Warcraft Fic: Unity - Chapter 20
And here it is! I will be posting chapters over the course of the week, probably every three days or so to give people time to read and not feel overwhelmed. Also, because I enjoy watching you squirm. Ehehe.
Title: Unity
Part: 20 of 22+Epilogue
Word Count: 4953
Includes: Large amounts of exposition, and disagreements of a personal nature.
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina
Summary: Darkness threatens Azeroth once more, and Thrall and his Horde are prepared to meet it head on.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Sidestory: Linguistics
13 14 15 16 17 18
Sidestory: Defiance - 1 2 3 4 5 Epilogue
19
Thrall stared at Jaina wordlessly as her words echoed in his mind. The Dark Portal could be open. “How is such a thing possible? Didn't Archmage Khadgar close it permanently?”
“He did, as evidenced by the sudden and immediately onset of the Lethargy amongst the imprisoned orc populace,” Jaina replied. “According to all of his notes and journals about the matter, the initial Portal was opened via a conspiracy between two persons, Medivh and Gul'dan. This was possible because Sargeras, the leader of the Burning Legion, had possessed Medivh from an early age and was manipulating him. Gul'dan, in turn, manipulated the orcs into invading Azeroth in search of a more hospitable place to live.”
Thrall made a point of not glancing back at Garona to confirm, but he remembered her tales. “Gul'dan and Medivh used raw power to rip open a passage between Azeroth and Draenor, though it was far more powerful than a traditional mage portal.”
“Correct,” Jaina said, offering him a warm smile. “This particular style of portal is permanent without the intervention of outside forces, and in fact causes a number of collateral factors, including seepage.”
“...seepage?” Rehgar asked, uneasy. “I remember it happening, but I don’t recall it ever being discussed by the… others.”
“The Shadow Council opens its mouth, garbage and lies fly out,” Ak'zeloth growled. “The seepage was what caused the land to die.”
“Yes,” Jaina said, her voice gentle with sympathy. “It also accelerated the decay of Draenor, from the reports that were sent back and compared to reports gathered from speaking to orcish agents sympathetic to Stormwind's cause.”
Jaina's voice, extremely light, caused Garona to tense, and Thrall could feel it. With a start, he realized that other council members had begun to trail in, some less pleased to find their chairs occupied, others taking their vacant seats. Thrall nodded to Jaina to continue.
“In any case, we managed to partially close the portal,” Jaina said, and tapped the southern tip of the eastern continent again. “Archmage Khadgar petitioned for a garrison to be built here to observe the potential regression of the seepage, along with a number of other factors. Nethergarde Keep, just here.”
“We have an outpost in Stonard,” Varok noted, leaning heavily on the table. “Just there, above the cut off.”
“It was only slightly improved from Rockard, as I recall,” Rehgar muttered, and he and Saurfang exchanged a knowing look, and then chuckled. Jaina smiled broadly.
“As useful as it is creatively named, I’d imagine. In any case, Nethergarde Keep was the first to know that the Dark Portal had opened again as it was attacked by new orc forces that swept through Azeroth. Reports indicate that these new clans, including the Warsong and Black Tooth Grin, struck hard and fast, reinforcing very little, striking only at certain key locations before abandoning them to burn.” Jaina tapped each location on the map in turn. “Stormwind, setting back the construction efforts and taking the Tome of Medivh. Gul'dan's skull from the Bonechewer clan, Dalaran to seize its Eye, and Kul Tiras to steal ships to sail to the Tomb of Sargeras to steal his scepter. These artifacts were taken to Draenor. Scraps of intelligence gathered indicated that Ner'zhul, the chieftain of the Shadowmoon clan, was responsible for this order, and he conspired with the death knights to do so. The Warsong and their allies were merely distractions, which was certainly true considering they never retreated.”
“The only ones that escaped were those who were clever enough to go back through the Portal, for all the good that did them,” Varok noted. “Deadeye and the Bleeding Hollow clan, as an example. Weren't there dragons involved too?”
“Yes, it's indicated black dragons did traverse to Outland, though their alliance with the orcs has never been entirely clear,” Jaina said, frowning. “Members of the Alliance will member red dragons most vividly, not black.”
Thrall reached over, touching Jaina's hand lightly, and she smiled warmly at him, taking his hand briefly before squeezing his fingers and releasing them. “In any case, Archmage Khadgar and his expedition realized that the only way for them to close down the portal was to do so from the other side. Ner'zhul was, meanwhile, in the process of performing a ritual to open multiple portals, seemingly with the intent of escaping to multiple potential worlds.”
“This was the act that caused the destruction of Draenor,” Shandel'zare noted, folding her hands on the table. “At least, that was what the Alliance believed, and hailed those who went through as slain martyrs to a greater cause.”
“Sadly, correct,” Jaina said. “We mourned the dead and we rebuilt Nethergarde. Terenas proposed the Internment Camps that everyone here is familiar with. Moving forward to a few years ago, there is the matter of Illidan Stormrage.”
“Tyrande hoped that Illidan would help us fight the Legion,” Thrall said with a frown. “He failed to be the champion she hoped.”
“Also correct,” Jaina said. “Though from Tyrande's report, he was cooperating, for her sake if no one else's. He claimed to have been confronted by Arthas in the Felwood, and that Arthas told him of a powerful demonic artifact he could use to defeat Tichondrius, one of the dreadlords who were responsible for the fall of Lordaeron. Illidan absorbed the artifact and succeeded in killing Tichondrius permanently, which is actually an extremely difficult feat to accomplish, though it damned him to a half-demonic, half-elven hybrid form.”
“That seems like cutting off your nose to spite your face,” Nara said, wrinkling her own muzzle in demonstration. “It doesn't grow back for everyone,” she added, for the benefit of the trolls.
“It is very like that,” Jaina agreed. “Though, it did do one thing. The artifact in question was the Skull of Gul'dan, seemingly lost on Draenor, but returned. The prevailing theory on that is 'evil things wish to be found', though it's possible Ner'zhul was able to keep it with him. We learned that Ner'zhul became the being known as the Lich King from one of his former subjects.”
“We did?” Ak'zeloth asked, sounding surprised. “When was that?”
“It was in your orientation package,” Shandel'zare pointed out. “Along with your bureaucratic instructions.”
“I must have missed everything past 'not on the rug',” Ak'zeloth grumbled. “How was such a thing possible?”
“According to the source, he was caught by Kil'jaeden, Sargeras' lieutenant, tortured, and transformed into the Lich King,” Thrall said. “Further, he spent decades working on the Scourge plague we've all heard of, first experimenting on local creatures, like the Nerubians, until it was sufficient to use on Lordaeron.”
