Chapter 14: Reunion
The plans were made and the trio were preparing to leave. They felt guilty about leaving Meilosh behind, but they were sure he'd understand that they couldn't wait, and moreover his bulk wouldn't have been able to fit into the flying machine - it was cramped enough as it was with the three orcs without adding the girth of a furbolg to boot.
Gaznok, as it transpired, was a self-proclaimed 'expert ex-pilot' who had plenty of experience in these strange contraptions, but had chosen to become a bruiser for the good pay. He had initially been stationed at the jungle port town of Booty Bay, deep in the southern reaches of Stranglethorn Vale, and aside from the occasional raid from native troll tribes or the Bloodsail Buccaneers, rival faction to the Blackwater Raiders, life was sweet. That is, until he was transferred to the frozen peaks of this strange land, to the budding town of Everlook. The theory was that the goblins would set up towns and settlements as the pioneers of this new land, then inform the other races. Once the other races migrated across the sea, the goblins would be ready-made to offer them hospitality - at whatever price they wished. However, the arrival of the Horde, and subsequently the Alliance, as they had explained to the dismayed Gaznok, had likely ruined that plan.
"So... goblins built this contraption, huh?" Torgus asked warily as the goblin handed him a reinforced helmet. Gaznok shook his head, his ears flapping slightly.
"No no no, this is of gnomish and dwarf design," he said, his squeaky voice betraying a hint of both jealousy and contempt at the mention of gnome and dwarf engineering, "but the Steamweedle Cartel was able to... 'acquire' the plans through certain means, and we've been able to replicate the product. Of course, gnomes and dwarves don't really know how to invent the good stuff, so we've made our own alterations."
The orcs grimaced at one another as they envisioned what these 'alterations' might be, and wondering how much safety and reliability had been sacrificed to compensate. Still, without Meilosh to guide them through the sacred Kaldorei forests - or night elves, as Gaznok had called them - and with the route back through Timbermaw Hold and Azshara taking far too long, this was their best bet. Steeling himself, Torgall strapped on his own helmet and situated himself in the flying machine's seat, Torgus taking the seat next to him and Greshka behind.
Gaznok, meanwhile, tottered up to the front of the machine and started rotating the blades manually. After a few moments of this, he peered over at Torgall and called out, "When I say so, push that red lever forward while depressing the right-most pedal!"
Torgall raised an eyebrow and looked at the others, who merely shrugged in a 'just do it' sort of way. Sighing, he clambered into the front seat and looked for the lever Gaznok had described. Unfortunately, the entire console seemed to be made of levers, save for the buttons and flashing lights it had dotted amongst it. After a few moments of searching, however, he found an attractively obvious red lever which could only be the one Gaznok was referring to. The pedal on the right was, thankfully, marginally easier to find.
"Now!" cried the goblin. Torgall shoved the lever forward and stamped on the pedal, and with a startling crunch, the propellers abruptly started spinning of their own accord, and somewhere within the bowels of the machine an engine began rumbling and puttering away. The goblin jumped back, apparently unpeturbed by the whirling blades that could have very easily decapitated him, and scuttled back to the flying machine where the trio awaited him with some apprehension. Giving them what he no doubt considered a reassuring grin, and which they interpreted as staring death in the face, he settled down in the pilot seat as Torgall squeezed back into his own.
"This is your pilot speaking," Gaznok trilled over the growling engine, "flight from Everlook to Ashenvale is about to commence... please keep all limbs in the vehicle and enjoy the trip on goblin technology making something worthwhile out of dwarf and gnome design!"
The orcs grimaced at one another as Gaznok gave a mad cackle of glee - evidently, he despised being a bruiser compared to being back in a crazy goblin contraption. He tugged and pulled at various levers while pressing buttons, giving the impression that he was randomly fumbling about, but after several strange combinations, several lights brightened, the needles on some of the dials whizzed back and forth, and steam issued from the hull of the machine. At first they thought something had caught fire, but Gaznok gave a cry of delight as he slammed the pedal Torgall had activated from before, and the aircraft suddenly lurched forwards. The flying machine rolled slowly along the frozen ground at first, but as the wheels gained a proper grip, it started to pick up momentum. Before long, they were travelling fast enough to outpace even the fastest wolf riders, and Everlook quickly became smaller in the distance.
