Chapter 12: Timbermaw Hold
"Wow."
That was approximately enough to describe the awe that struck the three orcs as they gazed upon Timbermaw Hold. The structure was enourmous, built into the very side of the mountain range which stretched unfalteringly skyward, seemingly grasping at the sky. Curiously, the architecture was very advanced and bore more semblance to human or dwarf construction, far beyond the capabilities of what the furbolgs had displayed thus far.
Erected at the forefront of the structure was a ginormous gate, which loomed ominously before them, intimidatingly daring them to breach it. Behind the gate, the group of orcs and furbolgs could gaze into a yawning tunnel that clearly went deep, very deep, into the mountains. Given the width of the tunnel, Torgall was willing to assume there was a winding, mazelike complex that stretched for miles buried deep under the earth. It was little wonder that the Timbermaw furbolgs retreated here when under threat - the place was as impregnable a fortress as any.
Standing vigil at the front of the gate were a cluster of other furbolgs, though Torgall mused there were likely plenty others just beyond should an attack commence. The leader was armed with a stone scythe-like blade, and along with a feathered armband akin to that which Meilosh wore, his loincloth was also dyed and he adorned himself with a string necklace of both beads and sharp bones. Given his attire, there was no doubt this particular furbolg held a strong position of power.
"This Gatekeeper Rageroar," Meilosh muttered in a low voice - his time travelling with the orcs had improved his communication skills exponentially, "he strong warrior and powerful shaman, kill many enemies of Timbermaw. He hold great respect."
Rageroar approached them, eyeing the orcs with obvious suspicion, his grip tight on his weapon. It was clear he would attack given any reason, and evidently the foreign newcomers did not endear themselves in his eyes - Torgall was grateful they had found a trickling creek where they could effectively wash off the blood from the earlier battle with the demons. As it was, Rageroar was already glowering at them; the Gatekeeper was making no effort to cover his disdain. However, at the sight of Meilosh, he gave a respectful nod and they two immediately started conversing in low growls. Torgall, Torgus and Greshka looked on with some apprehension - Rageroar looked as though he'd run them through at a moment's notice - but after a few minutes Meilosh returned, waving his brethren toward the gate, before addressing the trio.
"Rageroar thanks you for helping Timbermaw," he said as the gate creaked loudly, allowing the furbolgs passage, "but he very suspicious of orcs now because of attack. Rageroar quick-acting warrior, attack first, ask questions later. Orcs should be careful."
"Perhaps we can convince him otherwise," murmured Torgall, "it's not the first time Hellscream or the Warsong orcs have given the Horde a bad name."
"You can try," Meilosh said, shrugging, "but furbolgs can be very stubborn."
"So we've noticed," Greshka muttered, thinking of the Warsong attack.
"Come," Meilosh said abruptly. The trio glanced at one another.
"Er... come where?" asked Torgus.
"Inside Timbermaw Hold," replied Meilosh as though this were obvious. Again, they looked at each other.
"Are we... allowed?" Torgall enquired, not at all sure, given Rageroar's reception, how they'd be tolerated, let alone permitted to enter the Hold. Undeterred, Meilosh waved the question aside and beckoned them towards the foreboding gates. With a sigh and total lack of enthusiasm, the orcs followed him.
Their first impression was that they had entered a giant rabbit burrow. The huge tunnel stretched downward into the mountains and curved out of sight. It was lined with simple torches every few feet; Torgall shuddered at the thought of having to replace them all on a regular basis, but closer inspection revealed an element of magic onvolved; no doubt the shamans communed with the Spirits of Fire to provide illumination to their refuge. The tunnel felt slightly damp, but coupled with the minimal but cumulative warmth the torches provided, it made for a rather humid environment. On their immediate left and right upon entry were more furbolgs, these ones particularly heavily armed; they wore reinforced, multi-plated wooden armour padded with thick leather underneath, and their huge arms, easily as large as an orc's, carried enourmous stone hammers that could crush a skull with little effort. The heavy guards glowered at them as they passed but made no comment, thanks in part to Meilosh's intervention; they were particularly grateful for the last.
