Authors Note

Thank you to all that has read my story so far! It encourages me to keep going even when I'm so flogged with online study and preparing for my course in the UK for September. Its so unfair and frustrating when countries make in impossible for people to immigrate even for study. The costs are so ridiculous that I'm destined to be in surmountous debt for the rest of my life. But hey, one will do almost anything to reach their dreams, right? I'd rather be in debt than live in misery.

Well, enough about me, Azeroth has bigger problems!
ENJOY!


Azeroth, Durotar - year 620 Post First War - After the Elemental storm

When the storm hit none was prepared. Winds howled, thunder clapped and the ocean rose with tidal waves leveling all in its path. The earth shook, crumbling homes and unstable cliffs. The air was barely breathable and the heat was worse than they'd had in many many years. It raged on for days, the air as hot as the summer that reeked of sulfur and ash. Those who had survived the first wave took shelter in Orgrimmar but many were trapped in the desert wilderness unprotected.

Healers had their hands full with the wounded and sick. Working day and night to understand why their herbs were ineffective and why the sick succumbed so quickly. Fever, infection and unnatural magics were at play and they began to wonder if the Legion had been behind this.

Even the Undead were suffering, their flesh rotting despite the magic that kept them in one piece. They were all quarantined in the east corner of the Valley of Honor in hopes to stop any disease or additional illnesses from spreading. The odour was horrific and unsettled many. However, it wasn't the only issue.

Every mystic, warrior and able citizen who were fit enough were ordered to find answers by Warchief Garrosh. This was a crisis that put them all on edge. The warchief himself worked to solve this Cataclysm despite his own fever and the healers pleading for him to remain in his chamber to heal. Even High Overlord Saurfang had given up and left the Warchief be.

Saurnok the Mystic, the right-hand orc in the Warchiefs court, believed that it was the Legions doing with their Burning Blade acolytes still very present in the shadows. And perhaps the strange power of the Death knights that chose Orgrimmar as their home. But the Elder far Seer, Zor Lonetree, believed otherwise.

The Elder Far Seer had consulted his magics on the second day of the Cataclysm and returned with news that confirmed his suspicions. He'd seen the earth split, the elementals arise and the destruction Azeroth-wide, in a vision.

An old enemy had returned.

The Warchief was furious, his fever yet to break. The Elder Far Seer had explained further after the Orcs rage cooled enough. The heat they all suffered was from the lava to the west in the Barrens where the Beast had split the earth like a scar. Sulfur, poisonous gasses and smoldering heat poured into the air. The storm was magical in some form, fueled by the Maelstrom in the Great Sea. And to worsen the news, the Elemental plane had moulded into the physical where all manner of elementals poured from. He believed the barrier had been shattered by force.

Garrosh was beside himself with rage. Who could have done such a thing? Who would have the power to shatter the barrier and release a corrupted dragon aspect into Azeroth? No one had the answer. However, despite the chaos, death, infighting in the city and unrest, they at least had an explanation. For now.

On the fourth day of the raging, unnatural storm, it began to ease. Though, it still ravaged and reshaped the land, elementals rampaging the province. The ground beneath their feet shook in intervals, day and night, and many were fearful. Food had run low and the angered elementals of every kind kept the city's guard fighting till long hours. Their cemetery grew, whole families, guards, children, wives and husbands filling the graves more each day.

On the fifth day, the skies finally calmed and the winds died down. The heat was ever present, the sulfur carried on the air. But the sky was still dark with unnatural clouds that kept the sun from them, further killing the remaining crops within the surrounding area of the city. Even the water became stale, rendering those who were well to their beds with fever.

But on the sixth day, they all awoke to the sun gleaming on the horizon. The storm was subsiding, moving north over the Great Sea. It was joyous and lifted every spirit no matter the sufferings they faced. When the storm had completely left Durotar by that afternoon, the Warchief ordered all that were not fighting the enemy to scour the land for survivors.

Overlord Saurfang bowed to the Warchief, his own party waiting outside the throne room, Grommash Hold. They were to head south to the Valley of Trials where all their eligible youth had been training. He hoped that they had all managed to survive the Cataclysm. Their army and security would be heavily skewered if not. They were already suffering great losses from the elementals.

"I shall return with survivors, Warchief. The Horde will not perish. You have my word." Saurfang reassured the Warchief as the healers struggled to keep Garrosh's fever down.

