I'm not going to pretend WoD was a good expansion, but I did really like the setting, and I hope you enjoy this story despite that.
Also, I hope you can forgive any lore inconsistencies or off-kilter theories. I looked stuff up at every opportunity possible, but I was still left with some gaps that I had to fill by making some BS up.
Lastly a big thanks to my friend Roohski for editing for me, god bless
Anton stood near the prow of the beached ship, looking out towards a small draenei settlement to the west. He could see only a few buildings, but no people - he wondered if they had seen the stolen vessel arrive yet. He wondered what their reaction might be.
Even I'm not sure what I should be feeling.
The atmosphere aboard the ship had been horribly mixed, and it had instilled in him a sense of uncertainty. Many were filled with relief to escape the clutches of the Iron Horde, but as many again were overwhelmed with despair for their lost loved ones, or filled with a grim fear that their troubles were only beginning. That atmosphere had only intensified with the boat's rough docking, although he could hardly call it a docking at all; they had simply guided the ship onto the beach and coped with the sudden shock of the stop. The sensible among them had grabbed onto something beforehand.
Both the Alliance and native Draenor survivors were disembarking simply by sliding down the ship's metal side, assisted by a motley assortment of draenei, human and elf standing ready on the sands below. He could even see a few worgen in the throng; he noticed the native draenei giving them a wide berth. He could hardly blame them.
He, however, was in no particular hurry to get off the ship. The draenei natives they had rescued had assured them that Shadowmoon Valley was largely peaceful and quiet, and indeed the starry night sky and softly waving grass did corroborate their story. However, he was hesitant to let his guard down and trust that was the case so soon after their near escape. He wasn't sure if he had the courage to face whatever dangers Draenor fielded.
"Footman Miller. What are you doing?" Anton heard a demanding voice from behind him, and he turned to see his captain striding towards him.
Well, he's not really my captain.
Captain Daniel Montoy was one of the few people left in any position of authority, and had been helping to keep order on the ship. Anton had been reluctant to follow him at first - he had vaguely remembered hearing about someone with that name being involved in some scandal during the Northrend campaign - but had seen little other option. Some part of him had recognized that it was either follow someone else, or rout.
"Nothing, sir." Anton saluted. "Just looking at our surrounds. There's a few houses off to the west, there, but I can't tell if there's anyone actually living there."
"Sounds like slacking off to me," Captain Montoy narrowed his eyes. "There's a lot of work to be done still. If you're not helping people off the ship then help get the supplies down."
"I wasn't slack -" Anton started, but stopped as fast at the dangerous look on the captain's face. "Right away, sir."
He was out of his footman armor and technically not obligated to obey, nearest he could tell. Then again, with the chain of command as broken as it was, it was probably in his best interests to do it anyway - especially when it was a hardass like Montoy giving the order.
Without another word he scurried off and busied himself carting supplies over to the front of the ship. In lieu of any better idea, the workers and soldiers pitching in had taken to using the same method of delivery that they had for the people; simply pushing them down the curved side of the ship and having people catch them. Probably not the safest way, but at least none of the boxes had broken yet.
As he pitched in heaving crates and packs around, he almost found himself actually enjoying the work. Having something strenuous to do made it easier to forget the disaster that had been their entry into Draenor. How many good men and women had been lost, Alliance and Horde? There had just been so many orcs, so many siege machines... Sure, it had technically been a success - the Dark Portal was thoroughly destroyed. But now, the Alliance forces were so few in number, and thoroughly stranded. There weren't going to be any reinforcements coming through to save them.
Sooner than he would have liked he found himself out of things to lift, and directed down to join the rest of the survivors. Although the task had tired him out somewhat, he knew he'd have to find something else to distract himself with quickly, before he started thinking again about the situation he'd gotten himself into.
Either that, or something to drink.
He slid down the ship's side without any fuss, landing on the sand amidst the piled up supplies with a soft thump. There were a few men and women working to sort and organize them, but beyond them a crowd of people were gathering near where the inland edge of the beach – Anton recognized it as exactly what he needed, and joined the stragglers heading over to investigate the commotion.
