It had been so different on the way to battle that it was hard to believe that it was the same group of soldiers. Many of them had been laughing, boasting how many demons they planned to slay. They had all known it was going to be a deadly mission for a great number of them, but it had somehow seemed as if it would work out.
It always had in the past.
This time had been very different.
I am going to kill that goblin. I am going to throw her off the side of the ship the first chance I get.
The thought and the vision it invoked gave the young sin'dorei huntress a sort of dark satisfaction, the first that she had gotten in hours. It quickly passed as the wooden wall that she was leaning up against creaked and moaned again. She tensed and listened, and noticed a few others doing so as well. The ship heaved portside before righting itself, and after a few seconds it was obvious that it was only the violent waves.
The words that the idiot goblin had blurted out only an hour after their retreat echoed in her ears.
"They're gonna follow us! We're sitting ducks out here! This ship doesn't even have enough cannons!"
It had been a thought that, strangely, had not really occurred to Belidora before then, but now it was a thought that would not go away. Every time the ship moaned or shifted, she tensed. The waters were much more violent than they had been on the journey to the Broken Isles. Even Azeroth itself seemed to be aware of their failure and the disaster it would allow.
The goblin had eventually been shut up by an especially large orc warrior. She did not know his name for certain, but she heard another call him Darthgrom. It was an odd name, but seemed to fit him, with the large scars running down both sides of his face. He had stomped his way across the floor and shook the small girl, stooping to snarl something in her face. The goblins eyes had grown large and she wordlessly nodded until the orc had let her go.
Belidora let out a sigh, forcing herself to sit up straighter and lean against the wood. She reached down and held her side, sighing as she felt the wet stickiness of blood. It had seeped through the bandage. The sensation of something dripping down her forehead told her the bandage for the wound there had leaked through as well. She would have to change them soon.
They had all been told brusquely to bandage their wounds as well as they could so the healers could focus on more pressing cases. She glanced toward the front of the ship, where the more grievously wounded lay. Next to them a Forsaken priest and a troll shaman worked, silently for the most part, only occasionally speaking to each other in hushed tones. They went from one unconscious soldier to the next, obviously trying a great number of different spells.
Many of those at the front of the ship would die. She had seen enough injuries similar to theirs to know that fact. No healer on Azeroth could fix some things.
She closed her eyes and reached over, stroking the fur of the wolf that had been her companion for the better part of a year now. It was massive, one of the frostwolves that the orcish clan had taken their name from. She had managed to tame one while exploring the odd world of Draenor, and it had been her fierce protector since then. Now the she-wolf lay by her side with its massive head on her knees, its breathing steady as if asleep, but the elf could see its eyes watching the other soldiers as they paced around the cabin
A cough followed by a sickly sounding moan came from a cordoned off room. The door had been shut the entire time since they had gotten back to the ship, but it was obvious that that was where most of the healers were. They were doubtlessly trying to save the Warchief.
"What is taking them so long?" a voice sighed in Thalassian. "He should be fine by now."
Belidora looked up to see a quite beautiful mage, dressed in light blue. Her black hair was the same onyx color as Belidora's, but over her shoulder in a long braid instead of cropped short. She remembered seeing her as they crowded onto the ship in Orgrimmar, and in truth had probably seen her in Silvermoon as well, although she had never spoken to her. Really the only thing she could remember about her was the distaste she seemed to show for even being on the ship in the first place. Her name was Liralina, she believed.
"The Warchief's injury is . . . pretty bad," Belidora answered back in her native tongue. She looked to her left at the troll huntress that had been sitting there silently the entire time, hoping that she did not understand. She showed no reaction, so that was good.
"He's a troll! They grow back entire limbs," the mage snapped back. "We've tried killing them for centuries, remember?"
"The Darkspear are . . . different, I guess," Belidora said tiredly. "Vol'jin is in really bad shape. I'm sure they're trying . . ."
"We need the healers out here. They are wasting their time if he is going to die. We need help too or even more people will die."
The other elf's voice was loud, and it rattled in the girl's already aching head. Mages are all the same, Belidora thought. The words tumbled out of the huntress's mouth before she could stop them. "What do you care? You were complaining that it was hot and crowded the entire way here. Look! Not crowded anymore! Happy?"
She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips as she realized how true they were. The ship had been packed full on the trip there. Now, even with the survivors from the other vessels, it was barely a quarter the number.
The mage looked initially chastised, but then narrowed her eyes at her and walked closer. Belidora sighed and looked down at the floor, not wanting the conversation to continue, until she noticed that the words the mage was muttering were not ordinary words. She looked up quickly and saw the frost begin to form between the woman's fingers. It was a weak spell, but it would still be painful. She shut her eyes tight and waited for the sudden shock.
"Hey!" a gutteral voice snapped. It was Darthgrom again. He walked over to them, arms crossed. "No fighting, you fools. And be quiet. There are injured here that need to rest. Whichever of you starts this again, I will break your jaw. Understood."
The mage huffed. "You can't threaten me."
"I believe I just did," he answered coldly. "Get away from the wounded. What kind of coward threatens an injured ally over an argument? Go. Sit down."
Liralina sighed and stormed off. Belidora watched her go, suddenly feeling much colder. It was almost as if the spell had been cast anyway. The orc stood in front of her, but she kept her eye level at his knees.
"And you. You shouldn't pick fights you can't win. And keep your voice down. None of us are enjoying this situation, and your yelling is not helping," he said shortly, then turned away.
She started to protest her innocence, but decided against it. Others from across the room were staring at her, including some of the other sin'dorei, who obviously knew what she had said in anger. She kept her eyes on her wolf, refusing to meet their gazes. She reached down and stroked her white fur again. She hated most mages, had for most of her life. They had always been afforded opportunities that were outside of her reach.
A hand clasped her shoulder suddenly and she jumped. It pulled away. She looked over and saw the troll that had been sitting next to her looking down at her seriously. She was much taller than the elf, with wild red hair and golden eyes.
"What were ju talkin' 'bout?" she asked.
"Nothing important."
"Lia'. Ju were talkin' 'bout da Warchief. Vol'jin. I heard dat much," the troll replied, looking back down at her bow. It was quite ornate and had obviously seen a lot of use. "What did ju say?"
