Atlantean Entertainment Presents



In incorporation with

The Clan Emanon FanFiction Archive

By Aves Daniel Grate

The Story of the Age of Chaos

Based on the game by Blizzard Entertainment



Pictures © 1998 by Blizzard Ent.

Disclaimer: This is a non-profitable endeavor. Most of
the characters are copyright 1998 by Blizzard
Entertainment. Also, since this is a narrative of the events from Warcraft:
Orcs and Humans, the storyline is also copyright by Blizzard. Also, the
Introduction is taken right from the game, so that is copyright by Blizzard
too. Regarding the Introduction, it does not begin the story, it merely
gives you the idea of what it's about. What I mean is, it states that the
Orcs came through the portal, but the story begins far before they actually
came through. This is not a really long commercial for Blizzard, but Warcraft
and its sequels are fantastic games and I would recommend them to anyone.

Author's Note:

I have carefully analyzed the story of Warcraft: Orcs and Humans. Having
been fascinated with the creative genius of the story, I have decided to
express the story as I saw it. I have added characters, of course, and theorized
some, but all in all it is the story of Warcraft. Please direct comments
to jenjes@simcoe.igs.net Please
don't kid yourself by trying to read this without reading Act I: Medivh.
This story has too much complex intertwining to summarize the first act.
Thanks to Stickman and Ebony for putting me on their page at the Clan Emanon
page. 

Warning:

Due to graphic violent content and adult situations, I'm rating this PG-13.
So don't sue me if you get nightmares. 


It Begins . . .

In the Age of Chaos, two batches battled for
dominance.

The kingdom of Azeroth was a prosperous one,


the humans who dwelled there turned the land into a penthouse. 

The Knights of Stormwind and the Clerics of Northshire Abbey

roamed far and wide, serving the people with honour and justice. 

The well trained armies of the kingdom maintained

a lasting peace for many generations.

Then came the Orcish Hordes . . .

No one knew where these creatures came from,


and none were prepared for the terror that they spawned.

There warriors wielded ax and spear with deadly proficiency,

while others rode on darkwolves, as black than a moonless night. 

Unimagined were the destructive powers of their evil magiks, 

derived from the fires of the underworld.

Armed with an ingenious arsenal of weapons
and powerful magiks,

these two forces collide in a contest of cunning,

intellect, and brute strength,

with the victor claiming dominance over the whole of Azeroth.

Welcome to the world of

Warcraft.







Five Years Later

Garona spread some fresh scrolls out on the table at a
Shadow Council meeting which had measurements and diagrams of the Rift,
"We have finally expanded the rift large enough to send an Orc through."

"So why don't we?" asked Uykil, "Aren't you happy about this?"

Garona silenced him with a wave of her green hand. "I don't know if
there's reason to be. Scientifically speaking, we can't be sure if their
atmosphere is breathable to us. Therefore, we can't send someone through
until we know it's safe. " "Correction,"
Bloodclaw objected, grinning evilly. "We can't send someone important
through until we know it's safe."

The Half-Orc looked to Gul'dan, "We need someone expendable. Someone
who can defend themselves, we don't want them getting killed for we don't
know what's on the other side. But we need someone who isn't really an addition
to the Horde."

Gul'dan looked out over his Warlocks and Necrolytes, "Any
suggestions?"

Gruln the Dasher was a quick-footed Grunt who knew much about terrain and
how to maneuver through different kinds. However, this was a trait which
was not rare among the Orcs. 

Mangler, his female cousin, was a Spearwoman and wasn't very smart. It was
them who had been chosen by the Stormreaver clan to go through the rift.

Not to Gruln's surprise, Mangler was quite happy about the fact that she
was going. But he knew that they were both very expendable. Gul'dan, the
Stormreaver leader, had requested that Cho'gall's Twilight's Hammer clan
lend a pair of warriors. That's what Cho'gall had told them, but Gruln guessed
the more appropriate wording would be a pair of useless warriors.

The instruction from the hybrid Garona was quite simple. Go through the
rift, collect samples of the vegetation, and return with a full report.
And, the most important thing was to not engage anything in combat.

Most of the Horde had gathered at Hellfire Citadel and lodged there for
the night before they were to go through the rift. Gruln and Mangler were
there too. At the first sight of the red sun at the horizon, they made the
eastward trek to the Rift on Hellfire Peninsula.

The Devouring Sea shone in all its green glory as the sun rose on Hellfire
Peninsula. Gruln could even swear he saw the Warsong Clan gathering on Warsong
Island to watch them depart.

Upon arriving at the Rift, which was showering the Horde with its white
light, Garona took his arm and brought him aside, "You remember what
I told you," she said, "don't fight anyone. Bring back some plants.
Be careful." She turned to look at the gathering masses of the Hordes,
"Now go."

Mangler squealed in joy and walked up to the rift. Gruln followed her.

"Let us go, cousin," she urged, "We are pioneers this day.
Our names shall go down in the eternal chronicles of the Hordes."

Gruln took her hand and together they entered the chaotic pathways of the
Twisting Nether.



The Hordes had left. The red banners of the Warsong Clan
had disappeared from their coastline to the east. Hellfire Citadel had been
cleared out and the Orcish warriors went back to their Clans.

Tagar Spinebreaker, the leader of the Bonechewer Clan, patted Gul'dan on
the shoulder, "Nice show," he remarked, "sent a sigh of relief
through the entire Horde."

"I know," Gul'dan nodded. "So how are things over in Bonechewer,
Tagar?"

The Orc chieftain fiddled with a collarbone adorning his belt, "Well,
we're in a bad position. A few months ago Blackhand's sons broke off into
their own clan. The Blackrock Clan, that's Blackhand's, allied with the
Black Tooth Grin Clan, that's his sons', and the Bleeding Hollow Clan. They're
waging wars with Dragonmaw north of us. If war breaks out between them,
we'll be caught in a crossfire. And, my clan is having a little disagreement
with Kargath Bladefist and his Shattered Hand Clan. You?"

Gul'dan sighed, "I find infighting a nuisance and have exempt myself
from any and all clan wars."

Tagar sniffed and took a swig of bloodmead from a tankard, "I was going
to too. But I figured that since my warriors not only yearn to spill blood,
but to drink it, if we didn't fight someone else we'd have an inter-clan
war on our hands."

Fenris the Hunter, chieftain of the Thunderlord Clan, came up to the pair
of chieftains, "I couldn't help but overhear," he said flatly,
obviously lying, "but I heard that you, Spinebreaker, are convinced
that you'll be destroyed in a crossfire between Blackrock and Dragonmaw?"

Tagar nodded, "That's correct."

"I have made an alliance with Blackrock, I even sent one of my Slayers,
Orgrim Doomhammer, as a gift to Blackhand. We also have the Lightning's
Blade Clan in the Blade's Edge Mountains. If you ally with us, Zuluhed would
see that an alliance with us as well would only strengthen his position,
as we would have total control over the West rim of our lands. The Shattered
Hand Clan would be smashed by us like an annoying insect."

"How splendid," said Spinebreaker placidly, "Then we'll just
have the Shadowmoon Clan,Twilight's Hammer, and Laughing Skull to reckon
with. I'm afraid not."

Fenris stretched and yawned, "Merely a suggestion," he said, "and
it might be wise to consider the fact that if Dragonmaw is subdued, who
will be next to conquer."

Tagar glared at the Hunter.

"I think I should be retiring for the night," he stated. He walked
down the cliff towards Hellfire Citadel.

"Damn that Raider to Hades," Tagar murmured through clenched teeth.
He turned back to Gul'dan, "I'll be going back to my lands, now. I'll
see you later," he got up and left.

Garona had been sitting on the makeshift wooden steps towards the rift,
"That's a nice conversation to remember."

"Fenris's faking it," Gul'dan said flatly, "He's too scared
of Ner'zhul and his Shadowmoon Clan to go oppose him. And besides, Tagar's
Bonechewers are cannabalistic and ornament themselves with their opponents'
bones and organs. That's enough to strike fear into the weaker clans."

Garona opened her mouth to say something but the rift began to simmer and
its light grew in intensity. She jumped and turned to see it. Gul'dan stood
up, and she walked backwards to him.

Mangler and Gruln stepped out of the rift.

" 'Their sun was bright, and yellow, and stretched
across the blue skies dotted with cottony clouds. Every step was met with
vegitation. Green grasses, bright flowers featuring every colour known to
us. And when the sun disappeared behind the edge of the world, a white moon
shone on a velvet sky dotted with orbs of faint light. The trees grew tall
and had leafy, or sometimes needle-like treetops and the sea had a blueish
hue to it.' " Garona read from a scroll at a Shadow Council meeting.

"He's insane," Uykil blurted, "A blue sky . . . that's proposterous."
J'Kar thought a moment, "What do the other clands say?"

"They don't know they're back yet," said Gul'dan.

"Very poetic," remarked Jiggrata, a female Warlock.

