(AN: And here we have my long-winded "rant" chapter where I voice one of the many reasons why am not enthusiastic about playing Battle for Azeroth.)
Death of the Horde
The city of Orgrimmar. Below in the Valley of Strength, a mass of people gathered about a raised platform made of wood, iron, and decorated with furs and spikes. Atop that platform there stood the Banshee Queen, the elf Sylvanas Windrunner: behind her upon the platform, always three steps to her left, stood her human lapdog Nathanos Blightcaller. Whether by reason of being a banshee, or because of some magical amplification, or even the nature of the valley in which Orgrimmar was built, her voice carried far and wide throughout the valley.
As she spoke, her words shifted every moment. She spoke of the Horde and how they were being victimized by a callous, indifferent Alliance; she weaved tales of Night Elven treachery, of their druids keeping the Horde away from the lumber-rich forests of the north which - as she said - they deserved. She elaborated on the cruelty of the Sentinels, saying that they would attack homes in the night and slay the children of Orcs, Trolls, and Tauren out of spite for their own barrenness. She told them that King Anduin was weak and passive, and that his rule would be usurped by Genn Greymane, whom she embellished as a tyrant, a monster, no better than the ones that had enslaved them in the internment camps after the Second War.
High above the Valley of Strength, upon one of the rocky cliffs, two figures sat in grim silence. One was a Tauren, clad in the simple garb of a shaman and not the insulated regalia of the Taunka frost-witches. The other bore the figure of an Elf, tall and slender, but clad in a leather cloak the same color of the red clay of Durotar and dressed in red armor. They seemed to be watching the goings on below in sorrow and quiet contemplation; neither saying a word to the other.
Overhead there passed a large thing of bat-like shape. Not uncommon, for many winged wyverns patrolled the skies over Orgrimmar. But this thing was not a wyvern but a bat of immense size. It came to land on the ground next to the Tauren and the Elf, then in a burst of emerald light transformed into a red-haired troll clad in leather and bones. The troll lumbered over to the Tauren, his long, lanky limbs almost dragging along the rocky plateau.
"Ah, I've been expecting you," the Tauren said.
"It been a long time since Winta's Veil, mon," the troll replied. "I figure ya be up here instead o'dat cave in da cliffs in Mul'gore."
"You know me too well, Zen'jamba," sighed the Tauren.
"What you been doin' up here?" Zen'jamba queried.
"Looking down upon the end of the Horde," said the Tauren with grim finality.
"Didn't ya say da same ting when Garrosh became Warchief an' bombed Theramore?" Zen'jamba asked.
"Yes," the Tauren nodded, inclining his large, horned head.
"But we came outta dat mess alive, Gar-mon!" Zen'jamba added, using the Tauren's given name. Gar nodded. He had spent most of his time aiding the Tillers in the Valley of the Four Winds in Pandaria, while Zen'jamba had joined the Darkspear Revolution and was part of the force that had retaken Orgrimmar.
"So why ya be cryin' doom now?" Zen'jamba asked. "We beat back da Legion, didn't we?"
Gar sighed. "I have never trusted the one they called the Betrayer; not since we heard word of him in Outland so many years ago. This...Xe'ra that Highfather Stouthammer spoke with; whatever it was, it was not of An'she. Though I didn't hear her words for myself, I have spoken with those who have: her words were nothing but lies. And now Xe'ra is no more and the Legion's double agent has returned to his master, who dealt a crippling blow to this world from which we might never recover."
"Da sword in Silithus?" Zen'jamba asked.
"The same," Gar replied. "But I fear that that was not even the worst blow dealt to our world in the war with the Burning Legion."
"Den what be?" Zen'jamba asked, walking over to Gar's left and crouching down next to him.
"I spoke earlier of the death of the Horde before us," Gar said, gesturing down into the valley with a large, three-fingered hand. "I was too generous. The Horde died on the Broken Shore."