“Yes,” Jaina said, and there was sadness in her voice. “It worked all too well. In any case, the destruction of the Skull of Gul'dan did prevent a further invasion of Azeroth from Draenor, assuming it still existed.”
“Which it does,” Rehgar finished, following the logic. “Otherwise, there would be no opening now.”
“Yes, but we knew that beforehand, or rather, the Kaldorei did and told us,” Jaina said. “Initially, Malfurion exiled Illidan from Kaldorei lands. He returned there with the naga as his allies, seeking out ships to make a much longer journey to the Tomb of Sargeras. There, Illidan stole the Eye of Sargeras. His motives were unclear until his defeat in the ruins of Dalaran by Malfurion and the Warden, Maiev Shadowsong. He told them that Kil'jaeden had recruited him to defeat the Lich King, which he was attempting to do when he unleashed a force that might have split the world in half. Again.”
“Stormrages don't do anything by halves,” Nara sighed. “Either of them.”
“Tyrande says that all the time,” Jaina noted. “In any case, Illidan was no longer exiled, though he did leave Azeroth... by opening a portal to Draenor and stepping through it. Presumably, this wouldn't have been possible without there being something for him to travel to.”
“That be a reasonable t'ing to assume,” Vol'jin mused. “But where be Illidan now?”
“We have more reports, accumulated from various sources,” Jaina said, frowning. “A group of elves, primarily composed of the Sunfury Army, disappeared from Dalaran through a portal described similarly to the one that Illidan summoned when he departed Kalimdor. These elves were led by the heir to the Phoenix Throne, Kael'thas Sunstrider. They were seen in the company of Illidan's naga allies.”
“Our source also said that there was a major assault on Northrend after that, on Icecrown itself, the heart of the Lich King's power,” Thrall said, his voice a soft growl. “That we are not free of the Scourge is indication enough that Illidan's venture failed.”
“We must assume Illidan survived, and that he has opened this portal,” Jaina said. “Though what it means can't be good... I didn't have all of my wards up, but I'm certain the shamans wouldn’t have felt those portals open if they were merely for quick teleportation. We wouldn't be getting a warning.”
“I had no knowledge of these events without being told, and neither did any shaman I communicate with,” Thrall added. “This isn't a small, isolated event. This is a major incursion.”
“I can communicate with Nethergarde Keep,” Jaina said. “They'll have the answer for certain, but we must prepare for the worst. Demons are returning to Azeroth.”
Varok cursed softly under his breath, and Shandel’zare looked grim and angry. Nara’s brow wrinkled with distress, already counting necessary supplies. Though she was just out of sight, Thrall felt Garona tense as Jaina gave voice to their fears.
“Their goal could be any number of things,” Thrall said, pitching his voice deep to banish doubt, and nodded slightly as his councillors sat up straighter, and shifted their full focus to him. “We have known the Legion to orchestrate invasions of human and Kaldorei lands, to consort with the undead as well as demons. They have had conspirators amongst every race. We need to be prepared for anything. Ak'zeloth, Rehgar. I need all of the information you have about demons.”
“Of course, Warchief,” they chorused, and saluted.
“Warchief,” Varok said slowly. “There is... something I would like for you to consider as well.”
“Yes?” Thrall focused on the elderly orc warrior, whose expression was, against all odds, animated and bright. “What is that?”
“That if Ner'zhul failed to destroy Draenor, our people could still be living there.” Thrall blinked, and Varok continued. “Not every clan joined Gul'dan and Ner'zhul's marches to Azeroth. I know that Fenris Wolfbrother, while he came to the councils on Azeroth, did not commit his clan. Neither did the Bonechewers, or several other clans. The Bleeding Hollow could still live. They were the largest orc clan, far larger than even the Blackrock, for we were upstarts. Others simply refused to leave. We thought them fools, but perhaps they were the wisest of all.”
“It's been... decades,” Thrall said, the implication hitting him full force. “Could they have survived?”
“Assume they have not,” Garona said, her voice an angry rasp. “Assume only demons are on the other side. We can't get lost in nostalgia.”
“You say that because you left no one behind,” Varok snapped. “I left my mate behind, my son. I made a promise to see them again, to survive.”
“And will you be the one to plunge your axe into their chests when you find them to be demons, slavering over the deaths of all on this world?” Garona demanded. “Or will you kneel and weep and force one of us to do it?”
“If Dranosh has become a demon, I will kill him myself,” Varok snarled. “Do not question my loyalty.”
“That's enough, both of you,” Thrall said, standing. “G-Akia is right, we need to focus on what is, not what could be. Varok is also right, we need to be prepared to mount a rescue mission to what remains of Draenor. We could save lives. Orc lives, human lives. The Alliance will want to know what has happened. Jaina, could you make contact and serve as an intermediary? Nothing can be done until we visit the site itself. Until then, this is to be kept quiet. Do you all understand?”
There were nods all around.
“I'll contact you as soon as I can,” Jaina said. “But I'll need to go now.”
“Go swiftly, Jaina,” Thrall replied, his voice warm. “We need your wisdom.”
“You'll have it, I promise,” Jaina smiled, and from one moment to the next, she was gone. Thrall let his gaze linger on the place she'd been before turning to the rest of his council.
“Dismissed, but be prepared for anything. Be certain that we have forces ready and prepared,” Thrall said, his voice grave. “It's extremely likely that we'll need a small, elite force that can travel via zeppelin or magic. There's no realistic way to sail there in any amount of good time. Force will avail us nothing.”
An affirmative was sounded, and the councillors rose, some grumbling and stretching, others quiet. Thrall let his gaze sweep the room. None seemed disturbed or unprepared for the battle to come, only curious and wary. This comforted him. Varok's lined face was still twisted in a scowl, and Thrall nodded encouragement to him. As they filed out, Thrall turned to Garona, still clad in her Kor'Kron black and gold.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly. “Garona, walk with me.”
“Am I being censured, Warchief?” The question, calmly asked, cut through him like a knife. If there had been anger there, accusation, perhaps it would have brought his anger to the fore, or disappointment. Instead, he remembered Garona's stories about her childhood.
“No, I wouldn't do that,” Thrall replied. “I do want to know why you spoke that way to Varok. I know you don't hate him. You hardly ever call him useless, and you don't speak of him with contempt. You knew about the vow to his son. You were there when we... found him. You know his history. Why would you confront him like that?”