"Good. The survival of the Horde depends on you…..Do not fail….I would hate for my most trusted and loyal Overlord to join the troll scum in exile." the Warchief snarled from his throne, exhausted and glistening with perspiration. Saurfang bowed again before leaving to begin the Search-and-Rescue.

Eitrigg stepped forward then with the honored Death Knight orc, Kharag, saluting with a fist over his heart.

"Warchief, we will take up the eastern shores. Many of our fishermen and several families along the coast were not accounted for by the census. We will search for any survivors and return with them in tow. We will not fail." Eitrigg declared and the Warchief dismissed them. The pair left the throne room, their volunteers and Commander Thorak waiting for them.

They joined the party and took point, leading them to the front gates of the city. Thankfully, the Elementals seemed to have ceased their attack and were nowhere to be found. The guards at the gate let them through, wishing the brave party strength and honor. The group ventured forward, pausing where the Jaggedswine Farm used to be. It was now rubble.

Here, a female Warlock orc well known for her 'no bullshit' demeanor, joined the tall Death Knights side. They both watched from the side as Eitrigg briefed the nervous youth grunts who had volunteered. Some were too young to be considered men. Kharag exhaled, wary.

"What do these whelps hope to gain from this. We need warriors not boys." the orc huffed in age-old loathing to the known zest of the orc youth. The female Orc, Mahgora, had the same sentiments disguised under annoyance.

"It is honor. You most of all should know that, husband. You were just the same and so was our son. These 'boys' will fight, trained or not, for honor and strength for both the Horde and their families." the woman spoke and the Death Knight huffed, knowing that she was right. But he sighed wishing it wasn't.

"I wish it wasn't so…." the Death Knight trailed off, his eyes dropping to the sword he held. Memories of his son, passed unbidden behind his eyes and the tragedy that had occured. One that he will forever have to live with. It was this very sword and his own hands that ended his son's life at Wrathgate. Uraag, barely a man and fresh in Hunter training had joined the army against his mothers pleas. To avenge his father, was what he had said.

Indeed, Kharag had fallen to the Undead Scourge some months before the Battle. He was stationed in the Eastern Plague lands, dying with his scout party and raised with so many others. He had no memory of his Honorable deeds for the Horde or of his wife and son. Nothing. He committed countless slaughters in the name of the Lich King right up till the Wrathgate.

His eyes closed in pain, the old wounds his son had dealt him that day aching. Uraag made him so proud, keeping his own in the fight against his own father and not once faltering when knocked down. As a slave to the Lich King Kharag admired the boy's fight and strength, even promised to put a good word in when he finally killed him.

It was only when his sword drove through the boy's body that the Lich King's enslavement was broken. And he'd held his son in sound mind as the boy died. His only son.

A hand rested on his arm and his thoughts were broken.

"Do not think on it, Kharag. We need you here, not in the past that can not be changed. Come, the party is leaving." said his wife, her tone hard. Yet he knew it was only a front having known her for many many years. It had taken him many months to reconcile with her, earning her forgiveness to be where they were now.

The party moved forward from the farm to the shoreline. And the destruction made them pause. Every home that had been built near the water had been flattened and bodies littered the sand. Fishermen, families, children….Crows pecked at the corpses and Crawlers fought them for a share.

The stench of death and decay was overpowering. And quite a few of the grunts retched to the side. Mahgora covered her nose and Kharag was hardly phased. He had the misfortune of guarding the Forsaken in the east end of the Valley of Honor. He'd had many days to 'overcome' the odour. And death was no surprise to him no matter the tragedy. He'd expected it with the unnatural storm they'd survived through.

After the grunts had gathered themselves they began the search for survivors. It took them hours to examine each body for any sign of life and sort through the debris for those buried beneath it. By sun down they had found no survivors. It was deeply tragic.

Mournfully, the party gathered all the bodies onto a wagon and carted it back to the Orgrimmar. Thankfully, all the dead had been identified and the city held a burning ceremony, incinerating the corpses with respect and eliminating potential diseases that came with rot.

The night sky was lit by the ceremonial fires. Over 30 bodies burning on individual or grouped funeral pyres in the Valley of Honor. The Undead joined the event having 2 of their own that had succumbed to the rot. The Blood Elf priest, Tyelis, both led the mass funeral and ended it well into the night.

But not all was over. This was just the beginning of a long struggle. Many families were still missing and the Elementals returned for another round of fighting at the north east gate that opened into Azshara. The majority of the remaining fighters were stationed at the gate to make sure the safety of the city remained. Now everything depended on Saurfang.

Overlord Saufang had not returned that night for the mass funeral and the Warchief grew ever more angered and restless. His fever had turned into infection and he could hardly lift a hand. However, he would not falter. If Saurfang did not return by the end of the next day, he would send a party. He would not lose his most trusted warrior or the Horde to the likes of this Cataclysm.

When the sun rose on the seventh day, Kharag joined the rescue party once again. His wife beside him and Eitrigg at the lead. They fought their way through water, rock and air Elementals to get to the eastern shore where they had left the day before. There were more bodies in the wreckage and once again none had survived. If it wasn't the tidal wave that killed them, the Elementals would have found them before starvation.

Again the party salvaged the bodies, some of which were trolls. They were respectfully laid on a cart and taken back to Razer Hill by half the party. The rest continued on down what was left of the shore line. Most of it was completely submerged where the fishermans docks had been. Ships, boats and dinghies, littered both the shore and the sea floor further out.

None were brave enough to venture there. Elementals lingered in the tides and sharks prowled the depths, the death luring them in. So they moved on, going inland. And for the first time they found survivors on a small farm. Their home was partly crumbled, the entrance blocked. Inside was an orc family of four. The party immediately worked to rescue them.

Once they were free, a healer tended to their wounds. Mahgora gave them each a fair helping of water from her canister and briefed them lightly on their next action. Kharag watched on from the side, keeping his distance. Many still feared the Death Knights and this poor, traumatized family were one of them. When the healer was sure the family was well enough they got them to their feet. Mahgora joined Kharag.

"They were lucky. The hill shielded them from most of the storm." she spoke and Kharag nodded. Despite his relief at finding survivors he was still wary. He watched them thank the grunts who handed them all they could salvage from their farm - crops, clothing, personal items, etc.

"Let us hope there are more who were spared. The Horde has already suffered in the last war…." he spoke, watching the party move forward towards Razor Hill. The small town wasn't far off and the pair joined them, following behind.

However, when the town came into view, they were greeted by a battle-ridden sight. The town had managed to fortify itself with tall, sharp, wooden barricades. Dead Elementals littered the ground around it and guards patrolled looking equally as battle wrought.

The party approached the wall and the guards sounded a horn. The wall was opened for them, several grunts working together to lift the makeshift gate and move it. The group entered without breaking stride, the gate closing behind them. They were greeted warmly by the town inhabitants both troll and orc alike. The rescued family was immediately taken to the healers.

Kharag and Mahgora, and the remaining group, were taken to the forge where the Leader of the town worked. He hammered onto the anvil shaping the glowing metal, repairing an axe. He noticed them as he returned the weapon to the embers of the forge.

"Throm-Ka, friends. If you are here as reinforcements we are in need of you greatly. The Elementals know no rest and we have already lost so many." said the leader, putting down the hammer and facing them properly. Kharag nodded.

"We are just passing through. The Warchief sent us on Search-and-Rescue along the eastern coast. We have yet to find survivors in addition to the family under your healers care. We-" Kharag suddenly grunted as an elbow connected with his side.

"We will assist you in any way we can." Mahgora interrupted him with a glare and Kharag huffed. Mahgora continued.

"Our youth volunteers will remain with your people to provide extra hands if needed. My husband and I will vanquish the beasts as we search for survivors. We are well trained and without fear." she added, saluting with a fist over her heart. The leader, Gar'Thok returned it gratefully.

"Then Lock-Narash, friends. The enemy is not weak and in plenty. Survivors will be treated by our healers and you are welcome to rest here before continuing forth. Lok'tar ogar!" Gar'thok saluted, a fist over his heart and the pair returned it. They left the forge with the group and sent the youth grunts to various places within the holding.

From there, Mahgora gathered a small party of the town's trained grunts and left with Kharag for the coast not far from the town. Their healer joined them, determined to assist once more.

And just as the leader of Razor Hill had said, Elementals flocked the shore in larger forms than they'd already slain. They towered over the grunts with bodies of water and eyes of red, roaming the shoreline for any who dared venture into their domain. This was going to be a battle.

So the party charged forward and met the enemy head on, fighting hard. While the heroes kept the Elementals busy the healer and a grunt searched for survivors in the frey. And luckily they found many. Each was badly injured but thankfully able to make it back to the town on their own.

The healer searched high and low for anymore determined not to miss any; in the rubble and mud, in the washed up wrecked ships and in every nook and cranny. They'd found over 15 more survivors, most of which were from Razor hill and only a handful of the remaining were not. One in particular was a troll female.

The healer found her off at the far side where a hill resided. Washed up into a nook not visible by others. The troll was severely wounded, clothes barely hiding her dignity and covered in mud. The healer had never seen the extent of injuries such as this before. But she refused to give up. The unconscious troll was carefully lifted by the grunt and taken back to the town quickly.

The healer remained and searched further. But in the end she found no more than corpses. Some of which were human. She left those be and quickly returned to the battling hero's to assist them in the fight. When the final towering element was vanquished the party headed back to the town.

Those who were wounded sought the help of the healers and those who were unharmed, rested. It was well into the evening by this time, the heroes having fought for hours till the sun had begun to set. Mahgora and Kharag were the champions of the battle, the Elementals no match for the couple. Death Knight ice and destructive Warlock magics had the Elementals second guessing their will to continue the fight. The powerful pair were celebrated with a small feast where all ate together with the food they had.

When the feast was over the guests were given lodging in the inn. The healers and grunt guards changed shifts and Razor Hill became still under the clear starry sky. It was almost peaceful despite the heat and sulfur in the air. The only ones not feeling the well earned tranquility were the healers on the night shift. In particular the Shaman Orc healer who had found the wounded troll.

The orc worked hard all through the feast to cleanse the troll's wounds and it was proving an impossible task. How the troll had survived such a wound, left open to the elements of ocean, heat and storm was a complete mystery. And a wound so large as this….it may as well be a miracle. The wound, 3rd degree burns, took up the entire left side of the body from head to toe. Singed, cooked, as if left over a raging fire.

Somish expected the troll not to survive the night even with her totems and herbs. However, the further the Healer removed mud, debris and rotting skin she began to realise that the troll had been hit directly by lightning instead of burned by fire. Charred veins reminiscent of a strike snaked from the wound along the pale blue of the troll's skin. Most of which collected in the left of the abdomen. It was shocking. The troll had not only survived open exposure to the elements for days but a direct lightning strike as well.

A pure miracle it was. And Somish was even more determined to heal the troll. This one was strong and to lose her would be a real tragedy. The Horde was desperate for strong warriors after the war against the Lich King. Even though their Warchief had exiled the trolls she will not be as foolish as him. Every hand counted. Death will not take this one.

When morning came, Somish had not slept. She spent the night treating the troll with every minute she had and so far the results were promising. However, the troll now had a fever and infection from the wound. It was expected from the severity of the injury. But Somish worked still, determined to not give up.

Though the female troll wasn't the only of her kind to be rescued, she was by far the worst. Four had been rescued, another female and 3 males. Each had their own wounds from broken bones to deep cuts and burns. But all were faring so far. Though it became clear that Razor Hill didn't have the proper herbs and tools to continue to care for the severely wounded.

So when Eitriggs party gathered themselves and left the town that morning, she remained. She will have to take all the badly wounded back to Orgrimmar secretly. Though she feared the Warchief and his wrath, she wasn't about to abandon the trolls for some foolish wounded pride.

By the time the sun was at its peak she had prepared the severely wounded. Grunts assisted her in moving them to a canopied cart and the leader of the town wished her a safe journey. With a handful of guards she ventured off back to Orgrimmar. It took them several hours to reach the city, the guards fighting their way through the Elementals along the way.

The gates were opened for them without question and they entered into the safety of the city. It was late noon by now but Somish went directly to the Valley of Spirits where the wounded were being treated. She joined the other healers and secretly brought her wounded to a hut.

There she treated them with the herbs the city had. No one knew of it and she was glad. She will not let them die. That evening, late into the night, Overlord Saurfang returned to Orgrimmar with all the youth that survived in the Valley of Trials. With him were the Search-and-Rescue party. The people were overjoyed.

Somish continued to care for the wounded trolls hidden in her home for 3 more days hence. All four had fevers and soon she began to realise she couldn't manage them all on her own. She confided in a friend, a fellow orc shaman, and he was reluctant to lend a hand. He had no wish to be exiled or suffer the Warchiefs wrath. Though, with Somish's pleading he relented. After all, he did owe the orc a favour. He worked with her that day, weaving healing magics to the best of their ability.

But on the fourth day, armed grunts were at her door. They forced themselves in and promptly arrested them. The Warchief entered last, snarling in rage and body exhausted with infection. He gave the wounded trolls a hateful look before scowling at the healers.

"For treason against the Horde you will join these troll scum in exile, 'healers'." he snarled and the guards harshly pushed the two orcs out the hut. The remaining guards gathered the wounded, unconscious, trolls with no care of their wounds.

One troll with a blind eye and broken leg attempted to protect the female worst out of them all, begging them to have care. The guards snorted in disgust before they beat him till he lay motionless on the hut floor. They then dragged the unconscious on the rough city ground all the way to the front gate, deliberately making a show, an 'example' of the traitors to the people of the city.

It was only intervened when Overlord Saurfang left the forge, his repaired weapon resting upon his shoulder. His old brow pulled down in anger, a snort of deep disagreement leaving his lungs. He joined the Warchief, the temperamental orc perspiring heavily from fever and infection. And equally driven near unreasonable by it.

"Warchief, this is not the way to address this." went the Overlord in disturbed disapproval and Garrosh sneered at him.

"You doubt my judgement, Overlord? You will join them in exile if you challenge my rule!" Garrosh growled, his eyes bloodshot. Saurang shook his head with a sigh, tired of dealing with the Warchiefs' unnecessary rage.

"I do not challenge you, Warchief. These healers you banish are War Heros. They fought in the ranks and healed the wounded in Northrend at Icecrown. Can you afford to lose them when our people continue to die of fever and the enemy pounds at our gates? For the Horde to survive this Cataclysm we cannot afford to discard the people standing between us and death."

Saurfang reasoned with Garrosh and for once the Orc listened. The Warchief snorted in temper, turning away from the wounded trolls and his Overlord.

"Do what you wish. I will tolerate these traitors for now. Next time I will not be so….willing." and with that the Warchief vanished into Grommish Hold, leaving behind the gathered crowds. Saurfang sighed again, momentarily questioning Thrall's choice in making Garrosh Warchief. The Horde was suffering from the orcs' temper and intolerance, their alliances being stretched thin.

Saurfang approached the guards and ordered them to release the healers. They did so hesitantly, all in league with the Warchiefs' foolish ideals. The healers thanked the Overlord with a silent lower of the head and he returned it.

"Return to your patients, Healers, I will see that the wounded trolls are taken to their Chieftain respectfully. That is their only chance of survival. And be wary of your actions from this day forth, the Warchief will not be persuaded a second time."

Saurfang parted from them and commissioned a cart and a party to safely transport the wounded trolls out of the city. This was the respect they deserved. The trolls were still their allies and he would not lose them to the foolish grudge of the Warchief.

He accompanied the departing company till the front gates and fought the enemy outside it to give them passage. When the last elemental fell, the Overlord watched the party venture forth to Sen'jin village from behind the gate. He hoped they would take the high road and not foolishly brave the pass. It was infested with Sirens and Raptors.

Saurfang breathed. He was getting too old for this. Garrosh's temper and fever driven rage were aging him more than time allowed. He wasn't sure he would make this Cataclysm in one piece. His patience with the Warchief was not unlimited. He breathed again, tired.

A figure joined him in the corner of his eye, the armor black and the presence cold. The old orc looked to the side to find Kharag beside him watching the retreating shape of the cart in the distance. The Death Knight didn't look at him.

"You doubt Thrall's decision, Varok. You are not the only one with that sentiment." Spoke the undead Orc, his voice haunting even in normal tone. Saurfang looked away from him, turning his back to the gate. He did not want to have this conversation; it wasn't safe to do so in public.

"I trust Thrall's judgement, Kharag. He chose Garrosh knowing that it is what the Horde needed. A warchief that will make us strong again, to fight for our place in this world. To survive." said Saurfang in confidence but the Death Knight sensed the doubt still. It may not be with Thrall or his decision to make Garrosh Warchief, it was in the decisions the new Warchief was making. Garrosh only had interest in the Orcs and not the Horde as a whole. The Blood Elves were barely tolerating the chief.

"And Thrall is right. He may be wise but he did not have the strength to overcome his softness and retaliate to the humans advances on Durotar." Kharag turned to look at the Overlord and Saurfang met his eye. The old orc nodded, not intending to continue this further.

"I will send a message forward before the wounded reach Sen'jin village. Does your wife still have the crow from Northrend?"


Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN BLIZZARD OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTER AND STORYLINE.

Kharag, Somish and Mahgora are non-canon and my own creations.

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