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Chapter 6: Mortals
"Work, work…" The peon grumbled to himself as he flung himself upon the hardy trees that refused to yield to his axe. Unsurprisingly, he was bounced backwards with nothing to show for it aside from even more bruises, to add to his collection. His new prizes added to the growing gallery of discolourations upon his green skin, which commonly came from three primary sources: his superiors, his fellow peons and his brave attempts at accelerating his working pace (we know it as sheer stupidity).
Dhuk nearly got executed, if not for his fellow peon, who had more sense than him and was able to stop his axe in time. Dhak, his twin brother, gave him an annoyed grunt. Dhuk knew exactly what Dhak must be thinking: there you go again, doing all sorts of silly things. You should just concentrate on the work at hand. It was what Dhak had said to him over ten times that day despite Dhuk's protests of "Me not that kind of orc!" and "Me busy, leave me alone!". But even a peon such as Dhuk eventually got the hang of the long words that Dhak had used. But Dhak didn't say that now; instead, he gave a look of surprise and turned around abruptly from the tree.
Dhuk sneered. "There go again, doing all sorts things. You just concentrate at hand." A bubble of pride rose within Dhuk: it was rare that Dhuk had the chance to really admonish his twin brother.
Dhak shook his head and pointed to the sky. Dhuk grunted. "Won't fall that again." But instead of grinning and praising Dhuk for seeing through his trick this time, Dhak mutely stared upwards. Dhuk took a slight peep and then grunted, again, annoyed with Dhak.
"Birds. Even Dhuk know. Birds…"
"Wyverns, not birds. And they're carrying trolls... Those aren't the normal troll headhunters… they're the witch doctors!"
"Someone call for the doctor?" Dhuk grinned gleefully, finally having been able to put the phrase he'd saved into use. He'd learnt that from one of those witch doctors. But his brother just looked at the "wyvern" birds, apparently thinking again…
In the simple if spacious wooden hut, Thrall stared intently at a little crystal. His glowed red. He knew that, elsewhere, blue and green crystals would be glowing, too.
Jaina. High Priestess Whisperwind. He acknowledged his compatriots formally before beginning the thought-conversation. How do your peoples fare?
Very well, thank you. Jaina sounded slightly puzzled, and Thrall inferred that it was not her that had called this conversation. How intriguing. The aloof, sullen Night Elven Priestess had finally opened her mouth first, of her own accord. He prayed it was not another lecture on how young and immature a mortal he was.
Thrall? What's up? Jaina didn't understand, not yet.
I have called this meeting. It appears that the magic stones you prepared for us at the conclusion of the Battle for Mount Hyjal finally come into use. High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind's cool, flowing voice seemed to speak directly in Thrall's head.
High Priestess Whisperwind! You sent the summons? Jaina was startled, much like Thrall had been, which wasn't surprising given how Whisperwind had carelessly (and rather rudely) dismissed Jaina's gift – and pledge of alliance – as utterly useless and would have cast it into the lake atop Hyjal if not for the Archdruid's intervention. As in the good Archdruid, Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage, the leader of the entire Cenarion circle and the spouse of the High Priestess, who was now sleeping deeply in the Emerald Dream, so Thrall had heard. In her words, "the fate of mortals was but a second in the lives of immortals, and the fate of immortals insignificant to the mortals whose existence would snuff out before the immortal had the time to realize it". Which was rather ironic, given that immortals had the most time of all.
I did, young one. I have initiated contact to warn both of you. We suspect the Blue Dragonflight intends to invade the orc lands, then proceed to wipe out Theramore. They are targeting magic-users. They have already struck at the heart of Kalimdor, but their magical assault was repelled by one of our own who suffered grievous injuries. My priestesses are tending to him now as we speak. Tyrande's sorrow cut through her speech, and Thrall could see in his mind's eye the living, breathing, moving forests frozen to a standstill and their guardian collapsed from fatigue in the middle of the newly created icy kingdom.