Belidora looked away, not answering. The troll watched her for quite some time, then set her bow down and reached over, stroking her own pet. It was a white nightsaber, sleeping peacefully on the wooden floor.
"Your pet is beautiful," the elf said gently, desperate to break the silence.
The troll looked back at her, narrowing her eyes. "Ju didn't answer my question."
"I . . . I hope the Warchief is okay. I really do. I just don't understand."
"Unda'stand what?"
"Shouldn't he have healed by now? That's what you trolls do."
"Dere be limits to everyt'ing, little one," the troll sighed. "We not be invincible. Not even him." The troll's face darkened as she spoke, and she picked up her bow again, thumbing the feathers attached to the side of it. "His fadda' died. We all die some time." The lines on her forehead betrayed her pain.
Belidora sighed. "I'm sorry. He's your chieftain. I know it must be . . . difficult."
"I know him very well," the troll said quietly. "If death does claim 'im, I will make sure dat it claims da demons who did dis as well."
"You might have to wait in line for that."
The troll smiled, the first time Belidora had seen it, although it was a sad smile. "Dere will be plenty for all of us. I'm Tikhuna of da Darkspea'. Who you be?"
"Belidora of Silvermoon, I guess."
"Ya a hunter, like me. Ya not dressed as a ranger though."
"I'm not one. They don't let people like me into the Farstriders."
The troll shrugged. "Dat's okay. Ya still fight for da Horde. Good enough."
The door to the room opened with a creak, and both of them turned their attention that way. A teal skinned orc stepped out, followed by a sin'dorei priestess. They turned and spoke to a figure blocking the view inside of the door. It was Baine Bloodhoof, the young chieftain of the Tauren. He looked both angry and scared, but he whispered curt orders to both of them before closing the door again. The two healers exchanged a look and then went to the wounded.
The orc walked over to the two of them and knelt down. Belidora smiled weakly as he got close enough for her to recognize. "Hello, Phogrim. How is . . . The Warchief doing?"
He sighed and lifted up her chin with his hand. He was massive, even larger than Darthgrom, and would have made a fine warrior. He may have been one at one time. Now he was a skilled shaman, and the only orc that Belidora actually believed to be her friend. His demeanor was off, though. He was usually cheerful and funny, but his face bore only a cold, almost angry stare.
He ignored the question. "Let us get those bandages off. They aren't doing anything at this point, anyway," he said quietly, hooking a nail under between the bandage and the skin and pulling it off gently. The blood was pulled through her dark hair, but at least it was not painful. "That will leave a nasty scar. You are lucky that whoever cut you did not cleave the top of your skull off." He reached down and gently tore away the bandage wrapped around her torso and sighed. "It's a wonder that you did not black out. Lie down."
She frowned at him, but moved the wolf over and did so, lying on her side with her head on the wolf's side. The fur smelled of sulfur and she turned over onto her back so it was not as strong. Phogrim held his hands over her head and side and whispered some words under his breath. Tendrils of water formed and touched the wounds, sealing them off. It felt cold and pleasant at the same time.
"I don't have time to do anything about the blood loss you've already suffered. It's going to be an uncomfortable trip home," he said once he was done. "That should help with the pain, though, and at least the bleeding has stopped. Did you kill the demon that did this to you?"
She opened her mouth, as if to answer, but then paused. That was a strangely difficult question to answer. The battle had been fierce and the chaos of it had led to her swinging her spear blindly after being struck. It had been hard to see. "I don't really remember," she admitted.
"Well, say you did. It makes for a better story."
She started to smile at him, thinking it a joke, but saw that his face still had a dark look to it. There was something else as well. He looked completely drained and, well, defeated. He seemed to notice her staring at him and ruffled her hair gently. "I'll find you some water and something to eat, but you need to try and sleep."
He got up to try and leave, but Tikhuna grabbed his hand. "Sir. Please, ju gotta tell me..."
"The Warchief is...still alive," he said shortly. "I'm sorry, that's all I can say." He gave her a pained look and pulled his hand away, walking off. Tikhuna's hand dropped to her side and she rubbed her face.
After a few minutes Phogrim came back with a skin of water and a few pieces of jerky. "This is all I could find. Here. Eat it," he said, handing it to Belidora. She took it cautiously and stuck it in her mouth, chewing with some difficulty. He handed the other piece to Tikhuna, who took it and simply stared at it.
He sighed. "Here. Drink," he whispered to the elf.
She sat up and grabbed the skin, taking a deep drink of it. It was cold and tasted wonderfully sweet. She kept drinking until the orc pulled it away.
"Please. Try to sleep, okay? You're in rough shape," he said quietly, pushing her back down. She stared at him for a few moments before her eyelids became heavy. She vaguely could hear him whispering to the troll as she blacked out. "Keep an eye on her."
#
The voice was faint and garbled. There was a dull pain in Belidora's shoulder that became more intense slowly as the voice got clearer and clearer.
"Wake up. Come on, wake up. Please," she heard faintly. It sounded like she was underwater, but it slowly cleared.
She opened an eye and saw a blurred green face. "Hey! Stay with me." She felt another sharp pain in her shoulder and realized that whoever it was was shaking her. She instinctively grabbed toward where she had left her spear, only to find it gone.
"Hey, it's just me. Calm down," the voice said. It seemed strangely familiar.
"Phogrim?"
"Yeah. It's me. It took me awhile to get you to wake up."
She looked around tiredly. The ship was empty except for the two of them. She glanced down and noticed she was covered up with a blanket. When she raised her hand to rub her still sore forehead, she saw a small trinket on a thin leather cord wrapped around her palm. It was a small wooden Darkspear emblem. She stared at it in confusion for a moment before asking, "How long was I asleep?"
"I don't think you were asleep at all. I think you blacked out. Like I said, you lost a lot of blood. But, to answer your question, you were out about six hours," he said, putting a large hand under her back and getting her into a sitting position. She winced as the pain in her side shot through her body. Although the wound was no longer bleeding, it was still not completely healed. He looked at the trinket. "Looks like you made a friend. She kept an eye on you for me."
Belidora nodded dumbly, gripping it. She sat there for a few seconds, slowly realizing that she was shaking badly. It felt like she was freezing. "Did I miss anything?"
