Chapter 37 - Dreams and consequences

Dalrus dreamt.

He dreamt of lush green forests, and he was flying over them, his wings spread wide as he soared through the air. It felt wonderful, blissful. He looked to the side, and saw the ocean. The beautiful, vast ocean, spraying salty water in his face. Smiling, Dalrus took a seat, and gratefully ate from the plate. It tasted wonderful, like purple. It filled his vision, and he was falling. As he fell, he began to swim. So much he swam, he began hammering harder at the nails sticking out off the wooden wall before him. His hands hurt. He let go of the hammer, but then picked back up his dagger. He missed it. It felt great to hold it again as he felt the warm sun on his face and the rough, coarse sand of the beach shifting under his body. He was currently laying over his bed in Gilneas, then the door opened, and his mother walked in. She kissed him, and he hugged his brother back. He felt very fuzzy. He loved his dog. He threw the stick, and the cat chased after it. Dalrus began to walk, and jumped off the window. He felt very light. He was flying again, arms flapping around him as he swam through the water. 3 times, half of his life. His arms felt heavy, knees weak. Sweat ran down his wooden elven bow. He shot an arrow, and the bullet flew through the night. What the hell was going on?

Dalrus opened his eyes.

Standing over him was the scowling face of Captain Lyafra.

He closed his eyes again.

She kicked him off the bed.

"Ow!" He complained, rubbing his side as he stood up. "That was rude!"

The elf was positively fuming as she stared at him. "You're lucky that was my foot, and not a dagger, child."

Dalrus looked around. He was in the medical ward, with a dozen beds surrounding him at all sides. They were all occupied by injured soldiers, most of them human. "You know, you're really not supposed to be kicking people off their hospital beds. I should file a formal complaint to HR."

With two quick strides, the elf was looming over Dalrus, inches away from his face. "You disobeyed my orders. Again."

Dalrus cleared his throat. "Actually, if you'll recall, I did tell you I was busy with a very important diplomatic task! What, didn't the soldier tell you about it?"

Lyafra narrowed her eyes. "Oh, he did. I almost took out my frustrations on him, instead. And I suppose you consider sneaking out of our camp, again, joining up an attack incursion without permission, again, and nearly getting yourself killed, AGAIN, to be an important diplomatic task?"

He shrugged. "Hey, the orc leader was grateful for my aid, wasn't he? I'd say that counts as successful diplomacy."

Lyafra jammed a finger into his chest. "So you think you get to do whatever you damn well please so long as it turns out OK? Do you think your decisions to be better than your superiors? Is that it, child?"

Dalrus backed up against the medical ward's tent wall. "Hey, it turned out fine, didn't it? In the end, the mission was a success! I did my part to help, didn't I?"

Lyafra's eyes were cold. She shook her head, and turned away. "If you think results are all that matter, child… Then you're in for a far more rude awakening than the one I gave you." And on that note, she left.

Soon after, an elven priest walked into the tent, and noticed Dalrus standing next to his bed. "Ah, you're awake!" He said, walking up to the boy. "Please, sit down. I must check you up once more…"

Dalrus did as he was told. "So, uh… How long was I out?" He asked, looking around. Like he noticed earlier, the infirmary was full of beds occupied by injured soldiers, Dalrus himself being but one among the many.

The elf gently placed his hands on the boy's left arm. Dalrus didn't feel it. Confused, he looked down, and noticed both his arms were covered in bandages. "I'm glad the damage wasn't too severe… But you must avoid moving so much. I'm gonna have to immobilize your arms."

"Huh? Why? I feel…" Dalrus tried to raise a hand in objection, but he couldn't. He realized both his arms felt very numb. He immediately recognized the effects of an anesthetic numbing toxin. "Uh… What happened to me?"

The elf scowled at him. "You tell me, boy. Your arms were fractured all over, I'm amazed your bones didn't shatter like splinters. What the hell did you try to do, stop a charging kodo with your bare hands?"

Dalrus felt a knot on his throat. "Aaah… You're not too far off the mark." He said, remembering that moment where he parried Garrosh's overhead attack.

