leg.
GARROSH: Is that…?
MOKVAR: Neeru Fireblade. I’ve been keeping him hexed. I figure he may be able to fill in a few gaps if we want to pop him.
DRANOSH: Is this the one who did this?
GARROSH: Not alone. But he was the ringleader of those warlocks in the Cleft of Shadow, anyway…
DRANOSH: <visibly fuming> Oh… Oh, bring him out. I want to talk to this one…
Mokvar nods and drops the frog on the deck, then zaps it with a frost shock to break the hex. Before Neeru Fireblade can react in his restored orc form, Dranosh grabs him by his robes and shoves him back against the railing.
DRANOSH: Oh hello, Neeru, so glad you made it out in one piece…
Neeru struggles against Dranosh’s grip, but Dranosh only shoves him back harder.
It would have been such a shame if you’d gotten yourself killed back there and cost me the chance to do the honors myself.
Neeru looks around at the gunship, then grins and chuckles cruelly.
NEERU: Based on our surroundings, I assume the day goes badly, eh, Warchief?
GARROSH: Not nearly as badly as it’s about to go for you if you don’t talk.
DRANOSH: I’ve got a lot of questions, Neeru, but here’s the main one – why?
NEERU: <laughing> Why? Why would I work against my enemy? Are you really that naïve, boy?
DRANOSH: How is the Horde your enemy? You’ve been a citizen of Orgrimmar for years!
NEERU: And a warlock of the Burning Blade for longer! That shaman who came before you wanted to believe so badly that some of us might yet be redeemed that he gave us haven in his precious capital. Even when his agents told him my loyalties might be…conflicted…the trusting fool still left me there in my tent to go about my business unimpeded.
GARROSH: Wow, seriously?
MOKVAR: You didn’t know about this?
GARROSH: Would have been nice if he’d left me a fucking note about it or something…
NEERU: <chuckling> Allegiance to the Shadow Council is not foresworn so readily.
DRANOSH: So you’ve been sitting there all these years plotting this?
NEERU: This specifically? No, no, boy. Simply…watching for moments of opportunity. And the Scourge attack on Orgrimmar proved a superb one.
GARROSH: While we were busy watching the rear gate, there was nobody to keep an eye on you bastards in the Cleft.
DRANOSH: Is that what the demons were doing in the Deadwind Pass? Gathering for your go-ahead?
NEERU: Our go-ahead, and more importantly our beacon to target their portal. The Legion also happened to have, in the Deadwind Pass, some ideal resources for a surprise attack such as this.
GARROSH: Malchezaar, in Karazhan.
NEERU: Holder of one of the most powerful sources of portal magic in this world – the Book of Medivh.
DRANOSH: Hold on – I’ve heard of Malchezaar, but I thought he was dead.
MOKVAR: He was.
GARROSH: Repeatedly.
MOKVAR: Didn’t take.
DRANOSH: Excuse me?
NEERU: <chuckling> Your mind is so comically linear.
GARROSH: Malchezaar hung out in the highest level of Karazhan, where it pokes through into this whole other dimension.
MOKVAR: Netherspace.
GARROSH: Time doesn’t work the same way up there…it’s like it’s locked in this infinite loop. So people went up there and killed him, yeah, and then a few days later the loop would reset, and he’d be there alive again.
MOKVAR: And then someone else would kill him, and in a few days the loop would reset again.
GARROSH: On and on endlessly.
DRANOSH: And he just stayed there to die over and over? Why would anyone do that? Why wouldn’t he just leave?
NEERU: Because so long as he was there, he could never truly die, you fool. No matter how many deaths he might endure – hundreds, perhaps – the Netherspace would always restore him. The perfect hiding place for the Legion to stash away a key weapon for safekeeping, until the time would come that he would be needed.
DRANOSH: o today the demons cracked Malchezaar out of storage to bring them here…
NEERU: <smirks at Garrosh and chuckles> I wish you could have seen the look on your face when—
DRANOSH: <shaking Neeru violently> I would be a little more worried about the look on you face when I cut off your head and stick it on a pike, Fireblade!
NEERU: Do you wish to, Warchief? Then by all means. I had no delusions that I would escape this endeavor alive. But I believe. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter if you kill me. I’ve lived long enough to see Orgrimmar burn.
Dranosh loosens his grip on Neeru and stares over the warlock’s shoulder at Orgrimmar.
DRANOSH: You’re forgetting something, Neeru.
Neeru arches an eyebrow quizzically.
Orgrimmar is behind you.
Dranosh draws his sword and runs it through Neeru.
You haven’t seen anything.
Neeru seizes up, then goes limp on the sword. Dranosh extends his blade over the deck railing, then shakes off the body, letting it plummet to the rocks below.
GARROSH: <spitting over the side> Dismissed.
Dranosh stands at the railing, looking down, then looks back at Orgrimmar.
DRANOSH: I should have caught what they were doing. This should never have happened.
Garrosh stands next to Dranosh.
GARROSH: You’re part right. This shouldn’t ever have happened. <looks at Mokvar, then back> What if we could fix it?
DRANOSH: Yeah, sure, we’ll just rewind time and take it all back.
MOKVAR: Not exactly.
GARROSH: Look…what I have in mind isn’t a sure thing by any means, and I’m not even sure exactly how to do it myself. But I think I can find out. And if it works…well, things won’t be perfect. Like, at all. But the demons won’t be running roughshod over the world, and the Scourge will be under control.
DRANOSH: Sounds pretty perfect to me. You sure you haven’t been dipping into the felweed again?
GARROSH: I’m serious. It won’t be easy, even if we can do it at all. And…I don’t know if we’ll all make it through alive. In fact…I’m pretty sure we won’t.
DRANOSH: But Orgrimmar, our people – they do?