He frowned at her. "I'll explain on the way back to my place. You'll be stuck in Orgrimmar for awhile." He put his arm around her and pulled her to her feet slowly. She stood that way for a moment before her knees buckled. He caught her quickly. "Well, that's not going to work. Here." He turned around and pulled her onto his back. "Hold on."
She wrapped her arms around his neck. "This is embarassing," she said tiredly as he started to walk. Her wolf trotted alongside him.
"The other option is us taking three hours to get home while you crawl," he said bluntly, climbing to the deck. It was dusk and a rare rain was falling on Durotar. His voice, while lighter than it had been earlier, was still starkly serious. He held onto her legs and walked easily down off of the deck and onto the shore.
The cacophony of noise and activity that had happened during their departure was gone. Instead, the beach was largely deserted, with only a few peons carrying equipment back toward the city gates. Belidora leaned her head against the back of Phogrim's head, then noticed something in the distance.
There were a large number of soldiers carrying wood and stacking it up on a stage like area that had been recently and hastily built. She watched them silently as Phogrim got closer, then hesitantly asked, "What are they building?"
He took a long moment to reply. He kept walking, not slowing his pace and not looking back at her. For a moment she wondered if he heard the question. At last, he got to just in front of it and stopped walking. There was a Horde banner, quite new and obviously stitched with a great deal of care, flying in front of it.
Finally, he said quietly. "A funeral pyre."
Belidora did not reply to him at first. She just stared at it blankly for what must have seemed like an eternity, twisting the cord that the troll huntress had given her in her hand. She expected to feel more, or at least something, but she only felt tired and cold.
"Oh," was all she said, finally. "I see." The monotone and coldness in her own voice disturbed her, but the numbness overwhelmed any emotion she had. She gripped the trinket tighter and leaned her head against his again. She felt him sigh and start walking again.
The guards at the gate looked up when they walked by, but there was no greeting, just a slight look of pity.
"We tried. We really did," she heard the shaman say quietly. It was obvious he was speaking to himself as much as he was to her. He kept his head down, but kept a decent pace.
The normally loud and chaotic streets of Orgrimmar were largely quiet. Those that were out spoke to each other in quiet tones. Belidora saw an elderly Tauren weeping, being comforted by a troll. She heard her say something about her son in between sobs. The sin'dorei quickly turned away before they would notice they were being watched.
Phogrim started talking again. "We tried everything. The elements, the Light . . . None of it worked. It only seemed to make it worse," he said, his voice turning into a slight growl. "Why did none of it work?"
She jumped as his hands tightened around her ankles. He immediately loosened his grip. "Sorry . . . It's just . . ."
"What happened to him?"
"Some sort of fel . . . Poisoning. Or corruption," he said angrily. "We even had the Forsaken look at him. They know all about these poisons. That was the best explanation they could give." His shoulders sagged as he walked up the hill towards the Drag and his home.
When he spoke again, the anger was mostly gone, replaced with a dull sounding pain. "His veins turned black as it spread through his body. After awhile, he told us to leave and go see to the rest of you. I think he figured out nothing we were doing was going to help." He paused. "Well, actually, he said that from the beginning, but we kind of didn't hear his orders."
"He was awake?"
Phogrim nodded. "Pretty much the whole time. All those hours, poor guy. He made it all the way back to Grommash Hold and named the new Warchief before he died. That's what they said, at least."
Belidora blinked. Of course. "Who?"
"The banshee. Sylvanas," Phogrim muttered. They were back at his house, and he ducked down to keep from hitting her head on top of the door. He knelt down in front of a chair and set her down, helping her get seated.
Belidora looked at him suspiciously. "Really? Sylvanas?"
He shrugged. "She's your people. Those inside said that he named her Warchief right as he died. They didn't really go into detail beyond that." He looked towards the door and shut it, then walked back over to her. He crossed his arms. "So. Tell me about her."
"I don't really know her," Belidora said, leaning her head on the table. "She's older than me. I was still a kid when she was already pretty high ranking in the Farstriders. She was Ranger-General when she . . . Well, when she died. She fought very well and bravely from what everyone said. She knows how to command."
Phogrim frowned. "It doesn't sound like what I've heard about her. Well, I have heard that, but I've heard other things as well."
"Well . . . They say she isn't the same person she was in life. I don't think any of the Forsaken are."
He sat on a chair across from her and leaned closer. "You know I would never betray your trust, right?" When she nodded, he continued. "Can we trust her with our lives? Can she be a good Warchief?"
She stared back at him, her green eyes glowing in the dimly lit room. After a few moments she spoke. "I hope so. I guess we have to." It was not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it was the most honest one.
"Do you think she'll be like Garrosh?"
Belidora shook her head slowly. "No. Even if she isn't exactly the most . . . noble leader, she saw what happened to him. She's smart enough not to try, I think."
He shrugged and got up, then walked over to his small hearth and lit a fire with a motion of his fingers. He opened up a jar of what appeared to be broth, then dumped it in the pot, putting it over the fire. "Guess we'll find out," he sighed. "You need to eat something. We fought on the Broken Shore. We will be expected at the funeral tonight. At least the rain washed most of the blood off of us."
She rubbed her face and winced as it pulled on the still healing scar on her forehead. "Yeah. Do you have something to dry off with?"
He waved his hand behind him and a strong gust of wind buffeted her for a couple of seconds. It was not painful, just cold. When it was over she glared at him. "You son of a bitch."
He laughed, grabbing a skin off of another chair and draping it over her shoulders. "Here. You should have been specific," he said, smiling at her. When he got a weak smile in return, he returned to his cooking.
Belidora leaned forward and rested her head on the table again, covering up with the skin. She was not sure what beast it had come from, but it was large enough to cover the orc, so it completely enveloped her. She pulled it up over her head until only her face was showing. "So. Is there anything else I need to know?"
Phogrim did not look at her and instead tossed some mushrooms into the soup. "You're not to leave Orgrimmar or any other city without a weapon and armor, and really you're not supposed to leave alone. The guards will stop you at the gates. The merchants will probably be angry about it, but Saurfang's orders. Zeppelins have also been grounded. Like I said, you're stuck in Orgrimmar for awhile, because I'm not letting you go anywhere on foot by yourself in the shape you're in."
"Awww, you do care."
