Manus' Tale, Part 3: The Kalimdor Wars. (Done)

[EnheilRas]

Continued from: http://tn.yzeens.com/modules.php?name=Forums&file=viewtopic&t=581


Part 1: http://tn.yzeens.com/modules.php?name=Forums&file=viewtopic&t=538

This is the Final Part of the Journey.

[EnheilRas]

“Wake from your dream
The drying of your tears
Today we escape
We escape

Pack and get dressed
Before your Father hears us
Before all Hell breaks loose

Breathe, keep breathing
Don’t loose your nerve
Breathe, keep breathing
I can’t do this alone.

Sing us a song
A song to keep us warm
There’s such a chill
Such a chill…

You can laugh
A spineless laugh
We hope your rules and wisdom choke you

Now we are one
In everlasting Peace

We hope that you choke… that you choke
We hope that you choke… that you choke
We hope that you choke… that you choke”
--“Exit Music (For a Film)”

Prophecy had never been a big part of the Horde since I was involved, but that was due to the Warlock influence in the Orcish people. Apparently, powerful Orc Shaman become something more powerful: Far Seers. They gain access to a select number of inherently psychic properties, such as precognition, second sight, and astral projection. Thrall had his very first vision, in a dream no less, and set about abandoning the Frostwolf village and taking the whole of the Horde to commandeer a Kul Tiras Naval group and sail west to some place that no one had ever been to called Kalimdor. To make matters worse, the night before he planned to mobilize, Grom Hellscream and a number of Warsong Orcs had managed to be captured by human guards in their scouting of the area and needed to be rescued. Thrall called for every able bodied Orc to follow through to Kalimdor, and bid farewell to Drek’thar and Nazgrel to keep the Clan lands of the Frostwolf intact. Determined to keep my daughter from harm, I demanded she stay in Alterac until the time would come that I could call her home. If Kalimdor was like Thrall described it, then it would truly be a place to build ChumRas Orka, away from the squabbling of the humans, the elitism of the elves, and the hatreds and destructiveness of the dwarves. I took up my Axe and shield, and girded myself, and set out with the Warchief to discover this new land.

Resistance to the vessels was pretty much nil. The Kul Tiras Sailors had left the ships docked and other than a maintenance crew, there was nothing to stop us from taking them. As I had a working knowledge of seaworthy vessels, I went with the team to arrange for their capture and sailing, rather than the one to rescue Hellscream from a fate worse than death. Unlike the troll and ogre vessels, the human ships were designed with less wide sails and taller masts, so the wind caught them in such a way that they did not need oars to push off from shore. Once the Warsong party had arrived with the accompanying Frostwolf rescue team, with Thrall included, we boarded up the ship just as the Kul Tiras forces arrived, and under heavy ground cannon fire, the Horde sailed off, southward, away from the pain that was Lordaeron, and towards freedom. There was just one problem, we didn’t really know how to get there. Sailing in those days was done by following the land, and as such, Thrall decided to follow the border south, skipping the region of Kul Tiras and the Great Sea, across Westfield into Stranglethorn Vale. It was there we stopped due to nearly crashing the boats into the great reef there from a horrendous tropical storm that swept the region one night. The very morning, we were discovered and waved down from the ships by a tribe of trolls known as the Darkspear.

The plight of the Darkspears was serious. Their leader, Sen’jin, pleaded with the Horde for assistance, and Thrall would not let their people be burdened alone. Sen’jin had told Thrall that he had had a vision of Thrall’s coming. He had foreseen the Orcs arrival to Stranglethorn Vale. We poured from the ships and docked into the Darkspear village and began arming the trolls and scouting the area to discover a human encampment just north of them, threatening the Troll race with the human expansionism. Thrall seemed very interested in helping the trolls with their problem, as if he could re-establish a bond between the Horde and the troll peoples by indebting them once more by the Orcish people, like the rescue of Zul’jin. The Warsong Orcs seemed very enthusiastic about going once more into the breach. The talk of their hulls spoke of increasing dissention due to the lack of warring as they saw in the future with the abandonment of their favorite enemy, the Alliance. Hellscream seemed to just have that effect on his clan which made them want to fight endlessly, against any that would fight back. Lopnel had direct cause with the Warsong, and his essence guided them.

Without any sort of siege weaponry available, we stepped into the dense jungles of Stranglethorn and assaulted the human encampment there. They must have had no idea, because they were bewildered in moments as we burnt the place to the ground and piled their rotten bodies to be cremated. I noticed how gleeful the Warsong was in battling the humans again. It was decades of oppression coming out of their veins in each swing of their axe. Casualties were at a minimum. With the humans defeated and driven out of Stranglethorn, the safety of the Darkspears seemed assured, at least for the time being. We really did not know of the inherently deadly troll politics in the Vale, which is, sorry for the pun, very dog-eat-dog. As our war party began the trek back to Zul’kunda, we were ambushed by a huge force of Murloc warriors. Most of us were captured. I noticed that, as Murloc weaponry was usually compiled of Trident Spears, swords and shields, they used blunt weaponry to incapacitate us instead of kill us. As such, only the most rowdy were put down in the melee. Even Thrall and Sen’jin managed to get stuck in the Murlocs’ clutches.

The fish-people took us to sea in their home island, just off the Savage Coast and set us in cages. From their architecture and observance, we figured that these Murlocs worshipped an evil sea goddess, and meant to use us as ritual sacrifices to appease her. They were being led by a powerful Sea Witch that had divined our presence and whereabouts to ambush us after we had beaten the humans and were in post-war euphoria, senses dulled with the glory of victory. However, their plans soon became wrought with disaster, as Thrall alone managed to break through his cage using the might of his Shaman teachings, and soon went about unlocking all the cages. We immediately set to re-arming ourselves, and took the fight to the Murlocs in a bloody fight. Most of our weapons were lost in the Vale, and many of us grabbed whatever Murloc tools we could find. This battle was where I first grabbed a spear and began skewering fishman after fishman as we pressed to the Sea Witch. My cell-mate, a troll named Lau’tiki, and I burst through their barracks, gutting them left and right. Most of us Orcs were too distracted to notice that many of the Darkspears grabbed chunks of Murloc flesh after they had slain them for mid-battle snacks. But in retrospect, they’re just fish. If a Murloc bit your bait on your Iron Pole and you managed to pull it out, wouldn’t it count as a catch? Fry ‘em all and baste ‘em with lemon I say.

As the Might of the Horde set about ridding the Island of the Murloc threat, Thrall and Sen’jin personally confronted the Sea Witch leading them. Their combined forces put her down, but the old Troll chief was taken in the conflict. With their leader dead, the remaining Murlocs were easily scattered, and we grudgingly returned to Zul’kunda with the body of the Darkspear chieftain. We presented it to Sen’jin’s son, the newly crowned Vol’jin, as a gift and reverence in Sen’jin’s valor and bravery in upholding the safety and security of the Darkspears over all else. With our task done, we left the Trolls after consoling them in the bitter taste of loss in the spoonful of victory they had achieved with us. Though I’m sure many of us would have liked to stay and befriend the troll race once more, Thrall was deadest in finding this Kalimdor place, and we boarded the boats accompanied by many trolls who wished to go with us, and said good-bye to the rest of Vol’jin’s people, and pushed off from land into the Great Sea.

