Tag Archives: demons
Demon’s Bargain
After the dead end in Winterspring, I mentioned that I still had one more possible stone to turn over. It’s not one I particularly wanted to turn over, considering who I’d be finding under it, but at this point I don’t really have the luxury of wasting time and hoping something else falls into my lap. So yesterday, I took a walk down to the Cleft of Shadow to have a talk with Neeru Fireblade.
I had known Neeru a little when I had first started training as a warlock, but since moving to Orgrimmar and changing to shamanism, I hadn’t had contact with him beyond occasionally passing on the street. I’d always avoided the Cleft of Shadow; after Thrall gave me sanctuary in Orgrimmar, the last thing I wanted was to be caught anywhere near the fel magic of the warlocks. Now, after years of avoiding the place, I couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy just from purple light that illuminated the cavern as I made my way down.
Neeru Fireblade channels a spell while Mokvar approaches.
MOKVAR: Neeru.
NEERU: <looking at Mokvar over his shoulder> Mokvar. Just a moment.
Neeru finishes channeling. Small flames burst from a large windroc carcass that sits on a nearby table, then flicker out after a moment. Neeru turns to Mokvar and points to the sizzling fowl with a smirk.
Undercooked.
MOKVAR: What do you do if it needs salt?
NEERU: Count myself lucky that I didn’t make a larger mess of the preparation than that. I’m hardly a chef.
Neeru sits down at the table.
I hope you don’t mind if I go ahead with dinner.
He gestures to a second chair across from him; Mokvar sits.
It’s been a long time, Mokvar. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you venture down this way. What brings you to the land invocations and mediocre cuisine?
MOKVAR: I’m looking for information, and I think you may be on the short list of people who might have it.
NEERU: <gnawing on a leg from the roasted windroc> I’m hardly a person in the know these days, but ask away.
MOKVAR: The Nether Prism.
Neeru pulls the drumstick away from his face slowly and looks up.
NEERU: Well now. What have you gotten yourself into, Mokvar?
MOKVAR: More a matter of what I’m trying to get myself out of.
NEERU: All the more interesting, then. I haven’t heard talk of that particular bauble in an age.
MOKVAR: I wish I could say the same.
NEERU: <eyes Mokvar closely> The last I heard of the Prism, it was in the hands – or claws, I suppose – of that drakonid Valthalak.
MOKVAR: That was years ago. After that, it made its was to an imp named Vi’el, in Darkwhisper Gorge.
NEERU: If you’re interested in the Prism, why don’t you go seek out the imp, then?
MOKVAR: I did. He’s dead. What became of the Prism from that point is anyone’s guess.
NEERU: Really now. And how did you happen to know about this imp in the first place?
MOKVAR: Let’s just say it took a roundabout path getting from Blackrock Spire to the imp.
Neeru leans back in his seat and folds his arms.
NEERU: You? You mean to tell me, Mokvar, that a relic as potent as the Nether Prism managed to change hands from Gul’dan all the way down to the likes of you?
MOKVAR: When you’re starting with Gul’dan, I don’t know if “down” is the right word.
NEERU: <chuckling and picking up the windroc leg again> Well well, Mokvar…you say you came to me for information, but it seems I’m learning a fair bit more from you.
MOKVAR: I think you know more than you let on.
Mokvar leans forward and drums his fingers on the table.
Then again, so do I.
Mokvar glances around at the other warlocks practicing invocations.
How many of them will it take?
NEERU: <mouth half full of windroc meat> Take? For what?
Mokvar leans closer to the table.
MOKVAR: To channel your targeting beacon for the demons.
Neeru drops the windroc leg on his plate and looks up.
How many warlocks? How many of your collagues…in the Burning Blade?
NEERU: The Burning Blade died with the last vestiges of the old Horde. Anyone will tell you I cut my ties with them when I pledged my loyalties to Thrall.
MOKVAR: <nods> Of course.
Neeru starts to reach for his food again.
Are you waiting for a signal from any agent of the Legion, or are you on hold for Malchezaar specifically? You might be waiting a while if it’s the second one.
NEERU: I don’t know where you’re getting these fairy tales, Mokvar, but—
MOKVAR: You know, it’s a funny thing. Grom Hellscream died slaying Mannoroth and freeing our people. Now his son walks around wearing the demon’s tusks, and sits on a throne carved out of its skull. It would be a shame if the Warchief got the notion that someone in Orgrimmar was still cooking up something with the Legion.
NEERU: <waving toward Ragefire Chasm> If you really think Garrosh is above cutting ethical corners for the sake of—
MOKVAR: If you’d like to roll the dice on how Garrosh would react, be my guest. It’s not my neck at stake.
Neeru stares down at his food.
NEERU: I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t know what’s become of the Nether Prism.
MOKVAR: But?
NEERU: But if I were to hazard a guess as to where it might have gone…after the imp… <glances around furtively> There have been…rumblings among the warlocks since the fall of Deathwing. It started when the human Kanrethad reconvened his circle of fel masters, the same ones who had worked to expand the powers of the warlocks before the Cataclysm.
MOKVAR: I’d heard about that much – the Council of the Black Harvest, isn’t it?
NEERU: <nods> Our own Ritssyn from here in Orgrimmar was among them.
MOKVAR: What are they doing?
NEERU: Running around on fool’s errands all over the world – and beyond – to seek out even greater sources of power for themselves. That Kanrethad thinks he can build a coven of the mightiest warlocks in existence and position himself at its head.
MOKVAR: You don’t think they’ll be able to do it?
NEERU: I think that when you set out with a plan of “Let’s go make ourselves more powerful than anyone ever,” you find either disaster or a far heftier price than you’d counted on.
Mokvar nods.
Nevertheless. If the Black Harvest are trying to consolidate their power, I’d hazard a guess that the Nether Prism would be just the sort of item that would interest them.
