Warcraft:
Journey to the Light
By Lizard90
Disclaimer: I am in no manner associated with the creation of Warcraft, the races of the series and I do not own any of the areas mentioned in the game. Some minorities may ensue. Also most characters are the property of Blizzard. There are exceptions regarding the heroes of this story.
Author's note: Yes, it's true, a horror fanatic like me writing a fantasy story. How crazy is that?! I'm very sorry to inform to the readers of Heart of Darkness that it will be temporarily discontinued. To the fans of RE: Genome, it will carry on as usual. This will now be marked as my side project while RE: Genome remains as my most important piece of work. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.
Chapter 1: Intervention
Four years have passed since the mortal races banded together and stood united against the might of the Burning Legion. Though Azeroth was saved, the tenuous pact between the Horde and the Alliance has all but evaporated. The drums of war thunder once again…
Azeroth, a world among many created countless millennia ago by the Titans. A world inhabited by mortal races that lived in peace and harmony for generations, until the arrival of the dreaded Burning Legion. Lead by the Dark Titan Sargeras the Destroyer of Worlds and the eredar Kil'jaden and Archimonde, this army of demons from the Twisting Nether brought unimaginable destruction and chaos to Azeroth, erupting into a war that lasted many generations. The war brought a pact between the indigenous humans, dwarves, gnomes and high elves to save their homeland from the demon onslaught. Many were slaughtered, demon and mortal alike.
The Burning Legion had been responsible for the destruction of another world, one known today as the Outland. The native orcs of the once lush and beautiful planet became the brutal puppets of the Legion's dark influence and forced the once honorary orcs to fight their battles. However, during the third and final war, majority of the orcs were set free from the Legion's shackles. Banding together with the natives of Azeroth, the Burning Legion was driven back through the Dark Portal to the ruined Outland and in addition lost one of its most powerful leaders Archimonde.
Despite the prevail of the mortal races, mutual historic hatred and racism drove the two factions into war against each other. The Alliance, consisting of the majority of Azeroth's native races, the noble humans, the adventurous dwarves, the ingenious gnomes, the enigmatic night elves and the honorable draenei, loathes all things demonic or in any relation to such influence stands against all odds to build a bright and lustrous new age. The Horde, consisting of the brutal orcs, the spiritual tauren, the quick-witted trolls, the shadowy undead and the driven blood elves in turn are considered social outcasts who have banded together in hopes of ensuring their mutual survival in a world that loathes them.
War is among the first words a newborn is lead to understand. Countless wars and battles are fought at a common interval between the two ruling factions, several more mortals have lost their lives, but in vain. Peace remains only a dream among many. War has driven greed and conquest to prosper as more lives are thrown away.
However, despite their victory against their mutual sworn enemy, the Burning Legion continues with its ambitions of bringing destruction and ruin to the universe. With the ruined Outland serving as their new undisturbed base of operations, they build up their resources in hopes of starting the fourth war, one which they believe is destined to wipe out the mortal races.
Unbeknownst to the people of Azeroth, an enemy possibly even more powerful than that of the Legion, continues with his own agendas on destroying all who oppose him, be it the Legion itself or the war torn world of Azeroth.
Many adventurers of Azeroth have dedicated their lives to serving and protecting their factions against all who'd oppose to tear them apart, be it the Legion, opposing factions or even from those who wish to destroy their own faction from within. Many of the heroes strive on for greatness. Many have stopped midway, some have grown powerful to oppose the ranks of their worst enemies, many have even lost their lives, or sentenced to a fate worst than death.
But, will any hero of Azeroth be powerful enough to rid it of those who seek to destroy the planet and send it crumbling into the depths of the Nether? This is their story, one which will take once average adventurers and embark them on an unforgettable hurdle, where only friendship and bonding can ensure their success in obliterating the Legion and saving their home-world.
-
Stonetalon Mountains, a rough, barren wasteland that has been under constant turmoil from the days of the great wars to that of the illegal Venture Company taking all of its few resources. This rugged terrain is one of the many nations in Azeroth where not many wish to set their foot, even if they were just passing by. The high peaks offered a great view of the surrounding area, only there was not much to praise seeing as most of the once lush forests had been either burned or cut down, rendering it into a shadow of its former self. Though no longer prosperous and lush, the unforgiving wilderness has carried on its spread across the landscape by picking off of what little nourishment the land offered, be it plant or flesh.
A lone traveler tread quietly through the ruined forest, the smell of dust clogged deep into his nostrils. He looked around the depressing landscape with his bright green eyes, ones which appeared to glow magically in the dimness of the evening sky.
He ran his fingers through his long, auburn hair, trying to rinse some of the dust out. He sighed quietly as he dusted off his blue silken headband before tying it back on. His armor consisted of a heavy bronze breast plate and a pair of two blue toned iron shoulder pads which served as his upper body protection. Underneath the armor he wore a blue ash and dust covered blue cotton shirt, something he considered as the only comfy part of his traveling guise. His shiny steel leggings were held in place by a leather belt topped with several strips of aforementioned material. His feet were adorned with green boots which were partly mail cloth topped with small plates. On his hands he wore a pair or silvery gloves, but they were in terrible need of cleaning judging by the bloody smears. A short, yet very royal-styled red cape flapped behind him in the wind currents.