GARROSH: I think so, yeah. If what I’m thinking works.
DRANOSH: <nods slowly> If that ends up being the cost… A mediocre Warchief is a small price to pay for the survival of the Horde, don’t you think?
GARROSH: I don’t know. I’ve only seen great ones.
DRANOSH: What do we do?
GARROSH: First I need information. <thinks for a minute> And before we get too far along to Theramore, I need to make a quick side a trip to Ashenvale.
DRANOSH: What’s in Ashenvale?
GARROSH: An old friend.
Oh yeah. Shit just got real.
This is the way the world ends
{Picking up from last time…}
Garrosh and Mokvar look around the room nervously while the goblin messenger slowly pulls himself up.
MALKOROK: <snickering at the goblin> Do you see, you simpering worm? Do you see what your failure brings you?
GOBLIN: <steadies himself, rubbing one shoulder in pain> I’m…I’m sorry, sir. I swear the crew is working tirelessly to correct the problem and have the galleon ready to embark as planned…
MALKOROK: <shoving the goblin from behind> See to it that they do, rodent! If you come to the Warchief bearing bad news again, rest assured you’ll have far worse than bruises to show for it!
MOKVAR: Hey, enough, leave the little guy alone.
MALKOROK: <sneers> Stay out of matters that are none of your concern, scribe. Assuming you’re capable of such a thing.
GARROSH: Malkorok, that’ll do. I think the courier gets the point.
MALKOROK: As you wish, Warchief.
GARROSH: <to the goblin> You have your answer. Go deliver it.
GOBLIN: Yes sir…
The goblin rushes out.
MALKOROK: I do not like having to rely on these sniveling—
GARROSH: Really not the day, Malkorok.
MALKOROK: If you insist. I still question the wisdom of your…predecessor choosing to bring these Bilgewater rats into the Horde.
MOKVAR: Yeah, well, I question the wisdom of wisdom of of era wisdom uoy of question suounet of erom eht of the won raised fo esnes ruoy in reworran eht tub front anosrep ruoy dilos of erom eht htdiwdnab ruoy my rekciht eht erutuf eht ni eyes dna tsap eht ni the llewd bringing the uoy bringing erom bringing eht bringing bringing the bringing the likes of you into the inner…oh…
Garrosh and Mokvar look around again, finding themselves at the entrance to the Drag. Horde troops rush around, fighting demons, while civilians continue to flock to the elevators.
GARROSH: <looking around frantically> Edwin – do you see Edwin anywhere?
MOKVAR: Nowhere I can see.
GARROSH: Goddammit…
MOKVAR: He was headed up to the Skyway, so hopefully he made it out…
GARROSH: Let’s hope. Well, we can keep an eye out, but either way, let’s make sure the others get out, too…
We ran through the Drag, past scores of demons being fought by Horde soldiers, weaving between heaps of bodies of demons and Horde alike. We helped the soldiers kill a few of the monsters as we made our way toward our main destination: the orphanage.
When we got there – and cut down a trio of shivarra on the way – we found Vol’jin had had the same idea, and was slaying demons as he cleared a path for himself from the opposite side. We converged at the door to the orphanage, and Vol’jin waved us inside while he squared himself to cover the entrance.
Mokvar and I ran in. There was no sign of Matron Battlewail anywhere, and the kids were half running around in a panic, half hiding behind or under anything they could find. We ushered them out as quickly as we could – I tried to look for Gurtash, but he wasn’t anywhere I could see – and as we came back outside, we found Vol’jin fending off a new batch of wrathguards being rallied by the doomguard Highlord Kruul.
I stepped in to help Vol’jin push Kruul back while Mokvar covered the orphans. In the chaos, I spotted Thathung and Wabang — reluctant grunts in the other world, auctioneers in this one — rushing past, and I broke away to flag them down. Mokvar herded the kids over closer while I told Thathung and Wabang to get them up to the zeppelin towers. I was so focused on getting the orphans taken care of that I didn’t even notice Kruul lunging in behind me with his sword poised.
VOL’JIN: Garrosh! Look out, mon!
Vol’jin dives at Garrosh, pushing him away – and taking Kruul’s blade through his back.
Garrosh pulls himself up as Vol’jin spills onto the ground next to him, and, roaring angrily, Garrosh launches himself at Kruul, slashing at him furiously with both axes. Kruul deflects the first several attacks, then starts to have trouble keeping up with Garrosh’s flurry of blows, until finally Garrosh chops off the demon’s hand at the wrist, leaving his sword to rattle away uselessly. With one more angry shout, Garrosh lashes at Kruul, tearing his axe across the demon’s head, slicing away its top half just below the eyes.
As Kruul falls lifeless to the ground, Garrosh spins around and runs back to Vol’jin.
GARROSH: Okay…okay, troll, now we just get you patched up, and…
Garrosh looks at Mokvar, who shakes his head.
Come on, he was just some pansy-ass demon, you’re not going out because of some punk like him, right?
Vol’jin cringes, then rolls to look up at Garrosh.
That’s right, there you go – unbreakable, right, troll?
VOL’JIN: <halting> Garrosh…mon…I seen…seen you… <seizes up and coughs, then grins faintly> Wish…wish I was invincible…den…he would never a seen me…mon…
Vol’jin lets out a breath, then goes limp on the ground.
The entire city shudders, and chunks of the upper level buckle. Pieces of stone and architecture break off and crumble. Dranosh rushes in from the Valley of Honor with a handful of soldiers.
DRANOSH: <shouting in all directions> Fall back to the zeppelins! All forces fall back!
GARROSH: Let me guess, it’s getting worse.
DRANOSH: The Scourge are getting through. The shamans managed to bring down some of the cliffsides as a barricade, but it’s just buying us some time… <looks down at Vol’jin> Is he…?
