Chapter 22 - The Orcish Horde

A bright flash of light. The noise of metal slamming against metal. Dalrus did not even dare to breathe that moment, barely able to watch the events as they unfolded.

The orc wearing the black armor had lifted his hammer in front of Dalrus' face, and when Gorehowl came down, the two weapons clashed in a dazzling spark of light.

The hammer wielder was staring down at Grommash, his face twisted into a fierce expression. "Have you lost your damn mind, Grom!?" He shouted. "I gave you an order to leave the humans alone, not to start executing prisoners! Put down your weapon, and call back your forces. Now."

For a moment, it appeared as if Hellscream was about to turn his axe on this orc instead. But, to Dalrus' surprise, he took in a deep breath and stepped back, his weapon lowered. "Fine. He's all yours. Do whatever you want with him, warchief." He grunted, those deep red eyes glaring at the young rogue before he turned around and returned to the midst of his troops.

The armored orc then faced Dalrus. His face was about as wide, stern and brutish as any other orc he had seen that day... And yet, there was something different about it. Unlike most orcs, this one seemed more… Calm, rather than overtaken by savagery and bloodlust.

Then, Dalrus felt the dead orc on top of him move - much to his relief - followed by the sensation of two huge pairs of hands gripping him by his arms and hoisting him up in the air - much to his dismay. He was now being held by a pair of orc grunts, his feet dangling above the ground. "What shall we do with the prisoner, Warchief?" Asked one of his captors.

'Oh… So this is the famous Warchief I heard so much about.' Dalrus thought, now at eye level with him.

The Warchief's inspected Dalrus, looking the boy up and down. "Put him in one of our cages for the time being. I will personally interrogate him later. Until then, nobody touch him." The orcs then said something in some language he didn't understand - possibly the orc language? - And with that, he was dragged off, his arms completely locked in place by huge green hands that were almost as big as he was, his guards not uttering a word, and Dalrus himself thinking that, for once, it might be best for him to remain silent.

He was carried all the way back to where the orcs were building their new base camp, which took them a few hours of marching. Fortunately, Dalrus wasn't carried all the way, otherwise he'd have lost his arms. After a bit, he was dropped, then encouraged to keep marching by the grunts who surrounding him, weapons at the ready.

Dalrus couldn't help but notice the orcish architecture was far more crude than the finely sculpted stone buildings the Human Expedition possessed. Most of their structures were simple tents with wooden spikes sticking out of them. Orcs of varying sizes were scuttling about - although even the smallest of them was still as large as the biggest human Dalrus had ever seen - along with the trolls and tauren.

They used those hulking beasts he had seen earlier, the kodos, to help carry materials and erect better structures. Despite the crude huts, the orcs also had buildings made of wood and stone, though mostly they used leather ceilings to protect themselves from the sunlight and perhaps the rain, though he had yet to see any fall on Kalimdor.

The orcs were also riding those gigantic wolves all over the place. Some of them glanced Dalrus' way as he was escorted through their camp, and one of them even bared its fangs and tried to snap at him, only for its rider to pull in the reins at the last second. He said something in orcish that Dalrus did not understand, pointing at him, and all his companions laughed. 'Welp, this is dandy. At least I'm not dead.' He thought to himself.

They dragged him off to the very edge of the camp. There were many steel cages there, most of them empty, a few holding what appeared to be human skeletons. He was unceremoniously tossed inside of one, and the door was slammed shut behind him. He turned around just in time to see a heavy iron lock being placed at his cage, then the two grunts began arguing about who would watch him first.

With a long, tired sigh, Dalrus leaned back against one of the thick steel grates and sat down cross-legged. The good news was, that cage was clearly meant for something way bigger than he was, so there was plenty of room for him to make himself comfortable. Bad news was there was no way for him to pick that lock without being noticed.

'Man, what a mess.' He thought, hands crossed over his lap. 'I wonder if anyone will try to rescue me. Eh, probably not. I wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place. Guess this one is all on me, then.' He looked over to his left. There was a tall wooden fence surrounding the pens where the beasts were kept, so he couldn't see much. Only busy orc peons carrying construction materials and hastily setting up a base camp.