Garona picked up something and showed it to the assembled Council. It had
obviously been broken off, and it had a brown, tough branch filled with
green, diamond-shaped, thin attachments.

"That's it!" said Jiggrata, "That's what Medivh showed us!"

"I will suggest, on behalf of the Stormreaver Clan," said Gul'dan,
"that the clans stop their wars for one year, and in that time, we
will have new enemies to destroy, and new lands to conquer."

Two Months Later . . . 

Garona had informed Gul'dan of disturbing news. The Lightning's
Blade Clan had been decimated by the civil wars. The Warsong, Shattered
Hand, and Laughing Skull were said to be responsible. And now the Thunderlord
Clan, Blackrock Clan, Black Tooth Grin Clan and Bleeding Hollow Clan were
waging war on those three.

The first few weeks had gone well. The Horde took Gul'dan's proposal under
advisement and stopped fighting. But then the Lightning's Blade Clan began
making unauthorized trips through Shattered Hand and meeting in Blackrock.
Kargath Bladefist had, unsurprisingly, taken this as an act of war and called
upon his longtime friend, Grom Hellscream of the Warsong Clan. The Laughing
Skull had little loyalty to any clan in particular and decided to make war
with the Lightning's Blade.

Automatically, the Thunderlord Clan had moved in on the abandoned land and
taken any survivors from Lightning's Blade as their own. Most of the power
in Draenor was now in the hands of the Blackrock Clan. Meanwhile, Gul'dan
had achieved good progress with the rift. Using the magiks of the Shadow
Council and the Inner Circle of Warlocks, he had managed to enlarge the
rift so it could now be classified as a portal. Obsidian stones had grown
from the ground with stone depictions of Orcish skulls mounted upon them.
The portal itself was now encased in a large, obsidian square with strange
runes cared upon it. It was about twenty feet high, and loomed over the
Hellfire Peninsula. 

It had become so that none but the Stormreaver Clan, whose land was mainly
the Hellfire Peninsula, were allowed within a few miles from the portal.
The time had begun . . . the Horde would soon be on the other side, and
a new land would be theirs.



By the end of the third month, word had gotten around the Horde that the
portal was big enough to send the whole Horde through. So, the Shadow Council
held a meeting.

"I think the time's come to send a contingent through the portal,"
said Uykil, "Where's Gruln and Mangler, they can come too."

J'Kar shook her head, "I don't think so. Gruln's ranting away at Archindoun.
I don't expect to see him for quite some time. Mangler died last month."

"Killed by an Arachon," said Bloodclaw, "shame."

Gul'dan thought a moment, "Garona, you'll lead the team. Take some
Stormreaver spearsmen and a Blackrocker to satisfy the clans."

"A Blackrocker?" she smiled, "I know just the Orc."



Thok . . . was an idiot. He had been promoted to the station of Grunt simply
because he knew how to suck up. Garona had come across him in her missions
as a spy and interpreter to the Shadow Council. He was of the Blackrock
Clan.

The Blackrock Clan was very large, powerful, and wealthy. The Fortress Archindoun
had been built centuries ago and still stood firm by the Dhon Fer'ty, or,
in the Orcish tongue, River Consuming. The Clan was led by Blackhand the
Destroyer, father of Rend, Maim, and Griselda. The throne room of Fortress
Archindoun was rapped sharply.

Blackhand looked up from his fearsome double-bladed ax, "Come."

The doors opened and three Orcs entered. All were dressed in blue and the
symbols on their clothing told them that they were all Stormreavers. The
red tattoo on the woman's face also told him that she was an assassin.

"What do you want?" Blackhand demanded flatly.

"We need to borrow a soldier," the woman said.

"Which one?" Blackhand smirked contemptuously, "I have a
few."

"Thok the Masher," said the male Warlock at her side, "He
and soldiers from our clan are going to go through the portal."

"Why Thok?"

The male Necrolyte on the other side of the female assassin stepped forward,
"We know of Thok and believe that he will be an asset to our mission."

"Thok?"

The female nodded, "Yes, Thok."

Blackhand sighed, "Very well, I'll have him sent to Hellfire."

"It's all right," said the assassin, "We'll collect him ourselves."



Thok had been a bit confused while Garona, Uykil and Bloodclaw brought him
back to Hellfire Peninsula, and he backed away fearfully when he saw the
portal.

But, Garona and the five other warriors who were accompanying them managed
to get him up right in front of it. Many Orc clan chiefs were there. Ner'zhul,
Fenris, Grom Hellscream, Kargath Bladefist, Mogor the Ogre, Kilrogg Deadeye,
Zuluhed, and Cho'gall were all watching, along with a good chunk of their
soldiers, to watch the show which was bound to be spectacular.

Gul'dan, Bloodclaw, and Jiggrata were positioned around the portal. As they
chanted incantations, a low howl was audible.

"Thok not go," Thok shook his head.

Garona took firm hold of his arm, "Thok will go," she said fiercely.

The howl grew louder. It sounded like a thousand darkwolves were howling
to the bloodmoon. Then colours began to swirl into the portal. The howl
was beginning to grow deafening.

Garona, her hair whipping around her face wildly, tugged on Thok's arm as
he tried to pull free. Gul'dan backed away and motioned Garona towards the
portal. It was now alive with countless colours clashing in a cosmic dance.
Garona, dragging Thok behind her, entered the portal, and a blinding light
filled her vision.



When the light faded, she, Thok, and the five other soldiers stood in front
of the portal.

"Something went wrong," Garona said, turning around to look at
Gul'dan, "we didn't go any . . ." her voice trailed off as she
turned to see a swampy land. The Hordes were gone, and it was night. However,
the white crescent in the sky provided good lighting over the ground. Gruln
had spoken the truth. The sky was a deep blue, lit up by tiny dots of light.
Vegetation abounded, much like the sample Gruln had brought back. But there
were so many variances in the types it almost boggled her mind. On Draenor
it was simple. There were the mushroom-like, dark trees that made up their
forests, and the quick-growing, reptilian vines which would grow up your
leg if you stood still for too long. Garona kicked at Thok, who had huddled
on the ground, whimpering pitifully, "Get up, you sniveling excuse
for an Orc." She took another look around, "Let's go look around,"
she suggested.

The spearmen nodded and followed her through the murky swamps.

By the time they reached dry land, all seven Orcs had mud up to their knees.
Garona looked around for any signs of life.

"Garona!" Thlif, a spearman, called to her and pointed to the
ground, "a road." Garona walked over and looked where he was pointing.
Sure enough, a cobbled

road was clear in the dirt. A spearman took a branch from a tree and tied
some dried grass around it. Then, by striking two rocks together, he succeeded
in lighting it on fire and giving it to Garona.

She took it, then looked down each way the road went. 

"That way," she pointed.

The seven concealed themselves in the bushes when they arrived at the village.
A group of strange, sharp-edged buildings which were easily compared to
the Orcish farms. The cobbled road into a trio of farms.

From behind her, Garona felt a sudden surge of heat and in front of her,
everything was bathed in a yellow light. She turned to see the culprit,
and squinted. When her eyes adjusted, she say the massive, yellow orb rising
above the horizon. It was brighter than the Orcish red sun, and gave off
more heat, which was highly accepted among the Orcs.

She turned back to the farms at the creak of a door and smiled at the creature
which emerged. Pink skin, short, small, and hardly muscular. And judging
by the facial hair, this was a full grown specimen.

The Orcish warriors looked at each other and grinned wickedly. If this was
a true representation of their puny race, this "war" would be
over long before it began.

Victory was theirs in moments.

Screaming bloodcurdling Orcish battlecries, the seven rushed from their
hiding place. The small being screamed in horror as they rushed him and
gurgled to his death as a spear found its way to his neck.

A shout and scream from the other farms caused the Orcs to turn and look.

A male rushed from his home brandishing a digging utensil. He swiped at
Garona with it. The hybrid ducked and plunged her short dagger into his
stomach. A female in the doorway screamed and ran back into the house.

"Thok! Thlif!" Garona cried, and they followed her into the small
house. Blood trickled out the door as they hacked and slashed at the women
and children in the house.

Garona came out of the house wiping her dagger off on a cloth, "Report!"

A spearman ran up and saluted, "Milady! We finished off the last woman,
but a child escaped into the woods," he pointed.

She nodded smugly, "He'll starve to death in a matter of days,"
she said, averting her eyes momentarily to the forest in the distance, "let's
move on to the houses," she sighed, turning back to the spearman, "take
anything that looks valuable, and inspect their fields and livestock as
well."

The spearman nodded and entered the nearest house. After a few minutes of
crashes and the sound of objects shattering and the occasional piece of
shrapnel flying out the door, the spearman returned, "A couple of gems,
perhaps valuable here. Nothing of use as I can see. Except for what I believe
are maps of the area." He added, holding up a rolled up scroll.

