Oh my God.
Oh my God.
Oh my God.
It’s done.
Epilogue 1
The sun rose above the horizon, signaling another tense day for the soldiers of Tiragarde Keep. However, on this morning the guards in the towers ran to report the sighting of Kul Tiras sails. The news bolted through the Keep, electrifying weary souls and drawing every last man and woman towards the towers, walls and windows, desperate to catch a glimpse of this sudden hope.
The air only grew more feverish as indeed, the sails grew closer. Five ships in total, coming closer by the minute. Speculations ran wild on how many soldiers there could be to bolster the ranks in the Keep, if the Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore was arriving personally after so long. News had been so scarce, they had heard that he was long dead but many had still refused to believe that.
For the first time in years, they had hope. So much, in fact, that the lookouts failed to note that on the horizon were also blood red sails bearing the Horde symbol.
On board the ships gliding towards the Durotar shore, the atmosphere was much more grim and subdued.
Tandred stood at the helm of the ship The Morning Stride together with Captain Mishan Waycrest, grimly surveying the harsh land and the crumbling Keep.
It had been a tense journey, made even tenser when the Horde warships had appeared as the Kul Tiras ships neared Durotar. They did not approach, however, always staying only within sight. The Warchief had apologized to Tandred, yet the Grand Admiral understood. Letting Alliance ships into orcish waters without some kind of security was not something that Thrall could ever allow.
After this tense journey, there was only unsavory business to take care of.
The ships were steered as close as the depth of the ocean allowed, and the anchors weighed. On the beach, the soldiers were lining up with their commanders. There were so few of them, for a fortress of that size. From this distance Tandred couldn’t tell the state of their armor, but he strongly suspected that nothing they owned was in prime condition.
They expected reinforcements.
Setting his jaw, he looked to a female mage standing by behind him and signaled to her to strengthen his voice. Once he knew that he would be heard, he turned back towards the shore and drew in a deep breath.
“I am Lord Admiral Tandred Proudmoore of Kul Tiras.” The magic empowering his voice made it easier to find a commanding tone. “Soldiers of Tiragarde Keep, you are encroaching on land belonging to the orcish people. I hereby order you to leave the Keep and board these ships to return to Kul Tiras.”
There was a moment of frozen disbelief before all hell broke loose on the beach.
The order amongst the soldiers broke up in disbelieving shouts. The commanders did nothing to calm their men, furious protests on their lips as well. In this harsh, inhospitable land discipline had been worn down until only a fanatic quest to destroy all who opposed them remained. With their hope for aid renewed and then so quickly crushed, rage could be the only response.
Tandred watched as the lines fell apart, as fists were shaken in his direction. Even at this distance, and with the wind blowing the other way, he could tell without hearing what they were yelling. Insults towards him, calling him an usurper, a traitor, an orc lover, a stain on his father’s memory – as bad as the stain his filthy sister had already caused. Glancing aside, he saw Mishan, her jaw set tight and her short locks of hair tussled in the wind above her hard eyes. There was a little bit of sadness there, pity for the people who were so far gone into their own hopeless battle that they saw only enemies. Like the Scarlet Crusade half a world away.
He felt the same stitch of pity. There couldn’t be more than one hundred and fifty soldiers, and their numbers must have been thinning monthly if not weekly. Still they clung to the ruins with the conviction that they were righteous and would prevail. Foolishly angering the orcs and trolls who simply wanted to live in peace in their new land, trying the patience of an overwhelming force just behind the next few hills.
And when it came down to it, surrounded and without ships they had had no way to leave, either. Looking at them now, they were far beyond the time where they even could accept this chance to go home. They had struggled for so long, clinging to this place with frantic pride and despair. Suddenly finding that everything they had suffered had been for nothing, was unbearable.
He knew then, that Thrall had truly been as merciful towards these poor abandoned souls as he could have been, perhaps for longer than he should have. The time for letting this madness continue was past.
Perhaps some could find peace once they were returned home, even if he would have to put them on trial – for the resistance they were about to put up, at least. Everyone would know it was a farce, but it would be even more of a farce if he had them accused and tried for encroaching on friendly land. Neither the Alliance nor his own people could be expected to accept that yet.
