A Hope for the Future
Chapter 1: Hibernation
Northrend, Dragonblight, Wyrmrest Temple
November 29th, Year 29- The Siege of Wyrmrest
Angola''Tharr closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air was unusually warm and thick, and he could smell smoke and burnt flesh not too far from the temple the collaborated forces of the Alliance, Horde and many other neutral party factions were marching towards. The sounds of war drums and hundreds of plated boots and hooves marching in sync muted the raging, ever closing battle, all that the Orc soldier could pick out was the bursts of flames coming from the battling dragons, and the immense heat from Deathwing's flames radiating from miles away.
But nothing was more disturbing than the guttural language of the Destroyer's allies: the Old gods and their minions, pierced his mind, which sounded more unintelligible and hideous than the Forsaken's Gutterspeak.
For the first time since he marched against the Mighty Kil'Jaeden, he felt a rush of anxiety rather than bloodlust or courage, which made him freeze in place, causing him to bump into a tall Draenei Paladin.
The Dark blue skinned, hoofed creature from his home world looked at him with contempt when he turned to see Angola'Tharr's face. "Watch it, Greenskin." He sneered as he turned around again and disappeared in the crowd.
The Orc felt a surge of anger at the slur, but took a moment to clear his head and continued marching forward, everyone had their own way to deal with their fear he supposed. His thoughts were interrupted by a large hand clapping his shoulder, Angola'Tharr turned to see his older brother, Ohm'tag staring at him with his amber eyes.
Ohm gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't mind him brother, Muneer is hostile to everyone he sees at first sight, he'll warm up to you."
Tharr scoffed in disbelief, "You're acting like I'll ever see him again, like any of us are ever gonna see anyone again. Were all dead men walking." Ohm gave him an offended look in response, when Tharr glanced around at the other soldiers he realized how loudly he spoke as he noticed some of the troop's disheartened looks and he looked down in shame. An awkward presence fell as everyone now marched in grim silence, after a few moments Ohm looked at Tharr and grinned.
"There's women here too Tharr."
Tharr looked at him with confusion "What?" He realized that Ohm was referring to his comment earlier when a female Tauren he recognized punched him in the shoulder as she marched by.
"Oh" he said as he laughed nervously, he looked down again and furrowed his brow.
"Ohm?"
"Yeah?"
Tharr rubbed his shoulder his his free hand, "How are you able to act like everything's normal?" He said softer than before.
Ohm raised and eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Tharr thought for a moment. "Were ground troops marching to fight against massive dragons, Old Gods and Elementals, I'm no shaman, I'm just a soldier-"
"A damn good soldier." Ohm butted in.
"That's not the point Ohm, I'm not Thrall, or some mighty adventurer- most of us aren't, how do we survive against something this mighty?" Tharr looked at his brother with hopes for an answer
Ohm was silent for a moment. "I don't know."
Tharr looked at him in surprise. "Then how are you so jovial and confident right now? For morale?"
Ohm sighed. "I suppose, our value as a fighting force is that we are a unit, if we're all too afraid or hopeless, then we might as well not fight," The tall orc pondered. "Do you want to know something? I'm actually scared shitless. I don't want to die right now, but fear is no good in a battle like this, all we can do is keep pushing forward and give the Aspects time."
"Is that what we are then? Cannon fodder?"
Ohm hesitated, in a way, they were. The full forces of the Accord was being decimated, and the Death Knights, Crusaders, The Shamans and Druids were only barely holding the line. The point of this tactic is to distract Deathwing with massive numbers while the Champions chosen by Alexstrasza and Nozdormu would take down the shield and activate the Dragon Soul, and then maybe, they could use it to kill the Dragon, this is essentially a suicide mission, but he would see that his brother makes it out alive.
"No. Never." Ohm said firmly, "You're going to make it through this Tharr, I swear."
Tharr smiled, a rush of confidence went into him. "We're going to make it through this you mean."
"That's what I meant" Ohm chuckled.
Tharr nodded. "We'll make Mother, Father and our ancestors proud." He said as they reached the temple ever so closer, Ohm put his arm around Tharr's shoulder.
"Are you ready to save the world, little brother?" Tharr, grinned and nodded, Ohm turned to the troops that were listening to their conversation.
"Are ALL of you ready to save the world?"
The army roared in response and began to move faster, the battle was minutes away now.
Angola'Tharr looked at his brother with pride, he was always the Golden Orc, one of the most admired, a war hero respected by the Alliance and the Horde for his valor and charisma.
Everything he wanted to be.