Garrosh nods.
This is a nightmare….
GARROSH: Nah, now we just sic the Scourge and Legion on each other and kill two birds.
DRANOSH: <smirks half-heartedly> Yeah, we’ve got them right where we want them now.
GARROSH: <scans around> You want me to help finish calling the evacuation?
DRANOSH: No…I’ll do it. I’m the Warchief, if anyone has to call the retreat…
GARROSH: We’ll hit the Valley of Wisdom and make sure it’s clear. Everyone else seems to be on their way.
DRANOSH: I’ll see you up at the airships.
GARROSH: If we’re late, don’t wait for us.
DRANOSH: Like I would.
GARROSH: Lok’tar ogar, Warchief.
DRANOSH: I don’t like those options today.
GARROSH: Be careful.
DRANOSH: And you.
We split up, and Mokvar and I made our way through the smoke and the fighting and the toppling buildings into the Valley of Wisdom. Most of the tauren had already cleared out. Mokvar and I made short work of some imps that were setting the teepees ablaze, then ushered the last of the tauren civilians up toward the Skyway.
Another tremor shook the walls of the valley, and large chunks of rock splintered off and came crashing down onto the tauren structures, crushing two of the buildings and sending the largest totem toppling to the ground. As the totem landed, I heard a pained, bestial shriek, and circled around to check.
Zhi-Zhi, that crazy-ass monkey-boy, was pinned under the fallen totem.
GARROSH: <rushing over and gripping the totem> Mokvar, give me a hand with this.
ZHI-ZHI: No! No, you go! No stay for Zhi-Zhi!
GARROSH: <struggling to move the totem> Don’t…ugh…don’t worry, Hairy Grammar Boy, we’re not…nngh…not staying for anyone, least of all your scrawny ass…uggghh…we’re just getting this off you and we’ll all be on our way.
Garrosh and Mokvar continue working on the totem, but it barely moves.
MOKVAR: Dammit, what did they carve this thing out of, lead?
GARROSH: It’s made of solidified inconvenience, just like every other damn thing in our lives right now…
ZHI-ZHI: No! You go! Listen, listen to Zhi-Zhi! Must go!
GARROSH: Nnnngh…don’t…don’t know what you’re so worried about me, Spanks. I thought you said I’m NOT “the one”…
ZHI-ZHI: Yes! No! Not the one! Yet!
Another tremor sends more stone crumbling down around the sides of the valley.
MOKVAR: Garrosh, hate to say this…
ZHI-ZHI: Must go! Go now!
GARROSH: You shut up, chimp, we’ll have this in just a second…
ZHI-ZHI: Listen! Listen to Zhi-Zhi! <stares up wide-eyed> You…have…a destiny!
MOKVAR: Garrosh…
GARROSH: We’re not fucking leaving him! He KNOWS something, Mokvar!
MOKVAR: So do we, Garrosh! And if we don’t make it out, it dies with us!
ZHI-ZHI: Go now! Please! Go for Zhi-Zhi!
Garrosh lets out a disgusted sigh and nods, then follows Mokvar out of the valley – looking back over his shoulder at Zhi-Zhi every few steps.
We had to fight our way through droves of felguards and terrorfiends to get to the elevator, but we finally managed to reach the Skyway. The last of the zeppelins was departing as we arrived, and Dranosh was standing by with Drok on the Windrunner. The entire Skyway was shaking as we got on board, and the gunship pulled away. As we passed over the city, we could see the Scourge starting to pour into the Valley of Honor. The rest of the city was swarming with demons. Every kind you could imagine.
We’ve been circling over Orgrimmar at a safe distance — or as close as you can get to safe, under the circumstances — for nearly an hour now, watching the demons and undead fighting in our streets and tearing down our buildings. Dranosh hasn’t had much to say. He’s just been standing at the edge of the ship, looking down, watching everything and nothing in particular.
We won’t know for sure how bad our losses are until the ships all reach their destinations and we have a chance to do a head count. Eitrigg went with the civilians to Thunder Bluff. Most of the military personnel are on their way to paying a surprise visit to Theramore.
Meanwhile, we stay here, circling around the clouds, waiting for Dranosh to come back from wherever he’s gone inside his head.
The siege of Orgrimmar
This may wind up being all over the place – so much happening that I’m not even sure where to start. I’m going to try to cover as much as I can remember, in as much detail as I can, and I’m having Mokvar edit in what he can, both from his notes at the time and also – probably mostly – his best estimates after the fact. I’m not even sure I should be taking the time to write this all out, but if things go badly from here, I feel like there should be a record somewhere of how it happened.
If you don’t hear any more from me, then this is the story of how the Horde fell.
I guess I should start at the beginning.
Our fears based on the scouting reports were justified. The Scourge force in Winterspring, which by all accounts had grown to massive numbers, swept south into Azshara and across the zone unopposed. We had early warnings from patrols that they were on their way, but there wasn’t anyone to slow them down, and as news came in I found myself wondering why the goblins weren’t putting up any resistance. It took me a few minutes to put two and two together and realize that there WERE no goblins in Azshara, because the Bilgewater Cartel in this world had apparently never joined the Horde.
It’s strange how things work in this world. Every time I flash into this timeline from ours, I find myself dropped into the middle of whatever was going on here. I still remember where I was and what I was doing in the original timeline, but within a few seconds, I also remember, more or less, what was happening here – at least enough to get my bearings. And I’ll have these other, scattered memories – or fragments of them. Images, places, little snippets of things that I’ve done and seen here. Just enough to get by. And yet, I wind up drawing a blank on the big picture. I know what’s happening as it’s happening, but I don’t know how it got to be that way.
