Chapter 17: Volume 2: Prologue
Lost Lion
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Volume 2: Prologue
*** The Great Sea – The Stormy Wave***
It was a clear day with not a storm cloud in sight. The usual violent sea waves were surprisingly calm, allowing a safe journey for any ship that was sailing on it. It just so happened that one such ship was already out on the open sea.
The ship was state-of-the-art even by the seven kingdom's naval standards, moving at a speed much faster than one of its tonnages usually does. The Kul Tiras' symbol that could be seen on its sails–the familiar golden anchor on a green background–was famous throughout the known world.
Unlike Kul Tiras' mighty battleships, this ship–that was currently on the great sea–was much smaller, being only a third of the size if placed side by side. It could easily have been mistaken for a destroyer, but the way it moved was close to that of a scout ship. On its deck were busy sailors, many with their shirts off to enjoy the ocean breeze. In command of its crew as well as being the captain of the ship was a tall young man in his late twenties with short blond hair and a groomed mustache.
Derek Proudmoore, son of the rulers of Kul Tiras, Lord Admiral Daelin and Katherine Proudmoore, was having a good day. He was in the final month of his year-long shakedown cruise of Kul Tiras' newest destroyer, The Stormy Wave,and would soon be making his way home to visit the newest addition to their family. For the longest time, he thought he would be the only child of their family until, for whatever reason, his parents decided to have more. Along with four-year-old Jaina, there was the newly born Tandred who he had yet to lay eyes on.
Being people of the sea, family was a very important concept, and he was eager to return home to meet his newest sibling and spoil his sister rotten. However, before he could do that, he needed to finish the job here. He walked the decks once more. Looking out into the sea, he saw his ship skimming across water speedily without the use of their tidesage powers. A wide grin graced his lips as he realized the pirates that had been raiding the innocent merchant ships and the coast of Lordaeron will be in for a very nasty surprise once his father put the new ship into production.
"Last month, eh, Derek?" Boatswain Orwell asked. The man was massive by mainland standard, standing at a towering seven feet tall. He had a thick barrel chest with muscular arms to match. His position matched his physicality; he was Derek's most trusted adviser and more importantly, his friend. "Then you get tah go visit your newest brother. I know yer been anxious with the way ya pace the deck these past few weeks."
"I was there after Jaina was born, Orwell. It doesn't sit right with me that I wasn't there for Tandred's birth as well." Derek shook his head and looked out at the sea with a frown. "Still, after all these years of asking for siblings, they choose now, when I am a man, to gift me two."
"Hah! Well, we all know der stories of the Lord Admiral's...shall we say, sordid younger days." The Boatswain laughed as he seemed to recall a few stories. "Word was that every sea bitch in every port cried when yer old man married the sea beast that was your mother."
"So I heard. Many times." Derek rolled his eyes. It was a tale that was popular amongst the fleet, and his father, the stern man, didn't deny it when asked. He never went to his mother to confirm, of course. Even as a young lad, he knew not to poke the hurricane that was his mother.
Just one more month, and he would be home in Boralus.
"Ahoy! Wreckage spotted!" the spotter called from the crow's nest of the ship. That was all Derek needed to go into action.
"Everyone, to battlestations! And get our divers ready to rescue survivors!" Derek saw his crew working like oiled cogs in a machine, arriving at their stations within a minute.
Technically, other captains wouldn't have called an alert, but wreckages of a ship usually meant someone had destroyed them. It was better safe than sorry.
"Tidesage Pike, can you sense any survivors?" Derek asked the man who looked like he was in his forties.
The older man was dressed in the long robes of his order, holding a staff in his hand that radiated some sort of power. The tidesages were something unique to Kul Tiras and were what gave their country an edge. Lordaeron had its priests, Dalaran had their arcane magic, Gilneas had its harvest witches, Alterac and their mountain climbers, and finally, Stromgarde with its mighty unmatched army. As for Kul Tiras, the tidesages strength allowed them to dominate the seas.
Where other nations had to depend on the weather to sail, the tidesages allowed them to circumvent that altogether and sail in any weather. Of course, it was a taxing endeavor, but they were there to supplement an already deadly navy.
Derek was pulled from his thoughts when he saw Tidesage Pike jerk back as if struck. The man even went so far as to raise his arm–as if warding off a blow.
"What is it, Tidesage?" Derek rushed to the man and gripped his shoulders. The action seemed to be what was needed to snap the man out of whatever caused him to reel back like that. "What did you sense?"
"Dark powers..." the older man said fearfully, his eyes darting around as if to search for the unknown enemy.
"Where?" Derek asked as his eyes searched too. He was already on high alert and saw that Boatswain Orwell was barking out orders to the sailors and more importantly, arming the marines.