The elf shook his head. "These wounds are gonna take time to heal. I'm sorry, but we can't spare any magical power to mend your arms. We have far more serious injuries to focus on. For a few days at the very least, you're gonna have to make do without use of your arms. And also…" The priest pulled out a small vial from his belt, with less than half of its contents left. Dalrus recognized the yellow fluid within as the numbing poison. "I'm afraid we can't spare any more medicine for your pain. We have soldiers here in far worse condition than you who would be driven mad by the agony. In a couple hours, your dosage is gonna wear off. I suggest you find a quiet place to rest for the next few days."

And so, Dalrus found himself wearing splinters on his limbs. At least he could still walk. And walk he did. As soon as the elven priest had released him, Dalrus strutted along the human settlement camp, looking for his brother. When he inquired about where Felrus was, one guard had simply pointed at the orc base.

Confused, Dalrus headed there right away. There was a large group of orcs gathered around two people. Dalrus approached, curious.

At the center of the group was his brother, his arm over a thick wooden table. Across that table was a burly orc - as burly as any other - their hands currently gripping one another and trying to push the other down. Felrus was grunting like a beast, pushing down with all his might as the orc bared his teeth and howled from the strain.

Finally, the orc gave out. Felrus pushed his opponent's fist all the way to the other side, then leapt from his seat, arms outstretched as he celebrated his victory. To Dalrus' surprise, the orcs cheered and clapped.

"How can this be?" One of the orcs was asking. "He's beaten five in a row! How can a human be this strong?"

Dalrus poked one orc on the side, then pointed with his foot. "That's my brother, you know!"

These words made Felrus turn around and look at Dalrus. The young rogue grinned at his brother and surged forward. "Fel! Great to see you again! I was starting to get wor-"

His words were cut off by his brother's gauntleted fist flying straight to his nose. For a moment, Dalrus saw stars flashing before his eyes, then he passed out.

"No, Steverino! Let go of that sponge! It's going to eat you!" Dalrus shouted as he ran, the leaves pulling him back into the maelstrom of fluff that swirled in the sky above them. His hand outstretched, Dalrus used his magical powers to shoot lightning at the dragon, who absorbed his power to grow arms and legs and fly into the ground. The trees rose and combined together into one super tree who began fighting the dragon as Dalrus shot fireballs into the ground, until the world exploded and suddenly he had grown wings again, which he used to cook another sponge for Steverino. He opened his present box, to see what he had gained for his birthday. It was pain.

Dear gods, so much pain.

This time, the rogue woke up from his insanely random dreams at a far more rustic tent. It appeared he was still in the orcish camp. He tried to get up, but the pain in his arms made him yelp like a scared puppy.

He saw an old troll approaching him. His skin was the color of the sky, covered by several red tribalistic tattoos. "How ya feelin', mon?"

Dalrus moaned. "My everything hurts."

The troll nodded. "Aye, dem bones of yours don't be looking good, mon. Ya be needin' to stand still for a bit, lest the lesions worsen."

Dalrus moaned again.

Then his brother walked in through the tent's opening. He was staring down at the rogue.

Dalrus stared back. "You punched me!"

He saw Felrus stomp towards him, and for a moment he feared he was gonna get punched again. He recoiled and almost fell off his bed.

Felrus, however, stopped short of his bed and helped him steady himself… Gently. "You bloody moron." He finally said, with a heavy sigh. "Do you have any idea of how much trouble you got yourself into this time, Dalrus?"

Thankful for the help, Dalrus leaned back against his cushions as the old troll began mixing something in a table on the back of the tent. "Why is everyone yelling at me so much? Thanks to me, we were able to save Grommash!"

The troll stopped, then turned around to peer at Dalrus. His gaze then shifted to Felrus, who sighed. "Forgive him, sir. He's been unconscious for a long time now, so he doesn't know yet."

Dalrus blinked. "Know what? What's going on? Wait, is your beard turning white?"

