III
The dry air tickled his nose, the scorching sun was a delight to his skin. He turned at the sound of a kodo roaring as it passed him. His chest swelled with pride, his men ready to taste the blood of Alliance Soldiers.
Garrosh Hellscream's warriors, the might of the Horde, thundered through the Northern Barrens. The ground vibrated with the heavy trek. Dust rose up behind them as they file their way down the Gold Road. Weeks of marching, scouting, and they trekked on through roaring across the Great Divide and passing the Overgrowth, on into the Southern Barrens. Another three days of marching as they gathered their forces from Ratchet. Behind them laid the Stagnant Oasis and the burnt black scar that was once the Great Divide.
One year ago, Neltharion trekked across the Barrens to the Crossroads. As he trekked across the Barrens, he came upon the Great Divide, a fiery chasm he created as the maddened Dragon Aspect Deathwing. During his grief of causing such destruction during the Cataclysm, Neltharion called upon the powers granted to him by the Titans and ground quaked. Lava rose up between the cracks, and then cooled to a black scar, closing the Divide. Garrosh heard of this news from many Thunder Bluff Tauren druids who sat and watched the Earth-Warder perform this miracle. However, the Warchief was not moved by the Aspects attempts to heal the land he shattered two years prior. The Divide's healing now provided a strategic path again, no longer separating the Barrens in two. Because of the Aspect's foolish need to erase all Deathwing had done, Neltharion provided Garrosh with the means to walk safely into the Alliance-controlled Southern Barrens without having to go around. Forward Command soon proved to be easy pickings after all of the Horde's armies convened over the scar. For that, Garrosh decided to give the scar a new name, Blood's Shadow's Ignorance. How stupid it was for Neltharion to provide the Horde a clear path to his home. Garrosh will knock upon the door of the Earth-Warder with Gorehowl in hand and the Aspect would be so dimwitted to let him in. Guards at each check point had waved them through as they made their way south. Dry brush was trampled flat by the steel, tanks riding along side the kodo. Field reconnaissance vehicles, stolen from a few Alliance base raids, leapt over the rocky hills, followed raptor riders. Garrosh turned his head to the sound of a trumpet as the legion continued to make its way down the road. The mesas trembled, the brush waved. It seemed all of the Northern Barrens trembled before the might of Garrosh Hellscream. He looked to the sky at the sound of a screech and found a flight of Windrunners above on one side, and Zaela's Dragonmaw black drakes on the other.
The black drakes.
He place no trust in them. In fact, he argued against the Dragonmaw using them because they came from his hated enemy's own seed. But the former Twilight Hammers carefull informed him that drake mounts born from the loins of an Aspect would guarantee a strong mount. And they provided the Dragonmaw with the materials they took from Deathwing, when he was with the Twilight Hammers.
Garrosh has benefited much from the Dark Shamans that came to him from the now debunked Twilight Hammers faction. Deathwing had taught them secrets that no Shaman could ever learn within their lifetimes. And when they came to the Horde, they had these tributes ready for Garrosh to inspect. The Shamans from the Twilight Hammers could manipulate the elements without the need of totems or calling upon the spirits. Garrosh looked beyond the lines to see several of the Dark Shamans up in front, manipulating the elements as the army continued its march. They waved their hands, stamped their feet, and the echo of their vibrations countered the noise the army was making.
Deathwing had taught them to be connected to the elements through the energy of their bodies. Though Garrosh hated Neltharion, he realized the Aspect had some unique tricks, and now so does the Horde.
Behind the advancing legion, and to the sides, and of course the front, the Shamans worked their special skills. These Shamans were specialized in the element of earth. The Twilight Hammers learned that Neltharion could see through the rock using sound vibrations. And there was no doubt that the Earth-Warder could very well hear the great thunderous sound Garrosh's legion was making through the Barrens as they made their way south towards Theramore. One signal Neltharion had was all the Aspect needed and he would be there within minutes to stop Garrosh in his plans. So, the Warchief had to out smart the Earth-Warder by using his own powers against him. With the help of the Shamans that Neltharion has personally trained while under the control of the Old Gods, Garrosh would make it to Theramore and the Earth-Warder would be none the wiser.
However, making it to Theramore before the Earth-Warder realized it was not entirely the plan.
Garrosh was well aware that the Earth-Warder was not at home. Due to some ingenious methods from his shamans, Garrosh was able to distract the Earth-Warder away from Theramore.