MOKVAR: Do you know what’s become of Ritssyn?
NEERU: I believe he and one of the others made their way off to the Firelands. For all the good that will do you.
MOKVAR: What’s that supposed to mean?
NEERU: Mokvar, don’t you be a fool too. You can’t seriously expect that the Black Harvest would talk to you.
MOKVAR: I think I’ve already shown I can be pretty persuasive.
NEERU: <chuckles> Mokvar, don’t be naïve. You’re hardly one of the movers and shakers of the world, I’ll grant, but surely you can’t believe that you’re not noticed. Standing for all those years in Thrall’s council room. Attending advisors’ meetings with the leaders of the Horde. Hellscream’s personal scribe. Never mind the fact that they’ll know you were a warlock yourself once before you decided you didn’t want to dirty your hands with the fel arts any longer. Do you really think they’ll be willing to tell you anything?
MOKVAR: I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to be very persuasive.
NEERU: Assuming you can even find them.
MOKVAR: We’ll see. <getting up> Anyway, I suppose I got what I came for, or as close to it as I’m going to. Enjoy your dinner, Neeru.
Mokvar turns to walk away.
NEERU: Mokvar.
Mokvar stops and looks back.
How did you know?
MOKVAR: How did I know what?
NEERU: Don’t play games with me. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.
Mokvar grins.
MOKVAR: Let’s just say I get around.
I left Neeru and made my way out of the Cleft of Shadow, mostly preoccupied with how I was going to track down the Council of the Black Harvest. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t notice the light go dimmer than it should have as I went up the last bend of the cavern. That’s when two spectral assassins appeared out of nowhere and attacked me.
I fought them off as best I could for a minute, but my shocks and chain lightnings aren’t nearly as potent as a shaman who’s been training at it his whole life. They were quickly gaining the upper hand when Garona unstealthed behind them and had at both of them with a flurry of blades that was faster than my eyes could follow. It bears noting, by the way: Garona’s no joke in combat. I hadn’t really noticed before. Those spectral assassins dropped fast. While she resheathed her weapons, I tried to come up with something to say without much success.
MOKVAR: Garona…I…
GARONA: Garrosh knows what you’re doing. I hope you do, too.
MOKVAR: Then why…?
GARONA: Before he left for Pandaria, he asked me to look out for you. Until he tells me otherwise, that’s what I’m going to do.
MOKVAR: Well…thanks…
GARONA: Don’t. You know that if he tells me kill you, I’ll have to.
Mokvar nods and starts to turn to go.
Don’t give him a reason to.
Garona stealths.
I think it’s safe to assume that pretty soon Garrosh will be getting a letter informing him that I went to see Neeru Fireblade. I don’t figure that’s going to do a whole lot to improve his mood any. Still, he’s having Garona go on protecting me, for now at least. And with these two assassins down, chances are I’ve got a couple days before I have to worry about the next wave coming for me.
Still, I don’t have the luxury of a lot of time. I have a new lead to follow, and it needs to lead somewhere quickly.
Mokvar
[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Demonology Anonymous
Now for the hard part.
I left out a few details last time about my past with the Veiled Blade, and everything that’s been going on recently.
I said before that when we killed Lord Valthalak, we took his spellbook along with the pieces of an amulet that ended up bringing the spectral assassins down on us. But there was one more part of the spoils: a demon relic called the Nether Prism, a crystal that could be used, among other things, to focus fel energies and dominate the will of demons. I was a warlock back in those days, and I arranged to have the prism included as part of our deal with Malkorok. I wanted to see how much the Prism could be used to augment my powers.
I thought I could handle it. I thought wrong.
The Prism magnified the power of my spells for sure, and for brief windows of time I could use it to control powerful demons. At least more powerful than the dime-a-dozen ones that your garden variety warlocks can summon. In more powerful hands than mine, I suppose it could have been used on even greater ones. But if there’s one thing I learned, it was that I was nowhere near warlock enough to master the energies that flowed through that crystal and keep them under control.
It became pretty clear to me that I couldn’t afford to keep toying around with the Prism. The problem was, though, that it wasn’t going to be as simple as sticking it in the back of the sock drawer and forgetting about it. The Nether Prism radiated fel energies. Demons were drawn to it. And using its magic to deal with the demons when they turned up would just make it radiate more.
As if life wasn’t already too complicated, it was at this point that I learned Valthalak’s spectral assassins were making short work of the rest of the Veiled Blade. I couldn’t keep taking my chances running around from place to place alone. So I turned to Thrall. He offered me sanctuary in Orgrimmar; all he asked was that I be on hand to aid the Warchief when needed. I only ever told him the barest details about my past. I never said a word about the Nether Prism. Thrall was only barely willing to tolerate the presence of warlocks in Orgrimmar at all, given the orcs’ history; I couldn’t imagine he would have been willing to take me in if he’d known the whole story. It’s hardly a coincidence that that was when I abandoned demonology altogether and took up shamanism. I wasn’t about the bring dishonor upon the man who’d given me a safe haven, or overstay my welcome.
So, the Nether Prism had to go. In the last days before I moved to Orgrimmar, I traveled to Darkwhisper Gorge in Winterspring. Hidden away in a cave there was an imp named Vi’el, a collector of relics and exotic items. I passed the Prism off onto him and hoped he wouldn’t realize what he had on his hands. I know looking back that it probably wasn’t the wisest move in the world, but at that point I just wanted the blasted thing off my hands. So I left it with Vi’el, and went on to Orgrimmar to begin my new life. And started working out ways to deal with the spectral assassins before they came knocking on my door.
For a while, it worked. I thought that chapter was done. But as often ends up being the case around here, life still had one more surprise epilogue waiting.
