Chapter Five: Orcish Lands
Illidan sped across the lands, seeking the orcs.
He didn't have to go far, for soon, he found evidence of broken twigs and hacked trees wherever they went. Their footsteps were heavy, and they enjoyed crushing things underfoot where they went. And as he walked, he saw battles.
There was King Llane, hacking down an orc in the fields. His men were around him and fighting valiantly. Llane wielded his blade against the brutality of his enemies like a true hero, yet more orcs came. Yet Illidan did not help him yet, instead of looking to the orcs, who were attacking with a sloppy gait. They seemed to lack much skill at war and attacked with only minor skill.
Why?
These were adults, and they had to have some training.
So Illidan followed on, surveying worse and worse destruction. There were burned farmsteads and bodies on stakes and the humans cutting down the orcs. On and on Illidan went, and he found some places that had been overwhelmed by the orcs. These he came to and saw people being tortured. Women and children, captives of war, were hemmed in. An orc was coming at them with a blade.
"Please..." begged footmen. "Please don't hurt them..." He screamed as an orc broke his leg. "Spare them... spare the women and children."
But the orcs laughed and stabbed him repeatedly while laughing maniacally. "Let's have some fun with the women after we butcher the children."
Illidan was disgusted, but he would not yet slay orcs. So he cast a spell of darkness over them, moved over to the women and children, and sliced their bindings. "Go, quickly, King Llane is near. Tell him that Illidan Stormrage saved you to prove his good intentions."
"Thank you, thank you," said a woman.
"Don't," said Illidan. "Just go!"
Then turning to the orcs, he saw they were rousing themselves. Seeing the women escaping, they took up asks. "They're escaping!"
But Illidan stepped before them. "Care to face one who is not defenseless, creature?"
"Kill him!" they said.
But Illidan moved and knocked them flat with a hand. Maneuvering outside of a strike, he knocked one down after another. One came at him with a clumsy stroke, and he kicked it aside. Tripping up another, he threw one side and kicked a third down. At last, all of them were thrown about and unconscious.
"You should have killed them," said the woman.
Illidan turned to see her. "A man in my position cannot take sides." Kneeling down by a groaning orc, he took him by the throat. "Who leads you?"
"Blackhand..." said the orc.
"When you see him," said Illidan. "Tell him that Illidan Stormrage begs an audience. Now get up and get out of here.
"This childishness ill befits any warrior."
They hurried off.
"Whose side are you one?" asked the woman.
"At present?" asked Illidan. "No one. I will take a side when I determine the best course of action. You are not the only race in the world.
"I am a... guardian of sorts."
"Guardian?!" said the woman. "You are no guardian; that is Medivh."
"A technicality, nothing more," said Illidan. "I have been drawn here to avoid a full-scale war between humanity. The orcs have hitherto been a secondary concern. Go to King Llane and tell him what you have seen."
The woman huffed in anger, and Illidan realized she had white hair but a young face.
Then Illidan stooped low and found tracks. Many tracks and many among them were human and fresh at that. So he followed them, moving swiftly through the fading trees. Until, at last, he came to barren lands where the trees were dying or dead. No humans came this far, though there were many corpses hanging. The waters were stagnant and green, and a stink of fetid air was all around.
This was not natural.
But Illidan appreciated the change. It had been a long time since he had felt the rush of fel energies, and he laughed. Following the trail, he found it led into a high mountain. The aura of fear and horror upon it was like nothing he'd felt. Not since the dark days when Sageras himself had come upon the Well of Eternity had he felt such evil.
And then he saw it...
The Temple of the Damned.
The words were etched into his soul like a burning knife.
It loomed overhead, surrounded by black walls. The architecture was inlaid with skulls. Armed guards patrolled it, and the doors were tall and thick. And toward it were being led a long line of women and children. At their back was a golden-haired girl who was oddly composed. She looked back, and he raised a finger to his lips for silence. She said nothing but looked terrified.
Illidan tried to move forward.
But even as he did, his leg hit a solid force, and fear washed over him. Looking up at the temple where it stood on a tall rockface was painful. Merely keeping his gaze on it was an agony, and he strove against it in vain. Illidan found himself now feeling pain as he moved forward one step at a time. The tracks led up to the gates, but he heard screams and cruel laughter.