"Just my luck," he murmured while kicking a small rock off the ground while taking a step, "I could have just taken the wind rider, but then you have to end up being broke again." He murmured, jingling a small leathery pouch which was meant to hold his gold, but all that was left were a few pieces of silver and some copper, something which wasn't going to get anyone far in those parts of the world.
"I certainly hope these goods I found will get me some dough at least," He thought looking at the heavy silken bag he was carrying with him. It held his current loot he'd obtained through hunting down the area's wildlife, having scored a good bundle of thick leather off the wyverns that inhabited the area along with some fine shadowsilk of the local spider community. "Hope the dealers in Ashenvale are interested. It's not every day you find leather like that off bears." He mused, forcing a small smile from his remark.
Through the dimness the lone traveler began to make out shapes. They were dark and blurry, so it was difficult to tell what they were. He took note of possible danger and began to focus on the blurs at all times. After a couple of feet of walking, the dark blurs began to clear, also since they were moving towards him. That's when he made them out. He was approached by three humanoids, much taller than him in stature and had a physique that someone in his race could never obtain. They had heads with short snouts and large bovine horns on their heads. Where their feet were supposed to be were instead by hoofs and they all had long tails with bushy tips. They all bore black fur and were clad in leather armor of the same tone. No one in Azeroth could mistake these things for anything other than tauren, humanoid bovines. But judging by the color of their fur and their display of smirks as a sign of aggression they were none other than members of the notorious Gimtotem Clan.
"Well, well, lookie here." The middle tauren spoke with a gruff voice. "We found ourselves a little elf. A very wealthy looking elf." He added, feeling the blade of his bulky hand-axe.
"Yea, I get that a lot." The traveler responded nonchalantly. "Listen, I don't have much to share for the moment so if you'd mind…" he began to go around the three black bovines, only to have his path abruptly blocked again.
"Well what's in the bag then?" Another tauren asked, his brown eyes fixated completely on the silken sack. "Mind if we have a look?"
The traveler furrowed his brow in annoyance before retorting, "Look I'm trying to get to Ashenvale. I don't have time for punks like you to look through my essentials. Now please…"
"Is that so?" The first tauren interjected. His smug grin had turned to an aggressive frown and the traveler could easily tell his muscles had tensed. "Well, let's say we just take it from you, over your dead body!" The tauren let out an aggressive grunt before swinging his axe horizontally towards the elf, but with unsurpassed grace and agility, the blow was avoided with a backward jump. At that point the two other tauren drew similar axes and began to approach the elfish traveler.
The traveler drew from behind his cape a large saber made of finely crafted steel that had been decorated with a red crest near the hilt with and the blade was the color of reddish orange, a color very notable to only one race in Azeroth.
"You just picked the wrong blood elf to annoy…" The elf growled and charged at the tauren, instantly with incredible speed blocked and incoming blow and kicked the large bovine square in the stomach, causing him to fall to his knees in pain. "Sure you chaps won't reconsider?" He asked rather eloquently, holding the sword with both hands in a basic combat stance.
"To hell with that!" One of the two remaining standing tauren yelled and with a mighty heavy swung the axe at the elf. But just as the axe was about to strike, the weapon was flung out if his hand by an unseen force. In disbelief the bamboozled tauren looked down at his axe and then towards the elf.
"Surprised?" The elf asked raising a brow. Just then he forcefully thrust his palm towards the tauren and a bright flash dropped from the heavens and seemed to strike the tauren down as if he was hit by a boulder. The bovine then lay motionless on the ground.
"He's a frigging paladin!" The leader of the tauren bandits exclaimed upon realizing what just occurred.
The elf grinned daringly at those words. Paladins were warriors bestowed with the powers of the Light, a magical force controlled by the mystical naaru. However, the green glow of this particular elf's eyes added with a weapon consisting of the colors red and orange revealed what his true race was. A blood elf, a survivor of the destruction of the high elf city Silvermoon. Due to their disbandment from the ranks of the Alliance, these once immortal humanoids sided with the Horde in hopes of bettering their chances for survival. Blood elves were well known for being ruthless and unforgiving to anyone who opposed them. The young elf though seeming confident, held deep thoughts of loathe to the foolish bandits who stood against him.
The other tauren who had recovered from the kick to his stomach got up and attempted to grab the much smaller elf from behind, but due to blood elves being two heads shorter to male tauren, it was avoided and in retaliation the blood elf slammed the blunt side of his weapon right into the bovine humanoid's crotch.
"You honestly gotta reconsider next time mate." The blood elf quipped before turning his attention to the bandits' leader. "Let's say we call it a draw and I'll let you and your buddy flee while you're still breathing?" He asked with a hint of arrogance in his voice. "And while he can still have little…"
"Cut the crap!" The enraged tauren roared. "Elf or not, you're dead meat!" he charged towards the elf and did a mighty downward swipe towards the lithe traveler who effortlessly dodged the incoming attack. A tauren had enough strength to smash the likes of elves with a single strike, but their strength came at the price of rendering them slower and clumsier.
Just as the blood elf was prepared for a counterattack, the tauren suddenly wailed in pain. The elf looked to the side to see something big and white pulling on the hapless bandit's tail. The tauren looked back and saw what was yanking forcefully onto his long tail. A white plainstrider, a type of bipedal flightless species of birds found mostly throughout The Barrens was forcefully biting down and pulling on the tauren's tail. The beast had been able to draw blood, but it did little to hurt the tauren any longer as he pulled his tail back from the bird and began to retaliate, but in an instant the bovine stopped dead in his tracks.