He raised a hand, signaling to a man down on the deck. The soldier stepped forwards, two red flags in his hand, and raised them to send the signal to embark and gather the Tiragarde troops. Boats were immediately dropped into the water from all the ships, soldiers climbing into them to make it inland. At the sight of this, the last shreds of order dissolved amongst the men and women of the Keep. Some started towards the ocean to fight the invaders, some fled towards the crumbling stone walls to better hold their ground. The commanders who managed to keep their heads cool shouted for everyone to head for the Keep, but with all the turmoil they were only heeded by those standing close enough to hear and care.
In the end, though, it was useless.
At another wave of the signal flags a flock of gryphons rose from the furthest ship, soaring above the water, the beach and the Tiragarde soldiers. Bolts of blue arcane light rained down over the mutinous troops, splattering into pools of ice as they hit the ground, trapping feet and causing many who were not caught to slip. Other men and women disappeared in puffs of smoke, and confused sheep staggered around in their stead.
The airborne mages’ assault shattered what little remained of the morale and clear thinking of the Tiragarde soldiers. By the time the Kul Tiras soldiers arrived on the shore, there was little left to subdue. Even so, it was not a peaceful takeover. Many of those who did not violently fight back still shouted and cursed at every turn, offering no help and having to be dragged to the boats.
The sun was at its highest as Tandred finally felt ready to order a search of Tiragarde Keep. Prisoners were still being brought onboard the ships, but enough of his soldiers were free to enter and turn the fortress’ insides upside down.
Following another command, one of the mages urged his gryphon to fly high above the towers of the Keep. Once he himself could see the distant Razor Hill he set off a flare of pure arcane magic, to alert those who had waited for a signal.
As the last resisting soldiers who had been hiding inside Tiragarde were dragged out along with what little belongings had been scrounged up, the first dozen wolf riders crested the hills. They were Kor’kron Elites, followed by orc shamans on yet more wolves, as well as trolls riding on raptors. All in all, their numbers were greater than that of the soldiers that had clung to Tiragarde.
At the front line was an imposing orc in dark, copper-lined armor, and alongside him rode a human woman in a white and purple dress. She stuck out amongst the much bigger people around her, yet looked perfectly at ease in her strange company.
Other scattered Horde members followed, but obviously not part of the Warchief’s assembled troops they stayed further away to simply watch the spectacle.
The last thing the Kul Tiras soldiers did before they vacated the fortress was to take axes to the gallows at the center of the Keep. They quickly had them torn down and the hacked up remains were dragged to the entrance of the main building.
Tandred, together with a group of elite soldiers acting as his guard, waited for the approaching Warchief and Jaina as the small army reached the shadows of the still standing walls.
“With well wishes for your marriage,” Tandred said in a low voice as his sister and her husband dismounted their wolves.
Jaina pursed her lips in a grim smile, while Thrall’s mouth twisted around his protruding tusks. It took a moment for Tandred to conclude that the Warchief was silently expressing what he himself felt – distaste that it must be done, but knowing that it had to be.
“I am grateful, Admiral,” Thrall said in a low rumble.
Tandred bowed his head slightly, guiltily relieved for a chance to look the other way. He still struggled to accept it all. Part of him was at peace with it, especially whenever the Warchief’s cordial nature was proven again and again. Yet, whenever Tandred actually looked at the huge orc, his mind was invaded by unpleasant thoughts of his sister kissing those thick, green lips and those enormous, black-nailed hands touching her face.
He wrestled the mental images away and nodded to Jaina. In response, she discreetly waved her hand. For a moment her fingers glowed and she nodded back. As he spoke again, Tandred’s voice once more boomed out to be heard by everyone gathered there.
“This fortress was built as a declaration of war from the last Grand Admiral of Kul Tiras. This land belongs to the Horde, and I have no right to exercise authority in it. Even so, as the keep was built by soldiers of Kul Tiras, as the current Grand Admiral I give my full permission for it to be destroyed.”