He ladled some soup out into two small clay bowls and set one down in front of her. "Yes, I do. Plus, I don't want to have a meeting with the guards or with the High Overlord about why I let an injured soldier leave who then got her scrawny ass captured by the Legion before she even got to the Crossroads."
She took the bowl and put it to her lips, drinking it slowly. It was bland, but he had probably intended it to be to keep her from getting sick. Her hands were still shaking badly, but at least it warmed her. "Being a prisoner of the Legion would be horrible," she whispered. "I'd rather be dead."
"I think we all would be. Hence the weapons. Don't let them take you alive."
She nodded, setting the bowl down. She stared at the mushrooms floating in it. They were an odd shape and color, but she had seen them before when she had wandered down into the Cleft of Shadow a few years before. A merchant had shown them to her eagerly and had even given her some to sample for free. From stories that she had heard of him, he was a good and brave orc, and had even stood up to Garrosh's Kor'kron, but he was no warrior. There were so many like him in Orgrimmar, in Thunder Bluff, in Silvermoon. Brave, good people who, due to age or training, had no business fighting. What about them?
Belidora picked up the bowl and started eating again, closing her eyes, when Phogrim spoke again. The same tired tone he had back at the ship had returned. "There are rumors spreading around. It's not only the Legion we need to worry about. The Alliance is on the brink of declaring war on us."
"What? Why?"
"Their High King is dead. Wrynn. He died on the Broken Shore. Their people cry out for vengeance against us."
She stared at him for a moment, her mouth open. It was news she had obviously not expected. She stared at him, trying to figure out how true such a rumor could be, and the frown he gave her seemed to confirm it.
The shock and then frustration that the news brought started to make Belidora's head pound again. She set the bowl down and buried her face in her hands. "If he's dead, then the Legion killed him. They should want revenge against the demons that did this. That's not our fault."
"It's not?"
"Of course it's not," she snapped, until she saw the look on the orc's face. He looked so very tired.
"We were supposed to hold that ridge no matter what," he muttered angrily.
She sighed. "We tried. There were so many of them. We almost got wiped out as it was," she said, trying to make her tone a little more comforting, but failing miserably. "If we had stayed, we would have all died, and then where would that have left the Horde?"
"It would have left the Horde not at war with the Alliance and the Legion," he muttered. "Maybe we should have died there. An honorable death in battle . . . It's better than what we have now. We've only invited war upon us."
Belidora sighed, pushing the bowl away and laying her head on the table, buried in her arms. The chainmail was freezing and not at all comfortable, but she needed to think. She wanted to tell him he was being irrational and that he was just being an orc, but there was truth to what he said. So instead she sat there, not entirely sure what to say until he spoke again.
"Finish your soup. It's getting cold."
She lifted up her head and pulled the bowl close again, staring at it. She took a sip and then put it back down, still looking at the mushrooms floating in it. They were getting blurrier and blurrier. "I just want this day to end," she whispered, slightly surprised when her voice cracked. Tears. That's why the mushrooms were blurry.
Phogrim finished his soup and tossed the clay bowl gently into a crate to wash later. "We still have a few hours left," he said bluntly, but his voice was a little more gentle. Well, gentle for an orc's. "You need to fix your tabard and wash the blood out of it. Get your tears out of the way now. There will be no crying tonight. You will show the strength of a true Horde warrior."
She looked at him and smiled weakly. "You know crying at funerals is normal, right?"
"Not here," he said.
She rubbed her eyes and sighed, taking another sip of the soup. It was beginning to make her feel sick, but she did not want to hurt his feelings or start another argument. "How could this have gone so wrong?" she whispered. "What are we going to do?"
"We're going to fight, like we always do," he said, standing up and walked over, messing with her short hair again.
"Can we even fight them?"
"Remember the story of Broxigar the Red?"
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. And he died too."
"Well, then we will either be victorious or we will give Sargares reason to remember the Horde for the next ten thousand years."
#
The previous night...
The tavern across from Grommash Hold was loud and chaotic, but it was filled with laughter and lighthearted arguments and boasts in Orcish, Common, and the other half dozen languages of the Horde. Belidora smoothed her shirt down and walked up to the bar. She had gotten a few drinks from her friends before and she was feeling quite happy. Alcohol always took the edge off of an upcoming battle against demon armies.
The bartender behind it was a green skinned orc with gray hair. He looked up and smiled at the sin'dorei. "I haven't seen you in months. How have you been, kid?"
She smiled at him. "I've been fine, Mork. How have you been? How are your kids?"
"Good, good. The boy has been begging me to buy him a sword all week long. I told him he had to go to training if he's going to be swinging one of those around," he said, grabbing a mug and slapping it down onto the bar. "Want some Eversong Wine? That's what all the other elves have been drinking. Just got a cask in yesterday. Good stuff. Has hints of, um, skethyl berries and milk and..."
"You're just making stuff up."
"Are you saying I don't know my trade?" he scoffed. "Come on now, order. Got customers behind you."
"Just some beer. Whatever's cheap."
He poured some in and handed it to her after collecting her copper coins. "You going to the battle tomorrow?" When he got a nod, he smiled. "You come back and see me, okay? I'll give you whatever you want on the house."
"Thank you, Mork. I promise I will if I'm able," she said, smiling back. "Shorel'aran."
She turned away and looked around. There was nowhere to sit in the small tavern and really there was relatively few places to stand. She squeezed past a few Tauren and managed to get into a corner where at least she would not be bumped into. She tasted the beer - it was worth about as much as the ten coppers she had paid for it, but at least it would do the job.
Belidora glanced up and noticed a tall, handsome red haired sin'dorei watching her. He was at a small table with two other elves and he leaned over and whispered something to them before getting up and walking over.
"Hello," he said in Thalassian. "You're a long way from Quel'thalas."
"So are you," she said, taking another drink from her beer. He was much taller than her, and judging from his robes he was of a much higher class as well. Still, he was quite stunning.
"Are you fighting tomorrow?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"Of course. Why else would I be here in this orange hole in the ground?" he asked, drinking some of his wine.
"I've been here more often than Silvermoon the last few years. It's not that bad," she replied, looking around. "Just very . . . Hot."
"I'm afraid I have not traveled much. You must have so many tales to tell. I would love to hear them."
She smiled at him. "Maybe you will someday."