Felrus loomed over his brother. "Dal, you better shut your trap and listen for a bit." The warrior pulled up a spare chair next to the troll's table and sat down next to his brother. "Grommash Hellscream… He is dead."

The news shocked him. "Wait, what? How? Did something happen during his purification?"

Felrus shook his head. "No, the ritual was a success. Grommash was purified, cleansed of the demonic corruption. Then, he and Thrall left together towards the canyons to face the demon Mannoroth… Alone."

Dalrus almost asked why they would do something so stupid instead of bringing all their armies with them, or at least Jaina and her paladin sidekick, but decided now was not the best time to nitpick.

"The demon was defeated." Felrus continued. "But at the cost of Hellscream's life. He sacrificed himself to destroy Mannoroth and save Thrall. Thanks to him, the orcs are now completely free of the demon's influence. His forces were scattered throughout the forests, and we have began incursions to wipe them out."

Dalrus' looked down, too shocked to even speak. "I… I'm sorry…"

Felrus sighed once again. "He may have committed many crimes, and made many mistakes… But in the end, he died redeeming himself. He died a warrior's death, and that's something he could be proud of."

"Indeed." Came Thrall's voice from behind them. The brothers turned, and saw the Warchief walk into the tent, accompanied by lady Jaina Proudmoore. "I must thank you for your aid, young Dalrus." He stopped next to Felrus, one hand caressing the pommel of his mystical hammer. "Your words reached Grom, and helped him regain what little sanity he still had left in his state. He asked me to tell you… That he was no longer afraid."

Dalrus felt a knot forming in his throat. Grommash Hellscream had by far been one of the single strongest people he had ever known. The orc's skill, strength and ferocity were unmatched. He couldn't believe he was truly dead…

Thrall's expression was a somber one. "But now, I'm afraid, we must discuss different matters."

Dalrus looked up. Everyone - his brother, Thrall, Jaina and even the old troll doctor were staring at him. Their expressions didn't look very thankful. "W-what?" Dalrus asked, almost fearfully.

"Dalrus." Jaina said, stepping forward. "We are thankful for your help, we are, truly. But you must understand… You disobeyed a direct order from captain Lyafra and joined an attack incursion without permission. I'm sorry, but we can't overlook your insubordination anymore."

"Insubordination?" He asked, feeling even more shocked than before.

"Dal." Felrus placed one hand on his brother's shoulder, which almost made Dalrus cry in pain. "I told you this before. We are in an army now. You can't just go and do whatever you want. Ends don't justify means. If you were any other soldier, you'd be sentenced to ten public lashings and a demotion. The only reason we are not doing that was because the Tauren chieftain kindly asked that we be lenient… For the last time."

The orc nodded. "Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for your efforts, but I also understand the burdens of leadership. Your behavior would be unacceptable among my own men. Were it not for the fact you were so gravely injured during the fight, and that Cairne vouched for you, I too would be requesting a more severe punishment."

"So." Jaina said, gripping at her staff as she peered down at him. "For the time being, you are to remain within the horde base until your wounds heal. You are not to leave this tent, or the cares of…" She glanced off to the troll to their side nervously.

"Tal'von." He said.

"Tal'von." Jaina said. "Until you make a full recovery. After that, you will report directly to Captain Lyafra… And I must be very clear about this." Jaina managed to reproduce the heavy, intimidating scowl that Thrall and his brother were doing. "If you disobey orders and move on your own again, Dalrus… The consequences will be far more severe next time. Don't think that just because your escapades turned out fine that you're free to do as you will. As your brother said… We are part of an army. We must uphold discipline, and a chain of command." The young mage nodded. "I wish you a good recovery." And with that, she turned around and left.

Felrus stood up as well, then sighed. "You bloody halfwift…" He muttered, before he too turned around and left.

Dalrus looked up at Thrall. "Before you leave… How is Cairne?"

The orc's expression softened somewhat. "He was badly injured during his battle with the infernals… But he'll recover. He told me the greatest solace in his mind was the knowledge that you'd carry on his mission as he engaged those beasts in battle." Thrall nodded. "We of the Horde place honor and duty above all else. He was grateful for your aid."