The sun was lowering by now, and its orange setting rays were adding even more to Kalimdor's barren wasteland's tone. 'Probably should wait until the dark to try and escape... Picking this lock without my daggers is gonna be a pain, though.' And then it hit him. 'Bloody hell, my daggers!' He patted his empty belt straps, and sighed in frustration, sad that his trusty stabbers were no longer hanging there. One he had left lodged into Grommash's waist, which the orc later pulled off and kicked away. The other one had been dropped when that dead orc fell on his back. The grunts didn't bother to check him before locking him up, which meant his throwing daggers were still safely stashed under his tunic, as were his throwing stars within their pouches.

And so, Dalrus waited. The hours seemed to stretch and drag, as he had nothing better to do than watch the grunts argue and the peons work the beasts on the other cages - at one point, Dalrus heard someone referring to them as 'wargs' before handing one over to a rider. The creatures growled and prowled back and forth inside their cages, staring hungrily at the human boy. Finally, the sun had set, and torches were lit to illuminate the orcish camp.

For something thrown up so hastily, Dalrus had to admit it was efficient. The craftsmanship was shabby, but it appeared quite solid. It would seem the orcs cared more about function over form. Within no time, they had a fully functional garrison.

Burrows, barracks, great halls, posts for weapons and armor, kitchens... All these were built before the moon was high in the sky. Dalrus figured they were quite used to building new settlements as quickly as possible, considering how the Horde was constantly forced to relocate. He was far more curious about the newcomers, however. He had never heard of the tauren or the trolls before. He wondered how they came to be part of this new Horde.

The sun set, more time passed. And still he waited. He wondered how long he had been laying there, his back against the rough, cold steel bars of the cage, legs stretched in front of him, twiddling his thumbs as he looked left, right and up every now and then, in a desperate search for something to break his boredom. His only constant there was the grunt sitting on a bench a few paces from his cage, who somehow managed to spend all those hours inspecting and sharpening his axe. Finally, unable to hold himself back, he looked at his guard and spoke: "So... What's your homeland like? I'm betting you guys are not from around here, right?"

The orc stopped, his hand still squeezing the wetting stone, then he looked down at Dalrus. Not a word was uttered, he simply stared, unmoving for an uncomfortably long time. Then, very slowly, he got up, feet dragging over the dusty ground as he approached Dalrus' cage, and spoke, his words coming out like grunts. "The next time you open your mouth again, I'm gonna cut off your tongue and feed it to the wyverns." The orc's axe slammed against the side of the cage in order to make his point. Then he went back to his bench and resumed that eternal maintenance on his weapon.

'Friendly bunch.' Dalrus thought with an internal sigh. It was that moment that another orc showed up, and began speaking with his guard in their native tongue, much to Dalrus' frustration. He presumed he was being informed his shift was over, because that orc got up and walked away while the newcomer took his place on the bench, arms crossed as those intense little eyes locked on to the boy. Dalrus wondered how long he would resist keeping his mouth shut before he was bored enough that risking his life was worth trying to start another conversation.

Before he had to make that choice, however, one of those tauren walked into the scene, and approached the orc guard. "The warchief wishes to speak with the prisoner." The orc grunt raised a brow, then shrugged. "Very well."

Curiosity rose within Dalrus. He watched as the tauren left, his guard's eyes never leaving the boy. The orc stepped up and shouted a command. Two more grunts scurried off to join them, armed with long spears. They all approached his cage, the sharp ends of their weapons aimed at Dalrus through the holes in the grates. The orc opened the lock, then pulled from his waist a pair of iron shackles, which he threw into Dalrus' lap. "Put these on and follow. And if you so much as take a single step we don't tell you to, warchief's orders or not, we skewer you where you stand, human."