Now, we had only heard far-off legends about the so-called Maelstrom. We didn’t really know, or believe, that it existed. Most of the history of this world has been learned from Kalimdor and in the chambers of Uldaman, which we yet to be uncovered at the time. The naval maps in the Kul Tiras ships did not even have the thing marked. No one knew of the Well of Eternity or the Great Sundering of Azeroth, so we had no idea what we were really sailing into. But let me tell you this, the Maelstrom is undoubtedly pure chaos. It makes me wonder what the hell those Elves were thinking, really. It acts like some sort of incredible super-nexus of ley energies in constant hurricane. All the hatches were batted down, and the sails lowered to prevent the winds from capsizing our Alliance Battleships as we braved through the entropic storm. Our resolve was certainly tested, as was our mettle as sailors, but we somehow made it into the eye of the Maelstrom, and I was witness to something few people have ever seen: serenity. I really can’t explain what we saw at the core of the Maelstrom. To this day I am perplexed by the vision of utter peace and tranquility in the dead center of the Legion’s scar. We were unaware that within it, the pure energies of the Well of Eternity, the same which had mutated the trolls to elves and the elves to Naga, would, perhaps, one day have some kind of effect on us. I’ve seen none as of yet, but that’s not to say we Orcs won’t spread leather wings and gain nightvision one day, true? The warping energies of the Well of Eternity should be feared with a haughty respect, undeniably.

What saddens me is that once we emerged from the peaceful core, we were thrust into the worst part of the Maelstrom, with winds approaching over a hundred miles per hour and a few ships were lost, with the flotsam becoming bulleted projectiles into the hulls of neighboring vessels. The only illumination that night came from the bolting lightning, usually shadowed by the colossal waves that rode our ships, tossing them to and fro as that bitch of the sea saw fit. Only the most strident of screams would be able to overcome the moaning seas as we desperately attempted to survive the storm. It was one of the most frightening experiences in my life… that and being turned into a wretched gnome from some elf’s laser beam. As well as we could, we could not stop the ships from careening off with the storm, and it threw the entire fleet into the rocky shores of Kalimdor early the next morning.

I was lucky to have been in the ships alongside the Warchief’s when they crashed. Most of us rested for an hour, bewildered and stunned. It had been a long, horrendous night, and many didn’t know whether or not where we landed was Kalimdor or if the winds had just turned us back around and knocked us into Stranglethorn Vale again. The soil was indeed different, it’s color a greenish brown, and it lacked the sandy beaches that accompanied the Vale’s tropical reef. When things settled, and the Grunts began unloading supplies, Thrall chose a small band of Orcs, myself included, to go and hunt for Grom and the Warsong boats. Many had been unaccounted for, and Thrall needed to know where his people were. I grabbed my axe and my shield, and along with three other Orcs, we stepped into the land of Kalimdor.

All thoughts of being turned back to the Vale were instantly put to rest when we saw the Centaur and the Tauren fighting. Though we were too late to save the Tauren warrior, the deaths of his murderers were quite swift. Most of us did not have time to react to any sort of confusion or awkwardness in facing a new foe. Everything here would be different, with different peoples, and as an Orc, you don’t care what it is, just how to kill it. I believe we landed somewhere in Dustwallow Marsh, now that I think back to the five years or so ago, because the dense foliage was hampering Thrall’s newfound Far Seer abilities. So we trekked through the swamps of Kalimdor in effort to discover where our Warsong brothers had gone. Through the way, we were waylaid by tribes of pigmen called Quillboars that proved to be easy targets and more roaming centaur of the Kolkar tribe. In fact, upon resting on a cliff, we discovered a war party of nearly a hundred strong of Kolkar marching north towards the Barrens. It seems that strife had enveloped even the paradise that was promised to the Orcish people, but at least the humans weren’t around. Both centaur and quillboar societies were still quite barbaric and uncivilized, even by Orc standards, and stuck in a basic hunter-gatherer caste.

Not soon after the uncovering of the war party, we met the Tauren Chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof and fended off a small band of Kolkar that were attacking him. Thrall had some kind of pathos for the Tauren people the moment he witnessed the lone warrior dying against the Centaur. I never really understood it, but it did seem to be fated. If, hypothetically, we had sided with the centaur in that instance, I’m sure they would have turned on us, due to their hatred of all life… a curse of their bastardized being. The Tauren people have come to represent the purity that our own People once had in Draenor. Our civilizations are parallel mirrors of each other, separated by the scrim of dimension and worlds that co-exist. Cairne informed us that he, too, was leading his people to a new home, much like Thrall. Having similar tasks, Thrall agreed to aid the old Tauren, and the Horde gained a noble and powerful ally in the Tauren at that single moment. The first major task was to escort their great Kodos across the Barrens and into Mulgore.

This was the very first time I had ever seen a Kodo beast, but I was astonished in both their size and power. They were not slow by any means, just somewhat lazy omnivorous creatures. In latter times, I’d seen them swallow an entire man whole, and not see him again for two days. They soon came to be charged with the carrying of Orcish War Drums, and served as symbols of Orcish Might and Valor. The Bloodhoof people, in a moment of desperate, had loaded their entire lives on these colossal beasts, and just began walking. From what I can understand, the initial tribes of Tauren lived in the area called Desolace before the Centaur Clans over-ran it and began their war of attrition on the Tauren people. When Cenarius abandoned them, there was little hope, and the Tauren druids must have been the first targeted by the Centaur, because their religion of druidism died out. So the Tauren, led by their Shamanist leaders and the great Chieftain Cairne, decided it was time to move to greener pastures, away from the Centaur, but the Kolkar tribe pursued them while the Magram and Gelkis began squabbling between each other.

With several of our Warsong brothers found along the beaches, and Grom still missing with the majority of Warsong Elite, Thrall made the decision to join the Tauren and guard their Kodo caravan through the Marsh and Barrens into Mulgore. Naturally, being loyal followers, we Orcs just went back to our ships, loaded our armor and weapons up, took a bag full of rations and water, and skipped joyfully right along. We left the rest of the crew in the dock to build a worthy base camp and begin solidification of an Orcish presence in this new land. If we were to be beaten, we’d need somewhere fortified to go, and in this land, there was no safehouse.

[EnheilRas]

“Well sit right down my evil son
And let me tell you a story
About the boy who fell from glory
And how he was a wicked son”
--“The Holiday Song”

The journey through the Barrens set forth the next day. It was a very dry and bright day across the savannah, and the Kodos, parched with thirst almost constantly, mowed through the grasslands with lingering doldrums. A small handful of Tauren warriors with Cairne kept with the Caravan as Thrall led us ahead to scout for the Kolkar. The arduous sojourn was waylaid with several ambush points by the vicious centaurians, whom had already scouted our position and set traps to engage and destroy their pray, the Tauren people. They did not, however, expect us to be in the present vicinity of the Caravan, and with Orcish Shields to block their arrows and the Blades of the Horde to carve into them, the Kolkar fell in droves as they attacked in waves in pivotal ambush points, sometimes coming into pincer movements to off-track us. It took several days to move the entirety of the caravan, but we found rest points in the three oases found in the Barrens where we could replenish our water supply and quench the great lizard’s thirst for another long trip across the plains. When we finally reached Mulgore, we had lost a few Tauren warriors and a potion of Orcs in their raids. However, in our combined loss, we gained the strongest bond ever made in Kalimdor. Our sacrifice we made, so selflessly, to the Tauren people is what indebted their Honor to us, and although they were not officially in the Horde, we somehow knew we’d see them again. In response, Cairne assisted Thrall with the knowledge of some sort of Oracle in Stonetalon Mountains and gave him the directions north. This Oracle, supposedly, had the reasons for the Prophet’s calling for the Horde to venture to this strange land. The warchief needed answers, and we needed our warchief. The young Thrall just looked at us for a moment, and we nodded... ready to venture into the very void itself if he were to lead us there.