Garona sniffed absently, "Bring some trinkets back, just to satisfy
the clan chiefs. What about the livestock?" she turned to another spearman.

"We've collected grains from the fields," said another spearman,
"and there are some animals in their barns which are either used for
transportation or food."

Garona sighed, "Well, the males offered little resistance, but the
females and children were like taking grok to the slaughter," she remarked
to no one in particular, "Turn this village into an Orcish outpost,"
she ordered a spearman. Then she turned to Thlif, "All in all,"
she said as they both walked back towards the portal, "This new world,
heavy with vast expenses and soft, weak protectors will prove a rich jewel
to add to the crown of the Orcs."

One Year Later . . .

Kilrogg Deadeye stood proudly alongside his comrade and
Shaman, Zuluhed. Both were leaders of powerful clans within the Horde. Kilrogg
looked into the swirling madness of the Twisting Nether's fury, he could
even vaguely see the other side of the massive portal. A casing of obsidian
had been erected around the portal on both sides, carved with savage runes
and pictures of skulls and the like. Beside it, in a circular fashion, obsidian
tablets had been set upright, adorned with stone statues of Orcish skulls
atop them. The crimson soil around the portal shone from its bright, blue
light. 

Kilrogg then looked behind him and saw all the clans that were staying behind.
Ner'zhul, leader of the powerful Shadowmoon Clan, would probably take the
Horde over and command its actions on Draenor. Deadeye nudged Zuluhed. 

The Shaman turned to see the clans who were staying behind. He sighed and
adjusted his white headband. "We all know they're doomed, Kilrogg,"
he whispered hoarsely. "Draenor is dying, it has been for years. We
know it, they know it. The Hordes will live on in our new world. And only
the strongest of the strong must be in the new breed we shall create. They
aren't strong enough, Kilrogg."

"Yes," Kilrogg nodded, "but they've been so loyal. Honour
is a virtue our people occasionally lack."

Zuluhed was tempted to shake his head in disappointment. He continued the
explanation to the elder, "You've seen the way Arachons prey on the
Grok, have you not?" the Shaman asked.

Deadeye inclines his head in acknowledgement, thinking of the creatures
of Draenor hunting and being hunted. 

Zuluhed continued, "The Arachons will stalk and destroy the weak Grok.
This is that same situation," he watched his Dragonmaw clan of sorcerers
and warriors file into the portal, "But this time, Draenor is the predator
and do you know who the prey are? Us, Deadeye. The horde is the pack of
Grok. And Draenor will pick off the weak of the Horde. You see Ner'zhul?
You see Grom Hellscream? Kargath Bladefist? Mogor? They lead the weak clans,
and they have been chosen by Draenor to die with her. It is a shame that
they must die, but they must!

There is a new Horde, new clans. They are the old clans . . . the expendable
clans. This is our way, Kilrogg. It always has been. The politics of our
Horde is conniving, betraying, and yet surviving. Do not pray on the necessary
negatives aspects, but the positive. We are surviving, and soon . . . we
will see the rivers flow with the blood of our enemies."

Without another word, Zuluhed disappeared into the portal. Kilrogg took
one last glance at Ner'zhul. He seemed all right with this. He knew their
plans, he knew their ways. Kilrogg swallowed under the glare of the Shaman.
He turned and quickly walked into the portal. As far as he knew, he would
never see the Shaman again.

583

Druni was the head of farming operations. He was in charge of the growth
and distribution of crops and livestock. He shook his head on the misfortune
which had been dropped on his farmers over the past six years. Many crops
were failing, even in the richest, most fertile soils. His own child had
become sick, and still hadn't recovered. And at harvest, it would become
too cold to be outdoors, making it almost impossible to harvest in the crops
before the frost struck and they died. Alonsus and his Clerics, nor Blinnus
and his Conjurers could tell what was wrong with Azeroth. Druni leaned on
his shovel and sighed. He was tapped on the shoulder by Darryla, his wife.


She smiled warmly, "It's all right, Druni," she said, leaning
her head on his shoulder, "Droughts eventually go away."

"And what if this isn't a drought?" asked Druni, "What if
this land has died?" Darryla smiled affectionately, "It's only
a drought, you'll provide Azeroth with the best and finest foods this world
has to offer soon enough. Don't worry so much." She kissed him lightly
and turned back to their farm. The farmer followed his wife into his farmhouse.

The once damp, swampy soil surrounding the Dark Portal
had turned dark and crimson. It was some effect of the portal, said the
Warlocks, that transferred characteristics from Draenor to Azeroth, they
had learned it was named. The Orcs had learned a considerable amount about
in the year they had been there. These humans, they were called, were not
much unlike themselves. 

A sharp blow to the head resulted in massive injury or death, if the blow
was well placed. They had the most vital organs in the chest and head, which
made that the target areas. And most importantly, lack of food lead to starvation
and proved to be a good way of extracting information. 

There was a meeting of clan chieftains and captains. There was Blackhand
the Destroyer, not only chief of the Blackrock Clan but also captain of
the Sythegore Arm of Raiders; his three captains, Rend of the Grunts, Griselda
of the Spearmen, and Maim of the Raiders, all of them were his children;
Gul'dan and Garona, who represented the Stormreavers, along with Thlif,
captain of their Spearmen; and Jinklus, the female captain of their Raiders.
Then there was the famed two-headed Ogre-Mage Cho'gall of the Twilight's
Hammer Clan, his daughter Clenesia and his captains; Gysh of the Raiders;
and the leader of his Necrolytes and Warlocks, Blyntle. Then there was the
Bleeding Hollow Clan; its chieftain Kilrogg Deadeye and his captains; Untkly
of the Necrolytes, and Fsera and Vira of the Warlocks. Lasty was the lone
pair from the Dragonmaw, Zuluhed the Whacked leader, and his lead Necrolyte,
the female Nileema. They were holding a council for war with the Humans.


"We have surprise tactic on our side," said Kilrogg. "I say
strike at the Pointed Building, their main source of power."

Gul'dan shook his head disapprovingly. "We have not made enough breakthroughs
in our intelligence agency, the Ty Elnar, to know what kind of resistance
we will meet."

Nileema sneered, "Is the mighty Warlock Gul'dan afraid of the Pink
beings?" "I agree with Gul'dan," said Zuluhed, "We know
so little of their species, do we dare?"

One head on the Ogre-Mage Cho'gall shook, "No, we can't wait any longer,
our people are becoming restless, war is threatening to break out."
He urged. "I agree," the other head agreed, "We've seen their
puny fighting skills. We will take them now!"

Gul'dan felt himself outnumbered, "All right. Kilrogg and Cho'gall,
you will plan the assault on the Pointed Building they call Stormwind."

Llane awoke the next morning. The nineteen-year-old squinted
at the radical light change brought on by the rising sun. When his eyes
adjusted, he looked around his room. A horrific sight met his eyes. He jumped
up and grabbed an object off his dresser and ran out his room into the halls
of Stormwind Keep.

King Wrynn and Queen Varia awoke with a start as their
son came dashing into their room. Varia blinked, "What is it, honey?"
she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun. 

Llane handed an hourglass of obsidian to his father. All three watched in
horrific anticipation as the last grains of white sand trickled towards
the bottom like a raging waterfall. The last, small grain of sand toppled
into the countless sea of grains below.

"Attack!" cried Kilrogg, thrusting his sword
skyward. Raiders, Spearmen, Grunts, Necrolytes, and Warlocks rushed at the
gates of Stormwind Keep.

Sword, spear and ax thudded into the wooden gates again and again, until
finally the gates crumbled under the force of the Horde like a dry leaf.

Footmen were the only puny resistance the Hordes met at the gates. Grunts
threw grappling hooks over the walls to jump over. The Raiders, mounted
on their vicious and fierce Darkwolves, pounded over the shattered gates
and stormed towards the fortress. 

As far as they were concerned, none could stop the Horde.

"Sire!"

Lothar rushed into the throne room, where Wrynn, Varia, and Llane were just
entering from their bedchamber. 

"What's the matter?" asked Varia.

"Stormwind is under attack!" Lothar cried, "sick perversions
of humanity are flooding the courtyard." 

Hyline, Alonsus and Blinnus came into the throne room. Blinnus bowed to
the king, "Milord, I am sending for reinforcements from my conjurers,
they should be here soon."

Lothar turned to Wrynn as well. "My knights are coming together as
well." There was a loud bang on the door. Wrynn turned to Hyline. "Hyline,
take my wife and son through the Labyrinth to Northshire Abbey." 

The Cleric nodded and lifted the carpet in front of the throne. She pulled
a small piece of string and a door opened up out of the floor to reveal
a stairway into a dark tunnel. She motioned for the queen and prince to
go down. Varia turned to her husband. "My king! I won't leave you!"

Wrynn took her shoulders. "You must, my queen. I would die if I voluntarily
put you in danger."

"Dad!" Llane ran up to his father; Wrynn hushed him. "I need
someone to rule my kingdom should I perish in this battle."