As soon as the spectral assassins attacked me in the Drag, I knew what they were and where they were from. Even with Ji fighting by my side, they were able to wear me down fairly quickly; Ji kept fending them off as best he could while I watched for an opening to pop back up. That was the point when we had one more surprise guest, this time a face from the past that was actually welcome: Deliana. She’d stealthed her way into Orgrimmar to come looking for me, and after she helped Ji and I fight off the assassins, she snuck back with us to my house to compare notes.
The notes weren’t good. Something had stirred Valthalak’s spirit; I remember when he’d been laid to rest the first last time, the adventurers I’d sent mentioned him saying something about things being settled “for now,” but I didn’t really give it much thought at the time. Now, though, he was awake again and sending out his assassins. Only this time, it wasn’t over the amulet; it was over the Nether Prism.
From Deliana’s perspective, this all started with Theldren turned up in Ironforge, seeking protection from Moira Thaurissan. Something had brought the last scattered remains of Nefarian’s old minions out of hiding and sent them scrambling after anything demon-related they could find. Deliana overheard Theldren repeating that “something’s coming,” whatever that means. We don’t know most of the why’s and wherefores; all we do know is that whatever’s behind it has stirred Valthalak enough to make him want his old trinket back.
I wasn’t going to go to Garrosh with any of this. I didn’t think he would have received the last bit about my past with the demons well in the best of circumstances, much less now that we’d been through that ordeal with the Burning Legion in the other timeline. Not to mention the minor detail that I was fraternizing with a human in Deliana. We decided that we had to keep her involvement in all of this a secret; Ji, being maybe the one person who was truly neutral to all of this, came into our confidence.
It became pretty clear pretty quickly that it wasn’t going to be possible for Deliana to stay hidden in Orgrimmar, especially after Garrosh stepped up security for me after the attack. (At least he meant well.) Deliana even had a run-in with Malkorok at one point when he was coming to talk to me and happened to catch her sneaking her way to my house. She was only able to get away because Ji happened along and was able to blindside Malkorok with a Quaking Palm that stunned him. We got Deliana out of Orgrimmar and she went into hiding in Azshara, with Ji stepping up to ferry messages back and forth between us.
Which brings us to Winterspring. The trip to Timbermaw Hold was basically just a cover for us to meet up with Deliana in Everlook, and from there…Darkwhisper Gorge, to find Vi’el. After the Cataclysm, most of the demons had abandoned the gorge for the underground caves, and the Twilight’s Hammer had moved in. Now the cultists were gone and the demons were back in force – and gone crazy, fighting among themselves. Even back in the day, there weren’t this many of them. We could barely turn around without being jumped by another felguard or pack of felhounds.
We found Vi’el at his cave – dead. The cave had been ransacked; half of the belongings that remained had been burned, singed with green flames. We turned the place upside down, but it became apparent fairly quickly that there wasn’t anything to be found.
I’m not sure where we go from here. The spectral assassins are still coming, Krog already having intercepted one just the other day. Vi’el was the only lead we had back to the Nether Prism, which I have to figure is our only means of getting the situation under control. Short of dying. Again. Deliana has gone back into hiding in Azshara while we come up with a new plan. I think I might have one more possible stone to turn over, but it may reach the point – in fact, I suspect it will soon – when I need to give up the secrecy and bring all this to Garrosh. Hopefully he’ll understand.
I should maybe go see about making some lemon squares.
Mokvar
The Roshy Horror Picture Show
Barnes walks back offstage following his introduction, as the ghostly audience applauds.
BARNES: Go no now, they’re waiting for you!
GARROSH: Um, the FUCK you say?
MOKVAR: Do you mean we’re supposed to…?
BARNES: As I said, your tale sounds like an intriguing one…
FARANELL: Ugh, I always hated school plays…
GARROSH: Yeah, fine, but…
BARNES: And if you want my help with your Malchezaar problem, you’re just going to have to help me with tonight’s audience!
GARROSH: You can’t seriously—
BARNES: Now don’t worry, the magic of the Opera House will help you along as you go.
GARROSH: But we—
BARNES: Now go on! There they are now, entertain them!
GARROSH: Ugh. Fine.
Garrosh sighs and reluctantly trudges out on stage, followed by the rest of the group. The audience applauds their arrival.
GARONA: <scanning the applauding crowd> I could get used to this, actually…
MOKVAR: So, uh, what are we supposed to do?
GARROSH: Beats me…
BARNES: <echoing from offstage> Oh, all right, I can see you have a touch of stage fright, so I’ll help get you started…
Music begins to play as an enormous, disembodied spectral mouth appears at the back of the stage and slowly floats forward.
GARROSH: <jumping away from the mouth as it moves up> The FUCK?!
{DEMON HUNTERS TRIPLE FEATURE}
PROLOGUE (a.k.a. THE LIPS):
Some adventurers came; they were not seeking fame,
But our audience would rejoice.
They knew axes and runes, not so much spinning tunes,
But our magic here would give them a voice.They came on a quest, ventured seeking to best
A demon that they call Malchezaar.
But their prey they can’t face, while he’s in Netherspace;
Why they seek him, well that’s quite bizarre.Demon hunters triple feature:
Spectral patrons will fill the bleachers.
Here one night only: Hordies singing!
Improv performances, they’ll be winging.
Oh oh oh oh oh,
At the late night triple feature opera show.It’s a perilous tale! Will our heroes prevail
As they journey the pathways of time?
At a dragon’s behest, everyone was impressed,
Though “Nozdormu” is a real bitch to rhyme.But as they went along, something went wrong,
You’ll see, just wait for the surprise!
For they found themselves trapped as the worlds overlapped –
Watch it unfold now in front of your eyes!Demon hunters triple feature:
Spectral patrons will fill the bleachers.
Here one night only: Hordies singing!
Improv performances, they’ll be winging.
Oh oh oh oh oh,
At the late night triple feature opera show.
The stars will glow,
Oh oh oh oh,
At the late night triple feature opera show.
An hour or so,
Oh oh oh oh,
At the late night triple feature opera show.