It took nearly a week to gather and mobilize to the Mountains. Without any real heavy equipment or loading supplies, we had to move everything on foot. Along the way, we fended off innumerable onslaughts of the Quillboar and Centaur kind. Many of us became almost bored with fighting them! Their tactics were poor, their bodies devoid of armor, and their weapons crude. We left their bodies strewn on the ground for the hyenas and didn’t think twice about gathering any valuables from their corpses. However, this stopped as we, coincidently; fell upon a sizable Orcish base carrying the Blue Banner of the Warsong! It seemed that Hellscream had indeed found his way to Kalimdor, and not only survived the crash, but managed to make it all the way to the Stonetalon Valley and had built a base camp. However, our thoughts of reunion were quickly dashed as we found four entire human encampments, who had also managed to find their way here, and they were defending themselves against the mad rage of the Chieftain. Hellscream lost all control of his senses and gave into his psychopathic hatred of the Alliance, leading whole war parties against the base camps in Stonetalon.

By Thrall’s Order, we instantly set-up our own base and began the establishment of an Orcish Stronghold and the peon force quickly began gathering the needed resources to fortify the defenses. Hellscream sent no envoys or messengers to our camp, and would not listen to our own, too dazed with his fanaticism of killing the humans. Knowing Grommash and his history, he no doubt believed that the Alliance had come for him, to take him back to Azeroth and chain him down for torture. Grommash had, notably, become slightly paranoid as of late. Perhaps he felt something in his veins that was to come, something awful and ominous to the whole world. Needless to say, we Frostwolves had little time to contemplate before an entire battalion of dwarves and humans charged into our base, firing off rounds into our burrows and Fort! Naturally, Thrall called forth the armies to fend them off, and as I was in a Burrow working on the spiked barricades, I began launching the Troll Throwing Spears placed inside, striking down several Dwarves and a human that came too close with daring accuracy. I had learned to throw like that from Zul’gazrel, back in the Swamp, and the feeling just suddenly returned.

After being attacked, we had right to retaliate and help the Warsong. We couldn’t just let the humans capture and destroy Hellscream and his brothers, so Thrall enlisted the beastiaries of the Frostwolf and several of the Wolf Riders came to assist us. By gift of the Bloodhoof Tribe, the usage of Kodo, trained as Mounts for Orcs was approved by the Warchief. I was one of the earliest Kodo Riders for the Horde, and in the battle for Stonetalon, I hoisted myself upon the great animal, with drum sticks in hand, and began the harsh beating of the Lizard Skins in righteous rage, announcing and infuriating the Horde into a War Frenzy. The sounds of the War Drums of the Horde are the Heartstrings of the Horde’s Army. They are the true symbol of might and valor, and it serves the mighty purpose of invigorating the warriors. With Myself and a few other Kodo Mounts and the battalion of Horde Raiders, we let the Warsong Take the lead and charged in with the might of the Horde’s Cavalry, Thrall right along on his Dire Wolf. We pillaged the Alliance camps, burning their buildings, striking their soldiers down and scattered their peasants into the forest. Each Victory was sweeter than the last, and the each Alliance base fell quicker than the last without the others to aid them.

With the Alliance forces broken in Kalimdor, we met up with Hellscream in the Victory and assuaged him from further battle. Hellscream wished to chase them and hunt them down! However, Thrall was enraged at his Big Brother. Many of us who heard him yelling at Grommash were quite silent for we had never seen the Warchief so angry at anyone. Hellscream had become a liability that day. The Horde could no longer trust the Warsong Clan to uphold the Peace that Thrall wanted, and he wanted just to move on from the mistakes of our Fathers. Grom wasn’t helping, and so he had to be dealt with. Thrall and the Frostwolf Clan would continue to ascend to Stonetalon Peak, but the Warsong Clan could not be allowed to follow. The decision was made to send Grommash and his radical clan to the Northeast corner of the Barrens to gather resources in order to begin the grand foundation of the Orcish nation, Durotar. The thought was that with Hellscream occupied with a long, boring, and menial task and no one around to fight, then nothing could possibly go wrong. Many of us could tell that Thrall, deep down, did not want to do this. The Prophet, he explained, explicitly told him to keep Hellscream by his side. Hellscream was the Key. Grom supposedly had some untapped power that none of us could see, but for now, he would be sent away.

It was at this time we discovered that the Darkspears, as civilized as we gave them credit, were not changed much from their ancestry. While collecting the dead, many trolls had rushed into the battlefield and began to devour the bodies of the Alliance. This act of cannibalism, as open as it was, was surely shocking to Thrall, but not so much to us, and those that had witnessed the Bonechewer Clan’s acts of cannibalism, but that was a time before Thrall, and of the Old Horde. Almost instantly Thrall ordered the Darkspears to stop their actions. He felt that the actions of the trolls were unbecoming of the new Horde he was trying to erect, and although the Darkspears really felt it no real dishonor to civilized battle---in fact, just the opposite. I hear troll beliefs instruct that there is no greater honor or respect given to a foe than to eat him after he has died---Thrall thought quite differently and said it a barbaric practice and having no space in the Laws of the Frostwolf. I must hand it to those trolls, for having a ritual that they kept for millennia and to suddenly just stop it because of a single Orc took some commitment and strong convictions. I’m sure a few still hide it from us, but the majority of Darkspear trolls have completely given up cannibalism. It’s just amazing how strong some people’s words can be.

The next day, we found a Goblin workshop that specialized in air-travel. The green thing had set up shop and was selling Zeppelins to anyone who wanted to buy. With the gold the Horde had gathered in nearby mines and pillaged from the Alliance, the Frostwolf Clan was able to purchase enough Zeppelin Blimps to send us quickly across the rocky mountains of Stonetalon at quite the fast speed. The journey was short, however, as we approached less than a mile from the very peak, we discovered a major human Castle at the very top, guarding the entryway into the Oracle’s Cave. As we left the Zeppelins and began to set-up base-camp, we were greeted once more, surprisingly, by Cairne and his Bloodhoof Tauren! It was a pleasant surprise indeed, as the Tauren Chieftain was just as pleased to find us as we them. Cairne informed us of the Alliance’s position and their stubbornness to be in the way of the Horde’s goal. Though fighting them was the last thing on the mind of Thrall, their refusal to just let us through left us with little choice. But we had no way to go through their aerial defenses, as they had build several sentry towers on the bluffs of the peak, so Cairne advised that Thrall send some aid to a nearby Wyvern Roost, where they had been captured and enslaved by a nest of harpies. Cairne explained that the Wyvern creature, which was a byproduct of Dragon-Gryphon relations, at least to my understanding, showed incredible intellect compared to natural beasts, and understood concepts such as Strength, Might, and Honor. The hope was that, with the Horde’s help, the freedom of the Wyverns from their bondage of the Harpies in Stonetalon would indebt them to the Horde, and they would serve unquestionably to the benefit of the Orcish people out of gratitude.

Its here I noticed how the Horde has always gained its allies. Even under DoomHammer, and continuing with Thrall, the Horde has gained its greatest bonds through acts of kindness or salvation to an entire people, or their most respected leaders. The Forest Trolls joined us when we rescued Zul’jin, the Darkspears joined us for fighting off the Murlocs and the human invaders, the Tauren joined us for defending them against the Kolkar marauders, and the Wyverns joined us for liberating them from their harpy enslavers. No matter how the Alliance sees us, we consistently exhibit acts of pure compassion towards the most downtrodden and poorest people. We had never planned for the Tauren or the Darkspears to feel so indebted as they’d want to join us, it just happened that way, not that I would change it for the world.