Varia put on her cloak, and, tears dripping down her face, kissed her husband
full and long on the lips. 

She made her way down the steps. Llane hugged his father and followed his
mother. 

Wrynn waved, "I will call for you when these beasts are destroyed."


Hyline hugged Wrynn and kissed him on the cheek, "Good luck to you,
your majesty. I will protect your family with my life." 

Lothar hugged her tightly like he was a vice, "Fare thee well, my dear."


"And the same to you, Anduin Lothar." The Cleric said, returning
the hug along with a kiss on his cheek. She took her staff, buckled her
jacket and followed the royal family, closing the trap door behind her.

Lothar moved the carpet back into place to hide their escape route. There
was another crash on the door, but this time it dented towards them and
splinters flew in their direction.

"Here they come!" a footman reported.

Footmen, a few Clerics, and some peasants, armed with swords, axes, picks,
and magiks, stood firm as the battering ram crushed through the wooden door.
Like a thick, green liquid, the Orcish Hordes flooded through the broken
doors to the throne room. The green sea of Orcs ran to the humans, weapons
drawn and glittering in the moonlight dancing through the windows.

Kilrogg Deadeye smiled smugly at his success. The two-headed
Ogre-Mage Cho'gall walked up to him, "What is our status, Kilrogg?"


Kilrogg smiled at the Orge-Mage. "Very good, Cho'gall. Our forces have
soundly defeated their guards at the door, and the battering ram crew just
penetrated their outer defences. All in all, we're fighting a victorious
battle."

Nileema, the Dragonmaw Necrolyte, stepped up to the two chieftains, "If
you remain this cocky, Kilrogg Deadeye, we'll have our heads mounted on
spears at their gates."

Maim, son of Blackhand, rode up on his Darkwolf, "Oh, lighten up, Nileema.
We're winning, they're losing. Does it get any more simpler?"

Nileema cocked her head, "No, it gets more complicated."

Hyline drew her dirk, a makeshift weapon. It had a steel
blade, and a wooden handle. She obviously made it herself. It looked as
if nature had made a mistake and grown a short, thin blade instead of a
limb.

Llane rushed in behind her, "Hyline, why do we need weapons?"


The Cleric smiled at her friends naiveté, "Don't get cocky,
Llane. Underestimating your opponents can lose great battles, my friend."

Nearly all the peasants had given their lives. But, surprisingly
enough for ones so ignorant on the battlefield, had taken many Orcs with
them.

"How are we doing?" shouted Wrynn to Lothar over the noise of
steel on steel. Lothar struck down two Orcs with a swipe of his sword. "Not
well, your highness. If our reinforcements come, we'll do better."

Garona had been able to guess at who was in control. Wrynn, although he
didn't seem to be giving orders, was being highly protected by the soldiers.
She drew a dagger from the small sheath at her side, and crept up towards
the king. Suddenly there was a loud crash like thunder as the door to the
side of the throne room toppled in. The Horde stared in horror at the creatures
which met their sight.

Massive beasts, of muscle and sinew, transported by four, powerful and hoofed
feet. Upon these were humans, armoured and armed with mace and chain. Each
had a horned helmet and a shield with the head of a maned animal upon it.
These were the knights of Azeroth. 

Klinko was the first to try and attack these creatures. He hurled a spear
in one's direction. He deflected it off his shield and rushed at the Spearman
on its creature.

Klinko fell with a hole through his chest, made by a flung mace and chain.
Gysh began to lead his darkwolf over towards the knights. Jinklus stopped
him by putting up her hand, "These are powerful warriors. I would not
advise attacking them." 

Gysh, mounted on his darkwolf and armed with his sabre, nodded, "Aye.
But are you suggesting a retreat?"

The Raider tilted her head back and laughed, "Not at all."

The two Raiders galloped on their Darkwolves and slew three footmen. 

It didn't take the Orcs to attack the knights; the Knights moved first.

Wielding their mace and chain with deadly agility and accuracy, the knights
stormed through the ranks of the Orcs. Those in their path who weren't trampled
down into the floor like weeds to a plough by their horses received a crushed
skull or attack from the mace.

Jinklus galloped away alongside Gysh on their Darkwolves, "Okay, now
I'm suggesting a retreat!"

Lothar motioned with his hand for the knights to follow him. They galloped
along, and in a swift movement, one hoisted Lothar up onto his horse, while
another took care of Alonsus and Wrynn. They retreated from the throne room
into a room on the far side. 

Garona, up near the throne, grabbed an ax from a nearby Grunt and took a
peasant from its agonizing misery. Then she noticed something. When she
had struck the peasant it had gone all the way through the creature's head
and into the floor beneath. When it struck the floor, it had ripped the
carpet, and so it was now lopsided "What's this?" she asked herself,
she motioned for the nearby Raider, Blackhand, to assist her. She kicked
the peasant's body away and lifted the carpet up. Only her keen eyes could
pick out the almost invisible line of string coming from a hairline crack
as thin as a spider web in the stone floor. She grabbed it and pulled, revealing
a hidden stairway. She turned to Blackhand. "An escape route!"

Blackhand the Destroyer shouted to get his troops' attention, he thrust
his sabre in the direction of the tunnel. "Kill anyone you find!"

Varia heard a faint flutter of footsteps, "Shh!"
she hissed on her finger.

Hyline listened and whispered to the queen, "This labyrinth has tunnels
which lead to dead ends. In these dwell giant spiders, scorpions, and elementals.
We have used magik to repel them from the real route to Northshire Abbey.
Don't worry. That's all it is."

Llane shook his head doubtfully, "I don't know. Those really sound
like human footsteps. Maybe it's father getting us; maybe the battle's over."

Hyline shook her head, "No. Wrynn knows enough not to come down here.
Even if the battle's over, we're continuing on to Northshire."

Hynt was in charge of the party in the tunnel, "You
three, go that way, you three, that way, you two, you're with me, and you
three take the tunnel there. Move out!" He ordered, jabbing his finger
shortly in the mentioned directions. The Grunts grunted their acknowledgments
and headed to their designated areas like darkwolves out for a hunt on a
bloodmoon.

Hyline, lighting the way with her glowing Cleric staff,
stopped dead cold. "I don't like this," she whispered, listening
closely to the footsteps. "Those sound too close to be good. I'm going
to go check it out, you two stay here. If I'm not back for a while, retrace
your steps back to the castle. You'll be safer then trying to find your
way through these tunnels. Here," the Cleric ignited a torch on the
wall with a spark from her staff, "I'll be right back." 

The Cleric's staff died down to darkness and she went behind the group to
investigate the footsteps.

It was only a few seconds later when Varia noticed the light gleaming up
ahead, "Shh!" she advised her son quietly.

Llane saw the light too. He grabbed the torch and shoved it in the dirt
wall, putting it out. The light grew nearer. 

There was a small intersection up ahead. A Grunt, carrying an ax and a torch,
came into full view. The two had never seen such a creature before. It was
green, completely green. It had pointed ears, abounded in muscles, and two
fangs sticking out from his lower lip.

Varia gasped.

The Orc turned.

He smiled. He growled, "A female and a child. Looks like I'm getting'
lucky tonight." 

He ran up to them, ax raised, and screaming. He smiled and swung the ax
down. The ax was blocked by a staff . . . Hyline's staff. Realizing that
she had gone away from the sound of footsteps instead of towards them, the
Cleric had gone back to the Royalty with all speed, it dawning on her that
she had left them in a more dangerous position than ever.

Hyline grunted as she lifted her staff so the ax would fly upward. She drew
her dirk and swiped and jabbed at the Orc. Her staff ignited in a burst
of blue flame and then she jabbed with that, too. She looked like a lion
tamer, except with a dirk and staff instead of a whip and chair.

She made a lengthy jab with her staff, and the Orc deflected it with his
shield. Now it was the Orc's turn. He swiped with the sharp edge of his
circular shield. Then he cut the air with his ax, once, twice. Hyline dodged
nimbly with the reflexes and agility of a cat. 

The two royals watched on as Hyline jabbed with her dirk. The Orc jumped
back and cut downward with his ax. Hyline jumped back and the ax lodged
itself in the ground. 

She had been trained to take her foe's mistakes to her fatal advantage.
The Cleric rushed up as the Orc was trying to pull his ax free. She kicked
his to his chin, hard, knocking him back. She jumped on him as he tried
to get up and pinned him, her staff across his throat, cutting off breath
passages. Gasping for air, the Orc grabbed his shield and jabbed it into
the Cleric's side. Hyline winced in pain, then she raised her dirk, and
her arm stuck to impale the Orc through his heart.

The Cleric took the abandoned ax and gave it to Llane, "Be a rearguard."

In the tunnels below Azeroth, an Orc tugged on his companion's
sleeve, "Look!" he whispered, pointing with his ax. "I found
them!"

The other Orc smiled, then cocked his head, "I've never seen their
eyes glow before."