Getting up, Dalrus lifted those heavy iron binds. They were pretty damn heavy. It would be a task just to keep his arms up with those things on. "Wouldn't dream of it." Was his reply as he bound his own wrists and slowly stepped out of his cage. The orcs surrounded him in a triangle, then began to escort him down the camp, with their weapons crossed behind the boy and cutting off any escape route. He was guided towards the main tent at the center of the camp, a huge edifice clad in red cloth and bearing what Dalrus presumed was the banner of the Horde, a wooden shield with iron edges and two axes crossed behind it. It was certainly more threatening than what the Alliance had.

He was brought in through the main entrance of the Great Hall. Orcs, trolls and tauren were all over the place, most of them working on their weapons, chatting or discussing some more serious matters. Every single one of them had their eyes on Dalrus as he was brought inside, most of them filled with scorn and disdain. One orc even shouted something in their native language and spat in his general direction, which many more cheered him for and began to presumably shout their own insultshile slamming their weapons against any nearby object in order to make more noise.

Looking up, Dalrus saw that, at the very end of the halls, sitting on a wide wooden chair, was the armored orc who Dalrus assumed was their leader. "SILENCE!" He shouted, his voice sounding like a booming thunder. Everyone else in the room was immediately quiet. "Leave us." Said the Warchief. Then, muttering lowly amongst themselves, they all picked up their belongings and began to leave the halls, more than one sparing a moment to launch another threatening look in Dalrus' direction on their way out, leaving only him, his guards and the Warchief.

The rogue apprentice was brought to a few paces in front of the Warchief, then forced on his knees as the spears slammed at the back of his legs. "Don't move, human dog." One of the guards grunted as Dalrus let out a protesting gasp. And then there was more chatter in the orcish language.

After a brief exchange, the guards all stepped aside, giving the boy more room to peer at the orcish Warchief. His hammer was laying on the ground next to his feet, and he had one hand squeezing the edge of his chair while the other tapped at the handle of his weapon. "Speak your name, human." He finally said in perfectly pronounced common, staring directly into Dalrus' eyes.

Coughing a bit, Dalrus straightened his back, then crossed his legs on the ground so he was a bit more comfortable. "Dalrus, uh... Sir. It's Dalrus Plaguefang, your... Warchiefness." He blinked, confused, not sure what else to say, then there was a growl from the guards and suddenly he had two spear tips pressing against his neck. The Warchief shouted and raised his hand, and the guards stepped down once more.

"Dalrus." He said. "My name is Thrall. I am the Warchief of the orcish Horde... Although, now, we may no longer be able to call ourselves that anymore. The horde has grown, and it is more than just the orcs now. Ever since our journey began, we have explored vast, new lands, and gained friends and allies. We left the Eastern Kingdoms of Azeroth in search of our destiny, here in these lands. So tell me, Dalrus Plaguefang. Why are you here?"

After launching a nervous side glance at the armed guards surrounding him, Dalrus cleared his throat and said: "Well, mister, ah... Thrall. I assume you're asking not just me, but why all of the Human Expedition is here, right?"

He saw the orc's eyes narrow. "Yes. I thought we had left this damned war behind us when we finally left your shores and sought a land of our own. Is that not enough for you? Must you chase us across the sea and continue this endless strife?"

For once in his life, Dalrus was taken off guard. What was this orc saying? "Woah, woah, hold on a minute now." He said, lifting his hands defensively. "We didn't chase anyone. Your hot headed friend back there was the one who launched an attack on us. We were just defending ourselves. Hell, I didn't even know you people were settling here."

Thrall gripped his hammer, then slammed its head against the ground. There was a flash of bright blue light, and a loud metallic noise charged with electricity echoed around them. "Then why are you here, human? Why has your leader decided to bring her people across the sea and set themselves in this barren land that belongs to no one?"

The boy's brows furrowed even further, his confusion very clear in his face. "What do you mean why? Because of the bloody demons falling from the sky, and the bloody corpses rising from the ground, that's why!"

"Know your place, human dog! Show respect to the warchief!" One of the guards shouted, his lance already lifting to come down on Dalrus' face. The warchief then suddenly stood up, and everyone froze where they stood. His expression until now had been one of absolute focus, but now his eyes had gone very wide, his mouth hanging slightly agape. "What did you just say?"