"Come now, don't be coy," he said, lifting her chin with his finger and pecking her on the cheek. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't spend the night before battle alone."
She blushed and giggled, but pulled back slightly. "I don't even know your name."
"Does it matter? You won't need it to do what you obviously want to do."
She looked at him slyly. It was tempting, although she was not sure if it was the alcohol or not. 'It doesn't really matter. There's a chance that it will all be over anyway tomorrow,' she thought. "Very well. You are victorious," she laughed.
He smiled and put an arm around her waist, walking back toward the table where the other elves sat. When they were still several feet away, a large green hand clamped onto his shoulder. The two turned around. It was Phogrim, smiling, with his arms crossed. "Are you taking my sister somewhere?"
The man looked at the orc and then back at Belidora, obviously confused. Belidora pushed his hand away from her waist and stepped forward. "I'm fine, Phogrim. I'm busy right now," she hissed.
"I can see that," he laughed, switching to Orcish since he knew she could speak it well enough to understand him. "You're drunk."
"I am not."
"Excuse me, orc," the red haired elf said, grabbing onto Belidora's arm a little too tight and jerked it slightly back towards the table, causing her to wince. That seemed to snap her out of her bubbly mood and she frowned at the other elf. "We have things to do."
"I'm sure you do. Just not with her," the orc said, looking down at where the blood elf was gripping her arm, then back up at his eyes. "Like I said, she's my sister, and you're hurting her. Leave unless you want me to do the same to you."
The elf hesitated for a long moment before releasing his grip and stomped back to the table with the others. Belidora watched him go, then turned back to Phogrim. "I don't need your protection. I can take care of myself."
Phogrim put his hand behind her shoulder and led her back to his table. A blue haired troll was sitting there. He was one of Phogrim's friends, a fellow shaman, although Belidora had only talked to him once or twice. His name escaped her at the moment. He was chuckling, evidently having watched the entire thing.
She took a seat across from him and scowled at him. "It's not funny, troll."
"He be a warlock, girl. Dat elf. He eat you alive, or rip ya soul out. You be nothin' but easy prey for a mon like dat and his friends."
She frowned over at Phogrim, who was watching her, grinning mischievously. "I'm going to kill you," she muttered.
"You're welcome," he laughed, pushing a glass toward her. It was filled with some strange concoction than the trolls favored. She tasted it. It was sweet and she had to admit that it wasn't bad.
"I thought you said I was already drunk."
"You are. Might as well keep drinking. Past the point of no return now."
A loud slam came from behind them. They turned around and saw an old orc standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. It was High Overlord Saurfang. "All right! If you are fighting tomorrow, go home and rest. We have an army of demons to slay and I will not have the Alliance slay more than us."
There was laughter throughout the tavern and a cheer of "For the Horde!" went up. The troll slid his chair back and got to his feet. The other two did as well, and they walked out of the tavern. It was rapidly getting dark out, and it was a rare cool evening in Orgrimmar. They started walking down the dirt road toward the Drag. Belidora noticed that the other two, despite their admonishment, were not walking any straighter of a line than she was.
Belidora started to fall a few paces behind the other two, since for every step they took she had to almost take two. A few orc children, a boy and a girl, ran past laughing. The sin'dorei smiled at them, a bit drunkenly, and looked around for Phogrim's house. She felt a tug on her cloak. She turned around and saw the girl smiling up at her. She was a cute thing, with her black hair in pigtails.
"Are you a fighter?" she asked.
"Yeah. Are you guys gonna fight?" the boy, who was just behind the girl, asked.
Phogrim and the troll had stopped and turned around. The large orc smiled. "Yes. We are."
The little girl reached into her pocket and pressed a small coin shaped object into each of their hands. "Matron Battlewail had us make these today for you. It will help bring you victory, she said," the girl said brightly.
Belidora looked down at hers. It was a small clay disk with a small Horde insignia drawn on it crudely, obviously by a child's hand. Matron Battlewail - they were kids from the orphanage down the street. She smiled at the girl. "Thank you. I'm sure it will. I will keep it with me the whole time. I promise." The troll and the orc also gave an affirmative answer.
The boy was watching them, a little pensive. He was smaller than the girl and obviously a little younger. "Can I ask you something?" he asked Phogrim, evidently more comfortable talking to the orc.
"Of course."
"Do you think you'll win? Aren't you scared? I am. What if they come here?"
Phogrim smiled and patted his head. "Of course we can win. And don't worry. After tomorrow, they will fear us enough to never set foot in Durotar."
"We never be defeated before, little one," the troll laughed. "Isn't dat right, girl? Da Horde neva' gonna lose."
Belidora nodded, putting the disk in the pouch on her belt and looking at the two children. "Tell you what. When we get back from destroying the Legion, we'll come by and take you to get some ice cream, okay?"
The boy's nervousness disappeared and his face lit up. "Okay!"
#
They never did go to buy the kids ice cream.
She pushed the thought out of her mind after making a note that she would eventually need to do it. She had no desire to face them and admit that everything they had told them turned out to be a lie.
Belidora sighed as she kept her hand in the wolf's fur, limping along slowly. Her pet at least helped support her, and after sleeping for an hour or so she felt a little stronger. It was still painfully slow to walk, but she refused Phogrim's offer to carry her again. She reached back with her free arm and adjusted the polearm strapped to her back. It was light and extremely well made, much better than the one she had before. It was also quite beautiful, if a weapon could be called that, with a crimson jewel in the spear point. Phogrim had handed it to her when they were ready to leave the house, explaining that it was a reward from the Horde for fighting well on the Broken Shore.
She wanted to throw it in the river on the way to the funeral, but he stopped her.
His weapon, a massive war mace, swung from his belt. It was covered in spikes and was barely visible in the moon and firelight.
She looked over near the gates as they were leaving the city as something red and white caught her eye. She tugged the wolf's fur gently to get her to change course and walked over to it.
Phogrim followed, tired and uninterested. "What are you doing?"
Belidora painfully knelt down and jerked the flowers out of the dirt. "Picking flowers for the funeral," she said simply, stumbling back to her feet.
Phogrim opened his mouth, as if he were going to say something snide, but he must have seen the look on his friend's face. Instead he simply smiled gently. "They're lovely. Come on. We don't want to be late."