"You are not the only one who can command the planet, Deathwing," Garrosh said to himself with a grin.
As the sun began to set, the Horde rested. Garrosh walked out to the front of the camp, looking out over the troops. A line of campfires spread out over a mile and dotted the low lying hills like monstrous fireflies. They flickered in the clinging dark silhouette of the paper cut out landscape. An idle roar of a prairie cat twitched his ear off in the distance, as it caught its dinner for the night. Garrosh's golden eyes glowed with the hot fire and thirst for Alliance blood.
The fat dragon was away...
Far away, rescuing a small town from a raging volcano. And then, he and the Earthen Ring called a meeting. The Warchief turned, hearing the sound of a low trumpet warbling. The watch guards signaled an approaching flier. Garrosh looked up to find two dragon riders landing near him. He heard the sounds of their drakes squawk as they landed. He could see the hot glow of their orange eyes as they stared blankly at him. The two riders dismounted.
"As you ordered, Warchief," one of them said. "We report to you only."
"And what do you have to report?" asked Garrosh.
"The Earth-Warder chased us away before the meeting started," said one of the riders.
"But he was there," said Garrosh.
"Yes."
"He saw your drakes and got very angry," said Garrosh, as if he knew exactly what transpired.
The two riders nodded.
"I wonder what Thrall had to say about it."
"Thrall told the Earth-Warder not to persue the matter any further," said the harsh voice of a female orc. Garrosh turned, his thick grin growing. He found Zaela, Warlord of the Dragonmaw, land right beside him. Her large black drake snorted as she dismounted. "And Deathwing is only more furious. People at the meeting have heard the Worldbreaker threatening Thrall."
"He Threatened Thrall!" said Garrosh, the news only filling him with more glee. "Threatened Thrall, nearly attacked you two, and my distraction with the volcano worked! Where is the Aspect of Twinkies now?"
"The scouters in Uldum reported he was visiting the Caverns of Time," said Zaela. "And he has not left. He's been there for the last week."
Garrosh took in deep breath. He walked out between the gray skinned orcs, looking between them.
"Tell your scouters to can an eye on him," he said. "I want to know when he returns to Theramore."
"Garrosh, there is no way we will be able to move the army through fast enough," said Zaela. "Considering the Earth-Warder's flight speed."
Garrosh grunted a reply, though his tone seemed rather unconcerned. He was uncharacteristically calm in all of this. He walked down the line of campfires, the glow sparkling in his piercing golden eyes. Zaela followed him, her drake pulled along side her by its reigns. He heard the jingle of the elementium chain clank against her breasts. The chain, an item that once held Neltharion's most powerful weapon, the Demon Soul. The chain had the power to control the minds of dragons, but not the minds of the Aspects. Only theirs were stronger.
"He'll be home before we even reach Theramore," continued Zaela.
"I want him to be there, Warlord," said Garrosh. "I want Deathwing there when we break the gates of Theramore."
"Having an Aspect on their side," began Zaela. "He will tear through our ranks like tissue paper! The battle would be over before it even began."
Garrosh sniffed at her statement, his brow ridge only twitched to indicate some concern. Then, he wagged his head, only smiling and shrugging off her warning.
"I am well aware of what he can do," he said. "However, Deathwing is not aware of what I can do to him."
"And what is that?"
"Oh, my little surprise to celebrate the return of a Dragon Aspect to the right side," he said as he continued to walk through the camp. Garrosh chuckled darkly.
"I would like to know."
"You will. But for now, I suggest you and your Dragonmaw stay close to me. I don't want you harmed."
Zaela bowed her head: "Of course, Warchief."
Garrosh approached a hide tent covered in large, furry pelts. There General Nazgrim was discussing battle plans with various orc generals. Beside him was Malkorok, Garrosh's personal bodyguard. Swamped around the tent were various platoons of Kor'kron, serving as special operations for Garrosh Hellscream. The glow of the torch light lit the map of Kalimdor rolled out on tan, splotchy parchment , though Garrosh kicked himself for not bringing the hard-light map his special forces snatched from an Alliance encampment a little ways north. However, he knew that his secret project service men needed that map more than he did. The green skinned orc turned to his Warchief and thumped his chest.
"Lok'tar," he said.
Garrosh dipped his head in acknowledgement.