Meilosh led them down the damp tunnel, which was floored with roughly hewn planks of wood. The first few hundred metres were fairly uneventful, but after that, other tunnels started branching off to the sides. A few simply led to dead ends, while others led to small hollows which were primitively furnished, with furbolgs inhabiting them. Some were growling with one another, evidently conversing, while others were slumbering, their rumbling snores magnified tenfold by the winding tunnels. Occasionally they would pass hollows with shelves of very basic design upon which weaponry rested; the Hold clearly had no shortage of defenders.
After a significant period of trekking, during which the three orcs glimpsed several huge dens with large numbers of furbolgs gathered inside - some were feeding halls, others were sparring rooms one and in one they were simply all sleeping together - the orcs felt a change in the path. It was no longer sloping down; rather, it was inclining upwards. Torgall wondered if Meilosh had taken them for an overlong tour of the Hold, and had in fact led them back to the tunnel they had come down from - it was all so complex, he would not have been surprised, as his sense of direction was nonexistant this deep underground - but he could not recognize any of the hollows they had passed before. Again, he would not have been surprised if that was merely because his sense of direction had failed him.
"Meilosh," Torgus abruptly said, and the furbolg looked behind him, "where exactly are you taking us?"
"Up," their guide simply replied, continuing to lead them down tunnel after tunnel. They soon realized that they certainly were not exiting the way they came - the tunnels were now sloping significantly upwards. The group marched on resolutely, Meilosh seemingly unphased by the climb, but the orcs soon felt their legs seizing up.
"Is it... much... further?" panted Greshka, sweat beading on her forehead; the climb was quite a test of endurance.
"Soon," was the only reply. The orcs looked at each other, wondering why he had suddenly become so secretive, but knew that they were unlikely to get an elaborative response - as Meilosh himself had said before, furbolgs were very stubborn. They had only to remember the Warsong incident for proof of that.
As they continued to rise, the humidity of the tunnels began to taper off, to be replaced by a cool breeze, which in turn gave way to a chill draught. It only then occured to the three that Meilosh had led them far higher than where they had entered - likely up into the moutains. Sure enough, as they rounded a final bend in the tunnel, where the torches were now flickering due to the cold winds blowing in, they saw ahead of them that the cave mouth was layered with snow, and out beyond the lands were blanketed in a thick sheet of white. Torgall heard Greshka gasp slightly and Torgus utter an awed oath.
They stepped out into the chill expanse, the snow reaching out in every direction while Meilosh stood behind them, a smile, almost a smirk, playing on his muzzel. The sight was hauntingly beautiful - the trees twinkled and glistened with crystallized water hanging off their branches, and just in the distance was a frozen lake, glittering as it reflected the sunlight. The snow itself was very bright, as was the rest of the environment - unlike Ashenvale, where the forest canopy was so dense that very little light managed to penetrate, this frozen peak was so close to the sky that everything seemed far brigther than it was even when they were in Azshara, or the barren coastline upon which the Horde had initially landed. Torgall, Greshka and Torgus shivered slightly - their leather armour wasn't overly thick, and unlike Meilosh, they did not have fur to keep them warm.
"What you think?" Meilosh asked, surveying their reactions closely.
"It's... beautiful," Greshka said breathlessly.
"I've never seen anything like it," rumbled Torgus, "even the lands of the dwarves didn't look like this..."
"Nor Alterac," agreed Greshka fervently.
Torgall nodded with the others but did not speak - instead he approached a nearby boulder, sensing something underneath the snow. Carefully, he touched the surface - it was soft, impossibly soft - before brushing it aside. Beneath the snow was a thin layer of ice that had solidified over the rock, but it was completely clear; indeed, the only way he could tell that there was ice there was by touching it, and feeling the cool, smooth surface instead of the rough exterior one would have expected. Staring carefully through the ice, he saw that, upon the surface of the rock itself, strange runes had been carved: it was these that were emanating the power he sensed.
"These runes hold great power..." he muttered to himself, before glancing at Meilosh. He straightened up. "Is this what you brought us here for? To show us these?" He gestured at the rock, along with several others. Meilosh gave a half-shrug as Greshka and Torgus joined Torgall to investigate the runes.
"Yes," he replied, "and no. Come, have other thing to show."