It seemed to be magnified somehow by horrors he could not conceive of. Fighting to get through, there was a burst of flame above the walls. More screams, and then they stopped.
Illidan fell in exhaustion.
This was no good. The magics here were powerful, and something was keeping him back. Even if he reached the gates, he'd be spent. It was no good getting into that place, all alone and exhausted. So he turned and went back the way he came. He heard horrible laughter that reechoed in the valleys of the mountains.
"I shall return," said Illidan. "When you have no hold over this land, I assure you."
"Are you certain, elf," said a voice. "Are you certain you won't just lose your head now?"
Illidan turned to see a huge orc with a giant axe and a black beard. Narrowing his eyelids, Illidan drew out his glaives. And he sensed a stink of horror. "You have the stench of demons about you, orc. You will regret approaching me."
"Save your breath, elf," said the orc. "You'll need it to scream when I start tearing off your limbs!"
Illidan laughed, and the two-shot forward. Axe and glaive clashed, a rapid series of attacks against the powerful strokes of an axe. Illidan danced around his blows, but the orc had fought people like him before. Laughing, the orc swung, and they clashed again and again. Tiring of this, Illidan summoned a wave of flame around him, and the orc staggered back.
However, even as he did, there seemed to be four orcs, and all of them charged. Illidan leaped back and sent a bolt of magic. It hit an image, which exploded, and then he was forced to fight three. Dueling them off, he felt as though he was fighting three people. It was an illusion...
Yet he concentrated on the weight of the strokes. He felt them, but some did not strain his muscles. Finding the right one, Illidan focused all his efforts on him, driving him before him and up a hill. The orc roared and then began to attack with a berserk fury like nothing Illidan had seen. His blades moved like a whirlwind, and Illidan was forced to yield ground.
But, in time, the orc grew weary and stumbled. Illidan surged forward, blade readied, and the orc rushed at him. They passed one another and halted.
For a moment, they stood there.
Illidan was on one knee while the orc was standing. A drip of blood came from the orcs cheek while Illidan was unharmed.
"We could go on fighting like this forever," said Illidan. "What is it you truly want?"
"To go on fighting like this forever!" laughed Grom. "By the spirits, I can't remember the last time I've had a fight like this. You elves live up to the expectations. I am Grom Hellscream."
"There are no elves like me in this place," said Illidan. "I am Illidan Stormrage."
'So it was you who sent those youngsters crying to Blackhand," said Grom. "He was most annoyed. The humans have been fighting better than he expected."
"How?" asked Illidan.
"They caught us on both bridges," said Grom. "And when we crossed with boats, the peasants attacked us on the shore. The greenhorns sent them packing but were mostly wiped out. The second wave faced a scant resistance, but it put up a better fight.
"Enough," said Illidan. "What do you orcs gain by this invasion, beyond satiating your bloodlust?"
"Land and plunder," said Grom.
"You will get neither unless you do something about this dying land," said Illidan.
"That's how we came to be all the way out here if you take my meaning," said Grom. "Gul'Dan is no friend of mine. But he did get us the way into this world from our own. Without it, we would have been finished."
"Your own world was dying?" asked Illidan.
"Yes," said Grom.
"That temple is the problem," said Illidan. "Or a symptom of it.
"Unless the unholy energies flowing through this place are dispersed. Then this land will die. I doubt you'll have much luck with world conquest when you're starving."
"The peons can take care of that," said Grom.
"And how often do you ask them how they are taking care of it?" asked Illidan.
"Where are you going with this, warrior?" asked Grom.
"It's quite simple," said Illidan. "Go to Blackhand and tell him that I would like to help him keep his people from starving to death."
"Why do you care?" asked Grom.
"Because your people will starve because the world I live in is dying, fool," said Illidan. "I know a great deal about nature. Not as much as some, but enough to make a start of fixing all this. Or at least limit the damage."
"And what if I refuse?" asked Grom.
"If you do," said Illidan. "Then I'll join the humans and kill all of you."
Grom laughed. "Finally, a negotiation I can respect.
"Alright, I'll put your message through the Blackhand, but don't get your hopes up. He's not fond of non-orcs. There's a village near here you can wait and drink in."
"I shall wait here and meditate on the unholy energies," said Illidan.
"As you wish," said Grom.
Illidan did wait. He meditated for a long time, and during it, all manner of wild and save beasts came out to encircle him. Yet they simply circled and dared not approach, eventually turning to depart. And finally, a messenger came to him from the Temple of the Damned.