However, they were still on the ground.
Torgall raised an eyebrow at his companions while Gaznok giggled and laughed wildly to himself, wondering if this strange machine could even fly at all. Perhaps it could not bear the combined weight of three orcs and a goblin? After all, it had been invented by dwarves and gnomes, so surely the design had been built around creatures with smaller stature.
All of a sudden, the front of the flying machine lifted upwards, followed by the rest of the vehicle. Greshka gave a small shriek and Torgus swore loudly as they were thrown slightly in their seats, before tightly gripping the sides. Gaznok, who could not hear them over the engine, which was practically thundering now, nor the propellers, which were spinning blindingly fast with a thwat-thwat-thwat-thwat sound, did not glance back at them, but instead turned a strange handle of sorts, causing the flying machine to tilt awkwardly to the side. Again, the orcs cried and shouted in surprise, though the tilt was not enough to dislodge them. As it rolled, the aircraft steadily turned, so as to position them better and allow them to pass between the oncoming mountain range.
As they passed through said mountains, Torgall couldn't help but marvel at the sight. Beneath them, just as when they had seen it from the cliff, was Azshara, resplendent in its sinister glory; he knew that the land below hid a dark secret. Again, Gaznok began turning the craft, this time to the right, so they banked in the direction of Ashenvale. Already, the cliff face behind them seemed a great distance, and Torgall knew that, assuming this strange contraption didn't explode, as gobiln-made products had a tendency to do, they would likely be able to cross Azshara and reach the Warsong camp in a matter of hours, if not less. He found it difficult to judge distance and travel time at this height; while objects below seemed to merely crawl along, at other times they simply whizzed past.
More than once, catastrophe seemed imminent. In one scenario, the engine had abruptly, with a great amount of spluttering, ceased functioning, and the blades - 'propellors', Gaznok had screeched over the whirring and rumbling - stopped spinning. The flying machine, now failing to live up to its name, dropped out of the sky like a stone. Torgall, Torgus and Greshka were all bellowing and screaming incoherently, but Gaznok barely seemed to notice. He merely stretched casually, pressed a few buttons, pulled a couple of levers, and when that didn't work, withdrew a large spanner and slammed it against the hull several times. With an almighty bang, the engine kicked in once more, the propellors began spinning again and the aircraft levelled out. At that, Gaznok simply withdrew an unlit roll of tobacco, prised one of the metal plates ajar slightly, stuck it in for a moment, withdrew it, and puffed some smoke at the orcs with another toothy grin, apparently unaware, even with their looks of horror and fury, that their hearts had jumped into their mouths.
On another occasion, gas erupted from the hull once again, but this time it was not steam - it was most definately smoke. The orcs had looked at each other grimly, certain that this would be their doom. Gaznok, however, as nonchalant as ever, merely peeled back the metal plates once more and stretched as cool air rushed inside the craft - however, the turbulent winds buffeted the craft about, and the orcs shut their eyes tightly as they gripped the sides of their seats for dear life. But with some careful maneuvering, even Gaznok managed to regain control; he extended a pair of flaps from the wings and unfurled an enourmous sheet of cloth attached with thin but sturdy ropes, throwing it behind the craft where it erupted and billowed outwards, catching air within. With these modifications, the craft stabilized itself and the fire was extinguished, though with the cloth hanging from behind, the craft was moving slower. To remedy this, Gaznok twisted about in his seat, slicing each rope with a hunting knife, and eventually the cloth was freed. And still despite these setbacks, the goblin remained as cheerful as ever, navigating them steadily toward Ashenvale.
But already something was terribly wrong.
The clearing was no longer dull and greyish-brown from destroyed trees or fought battles. Everything has changed. The ground appeared cracked and barren, much like the lands further to the south. Fires raged uncontrolled in some areas, and there were strange beasts prowling about that Torgall had never seen before: hound-like with furry manes, tentacles protruding from their backs and horns pointed from above their snarling mouths. In addition, there were orcs there, but not like any orcs he had ever seen before... these ones were red-skinned, with burning red eyes that were following the craft with maliicious intent. Even as they watched, several orcs began loading up catapults.
At the head of all this, black hair flowing, eyes blazing, Gorehowl waving, was Grommash Hellscream.