"Gone," Pike said as he righted himself. "However, its lingering taint was unexpected and thus, I was overwhelmed momentarily. We are not in danger, Lord Captain."
That did reassure Derek some, and he allowed himself to take comfort in that for a moment.
"Any survivors?" he asked again and saw that his divers were ready to jump into the water once the tidesage told them where.
"None I'm afraid." Pike closed his eyes and turned his head as if he was listening to what the water was telling him. "Because of the taint, much of the sea life is staying away from the area so it should be safe for our divers."
"That's good to hear," Derek said as he nodded. He didn't like the sound of the so-called 'taint,' but the tidesage didn't seem to think it would be an issue.
"Approaching the wreckage now, Captain!" the helmsman shouted.
"Slow our speed, Helmsman!" Derek ordered as he finally laid eyes on the wreckage. There were a lot of pieces of driftwood scattered on the water, but as they gently bumped them with their ship, he began to get a clearer picture of what kind of vessel was destroyed.
It was a battleship.
"Search for any identifying markers!" Derek ordered. He knew the pirates had some battleships of older models that they stole from years past. As he saw a piece of the ship hull floating nearby, his naval training allowed him some insights into the ship's structure. To him, the pieces of wreckage that floated by looked like they didn't have any patchwork done. That meant that it had been well kept and maintained, something that only the wealthiest of pirates could afford to do.
"Bodies, Captain!" one of the men shouted.
Derek began to see the corpses, hundreds of them floating in the ocean. Their bloatedness of their bodies told him that they had been dead for days, if not weeks. More than that, there had to be at least seven hundred corpses, confirming his battleship theory.
"Sir, they don't dress like pirates," one of the sailors said as he saw the dead clothes which looked as uniformed as their own. "Lordaeronian or Gilnean, you think, Cap'n?"
"None." Derek shook his head. "Lordaeron ships stay by their western coast to guard against Gilneas and us."
He squinted. The water had washed out most of the color, but if he didn't know any better ,then he would say they were from–
"Sir! There's a banner!" One of the sailors threw a hooked rope into the water and fished out a dark crumbled bundle. The sailor quickly unfurled the banner confirming his thoughts, yet still surprising him nonetheless.
"It's Stormwind..." Tidesage Pike said as he looked at the proud golden lion's head on a blue backdrop. "What are their ships doing so far north?"
Derek knew the tidesage meant warship. Their merchant ships usually traveled in large fleets and would stop by Kul Tiras once a year before making their trek to Lordaeron. Oftentimes, they would pay for the Kul Tiras fleet to escort them as Stormwind's naval fleet was not welcomed in the north.
"Whatever the reason, they were attacked on their way to whatever destination," Derek answered as he began ordering his men to search for any clues as to what happened.
While the sailors were dropping boats into the water to begin their search, Derek gazed at the lion's head. An idea began forming in his mind. Wouldn't his new ship be thoroughly tested if they sailed it to Stormwind and then back to Kul Tiras? He knew his men were always up for a challenge and wouldn't oppose him on this course. Technically, he should be reporting this to his father who would then inform the Kingdom of Stormwind of their missing vessel whenever the next merchant caravan comes.
Yet, the thought of sailing to Stormwind would not leave him. The adventure was too good to pass up. Derek grinned even as he mentally apologized to his siblings.
'Sorry, little sister and baby brother. Your brother is going to be a bit late.'
Maybe he could pick up a toy in Stormwind for them?
***The Black Morass – Warsong Clan Camp***
"Take him away." Ner'zhul, leader of the Shadowmoon Clan and at one point, spiritual leader of all orcs of the Horde, exhaled heavily. The information he tortured out of the latest 'Dark Iron Dwarf' all but confirmed that this world was bigger than they anticipated.
'Damn you, Gul'dan!' Ner'zhul mentally cursed his one-time apprentice. He turned to one of his shadow acolytes.
"Have our spies located him yet?" He was, of course, referring to their search for Gul'dan who had not shown himself yet. Dead or on his deathbed, either way, Ner'zhul wanted to lay eyes on his old apprentice once more and end him with his own hands.
"Not yet, Chieftain," the acolyte responded with a bowed head as if fearing reprisal for his failure. "Our spies keep going missing once they're inside the Blackrock Camp."
'Damn you, Doomhammer!' Ner'zhul cursed the current Chieftain of the Blackrock Clan. That meant that his spies were being captured or killed, a testament to Doomhammer's skill at weeding them out. His continued demands for the orc to come face him have gone ignored once more. However, he wasn't the only clan that would not answer him. The Dragonmaw was firmly in Doomhammer camp, as was the Twilight Hammer. Kargath showed subservience, but his war against these 'Dark Irons' was reaching its conclusion.