Thrall ordered us to the region known as the Charred Vale, where a large number of wolf riders and headhunters went with him while the rest of us prepared large scout towers to fend off any attack, because we knew that the Alliance, way up that mountain could see us approaching. We fortified our defenses and waited for the Warchief to return with the Wyverns in tow. Several Kolkar and Quillboar scouts were in the area as well, and while the Warchief was gone, several of us, in our boredom, left the base to do battle and remove them from our way. As we returned, we found the peons building Wyvern stands as the winged creatures hovered above our base, right along the path of Thrall Frostwolf. The Warchief met us with an odd suspicion, as we really had no clearance to leave the base to fight pigmen and centaur. In any other situation, we would have been in trouble for going AWOL from the fort, but the task at hand was much too important to stop to hand out a court martial. With the Wyverns being tamed, and many Orcs saddling them to ride the air, we prepared our zeppelin force once more to take the peak and surmount an aerial invasion, something the Horde was quite inexperienced to do. Legions of the Wyverns lifted off the ground, the Wind Rider masters carrying huge quivers of the finest troll spears crafted and soared across the Mountain range to meet the Alliance base in a flurry of destruction, diving down and skewering men and elves without discretion. With the chaos becoming insurmountable, we quickly landed the zeppelins, spilling out of the goblin blimps and roared headfirst into the base, ransacking their Fortress and pillaging their barracks, razing the farms to the ground and killing soldier and peasant alike indiscreetly. With the base leveled to dust, the Horde began to take a total of the situation and collect out dead while the Warchief and Chieftain took their best soldiers and entered the great cave.

I did not venture into the cave, as it was my duty to oversee the construction of the Stonetalon peak base camp. Our Tauren brothers taught us how to construct their great totems and we set fire to the corpses of the Alliance and our own in the ritual of death and passing. The scent of burning flesh, however, piqued the interest of a large band of harpies from the Vale and, seeking the taste of carrion, they fell unto the Peakfort in ravaging hunger. In the defense of the dead, we rallied our tired troops and fought back the harpy menace with a restless rage, using the best of the raider nets and headhunter spears as best as we could. The wenches fell under the might of the Horde, and carried their dead away to a fate that they had reserved for our dead. Drenched in harpy blood and dwarf guts, many loyal Orcs and Tauren were just lucky to find a small stream of water in Windshear Crag, where there was once a beautiful forest, in order to wash up and rest. I sometimes have to close my eyes whenever I visit the Crag in Stonetalon to remember how beautiful those redwoods stood, and covered the entire valley before that gnome set his sights on it. This generation will never know its beauty, though I strive with the Bloodhoof to restore it the best we can with their special seeds.

Several hours passed by with our Warchief’s disappearance, and night was falling upon the mountain range. Most of the outlying defenses had been erected, and sentry reports had allocated that the harpy and quillboars had receded deeper into their hives and left the vicinity. Campfires sprung up around the base camp, and it seemed for the first time, we had received a time of rest in Kalimdor. The deer, bear, and spider meats in the area proved to be quite edible when properly cooked, and to my own surprise, they can actually be cooked together for quite a little treat. Right in the middle of dinner, Thrall and Cairne appeared with most of their guards intact, although bruised severely or with tourniquets to stop their bleeding, escorting with them a human female. Thinking she was a captive, many of us came to take her to the brig, but Thrall stopped them. This human, named Jaina, was to be our allies. Thrall had found the Prophet, and he proclaimed that the Horde and the Alliance would need to work together to fight the threat of the Burning Legion, something we’d never heard of before this time… most of us anyway.

That night, the Warchief explained everything to the Horde. We were astounded to know that our entire race’s history down to Draenor was the fate handed to us by the Demons. Every single ambition was a move on their great chessboard, as we unknowingly played as their pawn. Our every sacrifice made in the name of the Horde was made in a daring effort for their case. It was all the cause of the Warlock Magicks. Every single thing that had ever occurred was a result of that deepest corruption that seeded in every one of us. Thrall felt he could erase it, and with the scars appearing, so visual that was once so hidden, we could no longer hold ourselves from enduring what must be done to escape this cruel destiny. Furthermore, Thrall spoke of the revelation of Hellscream, that he was meant to be the Horde’s weapon against the Burning Legion, and he alone was the key to their destruction. The Prophet, whom called himself Medivh, a name that none of us would have recognized to be the caller of our people, foretold that Grommash would be in Ashenvale, a place to the North. With Jaina’s help, Thrall could rescue Grom from the Burning Legion, and return him to the status where he could deliver the fatal blow to the demonic army of Azeroth.

Our sleep that night was anything but sound, to say the least. Most of the Tauren felt slightly betrayed to learn of our history, as after Thrall and Jaina left to prepare for the battle, many of us Orcs spent the stars talking with the Darkspears and Bloodhooves and relating to each other our various histories and plights. We discovered that our three races were connected by one single trait: Desperation. All three peoples: the orcs, the trolls, the tauren; were almost driven to extinction from the height of their previous glories and are in, comparatively, shambles and trying to survive in a world that rejects them, now for who they are, but for what they were. I’ve noticed that this single trait exists to this very day, but it’s improving because we’re trying. We’re trying so hard. When morning did arrive, Thrall was already prepared and looking over the mountainside, onto the forests of Ashenvale. He informed us that he had found a shortcut through Talon Gate pass in his visions through Windshear Crag, and across a great river, we would find the Warsong Clan, but they were no longer our people. It seemed, at least to Thrall, that we would have to begin a third War of Orcish Ascension for the dominance of our people, inter-factionally, and if the Frostwolf Clan would lose, then the entire planet would indeed be doomed.

[EnheilRas]

“Walk with me my little child
To the forest of denial
Speak with me my only mind
Walk with me until the time
And make the forest turn to wine
You take the legend for a fall
You saw the product of it all
Why can't you see that you are my child?
Why don't you know that you are my mind?
Tell everyone in the world, that I'm you
Take this promise to the end of you”
--“Forest”

It was late afternoon when the Survivors of Lordaeron and the Horde reached lower Ashenvale and discovered our wayward Warsong brethren. They had enveloped and taken the entire region for themselves, and left none to fend against them. By devouring the blood of the Legion’s Engine of Destruction, they had become nearly indestructible, and Gods had fallen to their blades. We had cleared a large area of Northern Ashenvale, killing off several Felborgs and Centaur—though they affectionately preferred to be called ‘Dryads,’ horse people are horse people—to built a large Fortress to the East of the Humans’ Keep. Between the two, Miss Proudmoore arched in a great Circle of Power where she transmuted an artifact called a Soulstone. This object would be able to rip out the soul of any person and contain it inside. With the circle, she could manifest Grom in his uncorrupted form. Thrall returned with the soulstone, informing us that we needed to fight through the Warsong, our own perople, and capture Hellscream. Grom was the weapon. Only through the Warsong chieftain could the Burning Legion begin to fall. He had bene forged since childhood by the Legion’s power. The Orc had been transformed into a grand machination, capable of only death and destruction, and we would turn it on its makers.

The weather had grown cold, and the wind picked up at daybreak, but the stars had not shorn itself through the clouds. Thrall barked stern orders to reinforce our burrows and expand our tower walls. The Warchief had finished his escalation into the Shamanistic echelon of Far Seer, and every element could be sensed, and all foretold of a great omen. Myself an an elder shaman named Morg Wolfsong staged ourselves in a scout tower in the northern road to the huge Warsong controlled area called Felwood. The ground had become blighted, and even the trees seemed transformed into nightmarish flora.

From the scout tower, high above the Ashenvale canopy, we were able to see the massive Warsong territory. The orcs were unlike us. They had become Fel Orcs; larger, with blood red skin, burning yellow eyes, with supernaturally increased strength and stamina, and looked multitudes more feral. They had ravaged the Felwood, killing everything as Grom, sitting high upon a throne of Blood and Bone, oversaw it all. There were many bonfires around the hilly area, and the acrid black smoke spewed into the ethereal clouds, mixing with them in color. They swarmed and twirled in a cacophonous display of nature. Something looked very wrong.