So I still have these gaps, like with the goblins, or for that matter the Scourge, or the demons – big chunks of altered history that I just have no idea about, and it’s not like there’s been a point when I could ask someone without setting off all kinds of warning lights. “Oh hey, you know these major historical events we’re in the middle of, and that I’ve personally lived through? They’ve kind of slipped my mind. Give me a quick recap?” Best case scenario, they decide Garrosh has finally gone off his rocker.
So funny thing, standing on the rampart over the Orgrimmar rear gate, watching those masses of undead coming over the hills, I couldn’t help getting lost in my head for a minute. Wondering where Spazzle is now.
Zaela directed the main defenses as the Scourge arrived and threw themselves against the gate. The rampart was packed to capacity with catapults and lined with archers. Nazgrim led an entire legion of infantry down to take them on directly, striking quickly then backing off under cover fire from the rampart. Even at the battle of the line at Elrendar, I’d never seen so many Scourge. We killed thousand upon thousand of them, and yet the fields of Azshara teemed with them endlessly.
Dozens of gargoyles and val’kyr flew past our outer defenses and swooped through the streets of the Valley of Honor. The Kor’kron air guard dove in to engage, but even they could only keep up with so many of them at a time. I rushed back inside to help fight off some of the ones close to the ground. As I was hacking up a val’kyr, I heard someone screeching for help behind me – turns out it was that strange monkey-man Zhi-Zhi that Nazgrim had found stranded at sea, being tugged back and forth between a pair of gargoyles. I charged in and cleaved them down.
ZHI-ZHI: Ah! Ah! Many thanksings, yes, much appreciations for saving Zhi-Zhi!
GARROSH: What the hell are you even doing back here?
ZHI-ZHI: Zhi-Zhi, uhh, Zhi-Zhi come for fishings of crawdads! Nice pond for fishings! Good for snacks!
GARROSH: Fishing? Dude, did you not notice there’s a major battle going on here?
ZHI-ZHI: Yes! Yes! Less competitions for Zhi-Zhi!
At that point Dranosh came running in to direct another infantry battalion to the gate and redeploy the units covering the interior stop points. As he approached us, the ground shook as a deep, rumbling noise echoed around us.
DRANOSH: <looking up to the gate> What the hell was that?
GARROSH: I don’t know – did they bring battering rams? Or maybe they’ve got flesh giants at the gate now?
ZHI-ZHI: Oh no…
Zaela runs in from the gate as another rumble shakes the ground.
ZAELA: What’s going on in here?
GARROSH: That’s not coming from the gate?
ZAELA: No, I came to try to see what was causing it.
DRANOSH: Status report back there?
ZAELA: Getting hit hard, Warchief, but we’re holding.
DRANOSH: As long as the gate holds, we can pick them off for as long as they want to keep coming.
Another rumble, lounder, crashes through the air as the ground shakes forcefully. Garrosh stumbles in place briefly before regaining his footing.
GARROSH: What the hell IS that?
ZHI-ZHI: <closing eyes and shaking head> Cracks, cracks, everywhere cracking…closed circle coming…
MOKVAR: I think that came from the Drag – or maybe the Cleft of Shadow?
GARROSH: The Cleft of…there couldn’t be anything going on in Ragefire…?
DRANOSH: Right now I’m not interested in guessing – check it out, Garrosh. Find out what’s going on back there.
GARROSH: On it.
ZAELA: I’m coming too, Overlord.
ZHI-ZHI: <hands on head> From within, it consumes…
Zaela, Mokvar, and I ran back to the Drag as quickly as we could. The ground shook beneath us while we ran past one building after another, looking around frantically for any telltale signs. Finally we ran into the Cleft of Shadow. And my rage bar hit overload.
They were standing in a circle – about a dozen warlocks, each standing in a glowing, purple rune, with Neeru Fireblade among them, chanting some sort of incantation. They were all channeling some kind of spell with red-purple ribbons of magic energy flowing from their hands to the middle of their circle, where a swirling disk glowed and shuddered on the ground. The closer we got, the more we could feel the low trembling of the ground under our feet. The warlocks repeated every few words that Neeru said as he continued his chant, and they grew louder each time as if they could feel success looming closer.
The swirling disk pulsed more brightly as we closed on the circle of warlocks. Zaela and I didn’t waste any time worrying about the details of what they were doing – we charged in and started cutting them down. Mokvar threw a hex on Neeru Fireblade to put a stop to his chanting, then helped us take out the rest. But with every warlock we killed, the glowing disk only glowed brighter, and as I cut down the final one, with his last breath he just laughed.
WARLOCK: Too late, you fool! He comes! He comes!
The disk glows brighter as the ground shakes with greater force.
GARROSH: What the hell WAS that spell they were casting? Why doesn’t it stop?
MOKVAR: Because the real spell wasn’t coming from this side…
ZAELA: This side? Of what?
MOKVAR: The spell they were casting was a locating beacon…
The ground rumbles loudly. The disk expands and starts to glow bright green. Zaela pulls Garrosh back to keep the edge of the disk from grazing him.
…to set a target position for this. For a portal.
The disk gives off one more bright flash, accompanied by a buckling of the ground underfoot, then settles into a duller, steady pulsing. From the center of the disk, a giant blue man’ari eredar rises up, holding open in one hand a book covered in shimmering arcane runes. About a dozen terrorguards and abyssals rise up from the portal behind him.
GARROSH: Oh…fucking hell…
MOKVAR: Wait, is that…?
GARROSH: I’m thinking so.
ZAELA: Who? Who is he?
The eredar snaps the book closed and waves a hand behind him. Several domguards and shivarra begin to emerge.
GARROSH: Malchezaar.
ZAELA: Wait, Prince Malchezaar?
MOKVAR: Yup.
ZAELA: Karazhan Prince Malchezaar?