So here we go,
Oh oh oh oh,
At the late night triple feature opera show.The ghostly mouth fades away. Garrosh and the others look back and forth awkwardly among themselves as the audience starts to murmur.
GARROSH: Yeah…so…
MOKVAR: What now?
BARNES: <offstage> You folks really aren’t used to performing, are you?
GARROSH: Yeah, how about I drop you into a battlefield with no prepping and see how YOU do, spooks.
BARNES: <sighs> Well, how did everything begin with this adventure of yours?
GARROSH: Well, Sylvanas reported this whole—
BARNES: Don’t tell me, tell them!
GARROSH: Oh. <turns to face the audience> Uh…yeah, so, Sylvanas came to me with this problem…
A ghostly likeness of Sylvanas Windrunner walks onstage and approaches Garrosh.
…and…well holy crap, look at that…
Music starts to swell again. Garrosh looks around in confusion.
SYLVANAS: Hail, Warchief!
GARROSH: Um…okay…
SYLVANAS: I’ve got something to ask…
GARROSH: Uh…yeah?
SYLVANAS:
…of your leadership, in which we bask.
But now, I fear, I must beg a task.GARROSH: This is…kinda weird…
{OH GOSH, GARROSH}
SYLVANAS:
We need your help now, son of Grommash!
LIADRIN and MOKVAR: <together, flatly>
(Garrosh.)
SYLVANAS:
You’re leading the Horde with such panache.
(Garrosh.)
That Theramore thing, we’ll just whitewash.
(Garrosh.)
So I need to tell you now,
Oh gosh, Garrosh,
We need you.The problem we have I know you’ll squash.
(Garrosh.)
Whoever’s behind it, you will quash.
(Garrosh.)
If you pull this off, Aka’Magosh!
(Garrosh.)
So I need to tell you now,
Oh gosh, Garrosh,
We need you.There is something killing the Forsaken
In Southshore – details are still vague.
Something magic, if I’m not mistaken.
Oh, but don’t fret, we weren’t making plague.Nope. No way. <glances around furtively>
GARROSH:
I asked for a contact; you said him.
(Edwin.)
This Faranell guy, with the dead grin.
(Edwin.)
Your Banshee Queen, she’s been beggin’.
(Edwin.)
So let’s get to work now, Doc,
Come in, Edwin,
I’ll save you.So, Edwin…
FARANELL:
Yeah? <looking disturbed to find himself singing> Oh gosh…
GARROSH:
Where to begin?
FARANELL:
Well…Garrosh…
GARROSH:
What to do?
One side of the stage fades into the likeness of old Southshore, while the other side takes on that of the Caverns of Time.
FARANELL:
We’re kind of screwed.
Here is what we’ve got to do…We’ll travel in time – really, no josh –
(Garrosh.)
To trace back this anti-plague death slosh.
(Garrosh.)
Once it’s found, I’ll put the kibosh.
(Garrosh.)
That covers it, I think, so
Oh gosh, Garrosh,
Time we flew.Oh gosh, Garrosh…
GARROSH:
Edwin, no chin.
FARANELL:
Hey! Gosh, Garrosh.
GARROSH and FARANELL: <looking increasingly uneasy with all of this>
Wow, that blew.
GARONA: So, hold on, how did you all know to…you know…sing that?
GARROSH: I just kind of DID…
FARANELL: That was…weird…
BARNES: <offstage> As I said, the Opera House glamours will help you along — now keep it going, you’re on a roll!
GARROSH: My dad never had to do any shit like this to kill fucking Mannoroth…
MOKVAR: Okay, so next…
LIADRIN: <turning to the audience> The mission to save the Forsaken in the past was a success…
The scenery on one side of the stage morphs from the appearance of Southshore to that of Orgrimmar.
…but when we returned, we found that the past had been altered…
GARONA: <looking around> Oh wow, this is freaky…
Around them, Orgrimmar flickers between its normal appearance and one torn by battle, with demons and Scourge running about.
MOKVAR: You should have been there when it was actually happening.
GARROSH: Right, so at that point…
Music begins to resonate through the hall.
DONTRAG: Uh, I think it’s starting again…
FARANELL: Aren’t we lucky…
{TIME WARP}
GARROSH:
Noz has spoken –
Time is broken,
All thanks to Faranell.
Now what’s left for me?LIADRIN:
Ask Soridormi.
MOKVAR:
Timelines have gone to hell.
FARANELL:
I remember
Being in Southshore
Up till that moment when
The blackness consumed me…GARROSH:
Now this future will doom me!
ALL:
Let’s do the time warp again!
Let’s do the time warp again!FARANELL:
I took a turn to the left.
ALL:
It should have been to the right!
FARANELL:
Bad news, everyone!
ALL:
No Putricide in sight!
And now the surging Scourge
Invade us from Northrend.
Let’s do the time warp again!
Let’s do the time warp again!LIADRIN:
It’s intriguing.
UTVOCH:
But mentally fatiguing…
LIADRIN:
With the demons blitzkrieging
We need a plan.GARROSH: <rushing in with Focusing Iris in hand>
Hey now, get out of my way!
We’re gonna fix up the timeways.
Hit the old Hillsbrad highways,
Back where it all began.FARANELL:
Now I’m feeling regretful…
MOKVAR:
Wait till you get forgetful:
Those gaps in memory now and then.GARROSH:
I see demons invadin’!
LIADRIN: <drawing the Ashbringer>
I got dibs on Kil’jaeden!
ALL:
Let’s do the time warp again!
Let’s do the time warp again!FARANELL:
Well I was running down the street
Toward the Southshore inn,
Had to tag myselves “it”
Much to my chagrin.
She’d told me the plan
And she seemed strong and wise;
She had a blood elf’s shape
And a dragon’s eyes.
I pounced myself and I felt displaced –
Time convulsing, snapping back in place.ALL:
Let’s do the time warp again!