Before the elven traveler could figure out what just had occurred, the tauren bandit fell down on his back, the massive bulk of his body managing to shake the earth. The elf looked down on the body and noticed a rugged arrow sticking out of the tauren's chest, one too large for any normal bowman to use. The length of the arrow was around three feet and four inches long and the pole was about a centimeter and a half wide.
"Squatt!"
The elf looked up from the tauren corpse to see another large silhouette, unmistakably it was one of a tauren as well. This tauren unlike the ones that had attacked him was more white and grayish around his face and the only signs of black were on top of his head, forming a thick mane. This tauren was clad also in leather armor, his broad chest guarded by a tanned brown leather coated chest plate, which showed signs of wear. His shoulders were guarded by thick leather pads which also showed signs of wear, probably having seen a few years of usage. He wore blue toned pants, which were sown sloppily shut from the sides. A pair of leather gloves were adorned on his robust three-fingered arms which seemed to have seen less years than the rest of his armor. Very notable features of this tauren was a short strand of fur under his chin, much like a short beard and his right horn seemed to have been cut off, the dimness however made it hard to tell how long ago. The tauren carried an incredibly large club, one made of fine wood which had been charred on the surface and a large block of iron was attached to its tip, decorated with colorful ceremonial beads and rings. The large bovine held a large bow, also fine craftsmanship and carved with shamanistic markings, something the spiritual tauren were very revered of.
The tauren ran up to the plainstrider and stood beside it, "Squatt, how many times have I told you never to run off like that?" He spoke sternly to the bipedal bird, indicating he was its master, so that only strengthened the realization of this tauren being an experienced hunter, warriors of the wild who could tame the great beasts of nature into their loyal companions.
"It's alright. He did a pretty good job with that bandit." The elf spoke with a glance towards the killed tauren bandit. He next turned his attention to the only bandit left alive who was glaring furiously towards the elf and tauren. "I suggest you scram before you'll loose more than your family jewels chap."
The Grimtotem bandit growled in anger before he slowly ran off, the last injury proving it difficult. The elf sheathed his sword and looked back at the tauren hunter.
"I could have handled them myself, but I appreciate the help." He extended a hand. "I'm Joras Sunbreeze, nice to meet you."
The tauren looked at the elf before lightly grabbing onto his hand and nodded, "Daekken Cliffstomper.", to which the elf acknowledged with a nod. "What's a blood elf doing in these parts of Azeroth if you don't mind me asking?"
The blood elf Joras picked up the silken bag he'd dropped during the scuffle and shrugged, "Heading for Ashenvale. I'm trying to find someone to sell some off this loot I'd found. I would have flown otherwise, but they were out of wyverns back at Shadowprey."
The tauren Daekken nodded understandingly. "I'm just here for the thrill of the hunt, and to be close to nature." he spoke, looking around the ruined landscape. "But it seems the blessings of the Earth Mother were marred here."
"Indeed. Wretched Venture Company…" Joras spat, referring to the illegal foresting and mining corporation which had done much damage around Azeroth, the homeland of the tauren being one of the unfortunate ones. Recently he'd heard the Venture Co. had bee chased out of the grassy plains of Mulgore by mutual agreement of the Orish Warchief Thrall and the chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof of the tauren. "I come as I go, looking for adventure, trying to find my purpose."
Daekken chuckled heartily before placing his bow around his broad shoulders. "I can relate."
"Daekken!" The two heard a voice from afar, though bit low in pitch, it sounded very much female.
Another, much slimmer silhouette came running from afar, occasionally stumbling on a root or even a stone. By the time the newcomer was close enough to be identified, she tripped and fell face forward on the ground. Daekken sighed from embarrassment, rubbing the back of his head, his pet Squatt looking at his master as if from sympathy. Joras looked down at the prostrated and possibly passed out person. She was a very sleek build, had purplish hair tied to a high ponytail, greenish skin and appeared to have only three fingers and only two toes and her feet were exceptionally long. It was easy to figure she was that of the Darkspear trolls, a group of shady and quick-witted humanoids loyal to the Horde. She was clad in what looked like a skirt and a leather top exposing her midsection decorated by shamanistic symbols. Other notable pieces of clothing were a pair of ritualistic leather bracers and a golden bracer worn around her left bicep. She appeared to be carrying a leather flask, the contents however unknown to him and a pair of maces fashioned to look like skulls were strapped onto her waist.
"Okay…" Joras spoke uneasily. "You know this passed out prostitute?" He asked raising a brow.
"Unfortunately I do." Daekken groaned in annoyance. "Her name's Valaj. I've been what you could say 'babysitting' her. The poor thing's absolutely helpless without someone to tag along with." He explained.
"So she's crocked isn't she?" Joras asked, the concept of seeing an actual alcoholic being rather new to him. Back in his home, the great city of Silvermoon, drunks and alcoholics were very rare. Blood elves often enjoy high class living, including the consumption of fine wines and such, but bar fights and passed out people on the city streets were very uncommon. They had been having troubles with the occasional drunk orc or troll, but never those of their own race, the Forsaken due to their lack of a need to drink and the tauren who were not known well for drinking.
"Exactly," Daekken confirmed with a nod. "She's been following me for days now, but I can't just abandon her, not like this…" He lifted the sleek troll on his shoulder and began to carry her. But before he had taken more than four steps he turned back to Joras. "You say you were heading for Ashenvale wasn't it?" He asked.
