As the various people gathered at Moonglade prepared for the final trek of their journey, they all had different things to do.

The Night Elves had to awaken the rest of the Druids, Thrall and Jaina had to be informed of the final defense of Mount Hyjal and make plans and preparations accordingly, Vol'jin was given the task of swaying the elusive Shatterspear tribe of Trolls to their Cause and Malfurion Stormrage… Malfurion Stormrage had to confront his brother.

It was a lot to do.

And behind it all… The machinations of Dragons.

I


"So, what can ye tell me about dese Shatterspear?"

Vol'jin had seen Shatterspear Troll before of course, during the gatherings of all Trolls under the Zandalari. But having seen and greeted them, and knowing their culture and politics were two very different things.

"Well, I know they're a mixture between Dark Trolls and Jungle Trolls… I think. Also, they like to dance. A lot."

Cris'bal snorted.

"Oh ya, de Shatterspear love to dance. Pretty much dere entire culture is about it. If ye hope to bring dem to our side, ah hope yer good at de old dances son of Sen'jin. Dey won't be letting ya meet dere Chieftain if yer not."

Vol'jin's raised an eyebrow.

"Dat so? Well, dat shouldn't be too hard. I be an excellent dancer."

Fremde smiled.

"Another one of your many talents eh? Well, then Shadowhunter, good luck to you."

I


"Foul demon! What have you done with my brother?"

"It is I, Furion. This is what I've become.

"No! Illidan, how could you?"

"The leader of the undead has been destroyed, and the forests will heal in time."

"At the cost of your soul? You are no brother of mine! Begone from this place, and never set foot in our lands again!"

"So be it... brother."

I


Fremde studied the axe's edge before she dropped the stone on it.

It split into two pieces with nary a sound before hitting the ground beneath.

Adamantine was sharp stuff.

Strong too.

Draenor's strongest metal was… Ridiculous.

It was ALL the fantasy metals, all rolled into one.

It had the edge to cleave through pretty much anything, it was ridiculously durable, and it was incredibly easy to color during the making process.

Red, green, black, brown, gold, whatever. If you had the right kind of ingredients, you could color it whatever color and shade you wanted.

There was a reason why it had been a metal for Chieftains and Imperators.

Gorehowl though…

Just gripping it, she felt the Power flow through her.

Pure, unadulterated might and power.

Like all her years and injuries were washed away, and she had been reborn into a creature of living steel.

Yes… It would be quite the aid during the battle, just in case.

The axe of Cenarius might have been a better weapon for a Blademaster such as Broxigar the red(Hence why she had given it to him to use for the battle), but for an old bat like her?

This Gorehowl was most certainly the better choice for her.

Not too far away, the swishing and crashing sounds of another Gorehowl sounded.

She hefted the axe over her shoulder, and with her trusty guns in her belt, she walked over to the source of the sounds.

Thrall, at the edge of the makeshift training yard, was currently going through a set of makeshift Kata's.

That was not too unusual.

It was the Orc way for leaders to join in training.

It helped foster a sense of respect and awe to see the boss working out. And Thrall certainly cut an imposing figure, as he had stripped down the breastplate and shoulder pads, leaving his chest, shoulders, and back uncovered as he worked.

He was not quite as amazingly well made as Orgrim had been in his prime, and certainly not on the same level as Blackhand, but he was built like a stone wall.

The few women currently in the army were giving him quite the looks as he danced the dance of steel.

Ah… To be young again.

However, it was not his build that made him stand out. It was the weapons he wielded.

The mighty, two-handed Doomhammer in one hand… And in the other, Gorehowl.

The ease with which he wielded them in tandem, spoke of the sheer power the old axe had given him.

So did the control of the motions.

Even by Orc standards, wielding that gigantic hammer in one hand would have been a hard sell, but Thrall made it seem easy.

Yes… There was certainly power in that axe.

In another time and another place, it had allowed Garrosh Hellscream to tank two blows from the Doomhammer straight to the face during their final duel.

…Best to nip that in the bud before it could happen again though.

Eventually, Fremde noticed another newcomer to the crowd

Jaina Proudmoore, flanked by two knights, had seemingly come with the purpose of speaking with Thrall, only to find herself standing looking on with… The expression of someone who was rather interested in what was in front of her, but was trying to hide it.

Her guards by contrast seemed mighty uncomfortable, and not quite without reason as many of the Orcs around them glared at the outsiders with barely concealed hostility.

Yes… Even if her plans went through, it would be quite a while before Theramore's humans would be fully welcomed into the Horde.