Strangely enough, amidst this horrifying scene, lay a massive being, clearly dead, but one which must have wielded awesome power before it was slain. It had the lower body of a stag, yet the upper body of a man - or at least an elf-like man. His features were contorted with rage, but Torgall had a feeling that he must have looked ethereally handsome otherwise. He noticed many wounds cut in various points on the body, but they did not appear to be inflicted by normal weapons - rather, the wounds appeared of magical origin, and even from so high up Torgall could sense the wrongness about them. Something evil had inflicted those strikes. But even as they watched, Torgall knew what had happened, and who had done it.
The Warsong clan had slain the Forestlord.
"I think we had better get out of here!" Gaznok screeched nervously over the engine and propellors. As he spoke, the orcs below finished loading a catapult, and fired it. Gaznok gave a startled cry, and forced the flying machine to do a swift barrel roll to avoid the projectile. Once more, the orcs were nearly thrown from the aircraft, but by this point they had enough sense to hold on.
"Torgall!" Greshka screamed from behind, and he glanced down - several archers were loading their longbows.
"Get down!" he cried, and they all ducked - arrows, wickedly jagged, sliced through the air, ripping holes in the flying machine's wings. They felt the craft drop a few metres.
"There! Down there!" Torgus bellowed over the noise, pointing several kilometers southwest of the Warsong camp - the Horde! Strangely enough, directly adjacent was also an Alliance base, but neither, fortunately, appeared hostile. Indeed, they could make out some orcs and humans, pointing at them and exclaiming at the spectacle of an aircraft being assaulted by the Warsong clan.
Even Gaznok looked down, and unfortunately that nearly cost them their lives. A fiery boulder thrown by another catapult hurtled towards the craft, and while he wrenched it to the side, the projectile still struck the hull, nearly knocking the flying machine striaght out of the sky. The group yelled and screamed as it began plummeting in a spiral, and alarms and lights started blazing and shrieking, even as yet another fire erupted from the side of the plane.
"We're going down! Eject, eject!" screamed Gaznok, mashing a bright red button frantically. It was too late, Torgall thought, the craft was drawing closer and closer to the ground, surely they were going to die...
All at once, the orcs gave a shocked cry as they were thrown bodily from their seats just milliseconds before colliding with the ground - they pelted five, ten, twenty metres into the air before plummeting back down with a crunching thud. Behind them, the flying machine slammed into the ground and erupted into a huge fireball with a tremendous explosion to boot, the metal twisting and curling, the wood and cloth being reduced to ash. Gasping for air, the group barely managed to raise their heads, hardly daring to believe they had just escaped the same fate.
Panting, the group managed to stagger to their feet. Nearby, Torgus was leaning against a tree, violently sick.
"Never... again..." he heaved. "I'll battle humans... night elves... demons... but you'll never get me in one of those infernal contraptions again... never again..."
"Oh, harden up," said Greshka, punching him lightly on the arm - she looked fairly pale, but was able to at least remain steady. Torgall went over to Gaznok, who appeared out cold, but with a tentative nudge, the goblin gave an extremely long groan and his eyes opened, barely.
"I think... being a bruiser... might have been a better choice," he said faintly. With a sigh, Torgall lifted the goblin to his feet - for a moment, he swayed awkwardly, threatening to collapse once more, but then managed to right himself. The group had only just managed to pull themselves together, however, when the bushes around them started rustling ominously, dark shapes moving about in the undergrowth. They readied their weapons.
"Stay yaselves, mon, we're here to be escortin' yas back."
At that, Torgall's heart lifted - he knew that voice quite well. They lowered their weapons, and out from the bushes stepped the lanky blue form of Rakaji, spears slung around one shoulder and grinning widely.
"So what happened, huh? You mons missed da zeppelins!"
Chuckling, Torgall stepped forward and clapped the troll on the shoulder. It was good to see a familiar face.
"Torgall? Torgus?"
"Greshka?"
Again, he looked up at the sounds of those familiar voices. The rest of the patrol party had stepped out, a few orcs and a couple of tauren. And amongst them...
"Fenris! Kunasha!" Torgall explained, grinning further. Greshka, too, ran forward, hugging Kunasha - Torgus stumbled awkwardly, his stomach having finished torturing him, but he managed to shake Fenris' beefy paw.