"That is affirmative." Joras replied as he checked the two killed tauren's persons for any money or possible items to sell.
"Why not join me? I've set camp just over that hill and I have some food, if you're interested." Daekken spoke.
Joras normally would have turned down such offers, preferring to travel in privacy, but the thought of getting some morsels was sounding very appealing at the time being. He hadn't eaten for a few days after arriving from Desolace since he was not much of a successful hunter or cook for that matter. The only source of nourishment he had was a half empty flask of moonberry juice, not anythin satisfying to a weary wanderer.
"Sure, why not?" Joras replied with a shrug. "I could use some company after a while." He concluded and willingly followed his new hospitable acquaintance.
-
Deep in the radiant streets of Exodar, the most unnaturally radiant realm ever seen on Azeroth, a lone draenei walks through the bustling streets of the gigantic dimensional ship, not willing to look around as the several fellow draenei interacted with each other and various other races of the Alliance. The particular draenei needn't look to figure the place had gradually begin to teem with humans, dwarves, gnomes and even night elves going through required business such as bartering, bidding at the local auction house for treasures found around the world so alien to the draenei.
The particular draenei was a hulking male, ones that had a body size almost comparable to the tauren and was clad in a bright suit of heavy armor, the shining environment making him appear as if he was glowing. His left eyes shone of white while the other was covered by a black eyepatch which also covered some signs of scars. Like most males, he had a head with forehead plates, his being rather large as when looked at from the front, they almost completely masked his pale brown hair which was kept tied in a long high ponytail. He also had two short tendrils on his chin, another trait very common to those of the draenei. Unlike most races that bore feet, the draenei, both male and female bore two-toed hooves and all draenei had short tails and a skin tone from different shades of blue to violet. The particular draenei's skin was a bright blue tone.
Females of the draenei were very different when compared to the males. They stood about a foot shorter, around the height of an adult female night elf, which was around seven feet. They were considered as graceful and elegant as elves, but the similarities ended with them having horn-like appendages on the sides of their head, all differing in length and shape.
The Exodar was very unusual in comparison to all other cities in Azeroth. The city itself had been constructed from the largest husk of the dimension traveling ship. After the ship's unexpected crash landing about six months ago the draenei onboard took the liberty of making it their permanent sanctuary on the alien world they now lived in. The ship's interior looked as if it had been made completely out of crystals, all shining in different shades of purple, blue and pure white. The Exodar had from then on been split into four different sectors which served different social activities such as bartering, living and religion.
The draenei continued to walk briskly through the crowds of people, many stepping aside upon realization of his rank. As if a holy energy emanated from this particular being more intensely than most others. Also the large weapon he carried on his back was proof of his position in the draenei civilization. It was a long mace, one with a bluish-green pole-handle and many sharp crystals that glowed a mysterious purple shine were attached to the very tip of the pole by a metallic ring. Only the high ranking draenei paladins were issued with weapons such as that.
He continued on until he reached his destination, the Vault of Lights, the residence of the ones in charge of all the draenei along with the holy priests and paladins. Upon entering the most intact chamber of Exodar, the lone paladin was greeted by a single female draenei, a high ranking priestess in a pure white robe. The paladin knelt before her in respect.
"It's a pleasure to see you again captain Gilgatt." The priestess spoke, "You may stand."
"The Divine summoned me," Gilgatt replied as he stood back up. "What may be of his concern?"
"Alas I'm afraid you will have to leave the sanctuary for a mission of utmost importance my dear friend." The priestess spoke authoritatively. "It had come to our attention regarding our enemies."
Gilgatt's eyes furrowed upon the priestess' words. "You mean the Legion?" He gasped.
"Not exactly. It's those blood elves." the priestess spoke bitterly. "We need to find out how those filthy scums have gained the very power the naaru offered us so long ago. We are short on manpower due to our activities on Draenor, so the high council has wished for your aid in this alleged mystery."
Gilgatt bowed in response. "It will be my honor. For the Divine and for the naaru."
"We have arranged transportation to Darkshore. You must travel to the Eastern Kingdoms and log any information you come across. I advise you approach the very land of Quel'thalas, since that is where those heathens dwell as I'm sure you know." The priestess instructed.
"Of course," Gilgatt replied strongly. "I will carry out my duties and I won't return until they're fulfilled." Gilgatt turned to leave.
"Wait." The priestess interjected. "We do not doubt your power Gilgatt, but not even you can make it all the way to Quel'thalas by yourself." The priestess explained sincerely. "Our allies have however taken note of a certain warrior of our allies who will be very much of use to us." Just then the priestess held out a scroll to Gilgatt who took it instantly. "This is an official order of the council to assist you Gilgatt. His current location has been identified as the Ashenvale forest. Once you arrive at Darkshore, we want you to head straight for Ashenvale and find this warrior."
Gilgatt scoffed at the thought, but as an honorary guardian of the Divine himself, he had no choice but to comply. "So who is this warrior?"
"Rumors say he's one of the most powerful fighters in all of Azeroth. Sources indicate he's slain hundreds of lives of beasts, demons and the Horde alike. He goes by the name of Joldis Deathscythe, he's a night elf warrior who supposedly wields one of the most powerful weapons on Azeroth. A typical vagabond if you may." The priestess explained, but instantly noticed the look of disbelief on Gilgatt's face. "Something wrong Captain?"
