Greetings prospective readers. Welcome to my own foray into the intriguing confluence that is fan fiction.

Some context/authors note:

As with any number of others, I have played several blizzard titles to varying degrees over time and clearly found some enjoyment doing so, needless to say. However, I was left with one universal impression above all. A detail evident even as a child and omnipresent since: blizzard storytelling is - and has always been - an unmitigated disaster.

Warcraft three was the first blizzard game I owned. One of the first games in general, for that matter. With benefit of current reflection/analysis, I will state that it specifically is possibly - with the exception of world of warcraft itself - the most poorly written story I have ever experienced. Quite the controversial assertion, no doubt. Admittedly, there are one or two contenders and plenty of dishonorable mentions for the title, particularly these days.

Thus, this introspective exercise/experiment that may be partially-fueled by chronic insomnia. The first objective is to deconstruct the atrocious campaign of the game as it so richly deserves and has lamentably been spared for far too long. Next would be a desire to attempt what Warcraft Reforged should - albeit of course never would - have been. A comprehensive rewrite with the intention of both legitimate character establishment and development, along with a coherent plot that does not irrevocably shatter the world building for the franchise as the original did.

As an example, necessary outcomes might still occur, but perhaps in quite different or at least expanded forms. Such would hopefully prove more consistent and less destructive to all narrative elements. If nothing else, it would be profoundly difficult to do worse.

There will probably be pairing elements sooner or later. Not certain how much of a role that might be at this time. Could be an interesting thing to explore, I suppose.

May or may not be original characters, which I suppose I would own. They wouldn't steal the spotlight, be sue/stu or self-insert, however. Just not my writing style, insofar as I have one, at any rate. I can believe that there are excellent inserts out there, and kudos to the authors involved. But I have absolutely no desire to attempt it myself for a multitude of reasons. At most, any oc would likely be relevant to a hypothetical sequel or spin-off.

It might also be worth noting that I plan to use world of warcraft geography, rather than that of warcraft three. Certain tweaks might be necessary, but I would prefer to leave that relatively intact. I actually thought wow did fairly well improving on that front for the most part, and was fairly decent in general. Credit where it is due.

Comments of all sorts are welcome. Feel free to praise and/or criticize my own work as much as I do blizzard's. I am a novice attempting to fix the nigh-unfixable, and do not in any way consider myself beyond scrutiny. Moreover, I am genuinely interested in feedback.

Disclaimer I: I am in no way affiliated with blizzard entertainment and am not profiting from this project. Furthermore, I would never have put my name to the disgrace that passes for blizzard writing. In the relatively unlikely event any of said 'writers' responsible for this atrocity happen to discover my work, it would truly be everything I could hope for. They deserve every bit of roasting I - or quite literally, any other - could conceivably send their way.

Disclaimer II: I am only going to state this once, so keep it in mind. Any reader is of course welcome to enjoy any work as much they wish. My contempt is in no way directed at you. It is worth noting, however, that If you are unwilling to at least passingly entertain the notion that blizzard has produced objectively terrible storytelling (for decades), you are unlikely to enjoy this work much. No harm, no foul.

For the record, any genuine warcraft fans have my sympathy. Every one of you deserved better than reforged.

On a different note, I encourage any reader to attempt to identify the numerous easter eggs I will near-inevitably be driven to place herein ;)

All this established, let's begin.


"We never paid any heed to the ancient prophecies."

Upon a grassy plain, two warriors dueled as storm clouds coalesced overhead.

"Like fools, we clung to the old hatreds, and fought as we had for decades."

Both combatants appeared well matched. The smaller was fully armored in form-fitting plate, competently wielding long sword and shield. His green-skinned brute of an opponent was protected only by several reinforced leather pieces, but swung a two-handed axe with sufficient ferocity to hold his own.

"Until the day the sky rained fire, and a new enemy came among us."

A brief lull, each catching a breath, eyes never the straying from the other. All thoughts of resuming the contest simultaneously vanished, however, as a lightning storm - green, no less - erupted overhead, heralding several rapidly falling meteorites of the same color. One nearly struck the pair, who then watched transfixed as a giant, loosely humanoid construct emerged from the impact crater, wreathed in green flame.