For a moment, Garona looked away. Thrall did not press her, instead making his way from the council chamber to his own room. Opening the door, he could still detect a hint of his scent, intermingled with Jaina's, and he couldn't help but sigh. With our luck, we won't get another chance for months to be together alone and in private. It's not as though I don't love every part of our relationship, but she's been so worn out lately. Is she getting enough sleep? Could she be worried about our relationship? If so, I should--
“I hate Draenor,” Garona said finally, disrupting Thrall's train of thought. “I hate what it turned us into. I hate how people still idealize it. I hate the idea that when you see it...”
Thrall waited for to continue, and when she fell silent, he faced her, blue eyes meeting grey ones. “I will not want to bring back the old order. I'm excited to see Draenor. I was born on Azeroth, in Alterac. It is a place I've never felt particularly attached to. I grew up in Lordaeron, a place that is full of good and bad memories. Durotar is my home. Orgrimmar is my home, one I built with both hands. I love this place, and I love all of the people in it. Draenor was where we came from, but for many like me, it will never be home.”
“Promise me,” Garona said softly. “Promise me you'll see what you need to see and come back home.”
“I swear it on Orgrim's hammer and our friendship, I will come home,” Thrall said. Carefully, he reached over to Garona's helmet. He watched as she held herself very still while he took her helmet off, and then moved his hands to just above her shoulders. “May I hug you?”
Garona said nothing, only nodded once. Thrall leaned in to embrace her gently. Slowly, she put her arms around him and hugged him back, her grip as tight as his was loose. Carefully, Thrall stroked his hand along her thick braid of hair and down her back, offering all the comfort he could. Softly, he murmured to her again and again that he would return.
“If you think I'm not going with you, you're wrong,” Garona replied, her voice muffled by his shoulder. He could feel moisture against his bare skin, and it chilled there. “Just don't expect me not to complain about it.”
~ * ~
There is something deeply satisfying about cleaving a demon in two, Thrall thought grimly, ducking as the demonic blood sprayed out from the wound he'd gouged deep in its torso. The blade of the axe he held melted and he discarded the weapon. The Doomhammer remained at his side, within easy reach. The battles of old had taught him not to waste his precious heirloom weapon on the Legion's chaff. Instead, he signalled, and a dwarf, resplendent in purple, red, and gold, hurried towards him, ducking between dead bodies to bring him another rapidly forged axe, the product of Nethergarde's forges.
“What news from the Portal?” Thrall asked of the dwarf as she took a breather, moving between still forms, checking for friendly casualties.
“The elves report another wave massing just on our side, Warchief,” the dwarf replied. Thrall frowned. “Not much to be gained being scattered on the fields.”
“I'm afraid orcs have always fought scattered on the fields,” Thrall replied. “Still, we'll retreat and regroup back at the Keep. Thank you, Enohar.”
“You're welcome, Warchief, feel free to grab a brew,” Enohar Thunderbrew said with a brief smile, and then she was off, picking her way through the battlefield.
Thrall looked around, watching his warriors pick off the last of the scattering of demons, masses of limbs, wings, talons, and tails, and put his free hand to his lips. “Warriors of the Horde! The next wave comes. Return to Nethergarde Keep and prepare yourselves! For Azeroth! For the Horde!”
The cry was taken up by the warriors scattered across the battlefield. Thrall saw more demons cut down, though his forces retreated in good order, sometimes taking a scrap of demon hide, or shaking the shoulder of a fallen comrade to see if they yet lived, or taking their weapon if they did not. Further afield, a dark shape moved over the fallen enemy, darting through the killing fields like a shade.
Despite her words to Varok, or perhaps because of them, Garona had been the most vigilant. Rather than shadowing Thrall constantly, she had been out in the thick of the killing, stabbing and slaying with her blue steel knives. Amongst the demons were orcs, lost to rage and bloodlust, and seeing one for the first time had nearly cost Thrall his life. Their faces had been twisted with hate, scarred and mutated, and yet they had been entirely recognizable. In their expressions he recognized Grom and the fallen Warsong. He recognized that this was the fate that Gul'dan had had in store for them, Blackhand and his followers, and that realization had been the first blow, and the second had been blocked by Garona.
“This is what I always told you about,” she had hissed. “Now pay attention! We can't lose you.”
So he had. He had cut down the fel orcs without mercy, and they had asked for none. They had said very little, driven by mindless bloodlust as they were. Varok had said nothing during those battles, merely done his duty. Garona was the one to check each one, looking at their faces, studying hard. She was the one to examine tattoos and clan markings, calling out Shattered Hand and Bleeding Hollow, Bonechewer and Laughing Skull.
She may have been right, Thrall thought, tearing his gaze away from Garona and focused on returning to the Keep. It could be that all hope for the orcs in Outland is lost. Two decades of exposure to demonic energy, utterly unabated, with no shamans to guide them away from darkness. They won't even be aware that Mannoroth is dead and gone, that we are free.
The notion was sobering, and it was these grim thoughts that kept Thrall company as he approached Nethergarde Keep. As human military bases went, it was an unlovely place: the high stone walls were worn by harsh winds and caked with red dust, and the outbuildings looked as though they were huddling against attack. The ground here was not the rusty but fertile soil of Durotar, and instead was polluted, sick, and utterly useless for anything, including building.
Jaina and Garona both said it was due to leakage from the Dark Portal, Thrall thought, scuffing his foot briefly against the barren dirt. How long did the Portal stay open? Ten years? Fifteen? And it spread this quickly, this far. What would have happened if we had won? Would it have kept spreading, eating the Eastern Kingdoms whole? Was this the inspiration for the Scourge blight? At least this doesn't actively hurt the living. What will the remains of Draenor look like? How can anything have survived this?
The banners of Dalaran fluttered brightly and unabated on the high, defensive walls of Nethergarde, preserved by magic that was nearly two decades old, though those enchantments obviously did not extend to the walls. Twin gold eyes picked out on purple peered down at Thrall and he paused, letting them scan him. The system was not perfect, but he had seen beams of pure arcane energy strike at stray, unlucky creatures too mutated to be properly identified as rabbits that ventured too close to the gates.
And no one dares find out if the beams only work on rabbits, Thrall mused as he walked into the stronghold's courtyard. In the years since its creation, near-destruction, and rebirth from the ashes, Nethergarde had grown haphazardly for the most part. Two large barracks flanked the gates. Home at first to the best forces the Alliance could muster, the population had dwindled, first from war, then from a lack of interest. In many ways, fulfilling its goal, to shut down the Dark Portal permanently, had signed Nethergarde's death warrant, but it had clung to life stubbornly.
