1,554Chapter 10: Volume 1: Interlude 2
Lost Lion
Disclaimer! I don't own warcraft, it is the property of blizzard.
Volume 1: Interlude 2
*** Brightwood – Grand Hamlet***
The town of Grand Hamlet was one of the major frontier population centers for the Kingdom of Stormwind. Its apple orchards were famous in the Kingdom, and rumor had it that their products had even traveled as far north as Lordaeron. The people there were a hardworking and honest folk, but there were dangers as well. Being on the border of the Gurubashi trolls' territory made them targets, but they adapted to become one of the three military bastions in Brightwood and also one of the largest training areas for the kingdom's military.
In fact, its population has grown to such an extent that, in the next consensus, it was to be upgraded from a town to a city. This town was now busy even more so with the coming and garrisoning of the King's army. As for why, It was because the king planted his flag in Grand Hamlet's Keep.
King Llane had decided to make Grand Hamlet his staging ground and Anduin Lothar, the Champion of Stormwind, was with him. These days, the two men, the king and commander of the army, were never sighted too far from one another. The two were looking over a tactical map of their territories, reviewing the newly arrived scouted information of the Black Morass. On the map were carved one-inch miniature steel bricks with the nation's flag planted on them, each flag representing a legion. Also on the map were red metal figurines of the orcs, representing their known forces and borders.
The two old friends were not in armor like usual but were in something more casual instead. The King wore his blue and gold colored cloth which were made by the finest tailors while his friend wore something that many peasants could be seen wearing, a black dyed leather jerkin with matching leather pants.
Their analysis was interrupted when a circle of blue arcane light formed in the command room. The royal guards were instantly alert, their swords drawn, but the king raised his hand.
"It's the company I've been expecting," Llane said simply as he watched the bright blue light illuminate his command center.
Lothar looked over to two old men in the corner of the war room, playing a game of chess and smoking pipe-weed. They were Stormwind's court conjurers, Hugarin and Huglar, and they were the strongest in the magical arts after the Guardian. The two court conjurers, who wore resplendent grand blue robes with matching oversized pointed hats, took note of the magic circle with interest but made no move. After all, there was only one person who could break through their wards.
A moment later, the light flared out a single time before it disappeared and revealed Medivh. He was not alone; the orc prisoner he had notified them about and a young man who both had never met before were also in his company.
"Greetings, my king." Medivh hit his staff on the ground and gave a low courtly bow. "She recovered slower than I expected. Lothar's son wounded her quite gravely, it seems."
While King Llane looked understanding, Lothar balled his fist before his gaze turned steely at his son's would-be killer. The report came in three weeks ago, the missive having been delayed due to an orc raiding party near the township of Sunshire. He felt angry and helpless at the same time. He had specifically requested of his friend, a personal favor, that Callan be posted far away from the ever-moving front-lines. That the orcs got behind their lines again, and this time, ambushed his son…
However, now his son's would-be killer was here.
"This is her?" Lothar's eyes never left the orc. The female orc was dressed in leather that showed more bare skin found common among their race. When she noticed his gaze, her expression became defiant as she bared her tusks.
"Yes," Medivh answered as if he knew what was going to happen next.
"Spymaster," Lothar said before an elderly man with graying hairs revealed himself. The young man was startled by the Spymaster's appearance and even the orc female did a double-take before becoming guarded.
"Lord Lothar," The Spymaster answered.
"Can you lend your daggers please?" Lothar held out his hand, his gaze never leaving the female orc. A moment later, the familiar steel was placed into his hands. "Medivh, bring her outside."
Medivh looked to King Llane who only looked resigned. "Do as he says, my old friend."
"As you command, my king," With a wave of his hand, he lifted the surprised orc female off her feet and transferred her outside to the courtyard of the keep.
The royal guards outside were instantly on alert and held their shields with their lances ready to attack. Once that did not come to pass, more of the royal guard made themselves known.
"Stand down, she is our prisoner!" King Llane's voice stopped any attack from occurring
"Make room," Lothar ordered as the royal guards parted to allow him to walk into the courtyard. He turned to Medivh once he saw the female orc in the center of the area. "Release her Medivh."
Medivh glanced at the king for confirmation, who nodded his consent. "Very well."
The female orc was surprised when she no longer felt the magical constraint on her. She then took a moment to survey her new surroundings.
