79 years ago—Blade's Edge Mountains
The Elder Shinsen took a long look at his surroundings. Two orcs, mounted on wolves, rushed toward his bleak form. He turned slowly and faced them. The comrades dismounted and bowed deeply. The first spoke in a deep, calm voice. "Our shamans tell us the Warsong Clan is advancing. You too, must know this; what must we do?" The second broke in with a rough, coarse voice. "We await your command." The Elder stood for a moment, lost in thought, then shifted his weight in an attempt to relieve the armor's mass. Who'd have thought it would come to this…? Damn! One by one, his allies were falling…he grunted. "What else is there left to do?'
He mounted the wolf beside him. He looked down into the valley the cliff overlooked, and saw the seas and oceans of brown-skinned orcs below. He looked out at the horizon, where a bobbing, black line of forms was beginning to erupt. Then he looked at the sky, the heavens, into the graces of God himself. He took a deep breath.
Then he let it out in one raucous roar. "Up and at 'em, boys! Our brothers have betrayed us!" Sorrowed screams and warlike chants rose up from the ranks of the army below. They began to mount wolves, and slowly began their march to the enemy. The coarse-voiced orc growled out his message…"Was it wise to meet them here?" The second chimed in. "Indeed…the draenei in Terokkar were happy to offer us a portal, but…" Shinsen silenced them. "And give them a chance to defile the plains of Nagrand, or our Homeland? I do not intend to." He turned and raced down the cliff's steep path. The level-voiced orc stirred in admiration. "the Elder is fearless. You'd think he would be more cautious at his old age…three hundred cycles isn't something just anyone experiences." The coarse one grunted once more. "He has seen much, and for all he knows, this could be his last battle…" his voice broke off in a strange pang of suffering, like that of an injured man. He coughed hoarsely. His companion grabbed his shoulder. "Ro'gash, you alright?" He took a sharp breath as his comrade's skin seemed to turn a darker shade of brown. "I…I'm alright."
Tunes of clashing steel erupted from the two armies. Black blood, red blood…they fell on the dusty plains and intertwined. The crimson-skinned Warsong Clan and the Terra-Cotta Blazehound Clan met in frenzied battle. In the screaming chaos of the battle stood the elder, hands aflame with lightning, the "White Fire". Hurling flash after flash of glorious thunder, the Elder roared in a mix of bestial strength and devastating sorrow. The two Comrades stood back to back, surrounded by foes. Ro'gash Warhowl, poised with his jagged axes, roared in anticipation. His brother, Ra'mish, started. Such acts were uncommon of his brother. He swallowed the remnants of fear, lifted his chin, furrowed his brow, and answered the call with his own. Grinning with the confidence of adrenaline, he lifted his heavy axe. As the enemy rushed at him, he brought it down.
The Elder slowly pulled back, breathing heavily, devoid of mana. He almost felt like just sleeping in death's embrace, though he was not injured. Suppressing the urge like he had for hundreds of years, he opened his eyes…to a horrid and startling revelation.
His warriors, his brothers, his sons! He watched them slowly turn from the color of the barren cliffs of the Hellfire Peninsula to that of the darkest trees of Terokkar Forest. A realization slowly began to dawn on him. DAMN! Forget the mana! He drew the two of the four axes at his sides, and rushed in to the heat of the fight.
The Comrades were holding up, back to back, one by one. They stood in a growing pool of black, turned more and more with every drop of corrupted blood they drew from their foes. All of a sudden, Ro'gash buckled down in a frenzied moan. Ra'mish, startled and confused, acted with sudden instinct. In a broad sweep of his axe he cut down the two orcs rushing forth, and used the same momentum to cut down the three preparing to end the life of his brother. His enemies, startled, stalled, and Ra'mish quickly dropped to his knees to meet his brother face-to-face. He held Ro'gash's head to meet his eyes. The face that stared back shocked him. The dark green that his brother had become somewhere mid-fight was slowly fading to green. The blue shimmer in his eyes was turning to a bloody scarlet glow. He coughed up blood, and began to speak, his voice coarser than ever before… "I feel it…they have defeated me in ways that weapons cannot. They have corrupted my soul in their presence, and cut it out in their blood…end it, that I may die as, at least, an orc…" The words made Ra'mish tremble. At the sound of a roar, he started and flicked his axe through the chest of some Warsong clansman. Ro'gash coughed again, drawing his brother's attention once more. He clasped the necklace around his neck, red and white beads along intertwined threads of fur. He ripped it off, the beads scattering on the ground, into the blood. He grimaced. "…do it."
When the Elder made his way well into the fight, he found Ra'mish standing over the body of his decapitated brother, and over the scattered beads of his necklace. The Elder's clasped teeth eased into a sorrowed line. The oldest rite of passage—that of pain.
Shinsen had no time to waste. Though Ra'mish and the rest of his warriors would not fall as easily as Ro'gash, one by one they were starting to fall to the same horrid corruption that had taken the Warsong Clan. Despite the intense heat, Shinsen shivered. Demons…they'd finally got back at the Clan. They'd been hunting them down for generations, since the first angels began defecting from the Army of the Lord…snapping back to reality, he cut down three more Warsong clansmen. Blood, blood, everywhere…Shinsen rushed forward. Every step the Elder took was received by a wave of the enemy's blood. Blood, blood…it occupied his thoughts as his body continued its rigorous motions… blood, blood…
His stomach lurched. He began to realize that he was not invincible to the enemy's corruption. It had tried to touch him in that moment…
He closed his eyes and rejected the rushing feelings and emotions they posed against him.
When he opened them, the Warsong Clan was gone, gone in a flash of warlocks' black summons.
Instead, he faced a new enemy—the writhing forms of his men, deep green in color, clutching at their bellies. He backed up, panting, breathing…it was too late. His eyes suddenly snapped to the one standing figure on the field. Relief and tension flooded through him at the same time. He knew what must be done. He grasped Ra'mish's arm and pulled him atop his wolf. There would not be much time.