That said… She studied Jaina's face intently.

Yes… There was definitely a physical attraction there.

Human women were as fond of big, beefy, muscular men as Orc women were.

That was good. She could work with that.

Of course, getting Thrall and Jaina to take that kind of step would be a long-term problem.

Before that though, she needed to get Jaina on board with joining Theramore to the Horde.

That wouldn't be too much of a problem. She knew Jaina's nature quite well. And she knew exactly what buttons to push to affect her the most.

It would need to wait until after Hyjal though.

All her great plans would need to wait until after Hyjal.

I


Vol'jin danced, danced, and danced the night away to the beat of the drums.

He had been dancing for 8 hours now, doing flips, kicks, and the handstands necessary for a proper quick-paced Troll dance.

The things you did for the Horde.

Fremde had not been exaggerating. The Shatterspear loved dancing. They lived for dancing. They did not respect you if you could not dance.

And the Shatterspear that was gathered to see the stranger Chieftain dance was apparently impressed. He was glad they were. He hadn't danced this much since his wedding.

However, there was one fact that Fremde had not known.

The reason for that love of de Dance!

And as he did a series of flips, then a leg sweep, he felt it. The bolt of lightning ran through his spine, and the change in his vision as mists rolled in.

He did not come to an immediate stop, but instead, he shifted over to the steps he had been instructed to perform, before finally ending it with a forward jump and slamming his leg down, and crouching in a kneeling position.

The music abruptly stopped.

The mists did not though, and the entire world became purple mists.

Then with a loud clicking sound, a light from above suddenly flashed and lit up one specific part of the mists in the middle of the Shatterspear village in a medium-sized circle of light.

Flashes in the air began to dance into existence, swooping and swooning, as millions of sparks began to fly around and around each other, gathering and sparkling and coalescing… Until it all came together in the form of a figure… A Troll-like figure…

Then with a burst of power, the Loa exploded into the living world, though not still.

Instead, he walked… Backward into the village, in some bizarre manner of walking that somehow made the act of moving backward seem natural!

At his appearance, the entire Shatterspear Tribe of Trolls burst into cheering, loud whoops and applause, which seemed to continue as the Loa walked "forward" towards Vol'jin, though to the old Chieftain, they seemed to fade more and more the closer the God came.

The Loa then twirled and struck a pose, before snapping his fingers, finally shutting off the sound in Vol'jin's ears completely, so he only heard his own sounds and the ones of the being in front of him.

"Ah, My fans… They love me."

The Loa grinned.

Ja'sson, the Loa of Dance, patron of the Shatterspear Tribe was not tall as for as Dark Trolls were concerned, standing as tall as the Trolls around, and not much more.

He was, however, much, much more stylish.

Also, his clothing was a far cry from Bwomsandi.

Rather than some sort of Shamanistic or primal kind of equipment, Ja'sson wore naught but a leather long coat, a set of fur shorts, and a kind of leather hat with a purple band around it's base that Vol'jin had never seen, and plenty of jewelry.

Compared to the Loa of death, his purple glowing eyes cut a far less imposing figure. He was also covered in tattoos across his entire body, depicting smaller, ever-moving figures and animals.

"So… You are Sen'jin's boy ya?"

"I be he."

"And ye be representing the Horde ya?"

"I am."

"Excellent."

He clapped his hands.

"I see much and more in your future, mon… Promising stuff too… And you have the right kind of stuff to fit in here… So I shall give you my blessing to meet the chief… IF you're willing to do something for me."

Of course. That was the way of Loa. They generally wanted something out of you for their services. It was the Troll Gods' way.

The only thing that varied, was how straightforward they were about it.

And what they demanded of course.

"What ye want den?"

The Loa struck another pose, before moving into a very strange dance. It's most bizarre step was the Loa standing straight up, spine rigid, before intentionally falling at a straight angle before stopping himself in a manner that a mortal person would never be able to replicate.

"I want you to spread my temples… Places of learning and teaching the Sacred and Holy arts to be built all around your Horde cities! I want my glorious DANCES to be taught far and wide! I want the men and women in your nation to learn what I teach!"

It sounded… Kinda insane. At least to a non Troll.

Vol'jin understood the implications of this request. He would be increasing the Loa's power and might by making people, intentionally or otherwise, embracing what he embodied.

He did not particularly care though.

Ja'sson was not Hakkar the Soul Flayer.

"...Alright. Ah, shall do dis thing… If de Shatterspear join de Horde and de War Effort, I shall make sure Yer dances spread far an wide."