"I-I..." Dalrus swallowed, then spoke more clearly. "I mean... Things are pretty bad back there. You know, what with the undead scourge and the Burning Legion killing everyone they come across. We were told this was the only place where we stood a chance of stopping them. So, yeah. Here we are."

A curious look washed over Thrall's face. The orc ran his long gloved hand over his hair and took in a deep breath before sitting down again. "You." He said, lifting his hammer to point at one of the guards. "Go summon Grom Hellscream. Now. He must know about this. And you." The hammer then was pointed at Dalrus. "Tell me everything that's happened ever since we left the shores of the Eastern Kingdoms, two years ago."

There was no reason to lie. As the guard left, Dalrus began narrating the events that had unfolded ever since prince Arthas discovered the Cult of the Damned in Lordaeron. He spoke of the rise of the Scourge, the destruction of the capital, the prince's betrayal, the fall of the elven kingdom of Quel'Thalas, and the return of the Burning Legion.

He spoke about the siege against his city, the people he watched die defending his home, and his own decision to join his brother when the summons to take the fight to this new land came.

All this, Thrall listened to, intently, making a few inquiries regarding some details every now and then. Finally, Dalrus finished his story with: "Then, when the order to retreat came, everyone was falling back, but then I saw those people rushing back in and... I saw a friend among them. So I decided to turn back as well and try to help him." He sighed. "Big mistake. He's probably dead, too. I began fighting against your big angry friend, but then someone fell on top of me in the middle of the fight, and... Well, the rest you know."

Dalrus watched as the orc leaned heavily back against his seat, his eyes closed as he was clearly in deep thought. "So, it is true... The demons have, indeed, returned." Dalrus couldn't make out what the orc was thinking. He also couldn't help but be reminded of how Lady Jaina had appeared during their chat the previous night. Thrall's current demeanor reminded him of her; as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, plagued with doubts and second guesses. "And you have joined this war so young to aid your brother and protect your land?"

"I... Guess that's one way of putting it, yes." Dalrus took in a deep breath, then coughed once more. His throat was very dry, and he was very tired, his body still sore from all his previous battles. "Sorry to ask, but... I don't suppose you have any water? Unless you're gonna kill me? Even so, before I die, I could really go for one last drink..."

Thrall's expression did not change. He was looking up at the ceiling now, lost in thought. Then, he reached down for his belt, and pulled out a large leather sack. He tossed it at Dalrus, who deftly caught it in the air. The instant he touched it, he realized it was full of water. "Oh, thank you!" He said as he pulled the cork out and poured its contents down his throat without a second thought. He drank avidly, making sure not to spill one drop, and when he was finished, he realized Thrall was covering his eyes with his hand, looking very tired. "Oh... Uh... Sorry. D-do you want some too?" The boy offered, holding the water bag up in front of him.

The orc's head snapped back down to face him, and saw his own bag being offered by the human prisoner on his knees. A very curious expression took over Thrall's features. And was that a faint smile creeping up on the corners of the orc's mouth? Thrall stood up once more, then looked at the guards. "You two, go inform the rest of the camp about what this boy has said regarding the undead and the Legion. Then go fetch Watu in the Darkspear camp and tell her to answer my summons."

"But, warchief, that would leave you alone-" A grunt began to say before Thrall cut him off. "Now!" And with that, the two scurried off as hastily as possible. Thrall knelt down before Dalrus, the orc's huge green face mere inches away from the boy's. "Long ago, human, I was at the mercy of your kind." He slowly said. It was at that moment, where they were so close to one another, that Dalrus finally realized the most distinguishing feature the orc warchief possessed; Thrall's eyes were a deep, beautiful shade of blue, a sharp contrast to the rest of his kin.

"I knew nothing but cruelty and misery in your hands." The warchief continued to speak. "My life had no worth, and I would put it on the line every day in deadly combat for nothing more than the amusement of the rich and powerful. There was only one among you who showed me kindness. She showed me a beautiful side in your people... She taught me mercy and compassion. She gave me hope that one day, we could all live in peace. But then..." His expression changed, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. "She was slaughtered for having aided me, for saving me from a life of despair and servitude. Ever since then, I have stayed away from your kind, searching for a proper place for my people to be free."