"You're saying I need to seek help from a night elf?!" Gilgatt retorted furiously. "We can't just go up and place our trust in them! They don't even appreciate the…"
"Captain Gilgatt!" The priestess snapped. "We have been through this conversation before! The night elves may not bow to the Holy Light, but we must accept them and all others as our allies and companions if we're ever to permanently wipe out the Legion. They were the first to introduce us to the Alliance and we must respect that deed! Now go and seek out sir Deathscythe unless you want the council to hear of this!" The priestess said threateningly.
Gilgatt growled silently in contempt, but honorably bowed his head, "My apologies. I will be off now."
The priestess nodded in satisfaction, "May the Light be with you captain."
Gilgatt nodded gratefully and began to head for the exit to the surface of Azeroth. However, as soon as he'd left the Vault of Lights, he began to grimace from the additional orders he was just assigned with by the council.
"This is outrageous…" He thought as he angrily tread through Exodar's streets once again. "I simply don't understand the point of allying ourselves with those who don't wish for the sanctity of the Light." Doing his best to control his anger, he looked down on the ground so that his fellow people wouldn't catch one of their captains behaving unorthodox to the draeneis' vows. "I'll accept their orders for now, but once I return from this mission of exposing those fiendish blood elves' ambitions, those not trusting the Light will also suffer greatly…"
-
Joras yawned tiredly as he sat leaning onto the mountain's wall. The warmth of fire had miraculously relaxed him as he was frying a small piece of meat on the end of a stick, which was supplied by his new tauren acquaintance Daekken who sat left to the fire, busy cutting pieces of meat for his pet Squatt. Opposite of Daekken laid the still passed out troll girl Valaj, who had been out cold during the entire stroll to Daekken's set-up camp.
It was very uncommon for Joras to be camping with anyone. This was one of few exceptions regarding he had almost no money or essential resources. He took a quick glance at his piece of meat to see if it was cooked enough, but it still showed several signs of red. He popped the cork of his flask and took a big gulp of moonberry juice and carried on being silent.
Daekken tossed a handful of chopped bits of meat to Squatt who instantly began feasting on them. The tauren in turn saved a small piece for himself and began cooking it on the end of a stick. Both stayed silent for a short while until they heard groaning. They both looked at Valaj who had began to turn in her sleep. The troll's eyes weakly fluttered open. She had a really young face with no scars, wrinkles or gashes anywhere and her tusks were very small compared to most female trolls. Her tusks barely managed to protrude from her mouth.
Valaj groaned as she tried getting up from the ground, but felt too drowsy to do so and fell back on the ground. "Ugh… ma noggin…"
As soon as Squatt noticed movement in Valaj, he began to squawk at her and furiously flutter its vestigial wings. Daekken took a light hold of the bird's lower neck, which instantly calmed it down, earning an impressed glance from Joras who wasn't very keen on the bond between a hunter and their pets.
"What got into him?" Joras asked raising a brow and at the same moment checked up on his meat, which had become completely dark brown. He shed off his armored gloves and finally took a bite out of the meat.
Daekken chuckled at the thought, "Would you believe she thought Squatt was lunch?" He asked as he once again had to restrain the angry Squatt from attacking Valaj.
Joras snickered a tad before fully swallowing the thought piece meat. "That would be a good enough reason as any." He commented before taking another bite.
Just then Valaj began to look seriously ill as her face turned even greener than it naturally was. In an instant the troll hopped on all fours and threw up on the rocky ground, eliciting a disgusted groan from Joras who began to lose his appetite. Daekken in turn sighed having to put up with the troll in the first place. After another shorter hurl, the troll went into a coughing fit before finally stopping and sat up back straight.
Valaj spat some remaining bile in her mouth before drowsily looking up at Daekken. "Hey Daekken… w'ere are we?" She spoke in the common Trollish accent.
"Stonetalon Mountains." Daekken promptly replied as he checked up on his helping of food. "We came here just two days ago or did you already forget?"
"I t'ink so…" Valaj replied in a zoned out manner. "But mon, dat wa' some crazy dream…"
"And it would be best you not go into details…" Joras blurted abruptly before biting off a larger piece of his helping.
"Oh, Joras, you should probably be wary of Valaj…" Daekken suddenly spoke almost gravely.
"What? I'm supposed to be scared of a hung-over prostitute?" Joras asked nonchalantly.
"Well, I ain't exactly a prostitute, but you can call me dat." The two men heard the troll say, causing Joras to spit a mouthful of meat right into the campfire dumbstruck. He worriedly glanced at the troll woman, who seemed to be giving him the eye.
In an instant Joras scooted next to Daekken and sharply whispered, "If I make it through this Daekken, you're so going to owe me for putting up with that!"
"That's what I was trying to warn you about." Daekken replied calmly. "Valaj has this habit when it comes to men…" His words made Joras want to make a run for it.
"By 'habit', what do you mean?" Joras asked uneasily, taking another frightened glance towards the troll who continued to leer at him. Daekken whispered something into his ear, which made Joras look up at the tauren in horror. "You mean…" Daekken nodded sadly. Joras tensed up as he carefully scooted over to his possessions. "You're really going to owe me…" He warned jerking a finger at Daekken before he eventually calmed down, avoiding any eye contact with Valaj.
"So what's a handsom' guy like you doin' all da way out 'ere?" Valaj asked with interest.
"That is none of your business." Joras replied sternly before finishing his meal and tossing the stick into the fire. He once again popped open his flask and took a swig to help wash it down.