Three giant scorpions emerged from the shadows. The Orcs screamed and retreated
down the hall, only to be greeted by a pair of giant spiders. 

A Scorpion grabbed one Orc with his pincers and stabbed him multiple times
with its tail. Of course, the slow, venomous death the scorpion inflicted
was quite pleasant compared to the death the other Orc was unlucky enough
experience. He was snared by the eight legs of a Giant Spider. 

No one heard their agonizing screams.

A trio of Orcs were hunting for Hyline, Varia and Llane
when they came to a new tunnel.

The lead Grunt summed up the situation rather slowly. "You, continue
down this corridor and see if you can find anything. You, come with me in
here."

The Grunts separated. The two going into the new tunnel soon had no need
of their torches. They came to a cavern, lined with blazing torches, and
at the centre was a massive fireplace.

One of the Grunts was about to go towards the fireplace when the other put
his hand on his shoulder, "Shh!"

The fire was moving. It was not a fireplace, it was a Fire Elemental.

Beautiful, engulfed in the orange, yellow, and red flames that were her.
She stood up. The searing flames from herself mixing with the flaming of
the torches didn't betray which way she was looking or even what position
she was in.

"Don't move!" whispered an Orc, "Maybe she won't see us if
we don't move!" She glided towards them, and a form began to take solid
shape. Leaving a trail of flame behind her, she moved her head so close
to the lead Grunt that he began to sweat from her scorching flames. She
smiled evilly for the last moments of their lives, "Guess again."

There was a huge explosion and fire and rocks flew from
the tunnel which the grunt's companions had just gone down, "What the
. . ." the Grunt turned to find his comrades, but stopped dead at the
sound of a low growl above him. 

He dared not look up, but curiosity outdid dares. He slowly turned to see
his murderer. A giant spider, dwelling in its home of webs and corners,
spread its legs wide.

The Grunt screamed as one of the long, spindly legs knocked the torch from
his hand. There was complete darkness. The Grunt felt two legs grab onto
him, then another pair at his shoulders. Then he was lifted up to eternity.

Meanwhile, back on the surface of Azeroth, the ranks of
the Orcish Hordes were greatly depleted. Grunts, the slower of the soldiers,
had suffered the heaviest losses, some Spearmen, and the odd Raider also
were on the death list. Most of the magical Orcs had been able to avoid
the knights, however. 

After the disaster of knights had arrived, the Orcs had staged a massive
retreat back towards their domain: the Portal. There was a meeting of clan
leaders in the Town Hall near the construction of a fortress named Blackrock
Spire.

"If it wasn't for your incompetence, we would have been more prepared
for the mounted soldiers," said one head.

"I agree completely," said the other head. The heads of Cho'gall
had a knack of agreeing with each other. 

Kilrogg drew his sword, "I don't know which head I'll cut off first
but I don't think it'll matter that much."

The Ogre-Mage brushed the blade aside absently as he would an troublesome
fly, "Spare me your meaningless threats, Orc. I told you we should've
postponed the attack. . ."

"You did no such thing," argued Kilrogg.

Gul'dan immediately stood up before the petty argument got into bloodshed,
"Stop it! Both of you!" he shouted to overcome their rising voices,
"I was the only one who disagreed with attacking Stormwind Keep. This
is not anyone's fault. We had no idea these creatures of muscle and sinew
were under their control. Stop blaming each other! This bitter arguing will
get us nowhere!"

"Bah!" Kilrogg waved his hand, "It was your idea to unite
the clans, Gul'dan! This is your fault! We were better off on Draenor!"
he pointed with his thumb in the southerly direction of the Portal.

"Wait!" said Cho'gall, "What if we broke the spell of hypnotism
the humans have on the creatures?" The other head piped in, "Perhaps
they would turn on their masters!" Both heads shot a glance of contempt
to Kilrogg of self-satisfaction. After all, they had thought of it first.

Garona stuck a knife in the table. All the assembled chiefs started. Garona
eyed the knife herself, "You two couldn't make a full brain if you
put them both together! These creatures aren't hypnotized. They are not
as intelligent as the humans. Humans have ways of persuasion," she
averted her eyes back to Cho'gall. "They're almost as stupid as you!"


Cho'gall jumped to his feet. "I have had enough! I am leaving this
alliance. The deal is off. Those who wish to follow me and the Twilight's
Hammer Clan may do so."

"Those that are stupid enough to side with Kilrogg and his dogs may
do that as well." added the other head.

With that the Ogre-Mage stormed out of the Town Hall. Soon all of the Twilight's
Hammer Clan followed him.

Kilrogg sneered at the fleeing chieftain, "Bah! I'll take my followers
and crush you like a beetle, Cho'gall. Bleeding Hollow, to me!" The
Orc chieftain stormed out of the Town Hall with his followers as if they
were a herd of cattle.

At a meeting of the Shadow Council, J'Kar slumped down
in her chair, "We're dead!" she said in a dismal tone. She and
the Necrolytes, however glad they were of Orcish death, now saw an alternative
with humanity. They were as against the inner wars as any.

"There's only one thing left to do," said Bloodclaw in the tone
of an Orc who was taking to a last resort, "We need a leader, someone
who can completely and utterly lead the Hordes."

"We already have a leader," J'Kar replied, "Gul'dan's been
leading the Horde since before the fall of the Draenei." "Someone
who can lead the Hordes in broad daylight," Bloodclaw rephrased, "Do
you realize what would happen if the Orcs discovered what's been going on?
They'd ruin him!"

Uykil turned to Gul'dan with a puzzled expression, "Why can't we just
place you on the throne, Gul'dan?"

"He may be a great diplomat," Garona replied, "but Gul'dan
is no War Chief."

Gul'dan muttered something under his breath angrily and shot her a glare
as he stood up slowly. The hybrid grinned mischievously in reply. "Although
I hate to admit it, I cannot lead the Orcish Hordes. For one, I am not respected
enough, and second, people may begin to dig around and discover the Shadow
Council." J'Kar sat up. "So what do we do?" she cried.

There was a few moments of silence that was highly uncomfortable.

"I may be able to help in this situation," Garona said finally,
tapping her small, lower tusks with her forefinger.

"What are our losses?" asked King Wrynn III.

Sir Anduin Lothar handed the king a cup of water. "We're still counting,
your highness. If the knights hadn't come, though, we would've been lost
to the creatures."

"Hmm," Abbot Alonsus Fao thought out loud, "I remember about
a year ago, we recovered a small child. Nearly starved to death, in Elwynn
Forest. He was raving about green monsters eating his family, we never took
him seriously, of course. Perhaps these monsters attacked the child's home."

"We must learn all we can about these creatures. Where is this child
kept?" asked the king.

"He lives in a chamber in the Abbey Belltower; he used to live in a
chamber in the Abbey basement, but when the Ogres invaded we had to move
him." Answered the Abbot.

"On the subject of information," said Hyline, who had just returned
to the Keep from Northshire Abbey, "We've compiled a list of tidbits
our soldiers heard during the battle. We believe Grunts are what they call
their major defense force. They are armed with axes and shields. Spearmen
are of the same species and are armed with a quiver of spears. Raiders are
mounted upon immense wolves and are armed with sabres. Necromancers and
Warlocks are their sorcerers and priests. We also believe that they call
themselves Orcs and belong to a group known to themselves as the Orcish
Hordes."

"We've hardly a chance in the world," said Blinnus. 

Alonsus intervened, "Wait! I think you are all looking straight through
the huge amount of information we received from this little tangle. One;
We've seen their strategy; they appear to rely highly on their numbers and
strength and swarmed the Keep from every angle. Two; We've seen their weakness;
they lacked information and organization. Had they not, they would have
been ready for the knights. Three; We know a little of their bodily strength
and weakness; they are killed by a stab or large blow and know pain."

"Well put, Faol," said Lothar.

"Good," said Wrynn. "We will put that to use in our next
imminent battle with them. And I vow, upon my crown, to rid the land of
these foul beasts once and for all!"

584

Blackhand the Destroyer had never "married," and yet, he had three
children. He was ruler of the almost newly formed Blackrock Clan, and chose
to ride fearsomely upon a catapult to intimidate his enemies and minions.
He also carried a massive weapon. It had a wooden handle, and two double-bladed
axheads on it, a smaller one just below the larger one. Truly, the warlord
struck an impressive sight. 

The catapult was never actually used, it had been decommissioned a while
ago. It was specially designed for the chieftain's use. It had his personal
throne where the lever used to be. It was adorned at the front with the
massive skull of the horned tiger of Draenor. Then it had three thrones
for his children near the skull. His great darkwolf was also chained to
the catapult.

The catapult was placed inside the nearly constructed Blackrock Spire. He
was greeted one day by an unusual sight; a Stormreaver. 

She was attractive, and boasted garments of blue, her clan's colour, she
had deep grey hair with locks of white which surprisingly mixed well with
her green skin complexion. He recognized her from somewhere, but he couldn't
place it. Blackhand smiled as he thought that perhaps she was inviting another
child to him. 