Dalrus blinked, not sure what to make out of this. "But... Why?" Was all he managed to say. "Why would they kill her?"

The warchief's expression was still fierce, but Dalrus could see the sadness behind Thrall's beautiful blue eyes. "Because a vile, cruel man owned her, much like he owned me. We were nothing but slaves, objects to fulfill his every whim and desire. My very name was meant to be a mark of my servitude. A mark of the shackles that bound me. But I turned this name into one I can be proud of. A name my people can utter with hope in their hearts." Thrall stood up. "So tell me, human. Is there a way to put an end to this bloodshed? Are my people allowed to hope? To find a place we can call our own and live there in peace?"

Dalrus was stunned by all this. Here was the Warchief of the Horde, proposing these heavy, deep questions to that green, sheltered boy from Gilneas. And the more Dalrus stared at Thrall, the more he began to feel… Something.

He already caught glimpses of this orc's power each time he wielded his magical hammer, but now that they were so close, Dalrus could better understand what exactly was the source of his power. It was as if Thrall were drawing strength from… Everything. The air that they breathed. The ground they stood on. The fire that illuminated them. Even the water pouch that Dalrus still held in his hands. The elements converged to this orc, and finally the boy understood what Thrall really was.

Before the orcs had been corrupted by demonic blood and enslaved by the Shadow Council, Dalrus had been taught that many among their kin were capable of communing with the elements that shaped this world. Primal, raw spirits that comprised the very foundations of the land. They existed within everything; the flames that burned within the hearth, the wind that blew over the fields, the thunder that struck across the skies, the water that covered the entire world… Even within the hearts of every animal to walk on land.

The power of the Void was like a hungry beast, stalking the edges of a campfire, waiting for the light to go out so it could pounce on him. But the power of the elements was more akin to a maelstrom, a chaotic swirl of energy that flowed through everything that comprised the world he lived in. Dalrus couldn't possibly fathom how Thrall was capable of not merely wielding this power, but let it flow through him, as if the orc were more a vessel to this energy than a manipulator. His was a frightening presence, indeed. No wonder he was the undisputed Warchief of the Horde.

Feeling a little overwhelmed, Dalrus took in a deep breath, and was reminded of his conversation with Lady Jaina the previous night. He remembered how fearful she was for her people. He remembered how his own king had built those walls in order to shelter his subjects. And here was this orc, in much the very same position as those two... A leader who only desired to see his people living safe and happy.

The boy slowly exhaled. Then, carefully, he began to speak: "Deep down, I believe everybody desires peace... No sane person craves war and violence. I wasn't even born yet when the first orc invasion began in Azeroth, but my entire life I was taught to hate and fear the Horde. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe we don't really hate each other... We just think we do. If you stop for a moment, and look around, anyone can notice that your opponent bleeds the same way you do. That they probably also have a reason to be risking their lives. Something they want to keep safe, some ideal they want to uphold. Maybe, if we all realized that, we could stop fighting like this, and just... Focus on what's really important. So, if you want to know my honest opinion about whether we can put an end to this conflict or not... Yeah, we can always decide to put down our weapons and talk."

The orc Warchief remained silent for a few moments. He closed his eyes, then lifted his head. Suddenly, Dalrus felt it... That raw, primal energy was swirling around them like a vortex, almost tangibly so. The very air felt... Charged. It was hard for the boy to breathe, but he dared not speak. It was clear that Thrall was very focused, as if something were speaking directly to him. Dalrus wondered if this was the same as the evil voice in his head that occasionally threatened to eat him.

Suddenly, the pressure was gone, and Thrall's eyes opened. "The elements are... In jeopardy." He said. "This land cries... The corruption spreads. Truly, the Legion has returned, and it spreads its flames." The orc stood up to his full height, hammer in hand, then looked down at Dalrus. "Your words, young human... Although you may be my enemy, they fill me with hope. I know the seeds of hatred can take deep roots, but if one as young as you can see past this dark mist of hatred that clouds our eyes... Perhaps there is hope for the future. Perhaps... There is hope that we put down our differences, and face the true enemy... The one who cares not if we bleed. I have seen it..." Thrall closed his eyes once more, and Dalrus could see the orc's face twisting into a pained, tormented expression. "A dark future where the demons have consumed all. They care for naught but the chaos they bring. The only reason for their very existence is to spread pain and suffering. There is nothing but malice within them. There is no hope for peace against the Legion."