Between the other spectators he saw a white-haired draenei woman speaking to another, far more wizened draenei. He vaguely recognized her as being among the group of natives they had rescued, but didn't know her name. "I can vouch for their good intentions, Prophet. The Light has heeded our prayers at last. These heroes have come from another realm - another world entirely - to aid us."
"She says, as though we don't need the help ourselves..." He couldn't stop himself muttering. A night elf next to him shared a concerned glance before returning his eyes to the main conversation.
"It is good to see you again, Yrel. I had feared for your survival." The elderly one she was speaking to said warmly. He turned his eyes out to the crowd as he spoke next, and Anton felt strangely at ease under his gaze. "It is an honor to welcome you to Shadowmoon Valley, heroes. Who among you is in command?"
"I am." A fiery-haired woman stepped forward, her magician's robes a glaring red and gold, her bearing proud and straight backed. This one he recognized. "Commander Dawson, at your service, Prophet Velen. I will be -"
"How do you know my name?" The old draenei – apparently the Prophet - interrupted, a twinkle in his eye.
Anton craned his head to try and get a closer look – he was under the impression that Prophet Velen had remained on the Azeroth side of the Dark Portal. He remembered seeing him there from a distance as he gave his blessing to the assembled forces before they crossed the threshold.
"I, ah - Well, your reputation precedes you." She was clearly caught off guard, but composed herself quickly.
"From as far off as another world?"
Several among the crowd murmured in confusion at the exchange, a sentiment that Anton himself shared in. As far as he knew Velen had had personally spoken with many of the leaders in charge of the excursion - Commander Dawson among them.
So why are they pretending like they have never met?
"... Yes. Yes, that far. And... Yrel has told me much about you." The Commander covered herself weakly, and Velen seemed to see right through her. Nonetheless, he did not challenge her. "As I was saying, we will be glad to render whatever assistance we can. Our mission here is to put an end to the aggression of the Iron Horde - I believe we have a common enemy in them."
"That, we do." Velen nodded slowly. "We have ever co-existed with the orcs, but lately, they have decided to rescind their goodwill. Many of our people in neighbouring lands have been lost to them already - killed or kidnapped. Even the peaceful Shadowmoon clan whom we shared this valley with have withdrawn to their fortress and reinforced their outposts - I fear that they mean war, but I would not risk my people's lives until I am sure."
"You need fear that risk no longer, Prophet." A tall draenei resplendent in gold and silver armor stepped forth. "Ner'zhul himself was present in Tanaan with representatives from his clan. They have cast their lot in with the Iron Horde."
Yrel nodded in affirmation of his story, but Velen was not looking at her. He only peered inquisitively at the tall draenei, who shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.
"My apologies. I feel as though I should recognize you, but I do not."
"There is no fault on your part, Prophet. We... have not met. I am Vindicator Maraad." A slight sadness toned Maraad's reply.
"I see. Then... If what you say is true, our list of enemies grows." Velen sighed. "Your aid will be most welcome indeed, champions."
"And we will be glad to give it, but I'm afraid I must ask a boon of you first, Prophet." Commander Dawson spoke.
"A place to lodge your people, I imagine?" Velen predicted, to her affirmation. "A wise idea. The foremost concern of any leader should be their people's welfare. As it happens, the answer to your problem may lie right here. It is fortunate that you made landfall where you did - this location commands the entrance to our valley, and I am prepared to allow your people its use. I trust Yrel's judgment well - I believe you won't misuse it."
"I assure you, I won't." Commander Dawson said firmly. "The dismantling of the Iron Horde is our first priority. I won't betray your trust."
"Good." He nodded, then turned back to Yrel, who was looking slightly flushed at his praise. "Yrel, would you speak with me alone for a moment? Excuse us, please."
The conversation broke as Velen led Yrel away, and the onlooking crowd around Anton immediately burst into whispered mutterings as he tried to wrap his head around the odd discussion he'd just borne witness to. He couldn't make heads nor tails of why both Maraad and the Commander were pretending they hadn't met Velen, or why he wouldn't remember meeting them.
Unless... Wait, we're technically back in time, aren't we? Maybe he actually hasn't ever met them yet...?
A throaty voice grumbled from next to him, interrupting his train of thought. "I wonder what this means for us. Are we already beholden to these draenei now?"