That is the worst news, but there is more. Our night elven leadership is literally of two minds. The druids of the Cenarion Circle, led by Archdruid Fandral Staghelm, are advocating alliance with the Blue Dragonflight, and I am unable to change their mind. The Sentinel forces and Sisters of Elune stand by me, and the Druids of Moonglade and Romulus, a Keeper of the Grove, also oppose Staghelm. We have spoken to Archdruid Ramuul Runetotem; the Tauren druids and druids of other races will not support Staghelm's policy but nor do they intend to openly oppose him. We have yet to decide on a suitable course of action; however, we are of one mind about two points: the defence of our territory, from the Blue Dragonflight or otherwise, is imperative, and we do not intend to sit idly by as the Blues carry out their magic-exterminating crusade. Tyrande concluded, and the voice fell silent in Thrall's mind.
It is reassuring indeed that the night elves do not all intend to ally with the Blues, though this change in policy for the Cenarion Circle is startling. The citizens of Theramore will not evacuate. We have carved out our home here and have co-existed with the other races on Kalimdor rather well, including the goblins at the Ratchet and the orcs at Durotar. I do not intend to reverse this policy. However, I will consult with the High Council of the Kirin Tor at Dalaran and see if we can obtain assistance to repel any attacks from the Blue Dragonflight. Jaina's roughed, exhausted voice sounded firm and in command, in contrast to Tyrande's melodious tone which belied her anxious undercurrents.
While it is unnerving, we must consider also that the Blues have approached races apart from the night elves. The last I heard, they had holed up in Northrend. While I seriously doubt that the Blue Dragonflight would condone Necromancy any more than high elven magic, it is possible that the Blues have incorporated various factions of the Scourge. And, of course, there are evils aside from the Scourge that still roam Northrend... Thrall's grim voice broke into the conversation.
You can't mean... Azjol-Nerub? They would have reason to band together... perhaps if we're lucky, they'll take out the Scourge for us, and that cursed Ner'Zhul along with it! Jaina sounded so hopeful that Thrall had to force himself to disagree, but Tyrande spared him the necessity of disappointing Jaina.
It's folly to even think that way. The Blues wouldn't confront an enemy they couldn't defeat. Our only hope lies in unity; if the targets band together and form a third power apart from the Blue Dragonflight and the Scourge, it might be possible that the Blues will abandon their venture to prepare... and dragons live a long time. Your Alliance and Horde would not be bothered for many, many decades...
We'll have to concentrate on that for now, then. Jaina's voice had lost all idealism. I'll get in touch immediately with Dalaran. I'll be ready to teleport at any time to Durotar. There was a strange edge in Jaina's voice... as if she expected something.
Why would the Blues attack me? I only ask the elements for aid; all my strength comes from nature.
Beware, orc; although you rely on shamanistic magics and not demonic magics, the orcs under you once used the very source of power that slew Cenarius and brought havoc upon the land. The Blues – Malygos especially – have a long memory. It was in the first coming of the Legion that Malygos lost his entire flight, and he still blames it on the mortal races that summoned the Burning Legion. The human's right; it's best to be prepared. I must go; remember, the Blues are creatures of magic. No amount of swords can pierce their armour without magical support. The best bet lies in cadres of experienced mages that have support from lesser mages. Sending in inexperienced mages or non-magic users would be, at best, suicidal. I bid you good luck in your venture, and will contact you when my coalition in the government comes to a decision. For now, it is best to assume you will not have night elven aid at all... I bid you good luck.
With that, the green presence withdrew from their minds. Thrall, annoyed at he was with Tyrande's attitude, was somewhat grateful that she had, at least, opposed the Archdruid, presumably for the sakes of Durotar and Theramore and their alliance then during the Battle of Mount Hyjal. Night elven aid might get in the way instead, anyway. Jaina's mused to herself; she was rather fond of thinking about conundrums.
Better some aid than no aid. Better no aid than support of the invasion. Thrall stated practically. It was the orcish way of seeing things, though some of the older orcs would disagree with him and state that it would have been better to have more enemies to cut up. Most of the poor fools of that era now lay dead, consumed by their bloodlust which threw them relentlessly at their enemies and even their allies, sometimes. The time for decision-making was here.
The orcs will support Theramore in case of invasion. Thrall knew that was what Jaina had been looking for – assurance and a pledge from Durotar – and Jaina's feelings of relief and satisfaction over their shared mental bond only served to confirm his guess.
Thank you. I'll proceed, then. With a cool breeze, the blue presence also vanished from Thrall's mind, and Thrall suddenly found himself back in his makeshift command centre.