The old shaman would be a fool if he pulled him away from the battle now. Thankfully, they could expect more slaves to make weapons for them which was an unexpected boon. More importantly, it would open a direct pass to the north which, if the Dark Iron Dwarves he tortured spoke truthfully, would lead to larger lands with just as many resources as they had now but without strong defenders.
At that moment, Grom Hellscream entered his tent just as the interrogation ended. He was a warrior through and through and left the information gathering to Ner'zhul.
"So, is it true then? There are more of these humans to the north?" Grom Hellscream, chieftain of the Warsong clan asked. For an orc, he was much smaller than the other chieftains, but his savagery was greater than all of them combined. It was because of that that he earned all of the other clans' respect and fear.
"Yes, there are more of them," Ner'zhul confirmed. "Much more than the fool that Blackhand fought here."
Grom Hellscream let out a barking laugh, loud for an orc of his size.
"Good." The Warsong leader grinned. "I wouldn't want the conquest to be too easy."
"It wasn't!" Ner'zhul snapped and saw Grom turn to him in surprise. "Do not be as foolhardy as Blackhand. He thought these humans were easy too, but look at him now. Look at the state of his clan. Do you think the Warsong clan could have done better against that firestorm?"
And that scared Ner'zhul in a way he could never admit out loud. It was magic he had never seen the Draenei use which meant the spell weavers of these humans were as great as their own warlocks or perhaps better.
"We can ward against such attacks now, according to my warlocks," Grom countered, but he didn't argue that his clan would have fared better. "And they lost most of their mounted warriors according to the Frostwolf chieftain's mate. My wolf riders should give us the advantage."
Ner'zhul grunted noncommittally as he looked into his old scrying bowl. One that he once used to commune with the spirits. However, even here, in this new world, the spirits refused to answer him. It showed him nothing, just like so many times before. He would have to make do without their wisdom.
"My spies report that Doomhammer has been attracting more clans to his banner," Grom Hellscream informed Ner'zhul suddenly. "He promised them better land than the dying ones we're on."
Ner'zhul knew the land was dying around the Dark Portal and expected it to look like Tanaan Jungle eventually or rather, Hellfire Peninsula as they called it now. Doomhammer was cunning, much more than most orc chieftains. He was winning the hearts of the smaller clans by offering them from the lands they conquered. The bounties should have been shared with the rest of the Horde, but Doomhammer was correct in that the land was conquered by the Blackrock-led Horde and thus belonged to them. They only had to acknowledge Doomhammer as the Warchief, and he would share the scraps from his table.
"Once the other clans come through, we will make Doomhammer and all the other clans submit to my rule," Grom declared after seeing Ner'zhul go silent. He already had the loyalty of the remaining clans from Draenor.
"No!" Ner'zhul growled. "Orcs must not fight orcs in this new world. We need to stand united. Blackhand and Gul'dan may have been fools, but they were right on that. We are stronger together."
"We will eventually fight anyways, Ner'zhul. There are too many mouths to feed, and Blackhand controls the richer territories." Grom looked angry. "Unless you are saying we should submit to them after you spoke out against them?"
"Not necessarily." Ner'zhul suddenly became thoughtful. "Kilrogg has remained neutral and been exploring lands to the north. He sent words to me, and no doubt Doomhammer, about green land and clear water."
"But is it enough?" Grom asked dubiously. "Is it enough for the rest of the Horde?"
"No, but it's a start." The idea suddenly came to Ner'zhul like a bolt of lightning. Why were they busy squabbling over the lands here? "We will join him there."
"With Kilrogg?" Grom's face showed his confusion, not following the former shaman's thoughts.
"Yes, but beyond where he went. North to where more humans are, but with much richer lands." Ner'zhul idea was now fully formed. "Doomhammer wants to use the lands here as a bargaining tool to bring the smaller clans to him. Let him. We will promise the larger clans richer unclaimed lands in the north."
Ner'zhul turned to lock eyes with the Warsong clan leader.
"The only question is: do you have the will to fight the humans there for it?"
Grom's toothy smile was all the answers that the old shaman needed.
"Let Doomhammer fight the humans here. He will get no help from the rest of our Horde or those in Draenor," Ner'zhul said as he looked into the distance. "I'll stay here with half of my clan to ensure the newly arrived clans do not join Doomhammer's side and send them to you."
Grom's smile was even wider now. Between him and the Thunder Lords, they could match Doomhammer's numbers, but Ner'zhul was right. Why waste time fighting one another when there was better prey elsewhere? Doomhammer could do nothing without the humans attacking him should he try to retreat now.
"Did the tiny short creatures tell you of the humans there?" Grom asked, wanting to know his foes. He would not be like Blackhand; he would not underestimate his enemies.
"The squat creatures said they have five major human clans in the lands up north. However, the strongest one is known as Lordaeron," Ner'zhul recalled. "The one in the great sea does not concern us."
