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Warcraft - Into the Southern Mists
Chapter I - To Answer the Call
Karg Wolfbane rode into Orgrimmar upon the back of a mighty drake, its hide a mottled bronze, its eyes a luminous yellow-green stare. For eight long years he had been travelling the world known to him, and the world his kind once called home, and he had had several parts in the course of history, having survived the Outlands, the wrath of the dead Lich King Arthas, and even the Cataclysm that wrought the world asunder. He had been present at the Sunwell Plateau, a member of the charge that pushed Kil'jaeden back into the Nether, among the hundreds that helped hunt down Illidan. He had helped craft Shadowmourne and was the last of its bearers in the final, tumultuous battle at the peak of the Icecrown glacier.
Not even Ulduar had thrown him to the dirt, and he had assisted in the felling of an Old God, much like how he had taken part in storming the ruins of Ahn'qiraj, allowing a smaller raid group access to the temple of the city's peak. When the black aspect Deathwing tore his way out of the earth, he had been one of many to take part in the charge that eliminated him once and for all. Like the other survivors on that terrible day, he did not celebrate, but instead mourned the losses of comrades he had grown attached to.
Eventually the mottled bronze drake – Tempori – landed upon a small outlet not too high off of the ground, allowing him to hop off onto the ground. As his plated feet hit the dirt he looked up to the Drake, who was now hovering just above the alcove, looking down upon him with the usual blank look
"Will you be alright on your own, Tempori?" he asked, and the drake merely looked down to him
"We are dragonkin (dragonkin), young master (master)" the drake replied, bobbing her head before flying off onto the hunt. As the drake flew off Karg felt the soulstone connecting the two of them grow colder slightly, signifying she was flying further off. With a grunt he set off towards Grommash Hold, intent on answering the summons. He took out the note as he trekked through the dusty roads of the Valley of Honor
Lok'tar ogar, Orc. I am Nazgrim.
You are hereby ordered to present yourself to Garrosh Hellscream at Grommash Hold immediately.
By his decree, all in service to the Horde are to swear an oath of allegiance to their new Warchief.
Do not keep him waiting, Orc.
At the mention of this 'Nazgrim', his mind went blank, unable to remember anyone by that name. Still, if the Warchief need reassurance of his people's loyalty, he would be all too happy to oblige him. Tucking the note away he trekked onwards, passing several grunts as they tried to ease tensions between two groups of Orcs, both of which looked intent on tearing the other group's eyes out.
-Grommash Hold-
As he trudged towards the great doorway of the imposing structure, two armed Kor'kron – the elite of the Horde's forces – marched out, pallid grey-green skin making him almost heave at them. Within his mind the echoes of countless Blackrock Orcs laughed and jeered at the thought that their kinsmen had managed to perturb their killer.
Shoving those thought aside he marched inside, and was greeted by an Orc with sea-green skin and black hair, adorned in black armour. The General Nazgrim merely held his hands behind his back as he inspected the ragtag adventurer
"Ahh, good." The general mused, as he began to make his way into the throne room of Garrosh Hellscream "You're here, and not a moment too soon." And with that the General made his report, as he watched from the doorway
"I am pleased to report that the battle at sea goes well, Warchief." Nazgrim reported, walking across a great map of Azeroth decorating the floor, pointing at two large red Xs as he passed "Our forces report decisive victories off the coast of Tanaris and Tol Barad." Hellscream looked down from his dais as he got to his feet
"Alliance blood spills…" the Warchief mused, his eyes darting to two Xs for a moment before refocusing on the General "This pleases me, General." Nazgrim seemed to look timid as he spoke up once again
"There's more." He stated, his voice quivering a moment before returning to a gravelly flat line " I've received word that our southern fleet engaged an Alliance envoy. We chased the royal flagship"- Garrosh's eyes lit up at the word 'royal' -"Until it ran aground." Garrosh's eyes flared for a brief second as he asked a simple question
"Aground? Where?" Nazgrim gulped a little before pointing to a lone model of a ship on the southernmost edge of the map
"Apparently, they found a massive, uncharted landmass shrouded by dense mists." With his back turned, Nazgrim never noticed Garrosh descend from his throne until he felt the rancid breath on his neck. As the General turned about face, he was bombarded by a tirade of anger and phlegm
"And you let THE ALLIANCE GET THERE FIRST!?" Garrosh roared, Nazgrim was forced back a few paces, almost stumbling over one of the model ships in 'open seas', Garrosh pointed at him "Redirect the invasion fleet. General," Garrosh once again stormed up to Nazgrim "You and your best veterans will pave our way." Garrosh turned to face the alliance ship model and raised his foot
"Storm the shore, and paint this new continent RED!"
Author's Notes:
Ah, hello there! You may not know me, but that doesn't matter.
For the past while now I've been contemplating this story, and I've actually only just got around to actually writing it! Anyway, Into the Southern Mists will hopefully be the first part of a series chronicling the events of Mists of Pandaria.
As you can see, in this first chapter I've set up Karg (who may seem like a bloody Mary Sue, but I'm hammering out those kinks, violently as needed) and his faithful mount Tempori (who got around three minutes of limelight this chapter, I'm working on adding more parts featuring her in as I type).
Either way, all I want is for you, the audience, to enjoy it and hand out constructive criticism (not just criticism, laddy buck) where applicable.
I'll now bid you adieu.