"Warchief! The troll witch doctors want to see you!" A raider yelled as he rushed into Thrall's large wooden hut.
"Send them in. I think I know what they're after."
"You're cleared! Go on in!" The raider shouted as he stalked out.
A procession of aged trolls trooped into Thrall's hut and stood reverently in two lines, making way for an ancient and hoary troll with silver-white hair walk in. Despite his seemingly old age, it was apparent that he had tremendous strength.
"King Rastakhan! Welcome to Orgrimmar. Good to see you again, Witch Doctor Vol'jin. To what do I owe this honour?" Thrall nodded in turn to the King and to the resident witch doctor of Orgrimmar.
The King spoke in a strong voice. "We have foreseen the destruction of Orgrimmar as an icy wasteland. We have also foreseen that our arrival will not halt this destruction, though it will delay it. We cast the spell the third time, and we have seen that our sole chance of survival, along with yours, inextricably lies in the city of Theramore." The King broke the news directly, shrugging his powerful shoulders carelessly to belie the magnitude of his words. "The only way for our people to have peace, is for all magic users in our communities to relocate ourselves to Theramore. I hope you can ask your friend, Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Archmage and ruler of Theramore, to grant us entry and temporary residence."
"This is serious news, indeed. I have just obtained warning from the High Priestess of the night elves that we might expect invasion, but I did not think that our homes would be wiped out... we have been warned that the Blues may have allies, and we can expect to be fighting druids of the Cenarion Circle, as well..."
"Druids! Then the situation is worse than we have foreseen. We must move to Theramore without delay; the Blues will be on their way and will not change their course unless we move off."
"Warchief! Let us fight! We're here to protect Durotar from all enemies, be they human or night elven!" The raider who had earlier told Thrall of the coming of the troll witch doctors now rushed into the hut once again; he had apparently been eavesdropping from outside. "Forgive my impudence, Warchief, but we cannot stain our pride and stand by as our Warchief runs from his own home!"
Thrall raised a hand. "You know not what it is you ask. For your pride, would you see every mother and babe freeze and die an icy death? It is not night elves or humans we are dealing with; it is the entire Blue Dragonflight. While normally I would enlist our raiders immediately for war with aerial foes, the Blue Dragons cannot be defeated by mere might. I will heed the counsel of King Rastakhan, and relocate all magic-wielding forces immediately! Send the message for all our shamans and spirit walkers to gather before my hut. We must go."
"Yes, Warchief." The fire had not died entirely in the eyes of the upstart, but he knew that the Warchief would brook no complaint in this matter, and set off.
"How shall we go to Theramore? I doubt the wyverns you brought will be sufficient."
"The matter will resolve itself; ask your friend for permission."
With a mystified glance at the trolls, Thrall reached for his red crystal on his desk – still warm from its recent usage – and called out to Jaina.
Thrall! What is it?
We have changed our plans. I am gathering all our shamans. The troll witch doctors have come together. We seek permission to relocate ourselves to Theramore... the witch doctors divined that we would only have a chance at survival if we banded together there.
It appears that High Priestess Whisperwind was right. Very well, I'm coming. Stay where you are!
Before Thrall could grasp what Jaina just said, the air shimmered and Jaina popped into existence right before Thrall's eyes. The witch doctors had been expecting this, apparently; they sighed as they opened their closed eyes in unison.
"Thank you, Lady Proudmoore." It seemed like a set-up that had been rehearsed over and over again, so perfect was their unanimity.
Just then, the shamans walked into the hut. "Warchief, you called for us?"
"Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen... plus me and Thrall, sixteen! That's fine. Hold on tight!" Jaina chirped as Thrall felt a disconcerting sense of dislocation... and he suddenly found himself in a bustling human building.
"Welcome to Theramore!" At the sight of the disoriented expressions on many a shaman, who had after all only seconds ago been summoned hurriedly to Thrall's quarters, Jaina smiled and said, "don't worry, we've foreseen this, too. Witch doctors aren't the only ones with divining spells." With a wink, Jaina led them to their new quarters which had apparently already been long prepared.
"You're sure about this, Krasus?"
"Not sure. But if we do not have a powerful human champion to defend the Kirin Tor, then the chances of Dalaran's continued existence are very slim… Malygos is astute, powerful and persistent. I can think of no other possible way."