"We stand now upon the brink of destruction, for the reign of chaos has come at last."

The monster released a roar that drowned out even the storm overhead, and all but shook the ground. It ended swiftly. The fighters regained their wits and fought admirably, but clearly had little chance against the monstrous entity. Didn't even seem to chip its' rocky exterior. Nothing remained but broken, charred corpses in a field of cinders.

"The sands of time have run out."

Thrall, son of Durotan: former gladiator, recent far seer and newly chosen Warchief of the Horde tossed in fitful sleep, while the scene changed. Now he viewed the base of a sunlit valley, as the sepulchral narrator resumed.

"The cries of war echo upon the winds."

A curious, amber-eyed raven stood directly before his eyes. It almost appeared to give him a meaningful stare. The origin of his perspective shifted skyward, and he watched with alarm as human and orc armies crested opposing ends of the valley and charged, war cries resounding.

"As mortal armies rush blindly towards their doom, the burning shadow comes to consume us all."

He witnessed himself leading his brethren, only to pause and look to the sky. Immediately before both factions clashed, more of the foul asteroids rained down, blinding him with the ensuing blast. The dream panned once more, bringing him directly before what appeared to be a tall, male human fully shrouded in a red, feathered cloak. A tempest raged overhead.

"You must rally the Horde and lead your people to their destiny." The figure punctuated the pronouncement with an imperious point in his direction. With a final flash, the man was replaced by an image of the earlier raven. Thrall awoke with a start.

"Seek me out." echoed within his conscious mind.


Deeply troubled, Thrall rose from his cot and donned the armor recently inherited from his late predecessor, Orgrim Doomhammer. A formidable suit of plate, rare by orc standards and offering significant protection. It was ornate, colored black edged with brass and embossed with the emblem of the Horde on several locations. Fortunately he and his mentor possessed similar frames and minimal rework was necessary.

He then retrieved the weapon he was likewise bequeathed by Orgrim. The Doomhammer, eponymous heirloom of that now passed line, was a formidable, one-handed hammer with an elongated handle to facilitate easier usage with both hands. Thrall had chosen to add the sigil of his own Frostwolf clan to the head. Each armament had by now become near synonymous with the Horde itself.

Feeling even more fatigued than when he had collapsed into his cot last night, Thrall opened the door and exited the simple hut he had claimed. One of several abandoned by humans that had long since vacated the area, the building stood atop a smaller ridge in the densely forested foothills of Hillsbrad. This region lay towards the southern end of the kingdom of Lordaeron, itself to be found in the north of the continent of Azeroth.

Lordaeron was amongst the most powerful human nations on Azeroth, therefore by extension the known world. This specific location, however, was evidently free of human habitation at this time, and as such a somewhat ideal temporary home for his now-nomadic people. The Horde encampment surrounding the ridge was the not the only one of its kind, but it was the largest, with others orbiting relatively close at hand.

As he took a deep breath of the pre-dawn air, one of his warriors turned to face him. "Warchief." The orc gave him a once-over, "you look terrible." It was a statement, not sympathy.

Thrall chuckled, "always as blunt as a hammer, Dranosh." Some years older than he, Dranosh was the only son of Varok Saurfang, himself formerly the second of Orgrim. When Thrall had capitulated to his advisors' recommendation of personal guards, Dranosh - or 'Saurfang the Younger' as he was sometimes called behind his back - was the first to volunteer for the rotation. Serving with the same dogged loyalty as his father.

His protector and friend shrugged. "If you wanted pretty words you would have stayed with those humans that raised you."

No rancor was intended, of course. But Thrall couldn't help the stab of pain that followed the remark. The culmination of that sequence of events remained very recent, and he had by no means come to terms with his grief. Maybe he never would, fully. Regardless, he forced a smile. "I suppose so." The Warchief opened his mouth to change the subject, only to be interrupted by a loud 'caw.'

Thrall turned towards the source of the call, and there, on an upper branch of a tree several meters away stood a raven. The raven. It blinked amber eyes, hopped in place twice, then took wing; circling him before flying to another tree slightly further up the sloping path to the right, towards the ridge-crest. Now it jumped three times and squawked twice. He narrowed his eyes at the display, while Dranosh simply looked perplexed.