He motioned for them to follow, and led them into the snowy wilderness. Now, the orcs got a true view of the wildlife in this strange land. Snow-white bears roamed the plains, hunting smaller game such as rabbits and squirrels, while snow leopards stalked the bushes and undergrowth, hoping to find nesting birds or rodents. At one point, Torgall thought he saw a great winged dragon-like creature soar overhead - which would not have been overly surprising, as dragons were still known to roam the skies, but what made him perform a double take was that this particular beast seemed to have two heads. When he glanced up again, however, the creature had already flown out of sight. He shook his head - this land had not yet ceased to surprise him.
During the trek, the group happened across more of the strange rune-inscribed stones. Like the first they had passed, they pulsed with hidden power, some of which was barely contained; Torgall would not have been surprised if merely fracturing the ice coating would release a torrent of energy. He had heard shamans discussing arcane magics on the boats, how it became volatile and unstable over the years if left unused, not unlike alcohol fermenting. These artifacts of power were clearly ancient, and Torgall made a mental note not to so much as pick one up unless absolutely necessary.
Indeed, he very much hoped that such a feat would not prove absolutely necessary.
At one point they had passed a frozen lake, where upon the banks rested a crumbling and clearly ancient ruin. Over the surface of the ice, Torgall thought he saw a faint glimmering, which he attributed to the reflected sunlight. A second glance, however, revealed the glimmers to have transperant forms: transluscent and phantasmal spirits.
"Ghosts of moon children," whispered Meilosh, when he saw the orc staring, "they have haunted this place for long, long time... they weep for release, but when we try to help them, they attack us. We just leave them now."
As if to accentuate that point, one of the spirits gave a ghostly wail of misery and soared through the air towards them. The three orcs were briefly startled into inaction, but this was apparently not unfamiliar to Meilosh; as if instinctively, his paw flew straight to his belt, where he detached a few pebbles. Torgall at first thought the furbolg had lost all sense - throwing pebbles at a ghost? - but as they made contact with the spirit, there was a bright flash; it gave a shriek of pain and fury before dissipating into nothingness, and the pebbles crumbled to dust.
"What were those?" Greshka asked, frowning at the dust of the pebbles on the snow, but Torgall answered.
"The runestones," he said, looking at Meilosh, who nodded.
"Many of those stones used to be here," he explained, "and we Timbermaw have taken them now and then; they help us deal with the dangers in the land. But we don't always use them, because they sometimes very dangerous."
So it was arcane magic indeed. Torgall wondered if the reckless use of magic by the Kaldorei was what had caused these ruins, and if they had perhaps even altered the climate of these peaks; of course, so high up, the snowy environment was unsurprising, but there was most definately a hint of magic in the air. Torgall watched the forlorn spirits carefully as they resumed their hike.
Eventually, Meilosh led them to the edge of the moutains. At first, all three orcs were struck by a brief bout of vertigo, but after recovering, the view was breathtaking. Directly below them was Azshara, in all its magnificent glory. They could see its crescent shape clearly now, and dotted here and there across the landscape were ruins of what must have been mighty cities and temples; Torgall wondered how they hadn't seen them before. Further along they could see the Southfury River, before giving way to Ashenvale. The forest canopy was completely visible, a multitude of shades of purple, green and blue, and even in daylight the trees seemed to glitter and glow enticingly. In the midst of the forest, like a great blemish upon the landscape, was the area of forest that the Warsong orcs had cleared. It was there that the forest turned brown and grey, with the familiar spiky orcish architecture of buildings strewn amongst the clearing. Here and there were also fires, used for clearing the trees. Several of the surrounding areas also had been cleared, so the overall affect was one large open logging site with smaller operations spread around it nearby. Torgall could almost see why the Kaldorei were so affronted by their actions.
Beyond Ashenvale, further along the coast where Southfury met the sea, they could see the barren plains where the Horde had first landed, and even the valleys where Hellscream had attacked the Alliance. Behind those valleys, they could see the forboding moutain to which Thrall and the rest of the Horde had travelled, to find this mysterious Oracle; Torgall hoped they would complete their mission soon, so they could make their way in this foreign land. After all, the Warsong clan wasn't clearing the forest merely to provoke the natives - although in hindsight, Torgall mused that Hellscream might very well be doing that.
"Beautiful, yes?" Meilosh said, gazing over the land with slightly glazed eyes. A moment later he shook his head and added, "Thought you might want to watch others orcs from here, get good view."