Slow and carefully, Dalrus began to stand up. Since the warchief made no motions to stop him, or give any sign he should just stay down, he continued until he was stretching his legs once more. "If that's the case… Why are we wasting our time by fighting each other? Why can't we put everything aside, and face our real enemy, together? Imagine the power our armies would have if we combined everything we had, instead of throwing it all at each other!"

Thrall's expression was stern, yet full of sorrow. "There is great wisdom in your words, young one... But it is the wisdom of the innocent... Of the naive. It is not that simple. I too desire peace, but old hatreds don't simply end like that. My people have suffered greatly because of yours. Can you imagine yourself forgiving the undead who once laid siege to your city?"

Dalrus hesitated. "I... That's different. Those things aren't even alive. They are just puppets in the hands of a much greater evil. Unlike them, we get to choose. And I say the first step towards peace is to stop attacking without any provocation."

Once again, Dalrus could feel that energy filling the room. This time, he could see the orc's eyes glow, a bright, azure light coming from beneath his eyelids. It was unlike anything Dalrus had ever seen or felt before. To say that Thrall could commune with the elements was an understatement; this man was a part of them, and they all flowed through him.

Like this orc, clad in black armor and burdened with the heavy duty of leading the Horde was attempting to go even further beyond the needs of his people and attempted to mend the wounds of the earth itself.

Slowly, Thrall opened his mouth. "Perhaps, we can..." That moment, however, there was a loud commotion outside, and one of the grunts Thrall had sent off earlier came running in. The heavy elemental charge filling the room vanished, like a candlelight whose flame suddenly died off. Thrall stared angrily at the grunt, and asked: "What's going on outside? And where the hell is Grom? I already called for-"

His words, however, were interrupted by the grunt. "Warchief, the Warsong clan is attacking humans despite your orders!"

Dalrus felt his heart sink. He turned around, shocked. "They what?"

Ignoring the human boy, Thrall threw his hammer against the ground, then screamed: "Damn it! There's nothing to do now but fight!" With a heavy expression, the orc walked up to where his hammer had formed a crater on the floor and picked it up.

The orc grunt was anxiously staring at Thrall. "We are ready, warchief! What are your orders?" He asked, waiting by the entrance.

"Tighten our defenses." Thrall instructed. "I'll deal with Hellscream later." The grunt nodded, then hurried off to relay the warchief's orders. Thrall sighed, then ran his hands over his face, looking utterly exhausted. "Perhaps it is our destiny, to go on fighting the humans forever..." He mumbled, mostly to himself.

"H-hey, wait a minute! You can't just-" Dalrus began to say as he tried to take one step towards Thrall. The next moment he was face-down on the floor, feeling something very long and heavy pressed against his back and a very familiar edge against his neck. The water sack fell from his hands and spilled its contents all over the floor before him.

From on top of him, Dalrus could hear a feminine voice with a very thick accent speaking. "Careful, warchief. I wouldn't be turning mah back on de enemy like diz. Even bound, he could still bite."

Thrall turned back to look at whoever was pressing their weight on top of Dalrus' body. "Watu, I want you to move this human back to your tent, and keep watch over him until the battle is over. As for you..." When his eyes shifted back down on the boy, Dalrus could see the sadness in them. "I am sorry that our talk has been for naught, young one... But I am afraid the safety of the Horde must come first. I give you my word that so long as you are our prisoner, no harm will come to you." And with that, the orc turned around once more and marched out of the halls, leaving Dalrus alone with his new captor and a deep sense of dread over what was about to happen.

In his mind, he could hear that sinister chuckle once more. "The closer you get to hope... The farther away it is ripped from your hands."

'Oh, sod off.'