Our nightmares came through as a rabid force of Fel Orcs quickly stormed the Horde’s encampment, completely aware of our intentions. We were, at first, hesitant to kill our own, but it only took the Warchief’s command to iron our wills. High in a scout tower, I began picking them off with my bow as Morg launched bolts of lightning down upon them. I was amazed at their hardiness and durability. Many took three or four shots just to slow their rage. The fuel of the haze was much too potent, but they were against a much more convicted force. Just as we thought we were clear to mount a counter-offensive, the clouds lit a fiery yellow, and humongous meteorites struck the ground in Felwood, with colossal giants of flame, Infernals, manifested from the Impact craters, marching directly for our base. The Great Infernals broke through our Scout tower line, forcing myself and Morg down before the building was destroyed, and began to proceed until met by Cairne and a legion of Tauren Braves, striking the demons down.

With our tauren and troll allies near and ready, Thrall assembled a wide array of Grunts, Raiders, and Shaman, and set out into Felwood. I was sent to overlook the security of the Human base, as the Infernals had caused a majority of damage to their tower defense and incinerated many farms. They would not be able to fight off a second assault, and so the Horde, under my watch, lent them a hand and we began fortifying their defenses with whatever space resources we could muster. We set up some scout towers to compliment their cannon towers and we afforded very little in terms of military manpower as our finances went towards the conquest of Felwood.

Thrall and the Horde pressed hard into the Fel Orc legions, freeing prisoners in cages as more and more soldiers were called into service as the Orc casualties escalated. Infernals roared down constantly, permanently tainting Shatter Scar Vale as they rushed to destroy. I’m sure many of the survivors wished to aid the Horde against the Fel Orcs, but were were not to let them out of their base. We could not guarantee their survival at all. After days of preparation, the battle lasted hours as the Warchief scaled the Great Cliffs to meet Grom Hellscream and rip his spirit from his Fel form.

It was night when Thrall returned with only a handful of bloody survivors of the Orcish War. True to her word, Miss Proudmoore was able to reincarnate Grom in purity, a form that he had not known for decades. Yet we did not have time to celebrate. Grom told Thrall where the Great Demon lie and the two rushed off into the Dark Canyon alone. We were left to pick up the dead and burn the hundreds of orc bodies that had fallen. Even though they had turned from the true way, they were still our brothers and our people, and many were faces we had known that had fought with us; that had been liberated and aided in liberating others; that had so ardently sought Orcish freedom only to be rechained into slavery form which they died within. It was perhaps one of the most sorrowful events in our history.

We were stopped in our tracks when an incredible explosion occurred in the canyon with a gigantic ball of fire erupting and leading up to the mountains in its dissipating charge to the sky. We rushed to the canyon to see our Warchief carrying the lifeless body of the Warsong Chieftain. Grommash had died killing Mannoroth, and the death of the Pit Lord signaled the fading of the Blood Haze. We created a great bedding for which to lay him, and witness to hundreds of Orcs, Tauren, Trolls, Humans, Dwarves, Gnomes, and High Elves, we watched Grom burn and saluted his sacrifice. The Legacy he began had closed. We could now fight our enemy.

Working with the humans proved mutually beneficial, though I know for a fact that many, mostly old warwolves like myself, did not enjoy their presence so close. Every base built would need to carry a close to equal number of both ingredients to keep the peace and insure fair treatment through fear of reprisal. Things were going well, and the Felwood Alliance spread through Ashenvale, Darkshore, Felwood, Stonetalon, the Barrens, and Mulgore, striking hard against the Invading Legion who, without Mannoroth to lead them, were falling into disarray. Our progress was soon to be halted as the Awakening of the Sentinels occurred, and led by their xenophobic bigot Priestess began razing camps, destroying their defenses and retreating to leave them to die to the Legion’s advance, bolstered by the arrival of Archimonde, the right hand of Kil’jaeden. The Duke Lionheart, one of the few remnants of the Silver Hand that escaped Lordaeron, a major casualty, was personally executed by Tyrande. The surviving Warsong were crucial in learning how to combat these ghosts, which used the near perpetual dimness of the forest in which to hide within, unseen by any non-magical means.

Kaldorei attacks began to lessen as the focused on the Druid Barrows. This allowed us the recuperative chance to push our offensive line northward, to where Thrall foresaw the demon’s destination, a huge tree atop a mountain the Tauren called Hyjal. It was there that everything that had ever occurred would come to tumultuous finality with the fruition of Medivh’s gamble of Redemption becoming realized. Much to his chagrin, the Prophet was absent at our arrival, though I know the spectre was around somewhere, observing. It was there that the Warchief and Miss Proudmoore met the wench Tyrande, and her mate, the noble Malfurion Stormrage. Unlike the priestess, the Arch-Druid was openly friendly to the Horde and insisted upon a strong desire to cooperate, rather than needlessly kill. We, together, devised a plan to hold off Archimonde while the furry blue thing pulled a miracle out of his tight elf ass. That, in a nutshell, was Miss Proudmoore’s plan, and the Priestess seemed pretty impressed with it. Oooh well, simple things amuse simple creatures.

While preparation on all sides began, I once again mounted my Kodo and rode off. The Tauren whom stabled them back in Stonetalon, Hamuul Runetotem, an Elder Shaman, was decked out in full tribal wargear with his battle totem. It was quite a sight to see as I tightened the harness and tied the reigns of my Kodo to secure the massive wardrums. Surveying the warground was awe-inspiring, to see my brothers decorate themselves in hard Orcish leather, while the humans girded their footman and cavalry in plate. Sharpening stones spinned, finely tipping spears, Orcish warblades, swords, axes, and arrow tips. Our collective armies stood, poised for one last defensive effort, and as Thrall lead us to the human defensive perimeter, just out of sight from Archimonde’s Necropolis. I could truly call these humans my brothers-in-arms.

It was early morning when Archimonde the Defiler, Eredar lieutenant of the Burning Legion, began his assault of Mount Hyjal to reach Nordrassil, the Tree of Life. The near entirery of their army crept forward, blighting the forest soil in their steps to an ashen creep. Like warrior poets, we, the Orcish Horde, the Survivors of Lordaeron, the Kaldorei Sentinels, stayed fast, and met them in full force. Nature itself fought with us in all aspects. The trees came alive and charged into the ghoulish ranks as horrendous elemental storms ravaged the abominations with lightning, frost, and fire. The Stars themselves rained down with sharpened shards of ice from blizzard invocations and the earth itself split and quaked with raw power to slow their advance. But even with all that, we were pushed back, our dead refueling and recuperating them. Hellfire reigned down from the skies, summoned by the Daemonlord as his Nath’rezim and Liches worked to invoke Infernals and Doomguards from the ever present void. The Necromancers were quick to raise any of our fallen comrades to their aid, and we lost ground more and more.

As our initial defensive line fell, we were forced to regroup in the humans’ encampment as the Black Army marched forth. We had little time left to bandage up, aided greatly by the Elf priests and Troll Witch Doctors before the cannon towers began to be sieged. The Eredar was nearly as tall as they, so when Archimonde became present, they crumbled to stone with his power. The Call to Arms in the keep was sounded, impressing every peon to defend the base. Yet, they were ill-equipped to deal with the wave of gargoyles that arrived after the Towers had been destroyed and were slaughtered en masse. Sensing an air assault, a brigade of wind riders arrived to combat them with the chimaera, while the wolf raiders threw their nets to bring down as many as possible before they made it to the tree. Yet this was a distraction tactic proved useful to waylay our forces and began to destroy the human base, forcing a second quick retreat to the Horde Fortress.