"Well, I suppose we are. But then, we would have had -" His reply caught in his mouth as he turned to look at the other speaker, and instead found himself at eye level with a distressingly noticeable bust. The unexpected sight commanded his wide-eyed attention for a moment before it even occurred to him to see who it belonged to.
It was a brown-furred worgen woman who stood next to him, clad in a leather gambeson and taller than he was by almost a head and a half. He had to stop himself from taking a reflexive step back as he looked up to meet her hard, judgmental stare. It was difficult not to feel intimidated after being caught out looking by someone bigger than him.
"... That is, I suppose we would have had to be beholden to someone. We're alone out here, against an army." He recovered and managed to choke out a reply.
"True enough." She groused reluctantly. Her hard glare lingered on him for a moment before she turned away.
Scary. Guess I didn't make the best first impression, though.
Captain Montoy's impatient voice rang out from behind them before she could get far. "Miller! Brown! What are you two doing?"
"What? I was just talking." Anton said defensively. The worgen - aptly named Brown, apparently – stopped but didn't deign to respond beyond glaring.
"I expect better out of both of you! You're both trained soldiers! You're here gawping and gawking while it's all hands on deck?" Montoy snapped. Anton's stung pride urged him to respond, chain of command be damned, but the captain continued his tirade before he could. "This is a strenuous situation and we need every eye, hand and blade at attention right now! Miller, the Prophet's lended us a few talbuks - go help load them up with supplies. Brown - where's your armor? Never mind – Get your weapon and go keep an eye out around the edge of the crowd. I don't know what's out there in that forest, but I want someone who can handle themselves there just in case. Now!"
The worgen slunk off towards the trees, her shoulders tense as though she was barely holding her anger in check. Anton decided to follow her lead and set about his task without argument. Montoy was an asshole, and though he dearly wanted to kick up a stink, he recognized it wasn't a good idea to at this point. Anyway, if that worgen could do it, he could do it just as well.
He turned his eye back to the supplies still near the ship, noting that the commotion there had only increased. A few goat-like creatures were being saddled with bags and boxes, their tan-coloured coat standing out starkly from the sand – they had to be the talbuk things Montoy had mentioned. They looked quite strange to him, but the group of people working with them seemed to be treating them no different from simple pack mules.
No sooner had he began looking for somewhere he could pitch in than a fantastically moustachioed gnome intercepted him, addressing him tersely. "We're shorthanded and unorganized. If you're not here to help then please get out of the way, this is hard enough as it is."
"I am." Anton answered simply. "What do you need done?"
"How much can you carry?" He pointed at bags and boxes of equipment. "We've got too much gear and too few... er, horses. Or talbuks, whatever. Wherever we're going, everyone's going to have to pitch in carrying."
He sighed in resignation as he loaded himself up. He'd looked for something to distract himself, and now it seemed he would have exactly that.
This is going to be a long night.
After his third round trip carrying gear uphill to the prospective camp's location, Anton found his prediction was even truer than he had feared. The moon hadn't even moved an inch, and the stars almost seemed to be taunting him from their position in the heavens. This night was going to be long enough that it might well last forever.
As he relieved his back of another load of supplies, he decided it would be better that he count his blessings. At least it wasn't that long a distance, and none of the wildlife had decided to accost them as they hauled the stuff around. He took a moment to stretch and look around the site.
The workers were chewing into the forest something fierce, felling and uprooting trees at a rate that surprised him. There was already a sizable clearing, but it was being filled just as fast with logs dragged to form a makeshift wall. Those not working seemed to have been organized into a makeshift militia to protect the laborers, with footmen and magicians patrolling the site side by side.
The efficiency of it impressed him. It seemed like there would be a safe camp for them to sleep in within a matter of hours, something he was glad for with his stamina flagging as it was.
I've lost count of how many hours I've been awake, actually.
A loud commotion from the south end of the clearing dispelled his thoughts and drew his attention. He could hear screaming and yelling, interspersed with the sounds of battle - steel clashing and spells detonating. Without hesitation, he drew his sword and took off running towards them. His mind was already rushing into overdrive, leaving his previous fearful thoughts back at the supply caravan as it pumped him up for a fight.
This is my job. Screw peasant work.
Several of the other soldiers and spellcasters had the same thoughts as him, abandoning their patrol to pitch into the battle. They sprinted alongside him, weaving between terrified workers as they fled towards safety. Something was definitely up.