"How can ya be sayin' dat, mon?" Zen'jamba asked. "We survived!"
"Where was the honor in that survival?" Gar returned. "Do you not remember the words that you spoke when you swore your allegiance to the Horde upon your coming of age? 'Lok'tar ogar', victory or death. We ran away, like cowards!"
"We would'a died if we stayed dare," Zen'jamba said. "Da Legion woudda won."
"Died a hero's death, like the Lion of Stormwind," Gar returned. "On that day, a human embodied the values of the Horde better than the Horde itself."
"Watch what ya be sayin, mon," Zen'jamba whispered. "Da Warchief's eyes an' ears be everywhere."
Gar snorted. "I don't fear her anymore. Let her try and kill me if she wishes."
"She might just do dat," Zen'jamba added.
"I care not," Gar added. "Nor do I believe that the Burning Legion would have won if we all died there. Think about this, druid: the Legion broke the armed might of the Horde and the Alliance on the Broken Shore. Yet the tattered remains of both of our armies, divided after Sylvanas' cowardly actions, were able to hold the Legion at bay long enough for the Kirin Tor to concoct their Legionfall campaign, which saw the end of the Legion's armed might on Azeroth."
"I don't know, mon," Zen'jamba sighed, shaking his tusked, red-mohawked head.
"What I know I have seen with my own eyes," Gar replied. "And what I have seen flies in the face of everything the Horde once stood for! We all took those oaths of honor, yet Sylvanas demanded we swear allegiance to herself...even as Garrosh did before his reign of terror began."
"Garrosh an' Sylvanas be totally different."
"Yes," Gar nodded. "Garrosh was a Mag'har, a pure Orc, one who had been preserved against the fel; he even bore the support of Warchief Thrall until the end. Furthermore he was of the Warsong Clan, a clan of warriors since before our time; and his father was a hero of the Horde. Whether we liked him or not, Garrosh was part of the Horde." Gar looked down into the valley and shook his head as he heard Sylvanas rambling on down below.
"This...Banshee Queen is not one of us. Her heart is elven, and her thoughts and prejudices are those of her first people, not the flock of rotting human sheep at her disposal." He turned to the troll sitting next to him. "The things she has done since joining the Horde prove that neither she nor the Forsaken have any loyalty to the Horde. That incident in Arathi indicates that, even if a small minority of her people are not fully loyal to her, she will not suffer them to exist. Only total loyalty will suffice for this undead elf."
"But she be our Warchief," Zen'jamba said. "Vol'jin made her dat."
"Despite his better judgment," Gar replied. "She is an elf, and her people hunted you trolls and drove you out of your ancient lands, if I am not mistaken. Her people slew Orcs during the Second War, before my time; perhaps even she herself slew Orcs as well. I said it before, when the Blood Elves joined us, and I say it again: allying with an old enemy for the sake of convenience does not make them an ally."
"But 'as she not proven herself to care for da Horde?" Zen'jamba asked. "She kept us togedda after da Broken Shore."
"Care for the Horde?" Gar laughed. "Her first action was the expedition to Stormheim, for her own personal agenda. Even now, she screeches her own agenda, playing that it is in the interest of the Horde. I ask you, Zen'jamba, when have our people ever had aught against the Night Elves?"
"Dey be keepin' da lumber from Ashenvale for demselves!" Zen'jamba replied, somewhat hesitantly.
"You don't believe a word of that and you know it," Gar stated, cutting to the quick. "As a druid, one with a deeper connection to the spirits of the wild than even me, you know of the devastation that was brought to those forests by Garrosh. Where was the need in any of that? I ask you again, what have our people against the Night Elves? My people stayed in the prairies and savannas, leaving the Night Elves to their forests. The Orcs invaded their forests and slaughtered Cenarius, their demi-god, during the Third War. If anything, the Night Elves have reason to hate the Horde; yet they remain in their forests and do not hunt us or enact a blood-price for the death of Cenarius, though it would be their right to do so."