Let’s do the time warp again!FARANELL:
I took a turn to the left.
ALL:
It should have been to the right!
FARANELL:
Bad news, everyone!
ALL:
The Legion joins the fight!
The fall of Orgrimmar –
It wasn’t if, but when.
Let’s do the time warp again!
Let’s do the time warp again!Let’s do the time warp again!
Let’s do the time warp again!FARANELL:
I took a turn to the left.
ALL:
It should have been to the right!
FARANELL:
Bad news, everyone!
ALL:
There’s nothing here that’s right!
We’ve got to fix this mess,
So turn the years back ten.
Let’s do the time warp again!
Let’s do the time warp again!Everyone collapses onto the floor for a moment as the lights dim, the surrounding scenery fades, and a dark curtain slides in close behind them. After a few seconds, they begin to rise to their feet.
DONTRAG: So wait, all that really happened?
UTVOCH: What have I been trying to tell you?
DONTRAG: Why don’t I remember any of it?
UTVOCH: Donty, the stuff you don’t remember we could just about crowbar into Razorwind Canyon.
GARROSH: Enough, you two!
LIADRIN: But, that pretty much covers everything important, doesn’t it?
A rhythmic bass line and drum beat can be heard in the background.
FARANELL: More or less.
GARONA: Why am I still hearing music, then?
GARROSH: Yeah, good question, shouldn’t it be show over at this point?
BARNES: <offstage> You’ll have to forgive me — while I was drawing on your memories for the show so far, well…there was just too much other great material to pass up!
MOKVAR: Oh no…
GARROSH: Oh crap, what have you people been remembering now?
A heavy guitar chord echoes through the hall as the dark curtain parts, and, from just behind Garrosh, Lor’themar Theron struts on stage, dressed in a full Black Mageweave set. (And no, not the male version.)
GARROSH: The FUCK?
{E-TRANSVESTITE}
LOR’THEMAR:
Greetings, orc-kind!
Hope you don’t mind
My dropping in for a call.
It’s always quite the same:
You forget my name –
I never once called you Thrall.Don’t get freaked out
By the way I look;
Don’t rush to judgments too early.
I’m not much of a man
In the daytime sun,
But online I’m one popular girly.I’m just an e-transvestite
From trade chat channel,
Playing Earth Online.Could you show me around?
Maybe help get this mob down?
Think you could spare me a dollar?
Or is your interest waning
In more dungeon chaining?
If you change your mind, give me a holler.GARROSH:
Um, listen, dude,
I don’t mean to be rude.
I don’t want you throwing a fit.
You do your thing, fine,
Just…do it online.
No one needs to look at that shit.LOR’THEMAR:
So you don’t like the sight?
Well now, you just might
Have met, in your times epicurean,
One hot sexy avatar,
Says she’s from Astranaar –
That night elf’s real name might be Malfurion.I’m just an e-transvestite
From trade chat channel,
Playing Earth Online.Why don’t you free up your mind?
You won’t be maligned.
Just try to enjoy the eye candy.
I mean nothing malicious
In looking so delicious –
But trusting noobs really are handy.I’m just an e-transvestite
From trade chat channel,
Playing Earth Online.Hey! Hey!
I’m just an e-transvestite
From trade chat channel,
Playing Earth Online.So, log on to play,
And look with dismay
At those female toons you’ve been observing.
But you’ve got those blinders
While in Dungeon Finder,
So I’ll dispel the veil…but not your perving!As he delivers the last line, the curtain closes in front of him. The audience bursts into raucous applause.
GARROSH: Okay, what in the holy FUCK was THAT?
MOKVAR: Well, you did call him out for playing a female toon…
GARROSH: And also, THAT gets the ovation?
FARANELL: Personally, I thought my bridge was pretty good.
GARROSH: And a whole lot less discomforting…
Barnes walks out on stage with them.
BARNES: A hand for our performers, ladies and gentlemen!
The audience applauds more.
GARROSH: Okay, so we’re good now, right, spooks? Ready to set us up with this mystery in of yours?
BARNES: All in good time, sir.
GARROSH: Wait, what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?
BARNES: <grinning> Well as I said, sir, while I was casting the glamours, I took the liberty of poking around in some of your memories…and I’m afraid you all have far too much wonderful story material for me not to avail myself of the opportunity.
GARROSH: Um…WHAT?
BARNES: And we do still have another show to tend to after the intermission. You and your friends are welcome, of course, to take the opportunity to rest and refresh yourselves…
GARROSH: Intermission? What intermission?
BARNES: This one, sir. We’ll resume with a new tale soon.
The curtain closes to mounting applause.
Let’s do the time warp again
It was late when we arrived in Dalaran. After the bunch of us got off the Windrunner, Dranosh ordered Drok to take his crew and report to Bolvar and the Argent Vanguard to help however much he could. As the ship made its departure, we got going to the Violet Citadel.
On the way, we passed through the center of the city. It was an eerie sight for me. In the middle of town, on the spot where there should have been the monument to the defeat of the Lich King, there’s a memorial honoring Tirion and the heroes who were lost with him in Icecrown Citadel. Liadrin stopped for a minute and offered a prayer for the fallen. Jaina. Dontrag and Utvoch. Saurfang.
A gnome was making his way around the city lighting all the lampposts when we arrived at the Violet Citadel. Rhonin was waiting for our arrival and was pacing around in the main hall like a restless animal. Liadrin started to break the news to him about Jaina, but Rhonin cut her off. I think he already knew, as soon as he saw us walk in without her.
He took us upstairs, where he summoned a portal for us to the Caverns of Time.