Thrall followed the narrow road up to the primary barracks on the right-hand side, slightly closer to the Portal, while soldiers garbed in purple and gold bustled past. The primary barracks was the home of Nethergarde's officers and many of its active troops. The secondary barracks was converted into a hospital as well as a residence for the families that made Nethergarde their home. This was where the Horde's forces were staying, though with some reticence from the humans and dwarves that lived there.
In the heart of Nethergarde, standing above all others, was the mage tower. While Thrall had limited experience with such, he felt that Jaina's home had given him a good idea of what to expect: magical artifacts and books, scrolls and shelves, crammed to the brim in a haphazard way, as though its resident had more important things to do than organize. Nethergarde's mage tower was quite different. Aggressively clean, its first two floors were dedicated to a library of every possible book about demons there was to find on Azeroth. On the third floor, there were skeletons and collections of bones retrieved from the demons that had been fought at the Dark Portal, along with the occasional orc, mutated by demonic energy. No spirits whispered their names to Thrall, so old and so forsaken by the elements were these fallen.
The fourth floor was for processing. This was where testimonies were collected to be turned into more books for the library, and the mages of Nethergarde were not shy about asking for insight. Thrall spent an hour each evening reciting his experiences to a pen that was enchanted to understand his every word and record it. I almost want one of my own, but then my penmanship will fall out of practice and people will laugh at me when I write like a child. The fifth floor, intended to be a mage's bedroom, was reserved for experimentation on organic tissue, soil samples, and arcane devices and recordings. A small adjoining room had been remodelled for Watcher Mahar Ba, the senior presiding mage. While all others had their own quarters in the barracks, the Watcher had chosen to remain near his devices, and that habit had served Nethergarde well in its most recent hour.
Near the mage tower was the large smithy that, even now, was pumping out billowing clouds of smoke, evacuated from the forges. While the blasted lands of the southern swamp was incapable of providing fertile soil, it allowed for the opportunity to open large, labyrinthine mines. A great many braces had been necessary, but the ore deposits were rich, practically falling into waiting hands. Such would have been the envy of Azeroth as a whole were the resources not committed to battles against the demons. Strummer Flintheel, the primary overseeing blacksmith, had provided weapons and armour for the defenders using the ore taken from the mines, and while his own collection was smaller, he too had a library of smelting techniques and notes regarding the dissolution of metal due to demonic ichor.
You can tell that this place was founded by mages, Thrall mused. Because no one leaves things unwritten for very long. He nodded to the purple clad guards as he headed inside the primary barracks. Most especially because all too often, those with wisdom are the first to fall.
Despite the worn condition of the outside of the building, within it was pristine, well-maintained by the same people who repaired the walls. Along the hallways were hanging tapestries, images from battles fought and won, or lost. Thrall paused briefly, gazing on the image of General Turalyon, sword held aloft, the battered shield of Anduin Lothar on his arm, battling a great Doomguard, its mouths grimacing under the strength of his holy Light. He touched the worn spot next to the tapestry for luck, as he had observed the soldiers of Nethergarde doing, and continued upstairs.
As Thrall ascended to the second floor, he could hear a loud conversation. Following the sound, he came upon the meeting room. At the table stood an old man in battered silver armour, one gauntleted hand curled in a fist and resting heavily against the table. At his side stood Gorgonna, arms folded behind her back at attention. Thrall gave her an encouraging smile, and she smiled back at him, one cheek dimpled. On the other side of the human stood another orc, tall and male, dressed in black and red armour, though the emblem that would go with it, that of the Blackrock Clan, was notably absent. This was, as he had introduced himself, Ariok, son of Eitrigg. Thrall had been startled by him, and moreso startled by the fact that Jaina knew him, and had urged him to remain and reinforce Nethergarde’s soldiers instead of heading north.
Across the table from the others stood Jaina. Through means that Thrall had on good authority were ‘magic’, Jaina’s white and blue robes remained pristine and free of the red dust that tended to coat everything in the blasted lands of the Swamp of Sorrows, though her sleeves were nonetheless spotted by ink from her note taking. Were it not for the dire situation -- and the weariness behind Jaina’s smiles -- Thrall would have considered this to be a perfect place for her to be.
She works far too hard, Thrall thought. Sometimes I think she acts as though the whole weight of the world rests on her shoulders. It does, often enough, but she doesn’t need to bear it alone.
The final figure was an elf, and one that Thrall did not immediately recognize. He was slender and stood only a little taller than Jaina. His hair was long, blond and hung loosely around his shoulders, draped artistically over robes of gold-trimmed red and black silk. His eyes were bright and green, and Thrall felt uneasy as he gazed at him, as though there was something familiar but untouchable about him. Around his necklace he wore a pendant in the shape of a firebird. Catching his gaze, the elf’s disdainful smile turned into a smirk.
Thrall stiffened slightly, and ignored him, turning instead to his beloved. “Jaina.”
“Thrall,” Jaina replied, the warmth of her voice banishing weariness. “This is an old friend of mine, Kylian Firesong.”
Once again, Thrall found himself surprised. “This isn’t the Prince?”
“Sorry to disappoint, Warchief,” the elf cut in, and gestured with one hand adorned with a heavy gold ring, the green gemstone on it flashing briefly. “But Kael’thas is too busy for petty meetings. I’m sure you understand.”
Thrall shifted forward. “The meeting can’t be that petty if Kael’thas sends his second in command to a meeting in his place, and a second in command that inherited the position from his father, of the second oldest house in Quel’thalas.”
The elf -- Kylian --smiled slightly. “Second because the first is the House of Sunstrider, and not third because the Windrunners were too busy counting all of their children to make sure they had them all to get into line second. You know our history.”
“As I’m sure you’re well aware of mine,” Thrall growled softly. “Why are you here?”
“That is a story we’ve been trying to extract for the last half hour,” the human man said, annoyed. “He said he’d explain when--”
“The gang’s all here, and now it is,” Kylian cut in again. “No point in telling the story twice, after all.”
“It’s definitely a story we need to hear,” Jaina said. “Everyone, please, sit. Kylian, commence the theatrics.”
“You know me all too well, Sunfish,” Kylian replied, and those assembled took their seats, though he did not, instead pacing about the room. “This story is one of daring, drama, betrayal and mystery. A tale of magic and martial prowess.”
“I miss the rangers,” the human muttered, and rested his tanned chin on his fist. “They were quieter.”