"Blackhand has assigned you to an outpost in the Swamps of Sorrow," said the messenger. "Your task is simple enough that even the warchief feels that you are capable of it.
Construct at least six farms so that we may keep our troops well fed and ready
to do battle. Only a fool would leave his treasures unguarded, so you must also
build a barracks for the defense of these farms."
Illidan looked up. "Is that all?
"Lead me to them."
The orc led Illidan into a morass of mud and stinking plants. The village he arrived at had a lot of sickly peons at it. Several warriors were standing by over peons hacking wood Illidan approached them. Others were tilling fields and putting up mud huts. They are obviously in bad spirits, and more were coming in the distance.
The ground was red.
"You men, cease cutting wood immediately," said Illidan.
"Need wood," said the peon.
"Not necessarily," said Illidan. "I want a full stock of what resources we have. Our task is to ensure the supplies of the orcs. That is our full focus.
"We will not seek out battle; we will not fell any trees without purpose. Every action we take shall serve the horde. These warriors are now under your command."
"What?!" said the warrior. "We are to be-"
"This is a farming operation," said Illidan. "Your purpose is to ensure the workers are not killed. I will deal with any issues of discipline myself.
"Should any of you slack off, remember that if we fail, we will all be sent to the Temple of the Damned."
Shudders went through the peons and the guards.
"They... they wouldn't..." said the warrior. "I mean, we're not the workers."
"Do you think Gul'Dan will care if you are workers or not?" asked Illidan. "Will he even know?
"Blackhand has very little confidence in this operation. To simply achieve our objective is not enough. We must go above and beyond. It will take a lot of work to feed the Horde, and it will be even harder to preserve this land.
"But it must be done.
"Now, tell me of our operations. And how you plan to create a farming community worthy of Blackhand."
That got them moving.
And once Illidan got them moving, it was only too easy to keep them at it. He surveyed his stories and had the peons figure out exactly how much lumber they needed. Then he set them about cutting just that from an area with many trees.
"Never clear cut an entire patch of forest," said Illidan. "It damages the soils and makes it impossible to grow. The spirits of the land grow enraged and strike back.
"It is not wise to offend them. Send word to all other peon villages not to cut trees without need. It will injure the land and mean starvation."
On they worked.
The peons soon proved to be excellent subordinates. They worked very hard for no compensation. But the work was too great for what they needed. So Illidan turned to an orc warrior. "You, what villages are near here?"
"Kyross is where most raiders operate," said the warrior.
"Go there," said Illidan. "And get me more peons, as many as you can; we're short-staffed. Ask them to come here and build the farms which will make the Horde strong. Make sure they are willing and don't compel them."
"Why not?" asked the orc.
"Ask someone to help you, and they will become your comrade," said Illidan. "Force them at swordpoint, and they become your enemy.
"These peons grow the food you eat. They make the beds you sleep in. They clean your great halls. Do not try them; you will regret it."
The warrior gulped, looked to the peons, and hurried off.
Then Illidan began to meditate.
In his meditations, he felt the evil nature of the spirits in this place. Drawing it into himself, he allowed himself to become it. A snarling, vicious hatred filled him, and he followed it to its source. The hewing of trees had stopped, and that had ceased the inflow of pain. Yet it was still festering and draining away.
And then Illidan sensed them.
A village nearby, nice and quiet where peons were hard at work. And he saw men in armor and blue moving toward it. It was defenseless, and the peons looked up in terror to flee, with no warriors to protect them. Illidan sprang into action, sprinting with all possible haste. One of his warriors motioned and followed after him.
As he did, he sensed the human's minds.
They stabbed infants while telling themselves the orcs did it. They burned houses while saying it was alright because they were orcs. They kicked and beat peons to death slowly while enjoying it because they were orcs. And as Illidan came to the village, he saw them crowding around a single peon crawling forward-
Only to run to Illidan's feet.
Silence as Illidan looked over the flaming village. The bloodstained humans stopped smiling. "Have I caught you orcs at a bad time?"
"Damn beasts!" said Illidan's warriors.
"Kill them all!" said the humans.
And both sides raced forward. Illidan blocked a sword and hewed off the head of one before knocking aside a shield and killing him. "We must save everyone we can! Or the orcs will be defeated!