They made their way out of the city gates. There was a large crowd gathered in front of the stage area. Phogrim motioned with his head at an area near the back by a hill. It was considerably less crowded there, and at least they would be able to see. She gripped the flowers tightly and followed him.
"We'll put them up there when it clears out a little. Just set them down for now," he whispered when they got there.
She set them gently on the hill, and he helped her up on top of it. The wolf followed her up and sat down next to her, yawning. She was usually fast asleep at this time of night. The fact that it started a few hours later than originally had been planned did not help matters.
Most of the other leaders of the Horde - save for the new Warchief - were up on the stage and appeared to be speaking to one another. None of them were smiling, but Phogrim had been right, no one on the stage or in the crowd seemed to be crying either. She squinted to see what was going on better. She recognized her own leader, the Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron, speaking to the much taller Baine Bloodhoof. It was impossible to know what was said between the two, but when it was done the blood elf patted the young leader on his shoulder and turned away, looking out over the crowd.
A little harder to see was the Trade Prince Gallywix, since his head was several feet below the others. Belidora had never met the goblin, but from what she had heard, she was fortuitous in that. He was speaking to someone on the ground below the stage. The leader of the newest members of the Horde, Ji Firepaw, simply stood near the edge of the stage, his head bowed and eyes closed.
There was something else on the stage. On top of the stack of freshly cut wood was a wrapped figure. Her sharp elven eyes could make out the outline of a wooden mask and one tusk. She sighed and rolled the small troll trinket around in her fingers again.
They stood in relative quiet for several minutes until several in the crowd turned their attention back to the city gates. Lady Sylvanas Windrunner walked out, followed by several dark rangers. The crowd wordlessly parted and saluted as she walked past. She walked by, looking straight ahead until she made her way up onto the stage. The other leaders stepped out of her way and bowed as she walked past.
"I thought they didn't like her," Belidora whispered.
Phogrim shushed her. "Not now. Not here," he growled quietly.
Belidora sighed and turned her attention back to the stage. Sylvanas nodded silently to the others and slowly walked over, taking up a torch and lighting it on one of the pillars of fire next to the stage. She walked over to the pyre and stood there for a long moment, seemingly hesitant to start. Finally, she reached down and began lighting the corners of the pyre.
It took several minutes, but eventually the pyre and body were engulfed in flames. The young sin'dorei fidgeted slightly. She was used to funerals with long, elaborate speeches and music when someone important died. This was mostly silent, which made it even more uncomfortable. She stumbled slightly as her wolf suddenly lay down to go to sleep and she lost her support, but she was able to uneasily stand.
"Shouldn't they be giving speeches or something?" she whispered to Phogrim.
"I don't know. Just..." he started before the new Warchief's voice echoed through the crowd.
"Vol'jin is dead," she said. Her voice, although seemingly quiet, could be heard all the back where the two stood. Then again, she was a banshee. She turned around and looked out over the crowd for a few moments before speaking again.
"Who among you will help me avenge him?"
A loud roar went up through the crowd. Belidora listened to them for a second before joining in with a shout of "For Vol'jin." She winced when Phogrim roared next to her. She had heard it dozens of times in battle, but an orc's battle cry was still terrifying. Soon, the crowd began chanting "For the Horde!" with all joining in.
It took another hour for the sun the come over the horizon, but the mood had calmed a little. Evidently this new Warchief understood what the Horde needed so desperately. It was obvious that there was more to the ceremony, but they were seemingly waiting for daylight for the rest.
Belidora had slid down to the bottom of the small hill and was using its side to lean against. She yawned as she sat there, her wolf fast asleep next to her. The poor thing had not been able to stand it anymore, but she was not worried. There were Dark Rangers surrounding the perimeter of the crowd, and everyone who knew how to fight had their own weapons as well. Besides, they were not far from the city gates if something truly disastrous happened.
Phogrim had stayed on top of the hill. The troll from the tavern - who she surreptitiously determined went by Jof - was talking to him quietly. He, like the rest of the Darkspear Tribe, had been taking the death of their leader very hard. Still, when he had found the two alive at the funeral after the slaughter on the Broken Shore, he had run up and hugged both of them. Belidora imagined that Phogrim's hug had been a much less painful experience, but at least he apologized profusely afterwards.
Belidora closed her eyes and sighed. She was so tired. All she wanted to do at that point was to go to sleep. She rubbed her eyes and pulled out the small disc in her pocket. She ran her finger over the side with the Horde symbol and flipped it over. On the back in crudely written Orcish was "Love you. -Akra." It must have been the little girl's name.
She smiled as she looked down at it until her wolf started growling lowly. She glanced up to see that damned sin'dorei mage walking toward her.
Oh no, she thought.
When Liralina got close, she brushed her robes off. The orange dust of Durotar got everywhere. She folded her arms, standing in front of the huntress. She looked as if she were wondering what to say for a moment, then finally shoved her hand in her face. "Give me your spear, girl."
"What? No!" Belidora blurted out at the odd request. Sure, she had tried to throw it away a few hours earlier, but she didn't want her to have it.
The mage sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you. Just give it here."
"You'll take it. It's mine," she snapped.
Liralina growled. "I have my own weapon. I don't want to take your stupid spear. If I wanted one, I'd buy one," she said, the frustration evident in her voice. "Give. It. Here."
Belidora glared at her for a moment, but slowly reached back and got the spear off of her back. The mage jerked it out of her hand and looked at it. She reached into a small silk pouch on her belt and pulled out a small bit of glowing powder. She muttered something under her breath and touched the powder to the weapon. Soon, the entire thing glowed brightly for an instant before fading.
Liralina shoved the spear back at Belidora. "Here. It should be much stronger now and less apt to shatter. It'd be a shame if one of those demons cut through it and into your skull."
The young huntress looked at the weapon laid across her lap. "How much do I owe you?" she asked hesitantly.
"Please. You don't have enough gold."
She would have been offended, but she knew it was probably true. Enchantments, especially of this nature, were extremely expensive. Instead of arguing, she looked up at her. "Thank you."
Liralina snorted, then turned away. "I'm sorry I tried to blast you back on the ship. You were scared. We all were." She walked away before Belidora could answer.
"Friend of yours?" Phogrim said from behind her.
She looked back. The sun was slowly peaking over the horizon. "No. Thanks for your help, by the way."