"General Nazgrim," began the Warchief. "I want the men well rested tonight. At dawn, the army moves south. And I want them moving as fast as the wind!"
"I will personally crack the whip myself," said Nazgrim.
"You intend to beat Deathwing to Theramore?" Malkorok asked, realizing why Garrosh was in such a hurry to make it south.
"No," said Garrosh. "I want him there. I want our friendly neighborhood Earth-Warder there to defend his home valiantly! Let him do so. I just want to make sure we are far enough across the Barrens that there will be nothing he can do about it. I want to be at Northwatch Hold and have it under our control before anyone in Theramore is wise to our advance."
Nazgrim grinned a toothy grin.
"The ships," began Garrosh. "From Ratchet. Where are they now?"
"The Trade Prince has sent his finest down the coast as we speak," said Nazgrim. "They are just about off the coastal trench. However, the ones from Silvermoon will not be in Kalimdor for another week. However, they may run a Theramore shore before us."
"If they do, I want them just off shore and well out of sight of their coastal artillery," said Garrosh. "Wait until they receive the radioed order from me."
"Yes, sir," said Nazgrim.
"I do need a few Horde ships along the shores of Northwatch Hold," said Garrosh. "Ready to break their stone walls down!"
"Yes, sir."
"Excuse me, gentlemen," he began. "I must see to the other men. Malkorok, if you will follow me."
"Of course, Warcheif," said the Commander of the Kor'kron.
As Garrosh and his bodyguard disappeared into the night, Zaela turned to Nazgrim.
"Does he seem different to you?" she asked.
"He is collective and deadly," said Nazgrim. "None of s can afford to be rash or hesitant right now. We are about to send a message to the Alliance. Not even their precious Earth-Warder can help them!" He slammed his fists together. "There will be nothing but the Horde left in this world. We will crush the Alliance!"
Everyone in the tent echoed his enthusiasm. Fists thrusted forward and his commanders cheered. Nazgrim nodded to his men, a smirk growing upon his lips. Zaela kept her silence, but she did have a swell of pride at the thought of the Horde being victorious over the Alliance. Garrosh planned to drive all Alliance forces out of Kalimdor completely, starting with Theramore. Though, Zaela's own expression fell a bit when she thought about the Earth-Warder whom Garrosh still refers to as Deathwing. She touched the elementium chain jingling upon her neck. That chain she wore had absorb much energy from when Deathwing's Demon Soul was tied to it. She recalled barely a year ago, she saw Deathwing as he was––Neltharion––the redeemed Earth-Warder. He looked so different than he did when he broke out of Deepholm. He was not splitting in twain, oozing his lava-like blood out of fissures along his black scales. A long beard replaced the ghastly elementium brace bolted to his chin and his eyes were the color of emeralds, sparkling green with a slight tint of aquamarine blue towards his rather round, black irises. He had the oddest looking eyes for a dragon, especially a black dragon. Black dragons, even the drake she rode upon, all had slit, fiery orange eyes or red eyes, or gold eyes. Not Neltharion. His eyes did not glow either, rather they reflected the light, sparkling like a faceted jewel would in the sun.
Though it was not how his eyes looked that bothered her the most, it was what she was carrying with her as they marched on down towards Theramore.
The last link to the Demon Soul.
He had the Demon Soul with him when she saw him that day. Some how he plucked it from time itself and there it was around his neck on the same chain she wore now. She wondered; did Neltharion have the Demon Soul with him still?
If he did, she knew this long march to Theramore will end with a sudden, painful, stop. Still, having the Earth-Warder on their side and Garrosh wanting him there during the fight, it did not seem like a tactful plan. The Earth-Warder––or rather the Destroyer, was capable of shattering the world. It did not matter what part of the planet he was on, he could hit the other side with the force that indeed turns rocks into sand without him even being on the opposite side. He shattered the planet while resting in another dimension. Deathwing, even without his Demon Soul, was a dangerous foe to face. She walked out from under the tent and looked upon the see of campfires. The thought of Deathwing stilled her heart in ice. All he would have to do is open the ground up and allow Azeroth itself swallow the army. Then, it would be over in less than a second. Having Neltharion there, the Horde was walking into a slaughter. It was better if he stayed in Tanaris, completely ignorant to Garrosh's march.
Zaela shook her head, holding tightly to her chain.