"It's very chancy… what about Cedric?"
"He must not be allowed to know. I will have to block his memories. I hope I will not have to go too far… we've all known what Cedric's like."
"It won't be too difficult blocking his memories, given what you've been doing to our Council." Krasus was certain that his protégé smirked behind his mask.
"Cedric is… very ambitious. I might have to burrow in to remove any information and memories that might reveal our plan to him. If they're very deep memories that I cannot extricate without irreparably damaging his core, I will deign to merely obscure them. Blot them out."
"Oh, so it's our plan now?"
"For the record, Rhonin, it hasn't been my race from Day 1 that needed saving."
"Oh, all right. It's always this same argument you use to win. How unimaginative."
"I think the plan's imaginative enough, all right." Krasus laughed humourlessly. "The meeting's starting soon… I'll make the trip today right afterwards."
"Just make sure you're not noticed, oh-so-wise and powerfully witty master. Try to be restrained when convincing the one almost as ancient as yourself, eh? We don't need mongrels added to this insane mix."
Krasus sighed. Having Rhonin for a protégé wore his patience thin all too easily, as ancient as he was. And Rhonin was really quite hypocritical… who exactly was the one that had already produced mongrels in his own home? Nevertheless, determined to end all this ridiculous chatter for now, Krasus noted to Rhonin mentally, here they come.
Krasus was right. A storm passed unnoticed, for the fifth time, as the Six gathered in the chamber of air discussed the latest happenings.
"The Blues are moving. We have intelligence that states Dalaran won't be their first target. Also, we've received news that the night elves were attacked recently." Rhonin's voice carried across.
"Where do you think they'll strike?" This came from Archmage Runeweaver, the previous Master of the Kirin Tor and its High Council.
"We've received information from Archmage Proudmoore, the ruler of Theramore, that the night elven High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind suspects that Kalimdor's humans and orcs will be struck at first. She has requested a meeting, and she intends to bring along her aide, Magna Aegwynn. I am in favour of granting her an audience."
"Agreed. This is far too important to delay." Drenden's normally composed voice had the slightest hint of a shudder; the real war was about to begin soon.
"I'll tell Alvareaux to arrange one with her tomorrow right after breakfast." Rhonin took charge of the situation easily.
"Not as important as breakfast to certain wizards, Drenden. I only hope she will be worth my time." The grumble came from the usual source.
Only for Archmage Proudmoore. Krasus said with a firm voice right into Rhonin's mind, with a meaningful nod at Rhonin to ensure he got the message.
"They have gathered their resistive strength at Theramore, though they're planning to stage the battle away from the city. They believe that only the spellcasters will be attacked." Rhonin informed the Council as he tactfully sidestepped Modera's comment and acted as if Krasus hadn't said anything.
"Bet you learnt that from Alvareaux." Modera sniffed at Rhonin; she was one of the High Council who had opposed Rhonin's ascension to the supreme decision making body of the Kirin Tor.
"What matters is the information itself, not the petty details." Krasus admonished Modera, and she whipped her masked face at Krasus. Krasus knew her eyes would be full of spite and venom. "We should take advance action, send some mages over to help Theramore. I have a plan..."
"Oh, here comes Krasus and his fool's errands again. Just like the last time, sending in a single mage to free the Dragon Queen, imprisoned as she was by the orcs, and to challenge the Dark One. No thought about the consequences at all." Modera directed her speech derisively at both Krasus and his protégé.
"It ended rather well, as I recall." Even Drenden, Modera's longest-standing friend on the Council, knew when it was time to stop Modera from going too far overboard. "Go on, Krasus, tell us your plan this time..."
Like I said in the previous chapter, apologies for the major overhauls/redo-s. I'm kind of a grammar, subject-verb-object, structure, spelling, language accuracy, vocab freshness etc etc freak, so the documents were reworked and streamlined to cut the loopholes and deepen the characterisation.
Did you guys enjoy the first part of this as much as I did? Like I said, character written based on the archetype of a very, very good real-life friend... P.S., I hope you will enjoy the High Council cause there's going to be quite a fair bit of them in the upcoming two chapters (yup they have already been written and polished twice over!)
But they're not out cause I decided on a weekly Sunday release (see my profile!)