"Follow." He entirely failed to conceal his surprise at the voice that spoke within his mind, the same voice as the dream. Thankfully, his companion was distracted by the antics of the strange bird. As a far seer, or 'shaman,' Thrall's existence, his very essence, was bound to both the elements - air, fire, water, earth - and ancestral spirits. He knew that many shaman received occasional visions from one and/or the other, and had experienced several himself. Both the dream and voice were nothing like said occurrences, however, which operated on a more instinctual, nonvocal level clearly tied to his innate bond with the aforementioned powers.

He closed his eyes and broadened his connection to those forces, seeking guidance. He was met with an impression of trepidation that mirrored his own, but also an encouragement to indeed follow.

Alright, I'll play along. Thrall addressed his comrade, "I need to clear my head." He moved towards the upward trail, Dranosh following with a noncommittal grunt. He briefly considered ordering the other to remain behind, but dismissed the notion. While the spiritual council he received seemed significant, the possibility of ambush remained. Dranosh was one of the Hordes' more skilled warriors, and he may yet need his new brother in arms.

The raven was clearly leading them onwards, almost soundless as it glided from tree to tree. After several minutes, the two - or rather, three - of them approached the promontory at the crown of the rise, overlooking much of the encampment. Despite the bizarre turn the night had taken, He allowed himself a moment of pride in his achievement. Of the significant role he had played in freeing his people and banding them together in the pursuit of a new, better path.

"Step forward."

"Give me some time." His companion nodded, taking up a position a short distance away in nearby tree shadows, concealed and vigilant. As Thrall reached the edge, the raven landed several meters to his left and cocked its head. What came next dumbfounded him more than anything in his life - thus far, at least. In the space of several seconds, the shape of the bird blurred, warping into the form of the human from the dream. Feathered mantle and all.

He mastered his surprise quickly. "What sorcery is this?" Thrall asked in the common, human tongue.

The man responded with a short, not unfriendly laugh. "Merely a modest transformation, far more talented shapeshifters exist. Perhaps you will meet them, some day."

Thrall nodded, curious at the prospect, though clearly it was not relevant at this moment. "And your voice inside my head?"

"Telepathy, an ability possessed by some sorcerers."

With a start, Thrall realized that Dranosh had not, in fact, attacked the intruder on sight. His head whipped around, yet he saw no movement.

"No need to worry, young Warchief. I placed an illusion: your guard does not hear us and only sees you watching over your brethren. It seemed prudent, under the circumstances. I mean no harm to any of you. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Why should I trust you, human?"

The stranger let out a snort, "'human?' I left my humanity behind long ago. Keep this in mind - I found you easily enough. Had I wished your destruction, it would have been simplicity itself to lead the Lordaeron military directly to your doorstep. To say nothing of my own not-inconsiderable abilities."

"Is that a threat?" asked the orc, with a hint of growl.

"Not at all. Merely proof of my sincerity."

Forced to concede the point for the moment, Thrall gave another short nod. Then raised an eyebrow, "is the cloak really necessary?"

This caused another brief laugh. "It confers several benefits. And I suppose a flair for the melodramatic may run in the family."

"If you are not our enemy, why have you come?"

Any vestiges of humor left the visitors' bearing. "To provide you with a warning. And an offer."

Thrall suppressed a small shudder at the ominous words. "Then speak."

"You and your people are in grave danger. The only hope of salvation is to abandon these shores."

"Why should we? And what danger?"

"The burning shadow comes to claim this world, as I referenced in the vision." replied the sorcerer.

"What shadow?" asked the Warchief.

"Why don't you consult your elements and spirits. They may be able to provide some clarity."

So Thrall did. For a moment, there was nothing. Then he was flooded with sensations and images. Green, unnatural fire. Malice, malevolence. Hungering evil. And then myriad, monstrous forms he had never witnessed, only learned of at all after joining his own people for the first time following his still-recent escape from captivity. Yet he knew with instant certainty what they were. The monsters that had damned his race. "The demons, they have followed us!"