“Commander Vines, I’m certain that what Kylian has to say is extremely important,” Jaina said, giving him a polite nod. “Kylian, go ahead.”
[ Chapter 21]
Title: Unity
Part: 20 of 22+Epilogue
Word Count: 4953
Includes: Large amounts of exposition, and disagreements of a personal nature.
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina
Summary: Darkness threatens Azeroth once more, and Thrall and his Horde are prepared to meet it head on.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Sidestory: Linguistics
13 14 15 16 17 18
Sidestory: Defiance - 1 2 3 4 5 Epilogue
19
Thrall stared at Jaina wordlessly as her words echoed in his mind. The Dark Portal could be open. “How is such a thing possible? Didn't Archmage Khadgar close it permanently?”
“He did, as evidenced by the sudden and immediately onset of the Lethargy amongst the imprisoned orc populace,” Jaina replied. “According to all of his notes and journals about the matter, the initial Portal was opened via a conspiracy between two persons, Medivh and Gul'dan. This was possible because Sargeras, the leader of the Burning Legion, had possessed Medivh from an early age and was manipulating him. Gul'dan, in turn, manipulated the orcs into invading Azeroth in search of a more hospitable place to live.”
Thrall made a point of not glancing back at Garona to confirm, but he remembered her tales. “Gul'dan and Medivh used raw power to rip open a passage between Azeroth and Draenor, though it was far more powerful than a traditional mage portal.”
“Correct,” Jaina said, offering him a warm smile. “This particular style of portal is permanent without the intervention of outside forces, and in fact causes a number of collateral factors, including seepage.”
“...seepage?” Rehgar asked, uneasy. “I remember it happening, but I don’t recall it ever being discussed by the… others.”
“The Shadow Council opens its mouth, garbage and lies fly out,” Ak'zeloth growled. “The seepage was what caused the land to die.”
“Yes,” Jaina said, her voice gentle with sympathy. “It also accelerated the decay of Draenor, from the reports that were sent back and compared to reports gathered from speaking to orcish agents sympathetic to Stormwind's cause.”
Jaina's voice, extremely light, caused Garona to tense, and Thrall could feel it. With a start, he realized that other council members had begun to trail in, some less pleased to find their chairs occupied, others taking their vacant seats. Thrall nodded to Jaina to continue.
“In any case, we managed to partially close the portal,” Jaina said, and tapped the southern tip of the eastern continent again. “Archmage Khadgar petitioned for a garrison to be built here to observe the potential regression of the seepage, along with a number of other factors. Nethergarde Keep, just here.”
“We have an outpost in Stonard,” Varok noted, leaning heavily on the table. “Just there, above the cut off.”
“It was only slightly improved from Rockard, as I recall,” Rehgar muttered, and he and Saurfang exchanged a knowing look, and then chuckled. Jaina smiled broadly.
“As useful as it is creatively named, I’d imagine. In any case, Nethergarde Keep was the first to know that the Dark Portal had opened again as it was attacked by new orc forces that swept through Azeroth. Reports indicate that these new clans, including the Warsong and Black Tooth Grin, struck hard and fast, reinforcing very little, striking only at certain key locations before abandoning them to burn.” Jaina tapped each location on the map in turn. “Stormwind, setting back the construction efforts and taking the Tome of Medivh. Gul'dan's skull from the Bonechewer clan, Dalaran to seize its Eye, and Kul Tiras to steal ships to sail to the Tomb of Sargeras to steal his scepter. These artifacts were taken to Draenor. Scraps of intelligence gathered indicated that Ner'zhul, the chieftain of the Shadowmoon clan, was responsible for this order, and he conspired with the death knights to do so. The Warsong and their allies were merely distractions, which was certainly true considering they never retreated.”
“The only ones that escaped were those who were clever enough to go back through the Portal, for all the good that did them,” Varok noted. “Deadeye and the Bleeding Hollow clan, as an example. Weren't there dragons involved too?”
“Yes, it's indicated black dragons did traverse to Outland, though their alliance with the orcs has never been entirely clear,” Jaina said, frowning. “Members of the Alliance will member red dragons most vividly, not black.”
Thrall reached over, touching Jaina's hand lightly, and she smiled warmly at him, taking his hand briefly before squeezing his fingers and releasing them. “In any case, Archmage Khadgar and his expedition realized that the only way for them to close down the portal was to do so from the other side. Ner'zhul was, meanwhile, in the process of performing a ritual to open multiple portals, seemingly with the intent of escaping to multiple potential worlds.”
“This was the act that caused the destruction of Draenor,” Shandel'zare noted, folding her hands on the table. “At least, that was what the Alliance believed, and hailed those who went through as slain martyrs to a greater cause.”
“Sadly, correct,” Jaina said. “We mourned the dead and we rebuilt Nethergarde. Terenas proposed the Internment Camps that everyone here is familiar with. Moving forward to a few years ago, there is the matter of Illidan Stormrage.”
“Tyrande hoped that Illidan would help us fight the Legion,” Thrall said with a frown. “He failed to be the champion she hoped.”
“Also correct,” Jaina said. “Though from Tyrande's report, he was cooperating, for her sake if no one else's. He claimed to have been confronted by Arthas in the Felwood, and that Arthas told him of a powerful demonic artifact he could use to defeat Tichondrius, one of the dreadlords who were responsible for the fall of Lordaeron. Illidan absorbed the artifact and succeeded in killing Tichondrius permanently, which is actually an extremely difficult feat to accomplish, though it damned him to a half-demonic, half-elven hybrid form.”
“That seems like cutting off your nose to spite your face,” Nara said, wrinkling her own muzzle in demonstration. “It doesn't grow back for everyone,” she added, for the benefit of the trolls.
“It is very like that,” Jaina agreed. “Though, it did do one thing. The artifact in question was the Skull of Gul'dan, seemingly lost on Draenor, but returned. The prevailing theory on that is 'evil things wish to be found', though it's possible Ner'zhul was able to keep it with him. We learned that Ner'zhul became the being known as the Lich King from one of his former subjects.”
“We did?” Ak'zeloth asked, sounding surprised. “When was that?”
“It was in your orientation package,” Shandel'zare pointed out. “Along with your bureaucratic instructions.”
“I must have missed everything past 'not on the rug',” Ak'zeloth grumbled. “How was such a thing possible?”
“According to the source, he was caught by Kil'jaeden, Sargeras' lieutenant, tortured, and transformed into the Lich King,” Thrall said. “Further, he spent decades working on the Scourge plague we've all heard of, first experimenting on local creatures, like the Nerubians, until it was sufficient to use on Lordaeron.”
“Yes,” Jaina said, and there was sadness in her voice. “It worked all too well. In any case, the destruction of the Skull of Gul'dan did prevent a further invasion of Azeroth from Draenor, assuming it still existed.”
“Which it does,” Rehgar finished, following the logic. “Otherwise, there would be no opening now.”
“Yes, but we knew that beforehand, or rather, the Kaldorei did and told us,” Jaina said. “Initially, Malfurion exiled Illidan from Kaldorei lands. He returned there with the naga as his allies, seeking out ships to make a much longer journey to the Tomb of Sargeras. There, Illidan stole the Eye of Sargeras. His motives were unclear until his defeat in the ruins of Dalaran by Malfurion and the Warden, Maiev Shadowsong. He told them that Kil'jaeden had recruited him to defeat the Lich King, which he was attempting to do when he unleashed a force that might have split the world in half. Again.”
“Stormrages don't do anything by halves,” Nara sighed. “Either of them.”
“Tyrande says that all the time,” Jaina noted. “In any case, Illidan was no longer exiled, though he did leave Azeroth... by opening a portal to Draenor and stepping through it. Presumably, this wouldn't have been possible without there being something for him to travel to.”
“That be a reasonable t'ing to assume,” Vol'jin mused. “But where be Illidan now?”
“We have more reports, accumulated from various sources,” Jaina said, frowning. “A group of elves, primarily composed of the Sunfury Army, disappeared from Dalaran through a portal described similarly to the one that Illidan summoned when he departed Kalimdor. These elves were led by the heir to the Phoenix Throne, Kael'thas Sunstrider. They were seen in the company of Illidan's naga allies.”
“Our source also said that there was a major assault on Northrend after that, on Icecrown itself, the heart of the Lich King's power,” Thrall said, his voice a soft growl. “That we are not free of the Scourge is indication enough that Illidan's venture failed.”
“We must assume Illidan survived, and that he has opened this portal,” Jaina said. “Though what it means can't be good... I didn't have all of my wards up, but I'm certain the shamans wouldn’t have felt those portals open if they were merely for quick teleportation. We wouldn't be getting a warning.”
“I had no knowledge of these events without being told, and neither did any shaman I communicate with,” Thrall added. “This isn't a small, isolated event. This is a major incursion.”
“I can communicate with Nethergarde Keep,” Jaina said. “They'll have the answer for certain, but we must prepare for the worst. Demons are returning to Azeroth.”
Varok cursed softly under his breath, and Shandel’zare looked grim and angry. Nara’s brow wrinkled with distress, already counting necessary supplies. Though she was just out of sight, Thrall felt Garona tense as Jaina gave voice to their fears.
“Their goal could be any number of things,” Thrall said, pitching his voice deep to banish doubt, and nodded slightly as his councillors sat up straighter, and shifted their full focus to him. “We have known the Legion to orchestrate invasions of human and Kaldorei lands, to consort with the undead as well as demons. They have had conspirators amongst every race. We need to be prepared for anything. Ak'zeloth, Rehgar. I need all of the information you have about demons.”
“Of course, Warchief,” they chorused, and saluted.
“Warchief,” Varok said slowly. “There is... something I would like for you to consider as well.”
“Yes?” Thrall focused on the elderly orc warrior, whose expression was, against all odds, animated and bright. “What is that?”
“That if Ner'zhul failed to destroy Draenor, our people could still be living there.” Thrall blinked, and Varok continued. “Not every clan joined Gul'dan and Ner'zhul's marches to Azeroth. I know that Fenris Wolfbrother, while he came to the councils on Azeroth, did not commit his clan. Neither did the Bonechewers, or several other clans. The Bleeding Hollow could still live. They were the largest orc clan, far larger than even the Blackrock, for we were upstarts. Others simply refused to leave. We thought them fools, but perhaps they were the wisest of all.”
“It's been... decades,” Thrall said, the implication hitting him full force. “Could they have survived?”
“Assume they have not,” Garona said, her voice an angry rasp. “Assume only demons are on the other side. We can't get lost in nostalgia.”
“You say that because you left no one behind,” Varok snapped. “I left my mate behind, my son. I made a promise to see them again, to survive.”
“And will you be the one to plunge your axe into their chests when you find them to be demons, slavering over the deaths of all on this world?” Garona demanded. “Or will you kneel and weep and force one of us to do it?”
“If Dranosh has become a demon, I will kill him myself,” Varok snarled. “Do not question my loyalty.”
“That's enough, both of you,” Thrall said, standing. “G-Akia is right, we need to focus on what is, not what could be. Varok is also right, we need to be prepared to mount a rescue mission to what remains of Draenor. We could save lives. Orc lives, human lives. The Alliance will want to know what has happened. Jaina, could you make contact and serve as an intermediary? Nothing can be done until we visit the site itself. Until then, this is to be kept quiet. Do you all understand?”
There were nods all around.
“I'll contact you as soon as I can,” Jaina said. “But I'll need to go now.”
“Go swiftly, Jaina,” Thrall replied, his voice warm. “We need your wisdom.”
“You'll have it, I promise,” Jaina smiled, and from one moment to the next, she was gone. Thrall let his gaze linger on the place she'd been before turning to the rest of his council.
“Dismissed, but be prepared for anything. Be certain that we have forces ready and prepared,” Thrall said, his voice grave. “It's extremely likely that we'll need a small, elite force that can travel via zeppelin or magic. There's no realistic way to sail there in any amount of good time. Force will avail us nothing.”
An affirmative was sounded, and the councillors rose, some grumbling and stretching, others quiet. Thrall let his gaze sweep the room. None seemed disturbed or unprepared for the battle to come, only curious and wary. This comforted him. Varok's lined face was still twisted in a scowl, and Thrall nodded encouragement to him. As they filed out, Thrall turned to Garona, still clad in her Kor'Kron black and gold.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly. “Garona, walk with me.”
“Am I being censured, Warchief?” The question, calmly asked, cut through him like a knife. If there had been anger there, accusation, perhaps it would have brought his anger to the fore, or disappointment. Instead, he remembered Garona's stories about her childhood.
“No, I wouldn't do that,” Thrall replied. “I do want to know why you spoke that way to Varok. I know you don't hate him. You hardly ever call him useless, and you don't speak of him with contempt. You knew about the vow to his son. You were there when we... found him. You know his history. Why would you confront him like that?”