Indeed, while they couldn't make out the orcs themselves from this height and distance, they could easily tell if an attack was imminent. However, it had taken them over a day to get here, so warning ahead of time would be very difficult...
"Perhaps we ought to be getting back," Torgall said to the others, "Hellscream will likely have finished the operation soon with those shredders, and once the Horde arrives we can simply... blend in."
Torgus nodded, but Greshka was not paying attention. Rather, she was crouched dangerously close to the cliff edge, one hand held above her forehead, and squinting.
"What is it?" Torgus asked, staring in the same direction. Orcs had keen eyesight, but Greshka's was superior to both Torgus' and Torgall's. As such, neither, nor Meilosh, could see what she was trying to make out.
"There's an attack approaching," she said quietly, "many Kaldorei... and... something large. A being of great power."
Even as she spoke, to their shock and awe, several clusters of trees in the smaller clearings abruptly disappeared entirely - whole sections of the forest completely regrew. The orcs gaped, having never seen such an amazing spectacle. Speechless, Torgall rounded on Meilosh for an explanation. The furbolg, however, was just as stunned as they were.
"The Forestlord..." he gasped, eyes wide, "The Forestlord returns!"
"What is this?" Torgus said sharply. "Who is the Forestlord?"
"Ancient being... powerful being, fought the demons many, many ages ago," Meilosh said in a low voice heavy with respect. "He watches over the land and is a close friend to the moon children..."
The three orcs looked at one another, each knowing what the other was thinking. The Warsong clan, and consequently the stability and continuity of the Horde's presence in this land, was in serious danger.
"Meilosh," Torgall asked hurriedly, "is there a fast route back to Ashenvale? One which won't take longer than a day?"
The furbolg paused, thinking hard. Torgall impatiently paced back and forth while Torgus knelt next to Greshka, who was still squinting into the distance, the former being only slightly amazed at how sharp her vision could be.
"We can take you through another forest," said Meilosh after a few minutes, "but it very special to moon children. High chance they attack."
But Greshka shook her head.
"Currently, they're very focused on the Warsongs, and moreover I doubt they'd have expected us to get a stronger presence outside the lumber camp as of yet," she said. "If the Kaldorei are anything like the humans, they're going to think of us as mindless savages first, and like strategic thinkers last. They won't be the first to underestimate us." She frowned slightly. "How far is this sacred forest from Ashenvale?" she asked.
"North, long distance away, but Timbermaw Hold has entrance there," replied Meilosh, "So the distance is shorter than if you travelled through Azshara."
"In that case, there's a good chance that any Kaldorei we happen upon won't realize who or what we are yet," she added. "and Meilosh and his brethren are suppsoed to be allies of the Kaldorei... perhaps we can use that to our advantage."
"We're putting an awful lot on chance here, Greshka," Torgall warned. She shrugged.
"It's the best we can hope for. What other alternatives do we have?"
"Humph. Would that we had the zeppelins right now," snorted Torgus.
"You'd trust inventions by goblins, then?" Torgall asked snidely.
"Goblins?" interjected Meilosh, "There are goblins here."
"There are?" they all said sharply. The furbolg nodded.
"They have small town north of here, Everlook," he explained, "say they're part of stee mwedil car-tell. Meilosh not know what that means, but... maybe they can help?"
The orcs stood considering silently, weighing the options. If they went back the way they came, they would likely arrive too late to assist the Warsong clan, and there would be a strong likelihood of being attacked by demons once more. If they traversed the sacred forest Meilosh told them of, they would ptobably arrive much sooner, but there was an even higher chance of an attack from the Kaldorei, which could delay them, or result in capture or death. Or, they could find this town of Everlook, and negotiate transport via zeppelin, or some other contraption. Of course, goblin inventions were known for their liability to be slightly less than effectual, up to and including fatal accidents, but they had at least proven sound during the Second War, as Greshka and Torgus could both attest.
Meilosh stood to the side, looking at each orc in turn as they deliberated, waiting for their response. After a few minutes of silence, they huddled together and conversed in low mutters, with the occasional grunt of protest or amusement at some grim joke. Finally, Torgall looked up.
"Meilosh," he said, "please guide us to Everlook."