He swept his hand out towards the crumbling walls.
“My soldiers have sought through the fortress for any remaining rebels or possible prisoners. To solidify that this is done thoroughly, however, I ask that the orcish Warchief let his own men search the grounds to ascertain that there is nobody left inside.”
Thrall gave the signal, and several of the Elites and shamans headed towards the Keep.
To the relief of everyone involved, the orcs and trolls returned with reports of nothing. There had been no Horde prisoners found, though there would always be the knowledge that many young, foolish warriors had disappeared while probably trying to put a dent in the human settlement.
Tandred, along with his soldiers, returned to the ships. Their part in the Grand Admiral’s unusual wedding gift was complete.
The Keep had been cleared out by Alliance soldiers, by command of an Alliance grand commander. It could still be used as a claim that the destruction was a declaration of war – however, not as smoothly as it would have been if the Horde had attacked and leveled it on their own.
And leveling it was all that was left.
Once sure that nobody was still standing too close to the Keep, Thrall and Jaina exchanged a nod. She stepped forwards, raising her staff high in the air. Flames flared up around her hands upon her command and shot forwards across the barren court, exploding into the remains of the gallows. It was arcane fire only until it bit into the paper dry wood.
Thrall spread his hands, calling out a prayer to the spirits of fire. A flaming roar answered him as the spirits heeded him and the fire stormed over the wood, spreading inside the building. Dancing fire elementals flared into existence as behind Thrall, a mighty choir of voices echoed his words. They spread through the Keep, consuming anything that could burn.
Under the intense heat, rocks shattered and walls cracked. The ground rumbled as the second wave of calls rang out, beseeching the earth itself to help destroy what did not belong in this land. Already faltering walls rattled and fell apart, as stone elementals rose and began pounding away.
The black smoke rose high above the rocky ground and the ocean, roaring as it raged through the ruins. Aided by the shamans the fire spirits let loose all their power.
Thrall did not like it. Yes, it had to be done, and when it came down to it, this was the most peaceful way it could have been resolved. He was eternally grateful that Tandred had offered to help taking care of this sore spot on the orc and troll lands. Yet the Warchief found himself with a disturbing lack of the relief he had expected to feel.
He looked at Jaina, uneasy with his own sense of dread. She saw his movement from the corner of her eye and turned her face towards him. Not smiling, it was not the time for that – but she offered a determined look that at least for a moment soothed his troubled mind.
The firelight rose up and sent shadows flapping about her face.
Thrall swung his head back at this sudden roar of the fire and gazed upwards. The darkness filled up the entire sky above the people outside the falling ruins, blotting out the sunlight. The smoke spewed upwards, and then a sudden gust of wind threw it southwards, with such force that for the briefest time, the cloud nearest its source was almost horizontal.
The fire flared upwards, and the spirits howled along with it. For a moment, the flames looked like a furious face, and the black smoke hung behind it like hair bundled up in a wild pony tail. It bore down on the scene where humans, orcs and trolls had just cooperated to remove a symbol of discord.
Thrall pinched his eyes shut, struggling to not sway from the intensity of the spirits’ cry. He could not be seen staggering even an inch in this moment, not for any reason. Not even though he recognized a warning when he saw one.
Wrenching his eyes open again he saw only a fortress nearly burnt to the ground. The flames were dying down, having consumed everything they could feed on.
Thrall reached out and put his hand on Jaina’s shoulder, making himself return her tiny smile when she looked at him. He didn’t want to worry her, so he did not let her know that he drew strength from her being there. It was still such a new, and ever precious source of strength and peace of mind.
Turning back towards the smoking debris that had been Tiragarde Keep, a scowl dug into his forehead though he managed to keep the defiant snarl inside.
Come what may. They would face that, too.
And following a very visual-based first epilogue, we have Epilogue 2.With whiplash scene shift!
… I wonder if anybody remembers this far back.
Lady Vashj could tell that her personal guards were not at ease, although they kept their complaints to themselves. She could not blame them, for the air in Tempest Keep held a metallic, burnt stench that seemed to dig into her scales, dehydrating her. Arcane bolts of lightning tore at the sky outside, above the cracking landscape. Part of her was thrilled at the vast amounts of power apparent in the area, but another part felt unease at the tear of the land.
