Chapter 6: HEROES OF THE EXPEDITIONS
(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.
The Great Ocean, Off the Coast of Lordaeron
A fleet of ships carrying a red insignia, sailed over the calm waters. They have been traveling for so long now and the sides of the ship, marked where hundreds of waves battered it. If the ships themselves did not look too nice, the passengers on board looked worse. The green-skinned creatures who were suppose to look a solid color of green had this pale tint. The tall blue creatures with them didn't look well either.
The leading ship named Grommash was headed by a troll with a long robe, a witch doctor by his looks. His name was Vol'jin. He had a long history with the orcs dating back to the time when his predecessor, Sen'jin was killed trying to free their green-skinned friends from the grasp of the Murlocs. After his death, Vol'jin had replaced him as leader of the Darkspear Tribe. The Burning Legion came forcing his brethren to fight for all of their freedom. It had cost his tribe much. Then, just a year previously, the war between the Alliance and the Horde erupted thus throwing the trolls in the fray once more.
Now, Vol'jin was tasked for this expedition of the Horde to propagate the war into the Undying lands and gain allies in the forsaken country. This was the plan Thrall had made and he was to execute it.
In the horizon, a dark misted forest could be seen. He had never been into Lordaeron before. His ancestors had always lived in the Maelstrom and ever since the orcs came, the Darkspear Tribe have experience journey upon journey. This was a feat he never thought of in his early childhood.
"I smell blood all over there." the orc beside him gave a wolf-like sniff, inhaling all the air as if he would live longer in doing it. "I might like the place better than Kalimdor..." The orc licked his lips.
"Don' get excited, Stryg, mon." Vol'jin didn't like the orc, but he was Grom's right hand man! Thrall had forced his service upon this expedition in order to show all people that demons such as he can be redeemed.
Grom Hellscream can be redeemed but not this guy. I think that the first thing he'll do when arriving at Lordaeron is to seek the Undead. With them, his blood thirst would be sated. Vol'jin thought deeply. This orc really disgusted him. Vol'jin would never dream of using his powers like this blood maniac.
"You can't order me around, troll." the orc grunted. "I'm the Bloodseeker. I have tasted Mannoroth's blood like most orcs but I alone have been overcome by it. Blood is my water, Vol'jin."
"You'll get your fill when us mon go down." Vol'jin said reassuringly, but deep inside he loathed the creature. "But I need to communicate, mon. Other ships."
"I'll do it." Strygwyr said reluctantly and plucked from his belt a light dagger. It was gleaming with faint light as if it wasn't there but existed. Strygwyr gripped the dagger's handle tightly and focused his thought on one of the other ships.
Strygwyr suddenly materialized in front of a troll on the deck of the Doomhammer. Both trolls, as far as Strygwyr knew were of Darkspear descent and were Vol'jin's most trusted followers. There was a tall gangly one, Rhasta and his muscular well-built friend, Huskar. Both were under Vol'jin's apprenticeship; they learned all their abilities from him.
However, these two trolls did not share their master's hate for the orc. The three of them were on good terms with each other.
"Stryg, boss, mon," Huskar's greeting came. "How you gettin' on with a-reportin'?"
"Yeah, I need your report from the deck, Huskar." Strygwyr said as-a-matter-of-factly. "Where's Rhasta?"
"He's a-doodlin' in his lab'a'tory," Huskar said with a quick laugh afterward. "You don' a-disturb him. I'll be givin' a-reportin'."
"Very well." Strygwyr sighed, giving the report scroll to the troll. He really tired of doing stuff for the trolls. "Make it quick. I still need to check on Yurnero."
"Juggy-boss?" Huskar suddenly perked up and looked at Strygwyr from above the scroll.
Styrgwyr looked at Huskar. Juggy-boss? "Excuse me?"
"Yurnero," Huskar explained, staring back at the scroll. "He's a-Juggy-boss. Juggernaut-boss."
"Oh." Styrgwyr rolled his eyes. You really had to hand it to them. They make new words everytime. Strygwyr received the scroll back and looked at Huskar. "We're nearing Silverpine so better get ready. Make sure Rhasta knows."
"Sure, boss, mon." Huskar nodded in assurance.
Strygwyr resumed control of his dagger and stared at the final ship of the Horde fleet, the Barrenwatch.
Yurnero, or the "Juggy-boss" as Huskar put it, was a serious individual. He was actually a Blademaster during the war but his powers were affected when he drank the blood of Mannoroth. But do not be mistaken; his fate was not like Strygwyr's which wasn't at all lethargy. Yurnero did become a lethargic orc but his powers we're still affected. He still had that extreme strength which fueled the orcs when they were under influence of demon blood.
Strygwyr respected Yurnero, something that wasn't really what he did. But it may be the fact that they both experience extreme side-effects from the demon blood that drew out this emotion.
"Master Yurnero," Strygwyr bowed low when he blinked into the ship's vicinity. "Vol'jin needs your report."
Yurnero who was always caught unawares by this strange behavior, leapt backward. "Strygwyr!"
"Sorry to surprise you, Master Yurnero." Strygwyr apologetically said. "I just need the report, that's all."
Yurnero looked at the orc with unease and then submitted. "Very well, very well. The scroll."
Strygwyr handed to him the piece of parchment and waited as he filled it up.
"Why do you call me 'Master', Strygwyr." Yurnero spoke as he wrote.
"I have profound respect for you." Strygwyr was still bowing low as he said this.
"Which is unusual for your kind." Yurnero commented.