Still, Garrosh seemed confident. He walked towards the front of the line where his specialized shamans were. They stamped their feet in rhythmic sounding. They sent their pulse rippling through the rock, creating the stealth cloak that kept his army march hidden from Deathwing. He looked to one of the shamans and then called out.
"Is Deathwing still in Tanaris?"
The shamans stopped their stomping and filed out several paces away from the rim of the army. Then, they stomped the ground, their feet hitting the rusty desert at the same time as if each shaman was just a single piece that made up of one shaman. Then they swept their feet across the ground, kicking up the dust underneath. The dirt hung there about their feet for a moment and then lowered. Then they duck, sliding their left feet forward and thrusted their fists into the sand. Garrosh waited silently, as the shamans rose from the ground and turned to face him.
"He is," replied an orc shaman.
"Good," said Garrosh. "Keep me posted."
He dipped his head and walked away from them.
"They will not be happy with the plan," said another shaman. "What you intend to rise. Even our cloaking method will fail once we summon them. The Earth-Warder will hear their cries and he will come for us. They will call him––and he will kill us."
"Apparently you all really don't know the Earth-Warder like I do," said Garrosh with a slight smirk. "I swear, I have never met anyone as pathetically stupid as he is. Neltharion will see them and will try to figure out in what position should he scratch his own ass."
The shamans looked to each other, passing rather hesitant glances. Then, they looked to Garrosh.
"He's retarded," said Garrosh. "Special? Mentally incompetent. Missing half his brain cells."
"We get it," said the Shaman. "He's stupid."
"I wonder if he takes one look at the molten giants and wonder if he could fry a hotdog on them," said Garrosh. "And then ask whether or not he should walk on his forepaws so he can eat the hotdog with his hind paws. And then completely forgetting that he could in fact fry the hotdog himself with his own lava blood." The Warchief shook his head. "Very, very stupid." He took in a deep breath, looking out over the starry sky. "But more I hear about him, the more I realize his moral convictions will stay his feet. That is why I have nothing to fear of the Earth-Warder. He is an idealist. He wants us all to live together in peace and harmony. He believes he can bring that about, plucking every flower he comes along and wishing upon them." Garrosh's golden eyes narrowed. "He really isn't Deathwing anymore. He's all sunshine and paisley pink fields now." He then sneered in disgust. "Makes my stomach turn each time I hear all about it. I much rather hear about Deathwing and what he's doing to destroy the world than Neltharion's trifle belief that all we need is a hug and that'll fix this war. He's a jelly-backed coward too damned afraid of his own shadow to go against my army. Too afraid of himself. He wants us all to be his friend now, so he can't hurt us. He can't hurt any of us. Neltharion won't lift a finger to stop you, Shamans, you have nothing to fear. He doesn't want the world to still see him as Deathwing, so he goes out of his way to prove that he is not." He leaned upon his heels and crossed his bulging, muscular arms. "Take a breather and rest your feet. If Neltharion's so drunk he's passed out on Tanaris, he'll be too drunk to even notice us once we start moving again. He's a thousand miles below the equator."
"Yes, Warchief," said the shaman.
Garrosh turned away, heading back with his trusted bodyguard towards his command tent. Malkorok looked to his leader, his rusty eyes focusing upon the huge tusks of the Pit Lord Mannoroth Garrosh bore upon his shoulders.
"We are still have 235 miles to trek to Northwatch Hold," said Malkorok. "And another thousand to Theramore."
Garrosh grunted: "I'll get my mages to open a portal large enough to get us there a bit faster. I want my warriors to be at their peak, not skulking around due to fatigue." He turned back to his bodyguard. "Have every Blood Elf and Forsaken awake at the crack of dawn and charging their mana cashes. This will be a very long jump."
"By your word, Warchief," he said.
As the warriors all settled down for the sleep, one kept his eyes open, watching intently as Garrosh entered his command tent. Baine Bloodhoof, Chieftain of the Thunderbluff Tauren of Mulgore. There, he sat at a dimming campfire beside Vol'Jin, a mixture of Thunderbluff Tauren and Darkspear Trolls sat around beside them. Vol'Jin looked to the broadly muscular, black-furred Tauren who had his hand upon an intricate, golden hammer. Baine turned away as Garrosh closed the flap to his tent and the chieftain sat back down to the fire, staring at the hammer, his chestnut-colored eyes glazed over with contempt.
"I saw dhat shrew Malkorok before we left Orgrimmar," began Vol'Jin. "He and his Kor'kron dragged a couple orcs out of dhe city. Executed for having an opinion."
Baine shook his head.
"Yeah," he said.
"I think now we here, marchin a thousand miles to Theramore, blisters on our toes, Garrosh hopes we get lost in dhe fight."
"He needs us to keep the loyalty of our people with the Horde," said Baine.
"Dhe Horde stood for freedom, mon," said Vol'Jin. "I help make it what it is, and it bites me back in dhe ass. And you––Garrosh killed your father, pissed off Thrall. He don't ever want to return after dhis mess. And here we are marching down to a city who––a few times opened its doors to welcome us. Why? Because of Deathwing? Because Garrosh wants all of Kalimdor?"
"Both," said Baine. "He wants Neltharion's head sitting right beside his son Nefarian's on the wall of Orgrimmar, and all of Kalimdor to bow before him. But from what I understand from Thrall, killing Neltharion is liable to create something worse than the Cataclysm. He is the heart of the Earth Mother––to kill her heart would kill her as well."
"What does Garrosh Hellscream care?" Vol'jin asked. "The world he and his people come from is still nothing more dhan a floating piece of rock––and a lot of it still very livable. If that be dhe fate of Azeroth, Garrosh will be there to claim the little pieces of livable rocks for his own."
"The last thing I wish is for my home to be nothing more than a fractured, piece of floating rock in the dark void," said Baine. "Hellscream is making a terrible mistake if he wants to cross that Black Dragon." He lowered his head into his hands. "Garrosh wants to strike against Theramore, Neltharion's home is Theramore, and once we are there––all he would have to do is wash us away with a tidal wave or open the earth up and allow it to swallow us, or send us spiraling away with a cyclone, or burn us with lava. And that would be the end of Garrosh's plans to take down Theramore. And the end of us." He looked back to Vol'jin. "I do not want to fight that dragon." He wagged his head. "None of us want to face that dragon."
"Well, dhe good news is he's still in Tanaris," said Vol'jin. "A little over 3 thousand miles away from us."
"One of my Tauren working for the Earthen Ring ran into a gnome one day," began Baine. "This little gnome was absolutely fascinated with just how powerful Deathwing was––and how powerful Neltharion is. One of his little musings was how fast that dragon could in fact fly. He said it was close to 600 miles per hour––and that was what he called cruising speed. He said Neltharion could fly faster than that if he wanted. In fact, when we all discovered what became of Deathwing during the fight in Northrend, what Thrall did to bring the Earth-Warder back––it only took him half a day to fly from Wyrmrest to Orgrimmar. But that was with breaks. Non stop, the gnome said he could fly from one end of Kalimdor to the other in a little under 12 hours."
Vol'jin turned slowly away as he heard his Trolls whisper among themselves, a touch of fear crawling up their spines.
"What would take us probably a few months at best on foot, it would take him under six hours to reach to Theramore from Tanaris," said Baine. "It takes a good flying mount a couple of days to travel that distance. Even less if the Dragonmaw rode upon those black drakes of theirs. By the time we are there, ready to face down the Alliance forces in Theramore, Neltharion would not only have seen us coming, but be wiping us all out before we made it into the swamp. He would be there, and that'll be it." He looked down upon the hammer again. "Maybe if we're lucky, the ancestors willing––Garrosh will be among those swallowed up by earth. And we can try to pick up the pieces left behind––whatever is left of the Horde after the Earth-Warder decimates most of it."
"Chieftain," began a Tauren to Baine's left. "Pardon, but you forget––a Dragon Aspect cannot involve itself in the war between the Alliance and the Horde. It is not their business to fight our battles."
"Dhen, let us hope dhe Earth-Warder remembers that vow," said Vol'jin.
Baine shook his head, the beads in his braided mane jingling against each other.
"Would you stay out of a fight when you find the only place you can call home––the only place where people at least are being courteous to you despite all that you've done in the past––is suddenly attacked?" he asked. "He'd be a coward if he wasn't there to help the Alliance defend Theramore from us. It's his home. I wouldn't expect anything less from any of us if we ever faced an Alliance attack upon our homes. Of course we would defend it."
"Dhat be true, mon," said Vol'jin. "Dhen, let us hope dhat he stays down in Tanaris."
Baine shook his head again: "Coming home to find it ravaged will only make it worse for us. I'm sorry to say, but when dealing with something like that particular dragon, there is no good way this is going to end."
The Troll Chieftain crossed his arms, his face twisting in distraught under the skull-like war paint upon his face.
"Dhen, I hope Thrall be telling Neltharion good things about me," he said. "Because dhat is the only way I can see myself gettin' out of dhis massacre alive."
Bain returned to staring down upon the war hammer he wielded, its intricate engravings and glowing blue runes returning his thoughts to deep meditation. He looked upon it with scorn, not for the weapon itself, which had served him well when he fought to reclaim his lands from the Grimtotems, but the reflection he saw in it. It was his own reflection. However, he could still feel the soothing energies flowing out from the hammer, still telling him that it liked him. For a moment, he thought the hammer was telling him that it forgives him for what he was about to do. That was the reason for the scorn.
Fearbreaker, the hammer was called, a gift from Prince Anduin, who earned it from King Magni Bronzebeard of Ironforge. Anduin, in an act of friendship, bestowed it to Baine to help calm his own aching heart over the assassination of his father Cairne. Anduin, Prince of Stormwind, the enemy as Garrosh many times quoted, was there to help when many had turned away. And then there was Jaina, who sent support to help him avenge his father's death and bring down Magatha and the Grimtotems. She showed him kindness, and how was he going to repay that kindness? He was going to march on Theramore and raze it to the ground.
That was not the honorable way to repay kindness.
"You drifting again, mon," said Vol'jin.
"Just thinking about the past," said Baine. "I made a promise to repay the debt my people owe to the Horde. I pledge my loyalty to it. And I will never turn away from it. But––"
"But, Garrosh Hellscream."
"Does he speak for the Horde?" Baine asked.
"Let me give you a simple word of advice," began Vol'jin. "I wish to survive dhis, survive Neltharion, and survive Garrosh's war. And how I intend to do dhat––by keeping to me own business. So, let's not worry about the extremely powerful enemy we will face a hundred leagues away from us––worry about the ally who may very well have both our heads if we question any further. We may know what Neltharion is capable of doing, but what exactly is Garrosh capable of? And he is only a few feet away from us, mon."
Baine said nothing, but only nodded. He rose from his seat, his eyes upon the campfire, which was barely burning, orange ashes surrounded by a circle of stones. He turned back to his teepee, opening the flap, craving the cold darkness of sleep to help calm his nerves.
So, the camps rested, tanks cooling from their long drive across the Barrens. Goblins filled their fuel tanks before turning in. The twin moons arched over head and the only sound were the crickets upon the dry grass. As the night swiftly turned by, the dawn peeped out from the hills lining the narrow shore to the east. The sky was aglow of pale yellow and one by one, the stars disappeared. Then, the quiet of the dawn was broken by the sounds of revelry from horns, wakening the troops. Garrosh came out from his tent, taking a deep breath of the dry savannah air.
He began to gather his mages and shamans. Walking up behind him came Baine and Vol'jin, rousing their people for another day's long, tiring trek. Garrosh turned to them, his tattooed face curling with a frightening grin. General Nazgrim came to his Warchief, looking out over the vast army, taking note of them eating their breakfast rations and packing up their tents. He heard the sounds of tank and truck engines revving up, growling awake and black smoke puffing out from exhaust pipes. Kodo growled as the warriors strapped supplies upon their backs. Zaela and her black drake riders were already mounted. A Forsaken came to Garrosh, bowing, its glowing, deathly yellow eyes focusing upon the Warchief.
"For us to make this spacial rift, we need visual coordinates," he said in a soft, raspy voice, the dangling rotting flesh flapping around his neck as he spoke. "Where do you want us to portal the army to?"
"Ten miles from Northwatch Hold," said Garrosh.
"Why not just at Northwatch?" asked Nazgrim.
"Because the Alliance will be picking the fireteams off one by one as they come through the portal," said Garrosh. "However, the second half of my plan is having a squadron teleported on the southwestern side of Northwatch Hold."
"Attacking our enemy from behind with a small squadron," said Nazgrim. "Of course. The Alliance's pathetic little fort is facing northeast, expecting that most likely of attacks would be coming from that direction. Their backside is rather unprotected."
"Exactly," said Garrosh.
Baine took in a deep breath and then raised a hand. Garrosh's thick brow perked up.