She had lived in the ocean for millennia – a world embodying eternity did not scare her. However, one could not swim in the Nether. Only fall, by the way it looked. She had no wings.
And the Netherstorm was far too dry for her tastes. However, she had been made to understand, by several increasingly frantic letters, that this was a matter she truly had to take into her own hands.
The naga were met just outside the portal by very much relieved blood elves, and Lady Vashj slithered alongside High Astromancer Solarian’s hurried steps through the long, confusing corridors of the keep. For the sake of her honored guests, the High Astromancer had foregone her magical hood which normally made her face an unreadable mask reminiscent of a void walker. This in turn had forced her to apply more beauty enhancing magic, but even that could not completely hide how worn down she was. More elves with harrowed expressions passed by, proving just how badly this situation was worrying them all.
Following a final turn and heading towards a guarded gate at the end of a corridor, a distant, muffled scream was heard from where they were heading. Lady Vashj tilted her head, frowning.
“Is he torturing prisoners?” she asked. She did not disapprove, exactly, but it did not seem like Kael’thas to dirty his hands with such things. Then he must truly be beyond furious, dangerously so.
The pale, fine face of her guide scrunched up in a grimace, and Solarian actually winced when another scream rung down the corridor.
“No, my Lady,” the elf said with badly hidden distaste. “It is worse than that.”
The scream continued, ending and beginning again even as the two women stopped a few steps from the doors. Difficult to say if it was the same voice screaming, distorted as it was by pain. Whichever it was, it was a deep, roaring sound. Didn’t sound like a human or elf.
The several guards mumbled grateful welcomes to the naga, which she ignored.
The snakes on Vashj’s head obediently laid down and wreathed themselves into a braid. She knew that they disturbed the Prince even after all this time, and she had no intention to make him even more aggravated.
While Vashj focused on this, Solarian knocked on the great doors. The guards looked on with great apprehension apparent on their faces.
“Your Majesty?” Solarian called, keeping her voice neutral. “Your Majesty, Lady Vashj wishes to see you. May I open the door?”
A second passed, with a lull in the screaming, and then there was a snarl from inside. It may have been an acknowledgement. Solarian squared her jaw and pulled one half of the gate open.
Roaring, a full grown orc, in black mithril armor lined with copper, flew through the open door. Solarian recoiled, crying out in shock, and Vashj’s snakes rose up with an alarmed hiss as she too drew back, eyes wide.
However, the huge thing went straight through Solarian as if it was… just an illusion. Despite its lack of matter, it crashed on the floor loudly and then laid still. A smoldering hole went straight through its chest, so large that one could see the floor through it before a flood of dark blood covered the tiles. Luckily, the magic at work could not recreate the smell of burnt flesh and blood.
Vashj and the elves stared at the thing by their feet, Solarian gasping for breath and pressing a hand to her chest.
After a moment, the naga shook herself out of it and her snakes laid back again as she squared her jaw. She had never seen this orc in person, but knew him well enough from pictures and memories drawn into moving images.
“I sssee,” she said, hissing with the distaste she felt.
Small wonder that the elves had called for her help if their Prince had sunk so low as to play sadistic games with illusions. Such things amused their Lord Illidan from time to time as well, but it was not the sign of a healthy mind. Vashj really had had higher thoughts of Kael’thas.
Still hissing, she swept past the blood elves. Her tail whipped out and right through the fading image of Warchief Thrall.
Kael’thas’ chamber was, to her surprise, pretty much intact save for a few torn pillows and papers scattered across the floor, splattered with ink. Judging from the splotches along the floor and wall, a bottle of it had been thrown across the room.
There was a human shaped, pink image curled up on the ground, blonde hair spilling over the dirty papers. Vashj pretended that it wasn’t there as she slithered towards Kael’thas. The distaste kept her anger up for a moment longer, but she controlled it and let it fade to annoyance and then concern as she looked closer at the Prince.