"Orc," Lothar said to get the female attention.
"Human," the female orc answered, surprising Lothar and many of the humans present.
"You know our language," King Llane said in surprise. This changes everything in his mind. "None of your kinsmen have shown the ability to communicate with us."
"Would you speak with your cattle?" the orc female taunted before her attention was taken away when Lothar threw the daggers which she easily caught in the air. "What is this?"
"Sword." Lothar held out his hand before one royal guardsman placed a two-handed sword there. He secured the sword and pointed the blade at the orc. "You tried to kill my son, now try to kill me."
The mention of Callan made the female orc stiffen as her face became pensive. "You are the boy's father."
Then faster than most of the royal knights and king Llane could anticipate, she closed the gap between her and Lothar. There was no warrior cry like her kinsman, just a blindingly swift silent strike. Most royal guardsmen realized that they would have been killed from just the opening strike.
However, Lothar was different as he not only blocked her strike but counterattacked. There was a slight hardening of her expression as she realized the human was faster than she thought. She parried his blade and pushed off from one of his overhead strikes to garrote his throat. Yet he moved back casually before the flat of the blade struck her back and made her stagger off balance. She huffed in annoyance and attacked once more, putting her all in. To her surprise, the human blocked, dodged, and parried all of her strikes. Even more annoying was the fact that the human did not move from his spot while she had to shift back to dodge a swift slash that would have taken her head.
The female orc danced back to stay out of Lothar's range but did not anticipate him closing the gap between them as he rammed her, shoulder first. She flew off of her feet from the impact and fell hard to the ground. She quickly rolled with the momentum and stood back up once more with daggers held ready.
"Is that all you've got?" Lothar taunted with a steely gaze as he stalked around her like a lion's eyeing its prey.
The female orc gazed followed him warily, not making a move.
"Fine, if you don't come to me, I'll come to you."
Lothar once more charged the female orc. However, at the last moment, she weaved left to avoid him and sent a quick dagger stab to his side. He easily caught her hand before he backhanded her with his sword hand and sent her flying. The orc female hit the ground and tried to roll, but Lothar was already on her and kicked her during her roll, breaking her defense. The force behind the kick made her curled up in pain.
"Is this all you have?"
The female orc staggered to her feet again, looking a bit haggard. She took a few calming breaths before she attacked Lothar again. However when she thrusted at what she thought was an open defense, a hard strike came out of nowhere to strike her wrist with the flat side of his sword. Her wrist shattered on impact, making her instantly drop her dagger.
To Lothar's surprise, the pain did not stop the orc as she still used her good hand to try and stab at his face. He easily caught her at her wrist and squeezed down on the cluster of nerves. The second dagger dropped as Lothar kicked her stomach before he swung the edge side of his blade at her head.
"Lothar!" King Llane warned, but it was not needed. Lothar's sword stopped a hair's breadth away from the female orc's neck.
"Worry not, my king," Lothar said as he stared down at the female orc so that she knew how close to death she came. "I understand her importance. Cleric!"
With that last shout, a royal guardsman picked up the discarded daggers and gave them to the Spymaster while the royal cleric of the king came and healed the injuries on the orc female.
Lothar and Llane noted that the female orc seemed to flinch from the holy light that was used on her.
"I am sorry for my friend's actions, but it was his son you tried to kill, lady…?" King Llane apologized but saw the female orc was looking at Lothar more than him.
"I am known as Garona Halforcen." Garona gingerly felt her wrist where it had been broken earlier. "And your 'friend' need not fight battles on his son's behalf. The boy fought well."
Lothar was genuinely surprised by the orc's comment. He saw King Llane smile at him, and that he too felt a swell of pride in his son's acknowledgment from a skilled enemy.
"Now, Lady Garona, might I trouble you to answer a few questions regarding your kinsmen?" King Llane asked politely. "It's clear you can speak our language, yet all attempts at communication have been rebuffed. Are we doing something wrong?"
"Yes, you did." Garona huffed in amusement. "Your mistake was that you tried to talk to them."
Lothar and Llane shared a glance before the king turned back to her.
"Why is it a mistake to try to communicate?" King Llane asked, trying to understand what they were doing wrong. "Isn't it better to live in peace? Did we unknowingly trespass on your people's land? If so I am willing to give up any claims I have to those territories."
Garona looked stunned before she let out an uproarious laugh. It was as if Llane told the funniest joke in the world to her.