The Loa was pleased, his dark, purple and black skin shining and glistening, as the muscles themselves danced.

"Good! GOOD! Now GO! Talk to the Chieftain, and hammer out the details young Loa Son! And when that is over… We shall DANCE to CELEBRATE this GLORIOUS OCCASION!"

Yes… There was a reason why Ja'sson, Loa of Dances, and passion were not celebrated and worshiped much outside this small, and isolated corner of the world.

He was kinda an oddball. Even amongst Loa.

Vol'jin rather hoped the entire Tribe was not equally as eccentric as it appeared they were.

I


The old bronze dragon looked at the map showcasing their current tasks, both in process and completed.

"Putrid made it alive and safe to Stromgarde, and has now invented both the cure and the vaccine for the Plague of Undeath… The holy sword is there as well, as is Calia Menethil… Hmm… Might have been better if we had made sure the King wasn't assassinated… But too late now I suppose… The spear is in Alterac with the Baron… Hmmm… Will that be a problem for the Illidan's takeover at Dalaran? We probably need to make sure he's away when it happens..."

The old lizard put a massive frontal foot under his chin as he considered and contemplated.

"Hnnn… We have laid 240 eggs… Hopefully, they should be fine with Ebyssian… the 700 cleansed Black Dragon eggs though… That MIGHT be a problem for them… Hopefully not though… As long as the Black Dragon manages to do his part right at least… And speaking of Black Dragons… then there is Blackrock Mountain… Without Deathwing… Nefarian progressed way quicker than we assumed he would… Maybe we should try and assassinate him? He has come way too far with the Chromatic Dragonflight for comfort… But would that even succeed?"

His gaze turned from the Lordaeron to Kalimdor.

"Preparations for Hyjal are going right on schedule… That's good… Hmm… Maybe… No… No, it's way too late now. That's gonna have to be left as it is… We gotta keep an eye on Illidan though… If something unexpected happens to him, it's all over… Hmmm…"

Once more the Dragon's eyes turned, this time to Kezan.

"We've purged most of the worst of Goblin leadership… Pity Steamwheedle and Venture themselves proved themselves so annoyingly resilient… Hopefully, Gallywix's death will be enough all on it's own though… Hnngh… So frustrating!"

Again he turned his gaze, now to the Swamp of sorrows.

"The Broken proved easy enough to heal and unite… Now, so long as their contact with Azeroth goes well, they'll join the Alliance… We won't be around to help them with it though… Titans, I hope that goes well and not teats up… Hmmm…"

"Do you always mumble like this?"

"Sure do, it helps me think."

I


To Vol'jin's great relief, the actual Chieftain was not, in fact, another dance-loving maniac.

Just another practiser of cutthroat realpolitik.

Bwomsandi that was a relief to find.

The old man glared at him, and cut straight to the point.

"All right, let's just get dis over with Vol'jin son of Sen'jin."

"What? No pre-negotiation dance?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha."

There was no mirth in the laugh.

"No, as it happens… dere will not be. But don't worry Guribashi, we'll get our fill of excitement later, as we have to dance fer two hours once dis be done with."

He did not seem particularly enthusiastic about that.

"But let's cut to de chase. If ye want us to join dis… Horde of yers, like Ja'sson, wants us to, ye need to help us out with a problem dat stands in de way of it."

"Related to de Night Elves?"

That had pretty much been the theme with every single one of the other Dark Trolls, and he did not expect this time to be different. He was not disappointed either.

"Ya, exactly! Ye see Vol'jin… We be too strong an powerful for de Wicked Elves to Destroy here in de Valley… But we have no power to expand outside of it. Countless times we try an build a seaport to de North beneath a passageway through de Mountains, an countless times dey destroy it."

"An ye want us te make sure it's built an NOT burnt down dis time ya?"

"Exactly! Without a port, de only reliable way in and out of our Valley be flying… An dat's not exactly a good method fer trade and such. But with a port… If ye can do this for us… Help us maintain a port… an make sure we're not attacked by de bloody elves, den we'll join yer Horde, an yer war… As Ja'sson demands."

I


Broxigar went through the old motions. The Katas he had learned from his own father so long ago.

He felt it as the air itself was cleaved by the mighty axe.

The blessed weapon that Lady Fremde had given him.

It was a good gift. Much, much better than he deserved.

He would put it to good use as he went to his final battle.

His glorious final bout.

His redemption.

The only way forward.

"There is NOTHING a true Orc seeks more, than a glorious end, against a hated foe!"

His mother's old words rang true enough, even now all these years later.