For a moment, Garona looked away. Thrall did not press her, instead making his way from the council chamber to his own room. Opening the door, he could still detect a hint of his scent, intermingled with Jaina's, and he couldn't help but sigh. With our luck, we won't get another chance for months to be together alone and in private. It's not as though I don't love every part of our relationship, but she's been so worn out lately. Is she getting enough sleep? Could she be worried about our relationship? If so, I should--
“I hate Draenor,” Garona said finally, disrupting Thrall's train of thought. “I hate what it turned us into. I hate how people still idealize it. I hate the idea that when you see it...”
Thrall waited for to continue, and when she fell silent, he faced her, blue eyes meeting grey ones. “I will not want to bring back the old order. I'm excited to see Draenor. I was born on Azeroth, in Alterac. It is a place I've never felt particularly attached to. I grew up in Lordaeron, a place that is full of good and bad memories. Durotar is my home. Orgrimmar is my home, one I built with both hands. I love this place, and I love all of the people in it. Draenor was where we came from, but for many like me, it will never be home.”
“Promise me,” Garona said softly. “Promise me you'll see what you need to see and come back home.”
“I swear it on Orgrim's hammer and our friendship, I will come home,” Thrall said. Carefully, he reached over to Garona's helmet. He watched as she held herself very still while he took her helmet off, and then moved his hands to just above her shoulders. “May I hug you?”
Garona said nothing, only nodded once. Thrall leaned in to embrace her gently. Slowly, she put her arms around him and hugged him back, her grip as tight as his was loose. Carefully, Thrall stroked his hand along her thick braid of hair and down her back, offering all the comfort he could. Softly, he murmured to her again and again that he would return.
“If you think I'm not going with you, you're wrong,” Garona replied, her voice muffled by his shoulder. He could feel moisture against his bare skin, and it chilled there. “Just don't expect me not to complain about it.”
~ * ~
There is something deeply satisfying about cleaving a demon in two, Thrall thought grimly, ducking as the demonic blood sprayed out from the wound he'd gouged deep in its torso. The blade of the axe he held melted and he discarded the weapon. The Doomhammer remained at his side, within easy reach. The battles of old had taught him not to waste his precious heirloom weapon on the Legion's chaff. Instead, he signalled, and a dwarf, resplendent in purple, red, and gold, hurried towards him, ducking between dead bodies to bring him another rapidly forged axe, the product of Nethergarde's forges.
“What news from the Portal?” Thrall asked of the dwarf as she took a breather, moving between still forms, checking for friendly casualties.
“The elves report another wave massing just on our side, Warchief,” the dwarf replied. Thrall frowned. “Not much to be gained being scattered on the fields.”
“I'm afraid orcs have always fought scattered on the fields,” Thrall replied. “Still, we'll retreat and regroup back at the Keep. Thank you, Enohar.”
“You're welcome, Warchief, feel free to grab a brew,” Enohar Thunderbrew said with a brief smile, and then she was off, picking her way through the battlefield.
Thrall looked around, watching his warriors pick off the last of the scattering of demons, masses of limbs, wings, talons, and tails, and put his free hand to his lips. “Warriors of the Horde! The next wave comes. Return to Nethergarde Keep and prepare yourselves! For Azeroth! For the Horde!”
The cry was taken up by the warriors scattered across the battlefield. Thrall saw more demons cut down, though his forces retreated in good order, sometimes taking a scrap of demon hide, or shaking the shoulder of a fallen comrade to see if they yet lived, or taking their weapon if they did not. Further afield, a dark shape moved over the fallen enemy, darting through the killing fields like a shade.
Despite her words to Varok, or perhaps because of them, Garona had been the most vigilant. Rather than shadowing Thrall constantly, she had been out in the thick of the killing, stabbing and slaying with her blue steel knives. Amongst the demons were orcs, lost to rage and bloodlust, and seeing one for the first time had nearly cost Thrall his life. Their faces had been twisted with hate, scarred and mutated, and yet they had been entirely recognizable. In their expressions he recognized Grom and the fallen Warsong. He recognized that this was the fate that Gul'dan had had in store for them, Blackhand and his followers, and that realization had been the first blow, and the second had been blocked by Garona.
“This is what I always told you about,” she had hissed. “Now pay attention! We can't lose you.”
So he had. He had cut down the fel orcs without mercy, and they had asked for none. They had said very little, driven by mindless bloodlust as they were. Varok had said nothing during those battles, merely done his duty. Garona was the one to check each one, looking at their faces, studying hard. She was the one to examine tattoos and clan markings, calling out Shattered Hand and Bleeding Hollow, Bonechewer and Laughing Skull.
She may have been right, Thrall thought, tearing his gaze away from Garona and focused on returning to the Keep. It could be that all hope for the orcs in Outland is lost. Two decades of exposure to demonic energy, utterly unabated, with no shamans to guide them away from darkness. They won't even be aware that Mannoroth is dead and gone, that we are free.
The notion was sobering, and it was these grim thoughts that kept Thrall company as he approached Nethergarde Keep. As human military bases went, it was an unlovely place: the high stone walls were worn by harsh winds and caked with red dust, and the outbuildings looked as though they were huddling against attack. The ground here was not the rusty but fertile soil of Durotar, and instead was polluted, sick, and utterly useless for anything, including building.
Jaina and Garona both said it was due to leakage from the Dark Portal, Thrall thought, scuffing his foot briefly against the barren dirt. How long did the Portal stay open? Ten years? Fifteen? And it spread this quickly, this far. What would have happened if we had won? Would it have kept spreading, eating the Eastern Kingdoms whole? Was this the inspiration for the Scourge blight? At least this doesn't actively hurt the living. What will the remains of Draenor look like? How can anything have survived this?
The banners of Dalaran fluttered brightly and unabated on the high, defensive walls of Nethergarde, preserved by magic that was nearly two decades old, though those enchantments obviously did not extend to the walls. Twin gold eyes picked out on purple peered down at Thrall and he paused, letting them scan him. The system was not perfect, but he had seen beams of pure arcane energy strike at stray, unlucky creatures too mutated to be properly identified as rabbits that ventured too close to the gates.
And no one dares find out if the beams only work on rabbits, Thrall mused as he walked into the stronghold's courtyard. In the years since its creation, near-destruction, and rebirth from the ashes, Nethergarde had grown haphazardly for the most part. Two large barracks flanked the gates. Home at first to the best forces the Alliance could muster, the population had dwindled, first from war, then from a lack of interest. In many ways, fulfilling its goal, to shut down the Dark Portal permanently, had signed Nethergarde's death warrant, but it had clung to life stubbornly.
