Lost Lion

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Volume 3: Chapter 8

*** Southern Hillsbrad Foothills – Alliance Staging Ground ***

The scene where the blue sea meets the coastline, framed against the clear sky, was so picturesque that I wished that I still had a smartphone from my old world to take a picture of it. The view was breathtaking and idyllic—on Earth, this would have been a popular tourist destination. Even the cool breeze brushing past me and playing with my hair felt like a gentle caress, as if the environment itself was welcoming me. For a brief moment, I found a measure of peace and tranquility.

But this scene was a lie, and the atmosphere it created was equally deceptive. Turning my head to the east, I narrowed my eyes, almost as if willing myself to see Thoradin's Wall from here. I couldn't, of course; it was simply too far, and I was at a lower elevation. However, I knew it was there.

Beyond those walls was an army of savage orcs, high on demon magic, eager to kill every man, woman, and child they encountered. Yet, for some reason, they had been silent. Aside from the occasional skirmishes and raiding parties finding gaps in our defenses, the Horde had not made any significant moves for quite some time.

Five months.

It had been five months since the Horde last attacked Thoradin's Wall directly. Our scouts, led by Garona, confirmed that the Horde camped across Alexandros Bulwark belonged to the Thunderlord Clan. Unfortunately, I knew next to nothing about this clan so I couldn't provide any useful insights. I should have paid better attention, but other than the obvious famous ones, the rest were pretty obscure in my old life.

I just hope my lack of knowledge doesn't come back to bite me.

"Callan," a soft voice spoke next to my right ear, making me jump.

"Damn it, Alleria!" I turned to give the playful elf a stern glare. She was smiling at me mischievously, like a cat that had just eaten the canary. I quickly looked around for signs of Turalyon but didn't see the paladin anywhere. "Keep sneaking up on me like that, and I'll put a bell on you!"

"Promises, promises," Alleria teased. She then moved to my side and looked out at the sea with me. "You've been coming here often. Is there something special about the view?"

"Well, for someone who lived at Windrunner Spire all her life, I suppose this view would be quite common," I replied. "But I was mostly stationed inland until recently so it's rare that I get the chance to enjoy such sights."

"Hmm." Alleria made a noncommittal sound.

Of course, that wasn't the truth. I had seen beaches before in my old world, but the area I lived in had dirty, brownish water—nothing this scenic. Only postcards or stock images from the web could compare. In truth, maybe it was my bias, but every part of Azeroth I'd seen so far could be slapped on a postcard, used as a wallpaper for computer screens, or even turned into posters. I looked away from the scene completely to focus on my elf companion.

Oddly enough, during the time I'd gotten to know her over the past few months, I had to reconcile the Alleria that I knew in my head with the real, living version of her. Despite being the eldest of the Windrunner sisters, Alleria was the most rebellious and free-spirited. Sylvanas was the more responsible of the three. Having spent time with the middle Windrunner sister, I had a good sense of how she operated. Neither of them were the bitter, scarred elves I knew of—and they never would be, if I could help it.

"Well." I broke the comfortable silence between us. "Break time's over. Let's see what I need to tackle today."

With that, I turned away from the peaceful coastline to the budding fortress behind me. The scene before me was one of organized chaos, a stark contrast to the serene view behind us.

"Care to accompany me as I make the rounds, milady?" I offered. Alleria, on paper, was Lor'themar's lieutenant, but he had made her a liaison to the Stormwind forces, of which I was the de facto leader. So, in a way, her job was now a hybrid combination of Sylvanas and Liadrin's roles.

"Of course, milord," Alleria answered in an airy, posh voice.

We both broke out in matching grins. Alleria made interacting with her so easy. Her openness to new experiences and genuine curiosity about other races made her extremely likable. She was professional when she needed to be but just as eager to join in the fun when off duty. I could see why Turalyon had been hopelessly smitten with her these past few months. Though, now that I thought about it, I didn't think they'd exchanged more than a dozen words since their initial introduction.

'God damn it, Turalyon,' I mentally cursed my favorite hero. I knew he was young and new to everything, but I dunno—I expected more from him. Was that unfair of me? Probably, but he was Turalyon; greatness was inside him, I knew that. However, if he kept being tongue-tied around Alleria, she might decide he was weird and not worth associating with. Oh well, in the meantime, I could only be the best 'bro' I could be and keep her away from potential suitors—of which there were so many…

My thoughts on the legendary hero were put aside when we reached our first destination.