He lounged on a divan, glaring at her with his head propped up on a fist. Rage and lack of sleep lined his handsome features, encircling his eyes with dark rings. His fine red robes were in disarray, and he made no move to appear more collected under her gaze.
Behind Vashj, the door was silently shut.
She slipped up close to where he was, then lowered her body on her long, thick tail so that their faces were at the same level.
“I’ve never seen you like this, Prince,” Vashj said, lowering her voice to a soft rather than harsh hiss.
He glanced away.
“I’m sure they have informed you well enough of what has happened,” he countered.
Unperturbed by his cold tone, Vashj leaned closer.
“You should speak with Master Illidan,” she urged. “He knows your pain. He would help.”
“It’s too late.” He said it dully, shaking his head. “It was always too late, they moved too quickly. We could not have amassed the troops in time to stop them in Ratchet…”
His words faded into a growl. On the floor, the image of Jaina Proudmoore curled up, covering her head pathetically as sobs wrecked her naked form.
“… and now they sit behind their walls.”
“She is not worth this much pain, my Prince,” Lady Vashj whispered, stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers.
“No, by hellfire, she’s not!”
He shot up suddenly, clenching his hands at the trembling illusion.
“To be scorned in favor of an orc!”
“Kael’thas, calm yourself!” Vashj sharply said.
With a combination of quickly softening orders and careful touches to his arms, she managed to soothe him back down on the divan. He still glared between her and the illusion, but at least settled down.
“You know humans, Kael’thas,” Vashj said, shaking her head. “They are foolish, frightened little things. When they’ve made a decision they’ll defend their choice with blind pride, because they’re deathly afraid to realize that they are wrong.” She wasn’t sure if a sneer would be a good idea, considering his state of mind, so she kept that to herself.
She motioned towards the source of the quieting sobs, still refusing to look straight at it.
“Let her suffer through all the nights she can bear with that orc,” Vashj whispered into Kael’thas long, elegant ear. “That is sufficient punishment for her, until the day we can crush all of them. Then you shall have her, if you want her.”
After a moment he slowly nodded, but she was not sure if it was in real agreement or just a polite way to make her stop talking.
She could feel it, if not her very eyes could have told her the same, what a dangerous blow Lady Proudmoore’s actions had been. Illidan was difficult enough to deal with. Kael’thas had to stay sane, but he had already lost so much.
Unbeknownst to her, in the silence between them he listened to another voice, far deeper and more sinister than Vashj’s could ever be.
Kael’thas stood up abruptly, surprising her. The snakes on her head rose in alarm, but she ordered them back down as she studied his face. Though the rage remained, the worst tension melted away under his massaging fingertips.
As he snapped his fingers, the sobs instantly ceased and the illusion on the floor froze.
“Pardon me, Vashj.” Kael’thas took in a deep breath and held a hand to his forehead for a moment. “It was a heavy blow to my pride, I admit that. I have made you all worry.”
“You did,” she agreed, watching him warily. The change was welcome, but she was not certain that it had not come too easily. “I and your people care a great deal about you, and we hate to see you suffer. Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes. Thank you for taking the time, dear friend.” His smile was charming as always, but also, as always as well, a little tight.
Vashj nodded and returned his smile. She noted, however, that he did not dissolve the illusion. Shaking his head, Kael’thas made a move to start walking towards the doors.
“There are, indeed, matters I must attend to,” he said. “I have high hopes that we may soon begin the next step in rejuvenating the Sunwell. Once that is complete, I will have more time and means to discuss how to go from here with my people’s allies.”
And he smiled, grimly, baring his pearly white teeth.
As great a thing as their marriage were, the Warchief and Lady Proudmoore could not influence the actions of their enemies. They could only take a stand amongst their allies. For the forces of the Burning Legion cared not a whit about that wedding that rocked the political world of Azeroth.
The world itself, and its defenses, still rested on the shoulders of not only the leaders and generals of Azeroth – but on those brave men and women ready to risk their lives in the everyday battles to protect it from the demonic and undead forces.
Now if you’ll excuse me… staggers off