People get so used to taking mage portals that before long they forget how disorienting they are at first. You’re in one place, then there’s a flash of light, and for half a second you’re nowhere. You feel this dizzying whoosh run through your whole body and you feel like you’re falling, and then all of a sudden you’re somewhere different. New sights, new sounds, new everything. After you’ve done it a few times, you learn to roll with it and regain your sense of direction quickly, but every so often, when you first arrive in a new place, something happens to throw you out of your routine and reminds you just how unsettling it can be.
The ground shook violently under our feet as we arrived at the Caverns of Time. Not even just the ground – the walls, the ceiling, somehow even the air seemed to shudder around us. Bronze dragons were racing around, and bunches of drakonids ran up the ramp toward the surface. Anachronos was rumbling around, barking orders, rallying the cavern’s defenders. I don’t think I’d ever seen him so animated. After a minute, he spread his enormous wings and flew up the winding passageway with a handful of bronze drakes close behind.
In the middle of the chaos, Chromie teleported in right on top of us, talking a million miles an hour, and finally ushered us back to Soridormi, near the Hillsbrad portal, before teleporting away again.
SORIDORMI: Thank the Titans you’ve made it. We don’t have much time.
GARROSH: Do I even want to ask?
SORIDORMI: The Legion must have pieced together what we might try to do, as I’d feared. They started their attack some hours ago. We’ve been holding them back, but the battle has been a costly one.
The entire cavern quakes as shouts echo from the surface passageway.
DRANOSH: Well, we brought you a present.
Dranosh steps back and gestures to Faranell, who is holding the Focusing Iris.
FARANELL: <handing the Iris to Soridormi> Will you be able to do it?
SORIDORMI: <nods> It will take me a few minutes to open the portal and stabilize it, but I can get you back to Southshore, yes.
DRANOSH: Wait, Southshore? What’s in Southshore?
LIADRIN: A very long story…
GARROSH: Well now for the 50,000 gold question – what do we do when we’re back there?
MOKVAR: Please don’t tell me we have to go in and kidnap old-Edwin and switch him with young-Edwin but also do something with original-young-Edwin while we’re at it to make sure old-us don’t still grab original-young-Edwin by mistake, because, I mean, not enough aspirin in the world.
LIADRIN: Not to mention we would have to do something about the chameleon shard attunement in that case, if this Edwin doesn’t end up tending to it…
DRANOSH: Is there a reason why everyone but me seems to know what’s going on wherever it is we’re going?
LIADRIN: Honestly? Because everyone but you was there the first time.
GARROSH: We were all there before, Dranosh – the four of us, in old Southshore, about ten years ago. That’s how all of this started. That’s why the Legion and the Scourge are winning now.
LIADRIN: None of this was ever supposed to happen. It’s only happened this way because events in the past were altered, and have snowballed into what’s happening now.
DRANOSH: <blinking> Okay, I think I need a second here…
GARROSH: While you’re doing that… Sori? What’s the plan here?
SORIDORMI: I can get you to Hillsbrad the morning of the last day you were there. That’s when the disruption began. And ultimately, this rests on Edwin.
FARANELL: Oh great…
SORIDORMI: You’re right, Mokvar; trying to switch off versions of Edwin would be far too complicated and leave too much room for something else to go wrong…
The cavern shudders again, more violently.
GARROSH: Okay, this is sounding like we’re going for the simple approach. I’m a big fan of the simple approach.
SORIDORMI: Ordinarily, the one thing one must never do when traveling in time is to interact with oneself. In this case, though, that’s exactly what Edwin will need to do: force a crossing of timelines between both – or rather, all – versions of himself present in that time. If Edwin can make physical contact with both iterations of himself at once, it should short out the crossed lines and snap each version back to where he’s supposed to be.
LIADRIN: That last morning – that was when future-Edwin broke past-Edwin out of Mokvar’s hex.
MOKVAR: There’s our window. They’ll both be within a few feet of each other.
SORIDORMI: If he can do it, the shorting out should trigger both realities into resetting themselves and separating.
GARROSH: You get all that, Doc? Today’s your turn to save the world…
The ground shakes once again, and the cavern walls around the surface passage buckle. A handful of bronze dragons rush down into the cavern, with a swarm of demons close behind. Behind the initial wave of demon shock troops, Varimathras and Prince Malchezaar descend into the cavern.
CHROMIE: <calling out while circling around the cavern in dragon form> They’ve breached the cavern! Fall back and regroup! We have to hold them!
LIADRIN: Soridormi, do you need all of us to go back?
SORIDORMI: Edwin is the only one who has to go.
DRANOSH: <to Liadrin> I think that’s our cue for one last battle of the line.
Liadrin nods, draws the Ashbringer, and runs into a pack of terrorfiends, tearing through then with one spinning swipe of the blade.
<to Garrosh> This was your mission from the get-go, Overlord. Go see it through, and I’ll talk to you when it’s over.
Dranosh starts to turn to join the battle.
GARROSH: Dranosh!
Dranosh looks back. Garrosh looks at him in silence for a moment.
…Give them hell.
DRANOSH: <smirks> I don’t really think they’re running short. <starts running toward the demons> Now go be a hero – that’s an order!
Dranosh leaps into a group of felguards and bursts into a Bladestorm.
GARROSH: You’re the boss. Lok’tar, Warchief…
FARANELL: Soridormi… I’ll try my best at this, but even if it works…
Soridormi nods to Faranell and starts to channel a spell through the Focusing Iris into the time portal.
Well…Garrosh said that…the other me may have thrown off the timeline without even meaning to, just because of what he knew. But now me…I’ve seen so much, how do we know I won’t disrupt history all over again?
Soridormi reaches into a belt pouch and tosses a small tuber to Faranell.
SORIDORMI: This is a Nepenthe Root. Is grows only here in the Caverns of Time. Eat it once you’re through the time portal; it will take an hour or two to take effect. The root is a powerful purifier on the mind – its effects will ripple through your entire timeline, purging any memories out of synch with their natural timeframe.
GARROSH: It’s not going to oops-mindwipe him completely, is it?