"Blackhand," she said. 

The Orc winced. Damn, that didn't sound that much like an invitation to
bed, "Yes?"

"You are needed," she raised an eyebrow, but not questioningly,
"Perhaps more than you know."

The chieftain smiled again, perhaps this was his original inclination. Females
could be so unpredictable. 

"Follow me," she told him.

He got down off his catapult and followed the female out of Blackrock Spire.

Blackhand had abandoned the option of a fourth child some
time ago. This woman, whose name was Garona, was leading him to a Warlock
Tower deep within Stormreaver territory. He thought perhaps that this was
an assassination attempt. But why? Should he be killed, Rend, his son, would
leave the Black Tooth Grin Clan and take control of Blackrock, which at
the time, wasn't a very powerful clan, however intelligent it was. It was
the Blackrock Clan who built Blackrock Spire as a stronghold against humanity
should they choose to attack the Orcs head on.

The Blackrock Clan had been formed from a group of Orcs, led by Blackhand,
who pulled away from Kilrogg Deadeye's Bleeding Hollow Clan. They saw the
irrelevance of inter-clan battles, and chose not to side with either Kilrogg
nor Cho'gall when they proposed to separate the Horde into two sects. So
now there was four separate sects in the Horde: Blackhand and his Blackrockers;
Gul'dan and his Stormreavers, who always detested infighting; Cho'gall and
his Twilight's Hammer Clan, who had also gained the nomadic, leaderless
rabble of the Burning Blade Clan as an ally; then last of all was Kilrogg
Deadeye, his Bleeding Hollow Clan, and the Dragonmaw clan who had allied
with Deadeye.

Blackhand doubted the intellect of Cho'gall. The warlord realized that the
Burning Blade Clan turned on any who they deemed an enemy, so if they received
an order they didn't agree with, they would probably slaughter the clan.
This was definitely going to be an interesting battle.

Finally, he arrived at the Tower. Outside of which was the Stormreaver flag,
a lightning bolt over a moon which was over a wave of the ocean. There was
also horns and skulls on the pole which held the flag up and strange, ancient
writing arranged vertically beside the wave.

Garona opened the door and motioned for Blackhand to enter.

Blackhand had seen the inside of a Tower before, and this was not usual.
There was a table, around the table there was Necrolytes and Warlocks seated.


"Please." Gul'dan, who was seated at a levitated podium at the
far side of the room, motioned for the chieftain to be seated. "I have
a business proposition."

Then Blackhand, who didn't sit down, noticed something, Stormreavers weren't
the only ones seated there. Dragonmaw, Bleeding Hollow, Twilight's Hammer,
Burning Blade, even his own Blackrock Clan had at least one Necrolyte or
Warlock there.

"What is this?"

"We are the Shadow Council," said a Warlock from Dragonmaw, "We
are a secret sect of sorcerers dedicated to the prosperity of the Orcish
Hordes."

J'Kar, from the Twilight's Hammer Clan slid a scroll across the table. It
skittered to a halt in front of the chieftain. "This outlines the basic
rules which will be in our deal. Read it carefully, Blackhand."

"What deal is this?" asked Blackhand, not even glancing at the
scroll.

Gul'dan stood up, "You are intelligent, Blackhand. I have observed
that ever since you disbanded the Bleeding Hollow Clan. And that is why
I have chosen you to lead the Orcish Hordes." 

Blackhand hid is eagerness well. "Lead the Orcish Hordes?" 

"Yes," said Gul'dan. "But there's a catch, I'm afraid. I
have chosen you to lead the Horde because you are well-respected and can
sustain threats. But as payment for placing you on that horned throne, you
must be ready to give the orders which I dictate. Meanwhile, the Orcs will
prosper, and you will have the riches of a War Chief. You can reward your
children with promotions and even clans of their own to control. You will
still have command over the Blackrock Clan, but I will command the Horde
through you."

"I get riches, rewards and respect for all your trouble." Blackhand
turned to Gul'dan. "What do you get out of it?"

The Warlock smiled, "I thought you'd ask," he seated himself again,
"Not only do I have the comfort of knowing that Orcish Ascension will
prevail, but I can fulfil my personal wishes as well. We both profit from
this, Blackhand."

Blackhand eyed the extended hand of the Warlock. There was a brief moment
of silence as Blackhand eyed Gul'dan's outstretched hand. "I will accept
your offer. But should this prove to be a hassle to me, the deal is off,
no questions asked."

"Of course," said Gul'dan. "With the power the Shadow Council
has throughout the clans, you will be on the throne easily, and with my
council and influence you will stay there." 

Blackhand stood up, turned to the Warlock, and shook his hand. "We
have a deal."

Sir Anduin Lothar looked around from the concealment of
some bushes and brambles. He lifted a branch to allow King Wrynn III to
go through. 

Hyline the Cleric jumped off a rock and walked to the king, "Your Highness,
I've sighted Grand Hamlet, it shouldn't take long to reach it. I still don't
like the idea of transporting you to here, Sire. There's been rumours of
Orcish activity." 

"I don't care," said Wrynn, "People are becoming upset with
the raids across the Borderlands. I have to prove to them that I have not
abandoned them or we may be faced with rebellion." 

The small party, consisting of Lothar, three of his Knights, a few Archers,
Hyline, Wrynn, and a Footman. 

The Footman put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun, "Is
that smoke?"

"Where?" asked Hyline, remounting behind Lothar on his horse.

"At Grand Hamlet," the Footman pointed. 

The Cleric shaded her eyes and followed his gaze to the town in the distance.
"It's on fire!"

The horsemen galloped full tilt as the Footman and Archers ran on foot.

Nydle Flint, an Archer, picked up a burnt piece of rubble
from the ruins of Grand Hamlet's Town Hall. She walked over to Lothar, who
was questioning a wounded Peasant as Hyline administered spells of healing.

The Peasant held a bleeding wound on his arm. ". . . a group of Orcs,
they rode huge wolves that ate people and buildings alike. They raided the
houses, burnt the buildings, and killed our defences." 

Lothar stood up and let Hyline take over. Nydle followed him towards Wrynn.
"Raiders?" she asked

"It seems like it," replied Lothar. "This is the first big
move the Orcs have made since the first assault on Stormwind last year.
I'm wondering if they plan on making more moves like this. Last year was
unorganized and sloppy, this hit and run move seems more intelligent."

Wrynn met the two at the ruins of the Town Hall. "Report." 

"Raiders," answered Lothar, "They were just beginning their
attack when they fled. They must've seen us and fled, thinking that we were
a much larger force."

"We've taken stock," said Nydle, "Twenty-seven assorted Footmen
and Archers are dead, two Knights, too. About forty townspeople are dead,
fifteen unaccounted for and thirty-one wounded. Town Hall's been destroyed,
three churches, a stable, and lumber mill. Partially intact are a barracks,
another church and a few farms. Totally intact is another stable, another
lumber mill and a blacksmith. As for valuables . . ."

The Archer was interrupted by a scream from the far side of the ruined Town
Hall. Two Raiders came, galloping on their Darkwolves, straight at the three.
Madly swinging their sabres about, the Raiders nearly rushed them. They
had to jump to avoid being run through. The Raiders swiped at them a couple
of times and then fled from the village.

Nydle got up, clutching a shoulder wound. She helped Lothar to his feet,
"King Wrynn!"

The king of Azeroth lay holding a pierce in his chest. Nydle turned around,
"Hyline!!" she cried, her voice hoarse with desparation. "Come
Quick! Hurry!"

The Cleric ran to the king and immediately cast a few spells. She examined
him in a glance, "It's critical, we need to get him to Northshire Abbey,
and quick! Lothar, you take your horse and protect Wrynn and I from enemy
attack. I'll take another Knight's horse. We need to hurry!" 

Hyline jumped onto an empty horse, and then accepted the limp body of the
king given to her by some Knights on the ground. Lothar remounted in a quick
movement. The horse reared up, "Come on!" cried Lothar. 

A trail of dust was the only sign they had ever been there. Alonsus Faol
was not about to let his elder, mentor, and near father die without a fight.
All available Clerics were at Northshire Abbey, casting regenerative spells
to try and bring him back to them, he had slipped into unconsciousness shortly
after they had arrived at the Abbey.

Llane and Varia had just arrived. Lothar sat them down outside the room.
"He took a pretty bad wound to his chest. But if anyone can fix it
the Clerics of Northshire can."

Llane looked to Lothar. "Will he be all right?"

Lothar sat down beside them. "I can't answer that. I don't think anyone
can."

"We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of
not only a just and upright ruler, but a close and dear friend to all of
us. From Royal Vizier to Peasant child, King Wrynn III took care of us all.
He kept peace over Azeroth, and when the threat of Orcs came to the land,
he didn't run and hide. He stood bold, ready to protect his people. Truly,
Wrynn was a magnificent man. Let us never forget this King of Azeroth."
Alonsus Faol closed the small black book and whispered, "He will be
missed."