MOKVAR: Karazhan-in-the-Deadwind-Pass-where-the-demons-were-gathering Prince Malchezaar, yeah. That’s the guy.
ZAELA: Wasn’t he killed?
GARROSH: Over and over. Funny thing about that…
The first of the demons rushed at us, and Zaela, Mokvar, and I went to work. Malchezaar did that creepy laugh of his – the one that only a few people should ever have heard but way too many have – as dozens more demons came pouring out of the portal. Mokvar kept an Earthquake rolling under the demons while Zaela and I stood side by side and slashed them down as they ran at us.
GARROSH: We’ve got to stop them here before they get into the city!
ZAELA: I think you’re underestimating how many of them may be coming, Overlord…
MALCHEZAAR: <chuckling> Yes, yes, Overlord, you do not face Malchezaar alone—
GARROSH: Yeah, yeah, I know, Squid-Face, everybody’s heard it, the legions at your command, shut up!
MALCHEZAAR: Oh, no, orc, not the legions at my command – the Legion at His command!
Another deep, low rumble shudders through the ground, accompanied by an even deeper laugh echoing from the other side of the portal. Slowly, an enormous, clawed red hand rises out of the portal. Several of the demons turn to look, then cackle hideously.
GARROSH: That…couldn’t…
MOKVAR: Oh…oh shit…
Zaela turns to Garrosh and grabs him by his shoulders.
ZAELA: Overlord…go!
Zaela spins away from Garrosh and charges at a nearby doomguard. She leaps up, grabs the doomguard by one horn, and uses her grip to flip over its body while wrenching its neck around and snapping it. Still holding the horn, she flings its entire body into a cluster of succubi, then throws herself into a pack of a dozen felguards while launching into a bladestorm that sends severed limbs flying left and right.
ZAELA: <glares back at Garrosh as several demons converge on her> Garrosh – GO! Warn the Warchief! Kagh!
The giant hand reaches to one side of the portal, dragging a heavy red arm behind it, and presses against the ground as another laugh bellows from beneath.
MALCHEZAAR: Oh yes, do – warn the Warchief, Warchief.
MOKVAR: <looking to Garrosh> Did he—?
GARROSH: Later.
Garrosh pulls at Mokvar’s arm and runs toward the exit of the Cleft of Shadow; Mokvar scoops up the still-hexed Neeru Fireblade and follows. As they rush to the exit, Zaela tears through demons at the portal’s edge, while more emerge by the dozen. Garrosh turns a moment to look back at her before following Mokvar out to the Drag.
GARROSH: Aka’Magosh, Warlord.
Garrosh and Mokvar emerge into the Drag with about twenty demons in pursuit. Horde soldiers on the street turn in surprise at the sight, then run to intercept the demons. Mokvar turns back to face the entrance to the Cleft and holds his hands toward the stone that forms the cavern.
MOKVAR: Spirits of Earth, I know I’m still kind of new at this, so please, please don’t pick today to be finicky with me…
GARROSH: <looking around and grumbling> “Warchief,” he says. This world has seriously got to stop finding new ways to be fucked up…
The stone shakes and begins to crack; the cavern entrance collapses on itself just as another pack of demons near it from the other side. The ground shakes violently as an angry growl rumbles from behind the heap of rock.
GARROSH: That buys us some time, but it won’t hold them forever. We have to get to…ah, here we go…
From the gate to the Valley of Honor, Dranosh and Vol’jin rush in with a squad of Kor’kron. Orcs, trolls, and tauren pour into the drag from either side, running around in confusion as they engage the demons.
VOL’JIN: How da demons get here?!
GARROSH: It was the warlocks – they were helping the Legion open some kind of portal, and—
The ground shakes again, forcefully, and a deep laugh echoes from below.
—and I think the big guy is with them…
The Horde troops finish the last of the demons, but look around anxiously at the sound of the demonic laughter. The boulders blocking the Cleft of Shadow passage begin to buckle and shake.
Dranosh leaps onto a broken siege engine, gestures to the crowd with both arms, and calls out loudly.
DRANOSH: Hear me, sons and daughters of the Horde! We have been betrayed from within our very home, and the Burning Legion comes into our midst! I look among you, and know that this is not a battle you dreamt you would fight today – but the battle is upon us nevertheless, and we will meet it! I look among you now, and see the fear in your eyes – fear for your home, for your family – but I tell you, do NOT fear them! Remember instead – it was your home, your family, that these very demons defiled! These same demons who destroyed our beautiful world, who left your fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers lost or forever scarred! These same demons who today have come – and delivered themselves to the justice they have too long eluded! The Burning Legion comes today, my friends – and I do not fear them! I PITY THEM! Rise up now! Rise up for the moment we prayed would come! For Draenor! For Azeroth! FOR THE HORDE!
I’ve heard troops shouting “For the Horde!” more times than I can count. I’ve never heard it as deafening as it was right there – just as the boulders blocking the cavern finally cracked and the demons came rushing out.
The flood of demons was met by a raging wave of green and brown and blue as our soldiers threw themselves against the monsters, crashing into them and pushing them back. Vol’jin called out to a squad of Darkspear shadow hunters, who lined up on the ledge across from the Cleft and rained arrows down onto the oncoming demons, then he ran over to Dranosh.
I started to run past Dranosh to rejoin the fray. He grabbed me as I passed and pulled me to face him. His look was grim and urgent, and his eyes were more terrified than I’d ever seen them. I think a little piece of me died at the sight.
DRANOSH: We need to get the civilians out of here, and we need to get them out NOW.
Captain Drok runs into the Drag, leading a squad of troops. Dranosh grabs him by his arm as he passes.