"But she only be carin' about da future o'da Horde," Zen'jamba defended, once again with faltering enthusiasm. Almost it seemed as if his heart was not behind his words, but that he only hoped that there was some truth in what he said.
"Like Krom'gar?" Gar asked. "His execution was a travesty, as surely as was the cover-up after the Wrathgate."
"What do ya mean, mon?" Zen'jamba incredulously asked. "Dat dreadlord Varimathras be behind da Wrathgate; everyone know dat. An' Krom'gar died for actin' against da Warchief's orders!"
Gar chuckled grimly. "Do you still believe what you've been told? Sylvanas had been working on the plague for years before the expeditions to Northrend; I know, because I helped the Royal Apothecary Society in their efforts in Tirisfal. Those deaths are on my head, and I will have to answer for them before my ancestors on the day that I am gathered to them. More than that, she went right back to her cruel, blackguard ways almost immediately after she had been 'cleared.' Surely a scrupulous person would have at least feigned innocence for a given amount of time in order to draw off suspicion. Also, she used the same plague in Stormheim, even after its use had been outlawed. There are more things which lead the trail of bodies back to the Wrathgate, but, as you said, there are eyes and ears about these cliffs, and not all of them are friendly.
"As for Krom'gar, I know for a fact that his execution was a travesty. He tried to do the same thing to me in Northrend."
"Come off it, mon..." the troll interjected. He had heard the story of what happened in the Warsong Hold from his lady-love Tel'jirza, who had been present at those events and privy to them. Though he believed what she said was true, he didn't believe that Garrosh was duplicitous.
"Think, Zen'jamba!" Gar replied. "Within a few weeks of Cairne Bloodhoof's death, an entire conclave of Tauren druids are bombed by an Orc overlord under Garrosh's command; then, in less than a day, the Horde begins their march into Ashenvale and Azshara, clear-cutting large swaths of trees in their path."
"Me be not followin' ya, mon," Zen'jamba said, stroking his bare chin.
"Who else would have objected to the clear-cutting of forests if not the druids?" Gar asked. "But Garrosh could not silence them according to his liking; so many Tauren druids so near to Mul'gore, and with rumors spreading of his mistreatment of non-Orcs in Orgrimmar, it would have roused my people's anger against him. And, by his own admission, the Tauren were capable warriors; perhaps even stronger than himself. Therefore, rather than kill the druids himself, he lets one of his underlings take the fall for it, while he struts about his pride and utters empty words about honor."
"What dis gotta do wit da current Warchief?" Zen'jamba asked.
"Sylvanas is no different than Garrosh," Gar replied. "Having once gotten our oaths of obedience to her, she will use that to bind us to her and carry out her own private war upon the Night Elves."
"Not merely the Kal'dorei," the vermilion-clad elf woman spoke up finally. "Her enemy is life itself. She had the chance to seek a cure for her undeath and she turned away from the Light. Now she revels in darkness, spreading disease and suffering to all unhappy ones that fall under her shadow. She has become the very thing she fought against; even as the one who slew her." She turned to the troll and Tauren. "As defenders of life and guardians of the elements, it falls to you to oppose this Banshee Queen."
"But she be our leada!" Zen'jamba replied.
"Therein lies the tale, my friend," Gar said, turning to the troll. "Where do our oaths end? Do we honor them no matter what, even at the cost of our own honor...if not more? Or do we realize that honor does not bind us to blindly obey the dishonorable?"
"Then what will ya do, mon?" Zen'jamba asked. "Run away? Sit in ya cave an' do notin'? Dat be not like da Horde eithah!"
Gar sighed, shaking his head again. "I have nothing to prove to anyone; not anymore. The spirits of my ancestors know of my battles, and my trials, and how I have carried myself through them. The greatest heroes of Azeroth, the Dragon Aspects, and the leaders of the Horde and the Alliance know how I have carried myself in peace and in war." He chuckled grimly.