Everyone's mood was instantly darkened as soon as they set foot upon the carnage, Thousands of corpses of Dragons and Humanoids alike, they covered the stone floors of the temple like stone, the sky was dark from the N'Zoth's influence, Tentacles and horrible maws pierced the ground, flailing madly. Raging Elementals wreaking havoc, massive in size trying to destroy the temple. And worst of all, Deathwing's scorching flame blanketing the field, wiping out entire platoons of warriors with ease.
One of the Humans in the front line of the army quivered in fear and turned around to flee, but was stopped by Ohm, he turned to the crowd, drew his Blade and bellowed a loud cry, which was joined in unison by thousands.
"FOR AZEROTH"
Tharr drew his hammer and charged into the twilight of his world alongside his comrades.
The smell of death and the cries of war was now dominating.
Kalimdor, Durotar, Orgrimmar, The Goblin Slums
February 5th- Year 30, Discovery of Pandaria
The sound of a rooster awoke Angola'Tharr, where he was lying in the Goblin Slums local brothel, next to his usual choice when he visits, a young half-orc girl, who was sleeping comfortably on top of his chest, which was now beginning to lose all of its muscle.
In his way of living right now, (next to being drunk) this was his closest thing he could find to happiness, these brief moments of a sleazily purchased peace.
Which was ruined by an incredibly irritating voice slowly getting louder and more shrill, followed by the wolf skin blanket being dragged off the two, making both of them shudder from the cool morning wind.
When Tharr sat up and opened his eyes, ready to face his harasser, he were greeted by a large and ugly hobgoblin, who's fat head was only an inch away from the ceiling.
"Boss says your time up."
Tharr rubbed his tired eyes and reached for the mug of water on the bedside while the Hobgoblin stared at him blankly and chugged it all, then he turned to look at Lena, the girl he had be hiring for the past month. She gave a soft groan and stretched her arms.
"I'll pay for another hour." Tharr offered, his voice muffled underneath his mug of water, reaching for his coin purse, but the Hobgoblin grabbed Tharr's wrist with a hammy hand, and a surge of anger shot through him, "Watch it, freak."
The bouncer kept his grip. "De house rules explicitly state that you cannot rent an employee of Cogfuse's house of pleasure for more than one night unless you make a reservation in advance or express interest in purchasing the product." It chanted blankly, like a parrot not fully understanding what most of those words even meant.
"I'm not buying people, I just want one more damned hour of peace and quiet-" Tharr said hotly, as he stood up, the owner of the brothel, Paz Cogfuse bursted in.
"Then you can get the hell out of my whorehouse and find some skinny Alliance bitch!" She, holding the door open for Tharr to leave.
"Mistress, it's quite all right, really, there's no customers in queue this early and he always good for the money." Lena said.
"You will speak when spoken to!" Paz hissed, her face twisting into an ever more uglier shape as she raised her hand threateningly and Lena lowered her head down quickly and whispered softly "Yes mistress." through clenched teeth.
Tharr took a moment to pity Lena, in month that he knew her they bonded quite close after the first few days when they started getting more realized around each other, they both had a tendency to talk in the long nights they spent together, whether about Lena and her crude customers or her merciless mistress or her fascination with archaeology and learning more about other cultures.
Which was a shame, with her lack of proper education and average wages, it seems as though she will never be able to pursue her dreams with Paz holding her back, at this point all he was really doing was getting her into more trouble.
Tharr bent down and grabbed his shirt and hat. "I'll leave." He muttered as he slid on the loose and alcohol stained shirt, tied the laces and turned to look at Lena.
His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he turned around, bumped herself into Paz, with her incredibly short stature she fell down instantly and couldn't get up, Tharr couldn't help but smile as he heard Lena's muffle giggle as walked through the door, down the stair case and past the fake signs to the brothel used to imply they were a cozy rental shop (In Paz's eyes they were and most officials never bothered to investigate), through the archway of the entrance the shady and luxurious atmosphere transitioned into the arid heat of Orgrimmar mixed with the stench of Goblin sewers and oil and stuck his hat on his head firmly so no one could recognize the formerly decorated war hero.
He gave a brief glance to the brothel and realized the sad truth that Lena was the only friend he has, aside from an occasional veteran visiting him to reminiscence about the old days,, but that was quite rare these days since he actively avoided familiar faces, despite his close relationship with his comrades Tharr is certain they will never understand his motivation for hiding away in the life a retired Goblin would- the complete optimistic of an honorable Orc's lifestyle.
Surely they would try to sway him away from his hibernation and accept the call of war one more time.
Never again.