"Yes?"
"You are going to mass teleport the entire army to Northwatch?" Baine asked.
"Yes."
"Can mages produce a portal large enough to send the entire army through?"
"One mage cannot," replied the Forsaken. "However, we have many mages."
"Shamans!" said Garrosh, raising his hands up. "See a safe path to Northwatch Hold!"
Just like they did last night, the shamans began to rhythmically stamp their feet upon the ground. They swept their feet and knelt to the ground placing their hands down to feel the vibrations echoing back.
Garrosh returned his gaze to Nazgrim: "When you send out the squadron to go behind the hold, I want them to begin taking out the Alliance's communication relays. I don't want them chirping for help to Theramore. It'll spoil the surprise."
"I love surprises," said Nazgrim.
"Warlord Zaela," said Garrosh. "Take your drake riders and circle around Northwatch, take out their artillery batteries."
"Their artillery batteries are going to be a trifle to deal with, Warchief," she said.
"Don't get shot," said Garrosh.
"How foolish of me of not thinking about that plan before."
The shamans parted to allow the mages to spread out among them. The mages began chanting. All regiments stood at attention, waiting in silence anticipation for perhaps the largest portal to ever be opened up in the history of this world, perhaps larger than the Black Portal that once lead the Old Horde to begin conquering this land nearly 30 years ago. Zaela looked to Garrosh as she mounted upon her black drake.
"One question I must ask, Warchief," she said.
"Yes?" Garrosh turned back to her.
"Would opening such a portal––would it harm this world?"
"How do you mean?"
"Ner'zhul tried to open many enormous portals on Draenor," said Zaela. "And it destroyed our homeworld."
Garrosh chuckled and said in a dismissing tone: "Do not fret about that. The difference between what he did and what I am doing is very simple. He tried to open vast portals to other worlds all at the same time, I'm opening up one vast portal from one spot on Azeroth to another. There might be some small explosion as the portal closes, but let that be a visual reminder of the power the Horde now possesses! And all will tremble in fear!" He looked to Baine and Vol'jin. "When we finally take the Hold, I wish for us to set up a command outpost at the Hold itself. From there, I shall guide our troops onward to Theramore."
"Of course, Warchief," said Vol'jin, passing a subtle, but rather disapproving glance at Baine. The Tauren chieftain sniffed, agreeing with the look.
"Then, the next phase will begin," said Garrosh.
As the sun began its waxing arch towards noon, a new light, brighter than it sparked along the Southern Barrens. The light grew outward and upward, forming a blue-white ring around a dark, star-filled, flat circle. Arcane energy radiated out from the ring as it settled itself and the ring settled as a semicircle along the flat plains. Garrosh mounted upon his black, great wolf and the horns sounded for the march through. Zaela and her drake riders took to the sky, following the path of the windrunners through the portal.
A sea of warriors and land craft and kodo all filed their way through, their bodies igniting the portal with a spark of white. From first to last, they went until all was left of the army were smoldering ashes of their campfires and the portal itself. Then, the portal closed behind them in a snap and a whoosh, collapsing into a singular point. The point of light flashed and exploded forth in a raging shockwave that trembled the land, flattening the dry brush and the savannah umbrella trees; cracking the bedrock of the hills flanking it. Then, the wind rushed back towards the explosion with the same gale force it had when it exploded outward. The dust arched upwards towards the sky, filling it in rusty red and sickly yellow, creating an oddly shaped cloud. If there had been anyone left to see this cloud, they would say it looked almost like a mushroom.
This war that Garrosh was waging, this war was going to be a different sort of war indeed. To combat a monster who could very well crush his army under its feet, he had to up the ante. He was not going to hold anything back.
But the explosion sent a tremor through the rock, a shockwave downward into the crust and then through the plastic-like hot mantle, only to ripple the liquid outer core and bounce off the solid inner core. As the shockwave traveled back out, it finally came to call one who could understand its message. In his stupor, he awoke, feeling the sand vibrate under the pads of his black talons. A week or so had passed since he came to rest in his brother's cavern. And as he rose from the sand, Neltharion finally spoke.
"What the hell just happened?"
Though, the reply he received was not the reply he wanted as a dull blunt cracked behind his head and the world once more turned black. The Earth-Warder's head plopped back down and his mind returned to its gleeful unconsciousness where his dreams would make more sense than the world he was built to protect.