As he approached, he didn't see the large fight he envisioned. Rather, the dozen-or-so fighters involved seemed to be converging on one point - one opponent. Between the blasts of multi-coloured magic striking it, he couldn't tell exactly what it was, only that it was near to twice as large as any of the Alliance combatants there.
The thing raised its massive grey hands above its head with an earthshaking roar, and brought them down to the ground with a colossal quake to match. He tripped for a moment, but managed to recover his pace - most of the others running towards the battle were not as lucky as him, losing their footing completely and toppling to the ground. Those already in the fight fared even worse; all but a few had fell, leaving them easy prey for the thing.
With the scene cleared, he could see it clearly now. It was a creature that looked to be made of dark rock and crystal - it reminded him of an earth elemental, but far more solidly built than any of the few he had seen on Azeroth. Even hunched over like a Stranglethorn gorilla as it was, it towered above everyone else.
It raised one of its hands above its head again and lumbered forward on its other three limbs, intending to crush its fallen foes. He pushed himself to run harder as he realized what it was doing, desperate to distract it before it got a chance. Blood thundered through his ears as he sprinted, but he still knew he would never make it in time.
Come on, come on, come -
All of a sudden his left side was bathed in an overwhelming heat and an intense orange light entered his field of vision. He gasped and shied away from it, startled into slowing despite the adrenaline rushing through him. As it soared away from him he realized that it was a great ball of pure fire, on a collision course with the elemental. It had probably missed him by mere inches.
The elemental didn't even have time to notice the pyroblast's coming as it slammed into its shoulder with a resounding report that rumbled through Anton's bones. For a moment the monster disappeared within a bright, fiery explosion and a prodigious shower of broken stone, leaving the soldiers around it to avert their eyes and cover their heads as they got to their feet.
He turned to see who had conjured the spell and witnessed Commander Dawson herself, her brilliant red robe billowing behind her as she ran, illuminated by the orange glow of another fire spell being readied. Somehow, she had perfectly cast and aimed such a massive, devastating pyroblast while running at full tilt; the sheer power behind the attack made him wonder what else she might be capable of.
The smoke and dust cleared enough that the elemental's outline was visible again, and he berated himself for stopping as he took off toward it again. Its entire right arm had been blasted off its body and a good chunk of its stony shoulder and torso were missing, but the thing was still upright as it staggered forward out of the dust cloud. It was clearly planning on going down fighting.
I wonder if it even realizes it's injured.
The Alliance forces took advantage of its weakened state, darting in and out of its reach as they stabbed and slashed at it. Spellcasters and riflemen now had all the room they needed to hammer away at it with spell and shot, standing safely a few dozen feet away as they attacked it with impunity. Most of their strikes seemed to bounce off or impact harmlessly, but a few penetrated its rocky hide, injuring and aggravating it further.
As he finally neared the melee a bloodcurdling predator's roar sent a chill down his spine. A worgen leapt out of the throng with a hammer raised above her head, intent on putting the thing down. With a start he realized it was the same worgen he had spoken to earlier, the Brown woman.
She never made it. The elemental lifted itself off its one good arm for a moment and delivered a solid backhanded swipe toward her, catching her directly across the stomach. Her roar turned into a yelp and the hammer left her hands as she was catapulted through the air, just barely clearing the crowd below to land pitifully in the grass a good dozen feet away from the fight.
He immediately changed course, but didn't have a chance to do much more than that. Another colossal pyroblast soared past just barely in front of him, headed straight towards the monster. He turned to see it impact its caved-in shoulder with another tremendous explosion, this time shattering it completely. Crystal shards and clumps of rubble were launched in every direction, breaking bones and scoring flesh as they struck the unprepared Alliance soldiers.
Anton himself didn't have time to react to the rock that hit him as it smashed into his ribs, toppling him immediately. His world became flooded by pain as he hit the ground, and all he could think of was struggling to breathe.
Shortly enough that struggle left him as he blacked out on the pale grass.
As he awoke his first sensation was of that same pain, greatly dulled but still enough to force him to clench his eyes shut until it dissipated.