"They would be known as 'The Burning Legion,' in this language. And no, they have not. But the Legion did, in fact, engineer the arrival of your race to this world solely to assist in facilitating the coming invasion. Do not think for a moment that this means they will show you more mercy than any other form of life. You have long outlived your usefulness in their eyes. That itself should be reason enough to depart immediately."

"Even if I were to entertain the notion, how would we leave? Where would we go? You may not be a threat at the moment, but clearly have ulterior motives and are asking me for a great deal of faith." stated Thrall.

Surprisingly, his statement was met with a respectful, almost birdlike tilt of the head, aptly. "Reasonable questions that I would likely share in your position, and I can hardly begrudge you such. I ask because I know much of you, Warchief." responded the intruder.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed, Go'el." a slight, but seemingly friendly smile appeared on the visible lower-half of the man's face.

Thrall could not fully prevent his jaw from parting at that. How-

"That is your birth name, which you only recently became aware of. I know that you were raised by humans to become a gladiator, and you fear that despite your best efforts you will never be as comfortable speaking orcish as common. You escaped captivity due to the actions of one who was as a sister to you, Taretha Foxton.

"Shortly thereafter you found the remnants of your clan, where you would finally become immersed in your heritage. Before long, your connection to the elements manifested and you began to train in their use, with considerable success. When Orgrim Doomhammer - friend of your late father, Durotan - arrived seeking to rally support in his campaign to liberate surviving orcs and reform the Horde, you joined his banner. Upon his deathbed, he named you his successor."

The Warchief remained incapable of response, and his visitor proceeded undeterred. "When the final battle was won, the loss of that sister avenged, you immediately led the Horde into the wilderness. Why, might I ask?"

Finally, Thrall found his tongue. "For their protection, of course. That goes unsaid."

"It does indeed. However, I suspect it was not merely for the protection of your charges that you left all inhabited territories. Unless I am much mistaken, you feel great guilt over the damage your people have caused this world and wish to avoid incurring further losses on any side. And so you fled occupied lands, hoping to limit the possibility of such conflict. Am I mistaken?"

After a moment of silence, the orc responded, "no."

"A noble intention, to be sure. Though ultimately futile." said the man.

"Why?"

"Because none of the relevant leaders share that ideal at this time. Not entirely unwarranted considering recent decades. The only reason your Horde has survived the past few months is due to other considerations faced by Lordaeron and similar nations. They will not leave you unattended much longer."

Thrall could not help but bristle a little, despite having some awareness of that truth. "What makes you so certain of our defeat?"

"You are a skilled warrior, Thrall. And a prodigal shaman, as I understand it. However, you have recently been thrust into the position of highest authority amongst your race, with relatively little leadership experience to your name. Although your veteran advisors are an asset, the fact remains that despite superior numbers, unity, even the enslavement of the Red Dragonflight; the Horde at its peak - including said advisors - was defeated by the Alliance. Then a second time, in fact. As a result, you have inherited significantly reduced resources. The net is closing in, Warchief, but there may yet be enough of a opening to escape. That is what I offer you." The sorcerer finished.

"I am listening." said Thrall, cautiously interested.

"More precisely, I offer advise that you might save yourselves. Observe."

A hand was waved, around which a glowing, violet rune appeared. Immediately, an image appeared in front of the Warchief, to his surprise. The continent of Azeroth, he recalled from maps acquired. Despite the gravity of this exchange, Thrall was fascinated by the display of what could only be sorcery. So distinct from his own abilities.

A small, glowing point appeared near the southern-most location of the northern third of the landmass. Northern Baradin bay, south Lordaeron. "Our location, as you have no doubt deduced," said the mage. Another gesture and a globe formed, with the continent facing them. "The world upon which we stand, itself called Azeroth. The name having been co-opted by the inhabitants of these eastern kingdoms."

The orb slowly rotated towards the orc. Thrall now saw a smaller continent near the roof of the world, a glimpse of land near fully-shrouded by mist far to the south, and finally a massive continent even larger than their own in the west. A vast maelstrom was equidistant between the four, and several sizable archipelagos were present in various locations.

The sorcerer indicated the western image, "Kalimdor is the name. It is here that you must lead your people. Numerous intelligent races can be found there -some of which may be amenable to diplomacy, others far less so. It is not as civilized as this continent, with territory that your Horde might claim and build the new life you so desire."