SORIDORMI: No…the worst side effect he might experience would manifest itself as sporadic and random lapses of memory.
The demons continued flooding into the cavern while Dranosh, Liadrin, and the dragons fought to hold them at bay. A group of doomguards managed to get all the way back to the Hillsbrad portal with us. Mokvar, Edwin, and I managed to fight them off while Soridormi continued channeling her spell. Once they were dead, Mokvar pushed his notes into my hands and said to take care of Edwin while he helped the rest with the demons, and ran off into the fight.
I looked past Mokvar as he ran into the fray and saw Dranosh going toe-to-toe with Varimathras, then leaping up and sending a Mortal Strike tearing straight into the dreadlord’s throat. One more swing and he had Varimathras’ head off altogether. He caught it, spun around, and sent it flying at Malchezaar — pointed so that the dreadlord’s horns pierced straight through Malchezaar’s eyes.
The portal glowed brighter as Soridormi poured more magic into it. Then the ground shuddered again, and large chunks of the stone around the surface passage broke away. With a demonic laugh announcing his arrival, Kil’jaeden, Lord of the Burning Legion, stepped down into the Caverns of Time and started walking directly toward us.
Liadrin tore through at least twenty demons with one of her Divine Storms, and ran between Kil’jaeden and us. The demon lord extended his hand toward her, palm extended, and released a torrent of shadow magic. Liadrin held the Ashbringer over her head and projected a shimmering shield of holy magic around herself. The two stood there, facing each other down – Kil’jaeden kept pouring more power into his shadow torrent, Liadrin kept drawing on the Light and the power of the Ashbringer to hold it back. As she exerted herself more and more, a gleaming white light shone out of the Ashbringer and around her whole body – and after a moment, just as Soridormi called out to us that the time portal was ready, the glowing, pulsing light surrounding Liadrin sharpened into the shape of a naaru.
Liadrin looked back at us. Her eyes were white and glowing. For all the fighting and screaming and magic eruptions, I should never have been able to make out an individual voice, but just for a moment I could hear hers – in my head. It was accompanied by a musical chiming, and echoed by a second voice, one I’d heard but not quite heard once before…the voice of A’dal.
We can’t hold him forever. GO!
I grabbed Edwin’s arm and pulled him through the portal as the ground shook and the walls quaked. The Caverns of Time disappeared in a dizzying rush of light, and the sounds of battle ringing in my ears faded into a memory of the future as I felt myself sliding back into the past.
I’ll see you on the other side.
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!]
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…}
When a good orc goes to war
Here’s an ugly fact: If you’ve spent enough time in battle – past the point where you get the rookie jitters, straight through to that point where the sight of blood doesn’t phase you anymore – you start to be able to hear the difference between types of blows. The flesh wounds, the cleaving slices, the glancing cuts, the deep hacks that hit bone…eventually you know just from the sound when a blow’s been landed that no garden variety mortal is going to walk away from.
Eventually you know that sound. You never mistake it.
I was hearing that sound a lot when my mother and I first arrived in Demon Fall Canyon. Like always, the place was crawling with lesser demons…droves of these piddly weak-ass infernals and succubi and felguards. When I came here once before, I mostly made my way around them – the pansy-ass fuckers were at least bright enough not to want anything to do with me – but this time I didn’t have much interest in sneaking around. So, we left a nice wide trail of chopped-up demons all the way to Grom’s monument.
I kept my distance and let Lakkara go up to the monument by herself. She knelt down next to it and read Thrall’s plaque, then cried for a while. When she finally composed herself again, she started talking quietly. I didn’t really try to listen in, only picked up little bits and pieces. Something about doing what she had to do to keep their son safe and untainted…that she was happy he found his way back, like she’d always hoped he would. That she wished she could have been there beside him at the end.
I didn’t go near the monument. I didn’t want to disturb her.
I was mostly off in my own thoughts and didn’t notice the rustling in the surrounding bushes until it was too late. Something hit me from behind – I couldn’t see right away – and then a voice from one of the nearby cliffs called out to me by name, and yelled something about me being a shortsighted fool, and I would lead the Horde to ruin because I wasn’t willing to make the tough choices. Monologuing away, true to bad guy form, which of course just gave me time to get my wits about me and see who it was.
Guess who. “Former General” Grebo, up and kicking again. I swear, doesn’t anybody stay dead anymore? Other than the ones who deserve better?
Meanwhile, I’d also been able to size up who had jumped me. There were four humans, all dressed in black, who’d gotten in a few hits to disorient me before I knew what was happening. Now, though, I’d gotten my second wind and had Gorehowl out. And then there were three humans. And then there were two.
While I was making short work of Grebo’s human lackeys, Grebo himself leapt down from the cliff behind me. I just caught him landing out of the corner of my eye as I was spinning to cut down another one of the humans – they really DO drop easily – but I managed to put a little TOO much energy into my swing, spun more than I’d meant to on the follow-through, and turned my back to Grebo as a result. Rookie mistake. I know better than that. And while I regained my footing, I could hear the footsteps running up behind me.
And then another set of footsteps. And a voice yelling “No!”
And then that sound.
Eventually…you know that sound. You never mistake it.
And then my mother’s voice crying out. And then nothing.
Lakkara collapsed to the ground. I turned and lunged at Grebo, but that final lackey of his managed to lock me up for a second. (Throwdown is considerably less fun when you’re on the other end of it.) Grebo must have realized that all of a sudden this wasn’t the day to try his luck, and started to take off. The couple of seconds I took separating the last human from his arms gave Grebo enough time to get a decent head start on me, and by the time I could close the gap at all, he was able to duck around a corner and disappear. Into a cave, or the shadows, or who knows where. Somehow he lost me and I wasn’t going to start wasting time chasing shadows.