"Are you single?" Valaj asked again.
"That too is none of your business." Joras replied more sternly while putting his gloves back on, looking through them for any serious structural damage.
"Are you a virgin?" Valaj asked yet again, eliciting an exasperated growl and wince from Joras.
"Don't you ever shut up wench?" Joras asked deeply annoyed as he looked over the rest of his equipment and personals.
"Umm, lessee… nope?" Valaj asked teasingly and winked, instantly finding a sword pointed at her face, but it didn't even make her budge. On the other end of the sword was an enraged blood elf whose eyes began to glow darker from his anger.
"If you don't stop asking me pointless questions about my personal information, winking at me, leering at me and if you even think of approaching me like that, I swear I'll cut you in two!" Joras roared furiously.
"Well I'm t'inking about it now…" Valaj admitted sheepishly.
"Tell me, do you have magical properties?" Joras asked with a malevolent grin.
"Yea," The troll replied absentmindedly, something Joras wasn't expecting from such a lowly individual, but was grateful for that as he pointed his palm towards Valaj. Valaj raised a brow before a blue stream of energy shot out from her body and became sucked into Joras's palm. In an instant the troll was once again unconscious.
Daekken having experienced such a feat seldom raised a brow in surprise. "Did you just drain her magic?" He asked.
"Yes, but don't worry. She should wake up in a short period of time." Joras assured as he felt the energy course through his elven veins. "Besides, I got her to shut up and I can last a while now." Joras mentioned, referring to the very curse all blood elves carried: the arcane addiction.
Ever since the destruction of the high elf city of Silvermoon and the Sunwell, the very core of the elves' power by the undead Scourge, all of the elves had become addicted to the mystical well's powers. To this very day the blood elves tended to keep their addiction in check by draining magical properties from other sources, one which includes other people with magical powers. Just then Joras decided to bring up an interesting question.
"Tell me Daekken, how is it that some lowly washed-up prostitute could possess magical properties?" He felt the surge in his body disappear at last. "And in such a large scale…"
"I guess the markings didn't tell you anything?" Daekken chortled amusedly. "Don't you see the runes on her bracelets and garments?" He asked pointing at Valaj.
Joras looked closer now that the flirtatious troll was incapacitated and not to mention unconscious. He took note of some elegantly carved symbols and markings expertly carved into her leather bracelets and the golden bracer around her bicep. Also her top was decorated by various ancient markings, some of them seeming familiar. He then took a glance at the two skull-shaped clubs Valaj carried on her belt. The skulls themselves were also filled with the same kind of carvings.
"You're not saying this slut's a shaman are you?" Joras asked dumbfounded of his realization and the answer to why he was able to drain magic from Valaj in the first place.
Daekken nodded before answering, "It's true. You mustn't forget we tauren also practice shamanism. I could tell if a person is a shaman without even looking." He claimed non-boastingly, giving the impression of being a very sincere person.
"Figures," Joras murmured. He carried on inspecting his sword. So far it had some dried bloodstains and the blade had begun to feel sticky from use, indicating that he'd have to have it cleaned eventually.
Daekken in turn began to look up into the darkened sky in thought. It didn't take long for Joras to discover the lack of activity and looked up at the tauren hunter.
"Something on your mind?" He asked curiously.
"Not really," Daekken replied. "Just looking at the stars."
"Right," Joras nodded, "I do that too. Ever since my parents died."
"The feeling is mutual my friend." Daekken responded sympathetically. "I lost my family to the centaur when I was only a child. But I know their spirits are always with me. I'm never alone even in the most barren, most distant places in all of Azeroth."
"Well good for you…" Joras replied tiredly. "You think my family's around me?"
"Most certainly Joras." Daekken replied glancing at Joras.
Joras looked up into the sky himself, thinking back to the prosperous age of his people, back before he was even fully matured. He remembered how the infernal Scourge invaded the beautiful city of Silvermoon and began to maul and rip apart any elf that got in their way. It was like a tidal wave of death that swept across Quel'thalas. The forests began to wither and rot, the air smelled of rotting flesh and blood that day. Joras was left all alone to flee from the merciless monsters that had torn his parents into shreds. As soon as the Scourge entered Silvermoon, disaster struck as the giant explosion engulfed the city, incinerating all within its walls. Less than eighty percent of the entire high elven population survived the onslaught. The elves eventually prevailed from the return of Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider, who ordered the forests of Quel'thalas burned in order to stop the spread of the undead Plague. That was when the high elves, now with only a fragment of its former glory became known as the blood elves after the death of almost all of their people.
The blood elves remained loyal to the Alliance and regrouped in the magis city of Dalaran to aid in fighting off the Scourge, but due to the vast number of the undead legions, the elves had no choice but to ally themselves with the naga led by Lady Vashj. That was enough to light the sparks of hatred as the humans imprisoned the entire blood elven civilization and were ordered to be executed. The naga in retaliation freed the elves and led them to safety in the torn world of Outland. That was the time the blood elves swore allegiance to their new master who promised them a new source of energy to feed their arcane addiction. This new master was a half-demon Illidan Stormrage, known also as the Betrayer.
With the majority of the blood elves leaving off into the vast interdimensional world of Outland, the rest returned to Azeroth. But now with the Alliance shunning them for their new allegiance to Illidan and his naga, the blood elves looked to the Horde to ensue their survival and perhaps with it's help they could rejoin their Prince in Outland one day.