DRANOSH: Drok, I’ll take care of your men – I need you to get up to the Skyway. I want every zeppelin and gunship we have ready to take off and I want them ready ten minutes ago, do you understand?
DROK: Yes, Warchief!
Dranosh runs after Drok’s troops, cleaving down a pair of felguards as he goes. After cutting down a terrorfiend, he looks back over his shoulder at Garrosh, Vol’jin, and Drok.
DRANOSH: You heard me! All of you – GO!
Dranosh rushed back into the battle, and Drok ran off to the Skyway elevator. Vol’jin and I split up, him racing to the Valley of Spirits, me to the Valley of Strength. I ran from building to building – through crowds of panicking citizens – ordering them to the Skyway and trying to herd them into some vague semblance of order. Droves of orcs and trolls, blood elves, tauren, even some scattered worgen and gnomes. Humans. I never thought I’d see the day I’d be racing around helping save humans. Desperate times.
I KNEW Orgrimmar needed some kind of emergency alert system.
I followed the crowds up to the Skyway elevator near the entrance to the Drag and tried to keep them moving in as much order as a frightened mob could maintain. All you could hear was the sound of people shouting and screaming and the rising growl of the demons. Every so often, the ground shook again beneath us.
After one tremor, I felt someone jostle me, and I turned to see a human had bumped into me in his rush to the elevator.
A familiar human.
FARANELL: Wha— Garrosh?
GARROSH: Hey, Doc, I— DOC! What are you—oh shit, Soridormi said you might—
MOKVAR: Doesn’t that mean the timelines are merging?
FARANELL: <looking around panicked> What—what’s going on? What happened to Orgrimmar? I was…I was walking back to my quarters, and there was a flash, and…
GARROSH: Yeah, weird dizzy feeling for just a second?
MOKVAR: It’s the other timeline, Edwin.
GARROSH: Welcome to the end of the world, Doc. You picked a great time to drop in…
MOKVAR: Actually…Garrosh…
A loud crashing sound comes from the back of the city, followed by a rise in the overlapping screams and shouts. The ground shakes again violently.
FARANELL: I don’t understand – all this is happening because of what I did? I mean, the other me? How—?
GARROSH: Long story, Doc, and I don’t even know all of it. <steadies himself after another tremor> But wait a minute – if you’re here—
MOKVAR: Exactly! If he’s here, and we can get him to Soridormi—
GARROSH: —then maybe THIS “you” can actually fix actually fix fix ytilatrom actually fo fix you raef fix namuh eht fix can esab eurt you rieht ta evah have tcartsba ro a detacitsihpos destiny revewoh emit some of fo some snoitagitsevni some lla some some of some of what’s gone wrong and—
Garrosh looks around the Northwatch Hold admiral’s quarters, horrified.
No – no, no, NO, NO, NO!!
Garrosh lashes out, smashing the table in front of him and pummeling a goblin messenger across the room and into the wall.
MALKOROK: Hah! Indeed, Warchief, nor should you stand for such incompetence! Perhaps you should put an end to his sniveling existence – the Horde can surely afford the loss of one pitiful weakling. Haha!
{TO BE CONTINUED…}
Casualties of war
We’re still holding tight at Northwatch Hold…for more reasons than one. The second phase of the plan is ready to go, not least of all because of some clutch last-minute work by the goblins and blood elves, and all that’s left is for me to give the go-ahead.
Not yet, though. Waiting a little more could end up helping in a couple ways. One, it ultimately puts a few pieces in even better position for the Theramore plan. And two, it gives that much more time for these time tremors to kick in and save us the trouble of even dealing with what’s happening here in the first place.
Not that anyone here actually knows about any of that. Well, ALMOST no one knows about it, anyway. Mokvar knows the story with the time flashes, obviously – I haven’t said anything about my own take on them, although it wouldn’t sock me if he’s guessed, after last time. And Malkorok knows some of what’s coming strategically for Theramore. Or might be, if I decide to pull the trigger. He’s been an advocate for it, even while I’ve been on the fence myself.
Baine and Vol’jin, meanwhile, have been getting more and more grumbly. Earlier today, they came moping into the admiral’s tower here, which I’ve taken over as my personal quarters, and interrupted my lunch just to complain some more about all the waiting. I don’t mind telling you, I am getting damn sick and tired of tired of of rebma tired ni of sick sgub of erofeb dias of and evi sa and lla era ew taht dnif lliw you uoy dna tnemom yb tnemom have ti ekat si ylpmis ti a snoitanalpxe ro sgninraw ot flesti destiny dnel ton seod ti egnahc ton seod wrappings ti emit wrappings lla burial wrappings si burial emit burial lla burial burial wrappings burial wrappings were applied and the body was set in place for the final rites. Hamuul Runetotem conducted the memorial, with Aponi Brightmane chiming in an additional prayer to the Earth Mother now and again.
Even looking back, it’s amazing to think of the turnout for the service. Dranosh, Eitrigg, and I came, obviously. Varok made the trip to Mulgore all the way from Northrend. Jaina Proudmoore and – ugh – Varian Wrynn traveled from Theramore. Same for Anduin. Genn Greymane. Muradin Bronzebeard. Even Tyrande Whisperwind and Malfurion Stormrage (yeah, yeah, I know I usually call him Antlers, but this was a funeral, and even I have my limits) came out from their corner of nowhere to pay their respects. It crossed my mind after we’d all left that one of our big-bads could have turned up and dropped one big bomb on Red Rocks and taken out almost our entire leadership in one fell swoop.
Varok didn’t stray far from Cairne the whole time. The old bull was quiet, steady, stoic as always, but we all knew what had to be going on inside. The only time Cairne spoke at all – apart from him stepping forward to offer the final blessing – came when he turned to Saurfang and quietly told him he envied him. Not even for the obvious reason, not quite. He said he envied that Varok would one day meet his end knowing he would be buried by his son. That is was the proper order of things. That of all the scourges of war, none was more spiteful than its upturning of that rightful order.