While the Legion worked feverishly to raze the human base, we quickly reconned within the Horde perimeter to bolster forces once again and re-man the scout towers. The Legion’s true forces were something unstoppable, and with blood covered faces, broken bones and severed limbs; we held firm resolves to stop them. Many humans escaped with us to the relative safety of the Horde base to have their weaponry reissued and armor repaired as quickly as our peons could before being ordered into the burrows. The reinforced defensive spike walls of Orcish architecture would slow down the Legion’s offensive much more effectively than the stone walls of the human buildings. So when they arrived, we once again met their ranks with an unmatched fury of indignant righteousness. At range, we hit them hard, as we figured that was a weakness of their military capabilities. Lines of Kaldorei archers backed our scout towers and burrows, etching out a line of death that destroyed hundreds of ghouls and fiendish nerubians. To combat this, the Eredar called their meat wagon siege engines and began firing mortars, shelling the towers and burrows, drawing the elves out to be killed by rampaging abominations and a second gargoyle assault over the trees before moving in once more. The corpses of the elves were subsequently collected by the wagons to await a necromancer to resurrect them into an undying service.

The reinforced burrows could not stand against the siege for long, and Thrall ordered a full retreat to the Tree. The Might of the Horde could not stop the Legion from its goal. Although thousands of casualties had been forced upon them by us, Archimonde reached the tree, piercing through the Horde base and shooting straight into the Night Elf grove. We couldn’t watch as the waves of undead pressed tightly to us. There was nothing we could do to stop him; that’s when we heard the clarion call of the Horn of Cenarius. The Bright spirits of nature came from the forests, countless in number and formed upon the tree as the Defiler scaled it Then, in a massive display of the power of nature, they ignited in rupture, causing a grand explosion of such power, the Daemonlord himself was blown to pieces with the tree whose power he meant to consume. The wave of destruction filled the valley, wiping the land of the Legion’s forces, disintegrating them to ash and bone. The Druid’s plan had worked, and we found victory in sacrifice that day.

Many hours later, while the arduous task of collecting and burning the dead was being fulfilled, many permanent alliances were formed. My close friend Hamuul and Malfurion became good friends, and as was the bond strengthened before Thrall and Miss Proudmoore. From the initial glance, the Hyjalian Alliance seemed bound in Blood. With the Night Elf leader a close friend of the Tauren and the Kalimdor Humans subservient to the Warchief, then the Horde had fulfilled Thrall’s ultimate goal: To find peace and build a new home for his people. After recuperating, we began doing just that.

[EnheilRas]

"Hope dangles on a string
Like slow spinning redemption
Winding in and winding out
The shine of it has caught my eye

And roped me in
So, mesmerizing and so hypnotizing,
I am captivated, I am
Vindicated
I am selfish
I am wrong
I am right
I swear I'm right
Swear I knew it all along
And I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well
I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself

So clear
Like the diamond in your ring
Cut to mirror your intention
Oversized and overwhelmed
The shine of which has caught my eye
And rendered me
So isolated, so motivated
I am certain now that I am
Vindicated
I am selfish
I am wrong
I am right
I swear I'm right
Swear I knew it all along
And I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well
I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself

So turn
up the corners of your lips
Part them and feel my finger tips
Trace the moment for forever

Defenses paper thin
Just one touch and I'll be in
Too deep now to ever swim against the current
So let me slip away
So let me slip away
So let me slip away
So let me slip against the current
So let me slip away
So let me slip away
So let me slip away
So let me slip away

Vindicated
I am selfish
I am wrong
I am right
I swear I'm right
Swear I knew it all along
And I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well
I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself
Like hope
dangles on a string
Like slow spinning redemption..."
--"Vindicated"

Using the Warsong Camp to fuel, Thrall nominated the Eastern Barrens, literally just across the field, per se, from Mulgore, and named it Durotar, or "Durotan's Strength," in honor of the Chieftain, the Warchief's Father, and originator of the motivation to rebel against the Legion, a legacy that his son had miraculously ended. Like the Orcs we were, we began to erect a large military outpost right in the center which would be our base of operations to begin the construction of Orgrimmar, or Orgrim's Might, deep into the Northern mountain canyons, to be our metropolis home. With Gazlowe's help in contracting the Undermine Trade Lords, we began commuting Horde from the Frostwolf Village en mass to aid in the construction. Tradesmen, Artisans, Architects, Engineers, Miners, Tanners, and Metalworkers of all sorts were imported to take charge of the peon force.

Things went slowly until the arrival of the Mok'Nathal, Rexxar. Now I'd known of their race from my years in Draenor, where the Half-Orc Ogres were enforcers of the Horde and kept the Ogres in line. They had the size and strength of an Ogre, but their mind and conviction, as well as their physical features and instincts were naturally Orcish. IN terms of the Draenor Cross-Breeds, the Orcish genetics are apparently dominant in terms of aesthetics and mentality. Such was the case with Garona, whom was half-Draenei, and was with Rexxar. The Half-Draenei seemed to endure a less than equal standing socially, considered inferior due to their lack of strength, but the increased guile lent them unparalelled ability in espionage and stealth, lending most for assassination work. Once they proved their worth, they would enjoy a much better life as Orcs would tend to forget their lesser side. Mok'Nathal, however, were exalted with honor in the Horde, as normal orcs revered them for their superior strength and stamina, and treated them with utmost respect for the orcishness. They were an elite caste of stormtroopers, whose might and sheer power in battle went unrivaled by all save the most Elder Far Seers and Ancient Blademasters.

Rexxar just appeared once day during the completion of Razor Hill, informing the grunts that he had a quest of Honor to deliver a message to the Warchief. It had seemed that the courier, Mogrin, had been slained on his way from Mulgore by a ravenous deathsquad of Quillboar near Thorn Hill. He was given consort with Thrall, who generously offered him free room and board during his stay, but the proud Hunter preferred to earn his keep, which allowed Thrall to use him as a freelance mercenary. To keep tabs on him, and aid him, Ro'Khan, a shadow hunter--and future Darkspear Champion--was commissioned to travel with him. The Shadow Hunters were an ultimate breed of troll which arrived during the Darkspear Grand Exodus, where Vol'jin lead the entire tribe to Durotar to build their new home with the Orcs.

Nazgrel kept watch over security of all Horde forces. Son of the legendary Kash'Drakor, one of the founders of the Epic Scythegore Arm to which Orgrim DoomHammer, Durotan Frostwolf, Fenris the Hunter, Blackhand the Destroyer and his sons, Rend and Maim, all belonged. The Scythegore practically invented Orcish cavalry and were responsible for the refining of mounted combat and taming techniques still used today. Unto Nazgrel was the heirloom Serathil given by his Father, one of the last great crafted weapons of Draenor. Now pushing fifty, the rugged and gruff warrior had established an observation outpost on the coast, to which his Lieutenant, Gar'Thok, watched protectively the Echo Isles. Apart from the enraged Thunder Lizards, raiding Harpies, the rampaging Centaur, the crazed Kobolds, and the ravenous Quillboar and Murlocs, his job was pretty easy.

As Rexxar, Ro'khan, and Gazlowe's goblin sappers worked in Ragefire Chasm, Thrall issued a cadre of Shaman, led by Morg Wolfsong, the Shaman I had worked with in the Battle of Felwood, to discern the Elemental Nature of Kalimdor. In the middle of their ritual, however, they were ambushed by the Shadow Council, operating the reformed Burning Blade, and the Shaman were all slaughtered, one being taken Prisoner and Morg mortally wounded. By the time the Mok'Nathal had discovered the camp, the Old Far Seer had little time left. The two hunters invaded the camp to destroythe cultists and their ritualist to regain the Elemental Medallion to keep it from the Warlocks' hands. To lose Morg to the Shadow Council was a grave loss to the Horde, as his leadership and bravery in battle had made him a hero to the Adept Shaman throughout the Horde.

The Hunter returned days later with the heart of Bloodfeather the Harpy Queen, leader of the Barrens Hive--little did we know she had a little sister, or we would have been sure to kill that bitch too then and there--with the added company of a large bear-thing named Chen Stormstout, a Brewmaster of Pandaria. Chen seemed likable enough, but I'm sure we were clouded in judgement due to the huge barrel of ale he carried around that he just loved to share with everyone.

The great Drek'thar left briefly to investigate why the Thunder Lizards had become so aggressive, and with the team's assistance, discovered that the human's encroachment into Durotar had aggravated them by clearing all the Forests of the land. Likewise, Gar'thok's outpost discerned a huge invasion force along the beaches. Yet the Warchief's law was to not attack the humans for any reason but self-defense; the paranoia of our people grew strong, and with or without Thrall's knowledge, we began preparing for their betreyal. The Major Concern, however, was the safety of the Darkspear Trolls. They were on the Isles, out in the sea without any coastal defenses, nor did the Gurubashi Tribe have the resources to construct the Troll Destroyers made infamous by the Revantusks before them.

Rexxar, Ro'khan, and Chen took Gazlowe's infamous Zepplin to the Echo Isles to meet with their Chieftain, the Dreaded SHadow Hunter Vol'jin, master of Voodoo and Walker of the Line of Light and Dark, Good and Evil. Vol'jin's great power transformed them into Thunder Birds to which they held off the Naval Fleet, now attacking and sieging the Islanes, as Vol'jin began escorting the Darkspear to the Mainland. Along the way, they discovered the Axe Killmaim, a weapon forged completely out of revenge, and destroyed a Deathlord, an undead revenant of a Paladin that betrayed the Light. How and why the undead soul of a Betrayer would end up in the tropical ruins of Kalimdor, hundreds of miles and thousands of years before the humans knew of the continent is one of the Great Mysteries of Durotar, but it did give a frightening glimpse of the power of retribution in their calling should they ever turn their back on it: a tortured eternity as an undead creature of hate.

The trolls began rushing to Orgrimmar through the observation outpost as Vol'jin and the others returned. The Warchief had received an envoy to meet up with the humans in Southeast Durotar, but sensing a trap, sent the Mok'Nathal in his stead. True to their betrayal, the humans attacked the hunter, thinking it was Thrall, but the ambush fell and the Kul Tirisians were killed. This action was the breakpoint point of Thrall's truce with the humans as far as were were concerned. An attempt on the Warchief's life was not to be taken lightly. On orders from Nazgrel, we began to prepare for War once again.

Though in its past, the Horde's natural impulse would have been to raise an army, and storm Theramore, killing every non-orc and raising Miss Proudmoore's head on a pike in bloody victory, the Warchief had a tad more common sense. Thrall sent the Mok'Nathal to parlay with Miss Proudmoore to understand whythe humans attacked 'The Warchief.' He was with Vol'jin as the Trolls set up their new outpost in the Heart of Dustwallow Marsh. The news of an invading fleet was taken seriously, and the Horde was beginning a base camp in Tidefury Bay while Rexxar would have to infiltrate Theramore and corner her. Fortunately, Vol'jin had a friend in Samuro of the Burning Blade, one of the few fabled Blademasters rescued from the internment camps that had achieved a unity of mind and body. Samuro had been on a mission of vengence, witnessing a murderous wildkin named Bloodbeak the Beserker that had ravaged his village, and had tracked Bloodbeak into the Marsh. The Blademaster was an expert at stealth and physical combat, and while the three waited, he infiltrated Theramore's base camp, or as we thought it was, and triggered large explosives around their mage academies, barracks, and engineer shops. The ensuring chaos of the terrorist attacks gave the Mok'Nathal the chance to hop a ship to Theramore and dock right by the royal tower.

From what we heard, and saw, a huge naval fleet sailed into Theramore, raising the flag of Kul Tiras, and took over the city in an instant, unresisted annexation of the city-state. Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore had arrived from the Eastern Kingdoms, and carried war with him. Miss Proudmoore could offer no legitimate resistance to her overbearing strongheaded father, so Theramore was his for the taking. When Rexxar, Chen, and Ro'khan escaped via stolen Tirisian craft, the news given to Vol'jin was dire. The Shadow Hunter knew what must be done: The Alliances must be recalled. The Tauren and Ogres needed to be back in the field.

The Horde had moved to Tidefury and began work on a base camp as Rexxar traveled to Mulgore to speak with Cairne to get the Tauren armies to follow the 'Liberation' plans Thrall had in mind. The Hunter was met by Tagar, a Tauren with the same name as the Chieftain of the former Bonechewer Clan, whom informed that the cannibalistic centaur had kidnapped Cairne's son Baine, and meant to devour him, leaving the Chieftain in a state of morose depression. The Half-Breed moved swiftly to contact Bovar Windtotem, one of the rare and fabled Albino Tauren that became Spirit Walkers, Shaman that were attuned to the realm of Tauren ancestry and were as the everliving dead; ghosts of life and redemption, to gain a location of the Khan's camp. Bovar lead the Heroes fo the Centaur base, gaining half a dozen Tauren braves to aid in slaughtering the beasts to rescue young Baine Bloodhoof and return him to the Thunder Bluffs. Cairne was ecstatic, and joined the Horde's effort with his forces, and personally followed Rexxar and his companions, showing the 'kids' how an old man can fight.

Returning to Vol'jin the four discovered that one more faction needed to be taken: A lone, bloody ogre had arrived in the Darkspear Outpost, babbling about a crazed new warlord, Krom'zar, that had began warring with his own, the Stonemaul Clan. Rexxar's mood changed suddenly, to a point where we figured that he considered himself an ogre much more than an Orc as a Kinmanship to their kind showed through. While the tauren forces spilled into the Tidefury Fort, Rexxar headed to the Stonemaul Ogre mound.

Krom'zar let Rexxar enter after watching the Mok'Nathal thrash his guards with ease, and due to even them remembering what Half-Breeds looked like, allowed me to go through the 'gauntlet': a series of tests to prove strength and power, the only two concepts understood and respected. The beastmaster, of course, passed, and gained clan status with the Stonemaul. Yet the Warlord refused Rexxar's request to aid the Horde. Knowing the Ogre laws and traditions, Rexxar challenged him for Warlord, and thus meant a one-on-one fight to the death; 'No magic tricks' the Ogre said. In the Arena, the Ogre used a spell to make himself supernaturally strong, so Rexxar sent Misha after him, and calling upon the beasts of the wild to maul the Chief as the Mok'Nathal assaulted the Ogre, killing him in the Stonemaul Arena. Rexxar was now the Warlord of his own clan, one he would personally lead to War against Kul Tiras.

Rexxar and the Stonemaul entered Tidefury Cove, and we celebrated the Quartet as Heroes. Thrall personally titled the Half-Breed 'Champion of the Horde,' instilling a huge banner, enchanted by intense Shamanistic magics, for us all to revere. He would lead the assault of the Kul Tiras main base of Tiragarde Keep while Thrall would handle the defense of Durotar. Gazlowe, too, lended aid from Ratchet, entracting the Head Prince of the Cartel for ships to battle the Navy. Rexxar, Chen, Ro'Khan, and Cairne moved out with a legion of Tauren, Ogres, Orcish Demolishers, and Orcs and trolls to follow them as I mounted by Kodo once more. Not soon after the forces left to the East Coast flank did the human forces attack on the West. Beating the massive war drums to rally the forces, I followed the Warchief into battle as he quaked the ground, allowing us time to move forward to engage. Gihael, my Kodo's Orcish name, trampled the humans as we charged into them, and swallowed a Quel'dorei priest whole as I switched to my polearm, skewering those by which we passed.

As the battle raged, less and less of the Naval forces were brought to us, as our champion brought the fight to them. Orcish Demolisher Catapults launched napalm into their Fortress as the Ogres tore through their lines unyielding to the slings of bullets and bloods poured into their tough skin, raining trolls spears into their barracks as the wolf riders pillaged the city, netting down their gryphons and carving them to meat with the Frostwolf Warblades. In the chaos as the invasion base fell, Daelin Proudmoore faced his enemy, the Mok'Nathal, and squared off briefly before ordering a full retreat to Theramore, and began plans for the counter-attack. Thrall knew as we did, that as long as the Admiral was alive, there could be no peace in Kalimdor.

The Horde landed on an Island overlooking the impenetrable Naval Blockade of Theramore, unknowing how to shattered the bubble of cannons to begin our assault. This dilimma brought our plans to a halt as we alone did not have the firepower to cripple the Kul Tiras fleet. The answer in this conundrum came from a very unlikely source: Miss Proudmoore. The Magic MIstress appeared in secret to our Warchief, and informed us of a second Undermine Seaport which would construct a Tide for the Horde and break the Naval Wall. Thrall explained to her the Harsh reality of her Father's inevitable demise at Orcish hands, and her only plea was to not destroy the city. The Warchief, in his mighty compassion, ordered the Horde that only those loyal to the Admiral would be destroyed and the Tower defenses razed. Theramore Keep was to be left intact; so much for Demolishers.

With years of Naval Experience, I personally oversaw the command of an Orcish Juggernaut Battleship. As a captain under Commodore Thrall, my Ship Absolution with a hearty crew of salty goblins and strong orc mates, sailred around Theramore, targeting the Battleship fleet, and fired upon the giant armored craft as the destroyers shot down gryphons from the sky. In what seemed like a full day of pure combat, with cannonfire echoing through the night, with only the burning wreckage of flotsom and jetsame to illuminate the bleak black day, the Horde saw victory when the sun rose, and without the coastal barrier, hundreds of Horde safely landed and surrounded the city, building three base camps to invade from the West, Southwest, and Northwest simultaneously. Our Champion, of course, would take point.

The Horde's plan was simple: Kill Daelin Proudmoore, put down any resistance, leave the city and its people intact. Those were the guidelines. We could only imagine the Admiral's feelings as he witnessed the Horde surround 'his' city and as the chant of the Orcs echoed through the stone walls of the Keep, the Horde marched into Theramoore. Once more on my beloved Gihael, the troops, now a huge conglomeration of races, all seen as equals under our banner, clashed inside the city, tearing down large towers built to keep us out. While Cairne, Chen, Ro'Khan, and Rexxar worked to fight through the swamps of Tirisians, pushing through to the inner sanctum, we hacked our way into the brunt of their force, taking no prisoner whom came at us. To our knowledge, all Theramoore Loyal locked themselves inside. The only fools left where those trying to stop us; something that simply does not happen to the Horde.

To witness the change in my brothers when we entered Theramore was astonishing. A normal Orc will fight furiously, enthralled with pride in the Horde. However, the fury we felt in our invasion was different. It was that of Old Hatreds resurfacing. All these years had gone by, and a generation of Orcs that had been born in slave camps had come of age. Their strength's source was not that of their upbringing of belonging, but that of inevitable vengence. The Warchief had commanded that they swallow their anger, their malicious want of destruction for their enslaved youth, and with a grudging acceptance, they obeyed. Theramore was their chance to unleash the raging beast that dwelled deep in the darknest corner of their heart that had been slowly devouring their soul, filling the empty parts with a wrath unfathomable. The monster drove and controlled them as they tore into Theramore, breaking it down and slaughtering those that wished to stop them. The city could not be saved; anyone with the Anchor of Kul Tiras was dragged out and mercilessly hacked to pieces. Structures with the Admiral's sigil were raided, inhabitants murdered or defenstrated, and set ablaze. "Theramore" was to be left alone, but we Horde witnessed an awful lot of "Kul Tiras" in Theramore, and we were allowed to destroy that.

We were a flood unstoppable as the roads of Theramore filled with lustful Horde races searching every annal of the streets for anything alive to kill as the Keep grew nearer and nearer. From high atop my Kodo, I could witness our Heroes dismantling the tower wall surrounding Daelin's last stand. The Horde rushed into the Keep, shattering its walls as we destroyed the final remnants of the fleet with only the Admiral and his personal guard left. As the Warchief entered the city while we secured it, the Mok'Nathal, Tauren, Troll, and Pandaren engaged Proudmoore. The rest of us only watched this four-on-four, and both Thrall and Miss Proudmoore entered the room as the Beastmaster dealt a mortal blow to her father, striking him down as the other heroes killed his generals. As Proudmoore lay there dying, MIss Proudmoore rushed to him, crying about his stubbornness to have listened to reason. With the Grand Admiral dead, we began to evacuyate to Base camp, but we were all witness to the last words shared between the Warchief and the Archmage:


Don't make us come back here.

With their navy burning and their leader dead, Kul Tiras had been destroyed by the Horde--to the best of our knowledge at the time. We knew not of the seconf fleet--and Durotar was safe. A Grand celebration was held in Orgrimmar, where Rexxar was held among the highest of Heroes in the Horde. Thrall had even offered him the title of Overlord, but the way of the Mok'Nathal was that of Nomadic wandering, and he humbly denied this position, but held his banner high; he would always be our champion. As the fire pyres burnt into the night, the Horde paid their respects to the Beewmaster, whom disappeared deep in the Stonetalon mountains; the Beastmaster, who wandered the plains deep to the Southwest; the Shadow Hunter, who returned to his people as their greatest hero; and the Chieftain, whom went home high upon the Bluffs to spend time raising his son. The Stonemaul Ogres built Draco'Dar, their new village, and a Warlord Mok'Morokk was chosen in Rexxar's absence. I traveled to Mulgore and with Heavy heart, knowing that finally peace had been achieved and war was over, let Gihael, whom had served me for years loyally and courageously, back into the wilds, to be as free as my people were now.

Years had gone by since that day... The Horde knew a great time of prosperity, defending its expanding Empire from the Centaur, Harpies, and Quillboar as we enjoyed a relative peace with our neighbors. Because the forests of Durotar had been destroyed by the Alliance, the Horde was forced to speed productivity by the Warsong's Kargathia Facility in the North Southfury region. As our focus drifted inward, we began to lose sight and touch of those around us, becoming intently focused on our new generation of Loyal Horde. Rumors of Dark Cults, naming themselves after former clans, began to slowly make their way to the surface. The Shadow Council had been resurrected,and the monster which we all thought had been chained was set free. The Warriors of the Horde were called up one more time; the years of rest were over, and the war against the Shadow Council had begun in the Valley of Trials. It was there that the final adventures of my life began, where the last days of Loyalty were seen, and my life as a warrior came to a tragic end."

...So ends the Tale of Manus, Warmaster of the High Fist.

[EnheilRas]

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Credits

Part 1: "Exit Music (For a Film)" By RadioHead on the CD "OK Computer" written for the ending theme of Baz Luhrman's "Romeo+Juliet" (Also widely known as the "Leonardo DiCaprio Version").

Part 2: "The Holiday Song" By The Pixies from "Come on Pilgrim."

Part 3: "Forest" By System of a Down, self-titled album.

Part 4: "Vindicated" by Dashboard Confessional by the Album of the same name, also used on the Spider-Man 2 Original Motion Picture Soundtrack.

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Evaluation

Well, that's it. The First story I've really ever finished. I'm proud of it in all honesty. There's really nothing too much to say. It's WarCraft 3 and the Frozen Throne. Not a lot really happened to speak of in too great a detail, and that's why there weren't many parts to the story. However, they were long, which I believe made up for it rather well.

This Leaves off 4 years before the Silver-Hand Tales (The Sequal, even more epic than this!) begins, of course. I've already started deeply on that, and the sequal to that, and the sequal to that, and the sequal to that are all in the stages of post-planning...

It's been good to get away and just write again... now if only I could find time to type it all up eh?

Comments are now well appreciated. Few people ever really comment on my writing, which I suppose makes it harder to keep going. I don't really know. Like I should care eh? It's for me, so if it makes me happy, I really should only do it for that.