However, the Horde was not fully convinced whether to allow the blood elves to become part of the Horde or not. The orcs, trolls and tauren in particular were quite wary despite the orcs understanding of hardships, something which their race had gone through for generations. The tauren, despite their beliefs in all living things deserving their chances, were appalled on the blood elves resort of draining magic from other living things. The trolls of course being wary of all they're not too familiar with regarded the blood elves as trustworthy as the Forsaken who they don't fully trust even to this day. The Forsaken were the only faction fully approving the blood elves due to their mutual nemesis the Scourge which they fought regularly in their own homelands and due to the fact of their Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner having been a high elf herself before joining the ranks of the undead.
That was when Joras's big chance in redeeming himself arrived. Joras was among many adventurers who aided the Forsaken in wiping out the Scourge from the burned portion of Quel'thalas, known today as the Ghostlands. The Scourge in that part of Azeroth was led by the undead elven mage Dar'khan, a traitor to the high elven race who led the Lich King's forces into Silvermoon City. Joras took the liberty of joining a diverse group of fighters bent on slaying Dar'khan to bring his deeds to justice. Upon infiltrating the lair of Dar'khan, they were almost immediately ambushed by the Scourge. They all fought valiantly for their lives, their people and their hopes, vanquishing the rotting legions of the dead. Many fell in the first struggle, but it left the lair almost devoid of any other forces. Or so it had seemed on the outside. As they did a precautionary sweep of the area while rescuing a few captives from the clutches of the Lich King's Cult of the Damned, they weren't prepared for the second wave of attack which came from the numerous necromancers positioned all around Dar'khan's tower. Many more fell in the struggle, a few being saved even from death itself by the few paladins brought along which included Joras. However, the magic required to awaken the recently passed took a large toll on them. The final assault was finally made as the adventurers barged into Dar'khan's tower. The moment they laid eyes on the former archmage, the first frontline combatants were immediately dispatched and before anything could be done, the wretched necromancer brought them back as a new addition to the Scourge and laughed as the adventurers fought off against their former comrades. The biggest body count had come from that as Dar'khan could hardly be touched with his mindless undead puppets protecting him from the approaching fighters. It was beginning to look vain, until Joras was finally within strike range of Dar'khan. While the rest of his fellow adventurers were preoccupied with keeping the Scourge at bay, Joras was left to fight against the wicked necromancer alone. Dar'khan's shadow magic, despite Joras having the power of the naaru surging through his body, proved almost unstoppable for the paladin until Joras was capable of shielding himself from Dar'khan with a shielding spell. Dar'khan however had remained as overconfident as he was back then when he was among the living, and was sure to finish Joras off with a more concentrated blast of shadowbolts, which he had no troubles performing due to his undead minions keeping the remaining fighters at bay. Just then Joras found the chance to utilize a power the blood elves had learned from utilizing their need to drain magic. Blood elves also possessed the skill to expel magical energies from their body, thus interfering other beings' magical powers in the process. That was just enough time for Joras to go on the offensive as he performed several complex sword strikes that Dar'khn had trouble defending against. Eventually Joras prevailed by decapitating the traitor. That was when Joras finally got a chance to take a breather before forcefully gripping Dar'khan's severed head and began an arduous hike back to Silvermoon City with the remainder of his fellow adventurers in tow.
After the long and painful march to Silvermoon City, Joras went and presented Dar'khan's head to Regent Lor'themar Theron, the leader of the blood elves living in Azeroth. Shortly after Joras's time of recovery, he was presented with the task of aiding the blood elves in becoming fulltime allies to the Horde. He along with the remaining individuals that survived the attack on Dar'khan's lair first however had to get the approval of their closest allies', the Forsaken, leader Sylvanas Windrunner. It was that time when Joras finally met the Banshee Queen, who unbeknownst to most had once been an old friend of Joras back when Sylvanas was leading the Silvermoon City Farstriders. Despite her seemingly cold disposition, a pendant Joras had found when battling the minor Scourge minions seemed to have a powerful effect on her. That was when Sylvanas for the first time showed a compassionate side during the long years of being among the undead. Her approval was obtained and then came the next stop, the Orcish city of Orgrimmar. The Warchief was indeed impressed from the feats accomplished by Joras and his band of adventurers. By just crumpling the declaration for the allegiance and saying, "Welcome to the Horde!" it was done.
Upon the triumphant return to Silvermoon City once again, the joyous news raising the hopes of Silvermoon's civilians. In an expression of gratitude, Regent Theron wished to promote Joras into the high ranks of the Blood Knight faction for his help in joining the blood elves to the Horde, but Joras gratefully turned it down. Instead he'd wished his companions were praised, his reasons being that he didn't feel as though he'd been redeemed yet. With that, Joras went on his way to wander Azeroth, hoping to one day have his sins forever forgiven…
"Something wrong?" Daekken asked, snapping Joras from his deep thoughts.
"No. I was just reminiscing." Joras simply replied before taking another gulp of moonberry juice. "I guess thoughts turn deep when you're tired." He said assumedly.
"That is true." Daekken nodded. "I myself however haven't spent much time sleeping at any time in my life. It's a hunter's requirement to remain wary and vigilant in the wilderness. Only when among civilization do I allow myself to sleep as deep as I possibly could. Out here in Earth Mother's realm, most of my resting time is spent in reminisce…" He patted Squatt who had sat next to him affectionately. "Me and Squatt always take turns in guard duty every night."