I’ve spent much of the day trying to convince myself that Baine’s death shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. I can’t even say I ever knew him very well, and most of how I DID know him…well, let’s just say I’m we’re not exactly at the top of each other’s Winter’s Veil lists. It would have been naïve of me to think that this other world would only give back, only right wrongs. It would have been naïve to expect that there wouldn’t be new losses. I couldn’t really have expected otherwise. Except that I guess I did.
We’re at war. This is what happens in war. That men will die is a matter of fact. WHICH men will die…well, that’s a matter of circumstance. Baine is a victim of a different set of circumstances. Are these really any worse? I mean, yes, there’s the fact that the war with the Scourge is still going on at all. But there’s always another war. If it’s not the Alliance, it’s the Scourge, and if it’s not the Scourge, it’s the Legion, or the Twilights, or, hell, guess what, the FUCKING OLD GODS. That’s how it works. We beat one big bad, only to have another one dropped on us. Rinse, repeat, cross your fingers…
Speaking of which, though. We ended up needing to get back to Orgrimmar shortly after the service. Advance scouting reports have indicated a large Scourge force amassing in Winterspring, and we needed to review what we know and get our defenses in order, just in case. Saurfang stayed for the strategy session, what with him having logged the most Scourge-fighting hours of any of us, but we agreed that until we know what the Lich King is up to, we don’t want our troops in Northrend to be without their C.O.
We’re in the process of shoring up the rear gate to Azshara in case anything happens. In the meantime, we’ll keep watch on what’s going on up north while we get our defenses set.
Seems I’m going from one waiting game to another. Let’s hope at least one of them breaks well for us.
Brothers in arms
These timeline flashes have gotten me thinking of a lot of things, not least of all the years in Nagrand before Thrall came. I dug my old journal out again for the first time in months and have been paging through it some today. This entry goes back to when I was a teenager. A million years ago and yesterday all at once…
Dranosh and I spent the morning riding out to Sunspring Post to go fishing. Most of the way we just talked about how weird Jorin has been acting lately. We used to be pretty good friends, but the last couple months, since he found out about his dad being chieftain of the Bleeding Hollow clan, he’s kinda started turning into a dick, like be’s better than us all of a sudden.
When we got to Sunspring Post, there was a big buzz going on about a hunting party that had been attacked. They had been out doing their usual clefthoof and talbuk hunting, when a gronn came down from the hills. It killed two members of the party before they could even react. The rest of them made a run for it and made it back to the village.
Dranosh overheard this whole discussion going on and gave me that look of his and said, “I know we came out here to go fishing, but what do you say to a hunting trip?” So off we went.
We wandered around the western hills for a while before we found the gronn. At first it looked like it was fighting some ogres and windrocs, but when we got closer we could see the gronn and the ogres were fighting together. Hunting windrocs for food, maybe? I remember Greatmother telling me that ogres were descended from gronn, so I guess the Warmaul ogre clan was getting buddy-buddy with a semi-distant cousin?
Anyway, by this point the ogres had noticed us and were running in to attack us. Dranosh took down the first two to reach us before I could even draw my axes – I’ve got to remember to ask him some time to show me that move of his where he hacks into two targets at once. It’s pretty badass.
Dranosh started duking it out with the gronn while I charged in on a couple warlocks – you know, the ones that all seem to have two heads – that were peppering us with shadow bolts. I ran up on them, and hacked one head off of each of them, one with each hand. Double axe action! The best part, though was how once each ogre was down one head, the two remaining heads looked at each other with these hilarious “Oh shit” expressions – which gave me just enough time to finish my follow-through, wind up again, and lop off those heads too.
Dranosh was mostly keeping it together against the gronn, but right when I’d finished with the warlocks (and chopped up their damn imps for dessert), the gronn got hold of Dranosh and flung him against the mountainside. I leapt to him just as the last couple ogre maulers were running over. We each squared off with one. They turned out to be a hell of a lot tougher than the others. Dranosh and I weaved back and forth around them, trading off targets, maneuvering to help set each other up – we’d fought together before, obviously, but it was the first time I remember ever noticing how well we know each other’s instincts in battle. All those years of sparring and practicing together…all those times we’d seen each seen every one of the other’s moves – we’ve reached a point where we can play off of each other without even thinking about it. Without even trying to.
Eventually we maneuvered so we were standing back to back with the ogres flailing away at us from either side, lashing into our parries harder with every swing. We let them back us a little closer to each other, then Dranosh glanced back at me and said, “Count of three?” I just answered with “One.” He added “Two,” I added “Three,” and then, with both ogres in mid-swing, we ducked down and away, and let the ogres cut each other down for us.
By this point, the gronn was on top of us again, and we both went to work on it. He hung in there for a while – he was a resilient bastard – but he was too slow and clumsy to keep up with the two of us for long. Little by little we wore him down, and in a little while we made our way back to Sunspring Post – with a gronn head in hand to show it was safe to go hunting again.
On the down side, the fish weren’t really biting at the lake. Looks like we spent all that time walking out here for nothing. Oh well.
That wasn’t the first or the last time we’d fought together shoulder to shoulder. There were dozens of hunting trips back in Garadar, and the Warmaul ogres kept us busy on more than one occasion keeping the place safe. So many memories of us charging together into so many fights we should have known better than to try by ourselves, then coming out alive because we were just too stubborn not to. Because neither of us was going to let the other die. Us against the world, we thought. Spirits help the world.