"Rescue the peons! I will deal with these!"
Cutting off two hands and then cleaving a helmet, Illidan fought into the middle of the humans. Then he unleashed a wave of flame to scatter them. Three were burned as the warriors went into houses to save those within. A human was kicked out of a window. An orc warrior carried out an infant with its mother behind him.
Illidan moved forward, cleaving down one human after another. An orc warrior was cut down before him, and he avenged him a moment later. Infernos were covering everything.
He saw a smiling man forcing a woman and child into a house. Then he set it on fire rather than aid his friends.
Racing forward, Illidan saw one human standing apart in horror. Cutting down the other two, he halted. Orcs came in from other sides and Illidan noted the human had no blood on him. "Wait.
"You, who are you, and what are you doing here? You are not wholly ruined like these wretches."
"I am Callan," said the soldier, horrified. "I wanted to prove myself by joining a group of adventurers in a raid. We drew out the garrison for this village and ambushed it then came here...
"They weren't even taking anything. I don't think they even cared if some of the orcs escaped. They just came here to kill people."
"Let him live," said Illidan. "We have a use for him. Are there any left?"
"The wretched humans have been destroyed said an orc," said the man.
"They are not human," said Illidan. "I have watched the human race from the beginning. The virtues and qualities that make one human were not within them. They were twisted mockeries of you.
"A mere slave's flattery.
"Cut their heads off, fill them with gold, and send them to King Llane. You, boy, will tell him everything that you saw. This mere murder is not a real war. Do this, and we will allow you to live."
"I understand," said Callan.
It was all done, and Illidan went back to the village to sit down and think. One of his warriors came forward. "What is real war, Chieftain?"
"It varies," said Illidan. "Many would have a different answer.
"I believe that real war is only conducted with a purpose. You have to have some goal, revenge, plunder, adventure, justice, that sort of thing. Its purpose would be to elevate the virtues that make a warrior great. To show cowards for who they are and give the bold a chance to grow.
"My brother would say that all war is a mistake save when it preserves life. However, I think he does not understand what make life worth living. The humans do. I think your people could learn a great deal from them.
"But first, we must ensure you have a homeland with secure borders.
"What is your name?"
"I am Thrall," said the warrior.
"That is not a normal name for your kind," said Illidan. "Not for a warrior."
"I am a ward of sorts," said Thrall. "My presence keeps my clan loyal. As for my name, it does not matter. I have the name of a slave, now."
"There are different kinds of Thralls," said Illidan. "The best rulers are Thralls to their people. They exist solely to serve them and ensure things are running properly."
"That isn't the same at all," said Thrall. "Rulers have castles and men-at-arms."
"I have not castle or men-at-arms," said Illidan. "I don't even have a house. And yet, when I command, others obey. I force the hand of fate and do not tolerate disobedience. King Llane of the humans is far free. He must lead and cannot depart his domain nor stop being a king.
"He is a king, even if he loses his kingdom, and it will go with him. The expectations of his people pull on him, and often he must do things he doesn't want to do.
"So, what is the difference between a slave bound by chains and one by other means?"
"The one bound by chains knows he is bound," said Thrall.
"Right," said Illidan. "Now, who are the orcs slaves to?"
Thrall halted, and Illidan realized he was much younger than most warriors here. "Gul'Dan?"
"If every single orc rose up to kill Gul'Dan, could they?" asked Illidan.
"Yes," said Thrall.
"Would your society continue to function without Gul'Dan?" asked Illidan.
"Yes," said Thrall.
"Try again," said Illidan.
"Blackhand," said Thrall.
"Why?" asked Illidan.
"...Blackhand could be replaced if he botched things," said Thrall. "So we're not slaves to him. What about the Dark Portal? That's where all this fel magic comes from?"
"You can't be slaves to a thing, Thrall," said Illidan. "A portal cannot have a plan."
"Then who?" asked Thrall.
"You must find that on your own," said Illidan. "If I tell you, it will be meaningless. I am leaving this village immediately. There are other peon communities that must be mobilized, and I intend to make sure no more raids come to this place.
"Take charge of this village. If you need help, go to Grom Hellscream, he is intelligent and a powerful warrior. You can trust him."
"I understand," said Thrall. "Good luck."
Illidan departed.
This was absolutely miserable, but with any luck things would be a bit brighter in the morning.