"Hey, I was watching. You said you wanted to handle things yourself, remember?"
A tall blood elf on a hawkstrider approached different groups slowly. Finally he made his way to Belidora, Phogrim, and Jof. "You three fought on the Broken Shore, right?" When they nodded, he continued. "The Warchief wants to personally thank you all. You're to make your way to the stage. Pledge fealty to her, and she'll give you whatever it is she wants to give you, and then you can go back to the crowd. It should take only a few minutes."
Belidora sighed and stabbed one end of the polearm into the ground, using it to help herself up. Getting in front of everyone was the last thing she wanted to do. Her wolf looked up at her and she pet her head gently. "You can stay here. I'll be right back." She left the flowers as well. She would be back to get them later.
Phogrim and Jof slid down the steep hill and walked beside her. "Maybe you shoulda brought dat wolf wit' you, hunta," Jof said, looking back.
"There's no room. Besides, we're just going up there for a minute, or at least I hope we are," she said tiredly. "And there are soldiers everywhere. It's fine."
"If ya say so," he said.
"Where were you on the ship, anyway?" Phogrim asked. "I didn't see you the entire way back."
"I be up on the deck, tryin' ta calm da elements," he said, shrugging. "Me and a few others. Didn't really work, but we had ta try."
"It seems a lot of things didn't work," Phogrim muttered.
They made it to the stage. There was a line to go up the stairs, although it was pitifully short. The others in the line looked similarly exhausted, but they stood tall and avoided looking out into the crowd or down at the ground. They'd show at least some pride.
Belidora looked over her shoulder at Jof. "What am I supposed to do?" she whispered.
"Kneel when ya make it up there ta her," he said, shrugging again. "Just say what da other mons in front of ya say. Dat's what I be doin.'"
She sighed and stared at the back of the Forsaken priest in front of her. It took a few minutes, but eventually she stood in front of the Dark Lady.
She painfully dropped to one knee. "For blood and honor, Warchief," she said quietly. Sylvanas patted her on her shoulder. She struggled for a moment to get back to her feet, but she felt Jof behind her pulling on her tabard gently to help her. She would have to thank him later.
Sylvanas handed her a small metal trinket. "For your service to the Horde," the banshee said quietly. She smiled at the sin'dorei, but there was a look of stress in her eyes.
Belidora nodded. "Thank you, Warchief," she said, bowing her head again and getting out of the way. She started walking back toward the stairs to file down and looked down at the trinket. It was a small Forsaken symbol. She reached down and fumbled with the pouch on her belt to put it away when she bumped into something.
She looked up and saw a dark haired Forsaken glaring at her. He was dressed as a Dark Ranger, but he was a human. It took her a moment to remember his name. Blightcaller. "Sorry, sir," she said quickly. He rolled his eyes and turned back to look out at the crowd. He was never known to be the warmest person to deal with, but if ignoring her was the worst he was going to do, she would take it.
She limped back down the stairs and waited for her friends. They followed a few short moments later. "I think the ceremony is about over," Phogrim said. "Then we can go home and sleep. We need to. Especially you. You're never going to get better if you never rest."
Belidora nodded dumbly. "Tell me about it," she said quietly, looking around at the crowd. She saw a familiar flash of wild red hair in the distance and narrowed her eyes. "Hold on. I want to go say hi to someone. I'll be right back."
She limped over to where she saw Tikhuna sitting silently. The troll looked haggard and exhausted and was staring at the ground. It looked almost like she lost a family member. For all Belidora knew, maybe she had. She got in front of her and sat down, a little heavily as her legs refused to cooperate, and knocked up dust.
"Hello," she said quietly to the troll.
The troll ignored her for a moment, but slowly looked up. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she forced a weak smile. "It ju, da elf from da ship. I'm happy ya be doin' bettah."
"Thanks to you," she said quietly, then frowned. "Are you okay?"
"I be pretty fah from okay, little elf."
Belidora frowned. "I'm sorry. It was a stupid question," she muttered, rubbing her face.
There was some yelling behind Belidora, and she and Tikhuna turned to face it. One of the strange winged sin'dorei was talking to an orc loudly. Belidora had noticed the odd winged elves when the sun had started to come up, but they did not seem to raise the alarm for the guards so she paid them little heed. Now it looked like one of them was about to start a fight.
She frowned. "They shouldn't be fighting at the Warchief's funeral," she said quietly.
Tikhuna watched them for a moment, then grabbed the sin'dorei's arm and jerked her to her feet, ignoring her hiss of pain. "Somet'ing is wrong. Be ready."
Belidora pulled her arm away and looked at her questioningly, but then noticed the troll looking over her shoulder with wide eyes. She spun around just in time to see the axe swinging down at her, held by a massive doomguard. She barely managed to sidestep the swing, but her legs got tangled in Tikhuna's, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The elf rolled onto her stomach and pulled the polearm off of her back. When the raised its axe to swing at the two, she managed to thrust the spear up, impaling the larger creature on it. It collapsed to the ground.
"Good shot," Tikhuna whispered, pulling her to her feet again. The two looked around for a moment. The demons seemingly sprang from nowhere. Civilians were screaming and running for the gates while the guards tried to keep felhounds out. Belidora looked around frantically for her two friends, but they were nowhere in sight in the sudden chaos. They're fine, she thought to herself. They're far more likely to survive this than you are.
She hacked at an imp that got too close before it sent a fireball at them. She pressed her back against Tikhuna's.
"Can ya fight, girl?" the troll blurted out.
No, she thought. "Yes. I think so."
Tikhuna grabbed her arm and started running toward the stage. The nightsaber that was her companion ran beside them, snapping at any felhounds that got too close. Every step sent pain shooting through the elf's side, but she managed to stay on her feet until they got just in front of the stage. Tikhuna let go of her arm and pulled out her bow, beginning to send arrows flying in the direction of the demons approaching the stage. She was very skilled, it seemed.
Belidora stuck two fingers into her mouth and let out a shrill whistle. That should get the attention of her wolf, which she had foolishly left behind. Jof was right. That was a bad idea. She looked around, trying to find it, when she felt a sharp pain in her head, sending her sprawling back into the wooden front of the stage. She instinctively held the spear up and caught the downward sword swing before it sliced her down the middle. It was a good thing that the spear was strong.