Nearly the whole of Azeroth was in attendance of Wrynn's funeral, only because
those who weren't were on duty. On either side of the finely crafted coffin
stood Llane and Varia, mouring openly over their husband and father.

Hyline brushed a tear away on Lothar's shoulder. Lothar put his arm around
her and let her put her head on his shoulder. "He will be missed,"
said Hyline. "He will be missed." repeated Lothar.

In the dark corners of the hall in Northshire Abbey, there someone smiling
with a cheerful glint in their eyes. A stealthy figure exited the Abbey
through the window and using the shadows as concealment, disappeared, lost
to sight of the guards, deep into the night.

The Black Morass was the name given by Humans to the swamps
the Horde had taken, and the Orcs, liking the name, had kept it. Black was
the colour of night, and Morass; swamps, bogs, and wastelands struck fear
into the hearts of many. And fear was the influential force that the Horde
used best.

Garona took her hood off as she entered the Shadow Council, now with its
newest addition, Blackhand the Destroyer. Though still not full leader of
the Horde, the Shadow Council's agents had enough influence to get him in
sooner or later. Garona glanced slyly at the Necrolytes and Warlocks, "King
Wrynn III . . ."

here she paused and glanced around the room again, ". . . lies dead.
. ." there were small sighs, shouts, and whoops of jubilation among
the Shadow Council as she continued, ". . . this very day. I was in
attendance at his own funeral. As planned, he was killed at Grand Hamlet."


"That ingenious plan," said Gul'dan, gesturing towards Blackhand,
"can be given full credit to Blackhand, he devised it and put it into
action."

"Well," said Blackhand smugly, "with the intelligence from
Garona, we knew that Wrynn was headed for Grand Hamlet. So all we had to
do was stage a way to lure him into the town where he could be ambushed
by two Raiders, who merely waited until the main force had cleared off."

"And we did devise a way," said Garona, leaning on Blackhand's
chair, "simply make it highly noticeable that the town was under attack.
Wrynn and his people would investigate right away. Humans are so gullible."

"And now," added Uykil, "with Wrynn out of the way, the taking
of Azeroth shouldn't be far away."

"We need to move Blackhand into complete control over the Horde,"
said Gul'dan, "and quickly! Dragonmaw and the Bleeding Hollow have
allied, but as for Twilight's Hammer and Burning Blade. . ."

"Actually," Garona interrupted him, "I was about to come
to that."

All eyes turned to the spy as she continued, "I've received word from
some of my best spies and intelligence. The Burning Blade Clan has completely
removed themselves from war. Right now, they're camping in the northern
lands called Khaz Modan, out of Azeroth. I was going to try to persuade
to stop but I decided not to because they are so unpredictable."

"Wait! Wait!" J'Kar shouted, "How is this a drawback? Sure,
the Burning Blade were ruthless when cornered, but not smart, not good enough.
However, this move had left the Twilight's Hammer Clan defenseless, and
friendless. It would be suicide not to side with Blackhand. But Cho'gall
is stubborn, it will take time." 

"Oh," nodded Blackhand. "We have time. I can't say the same
for the Azerothiens, though!"

Maniacal laughter filled the air outside the Tower.

593

Llane had been pronounced king after that fateful day nearly a decade ago.
It had been pronounced war long ago. There was no rational stopping of the
Orcs, the only course of action was mortal combat, until the Orcs lay strewn
on the ground.

"There!" Nydle Flint, deemed captain of the Archers when the previous
one had died, placed a scroll on the table.

Alonsus and Lothar glanced at the parchment and back up at her. "What?"
they asked in unison.

Nydle rolled her eyes, "We've lost many a battle to them, they've lost
many a battle to us, and I, along with Footman captain Aumedd, have carefully
analyzed each battle plan. We've picked out the most effective, we've also
established the Orcs' strengths and weaknesses, as well as our own."

"So?" said Llane. "Get on with it!"

Nydle glanced at him, and then back to the scroll, "Our strength lies
heavily within our Knights, I believe they should be at the front lines
as much as possible, that's in offensive assault. The Clerics and Conjurers
are also useful, their attacks are slow, but inflict heavy casualties among
the enemy. As for weaknesses, ours come with numbers, we are greatly outnumbered
by the Orcs. In defensive assault, Archers and Footmen prove most effective.
My Archers have good aim and Aumedd's Footmen are masters of steel on steel
combat. The Knights have a hard time with defense because they have a hard
time dodging cataplut attacks and spears.

"The Orcs' rely heavily upon their brute strength and numbers. Their
sorcerers are powerful in the dark arts and their mounted soldiers seem
to contribute the most to a victorious outcome on the battlefield."

Aumedd, the thin, black-haired footman captain continued, "Their weakness
is in organization. On frontal assaults, they seem highly unprepared for
a maneuver we haven't presented before. In defensive strike, they are unprepared
for battle altogether. Also, it appears that the soldiers aren't well trained.
Mere children are handed ax and shield and sent to the battlefield. Women
are plucked from their kitchens to fight alongside their husbands."

Nydle whispered to Hyline, "They have real problems with that."

Hyline nodded and rolled her eyes.

Llane nodded. "Thank you Aumedd, Nydle," nodding to each in turn,
"I hope to exploit these weaknesses in the near future. Now the Orcs
have something to fear!"

Medivh watched the lands before him in his immense tower
just south of Elwynn Forest. He looked over to the east, where the Orcs
were harvesting the land and making ill democratic decisions. He looked
over to the west, where the Humans were harvesting their rich land and living
in peace, aside from being under the dark shadow named the Horde.

There was a knock on his door. The sorcerer smiled. "Right on time,
dear lady." The door was knocked open and a woman stood there. "My
son." 

"Don't play with me, mother," warned Medivh quietly. "I know
why you're here and I know I can stop you." He explained calmly.

She walked in and shut the door, "Yes, my son. I am Aegwyn. Your mother
. . ." she narrowed her eyes at him, ". . . and your slayer."

"Please," Medivh plucked a grape from a vine growing on the wall
and tossed it into his mouth, "Enough with the pleasantries. I am immortal,
you cannot defeat me."

"Your father was a mortal, and you murdered him," said Aegwyn.
"I've been keeping a close watch on you, Medivh. You brought those
foul creatures here to destroy the people who cared for you while you were
sick! Why?"

Medivh began to get angry, "They pretended to be my friends! But they
weren't! They were jealous! Nielas was mad because I was more powerful than
him, if I hadn't killed him he would've killed me! So were the Clerics at
Northshire Abbey! They feared me being too powerful so they waited for the
right time to slay me! But I held them back!"

"You didn't hold them back, Medivh!" said Aegwyn, "They didn't
want to attack you! It's all just you! The power has all gone to your head!
Don't do something that other people will regret." 

"Who'll stop me? You?" Medivh laughed. "You have given birth
to a better being than you!"

"We'll see then," Aegwyn said sadly, "won't we?" 

She ran at him, drawing her blade and shouting a warcry.

Llane looked out the window of his throne room. He missed
his parents dearly. His father had died a decade ago, and his mother, Varia,
had come down with a sickness, and died about two years ago. It had been
hard enough losing his father's counsel and being promoted to king, but
when his mother died, he became lost. If it wasn't for Alonsus, Lothar,
Aumedd and Nydle, he would probably have gone insane, and the kingdom would
have been leaderless against the Horde's attacks.

Llane bowed his head. There was a knock on the door. The king turned quickly,
"Who is it?"

A feminine voice answered, "You don't know me, your highness but I
am a friend."

"Come in, then," the king answered, his hand on his hilt. 

A woman came in, she smiled, "The last time I was in Azeroth . . .
it was before you were born. Mmm . . . what a glorious evening it was. The
first day of summer, as I recall. Your father, King Wrynn was so generous.
He knew not who I was or why I was there, but he granted me sanctuary. Such
a nice man, and your mother was a lovely lady. I'm terribly sorry about
their deaths. But I have grave news for you, King Llane." 

"How'd you get past the guards?" the king demanded.

She hushed him gently.

"Do I know you?" asked Llane.

"I am Aegwyn, the Matriarch of Trisfal. I am Medivh's mother. I am
sorry to report that Medivh is responsible for the Orcs' coming to Azeroth.
I coupled myself with Nielas Aran in order to form Medivh, whom I could
pass all the knowledge I possess on to when I leave this realm. Unfortunately,
Medivh has been overcome with the power which spurts within his very self.
He has become a pure beacon of mystical power. I should have realized that
no human could cope with such power. It has spawned within itself, twisted
itself to match the form of Medivh. He is insane. And I saw the evil in
him.