"Push, boys! Push!" Danath Trollbane roared. The man was almost as big as Thoras, with a large, barrel chest, broad shoulders, and arms that would get him tested for performance-enhancing drugs on Earth. His face was set in a harsh manner that promised pain if someone so much as stepped out of line. He finally noticed our presence and inclined his head toward us. "Lord Callan, Lady Alleria."

"Captain Danath," I nodded. "How fare this batch of recruits?"

The nephew of Thoras, another legendary hero in another life, was in charge of retraining the men of the Bulwark, and he winced in disgust.

"It's either a miracle or the Light's grace that Lord Mograine's Bulwark hasn't fallen already!" the large, broad-shouldered, grizzled man complained.

"That bad, huh?" I winced in sympathy. As if to answer, Danath pointed me toward the tug-of-war currently going on. Or should I call it push-and-pull?

It was an old exercise that was even practiced in Stormwind. The objective was simple: hundreds of recruits on opposing sides would form a shield wall and then push against each other. The goal was several-fold: to build the recruits' raw strength, get them used to working together, and—most importantly—trust each other to hold no matter what. Right now, the two shield walls in front of me were anything but tight, with the soldiers bickering amongst themselves after being struck by the opposing team's training swords.

"Well," I began as diplomatically as I could, "they'll learn soon enough. You'll break them in, just like those before them."

"Aye." Danath's eyes promised pain as he set his jaw. "Excuse me, my lord, my lady. I've got some numskulls' heads to bash in."

With that, the giant of a man stalked off, bellowing at the frightened recruits.

"That man will anger himself into an early grave if he keeps this up," Alleria commented lightly.

"What, the elves of Silvermoon don't train like this?" I asked, knowing full well that the elves preferred a more refined approach to their training regimen. "It builds character!"

Alleria shot me a scandalized look before I beckoned her to follow me to our next stop. Still, thanks to these last few months of peace, we had greatly shored up the weaknesses of Alexandros Bulwark, and at least seventy percent of the men stationed there were now properly trained.

If the infantry that Danath was training were the bread of the army, then the archers were the butter. We arrived at the next area, where hundreds of men equipped with crossbows or longbows were lined up, taking aim at their target dummies. The elf in charge turned in our direction and gave us a nod to acknowledge our presence, though he didn't move to greet us, as he was in the middle of instructing the trainees.

"Lock your eyes onto your target," Lor'themar Theron, Ranger Lord of Quel'Thalas, said in a firm tone. "Do not worry about precision; instead, strive for accuracy. Target their center mass, just as I had shown you."

The human archers listened attentively. Contrary to Danath's human style of teaching which relied on harsh language, the future leader of the Blood Elves kept his voice steady.

"Today, you will not leave this field until you have successfully fired one hundred arrows into the dummy," the silky voice of the elven lord said. More than a few of the archers, especially the women, sighed in his direction. The man had admirers, much to the other men's chagrin. "Let us begin. Nock and draw."

As one, the humans drew their arrows or loaded their bolts. Lor'themar took the time to walk through the human lines, a bow of his own in hand. Here and there, he corrected an archer's posture—a nudge to raise an elbow higher, a push to bring someone's legs together, or an adjustment to lift a crossbow to eye level. When he was done, he nodded in mild approval.

"Loose." At his word, hundreds of arrows sped across the distance of more than three hundred yards, with about half striking their targets. "Again."

Once more, the archers began to re-nock and draw their arrows, letting them loose on their target dummies, but like before, only half hit their marks.

"Calm your minds, steady your hands," Lor'themar encouraged. "Focus on your bow, your arrow, and the target in front of you. Loose."

The next volley fared a bit better, with over half of the targets being struck.

"Continue until your quivers are empty. Once everyone is finished, retrieve your arrows and repeat the exercise," Lor'themar instructed. He then nodded to one of his female elf rangers, who easily took up the task of correcting postures while the Ranger Lord made his way to us.

"Lord Callan, Lady Alleria, is something amiss?" he asked.

"Oh no, nothing," I quickly assured him. "Just making the rounds, seeing how things are going. Say, how is this batch doing?"

"Better than the previous ones," the one-eyed elf replied after casting a critical glance at the archers. "Many of them have a background in hunting, so they are a fair hand at handling a bow. The challenge is getting them to fire in formation."

I nodded at that. As a huntsman, you were mostly alone, working in silence to track your prey. To suddenly have dozens of people on either side of you, drawing their bows in unison, mirroring your actions, could be off-putting. The same was true for villagers who used bows to hunt local game or kill pests—they could hunt in groups, but lining up side by side was usually asking for trouble.

"However, I'd give them another month before they are...acceptable." The Ranger Lord grimaced.

"They're needed at the front," I said simply. "That said, how are our own archers doing?"

At this, Lor'themar smiled. "Give me another six months with them, and they'll be on par with any elven archer."

"Farstrider level?" I asked teasingly. The Ranger Lord laughed lightly but didn't comment.

"To be fair, there are a few humans who show such promise," Alleria spoke up. "I've seen them—they just lack...polish."

The Farstriders were the best of the best among elven rangers. Elven children grew up wanting to be Farstriders more than Magisters. Naturally, the Windrunner sisters were all Farstriders, though according to Alleria, Vereesa had just been newly inducted.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Good luck, Ranger Lord." I inclined my head toward the elf, who returned the gesture.

Finished with checking on the Bulwark soldiers' retraining, I made my way over to the Alliance forces' training grounds, which were located on the opposite side from our current position. As we passed through the budding town that had sprung up in front of the fortress, we heard familiar musical strings.

"Lirath," Alleria all but hissed her youngest brother's name.

"He's still not going back, huh?" I asked her sympathetically.

Lirath Windrunner was thoroughly enjoying his time among the humans. Apparently, our diversity and chaotic nature appealed to him. It was somewhat hypocritical of Alleria to be upset, considering she too was "slumming it" with us humans. Both of them had been raised in a rigid elven society where decorum was key, and being away from that allowed them the freedom to live without judgmental eyes.

"Why doesn't he understand that he's putting himself in danger?" Alleria's blue eyes flared. She looked as if she was debating whether to go in and have the same argument with her little brother once more.

Time to play peacemaker.

"Probably because his 'big' sister Alleria is here," I told the elf. She raised an eyebrow, her expression demanding that I explain what I meant. "I believe that your presence here makes this strange place feel like home for him. If he goes back to Windrunner Spire now, wouldn't he just be by himself?"

Alleria's raised eyebrow wobble indicated that she wanted me to continue.

"Sure, he has his servants, but from what he told me, Sylvanas is with your mother patrolling the kingdom's borders." I gestured in the general direction of the north.

That was also the reason why Alleria was here instead of Sylvanas, even though the latter had gone to the human lands first. With Sylvanas being the next Ranger General, she had to deal with the overall defense of Quel'thalas and handle domestic issues. With so many of their forces active outside the kingdom, now would be the perfect time for the Amani trolls to launch an attack, so they had to remain vigilant. The Ranger General making the rounds and showing the flag was meant to act as a deterrent.

"Meanwhile, your father is in Silvermoon, mostly in the war council, and of course Vereesa is also assigned elsewhere," I continued, glancing at the elven beauty. "So while Lirath may be at home, he's not...home, you know?"

"He told you this?" Alleria asked, her expression softening ever so slightly.

"Not in so many words, but for those who grow up with siblings, missing each other is inevitable when life takes you away," I said, gesturing with my head toward Lirath's tavern.

The anger on Alleria's face faded, replaced by gentle exasperation.

"I suppose we're far enough behind the lines that the chances of a Horde attack is very unlikely," Alleria mused aloud. "And Sylvanas would never let him near the troll's borders, not to mention what my mother would do if she caught him in that area."

"See?" I gestured at her. "So really, it's because he wants to be near you that he's staying here."

Alleria sighed and shook her head. "Fine. Although, for an only child, you're quite insightful about family matters."

"Hah, right, only child," I agreed. An only child in this life, but I had my share of sibling battles on Earth. "So, shall we leave him to it and finish up the rounds?"

"Lead on, milord," Alleria said in a teasing tone.

We heard the sounds of battle before we saw them—the clash of sword on shield, the splintering of wood under a hammer's strike, the shouts of a cavalry charge. A moment later, I caught sight of the Alliance Legions.

Three banners fluttered in the wind, representing three legions. Unlike the separate divisions of the kingdoms, these would be a unified fighting force representing the entire Alliance, the tip of the spear in the coming offensive against the Horde. To symbolize this, Terenas had special tabards made for the Alliance Legions. Unlike the ones I had seen in the past, these bore the stylized "L" of Lordaeron on a blue backdrop representing Stormwind. Two crossed swords were behind the "L," with each nation's symbol painted on the blades, representing the Alliance.

It felt strange not seeing the massive lion's head that usually represented the Alliance, but Lordaeron was the patron of the Alliance. Their army would be the backbone of our fighting forces, and it was their people who funded the war the most. In another life and another time, Terenas had been more than happy to put the lion's head on the tabard as a reminder of what everyone was fighting for. Stormwind was a fallen nation, and the lion's head served as a stark reminder that for all our power, the mightiest of human nations could fall. It also served as a rallying image, a symbol of fighting in memory of all those lost. More importantly, at that time, Stormwind had become a non-entity on the political scene, and it cost Terenas nothing to put it there.

The fact that he went with a lighter blue showed a lot of respect toward Stormwind already, and many of the other nations couldn't speak out against it because, for all that we were crippled by the Horde, we were still stronger than the other human nations. I let my thoughts drift until I recognized some familiar faces. Aloman, my childhood friend who had enlisted with me, had found her way here, and in a complete role reversal, was now working under me.

To say that I had been floored to see her was a vast understatement. She had moved up in the world, reaching the rank of Knight Captain for valor shown on our front against the Horde. Promotions came quickly during the Horde's all-out offensive against Stormwind, and Aloman had proven herself. Currently, she was engaged in a mock battle with the knights of Lordaeron on horseback.

"Aloman!" I called out, trying to get her attention. She must have heard me because she suddenly sped up, moving faster than the unfortunate Lordaeronian knight she was facing. With a swift swing of the flat of her greatsword, she unhorsed him.

"Break!" Aloman shouted to the knights, then trotted her horse over in our direction. I heard Alleria inhale sharply beside me as the horse approached, stopping just in front of me on command. Aloman then executed a crisp salute. "Marshall Calla—"

"Don't you even fucking dare," I said, pointing at the armored woman. Slowly, she removed her helmet, revealing a shit-eating grin. Of all the people I've known in this lifetime, Aloman was the one who knew me best. She knew I despised responsibility and happily passed it off to more capable people. Thus, it tickled her pink that I was now in charge.

"As you say, Hierarch," Aloman quipped before turning to Alleria. In contrast to the casual tone she used with me, she greeted Alleria with respectful words. "Lady Alleria Windrunner."

"Lady Aloman," Alleria returned the greeting in a formal voice. I found it odd that despite all the time we'd spent together, Alleria still kept Aloman at arm's length. She was even casual around Lirath's bodyguards. "How fares you this day?"

Aloman deflated a bit at the formal greeting, flicking her eyes to me before looking back at Alleria. "Quite well, my lady. Are you and Callan making the rounds?"

"Indeed," Alleria replied before turning to me, touching my arm lightly. "I need to check in with my rangers and the training of the Alliance archers. Might we sup together again tonight?"

"Sure," I agreed easily. It wasn't the first time I'd supped with Alleria.

"Then I'll see you tonight," Alleria smiled at me before giving a professional nod to Aloman. "Lady Aloman."

"Lady Windrunner," Aloman returned.

Watching the legendary hero leave, I once again wanted to internally berate myself for my foolish assumptions regarding her. At first, I thought she might be interested in me, but after spending a lot of time with her, I dismissed the idea. She didn't act like a smitten girl as she did with Turalyon in the original timeline. It was shown that she was making him flustered was her way of showing interest in him. However, Alleria, this Alleria, seemed to enjoy making people flustered in general, just for her own amusement. So either she liked a bunch of people or that was her default attitude in general.

"Sorry, Aloman. I don't know why she's so standoffish with you," I apologized.

"It's because she views me as a threat," Aloman replied with a sigh. She dismounted her horse and then eyed me. "She shouldn't. I prefer my men a bit more… fragile and in need of a protector."

"It's not like that with her, believe me. I'd know—I've been paying attention to any signs of interest," I countered. With Aloman, I didn't need to put up a front like I did with others. It amused her to no end that I spoke like a proper noble when among other lords and ladies.

Aloman smirked at me, giving me a look that suggested I was the dumbest person in the world.

I shot her my most deadpan stare, though it quickly vanished as she slugged my unarmored shoulder with her plated fist. "Hey!"

On Earth, Aloman would've been classified as a tomboy with the way she behaved. However, I wouldn't trade her for the world. She was a great friend to have both on the battlefield and off. Deciding to switch topics, I looked over to where a chapel had been constructed.

"How are my templars doing?" I asked. It turned out the first batch of templars sent to me didn't quite know how to fight on horseback, so I'd given Aloman the task of bringing them up to snuff. "Will they break formation?"

"No," Aloman said with pride. "While they weren't quick learners, they did improve greatly. I look forward to leading cavalry charges with them at my back."

"And the paladins?" At my question, Aloman turned in a particular direction.

Following her gaze, I saw the Silver Hand banner fluttering at the edge of the fortress. Unlike the knights and soldiers we were training in physical combat, the knights of the Silver Hand didn't need such training. Instead, dozens of them were kneeling in front of a makeshift altar where a glowing Uther was reciting a prayer to them.

"They've been like that since this morning," Aloman gestured to them. "I think I even felt something once or twice."

What couldn't be seen with the naked eye could be felt with my abilities in the Light. The Light's presence was swirling around the paladin trainees. It condensed around some more than others but had not yet physically manifested for any of them besides Uther.

"You know, it's funny when you think about it." I turned to my friend. "The paladins are better in physical combat than most of the templars, but on the flip side, templars can wield the Light much more easily than their Silver Hand counterparts."

I never really questioned the game mechanics before, but thanks to the past few months, I now realized why 'Judgment' was the bread and butter for paladins. They didn't have the time to study the Light's scriptures like clerics or priests, who knew how to manifest the Light. Instead, thanks to some ancient scripts that Alonsus dug up, the easiest exercise for the paladins-in-training was to try to manifest as much of the Light as possible into a single attacking point. Then, once they did so, they would continue practicing until it became second nature.

Meanwhile, my templars had the opposite problem. They didn't lack the ability to call on the Light—no, their problem was not putting enough 'oomph' into their strikes. So while the paladins focused on calling on the Light to strike down their enemies, the templars used their weapons as a focus to channel their Light into a powerful strike. Something about that style of combat tickled my memory, and it wasn't until Allyson informed me that the teachings originated from K'ara that I put it together. That skill had a name in my old life: Templar's Verdict.

The two bread-and-butter aspects of the paladin skill set came from different schools of thought. I wondered if it wasn't gameplay design but an actual reason why paladins' offensive abilities didn't fully develop until after the Alliance's foray into Outland and their interactions with the Naaru there.

"It is not quite that much of a contrast," Aloman spoke up suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts. She turned to me with a look of conviction. "I would say the Brotherhood Knights who have become Templars are just as great, if not better, fighters than many of the Silver Hand inductees."

"Okay, put your claws away." I side-eyed her. "The lioness is getting feisty when it comes to her pride, huh?"

Aloman was a Stormwind girl through and through. She bled blue and gold and took great pride in our kingdom's martial mastery. Pound for pound, the average citizen of Stormwind was better at fighting than any of the other kingdoms. Just as she was about to reply, she suddenly stopped and looked beyond my shoulder. Turning around, I followed the direction of her gaze and saw several gryphons flying above us. No, scratch that—they appeared to be banking toward us instead of the Wildhammer aviary.

"They weren't due back for another two weeks, were they?" I asked. Before I knew it, Alleria had reappeared at my side. In the distance, Uther also stopped his prayer/meditation and made his way over. "I didn't remember wrong, did I, Alleria?"

"You did not," Alleria replied. I saw her squint as she focused and then blinked. "Lord Proudmoore is with them."

"Derek here—err there?" I asked in surprise, squinting to see if I could make out the riders on the gryphons.

To add to the Alliance Legions' versatility, Derek had argued that the men needed to learn how to conduct themselves on the seas, not just as passengers. Using the fishing village of Southshore as a staging ground, Derek convinced his father to anchor an entire Kul Tiras fleet there for our use. Given the elite fighting force that the 7th Legion became in the original timeline, I agreed. My agreement had Silvermoon and Stromgarde backing, so the motion was passed.

Many of the other commanders did not foresee much naval combat and thought it was a waste of time. To be fair, we hadn't heard anything about an orc fleet. Based on my memories, the Horde had used the future Menethil Harbor to build a fleet in the Wetlands, then sailed to Zul'dare Island, which was between the Lordaeron mainland and Kul Tiras, before launching their assault on Hillsbrad.

But there was nothing.

No sign.

Nada.

Zilch.

Admiral Proudmoore maintained a tight shippingl line in the Great Sea and heavily patrolled the coastal areas of Lordaeron. The only potential threat was a stronghold where Menethil Harbor would be, but it wasn't mass-manufacturing ships in large numbers. Unfortunately, we couldn't do much about that stronghold; while the Kul Tiras navy had very few peers on the water, they lacked the numbers on land. It seemed the stronghold was primarily there to defend against invading forces. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more going on.

In the end, adding marine training to the Alliance Legions' skill set couldn't hurt. As they said on Earth, it's better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.

Eventually, the gryphons landed before us. With a mighty flap of their large wings, they sent a wind buffet that ruffled my hair and clothes. I could finally make out Derek on top of one of the gryphons. With a quick hop, he landed and made his way toward me with a grim expression.

"Derek, why have you returned so soon? Is something amiss?" I asked as we clasped hands.

"No time for that, you need to come with me now." Derek gestured to another gryphon with no rider.

"What is it? Do I need to come too?" Uther said in alarm. "The gryphon could fit two people."

"No," Derek shook his head. "We need Callan's healing skills. The priests we have on hand are barely keeping our guest alive."

Uther's expression became understanding as he looked at me. He wasn't the only one, but I brushed off the others' stares. Our priests were quite skilled, yet Derek said they needed me. Was the person close to death?

"Who's the guest?" I asked as I approached the riderless gryphon. I gestured for Alleria to join me and take the gryphon. She had experience with her dragonhawk; I doubted a gryphon would be much different. "And how did you find them?"

"Him," Derek corrected as he made his way to his own gryphon where a Wildhammer dwarf waited patiently. "As for how we found him, well, we fished him out of the sea."

I turned to Aloman, nodding for her to take charge until I return. Uther, seeing that this required a healer's touch, could only step back.

"Do we know who it is?" I asked as I gingerly grabbed the gryphon's feathers and climbed up behind Alleria.

"Aye," Derek replied with a grim look as the gryphons spread their wings. "It's Brann Bronzebeard, the youngest brother of the dwarven king."

...WHO?!

+++ Southshore – Derek Proudmoore Fleet +++

Brann Bronzebeard felt as though he were staring directly into the sun. The blinding light saturated everything around him until, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished. He realized then that his eyes were closed and he was still alive.

When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself in a room filled with humans. Some wore armor, while others were dressed in simpler clothes. Most notably, the person closest to him bore the crest of a Kul Tiran naval captain.

"I… I made it?" Brann whispered, touching his chest where he had been hit by several flintlock rounds. "I'm alive."

Memories of their desperate plan, his escape, and the theft of the goblin transport rushed back to him.

"My men!" Brann exclaimed, turning to the captain and then to the young man standing beside him.

"They were too far gone," the young man said apologetically. "I couldn't bring them back."

Brann offered a silent prayer for his brave men before turning his attention to the Kul Tiran captain.

"Name's Brann Bronzebeard, brother of Magni Bronzebeard," he said urgently. "I need te speak te Terenas or the Church of the Light te request that Callan Lothar come te Ironforge with me. My brother, King Magni, is worsening, and our healers only give him another month before we lose him."

He tried to stand but was hit with a wave of fatigue. The young man beside him quickly supported him to keep him from falling.

"Thanks, laddie," Brann said, steadying himself. He turned to the Kul Tiran captain. "But Captain, yae need te send the message as quickly as possible or all will be lost!"

The young man coughed lightly, drawing the captain's attention.

"Well, Lord Brann," the captain said with a hint of amusement, "if you were looking for Callan Lothar, you don't need to send a missive. He's right here."

Brann followed the captain's gaze to the young man next to him, who smiled.

"You're him? The lad our ambassador say can bring the dead back te life?" Brann asked hopefully.

"Within reason," Callan Lothar replied, his expression shifting to one of serious urgency. "Now, tell me more about King Magni's condition."

And so Brann recounted what had transpired with the orcs and Magni's fatal wound. While the Kul Tiran captain and others looked horrified, Callan Lothar, for some reason, was doing a very poor job of hiding his panicked expression.

*** The Burning Steppe Blackrock Spire ***

Kargath Bladefist, chieftain of the Shattered Hand, knew this day would come the moment he heard of Grom Hellscream's death. Across from him stood Orgrim Doomhammer, Blackhand's right fist and leader of the Southern Horde. Though Kargath feared no one, Doomhammer's prowess was legendary across the clans. The Blackrock Warchief stood a full head taller than Kargath, and unlike most orcs, he wore heavy black armor, cutting an intimidating figure.

"So, you've come," Kargath said, mentally preparing himself for what could be his most glorious fight. "I knew you would."

"Is that why none of your warriors challenged my forces outside?" Doomhammer asked, his eyes scanning the room filled with Kargath's most trusted warriors. "Or were you hoping to ambush me here?"

"It would've been a waste of good warriors," Kargath said, gesturing to the larger orc's warhammer. "None of them would stand a chance against you and your namesake."

The weapon in Doomhammer's hand was as feared as its wielder—Doomhammer. Its blows had felled countless orcs and draenei alike. Kargath saw both the weapon and the wielder as one and the same.

The Blackrock orc smiled savagely. "So, it's to be mak'gora, then?" he asked, hefting the warhammer in his hand. "My hammer against your bladefist?"

Like Doomhammer, who had earned his title from his weapon, Kargath had earned the name Bladefist from the large blade permanently bonded to the bones of his right hand. When he had been a slave in the ogre arenas, forced to fight for his freedom, he had lost his weapon hand. But a warrior never used missing limbs as an excuse. He had the largest blade available fused to his bone, and from there, he cut a bloody swath through ogres, orcs, and countless challengers until even the gladiatorial master fell before him. With that victory, Kargath took control of his clan and forged the Shattered Hand.

He shook his head lightly as the memories surfaced. As much as he loved a good fight, guarding against the Dark Iron dwarves had become tedious. Their resistance had all but ceased months ago, and they no longer opened their black iron gates to push him out of their mountain. If he had the means, Kargath would have broken down those gates himself, but he lacked the magic to do so.

Facing Doomhammer, Kargath shifted into a battle stance.

"Mak'gora!" Kargath roared. His warriors stepped back, ensuring no one could accuse them of interference.

Doomhammer simply beckoned him forward, confident as ever. With a mighty war cry, Kargath charged, swinging his bladed fist at the Warchief.

But just as his blade was about to strike, Doomhammer sidestepped with surprising agility for someone his size and swung his warhammer. The force shattered Kargath's blade—a weapon crafted from the finest dark iron. The impact sent shockwaves through his bones, rattling his body and forcing him back.

However, there was no follow-up attack. To Kargath's surprise, he was still alive. Doomhammer could have crushed his head in that moment of vulnerability, but he stayed his hand. Confused, Kargath looked up at the Southern Warchief.

"Why?" he asked.

"I do not want your death, Kargath," Doomhammer said, his voice firm. "I came here to reunite the Horde. What was once halved will be whole again."

Kargath's eyes widened at the proposal, but then he frowned. "Ner'zhul will never allow it. The Great Shaman is too respected by the clans."

Suddenly, a low, rumbling laugh echoed from behind Doomhammer. Kargath's attention shifted to a figure in black, one he had initially dismissed. The figure stepped forward, coming to stand beside Doomhammer as if they were equals. Then, with scarred green hands, the hood was pulled back to reveal a face Kargath never thought he'd see again.

"Hah hah hah," Gul'dan, the warlock thought dead, chuckled darkly. "Respect is good. Fear, however, is better."

"As you can see," Doomhammer said, drawing Kargath's gaze back to him, "Ner'zhul no longer concerns me. Now, what is your answer, Kargath Bladefist?"

Without hesitation, Kargath pounded his shattered hand against his chest and let out a mighty war cry.

"For the Horde!"

TBC…

AN: And the kick off to war begins!

First off, thanks to Icura for editing this, without whom I could not have done this, thank you again!

Secondly, thank you to all my patrons, your support and generosity helps in way you would never imagine. Thank you again!

Now onto the fic. Well, I'll spell it out, it is a timeskip, like I said what interludes are suppose to be used for :P That said, this chapter serve once purpose, to show where everything is currently as far as the Alliance, Horde and personal relationships of various people. I hope it was not to dense :D But, on another note, I had this in my outline before the whole Wow expansion dropped. Needless to say as I played the War Withing Expansion, my eyebrow raised when I realize they were touching on dwarves lore and making Alleria a major player. But, life eh?! Now some might ask why not Sylvanas, but realize that even in canon, Sylvanas, being the Ranger General never left Quel Thalas to push the Horde to the Dark Portal, being the Ranger General in training mean she need to stay home and be her mother right hand. Alleria and Vereesa, to put it bluntly, is expendable. Thank you for reading!

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Finally, as always, CC and discussions are always welcomed!