Tharr shook his head and decided to clear mind with a visit to the tavern, walking past the now refurbished Hall of Legends, he ran his hand along the now metal walls that have replaced the wooden huts all across Orgrimmar, much changed in his home city since he was campaigning in Vashj'ir and the Twilight Highlands during the War of the Elements, in terms of Leadership, with Garrosh Hellscream, the Orc that once spent all of his time brooding in Nagrand has now replaced Thrall as the Warchief of the Horde, who has now gone into retirement, with a mate and a new born babe.
During Tharr's absence Garrosh has offered Amnesty to any Orc who were once enemies of the Horde as long as they swore allegiance to Hellscream, leading to most, if not all of the Orcs in the Blackrock clan residing in Blackrock Mountain as well as the Dragonmaw Clan.
Many Blackrocks reside now in Orgrimmar with one ruthless one in particular, Malkorok now leading Garrosh's honor guard- the Kor'kron, with many of these Orcs slowly taking over roles that Tauren, Trolls or even Forsaken and Blood Elves used to take… ever so slowly Orgrimmar is becoming more and more pro-Orc and more militant, Tharr has heard whispers amongst frightened citizens that speak of the Warchief becoming as vicious as Blackhand (Or as bad, the dreams of the old ways of the Orc are at long last coming into fruition... the dreams of his misguided parents.)
Such grim thoughts were able to distract Tharr from his daily hangover until the loud and vibrant sounds of Valley of Strengths local community began to ring in his ears, making him reach out for the spikes lining the edge of the descent from roadway onto the local smithy and the recently relocated Grommash hold to support himself as he stumbled in front of one of the torches mounted on the railing.
Focusing on the orange light of the torch, he attempted to force himself to vomit out the toxins in his body to make the recovery trip to his favored inn, The Broken Tusk, slightly more feasible.
Instead all he was able to purge out of his body was excessive amount of saliva, which made him even more dehydrated in this desert-city, he cursed himself when he realized he had nothing to eat the night before and had been drinking on a empty stomach, he took a deep breath and tried again, this time putting his head closer to the torch, looking deeper into the burning embers, enthralling him the same way a moth would be.
The glow of the torch and the smell of charcoal was enough to drag his mind back through a time he wishes would be long forgotten, the massacre at Wyrmrest temple left scars deeper than the burns across his body.
One scent was enough to drive him back to the last time he ever fought in battle, even the wretched stench of the servants of the Old Gods, which smell would remind one of a massive dead sea creature cut open, was masked by the once lovely smell of flesh cooking- tens of thousands corpses burning and the sound raw screams of horror as they all died slow and agonizing deaths, the lucky ones died against twilight dragons, or being crushed to death by Elementals.
Such thoughts were sufficient enough to coax Tharr's body into finally purging any bodily fluid and the feeling dizziness and nausea slowly began to fade away and his mind started to clear.
When Tharr looked up he realized that he got nearly a third of the valleys attention from his scene.
"I'm a goddamned fool." He muttered to himself as he awkwardly stared back at the locals, with some looking in concern and some in disdain and disgust, one Goblin woman even hid her small son behind herself.
Tharr wouldn't have been surprised if she was a part of the massive crowd that greeted him and the surviving Horde army after the Destroyer met his end at the Maelstrom with cheers and flowers.
He shook his head in dismissal and reminded himself of the reason he was even in this cursed district, the same reason he was here nearly every morning.
To get absolutely shit faced drunk.
With this in mind he left his puddle before a guard spotted him and forced him to clean his mess and walked past the gathering, leering crowd and into his sanctuary.
Walking into Broken Tusk inn Tharr gave his routine greetings to the inn's fellow regulars that he would converse with before he began to drink, elongated greetings weren't really popular in Broken Tusk, and most patrons usually just grunted, nodded or barked Tharr's name, no one but sentimental warriors come here to talk- one of his favorite parts about this inn is that everyone minds their own business, everyone would just watch the resident brawler, Gamon pummel a new and cocky adventurer in the dust and bet their money on the strongest, almost like a poor man's Brawl'Gar.
However now Gamon rests, sharpening his axe and waiting for some other fool to arrive thinking that he was the meek drunkard that young rogues would bully for fun, so the bar stayed quiet, with people silently chatting, rambling and scheming, in Tharr's opinion the best time of the day he mused as he sat on one of the stools lining the bar. The balding barkeep in purple, Morag was focused on scrubbing a suspicious spot out of a metal mug, looked up at Tharr while still scrubbing away with his brush.
"Morning, Tharr." Morag said still scrubbing the with his brush, his Lordaeron common accent standing out from his time in the internment camps.
"Mornin'." Tharr grunted in reply.
"You want the usual?" The Barkeep inquired.