She had been a true Warrior. The Lord of the Hellfire Citadel was a Woman who had gone to her end in a blaze of glory without regrets or shame upon his soul.

Broxigar could not say the same.

He had nothing but regret in his soul.

The screams… The Nightmares… The nothingness inside his heart… The voices in the darkness that told him he deserved to die…

They were right.

He did deserve to die.

And he would.

The Warchief had shown him the way. The only forward.

Himself, on a mountain of slain Demons, broken, and wrecked beyond repair, covered in blood and gore… As the towering shadow that could only be Archimonde stepped forward to end his life.

The best future he could seek.

Lying listless in the dark was selfish… It helped no one.

But to die… To give his life for this world… This world he had helped to maim and slaughter… THAT was the way.

He would make his sins right.

All around him, he heard the voices of Orcs.

Drilling, laughing, talking, counting.

They would all be better off without him.

He stained them all with his presence.

His men… His Warchief… His Brother… All the Horde.

They would all be better off without Broxigar Saurfang there to taint their lives. Their futures… Their hopes and dreams.

The young ones least of all.

Thura and her generation would not need to grow up with the shame of having him around. His men would not need to follow the fraud that was Broxigar Saurfang into battle.

He was soon approaching the end.

The final battle Thrall had promised him.

The end of the struggle.

The end of the whispers.

The end of his Life.

The chance to finally make it right.

Lok'tar Ogar.

Victory… And Death.

I


Thrall sat down on a rock taking a deep breath, as Jaina sat down opposite him, her guards having been set to guard the only way up to the small alcove in the stone they were at.

They were all alone here.

"That was… Quite the show you put on there."

He smiled, feeling the pleasant ache of a proper workout.

"Yeah… It was partially a show. Showing my men my strength is never a bad thing… But it was mostly just to get a feel of how dual wielding such weaponry would go."

"Yes, it was… A treat to enj-watch."

Thrall wiped his drenched brow with a towel as he nodded.

"No doubt. It was rewarding too… It's not something I'm going to be using on Wolfback I'm afraid… But on foot? So long as I have a strong and stable footing, I can hammer and pound away with the power and consistency of a War Mill."

"Yes… That sounds… Quite… Lovely."

Indeed it did. The power and might of this dual stance… The ease with which the Doomhammer could move and crush all it hit… It might not be something he would be using much in the rest of his life, mounted warrior that he was… but at Hyjal? In what would surely be his finest hour, he would lay about him with this new form of combat.

Grom's gift to him, being used to slaughter Demons by the thousands.

His brother would be proud to know that this would be it's purpose in their Race's redemption.

I


Malfurion raised an eyebrow as he looked out over the Trolls. The thousands of Dark Trolls to be exact, he did not care much one way or another for the Blue ones.

"Should we be… Worried about this development?"

His wife shrugged.

"Why should we? We get the Dark Trolls to leave the North, I don't have to worry about my sentinels getting into personal, and costly feuds with the Tribes, and we can move in and settle their former land. I see no downside to this. Let the Trolls join the Horde, and once this is all over with, we will never have to bother with them again."

He was not certain he agreed, or believed that statement.

This… Horde did not seem like a neighbor one could simply ignore, and pretend was not there.

Though to be fair… There were a lot of things far, far more pressing for them than the Horde.

Best case scenario, their capital city would turn to cinders by the end of this campaign. They would need to build a new one from scratch. And where? The vale around the World Tree would not be much different.

Nor was it likely that the rest of Hyjal would be spared the destruction of war. No… They would need to build their capital somewhere new.

Not to mention that with the loss of their immortality, they would need to completely overhaul their civilization.

Every married couple would need to be settled, and any unwed male needed to be married off.

They needed to create a sustainable population increase, compared to what they would lose as in barely 50 years, they would likely start dying off to old age.

And to further complicate matters, there was a 6 to 10 discrepancy in the ratio of men to women.

That might not have been a problem while they were immortal, and the possibility of finding yourself a partner in the future was always open… But that was now in the past.

Reality was than an enormous number of Night Elven women would find themselves alone, and single for the rest of their lives.

They would have no children to carry on their names, and families. A sad prospect.

And then there was those who had never wanted kids but would now be forced to have them for the future of their race.

He and Tyrande were amongst those.

They had never wanted children… And yet, on the future products of their loins did the political stability of their entire race depend.

And that was just one aspect of it all. There was also the modernization of the military, establishing trade and an economy, and so on, and so on and so on.

So much to do

And of course… They would need to defeat the legion before doing anything else.