"Lordaeron," Grom sounded it out before he gripped his axe in excitement. The songs of new wars were beginning to fill his head.
*** Past, Present, Future – Fallen Dragonshrine***
It should have been a dead land. The earth should have been cracking and heaving all around him. The snow that once covered this land should have melted in ages past. In the distance was Wyrmrest Temple, the meeting place of all five dragonflights. It was the creation of the Titans, their gods. It should have had Deathwing's massive body impaled on the temple's apex in the final moments of his madness. His blood, filled with hatred and rage, should have flowed like lava and tainted the land.
It should have been the end of the world.
And yet now, the world was changing–morphing–and reality was constantly shifting as if undecided. As if its future was not set in stone. Sometimes, there was nothing but the cold vacuum of the void with the planet destroyed long ago. Other times, the snowy plains of Northrend was returned, and tiny humanoid creatures could be seen going about their lives. On and on, the world changed at a rapid pace, save for one area.
Weathering the temporal storm was a small piece of land. In better times, it was simply called the Bronze Dragonshrine. It was an anchored point, outside of time, that the Titans gifted to the Bronze dragonflight. From there, Bronze flight could safely observe the detrimental changes to the timeline and work to correct them.
The Bronze had not existed for a long time now. All had been tainted by the old gods after Deathwing's madness, driven mad by their failure to safeguard the world. Among the corrupted flight–and largest of all the dragons present–was Murozond, leader of the Infinite dragonflight. He was also the father of the Bronze dragonflight and their destroyer.
Or so it should have been.
Murozond, leader of the Infinite dragonflight, opened his tired eyes and watched as his brood postured themselves before him to report on the task he gave them.
"–and after we drove off the Bronze we went to all the soft spots in the mortal's life and drove them off along with their champions," Eraus, one of his chief lieutenants said. She was from one of the newer clutches and thus only knew of the Infinite way of life. Her dragon form was smaller, but she was powerful. "We have completed the task you gave us, father."
The massive dragon leader let out a pleasant rumble that shook the air around them.
"Good." Murozond's voice reverberated, and he saw his daughter's pleased expression. "However, there is more that needs to be done. You are to form two groups. One to guard him as an infant; I would not put it above the Bronze to murder him in his crib."
Eraus hung her head low and waited for the second task.
"The second group will go to where the vortex of the change is happening and seed yourselves around him to ensure no Bronze can assassinate him."
"We'll ensure his safety father! He shall not be harmed!" Eraus looked up with a zealous expression.
"No!" Murozond roared, making his daughter quail back, her wings tucked to her body and tails curled around her leg as if to make her person as small as possible. It was a natural instinct against a stronger predator. Seeing this, Murozond adjusted his tone. "No."
Eraus slowly dared to look back up at her father, the anger that he exhibited gone now.
"You are only to combat the Bronze and only the Bronze flight if they show up. Do nothing else to ensure his survival. If an orc kills him, let them," the large dark dragon commanded.
"But...is that not going against your first task?" Eraus did not understand.
Murozond could not fault her for she did not see things as he did nor could she feel the changes to time as he did. She did not know that the small echo that the mortal was causing had a catastrophic cascade effect throughout the timestream with the only stable point being from when he was born up to the age of nineteen.
Oddly enough, despite his best effort to pierce into the boy's future, there were only shifting scenes of chaos. It was… strange. It was almost as if his future was not written in stone.
"Father?" Eraus brought Murozond's attention back from his thoughts.
"Just do as I command," the massive dragon said gently. "Understand?"
"Do nothing but fight the Bronze if they try to interfere?" Eraus asked for confirmation, to which the leader of the Infinite dragonflight nodded.
"By your will, father." Eraus bowed her head low before she retreated.
The massive dragon looked on as his daughter went to gather his other children for the tasks. He didn't think they noticed, but they were no longer as suffused with void energy as before. The old ones' influence seemed to be lightening.
Eventually, they left, and Murozond was left alone once more at the end of the world. The world shifted around the shrine again, showing clear blue skies with mortals flying on their mounts who could be seen overhead. It should have been the end times.
Slowly, after gathering enough courage, did he dare pick up his claw and turn it over. There were the familiar black scales that he had seen for as long as he could remember, save for one spot. At the very center of his claw was a single bright Bronze scale.
'What is going on?' Murozond felt guilt and shame when he saw the scale and put his claw down to hide it from view. He then tried to reach out to the dark voices for guidance, but all that answered back was chaotic yells and insane screams.
TBC!
AN: First of all! Thank you to Icura my co-author from another mother for the editing!
Once more thanks for reading the story and enjoying it! We now returned to our regularly scheduled Callan story next time on Lost Lion! Same website! Same story thread!
But seriously. Thanks for the discussion, I do appreciate it!
There will be a map after either tomorrow or so.