"Well, I suppose I myself will call it a day." Joras announced as he leaned next to the mountain's wall and pulled his headband over his eyes. "Wake me if anything happens, Daekken." He informed before falling asleep with his sword held tightly over his lap.
Daekken continued looking up at the darkened sky, deep in thought. He occasionally stopped to tend to the camp fire which was the only source of warmth and light for that night below the stars. He made sure once more that his large mace was close to him at all times, him being the first line of defense should anything attack them in the night. Just then a rush of wind blew over the valley. The wind wasn't strong enough to blow out the campfire, but it was enough to make Daekken feel a chill through his thick fur.
"The spirits seem restless." He thought. "I sense an omen…"
-
Gilgatt had at last arrived in the night elven city of Auberdine in the shores of Darkshore. A duo of female night elf guards saluted the draenei with respect, but Gilgatt took little interest to it as he proudly walked past them, his armor casting a dim glow under the moonlight.
His mission now, no matter how repulsive, was to please the Divine, even if it meant a temporary allegiance with the infamous night elf warrior Joldis Deathscythe. He looked at the scroll given to him by the priestess, which happened to contain a picture description of the night elf. The picture gave him the impression of any night elf he'd seen during his stay on the alien world of Azeroth.
"Once this foolishness is over, it will be their time to pay for turning down the Light…" He thought bitterly, all of a sudden a rush of wind blowing through the small town, making his long hair sway in its currents.
-
She felt the sudden rush of wind even through the thick vegetation of Ashenvale Forest. It was felt through her bright red hair, which swayed elegantly in its currents. Looking off into the horizon from atop the guard tower of Splintertree Post, she breathed in deep, closing her eyes in thought. She looked up into the darkened skies.
"Are you drawing close, Joras?" She whispered softly, looking at the silver ring worn on her right arm's middle finger. She brought her other hand to here heart in anticipation of seeing the one she thought of every day.
She then looked down next to her to the radiantly colored beast sleeping next to her. The body of a serpent, the head of a dragon and large bright wings with a body tone of bright orange was the best way to describe the creature. She gently pat the creature on the head in affection, earning a happy purr-like response form the snoozing creature.
"I just know I'll see you soon my love. I just know it." She thought and continued staring at the star filled night sky.
-
Deeper in the forests of Ashenvale, a lone man sits under a makeshift tent made of old ragged hides and a few worn sticks. He looked into the area just over the river. It was the dreaded realm known today as Felfire Hill, one of the many areas in Azeroth still contaminated by the corruption of the Burning Legion due to their lost remnants residing there. For three days this man had been sitting and waiting, occasionally sneaking past the enemy lines to see what the demons in the hellish woods were up to. Up to now he'd seen their activities growing hasty. Several Infernals had been recorded to be produced up the Felfire Hill, likely the work of the head honcho demon who resided within.
He continued keeping a close eye on the random demons moving through the area, spotting several Fel Guards, Succubi, Fel Hounds and tons of Infernals, undoubtedly freshly made. At the same time he sharpened a finely crafted dagger, one with a golden hilt and a curved blade, a weapon perfect for causing grieving wounds with a single slash. He'd occasionally by accident cut into his finger, but it did little to bother him, seeing as his fingers were nothing more than bone, having taken the impression of claws.
All of a sudden he felt the ground beneath him shake. In an instant his tent was demolished as a gigantic axe came down upon it, leaving nothing but torn leather and snapped poles. The man drew a second dagger from a sheath on his back before turning to face his assailant. It was a large bulking humanoid that had dark blue skin and stood several meters taller than the person it was attacking. It's legs and left arm were covered in bulky plate armor and on its head it wore a large, spiked helmet only a creature of its size could wear. These characteristics made it identified as a Fel Guard, common forces of the Burning Legion which were feared for their ferocity and brute strength.
The Fel Guard brought its axe down again, but the man quickly sidestepped it. In retaliation the man in one swift motion took a long piece of garrote string and wrapped it around the demon's wrist, greenish demonic blood instantly bursting from the Fel Guard. The demon let out a furious roar and swung with a horizontal sweep, but the man merely hopped over it. The strain however forced the garrote string embedded in the demon's wrist to draw more blood as it sunk deeper into its flesh.
Now with the perfect opening, the man hopped and drove one of his daggers under the demon's helmet, staining its head along with his dagger and bony fingers in green blood. The demon shook and attempted to continue its assault, but the damage to its brain was grave enough and the demon died within seconds.
The man yanked his once shiny dagger from the demon's skull and looked down on it, the gore not doing as much as making him feel sick. He then looked back into Felfire Hill, now feeling that the Warchief's expectations were not false at all.
"Hmm, those things are really gonna go through with it aren't they?" He wondered. He sheated his daggers and began treading to Splintertree Post where he was to report of the demons' activities. "If those things attack now, it could lead to the Legion returning once again to Azeroth. I gotta prevent it before it's too late." He thought determinedly.
-
A/N: Well that's my first installment for WoW: Journey to the Light. I know this first chapter felt kinda stale, but it will get better. I mean, don't all of my works have that habit? Anyway, I haven't been that active this time around now that I'm in high school and I'm also in the middle of a 'character creating contest' in deviant art. This from now on will be my side project, so Heart of Darkness is just going to have to be postponed for now. Hope you fantasy nuts will enjoy this as much as I did writing it. Keep on rocking!