And yet, now I have these other memories. Dim and fuzzy, incomplete, but still there. Dranosh and I, charging into battle together. In Northrend. In the Twilight Highlands. Memories I wasn’t even there for, except that I was. Me, but not me. Another me…maybe a better me. The life I would have lived – the life I DID live, if we don’t reset the timeline back to the “real” one.
Maybe the life I SHOULD have lived.
Meanwhile I sit here in Northwatch Hold, biding my time on the next battle, while half my underlings grumble and complain, as if the victory we just won wasn’t suitably victorious for them. Sometimes it seems as if Malkorok is the only one that understands what I’m trying to do here, and even he…well, I don’t know if he’s the type you ever feel totally at ease with. Even when you know he’s on your side.
More and more, I find myself wishing Dranosh was still here.
March of destruction
We made our move on the Barrens today. Northwatch Hold never knew what hit it.
While Baine and Vol’jin got their people moving from Mulgore, I gathered our troops in Orgrimmar and started our march from there. Mokvar, Malkorok, and most of the other likely suspects came with me. Eitrigg stayed behind to watch the store while I’m away.
We marched down from the Crossroads to Ratchet, where the blood elves, goblins, and Forsaken had sent ships carrying their troops. Of all the leaders, though, Gallywix was the only one who had actually shown up himself, and even he wasn’t actually planning to join the fight. Probably just as well – I don’t really see his fat, cigar-chomping ass being much help on the battlefield, and as long as the other goblins are here with their siege engines, that’s all we need. Meanwhile, Sylvanas and What’s-His-Name sent lieutenants – Captain Frandis Farley and Kelantir Bloodblade, respectively – to lead their troops. I don’t know anything about Farley other than him seeming kind of permanently slackjawed (literally), but Kelantir says she trained under Liadrin, so hopefully that bodes well.
Once all our forces were gathered, we marched down to Northwatch. Then we struck. Orcs, elves, goblins, and Forskaen from one side, tauren and trolls from the other. It was all the Northwatch soldiers could do not to crumble immediately. I’d figured going in that these humans wouldn’t be much of a match, but just to make sure – and give a new potential weapon a field test – I ordered into battle the special regiment of shaman who’ve been preparing for this campaign.
The shaman moved in close to the hold, under heavy Kor’kron guard. Then they focused their incantations on the boulders just off the shore. The stones shook, and steamed, and started to melt. They grew so hot that not even the surrounding water could cool them – the sea itself boiled as the shaman channeled their magic. The rocks shifted and melted and fused together, and then…breathed. And then they walked up onto the land, molten giants, lashing out furiously out furiously furiously efil out ot furiously giants emoc furiously emit seod furiously lashing spots kcolc lashing eht nehw ylno sleehw i elttil yb havent ffo dekcilc done gnieb si anything ti sa gnol sa forces daed si forces emit silvermoon forces emit silvermoon yals silvermoon skcolc Silvermoon Silvermoon forces Silvermoon forces, along with the troops we’d brought from Orgrimmar, cut down hundreds of invaders and held them back as best they could, but the undead just kept coming. Thousands of them. Ghouls, gargoyles, abominations, vargul. They came and came, wave after wave. Finally, the eastern wing fell, and countless undead flooded across the Elrendar River into Eversong.
Dranosh didn’t look away from the sight while he reminded me – as if he had to – that we had to hold them here until the shield was up, that we had to give Kalecgos and the others more time. I watched the droves of undead rush closer and said, “I’ll get the five thousand on the left, you get the five thousand on the right.” He just nodded and answered, “We can split the ten thousand in the middle.” And down we jumped.
Scourge are like hornets – they might sting individually, but they’re only really dangerous because they can swarm you with so many at once. Dranosh and I slashed through I don’t know how many skeletons and zombies. Bits of Nerubians strewn everywhere. Switching off, trading places, one of us starting to dice up the newest batch, then giving was for the other to finish it off. Dranosh hacking one wing off a valkyr, then grabbing her as she careened on one wing toward a pack of skeletons and letting her trajectory carry his blade clean through them all. Me getting a couple dozen zombies chasing me double-file down a gully, then heroic leaping to the back of their lines, then charging to the front again, running straight up the middle and swiping both my axes through zombies on either side while I ran. Both of us barking a kill count at each other as we slashed away.
At one point we positioned ourselves back to back while duking it out with a pair of abominations. While the aboms lashed their chains at us and we countered each swing, Dranosh leaned back to me and said, “Ogre dodge?” I answered, “Count of three” – we counted down, gave one last feint, then both ducked out of the way while the aboms swiped their chains clean through each others’ heads.
We were cutting a swath through waves of undead while the Silvermoon regiments regrouped and the gunships finally arrived, when it started to dawn on me between swings that it had been years since the two of us had fought side by side. Only it hadn’t. In some foggy half-remembered memories, we’d gone into battle together so many times many times times oga many sraey times together dnasuoht times net nageb i worromot havent dna done worromot anything litnu revo triumphant laugh eb triumphant tnow triumphant yadretsey triumphant triumphant laugh triumphant laugh, with Malkorok joining in beside me, as we watched the handful of Alliance survivors flee like the rats they are.
It took a little doing to get the molten giants reined in, but my shaman were able to set them back to rest. Baine wasn’t exactly thrilled about us playing that particular elemental card, and he had a few choice words about it. Malkorok shouted him down some, but it probably wasn’t necessary. They both mean well, but they also both tend to get a little too worked up a little too quickly. Good thing I’m around to be the level-headed one.
We’ve set up camp here in Northwatch while we recuperate and tend to our wounded. Not too many of those, though, as it turns out – a tribute to how smoothly the entire plan ended up being executed. We’ll stay here until the time is right for the main event – the attack on Theramore. There are still a few variables I need to make some decisions on, but we have time. Right now it’s time to savor the first of many triumphs.
Victory for the Horde!