"I tried to reason with him, truly I did. But he did not listen. I
tried to kill him . . . he almost killed me. He has banished me from him,
and I will never be seen by him again. He commanded me never to return to
that tower. I cannot break this bond, he is stronger and more vile than
I will ever be. As a result of this curse he gave me I can't offer my assistance
to you.

"Medivh killed his father because he feared that Nielas was smarter
and more powerful than he. While he killed his father, he accidentally found
a way to communicate mentally across the astral planes. He found the Orcs,
and opened the portal which spawns them."

"You're saying that Medivh controls these foul beasts?" demanded
Llane.

Aegwyn shook her head, "They are beings of chaos, of evil. None can
truly control them."

"What should we do?" asked Llane.

Aegwyn placed her hand on Llane's shoulder, "I realize how hard it
will be for you to do, but you must deal with Medivh . . . he must be kept
in his place. After trying to reason with him I now believe that his destruction
is the only thing that can stop him. I know he was your good friend, Llane,
and I'm sorry. But you must deal with him. If not now, soon. The whole of
Azeroth depends on it."

Llane nodded. "Thank you. I hope to see you again." 

She shook her head and brushed Llane's hair from his face, "No, my
child. I will leave here soon. I wish you well in your war, and I hope you
can forgive me for bringing Medivh to this world."

There was a bright flash of light and a flutter of butterfly wings, and
then Aegwyn, the last of the Order of Trisfal, was gone.

Griselda handed her father a scroll. "This is from
someone whom I believe you were expecting a message from some time ago."


Blackhand scanned the scroll momentarily. He glanced up at Griselda. "Stay
here," he ordered her.

He stood and left Blackrock Spire.

"It's done!" Blackhand tossed the scroll onto
the table of the Shadow Council. Gul'dan snatched it up and read it aloud:

"Dear Blackhand the Destroyer, leader of the Blackrock
Clan and soon-to-be War Chief of the Orcish Hordes,

"It has recently come to my attention that the remaining clans in the
Hordes have sided with you. And in case this information has not come to
you, the Burning Blade Clan have deserted me. 

"I am a smart Ogre, Blackhand. I have decided with the captains and
elders of my clan to join with you so that the apocalypse to be brought
on by the Horde may be brought on through me and my Twilight's Hammer Clan.

"However, Blackhand, I am also smart enough to see that you realize
that I am an asset to the Horde, so I would like to make a deal. When the
Horde left Draenor, they left most of my Ogre kin there as well. If I join
with you, I want my Ogre brothers to be welcomed into the Orcish Hordes.
Spread them out among the clans, but I don't want my species to die on such
a dead planet. Ogres are ruthless, and if I tell them to, will follow any
leader. 

"Also, I have gained an ally in my time here in Azeroth. I will meet
with you at the Red Ridge Mountains tonight, just you, Gul'dan, Kilrogg
and a soldier of your choice. I will bring myself, my daughter Clenisia,
my new ally and a soldier of my choice. Be there tonight when the moon is
at its zenith.

Cho'gall the Ogre-Mage of the Twilight's Hammer
Clan."

J'Kar stood up and smiled. "I told you I'd get a few
strings pulled."

Gul'dan rolled up the scroll. "Good work. Who is the mysterious ally?"

"A one-headed ogre of Azeroth named Turok. He leads a band of Ogres
and allied with Cho'gall some time ago. At first Cho'gall wished to band
together all the Ogres of Azeroth and strike the Horde down. I dissuaded
him. I am the soldier of choice he is bringing. I've worked it out perfectly,"
she smiled. "If he tries anything or makes a deal too difficult for
the Horde, I'll kill him, Clenisia and Turok, and take control of the clan,
saying they died in a rock slide on the mountains. Then I can ally with
the Horde."

Gul'dan grinned. "Brilliantly despicable. I love it! Garona, you will
be our soldier of choice. J'Kar, carry out your plans if Cho'gall turns
on us. Uykil, fetch Kilrogg Deadeye, inform him of the news. Move out."

Turok was less than intelligent. Like most of the one-headed
Ogres of Azeroth, the only way he survived was by intimidating the weaker
with his massive strength and band of Ogres. The only way he kept his power
was because he was the strongest, he had been betrayed many times by his
Ogre kin, but he was too stupid to notice espionage. He didn't know what
espionage was. 

But he had something the Horde desired; knowledge of the land. Whenever
scouting, Garona, who was really the only literate soldier among the ranks,
didn't have enough time to map things out, as she was usually preoccupied
with reloading her bow, or readying a spear. But Turok, who dwelled in the
"Dead" Mines south of Stormwind Keep, had Ogre kin living in the
abandoned dungeons of Northshire Abbey. They had recovered maps and scrolls.
Turok had never had any interest or intelligence to notice them before,
but then the literate, attractive, two-headed Ogress came into his life.
She was cunning, intelligent, and had much more power than Turok had ever
imagined a female ever possessing. Daughter of a Orc clan chieftain, perhaps
he had a future with her?

"Not likely," Clenisia put her gruesome ax up when Turok's free
hand went too close to her thigh. The one eye of her right head gave him
a glare and then turned back to her father, "I think we've been stood
up."

"No!" Cho'gall's left head shouted. The right, horned and one-eyed
head turned to the left head. "Perhaps she's right. They don't know
that Turok is here, they may think us a waste of time."

"No!" the left repeated. "Gul'dan is smarter than that. He
knows what an asset I am!"

J'Kar wasn't about to let herself be drawn into the bickering between four
heads and two Ogres. "Here they come!" She pointed with her staff.
Impaled upon the top was a human skull, and hanging from it were broken
bones and decaying skins. "There!" 

Gul'dan, Blackhand, Kilrogg, and Garona approached them. J'Kar motioned
with her neck to the rocky landslide of the Red Ridge Mountains. She had
worked it out wonderfully. Just one Shadow Spear and Cho'gall and his Ogre
spawn would be out of their misery forever.

Garona drew her golden-bladed sword. Cho'gall laughed. "I am not here
to kill you! If I was, you'd be dead."

The Half-Orc lowered it momentarily, "A little cocky, don't you think?"
"Yes," replied Gul'dan, although it was not he that Garona had
addressed, "I could wipe you all out with a wave of my staff."

J'Kar knew he was exaggerating, but he had the upper hand. She played her
part well. She walked up to the Warlock and handed him a scroll. "As
my liege said, we're not here to fight, Warlock. It would be beneficial
to both our sides if you allowed us to ally with the Blackrock Clan."

"How would it be beneficial to us?" asked Kilrogg.

Clenisia shrugged. "Simple," replied her left head, "We have
information we know you would kill for . . ." her right, one-eyed head
continued. "And all we ask for is your name on a peace treaty."

Blackhand, deciding to play dumb, nodded towards Turok. "Who's your
big friend?"

Cho'gall put his hand on Turok's large shoulder, "This is Turok, my
new ally. He knows the land and how the Azerothiens use it. He also leads
most of the one-headed Ogres of Azeroth." 

Gul'dan nodded. "Now, to the terms of your agreement. We cannot get
Ogres among the Horde. Not yet. Racism is too strong, and I fear for the
prosperity of your kind." Gul'dan bluffed. He feared that Cho'gall
would rise in power if more Ogres were accepted into the Horde, "Once
the Portal is stable enough again, I will allow passage of your Ogres into
Azeroth, but not into the Horde, I won't even dare risk it right now."

"All right," said Cho'gall, "what is mine is yours, and the
apocalyptic havoc the Horde will bring will be mine." 

"It's done, then," Gul'dan nodded, "Blackhand is now complete
War Chief of the Orcish Hordes."

"Blackhand is now complete War Chief of the Orcish
Hordes!!" Garona burst through the doors of the Shadow Council Headquarters.


There were cheers among the Necrolytes and Warlocks. They had moved Blackhand
up so far that he was now sitting on the horned throne of the War Chief.


Bloodclaw rapped his dagger on the table, "Now to the real matter of
business. The only reason we lost the initial attack on Stormwind was because
we weren't prepared enough. But now with the Horde under our command,"
he caught Blackhands glare, "your command, the attacks can become more
informed, and organized, this war is ours, now."

Garona eyed Gul'dan, "What's Cho'gall keep saying about the apocalypse
that we bring?"

J'Kar answered for him, "Cho'gall is obsessed with the notion that
the Horde brings the apocalypse to all the land it razes. The only reason
Cho'gall is allying is because he feels some gratification towards the Horde
for dooming everything it meets, as well as to you, Gul'dan, for helping
him to become an Ogre-Mage. His loyalty isn't as strong as his belief in
his mission of oblivion."

"What is my status?" asked Blackhand.

Garona smiled, seated herself and crossed her legs. "All your major
opponents have been personally dealt with. None can offer any opposition.
You are truly the War Chief. If I were you, I'd choose some generals. Your
children and friends, just for assurance."

"Good idea," agreed Gul'dan. "Now, let the real war begin!"

Thus, the Orcish Hordes made true war against the kingdom
of Azeroth.

To Be Continued . . .

Coming Soon: