A Nerubian's Journey

“Are you certain that Azjol-Nerub can provide this many arachnathids, Krivax?” asked Archmage Runeweaver, his voice echoing slightly from the other side of the scrying crystal.

After a bit of evaluation, Dalaran eventually decided that the arachnathids would likely be the most useful variant of beast to throw against the Horde. This was for a variety of reasons, including their production rate, general size and strength, and also their ability to dig shallow burrows for ambushes. There was also the fact that Dalaran’s mages generally found it easier to control a single arachnathid rather than a swarm of skitterers.

“It should not be a problem, Ansirem, this is easily within the kingdom’s production capacity,” Krivax said confidently.

The two of them had been in consistent communication ever since Azjol-Nerbub and Dalaran had reached an agreement for the sale of beasts for the war. At some point, the Archmage had insisted that they drop the formalities and call each other by their first names, something Krivax was glad for.

“As it is, the only problem is the jormungar. The artifacts you offered to purchase them are sufficient, but High King is not willing to approve the deal until you’ve shown that the Alliance is capable of properly controlling them.”

The last thing that Azjol-Nerub needed from a diplomatic perspective was for one of their giant worms to go rampaging through a city just because the people they sold it to were unable to control it. Krivax knew that if something like that happened, the aristocrats of the Eastern Kingdoms wouldn’t hesitate to lay the blame at Azjol-Nerub’s feet to save their own skin.

Archmage Runeweaver frowned before speaking with a tone that was clearly frustrated, “Unfortunately, there are very few people here who use Life magic. We have made attempts to recruit from the Thornspeakers, and we’ve even sent an Arcanist to speak to the witches of Gilneas, but our efforts have not had as much success as we hoped.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Krivax asked curiously. He knew very little about either the Thornspeakers or the witches as they were both rather obscure parts of Warcraft lore.

At least Krivax believed they were. He had stopped paying attention to Warcraft sometime before Kul’Tiras was an available zone in the game, so it was possible that was why he had never heard of the Thornspeakers.

“Well, to tell the truth, neither of those groups has a close relationship with their respective kingdoms,” said Runeweaver. “The Thornspeakers generally keep to themselves, but there are many superstitious legends about them in Kul’Tiran society.” Runeweaver paused hesitantly before he continued speaking. “Kul’Tiras is a land of… strange magics. The locals have rightfully learned to be cautious of things they do not understand.”

Krivax took a moment to absorb the Archmage’s words. It made him feel worried whenever he heard about something that wasn’t included in his metaknowledge, such as the ‘strange magics’ of Kul’Tiras. But that was something that he was just going to have to get used to; he had already completely thrown the canon plot off the rails, so he needed to learn how to roll with the punches.

“What about the witches?” Krivax asked after a moment of silence.

“That story is a regretful one,” said Runeweaver, his tone filled with melancholy. “Although the witches of old once used their magic to increase the agrarian yields of their local villages, they were driven nearly to extinction by the persecution of peasants with the rise of organized religion such as the Church of Holy Light, and the arcane magics introduced by the high elves, old traditions were quickly supplanted, trading it for fear and misunderstanding as fewer people dabbled in it. It came to a boiling point a few centuries ago, there was a panic that spread through the Eastern Kingdoms after a coven of witches in Drustvar, a region in Kul’tiras, destroyed a village for some kind of ritual. Nowadays you are very unlikely to see any witches outside of Gilneas.”

Krivax could easily imagine the consequences of an event like that.

“I see… then how does Dalaran intend to resolve this issue?” asked Krivax. “If you wish to control the jormungar, then you will need someone capable of using Nature magic in addition to one of our controlling artifacts.”

“We haven’t had much luck in Gilneas, but we have found a few Nature mages in Kul’Tiras who are willing to come out of isolation and help,” said Runeweaver before letting out an amused chuckle. “Although I would advise against calling them that to their face. They prefer to be referred to as either Thornspeakers or ‘Practitioners of the Old Ways.’”

Krivax thought about them as druids in his head, but he wouldn’t have any problem calling them whatever they wanted. Azeroth was in for some difficult times in the future, and having these kinds of fringe organizations grow more involved in their societies could only be a good thing.

Krivax discussed the logistical details of the deal with Ansirem for nearly an hour before they both began sharing information.

“Ansirem, I’ve recently heard rumors from our enclave in Dalaran that Archmage Krasus hasn’t been seen in the city for several weeks. Has something happened?” asked Krivax. It was difficult to know for certain if his anonymous letter had done its job, so he was hoping he could get some information out of Archmage Runeweaver.

“Everything is fine. Archmage Krasus has simply left Dalaran to take care of a few personal matters.”

“When are you expecting him to return?” asked Krivax, hoping that Krasus hadn’t managed to get himself captured and that the Council of Six was simply covering up his disappearance “It would not be a good sign if one of Dalaran’s leaders appeared to up and vanish from the city not long before the Horde invaded.

“According to the message he sent just yesterday, the Archmage will return to the city in just a few weeks.”

Krivax let out a sigh of relief now that he had probable confirmation that Krasus wasn’t currently chained up in Grim Batol. There was some chance that the messages were faked by Deathwing, but the mad dragon would likely prefer to sow panic by making it seem like the Archmage just disappeared into the night.

“Have the Knights of the Silver Hand truly completed their training so quickly? This seems a bit… rushed,” Ansirem asked dubiously.

Not long after the formation of the Alliance, a few days at most, Archbishop Faol and Supreme Commander Lothar announced that the Church of the Holy Light would be creating a new branch of the church, an order of warriors trained in wielding the Light. The Archbishop had then quickly started training the first members of the so-called ‘Knights of the Silver Hand’; Turalyon, Uther, Tirion Fordring, Saidan Dathrothan, and Gavinrad the Dire.

Krivax knew that these five men would become the first Paladins of Azeroth, and legends in their own rights, but Archmage Runeweaver did not know that.

“Yes, they have. I would not worry too much about it, Ansirem,” said Krivax. “According to Anub’rekhan, they are all highly skilled warriors who are more than prepared for the war.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Runeweaver, sounding relieved. “Although if Admiral Proudemoore’s boasts are to be believed, there may be hope that their skills might not be required.”

Proudemoore had not been shy about declaring that the Horde would never be able to defeat the Alliance’s navy and set foot on the northern portion of the continent. Their only other option was to try and cross the bridge connecting the northern and southern portions of the continent, Thandol Span. Given the efforts that Stromgarde had put in to fortify said bridge, attempting to cross it would be suicide.

Although many believed the Admiral’s claims, Krivax wasn’t sure how to feel about his odds. In canon, he’d primarily failed to hold back the Horde’s navy due to their enslaved dragons, but that was likely no longer a factor. That wouldn’t stop the initial battle, however, as the Horde had relied on their superior numbers to land enough troops in Hillsbrad Foothills.

But on the other hand, Krivax was certain that Deathwing would make efforts to make up for their loss, though how he intended to do that was uncertain. If he wasn’t able to find a replacement, Krivax could easily imagine Deathwing taking the field himself.

If that happened, then the Alliance fleet wouldn’t last long before being burnt to ash. Although, if he did that then he would probably end up facing the combined power of the other Aspects as well as every Archmage in the Eastern Kingdoms.

Not even Deathwing was confident enough to go up against such odds alone.

The two of them speculated some more about the Horde’s chances against the Alliance navy before moving on to other topics.

One of them included Azjol-Nerub's decision to send a few of their elite soldiers to capture some of the Horde's Death Knights for study. After Anub'rekhan heard the news, he insisted on accompanying them on their mission and left Capital City to meet the elite soldiers in Dalaran.

Masruk had wanted to join as well, but he was still too young to be considered an elite soldier, to his extreme disappointment.

After they finished discussing that, Ansirem brought up a topic that was recently giving Krivax a bit of a headache, “I’ve heard that there have been some tensions in Capital City between your delegation and the nobles?”

Yeah, that…

Relations between the nerubians and the nobles had been steadily improving until it felt like things took a turn for the worse about a week ago. The strangest thing about it was that Krivax couldn’t pinpoint a single source or reason that was the cause of the tension. It felt like overnight nobles, who were previously either supportive or ambivalent to their presence, now looked at them with suspicion or spread rumors of them having malign intentions.

It had gotten so bad that their deal with Alterac was being delayed because Count Dalton’s son had suddenly gone to his father and declared his opposition to the deal.

Azjol-Nerub’s leadership believed that the shift was a result of one of the human kingdoms spreading rumors, but Krivax knew that there was likely a different explanation.

It hadn’t taken very long before Hadix somehow reached the conclusion that the Void was increasing its presence in Capital City and had run off to investigate. The Vizier was not happy when he discovered that someone was using the Void to turn people against Azjol-Nerub.

Unfortunately, even if Deathwing was using his Void magic to sow distrust toward nerubians in the minds of the aristocracy, there wasn’t much he could do about it given couldn’t remember the name of Deathwing's human form.

Krivax was keeping his many eyes peeled for a suspicious human noble that was running around and causing problems, but he hadn’t had any luck yet.

Still… doesn’t he have better things to do? It’s not like a few rumors and a couple of distrustful nobles are going to tear apart the Alliance. What is his plan?

It made him feel worried to know that Deathwing was probably sneaking around the city, and a part of him worried that the changes he had made would end up being for the worse.

The only thing that Krivax could do was hope that this was a temporary problem. Deathwing would need to leave eventually to assist the Horde and it would likely become difficult for him to stay in Capital City in the long term. If everything had gone to plan, then Krasus and Alexstrasza were likely rallying the other Aspects and their Flights to confront Deathwing. He wouldn’t be able to stay here once the city was secretly crawling with dragons.

He’s probably just here to gather information or something, and the spiteful bastard decided to take a potshot at us while he’s here, Krivax thought hopefully. It was the only thing that made sense to him given the information he had available to him.

“There have been some tensions, yes, but I don’t believe it’s anything to worry about,” Krivax said with more confidence than he felt.

The Archmage hummed doubtfully but didn't comment any further on the matter. After that, there was not much left for them to discuss and they both said their farewells before ending their meeting. Krivax was sure that he would be speaking to the Archmage again soon given that he was the one handling most of the day-to-day diplomacy for the delegation. And now that the war was escalating and Azjol-Nerub had begun supplying the Alliance with arachnathids and other war beasts, there was a lot for the delegation to do.

Krivax put away the scrying crystal and turned his attention back to the numerous diplomatic letters that he needed to sort through. As he began his work, Krivax couldn’t help but wish that he could do more than he currently was. Unfortunately, there was no easy way for him to drastically increase his strength in a short amount, and his metaknowledge grew less useful every day as Azeroth’s history shifted further from what he remembered.

Sure, there was still a lot that he could do and more information that he could share, but Krivax couldn’t think of much he could do in the immediate future. For now, he would just have to wait to see where the chips landed after he sent his letter to Krasus. The first signs of change would be obvious once it came time for the Horde and the Alliance to have their fateful, first naval battle. Krivax didn’t know specifically when it would happen, but all signs pointed to it happening soon.

Eventually, he was certain that he would see an opportunity for him to be more proactive.

In the meantime, I’ll just continue studying my magic while doing my best to become a good diplomat. If I manage to do a good enough job, the leadership might trust me enough so that I’m not being babysat by Hadix or Anub’rekhan.

Azjol-Nerub wasn’t exactly overflowing with capable diplomats, so there was a chance Krivax could accumulate a decent amount of political power in his current position. As he was musing on his current situation and plans for the future, Krivax suddenly paused as his attention was grabbed by the contents of a particular letter, one that he had received from Stormwind.

Hmm… this holds promise.

Situated next to a bay in the Wetlands north of Khaz Modan was a large Horde encampment filled with orcs and ogres eager for battle. Ships could be seen being docked in the bay, primarily captained by goblins, while several others were currently under construction.

Inside a large tent in the center of this encampment, Orgrim Doomhammer growled in anger as he listened to the goblin share his latest reports of the Horde’s naval might, and how it compared to the Alliance.

Not only did the Horde not have much experience with constructing ships, sailing, and fighting at sea, but they were newcomers to this world, who simply had not had enough time to construct a naval fleet. As a result, Orgrim had been forced to use the wealth they had plundered from Stormwind to purchase ship-building services, maps, information, and mercenaries from the tiny green creatures that called themselves goblins.

“Listen, Mr. Warchief, things really aren’t looking all that good for you right now,” said the annoying little creature, a goblin by the name of Gitzik Smugbit, a representative of the Steamwheedle Cartel. “Things were looking better when you were promisin’ dragons that could burn up the human ships, but without that, your ships are going to get sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Sure, you’ll be able to get past the Alliance at first, on account of there being so many of you, but that’s not going to fix your long-term problems, understand? As it is, you’re going to need to put out a lot of gold to hire captains willing to send themselves and their ships into an obvious suicide job, big guy.”

Although he had instructed some of his men to learn how to construct ships and sail, Orgrim knew something like that would take years to accomplish. Therefore most of their fleet currently came from Steamwheedle mercenary captains and their ships.

Orgrim held back the urge to smash the little creature’s head with his hammer as it told him things he didn’t want to hear. The Horde had enough enemies, and from what he could tell, the Steamwheedle Cartel was not a group he wished to casually antagonize.

“Is your Cartel truly incapable of providing the ships we need to overcome the humans?” Orgrim asked impatiently. “We still have more than enough gold from our conquering of Stormwind, and there will be plenty more after we destroy the rest of the human kingdoms.”

“Look, buddy. I love gold as much as any self-respecting goblin, but I also love living to enjoy that gold more,” said Gitzik, his tone irreverent as he explained the situation to Orgrim. “Trade Prince Steemwheelde is willing to provide you guys with anything you need to win this war, but nothing we give is going to let you win against a navy as powerful as the one you’re up against. It was a different story before, but it’s looking like you’re out of luck, Mr. Warchief.”

Orgrim let out a stream of curses the second that the goblin left.

“Damn that fool, Zuluhed! I should have never trusted that he would be able to keep his worthless promises!”

When Zuluhed the Whacked had come to him with tales that he had received visions of a powerful artifact that could be turned against the humans and requested permission to go find it, Orgrim had allowed him to do so. Zuluhed was a Chieftain and Orgrim had believed that the man had the best interests of the Horde in mind.

Also, there was a part of him that hoped that Zuluhed’s visions were a sign that the elements were forgiving his people for turning away from them in favor of Gul’dan’s evil magic. Ever since their old world, Draenor, had been ruined by the warlocks, none of their shamans had received a single vision.

Those hopes grew after Zuluhed returned with an artifact of such strength that raw unfettered power practically emanated from it in waves. Zuluhed promised to use the artifact, which he called the Demon Soul, to enslave the flying firebreathing lizards of this world to use against the humans, and Orgrim had centered all of his plans around this promise.

However, instead of dragons, the only thing coming from Grim Batol were hideous mutated dwarves that had suddenly risen from beneath the fortress! The only reason they hadn’t needlessly lost orc lives was because that freakish ogre Cho’gall managed to control the creatures like he controlled the Twilight’s Hammer clan.

Now, promises had been left unfulfilled and Orgrim was left looking like a fool as the Horde had no way to defeat the human navy.

Orgrim stewed in his anger for several minutes before he was interrupted by a grunt entering his tent and giving an orcish salute, tapping his fist twice against his chest.

“Warchief, Cho’gall of the Twilight’s Hammer clan has requested an audience!”

Think of the monster, and he will come…

Orgrim didn’t like Cho’gall; the ogre was as insane as the clan that he led and several times as dangerous. Although the members of the Twilight’s Hammer were pitiful creatures twisted by dark and dangerous magic that Orgrim did not understand, very few of them could be considered an actual threat.

Cho’gall on the other hand was a powerful two-headed ogre, a creature of both great physical and magical strength that was significantly more intelligent than his single-headed kin.

But Orgrim couldn’t exactly afford to ignore him. The Horde needed the strength of the Twilight’s Hammer, especially now that the ogre had increased the number of monsters under his command.

“Let him in.”

The grunt quickly nodded before retreating in the direction that he came. A few moments later, the massive form of Cho’gall was making its way into the tent. Like the rest of his kin, the ogre wore little other than a loincloth and a little armor over his stomach.

“Speak, Cho’gall,” Orgrim said impatiently. He didn’t want to waste any more time speaking to the ogre than necessary.

“Warchief, I have heard that the Horde is having difficulty finding a way to overcome the humans’ ships,” said Cho’gall, his more intelligent head speaking while his other, single-eyed head hummed and made strange noises. “I have come to offer you my services.”

“I see you’re following in your master’s footsteps, ogre,” Orgrim said derisively. “Just like Gul’dan, you come to me with promises of using your foul magics to solve all of my problems.”

Before the more intelligent head could respond, the stupid one decided to speak first, “Gul’dan is not my master! No, no! My master is the Old Ones! Dark Ones! Whispers in the nights.”

Hmph. Pathetic fool.

“Are you dissatisfied with the Death Knights provided by Gul’dan, Warchief? Do you have a reason to doubt my promises?”

Orgrim almost wished that he could say yes, so he could have an excuse to slaughter Gul’dan, Cho’gall, and the last few remaining members of the Shadow Council. He would never forget the role they played in ruining his people, nor would he forgive.

But for now, he needed them. Orgrim swallowed his anger before responding to the ogre, “Go on then, Cho’gall. Tell me what new monstrosities you wish to give me.”

“My plan is quite simple, Warchief. You were correct to believe that we need dragons to defeat the human ships. Given that Zuluhed has failed to capture live ones that we can use, I propose we simply raise their corpses into undeath as we do for our Death Knights.”

Orgrim paused as he considered the ogre’s words. Undead dragons would certainly solve most of his problems, but the problems with that were obvious.

“Where do you expect me to find dragon corpses, you fool?! If finding them were so easy, then I would have already thought of this myself!” shouted Orgrim, angry that the ogre was wasting his time.

“There is one dragon corpse waiting where Zuluhed left it, but I understand your concerns. Fortunately, my gods know where to find these corpses, Warchief. Allow me to prove it to you,” said Cho’gall, his expression twisting into an insane smile before he reached into the bag strapped to his side and pulled out a strange book. Orgrim took a moment to study the book before his expression turned into one of anger and revulsion.

“This is a book that I created myself, Warchief. I call it the Twilight Canticle,” said Cho’gall, both of his heads showing a sick amount of pride as he displayed a book made of flesh.

“And where did you get the flesh to make that foul book, ogre?” asked Orgrim, his voice filled with disgust.

“From the Pale. They were more than eager to donate their flesh for the cause,” Cho’gall said calmly as if his life was not currently in danger.

Orgrim paused and took a closer look at the so-called ‘Twilight Canticle,’ realizing that the skin was a paler color than that of a typical orc. It matched what he would expect from a member of the Twilight’s Hammer Clan, who were typically paler than a normal orc, leading to most members of the Horde to refer to them as the Pale.

“Why are you showing me this? I have no interest in your hobbies or those of your insane followers.”

“The Twilight Canticle is the culmination of my efforts to attune myself to the gods of this world, and through it, they share with me their wisdom,” Cho’gall explained patiently. The ogre turned the book to its last page. “It is through this that reveals to me the way forward, and shows me the location of dead dragons.”

As Orgrim examined the last page of the disgusting book, a crude but still usable map, he felt a distinct suspicion that someone or something was using his Horde for its own ends. He had already started to grow slightly suspicious after hearing about Zuluhed’s visions, although part of him wished to believe their source was pure, but now he was nearly certain that he was being manipulated.

This was the second time that one of his people had come to him with a way to overcome the humans with knowledge gifted to them from an unverifiable source. He would be a fool not to see what was happening; it was so obvious that Orgrim wondered why the source of this information even bothered hiding.

It was times like this that made him seriously consider finishing his purge of the dishonor and darkness that infested Horde. He was beginning to believe that his half-measures were more trouble than they were worth and he should solely rely on the strength of the Horde itself and nothing else to see them to victory… but he still needed their strength. For now.

The second they took Capital City though… he would certainly revisit the thought.

“How many dragons can we reanimate?” asked Orgrim with a sense of resignation. Despite how suspicious this all was, he knew that he had few options. “The Death Knights are reanimated using the souls of dead warlocks. How many of those do we have left?”

“None, Warchief, we have used them all to create what Death Knights we already have,” said Cho’gall, his voice losing some of its insanity now that he was talking about logistics instead of his vile book. “Any dragons that we reanimate will lack consciousness, and their movements will be sloppy and slow in comparison to their living counterparts. They will need to be actively guided if they are to be of any use.”

Orgrim grunted thoughtfully as he considered what he had heard. Even with such limitations, these undead dragons would still be a force to be reckoned with and would be able to remain out of reach for most of the human forces.

“It would take the entire focus and most of the power of a single Death Knight to raise and maintain control of one undead dragon, therefore we are limited only by their own number,” Cho’gall continued to explain. “Of course, this also means that they will not be able to use their abilities to raise undead to fight alongside your warriors.”

Orgrim didn’t miss the fact that this would mean the undead dragons would be under the control of the Death Knights themselves. Although they claimed to be loyal to the Horde above all else, Orgrim could never forget that they were the creations of Gul’dan and former warlocks of the Shadow Council, those he personally killed even. He would have to take measures to defend the Horde should they turn against him.

“How many of these dragons can we have ready by the time we need to set sail?” Orgrim asked seriously. His Horde could not afford to wait long before they began running out of food and supplies. Not to mention that if they waited too long the humans would be prepared for their arrival and make any invasion a much riskier endeavor.

“Controlling such powerful undead beasts is well beyond what the Death Knights have had to do so far. It will require training to learn how to do so effectively,” said Cho’gall. “The most skilled, such as Teron Gorefiend, will likely be able to learn quickly. The rest will learn over the course of the invasion… we can likely have two or three prepared in the time you have given.”

Two or three… that much would have likely been enough if the dragons were alive, but if they were as slow and sloppy as Cho’gall claimed, then there was a high risk they would be torn apart by cannon fire.

Just as Orgrim was about to ask if there was anything that could be done to speed up the Death Knight’s training, the ogre interrupted him.

“Of course, I understand that two or three dragons may not be enough. However, my masters offer other gifts as well,” said Cho’gall, turning to a different page in his book.

As Orgrim read through the page’s contents, a small part of him couldn’t help but be glad that these dark forces were currently working in his favor… for now at least. If the contents of this book were accurate, then the Alliance had no idea about the dangers hiding in their midst.