"Lady Garona?" King Llane prompted, confusion on his face.
"The orcs do not talk to those they consider lesser races," Garona stated and looked at the human leader. "You will find no mercy, no reprieve, no room for any type of negotiation with the orcs, any more than you would lower yourself to talk to an insect."
"Then...there's truly no hope for peace?" King Llane asked insistently.
"Perhaps...at one time it was possible, a slim one," Garona admitted and saw Llane's hopeful look. " But that was before we learned you used the same magic as our most hated enemies, the Draenei."
"The Draenei?" King Llane sounded the words in his mouth. He never heard of such a race and glanced over to Medivh. His old friend gave nothing away and kept his expression mysterious as always. "You waged a war against them?"
Garona let out a rude chuckle.
"Yes, and because we did, they are no longer enemies of the Horde."
"So you made peace." Llane was hopeful but tapered it down. "If you could do that with your most hated enemies then..."
"We only found peace with them when we exterminated them all." Garona looked at Llane and relished what she said next. "They were slaughtered down to the last man, woman, and child. None were spared."
King Llane and even the royal guards were stunned by the female assassin's revelation.
"So you see, human," Garona began. "The Horde will come for you, and because of your Light magick, they will be as thorough with your kin as they were with the Draenei."
"The Holy Light?!" The royal cleric who had healed Garona spoke out of turn from shock. "M-My apologies, my king."
King Llane ignored the cleric's outburst. His face was a mask as he seemed to weigh the female orc's words. Finally, he nodded his head as he came to a conclusion.
"Take her away."
Two royal guardsmen came to lead the orc woman away. None saw the Spymaster follow to ensure she did not escape.
After Garona left, Llane held a hand up to his head and massaged it. "It's total war then..."
"I'm afraid it is, my king," Medivh said gravely as the three men and a tail followed them into the war room.
"Medivh, who's your young friend there?" Lothar asked, finally putting the spotlight on the young newcomer. He looked to be about Callan's age.
"Ah, my Kirin Tor spy–I mean apprentice, given to me by the Kirin Tor." Medivh sounded amused as he turned to the accused young man. "Isn't that right, young Trust?"
"M-Master Medivh..." the young man's voice sounded pleading. "Th-that's not the case at all. I really am here to learn from you!"
"Young Trust?" King Llane raised an eyebrow at the young man as he made his way over to a chair at the table where the battle map was laid on.
"M-My name is Khadgar, your majesty," the boy now named Khadgar said with an awkward head bow. "M-master Medivh called me Trust because he said that's what my name means in the elves' ancient tongue."
"Well met then," Llane said before he looked at Medivh and grinned. "You must be getting old if the Kirin Tor's sending an apprentice to replace you now."
"Alas, the Kirin Tor often meddles in affairs they shouldn't." Medivh sounded resigned to his fate. In the background, the two court conjurers nodded their heads in agreement. "So what do you intend to do now, my king?"
"Lothar?" King Llane looked over to the commander of the Stormwind army whose authority could only be superseded by him.
Lothar looked at his king and old friend. "Our scouts have reported a build-up of orcish forces here."
He pointed to an area in the Black Morass where a cluster of red metal orc figurines was clustered.
"If we destroyed their army there, we believe that it would force them to pull back their raiding parties."
"You want to attack?" Medivh was genuinely surprised. "A bold move… How much of our forces are you committing to the attack?"
"Fourteen fully mobilized legions," King Llane spoke. "Almost a full third of our forces."
"We need to hit them hard and fast," Lothar chimed in. "They only have so many soldiers they could throw at us. We killed close to forty thousand during the Siege of Stormwind and more at the entrance to the Black Morass where they keep trying to scale our defenses."
The narrow pathway that granted entrance to Lushland Pass now had a massive wooden gate built to block any entry. Further in was a narrow pathway where crossbowmen could rain death from above. It had not been easy to build with the daily attacks, but its completion alleviated one of Stormwind's worries.
"My other commanders concurred. Based on the known size of the Black Morass and losses they have suffered, we believe they only could field another seventy thousand at best. One hundred at the most," King Llane explained.
"I see," Medivh said before he nodded. "I will go with you. Oh, and so would my young apprentice, of course."