Thrall followed the narrow road up to the primary barracks on the right-hand side, slightly closer to the Portal, while soldiers garbed in purple and gold bustled past. The primary barracks was the home of Nethergarde's officers and many of its active troops. The secondary barracks was converted into a hospital as well as a residence for the families that made Nethergarde their home. This was where the Horde's forces were staying, though with some reticence from the humans and dwarves that lived there.
In the heart of Nethergarde, standing above all others, was the mage tower. While Thrall had limited experience with such, he felt that Jaina's home had given him a good idea of what to expect: magical artifacts and books, scrolls and shelves, crammed to the brim in a haphazard way, as though its resident had more important things to do than organize. Nethergarde's mage tower was quite different. Aggressively clean, its first two floors were dedicated to a library of every possible book about demons there was to find on Azeroth. On the third floor, there were skeletons and collections of bones retrieved from the demons that had been fought at the Dark Portal, along with the occasional orc, mutated by demonic energy. No spirits whispered their names to Thrall, so old and so forsaken by the elements were these fallen.
The fourth floor was for processing. This was where testimonies were collected to be turned into more books for the library, and the mages of Nethergarde were not shy about asking for insight. Thrall spent an hour each evening reciting his experiences to a pen that was enchanted to understand his every word and record it. I almost want one of my own, but then my penmanship will fall out of practice and people will laugh at me when I write like a child. The fifth floor, intended to be a mage's bedroom, was reserved for experimentation on organic tissue, soil samples, and arcane devices and recordings. A small adjoining room had been remodelled for Watcher Mahar Ba, the senior presiding mage. While all others had their own quarters in the barracks, the Watcher had chosen to remain near his devices, and that habit had served Nethergarde well in its most recent hour.
Near the mage tower was the large smithy that, even now, was pumping out billowing clouds of smoke, evacuated from the forges. While the blasted lands of the southern swamp was incapable of providing fertile soil, it allowed for the opportunity to open large, labyrinthine mines. A great many braces had been necessary, but the ore deposits were rich, practically falling into waiting hands. Such would have been the envy of Azeroth as a whole were the resources not committed to battles against the demons. Strummer Flintheel, the primary overseeing blacksmith, had provided weapons and armour for the defenders using the ore taken from the mines, and while his own collection was smaller, he too had a library of smelting techniques and notes regarding the dissolution of metal due to demonic ichor.
You can tell that this place was founded by mages, Thrall mused. Because no one leaves things unwritten for very long. He nodded to the purple clad guards as he headed inside the primary barracks. Most especially because all too often, those with wisdom are the first to fall.
Despite the worn condition of the outside of the building, within it was pristine, well-maintained by the same people who repaired the walls. Along the hallways were hanging tapestries, images from battles fought and won, or lost. Thrall paused briefly, gazing on the image of General Turalyon, sword held aloft, the battered shield of Anduin Lothar on his arm, battling a great Doomguard, its mouths grimacing under the strength of his holy Light. He touched the worn spot next to the tapestry for luck, as he had observed the soldiers of Nethergarde doing, and continued upstairs.
As Thrall ascended to the second floor, he could hear a loud conversation. Following the sound, he came upon the meeting room. At the table stood an old man in battered silver armour, one gauntleted hand curled in a fist and resting heavily against the table. At his side stood Gorgonna, arms folded behind her back at attention. Thrall gave her an encouraging smile, and she smiled back at him, one cheek dimpled. On the other side of the human stood another orc, tall and male, dressed in black and red armour, though the emblem that would go with it, that of the Blackrock Clan, was notably absent. This was, as he had introduced himself, Ariok, son of Eitrigg. Thrall had been startled by him, and moreso startled by the fact that Jaina knew him, and had urged him to remain and reinforce Nethergarde’s soldiers instead of heading north.
Across the table from the others stood Jaina. Through means that Thrall had on good authority were ‘magic’, Jaina’s white and blue robes remained pristine and free of the red dust that tended to coat everything in the blasted lands of the Swamp of Sorrows, though her sleeves were nonetheless spotted by ink from her note taking. Were it not for the dire situation -- and the weariness behind Jaina’s smiles -- Thrall would have considered this to be a perfect place for her to be.
She works far too hard, Thrall thought. Sometimes I think she acts as though the whole weight of the world rests on her shoulders. It does, often enough, but she doesn’t need to bear it alone.
The final figure was an elf, and one that Thrall did not immediately recognize. He was slender and stood only a little taller than Jaina. His hair was long, blond and hung loosely around his shoulders, draped artistically over robes of gold-trimmed red and black silk. His eyes were bright and green, and Thrall felt uneasy as he gazed at him, as though there was something familiar but untouchable about him. Around his necklace he wore a pendant in the shape of a firebird. Catching his gaze, the elf’s disdainful smile turned into a smirk.
Thrall stiffened slightly, and ignored him, turning instead to his beloved. “Jaina.”
“Thrall,” Jaina replied, the warmth of her voice banishing weariness. “This is an old friend of mine, Kylian Firesong.”
Once again, Thrall found himself surprised. “This isn’t the Prince?”
“Sorry to disappoint, Warchief,” the elf cut in, and gestured with one hand adorned with a heavy gold ring, the green gemstone on it flashing briefly. “But Kael’thas is too busy for petty meetings. I’m sure you understand.”
Thrall shifted forward. “The meeting can’t be that petty if Kael’thas sends his second in command to a meeting in his place, and a second in command that inherited the position from his father, of the second oldest house in Quel’thalas.”
The elf -- Kylian --smiled slightly. “Second because the first is the House of Sunstrider, and not third because the Windrunners were too busy counting all of their children to make sure they had them all to get into line second. You know our history.”
“As I’m sure you’re well aware of mine,” Thrall growled softly. “Why are you here?”
“That is a story we’ve been trying to extract for the last half hour,” the human man said, annoyed. “He said he’d explain when--”
“The gang’s all here, and now it is,” Kylian cut in again. “No point in telling the story twice, after all.”
“It’s definitely a story we need to hear,” Jaina said. “Everyone, please, sit. Kylian, commence the theatrics.”
“You know me all too well, Sunfish,” Kylian replied, and those assembled took their seats, though he did not, instead pacing about the room. “This story is one of daring, drama, betrayal and mystery. A tale of magic and martial prowess.”
“I miss the rangers,” the human muttered, and rested his tanned chin on his fist. “They were quieter.”
“Commander Vines, I’m certain that what Kylian has to say is extremely important,” Jaina said, giving him a polite nod. “Kylian, go ahead.”
[ Chapter 21]