Dalrus sighed in relief. "Well, I'm glad to hear he's fine… Oh, and…" Dalrus hesitated. "I… I'm sorry… About your friend."

He saw Thrall's hands curl into fists. The warchief took in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. "Grom… He will be forever remembered for his sacrifice. He chose to aid us in our darkest hour… He relinquished the demonic corruption, and died a true orc. His last words were…" Thrall caught himself. Then he looked over to the side to hide his expression. "He said he was free."

Dalrus bit on his lip, then nodded. "I'm sorry…" He said again.

Thrall shook his head. "Don't be. You played your part in freeing him. And I'll never forget your bravery… But what your leader said earlier still stands. It won't do for you to move as you will, ignoring your superiors. I suggest you meditate upon this, young one." And with that said, Thrall too turned around and left Dalrus alone with the troll doctor, Tal'von.

Dalrus sighed, then turned to the troll. "I don't suppose you know healing magic, do you?"

The old troll chuckled. "As a matter of fact, mon, I do."

Dalrus opened his mouth again.

"No." Said the troll before words even came out of his mouth.

"But-" Dalrus tried to speak again.

"Pain be de best teacher, mon. Mabbeh it teach you to do as you be told when ordered to sit still for a bit." Chuckling to himself, Tal'von returned his focus to his work table, where, Dalrus could see, the doctor was busy mixing herbs and liquids within vials.

Grumbling to himself, Dalrus tried to get comfortable on his bed… With little success. His arms felt like they were on fire from the inside out. He couldn't move them without his bones feeling as if they were on the verge of exploding. 'Bloody hells, why did I try to block instead of dodging?'

He had nothing to do, or nothing to look at other than the ceiling and Tal'von, neither of which were particularly interesting. He couldn't even doze off because of the pain. And so, he had no choice but to think in order to pass the time.

He began thinking about all that's happened since arriving on Kalimdor. It felt like so long ago, but he doubted it had been much longer than a month. He had probably crossed longer distances just in the past week than he probably had his entire life walking through Gilneas.

His mind went back to the night elves. He was reminded of Lyaera, whom he had rescued from the Warsong and helped return to her people. He remembered Cenarius, the half-elf, half stag demigod who fought to protect nature but was killed by the orcs.

Dalrus had already related to his leaders about the kal'dorei. So far, any attempts to make contact with them had been fruitless. The night elves were simply too well hidden within the forests of Ashenvale, but when they did show up, it was to attack the orc and human forces. They were quite zealous of their home.

Another worry was eating away at his conscience, however. During the battle against the corrupted Warsong, the demons had finally shown themselves. The Burning Legion was summoned by the orc warlocks, and he knew there were more in the forests. There were also the satyrs, whom Dalrus theorized were some kind of corrupted version of the night elves, due to their similarities.

But until that moment, they hadn't seen a single ghoul from the Undead Scourge. He feared that soon, the undead would arrive. Not to mention, that name he heard when Mannoroth was addressing the corrupted Warsong…

Archimonde.

The name alone was enough to send a chill along his spine. Dalrus had no idea who or what he was, but if something of Mannoroth's level was referring to him with such deference, Dalrus assumed it had to be some sort of supreme commander among the ranks of the Legion.

And then there was Prince Arthas Menethil… The traitor prince, who brought the undead to the streets of his own capital kingdom and murdered his own father. Not to mention, the undead sorcerer Kel'thuzad, who had been resurrected through the power of the Sunwell in the now razed capital city of the high elves.

To be sure, there were many powerful names among their enemies. But Dalrus' side too had many heroic people among their ranks. Thrall, Jaina, commander Wyrmbane, Cairne… His own brother, Felrus. No doubt, it was an uphill battle that they were faced with… But now that the orcs and humans had finally joined forces, he figured they would be able to make it. Perhaps in time, they'd be able to make contact with the night elves.

After all, it was just a matter of time before they, too, would need to fight against the Legion.