"Besides," Gar continued. "I have born the scorn of the Horde for many years: what's a little more to me, when I know in my heart that I have acted with wisdom and honor?"
Zen'jamba sighed. "If dat be what'cha choose, mon."
Gar rose up from where he sat and turned around to face the crouching troll. "I want you to come with me."
"Nah, mon," said Zen'jamba, shaking his head and waving his three-fingered hand in a dismissive gesture. "Me place be here, wit da Horde; as be ya place too, mon."
Gar sighed. "Is there nothing more I can say?"
"I tink not," said the troll in response.
"The Horde is no more," Gar replied. "What we stood for died on the Broken Shore."
"Maybe so," Zen'jamba sighed. "But dare be someting dat we still stand for; sometin' I can believe in."
"And what is that?" Gar asked.
"Da right ta live," the troll replied.
"And you think that Sylvanas defends your right to live, is that it?" Gar chuckled grimly. "If you truly believe that, then I've wasted my time with you."
"Look, mon," Zen'jamba interjected. "I get ya. She be not my first choice. We 'ave a long 'istory wit de elves, an' none o'it be good. But we can put dat aside an' fight togeddah for sometin' important."
Gar sighed; there was no getting through to his old friend. "The Forsaken, the Blood Elves, and these magically-addicted Nightbourne; they have their own goals, which have nothing to do with what is good for the rest of the Horde. We are allied with them only through convenience: such an allegiance is fragile at best, as we saw with Garrosh. Furthermore, I remember when Sylvanas gave us the ultimatum after the Broken Shore: swear allegiance to her or die." He looked back down at the Banshee Queen carrying on about the evils of the Alliance and how the Horde deserved nebulous things such as "the right to exist" and "more room to live."
"We are nothing to her but pawns," Gar said. "She cares nothing for our lives, or whether we have the right to live. And for that reason, I leave." He turned to the red-haired elf. "Era, are you ready?"
"Yes, mortal," the elf woman replied.
The two began to walk away from the edge of the cliff. Zen'jamba bore a flabbergasted expression on his long face.
"So dat be it, den?" he asked. "Ya jus' be givin' up like dat?"
"Give up?" Gar chuckled. "No. I will return to the pastures of my youth, and commune with the spirits: in these troubled times, it is best to seek out the counsel of those wiser than you. When the children of the Earth-Mother are in danger, I will rise up to defend them. But I will never be a pawn of that banshee." He turned back to the troll.
"I leave you in friendship, Zen'jamba, with no ill-will toward you for your decision. But mark my words: a day of reckoning is coming for the Horde, when those who fight for honor must choose between duty and obedience. I pray that you will learn the difference...before your soul is darkened by the evil Sylvanas intends." He pounded his chest with his three-fingered fist. "Ancestors watch over you."
The elf that Gar had called Era transformed into a great red drake with curled horns upon her head. With some difficulty, the large Tauren climbed atop her neck, just in front of her wings. There was no triumphant roar, only a dull whooshing as the blazing drake's great wings beat the air and sent her and her passenger up and away into the sky. Zen'jamba watched forlornly as the drake sailed off southwestward, towards the direction of the verdant grasslands of Mul'gore.
"Spirits be wit ya, mon." Zen'jamba sighed, as the drake slowly vanished from view.
(AN: The full story of my theory on the Wrathgate will have to wait until The Frozen North gets finished [or at least until the second half is released]. But in short, the idea of the Broken Shore was a good one, but how it ended up was awful. Also, like with the Disney Star Wars movies, it is a sign of bad-writing when the writer forces characters to act a certain way for the sake of the plot: which is exactly what happened with the Horde retreating at the Broken Shore, the Burning Legion pulling their punches afterwards, and Vol'jin making Sylvanas warchief of the Horde against his own better judgment!)
(This is important to me because it was the story and the lore of Warcraft III which I got into, so to see everything messed up for the sake of, well, I think you can guess why they did it, really makes me disappointed.)