"Good. Between you, Hugarin, Huglar, and the conjurers of Karazhan, we'd have enough magic to check against their foul warlocks." King Llane pounded his fist on the table, making the little icons on the map fall. "We move in two days."
*** Elwynn Forest – Northshire Abbey***
The Northshire Abbey could be considered an offshoot of the Church of the Light. When the Arathi royal family left the northern continent behind, they took only their most loyal retainers and headed south. One of the groups that traveled with them was a smaller faction of the Church of the Light who felt the Church had become too set in their ways. These followers established Northshire Abbey as a place of worship in the Azeroth continent and called themselves the Brotherhood of Northshire.
Many in the north wrongly believed that Northshire Abbey answered to Stratholme. At best, they could make suggestions that the Abbey's clerical order could choose to follow or not. From time to time, there would also be a gathering to debate and understand more about the Holy Light, but those had been getting fewer and fewer as the years turned into centuries.
In the present day, the Clerics of Northshire functioned independently of the Priests of Stratholme. It was they, who gathered in the hundreds to listen to what their rising star, High Cleric Mara Fordragon, had to say in their great hall. If the information was deemed important enough, it was possible that they could notify the Archbishop of Stratholme, but that was for their leader, the Abbot of Northshire, to decide.
High Cleric Mara Fordragon and Cleric Victoria had been through a lot–more than most of the Clerics in the Abbey–in such a short time, and it showed. Their eyes had dark circles which spoke of her restless night. Their hair were no longer well kept whereas before, the two had been immaculate with their appearance. The loss of Acolyte Henrietta still haunted them. The trip to Redridge had changed them in such a short amount of time, and it was that very trip that Mara was now finishing up on, recounting their ordeal.
"–and after that, the attack was over, and Sir Callan sent an escort of fifty men to accompany us home."
High Cleric Fordragon had taken the better part of two hours to report on the ambush at Everstill Lake by the Horde. More importantly, what Callan did, both good and...ill. After she was done, she stood there with Victoria by her side as the room erupted into pandemonium.
The Abbot of Northshire, an aged old man named Alfred Winston, sat on the highest chair. His robe was pure white with gold lines to represent the Holy Light. In his hand was a great staff, a sacred artifact said to be found even before King Thoradin united the humans. He also happened to be her teacher, but he still stayed silent as the other High Clerics discussed what had transpired.
"The son of Lothar used malice with the Light?"
"Blasphemy! How could he use the Light in such a way to inflict pain on living beings?!"
"I am more worried about this shadow magic he's shown. Does not the orcish warlocks use the same?"
"Are you accusing the son of Lothar of warlocktry?!"
"The Light does not love those who stay on the path of evil. That he could still use the Light after his shadow magics speaks volumes of his character!"
"Shadow magic is still shadow magic! He should be brought before us so we can examine him and if necessary, excise the shadow from him!"
"Enough," Abbot Alfred finally spoke up in a soft tone. Just like that, the room was silenced. He turned to Victoria from his chair and gave her a reassuring smile. "Cleric Victoria, what is your impression of Callan? Is he pure of heart or falling to darkness?"
Victoria was surprised by the attention put on her and not Mara. She turned to her friend to see what Mara wanted her to do, to ask what she should do. She did not want to betray Callan; he came to her and saved her life after all. Mara only inclined her head, a signal that she should just tell the truth.
The Abbot saw the by-play between the two but said nothing, his expression stern yet comforting.
"In my opinion, Abbot Alfred, he is neither." Victoria's answer made the room erupt again. The Abbot held up a hand and immediately, the others quieted. He then gestured at her, prompting her to continue. "He is definitely no paragon of the Light. He not only killed several orcs but after the battle ended. he ordered the prisoners' execution."
"How barbaric..." a female Cleric uttered, horrified. She quickly looked down to her feet when the Abbot glanced at her.
"As for his shadow magic, he…" Victoria remembered vividly the feeling, the dark that swallowed even the night. What more, she remembered the reaction of the assassin. Her scream would stay with Victoria for quite some time. "I saw the look of satisfaction on his face after she lay defeated."
The Abbot's expression turned grave. His fist tightened around his ancient staff.
"But…" Victoria continued before any judgment could be rendered. She owed it to Callan to tell the whole truth. "While the shadow magic he used was full of malice, I don't believe I felt evil from it."
Now, that was a very controversial statement that made her fellow Clerics confused. She could see it on their face, but they dare not talk up after the Abbot had given them two warnings.
"You can feel the intention of his magic, my child?" The Abbot raised an eyebrow curiously. "Even I can't feel such."
"Normally, I couldn't either," Victoria explained. She took a moment to compose the words to describe what she felt. "When I call upon the Light, I can feel its–its...sureness? It usually feels as if...as if I was a child asking my father for help."
Many in the Abbey grand hall nodded along. That was the feeling they got too. Even the Abbot agreed. A higher power that answered their needs in a strict but fair manner.
"However, with Callan, it answered him...almost like a friend?" Victoria heard a second load's worth of low whispers but continued. "Where I was a child asking for help, Callan was like its friend as it happily empowered his...abilities."
"I've never heard such a thing..."
"The Light, a friend? Like an equal?"
"Silence."
The Abbot commanded and nodded for Victoria to continue.
"On the other hand, I felt the shadow answered Callan's call in an almost eager manner. While it did make me feel uneasy, it did not sicken me," Victoria explained before a conflicted expression graced her face. "After Callan... released the shadow, he then called upon the Light and...sang a song of healing with the Light."
"A song of healing with the Light?" The Abbot's eyes widened, having never heard such a thing. They had songs for the Light of course, and while they would like to think that such songs sung in reverence of the Light had healing properties, that was more wishful thinking.
"Mara?" Victoria turned to her friend. She and Mara had been trying to sing Callan's 'Divine Hymn', as he called it, on their way back. Mara was the one who partly succeeded. "Why don't you show them?"
Mara Fordragon closed her eyes and looked up to the ceiling as if to beseech the Light for aid. Initially, only her lone voice could be heard, her voice sounded fair but nothing out of the ordinary. Then suddenly, a presence of joy filled the room and the signs of the Light could be felt by everyone. Mara's voice was now accompanied by music, blessed by the Light as it sang with her. However, just as quickly as it came, it stopped as Mara stumbled on a few words and the Light's presence vanished.
The room became quiet, almost reverent, at what they had just witnessed.
"Amazing… in all my years..." the Abbot began but shook his head as he focused back on the topic. "You learned this from young Callan?"
"Yes, Abbot." Mara nodded. She still felt the lingering presence of the Light as if asking her if she was done. It was odd.
The Abbot closed his eyes and exhaled. "While Shadow magic is usually associated with evil, perhaps, like our Conjurers and their Arcane arts, there's another branch of it that we're unaware of?"
"Abbot!" Some of the clerics protested, wanting to condemn Callan.
"Have you forgotten that the Church of the Light used to view the Arcane arts as evil until King Thoradin brought us its knowledge?" the Abbot challenged and saw that his history lesson was understood. "Do you think the Light could truly be used by someone evil?"
Many accepted his words. Only two did not, and they were older than even the Abbot.
"But–!"
"I have spoken!" The Abbot wielded his authority and quieted the protester. He then stood up and walked the room as if thinking. After three round trips around their great hall, he stopped in front of Mara. "You are the best of us, Mara. What do you suggest we do regarding Sir Callan?"
Mara once more thought about what the younger Lothar said, something that continued to resonate even now when she was being questioned. Hearing that Callan would not suffer any consequences made her feel relieved. However, a radical ideal came upon her, something that she thought her fellow clerics would find hard to accept.
"Mara?" The Abbot prompted.
"We should learn from him." Mara heard audible gasps of disbelief and felt her teacher's eyes on her. "Abbot, you taught me that the Light was for healing and that the Light cannot be used to hurt others. That the Light will shield us and protect us if our faith is strong."
"Yes, I did." The Abbot was pleased Mara remembered her lesson.
"Yet the Light did not protect our brothers and sisters when the orcs launched their surprise attack." Mara's comment drew some outrage. "The Light did not protect us when the orc attacked. It did not protect… protect Henrietta from being brutally killed."
The death of a fellow cleric was always painful, doubly so for many in the Abbey as Henrietta was new and considered the baby of the group. When they returned with her body, several of her trainers broke down on the spot.
"What happened to Henrietta was a tragedy, but she is one with the Light now," the Abbot said sorrowfully. "But we must remember that the Light is in all things, Mara, and that is why we must remain vigilant against hatred in our heart which taints our connection with the Light."
"But Callan did not have hate in his heart." Mara finally brought up her point. "And not only did the Light still answer him, but it also helped him smite the fiendish orcs! It helped him kill, Abbot, and did not abandon him after."
"..." The Abbot could not respond for a moment but finally gathered his thoughts. "Callan is not a cleric. Perhaps, he is beloved by the Light and is allowed that exemption."
Mara simply held up her staff and recalled what Callan did and called upon the Light to concentrate on her staff, to infuse her staff with its magic. It was only when she felt the energy of the Light escaping her staff that she struck the marble floor in the room. They jumped as the floor cracked and caved in by an inch where she had struck it. Her staff was shattered, but she looked satisfied.
"Anyone of us could learn it if we wanted to," Mara said as she exhaled deeply. It was difficult to mold the Light in such a way, but she had a feeling that she could do better on her next try.
"What are you trying to say, Mara?" The Abbot asked.
"We should seek out Callan and learn from him," Mara said once again. "It's time we learn to defend ourselves from those who would do us harm like the orcs."
"Mara...we cannot stoop to their level." The Abbot shook his head sadly as he referred to the orcs.
"Then should we end up like the Draenei?" Victoria chimed in and saw that there were hushed whispers at the rebuke. Some even muttered quiet prayers on the spot. It was news that Mara and Victoria learned about after they arrived at the Abbey.
The Draenei had lived in the Black Morass with the orcs and had been fellow worshipers of the Light. When they found out their fellow believers were exterminated, the duo could only say a prayer for their souls, but that made Mara's resolve that much firmer.
"Callan told me something that stayed with me even today, Abbot. Would you care to listen?" Mara asked as the words came easily to her. She saw the Abbot nod his consent. "The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men and women to do nothing."
The great hall became silent as they mulled over the son of Lothar's words.
"He is not wrong," the Abbot finally spoke up. "However, we are doing our part by bringing succor to those who need it. We cannot stoop to their level. There are records of those who tried to use the Light to hurt others, and the Light abandoned them."
It was true. Mara recalled text where some priests after the Troll Wars had thought the Light was like Arcane and tried to wield it as such. They were forsaken by the Light and spent a lifetime trying to get back into the Light's grace.
"Perhaps," Mara theorized, as she tried to reconcile what she saw with what she learned. "They went about it the wrong way."
"Outrageous!" one of the older High Clerics shouted.
"Have you lost yourself, High Cleric Fordragon?!" another condemned.
"We need to be willing to fight or else we, the order and all of Stormwind, would end up like the Draenei!" Mara rebutted hotly. "If we don't fight, and yes kill, to defend ourselves, we will have no one to blame but ourselves!"
The Abbot merely shook his head. "Mara...we cannot do as you ask. It would go against the Brotherhood's founding tenant."
Mara saw many of her fellow clerics nod at the Abbot's words.
"Then… perhaps a new Order is needed, Abbot." She turned to Victoria who stepped closer in support. The two had talked about their next step extensively. "Now that the war seems to be escalating, it is imperative that we learn to defend ourselves, and Callan can show us how. Victoria and I intend to go back to Redridge to do so."
The hall erupted once more.
"Madness!"
"Stubborn!"
"–against our very teachings!"
"Abbot they might be stressed from–"
On and on it went, the majority of the clerics feeling that the surviving duo were too deeply traumatized by their experiences in the Redridge Mountains. Only the Abbot remained silent.
"Enough," the Abbot finally spoke up and quieted down the great hall once more. His kind eyes looked sadly at his student. "We have always believed in free will so you are free to do what you believe. However, as members of the Church of the Light, if you do this, it would be without our support."
Mara was stunned along with Victoria. "Y-You are excommunicating us from the Church of the Light?"
"Don't be silly," The Abbot snapped. "Excommunication is a northern concept. As if the men in Stratholme could dictate rules for the Light."
The other clerics heard the Abbot's scoff but agreed with his sentiment.
"The Light is for everyone in whatever way they so choose," the Abbot explained before he turned his gaze to Mara. "However, the Brotherhood of Northshire does not condone, cannot condone killing fellow living beings. If you do this, you would be on your own. Nor can you claim to do it in the Church's name."
The clerics looked at the proud High Cleric and her nervous companion with interest, wondering what they would do now.
"...then I'll do it without the church's help," Mara declared boldly before she looked around the room. "I go now to fight in the name of the Light! To protect our fellow believers and those who spread the teachings of the Light like you. Who will join me?!"
Much to Mara's disappointment, no one moved. One second turned into ten, then a minute, then five.
"So be it," Mara said finally. "Victoria. Let us leave."
"Wait!" a female voice said, making Mara turn around.
"I will join you, High Cleric Fordragon!" It was a dark-haired young girl, a promising acolyte–Laura if she recalled. She was close to Henrietta Mara recalled. "My family owns a farm in Westfall. We know best that sometimes, it is better to defend yourself than to rely on others."
"Welcome, sister," Mara said with a smile.
"I'll come with you too, High Cleric." A cleric around her age stepped out.
"Ahh, damn it, I'm sorry, Abbot, but I have a feeling that they're right." A woman around Victoria's age also stepped out. It was their trainer, Abbess Delilah Westmoore. Her volunteering shook many clerics in the room. She was the most devout of them all, and it was from her that many in that same room learned how to wield the Light.
Mara nodded at the Abbess, grateful to her newest member. She looked around the room again, hoping more would come, but after a small wait, it was only the three women which brought their total number up to five volunteers, including her.
"So be it," Mara said. While it was not as much as she had hoped, three had joined her. Perhaps, in time, more would. They exited the Abbey and took in its sight for what felt like the last time.
"Let us go, sisters."
*** Black Morass - Swamp of Sorrows***
The sound of the steady thumping of orcish feet shook the ground. Their warriors grunted and chanted in their native language in unison as they faced the bright blue sky. Some used their axes to strike the ground while others beat on their chest. All of them were unified for a single purpose: to destroy their enemy.
Durotan watched as the Horde assembled. Rather than the fifty thousand they had arrived with, he now saw a forest of green that covered the landscape. Yet, even as numerous as they were, they had only a third of their entire might here. Clans and their children had been starving and so, in a rare show of mercy, Blackhand prioritized their crossing over into the new world while Grom Hellscream and Ner'zhul protected those in their home. Something, Durotan was sure of, that Gul'dan never even considered.
The slimy warlock was able to convince the Warchief to attack with the force that they had on hand. Even at a third of their true might, it was a number that was ten times the size of their initial attack force. Now, Durotan and the leaders of various clans looked over five hundred thousand orc warriors who were ready to trample the humans under their feet.
It was his friend, Doomhammer, who convinced Blackhand to do things differently this time. Rather than throw all their strength head-on like before, Orgrim had suggested that they split their forces into three. The first force would be led by Kargath Bladefist and attack from the north to bottle them in the mountains and cut off their escape route. Kargath would have to hug the coast to evade the human scouts, but the humans rarely ventured out that far. The second group, led by Zuluhed the Whacked, would break up into smaller groups and go through the human's eastern narrow mountain passes to flood their lands where it was weakest to sow terror.
Blackhand agreed but demanded that the leaders of the failed first assaults–Gul'dan, Durotan, Kilrogg OneEye, Cho'gall, and Doomhammer–were to lead the third force to break the human's stone gate to redeem their honor.
Blackhand let the war chant continue for another full minute before he spread his arms wide and roared a single word.
"HORRRRRRRRRRRRRRDE!"
The greeting was returned just as enthusiastically.
"HORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRDE!"
"My Horde!" Blackhand growled as he looked at the assembled warriors. "We go now, to wipe out the pathetic humans who dared to challenge us!"
"Blackhand! Blackhand! Blackhand!"
"They hide behind their stone gate, afraid to face us in combat and drunk on the minor victory over a small portion of our warriors. You will show them their folly!"
"We shall break through their gates! Tear down their buildings and stone walls! Slaughter ALL you see in your way!"
"Blackhand! Blackhand! Blackhand!"
Do it for honor! For glory! For the Horde!"
"FOR THE HORRRRRRRRRRRDE!"
As one the first waves of their green tide of darkness began to spread through the new world.
One lone orc stood back and stoically watched as the ground began to rumble from the marching. Durotan was conflicted. What had happened to the Draenei was about to happen to these humans. He knew it was wrong but…for his family, for his newborn son, for their clan, he would do what he must. For the Horde.
End Interlude 2
AN: The Drums of War echoes the coming conflict!
First of all thanks to Icura for helping me edit this. Thanks to all on the feed back, hotly contested as always but I appreciate it! Love the debate. Look forward to see if this would generate any. Thanks again!