Styrgwyr had no reply to this. He knew what Yurnero was talking about. He was being referred to as "another kind" because of his unusual lust for blood and his likeness to the chaotic orcs of long before.
"Here you go." Yurnero handed him the scroll. "I'm sure Vol'jin'll be happy. Are we close to Lordaeron?"
"We're nearing Silverpine, Mas ―" Strygwyr heard Yurnero sigh deep. "— ter."
Yurnero sighed more and dismissed the orc.
Using the magic aerial communication system, Luna Moonfang, the leader of the Night Elf ship Nordrassil, was sending a message to the other two ships following it. Purist Thunderwrath, aboard the ship Lothar, was receiving the message: We're closing in... Meet at Nordrassil.
Purist looked over to the east. He was now approaching the land in which he came from. Being one of the humans who fled with Jaina Proudmoore, his wish was to return to his homeland and start a new life. But with the Undead having all their wars there, this was nigh impossible. Purist sighed and picked up the paladin mallet, his most trusted weapon. For a long time, his ambition was to be a paladin like his father but with the coming of the Burning Legion and the uprise of the Third War, he wasn't able to join the Silver Hand. In one way or another, he attempted to study the art but since he lacked information, he immersed himself in other arts of war thus producing his very unique skills.
The druid responsible for his magic aerial came into the room. He was carrying a tightly bundled-up scroll.
"Sir Thunderwrath," hebegan. "Mistress Luna sent for this scroll. I think it's a portal scroll."
"Of course," Purist said, collecting the scroll from the footman's hands. "Tell her that I'll be there in a while."
The druid went out of the room and resumed his position by the roof. Purist stood as he progressed upward. Do the night elves complain when we order them?
Purist continued outside and headed for the tip of the deck where he could visibly see the ship Nordrassil. He fumbled with the knot in which the scroll was tied. He was about to yank the scroll open when he heard a shout from somewhere behind.
"Purist!" It was female and judging by the pitch, a small person. Purist looked around to find the small yet stunning night elf Mirana Nightshade aboard the third ship, Emerald. She was astonishingly tiny without her stead, Saber the white tiger. "I'll unroll first. I"ll tell you something once were on Nordrassil."
Purist complied and waited as Mirana untied her portal scroll. Soon, runes flashed around the night elf and the channeling began. A few seconds later, Mirana had safely landed on Nordrassil, the now burnt out scroll clutched in her fingers.
My turn, Purist thought. He yanked away the last of the knot and waited as the runes took their place around him. No sooner than that, the sensation of nothingness crept over him and tugged him towards the spot on Nordrassil. In a flash of a second, he landed on the ship, the scroll now smoking and Mirana staring at him.
After smoothing out the crests on his shirt, he spoke up to the elf. "What's up?"
Mirana stared up at him. "I know why you came on this expedition. Jaina didn't want you to but you did."
"First name terms with Ms. Proudmoore?" Purist was mildly surprised. "Impressive. Especially for a night elf."
"Naturally," Mirana said indifferently. "All of the Sisterhood of Elune are on speaking terms with Jaina. But that's not the point. You shouldn't have come, Purist. You will find nothing except death in the lands we seek."
"And what if the Silver Hand is still alive?" Purist found that his voice was rising dramatically.
"That's impossible," Mirana waved her puny hand in front of Purist's face. "Arthas Menethil would have routed them all out. Jaina knows him, Purist. Paladins are now long extinct."
Anger bubbled inside Purist. If this was true, he won't rest until he defeated the Undead. They were the cause of all this!
"We came here for the Horde, not for anything else," Mirana said persistently. "Stick to that plan. Now come on. Let's go meet Luna before she gets really old."
Purist did not laugh but went nevertheless. The two of them reached the part of the deck where Luna stood amongst a dozen or so archers. A druid stood above all of them, prepared to use his powers as a magic aerial when need be.
Luna approached them and led the way into her quarters. It was quite cramped due to the big black panther she kept as a pet. It growled as they entered but didn't strike.
Luna weaved around to her desk and pulled out the map of the world of Azeroth. She pointed directly to the point northeast of Lordaeron. "Tirisfal Glades," she said. "We are currently about a hundred miles off its coast. We won't be landing until maybe dawn tomorrow. If we're lucky, we might get there tonight before midnight. We have information that the Scourge lies in the heart if the Glades. This makes us believe that the Horde would land there, but honestly, they may have landed anywhere."
"It's a good place to start." Mirana commented. Purist said nothing.
"He's on the paladin thing again..." Mirana whispered to Luna. She nodded in reply.
Purist grunted. "Do we have to do this job alone? Can't the elves help us?"
There was a sharp intake of breath from the two night elves. Purist suddenly remembered the lineage of these two races were both the same, something the night elves despised.
"We don't have to ask help from anyone," Luna said darkly. "Especially from those bastards."
"Sorry, sensitive topic..." Purist grinned apologetically. "It was bound to come up anyway."
"That suddenly reminds me," Luna said still having that dark look on her face. "Under no circumstances should we intertwine ourselves with that race. I don't mean anything bad, but it's just the fact that we don't really like each other."
"Point taken," Purist said, still grinning. "Any more you want to say? I need to get back to my quarters."
Luna and Mirana looked at each other. "That's it I think," Luna said looking back at Purist. "Just get ready when you receive the landfall message."
"Sure." Purist said, walking out of the room, collecting another portal scroll along the way.
The Magic Aerial Communication System was devised by the Alliance as an instant means for communication. It only required that two magicians (priest or druid) to connect their magical forces to exchange messages instantly. It's an effective way of communication, something that the Alliance has relied on for quite a while.