When it finally passed, he tentatively opened his eyes to see a white canvas roof above him. He could dimly hear indistinct murmuring from all directions - wherever he was, he was not on the battlefield anymore.
He tried to sit up, but the pain returned even stronger than before. He couldn't help but fall back onto the bed with a moan.
"You're awake!" A draenei woman's voice said from somewhere near him. "No, no, don't sit up. You took a heavy hit - Just relax, you'll be alright. You are safe now, just relax."
He turned his head this way and that, blinking through the pain to try and find her. "W-what happened...?"
"You were hit by rubble from that thing exploding. You're in the medical wing now. You had near the worst of it, really... Most everyone else received only small scratches and bruises."
"Lucky me..." He finally located her from her voice, struggling to focus on the vague image his brain was feeding him until with a flood of relief he finally managed to make out her bright white eyes and dark blue hair.
I can't be that bad off. I can still see, and think, and stuff...
"So... How bad is it?" He asked, trying to keep the pain and fatigue out of his voice.
"Not... terrible." She said, just optimistically enough that he couldn't tell if she was lying or not. "Worse than the others, but not terrible. You had some scrapes, and some small burns... Two ribs were broken, but through the grace of the Light, we have mended them already. Now, your body must do the rest of the healing work, and you must rest while it does."
He let his head fall back onto the pillow without answering. He couldn't think of anything to say.
"I must work elsewhere now," She continued gently, patting him on the shoulder. "You must rest here. Soon you'll be well again, don't fear. Call out if you need help. You are not alone."
She trotted away out of his sight, and he closed his eyes with a sigh. His whole body ached.
For a while, he drifted in and out of a hazy, dreamless sleep. In the moments he could recognize he was awake he painstakingly investigated his surroundings, trying to ignore the pounding of his head and keep focus on anything he could see. He slowly came to realize that he was in a field tent, probably set up after the fight to address the injuries the elemental caused.
After several times falling asleep and waking, Anton's head finally cleared enough to inspect the tent more closely. He could see several other Alliance soldiers in there with him, on simple cots of wood and white cotton. The one on his right was a human like him - he spoke a greeting, hoping to make conversation, but the man was either asleep or ignoring him.
He turned to the patient on his left, and was surprised to see the Brown worgen again, looking straight up at the tent roof. The odd shape of her face made her softly-glowing eyes visible; she was obviously awake, but pointedly ignoring everything to stare resolutely upward at the roof.
"Hey." He whispered to her, keeping his voice down. He didn't want to disturb the others.
She didn't answer. She didn't even acknowledge him.
Maybe she didn't hear.
"Hey, you. Worgen." He tried again a little louder, and was rewarded with the sight of her ear twitching. She had clearly heard him, but still kept her gaze stonily on the roof. "Hey, Brown. Over here."
"What?" She finally snapped at the mention of her name, turning irritably to face him.
He realized then that he couldn't actually think of anything to say. He hadn't thought past the 'get her attention' part. The slightly alarming sight of her snarling mouth made it hard to think of anything decent to start a conversation with, as well.
"... Do you know what happened out there?" He asked, after a beat to get his bearings.
"No. I got knocked out." She said shortly.
"Oh. Yeah, I saw that," Her gaze turned reproachful, forcing him to backtrack. "I just mean... It was impressive. Would have been a great trick if it had worked."
"Yeah, but it didn't." She turned her eyes back to the roof.
"Oh, well... I got knocked out, too. I didn't even get to do anything." He offered, hoping to cheer her up.
She scoffed. "Well, at least you didn't make yourself look like an idiot, then."
"I don't think you looked like an idiot. I bet any orc would have pissed their pants at the sight of you."
She didn't say anything to that, and a heavy silence fell between them.
"What's your name?" Anton tried again to spark a talk. "Your first name. I only know you're called Brown."
"If I tell you, will you let me sleep?" She asked resignedly, and he nodded after a moment's consideration. "Emily."
"It's nice to meet you, Emily. My name's Anton." He said quietly before he let his head fall back onto the pillow. "Sorry I disturbed you. Sleep does sound pretty nice, actually... Dunno how long I've been awake..."
He didn't try any more after that, choosing instead to just slowly drift off into sleep.
Right before his eyes fell closed, he could have sworn he heard a muttering of "Same here" come from her cot, and he smiled slightly.