I tried to hurry back to the monument as fast as I could, even though I knew deep down that time really wasn’t going to be an issue. When I got back, the armless human was laying in his heap, along with two of the others, but one of his friends was gone – maybe I was a little quick to assume I’d one-shot them all? There was blood on the ground where he fell, and more trailing along to a second bloody puddle where Lakkara had fallen. Only…no Lakkara.
I ran around Demon Fall Canyon like a lunatic, looking for bodies, blood, scraps of cloth. Tracks, as if I was a fucking hunter and would know how to follow them in the first place. Anything. All I could find was more of those damned weakling demons, and the ones that had the bad luck to be within arm’s reach found themselves swapped out for a pile of demon parts real quick. But no sign of my mother. No human. Nothing.
I’m back in Orgrimmar now. My head hasn’t stopped spinning. There isn’t one single part of this that makes sense, but I’m going to find out what’s going on, and how this happened. And someone’s going to pay.
[Header image provided by Angelya from Revive and Rejuvenate, used here with permission and many thanks.]
Locks in Socks
Today’s installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge – as always, keep those suggestions coming for next time in the comments section!
Locks
Socks
Docks
Brox
Brox on docks.
Locks in socks.
Brox on locks in socks on docks.
Socks on Brox and locks on docks.
Locks in socks on Brox on docks.
Trolls with bowls smoke.
Trolls with poles poke.
Trolls with poles poke bowls till holes broke.
Trolls extol their hole poke goals and
Trolls console their souls, smoke bowls and
Troll patrols troll souls with smoke and
Troll bowl smoke soaks folk who choke.
First I’ll make a troll bowl smoke hole.
Then I’ll make a troll pole poke hole.
You can make a troll bowl smoke hole.
You can make a troll pole poke hole.
And here’s a new goal, Mr. Brox…
Socks on trolls who troll on locks.
Locks on docks steal souls from trolls and
Trolls sans souls put pox on locks.
Now we come to DoTs and HoTs, sir.
DoTs and HoTs go tick and tock, sir.
DoT go tick and HoTs go tock, sir.
Try to say this, Mr. Brox, sir.
DoTs on hawks tick.
HoTs on Brox tock.
Six sick clicks DoT
Six hawk flocks up.
Hawk flocks DoT-up
Shock stalks fel pup.
Fel pup stalks hawk flocks to hell, yup.
Hawk flocks’ yell shocks fel pup locks and
Fel pups smell up dell on walks.
Now you try it, Mr. Brox, sir.
It is time we let you talk, sir.
“Please, sir. I don’t like this game, sir.
I am not this frigging lame, sir.
I get all the trolls and docks, sir,
Mixed up with the souls and socks, sir.
I can’t do it, Mr. Lock, sir.”
I’m so sorry, Mr. Brox, sir.
Here’s an easy game to play.
Here’s an easy thing to say…
Mean orcs.
Clean forks.
Seen forks?
Green orcs!
Green orcs eat pork meat with clean forks.
Clean orc forks beat sweet pork spleen corks.
Green orcs put clean forks in spleen meat.
Mean orcs put corks in sweet Tweet greet.
“That’s not easy, Mr. Lock, sir.”
Who limps?
Imp limps.
Sly wimp imp limps.
Who stocks sly wimp imps with limps?
Locks in socks stock imps with limps.
Wimp imp limps shock locks in socks while
Locks’ wimp imps stock box of socks.
Sly imps spy on locks in socks and
Spry imps, my, throw rocks at locks.
Limp rocks imp walks, blimp sky high! and
Wimp imp pimps for succubi.
“Hold on, hold on! That was stretching!
Those last few have got me retching!
That last one was rather lewd, sir.
I think you are very rude, sir!”
Sorry, sorry, Mr. Brox, sir.
Let’s continue our nice talk, sir.
Chen comes.
Genn comes.
Chen’s friends, then some.
Chen brings Genn cheer.
Genn brings Chen beer.
Genn mends Chen’s cheer.
Chen blends Genn’s beer.
Chen’s blends.
Genn’s mends.
Chen-blend beer spills.
Genn-mend cheer fills.
Chen’s chums. Genn’s glum.
Chen’s friends bend some.
Chen’s friends bend Genn’s cheer austere and
Genn’s blend tends to clear Chen’s fears.
Chen’s friends! Ten friends!
Mend Genn! When, Genn?
Chen’s ten friends send beer to Rend, sir.
Genn’s glum trend, forfend, the end, sir.
“My poor mouth can’t say that. No, sir.
My poor mouth is much too slow, sir.”
Well, then…let’s relieve your lungs.
I will lift this Curse of Tongues.
Let’s have a little talk about squabblin’ goblins…
What do you know about squabblin’ goblins? Well…
When squabblin’ goblins bicker,
It’s called squabblin’ goblin babble.
And when they babble even quicker,
It’s called squabblin’ goblin gabble babble.
AND when squabblin’ goblins babble during Scrabble in a gabble,
They call it a squabblin’ goblin Scrabble gabble babble.
AND…
When goblins squabble goblins in a Scrabble gabble babble
And the goblin gabble babble is a quibble over Scrabble,
…they call this a squabblin’ goblin Scrabble quibble gabble babble.
AND…
When the goblins have these quibbles over Scrabble when they babble and the goblins scribble gabbles over Scrabble taking “tribbles”…
…they call this a quibble babble tribble gabble squabblin’ Scrabble goblin scribble.
AND…
“Lock in socks, that’s quite enough, sir.
I won’t say this silly stuff, sir.
All this babble hurts my head, sir.
I’ll go back to being dead, sir.”
EPIC VERSE!
(Side note, by the way – I really feel like this poem, and Orc Lemon Squares from the other day, are really screaming out for illustrations. So if any of you are artistically inclined and think you might be interested in helping to enhance your Warchief’s EPIC VERSE to its fullest potential, contact me at garrosh1337@gmail.com. THAT IS AN ORDER.)
[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]