She rolled and let the sword slide to the ground, before trying to swing her own weapon and slice the demon through its belly. She missed, and the demon caught her off balance, opening a gash on her arm. She gritted her teeth and thrust again, this time finding her mark. She growled and pulled the spear free.
Finally, her wolf made it to her, snapping at a small imp that was prancing about. After a few tries, it managed to close its massive jaws around it and rip it in two.
"You two! Help get the civilians inside! Go! Now!" a voice at the edge of the stage yelled. Belidora did not bother to see who gave the order - whoever it was probably had the authority to do so.
She grabbed Tikhuna's arm. "Come on! You heard the order!"
The troll narrowed her eyes, not moving from the spot. She continued to shoot into the demons crowding around the stage. Belidora began to panic - she needed her help to run. "Come on! Please! We have to help people!"
After a few more moments of hesitation, the troll grabbed her wrist and began to run for the gates. They got to the front of the gate and turned to defend it. Most of the larger, more powerful demons paid the fleeing civilians little mind, but a few sent fel fire roaring after them and a few of the smaller ones gave chase.
Belidora hacked at a few imps that grabbed at her. She noticed absently that she was breathing heavily, much more than she should be. I really must have lost a lot of blood. She started backing toward the gate. She would not be able to keep it up for much longer. Luckily it looked as if the demons were thinning out.
She looked over at Tikhuna to yell at her to fall back a little when the ground shook, knocking them both off of their feet. When they looked back up a huge rock creature stood in front of them. Infernal. Is that what it's called?
Belidora gripped her polearm and tried to struggle to her feet, but the infernal was fast approaching. She looked down at its feet and noticed the fel flame engulfing it. That would make it difficult to attack even when she could stand. She gritted her teeth and prepared to do it anyway.
Fortunately, she did not have to. A bolt of lightning shot out from behind the two, striking the infernal and breaking it apart. She looked over her shoulder and saw Jof standing there, panting, with his hand held out. He was bleeding from his head and looked exhausted, but he smiled at them.
A guard walked over and pulled them both to their feet. "Get inside. We can handle the rest. Thank you."
Belidora grabbed onto her wolf and limped back into the gates. She rubbed her forehead and looked at her hand. Blood. No wonder she was so dizzy. She knew she was bleeding from her arm as well, but that was a minor wound.
"Jof. Where is...?" she started.
"He be inside, tendin' to da wounded. He be in about as good a shape as da rest of us."
She nodded and limped inside. When they got inside the city, she found a corner and collapsed in it, breathing heavily. Tikhuna collapsed next to her. A priestess that she didn't know rushed over and began to heal her and Tikhuna. Jof stood there and looked at the two of them, then at the rest of the crowd. It seemed that the demons had not succeeded in killing many of them, but they had obviously claimed some lives.
It took several minutes, but Phogrim made his way over to them. He was bleeding from his arm and another half dozen smaller cuts. He rarely was wounded in battle - the demons had caught him by surprise. Who would have expected such a thing at a funeral?
"Good. You made it," he said tiredly, sitting down in front of the elf. He had the same shocked look on his face that she must have had, and that most of the survivors seemed to share. The sin'dorei priestess turned her attention to him and began to heal him. He would have usually objected and told her he would do it himself, but he just thanked her dumbly instead.
"Phogrim," Belidora whispered after a few minutes.
"Yeah?"
"Can we go to bed now?"
#
Belidora tossed and turned in her sleep. The floor was uncomfortable, even with the furs piled on it, but it was as good as it was going to get. The fact that they had tried to sleep in the middle of the hot Orgrimmar day had not helped either. Still, it was beginning to cool off as twilight settled on the region.
Phogrim had set up a healing totem to help the three of them with the pain of their injuries as they healed. She still woke up several times as the day bled on.
She was in the awkward half-asleep phase when she heard a strange noise in the distance. She put her non-injured arm over her ears and tried to block it out, screwing her eyes shut tight. It went off over and over again. It was incessant and annoying, and incessantly annoying.
She felt a sharp pain in her arm as someone gripped it. "Get up!" she heard Jof's voice yell in her ear.
"What the hell?" she growled, looking at him, half asleep.
"Dose be war horns! Get up!"
She rolled over onto her back and stared at him. It took several seconds for the fog in her mind to clear enough to understand what he was saying. They were war horns. She reached up and caught his hand as he pulled her to her feet. She gripped her head and started using every swear word she had ever known in Thalassian, Common, Orcish, and any other language she could think of. She fumbled around in the dark and grabbed her polearm, then walked over to the door. At least the healing totem had worked enough that she could walk normally.
Phogrim was already standing just outside of the door. Groups of soldiers ran past, yelling at each other. Belidora and Jof watched them go by, then noticed that their friend was instead fixated on the sky. They looked up as well.
It was a sickly shade of fel green, with a swirling mass in the middle of it. Further in the distance, a large, black, floating thing was suspended in the sky, sending beams of fel energy onto the ground beneath it. Some of those same things had been on the Broken Shore, mercilessly slaughtering the Horde soldiers on the ground, giving them no way to retaliate.
They were a long way from the rear gate of Orgrimmar, but the unmistakable cacophony of combat reached their ears even there. The ships were not the only threat. There were obviously also demons, and a great number of them at that.
The three stood there for a moment, looking at each other in the darkness. "Come on," Phogrim said finally, starting to make his way toward the chaos. "I'm not going to die hiding from these bastards."
Jof and Belidora exchanged a glance, but then the blood elf turned and beckoned her wolf to come. They made their way as quickly as they could to catch up.
"Girl," the troll said quietly. "If we die tonight, it be an honor ta know ya. I guess some of ju elves aren't so bad." He gritted his teeth. "Tonight, we fight for Vol'jin, da Warchief."
She forced a weak smile, gripping her polearm hard enough that her knuckles were white. "For the Horde?"
"For da Horde. Come on. We got some demons ta slay."
#
Author's Note: Obviously, many characters, places, and situations in this story are copyrighted to Blizzard Entertainment and used without profit being made.
Special thanks to Scott (Mork), Josh (Phogrim), Sam (Darthgrom), Sarah (Liralina), and Cheri (Tikhuna). They either gave me actual characters to use or at least names, and they're a cool group.