Tharr thought for a moment, "I've had a rough morning, get me some Sulfuron Slammer and dried beef jerky with tomatoes and bread to start with." He reached down into his gold purse and dropped five gold pieces on the counter, Morag took the pieces and nodded.
"Coming right up, he said he went down to the kitchen to call for Tharr's order, who turned to the Barkeep as he descended down "And a bowl of peanuts!" he shouted.
"Aye" The barkeep said from a distance.
He noticed that his pouch was starting to become lighter, he had been spending most of his pension from the war in the past few months on gambling, drinking and whoring and would have to start looking for bounty work in Ratchet if he kept this up.
"I'll make the trip in march, when it starts raining" He thought to himself as Morag slid his meal onto the table and began to pour his drink, Tharr held his hand up to stop him
"Leave the bottle, Morag." Tharr asked and Morag nodded and began to serve the next customer.
Tharr looked down at the bottle, staring at the debris in the bottom, he wouldn't really notice it when he begins to drink it, since it will numb his mouth and insides with the foreign dwarven spices, almost making it feel like you were on fire, he snatched the bottle and began chugging down, the feeling of numbness and dizziness was near instant, and he slammed the bottle down and took a large bite of his meal.
"Another day as usual." He mused silently, letting the environment and air sink into him as he slowly passed out of the counter, in an odd way, this and his times in the Brothel with Lena were the closest things he had to happiness right now, this was the life he was living- in in public exile, hiding away from his old friends right in the most populated part of the city.
His thoughts were interrupted with a hand shaking his shoulder, waking him from his slumber it was the Innkeeper, Gryshka, Morag's younger sister.
"There's some people outside looking for you, says they work for the Kor'kron."
The word "Kor'kron" was enough to shoot Tharr into sobriety, did one of them see him vomit on the walkway? He would rather take that then it be-
"Angola'Tharr Demonsbane? By Thrall's balls, we found you!" the familiar voice of General Nazgrim yelled out, attracting the attention of the bar patrons, the loan sharks and Gamon (who was in the middle of beating a troll with his bear hands while gripping one of his tusks)
"Fuck" Tharr hissed softly as he felt Nazgrim's plated footsteps get closer and grappled him in an Orcish embrace. "Nazgrim you old wardog!" He hollered out, Nazgrim laughed in response and pulled off his fisher's hat, inspecting the battered old thing.
"Is this what you've been up to for the past two months? Just drinking and eating in a peons clothing?"
"You're damn right I have, living out a warrior retirement." Tharr said, concealing his nervousness as Nazgrim grabbed a gulp of the Sulfuron Slammer and slammed the bottle down, "How's the Kor'kron life been treating you?"
Nazgrim wiped his mouth "Fantastic, there's no better way to serve the Horde I don't think," He paused for a moment and took a better look at Tharr and took a sharp breath, "Actually speaking of retirement that's why I'm here today Tharr, The Warchief has made his call."
The thought of him returning to a battlefield and the memories that come with it shot deep in Tharr's chest, "Against the Alliance?"
Nazgrim nodded, "In a way, are you caught up with recent events?"
Tharr's jaw tightened, he had witnessed the destruction of Theramore from far away, the energy that emitted from Dustwallow could be seen from Mount Hyjal he'd bet, and the near flooding of Orgrimmar in retribution as well. Not to mention the recent surge of Pandaren swearing allegiance to the Horde if that wasn't odd enough.
"Aye, I've seen the boards, and our new allies." Nazgrim sat down next to him
"There's more." Nazgrim said silently
"Always is." Tharr muttered, taking a handful of peanuts and shoving them into his mouth.
Nazgrim looked around and leaned in closer, "Recently, an Alliance ship crashed into a massive uncharted continent, we believe that Pandaren originated from there, and if that's the case, there are massive amounts of untapped power there waiting to serve the Horde."
"Sounds like a warmer Northrend to me."
"No one will really know until we arrive and form an expedition, the Warchief has asked for our best warriors to paint this continent red and personally picked numerous warriors from your old guild to join the Kor'kron and travel with a full fleet, and we want you there to command a squadron."
Tharr let this sink in, he knew what the first wave of a Horde expedition always find, people to kill, there's always someone to invade and pillage, he looked at the bottle and chugged down the rest.
"I'm sorry, Nazgrim, I'm going to have to decline."
Nazgrim sat quietly for a moment, then nodded, " I understand your reasons why, but I'm not the one you'll be telling that too, it's going to be him" he said as he point to the massive Orc that walked into the inn, with two Kor'kron behind him and his right hand, Malkorok.
The Inn went dead silent as everyone saluted Garrosh Hellscream.