Thrall could not help the sense of eagerness rising within. Yet he remained suspicious, naturally. "That sounds too good to be true."

"I will not lie to you, it would not be easy. Likely a hard road even should the Legion be defeated. I cannot force you to leave. You will, however, have a greater prospect of survival should you do so. At worst, you and your people could meet an end on your own terms."

The Warchief remained silent, suspecting what his answer must be.

The human continued. "A day may come that you are forced to choose between Warchief and Far Seer. Or perhaps not. I suppose time might yet tell. For now, how does the former respond?"

Said leader lowered his gaze, downcast. "That we are almost out of time."

"And the latter?"

The spirits conveyed unambiguous approval. Thrall met the unseen gaze of the mage, "that I must trust you. For now."

The man seemed to give a genuine smile, perhaps even a sigh of relief. "Then you have lifted a small portion of weight from my mind. I would have been grateful for that in and of itself. You must leave as swiftly as possible."

"How? We have no means of doing so."

"We stand close to the port of Southshore, as you are no doubt aware. There may be sufficient ships to evacuate your Horde. I would recommend that you commandeer them," offered the sorcerer.

Thrall frowned. "That is a well-defended location."

"I cannot tell you how, only that you are unlikely to find a better opportunity. I doubt many of your followers have much in the way of maritime expertise, but it would surely be preferable to take your chances on the voyage with seaworthy ships than face the Alliance or demons in the field."

"Very well, then." The orc attempted to sound more confident and collected than he felt.

"Now I will travel north and issue the same warning to others. You should know that if I am successful, at least some of the Alliance will make a similar exodus and you may encounter them on Kalimdor. I suspect you will need each other, before all is done." added the stranger.

This was met by a heavy sigh from the Warchief. "I appreciate the courtesy, and am willing to engage in diplomacy. I hope that you carefully choose those that may reciprocate."

"I may not have such a choice. But It is my hope that any willing to heed this warning may prove similarly agreeable. They would likewise be informed of your own possible presence. I think all parties will agree that it would be best were you not to stumble upon one another entirely unaware." The globe faded at another gesture from the mage, who turned towards the edge.

"You never shared your name."

This halted the visitor. "You seek redemption and reconciliation for your Horde, Warchief. I seek them for myself. My name is unimportant at this time. Consider me a 'Prophet', perhaps. Now go, young Thrall. Sail west to the lands of Kalimdor. It is there that you will find your destiny. It is there that the salvation of your people may yet be assured." With that, the Prophet's outline blurred into the raven once more, which took wing to the north.

Thrall remained stationary, contemplating the profoundly odd and dire turn the night had taken. Despite this, he could not help some small measure of hope.

"Warchief?" His musings were interrupted by the approach of his companion.

So it Begins.

"I have had a vision. The Horde must be rallied immediately."


Well, there we go.

I think this may be decent time to discuss perhaps the most intrinsic flaw of Warcraft three. Any that played the original game may recall that it came with a comprehensive manual, providing character, plot and world context. Information that was all but entirely absent from the game itself.

I am of the opinion that any story, irrespective of medium should stand entirely on its own. The necessity to consume any amount of exterior content for context in a narrative - sanctioned or not - is a significant writing flaw. Warcraft three fails in this regard more than any other story I have experienced.

To top it all off, the contents of that manual ultimately succeeded in making the most damaging plot failures even more spectacularly preposterous. More on that later. although in general I would have likely considered the inclusion of most of the material beneficial. Amusingly enough, anyone that first experiences the franchise through reforged would not even receive said manual.

The prologue missions are an excellent example of this principle. A player is effectively given nothing of the history and character of Thrall. Considering the significant role he is to play in this game and the franchise to come, this is a significant blow to the story. Not at all the worst mistake made by warcraft three, yet a terrible start nonetheless.

My general intent was expanded dialogue that establishes Thrall's history, initial defining traits and agency as a major player in this world. It also seems reasonable to portray Medivh as marginally less imbecilic.

Hope it was interesting and/or entertaining.

P.s. Uploading an already in-progress work here for the first time. I will probably format and post more chapters over the next few days.