"So, you mons all knowin' each other, den," said Rakaji. "Happy little reunion, this. Come on, we be bringin' ya back into da fold. And who be yer little friend?" he added, indicating Gaznok, who was swaggering forward drunkenly.
"This is Gaznok Oilwrench," Torgall explained as they pushed their way through the vegetation, "he's the one responsible for... 'returning' us to Ashenvale."
Fenris grunted, and Rakaji grinned.
"You be trustin' goblin technology, mon?" he said without a slight jeer, "Ya be crazy as they be."
"You were willing to get on their zeppelins," Torgus pointed out. Rakaji shrugged.
"Ain't had no choice, brudda... but dat be beside da point. We got bigger fish ta fry."
"We wouldn't mind knowing what's going on here ourselves," Greshka said, her eyes suddenly ablaze. "What's happening here, Rakaji? We saw it from the skies - demons, fel orcs - there's clearly demonic magic afoot here."
"Dat be da biggest understatement I heard yet, mon," Rakaji said, shaking his head sadly. "From what we've bin able ter tell, da Warsong clan came under attack by them elf-women, but dis time dey be bringin' one nasty brudda wid dem - he was far too powerful for dem to handle. As it transpired, dere was a fount o' demon blood nearby, and Grom, he takes his whole clan dere and makes 'em drink it. They slew dat stag-man, slew him good dey did. But then dey be losin' control... they're attackin' both da Horde and the Alliance!"
"Why are the Alliance here as well?" asked Torgus, "Why are they battling alongside us?"
"See for yourself, mon," said Rakaji, shrugging and cutting aside the last of the ferns outside the Horde settlement. Beyond, the group saw a particularly strange sight - humans and orcs, trolls and dwarves, tauren and elves, all working together. Maintaining defenses, keeping watch, amassing resources. At the head of it, they could see Thrall, deep in conversation with a slender woman in pure white robes and carrying a carved wooden staff - Torgall began recalling Hellscream's earlier words: "apparantly a frail girl named..."
"Dat be Jaina Proudmoore," said Rakaji, following Torgall's gaze. "She be the leader of the humans here, she an' Thrall be makin' a pact, a deal or somet'in'."
Torgall, however, was not listening. The two leaders, deep in discussion, no doubt about plans and strategies, were standing amongst priests, shamans and magi, though for what reason Torgall could not discern. What had caught his attention, however, were a familiar human warlock and high elf mage...
The human and elf were deep in conversation, but even as Torgall approached, the human happened to glance up. His eyes widened slightly, then he smiled awkwardly and waved his hand. The high elf simply raised an eyebrow but made no movement.
"Lucethious Manadawn and Yulgash," Torgall rumbled to them both. The former merely nodded, but Yulgash replied, "Torgall, fancy seeing you here."
"'Choo know these two den, mon?" said Rakaji, joining them. "Dey be givin' us lotsa trouble when we tried to find da Oracle. Powerful spellcasters."
"Well, Lucethious is," Yulgash said quickly, "I was expelled from Dalaran with only having completed my apprenticeship; I'm not a fully-qualified wizard like he is."
Lucethious sniffed slightly but made no comment. Evidently, he did not approve of this joint attack between the Horde and Alliance.
"Don't mind him," Yulgash whispered, "he doesn't feel your people should be here... and he feels less enthusiastic about fighting alongside them."
Torgall realized Yulgash had used 'your people' as opposed to 'the orcs' or something else that would objectify them; he appreciated that.
"And how do you feel about the situation?" he asked quietly. Yulgash shrugged.
"If we need to battle alongside each other, then so be it. I know what the Horde did to the Alliance in the Wars, but you all seem... different now."
Torgall chose to capitalize on that and said, "We fight for ourselves and survival now, as I said earlier, - the Horde has no quarrel with the Alliance in this land. We will fight you only out of necessity."
Yulgash remembered those words, nodding.
"And so now we fight together," the orc continued, looking toward where the corrupt Warsongs had transformed and corrupted the land utterly. "Against a common enemy..."
Even as he and his friends stood firm, staring at the danger of their own brethren threatening to undo all they had strived for, Torgall knew that while the true threat was only just beginning to show itself, together, they could, and would, prevail.