A Nerubian's Journey

Travard and the other remaining members of Tyr’s Guard, their ancient and now much-reduced order, watched as the deepest vault in Bastion of the Silver Hand in Stratholme was closed and tightly locked. Five fiendishly clever gnomish locks kept a dwarven forged vault door secured; the keys to these locks were given over to five of the most honorable and trusted people that Travard could think of to hold them.

From within the vault Lord Tyr’s body rested once more, hopefully forevermore.

“Thank you again for doing this, and taking us in,” Travad and his fellows bowed slightly to the five men before him.

“It is an honor, and the least we can do for your order’s long vigil to protect our world,” Sir Uther said, his fellow founding members nodding along as they stood with them. “And coming to Capital City’s aid while we could not.”

“And fighting alongside our teacher in his final moments,” Sir Turalyon thanked them, sadness still tinging his voice even after so long after the Archbishop’s funeral.

“I simply wish we had been able to do more,” Travard admitted in shame. “We failed in our duties and it cost so many lives.”

“You did all you could in the face of such great evil and suffered greatly for it,” Sir Gavinrad assured him. “You went above and beyond the call of duty rushing to Capital City’s aid after the beast, this Zakajz, was broken free from his prison by Deathwing and most of your order was slain. It is thanks to your efforts that the Archbishop was able to lay it low.”

“He died like a true hero, and the Light holds him now,” Sir Saidan continued. “And now part of your ancient mission is done too, or at least you don’t have to shoulder it alone. I’m sure that soon they’ll find a way to get rid of that eyesore of a corpse and we’ll heal the damage it has done in time. The Light gives us strength after all.”

Travad grimaced at the reminder of the not-quite-dead remains of the Corruptor in Capital City.

The region around the C’thrax had been quarantined through the combined efforts of the Church, Kirin Tor, and the dragons to prevent the spread of its dark influence. Thoradin’s sword was plunged once again through the creature to keep it from rising again and the former king’s spirit, who dwelt in the sword, kept vigil over the remains of the foul creature.

That was to speak nothing of the ‘Void Scar,’ as it was being called. The Corruptor traveled a wide, straight path from its place of confinement beneath Tyr’s Fall, more commonly known as Tirisfal Lake, to Capital City. As it journeyed, its flowing blood tainted the landscape, causing mutations and changes. In addition, it unleashed a horde of repugnant, lesser abominations.

Like with the Corruptor’s corpse, efforts were being taken to quarantine the Scar and cleanse it with the aid of the so-called ‘Dragon Queen’, but the Void was insidious and the damage done was great. It was estimated that it would take more than a year to ensure most of the corruption was removed from the land, and significantly longer for everything to be completely restored to how it once was.

To say nothing of the near pitch-black churning lake itself and the unfortunate settlements that were in the monster’s path.

Travad had seen the result of the creature’s passing too many times while rushing towards Capital City, whole hamlets and villages reduced to nothing. Or worse, only partly destroyed from the Corrupter’s path itself and the survivors ravaged by its ‘offspring’ or corrupted by its blood.

He gave what peace he could to those he could while on the move, and never with a light hand.

“Worry not, for our newest allies will heal the harm that has been done, and we will be there to help them,” Sir Tirion, likely guessing his thoughts, assured him. “And now our Order will hold and defend Tyr’s body as yours did for so long. Oddly fitting, given our order’s name,” he finished with a chuckle.

Travad couldn’t help but agree given the symbolism.

The sad fact was that after Deathwing’s attack on Tyr’s tomb, his order, never large in the first place given its secretive nature and known only to a few family lines, were now made up of less than a dozen members. In addition, when they took Tyr’s Hand with them to Capital City the tomb had collapsed, a part of its ancient failsafe system to deny its secrets to Tyr’s enemies.

Now the tomb was gone, Tyr’s body had been securely moved to the Silver Hand’s headquarters, and their prisoner was now in quarantine in Capital City.

Thankfully the Knights of the Silver Hand’s kindness knew no bounds and had happily welcomed them within their ranks if they so chose. They were happy to take up the offer.

“We are not as skilled warriors as you all are, but our order has long used the fighting styles of our distant ancestors and power provided by Tyr’s hammer to aid in our mission. I hope in time we can all become proper paladins such as you,” Travad stated with confidence.

“Not unless I beat you there first, brother,” his brother Galford ribbed him while punching him in the shoulder, raising chuckles all around from those present.

“And we are honored to have you among us,” Sir Uther said with a smile. “And worry not, we will record and honor your order’s history and traditions as well. I’m sure you wish to keep up your duty in protecting Tyr’s body after all.”

“Ideally, yes. But recent events show we cannot be idle either, and we hope you can count on us when we drive the Horde back from the southern part of the continent,” Travad said with conviction.

“But of course! More blades are never a bad thing!” Sir Saidan laughed.

“We hope we prove worthy of being new members of your family,” Sir Turalyon said sincerely.

It would take some getting used to the loss of secrecy. Tyr’s Hand had been made up from the blood of only a select few family lines over the millennia since their original giant ancestors and new members rarely joined through merit or marriage with all children raised to carry out the duty. Travad was sure it would be a good change in the long run.

“But come, we must be on our way,” Sir Gavinrad said as they all began their ascent into the Bastion proper, past hidden and well-defended doors. “The scribes are eager to learn more about the truth of Tyr’s past, our ancient giant ancestors, and more to add to our growing library about our noble progenitors.”

“After one last thing, of course,” Sir Tirion said as they returned to the main floor of the Bastion and its central room.

Travad nodded as he went up to a recently installed plinth and gently inserted Tyr’s Hand, the weapon he had not let out of his grasp since he had removed it from the tomb except for one time to let Archbishop Faol use it to channel the Light’s power that day.

He stepped back and watched as the hammer’s radiant glow spread and seeped out throughout the entire Bastion, finding a new place to protect with its holy power. All could feel the Light flow through and energize them, its comforting warmth filling their beings.

“May Tyr’s Light shelter us all in its new home, and pray that the need to take up his hammer does not come again,” Sir Uther spoke up.

Travad dearly prayed they never would have to.

—----------------------

They both waited outside of the royal bedchamber, fidgeting in worry and barely contained anxiety that they fought to keep under control. The King’s Guard standing by the doors said nothing, standing in silent vigil, but in the privacy of their own thoughts, they could not help but pity them.

After all, no children should have to see their father cling to life.

They jumped as the bedchamber doors opened and Queen Regent Lianne Menethil walked through it, her children rushing up to her and looking at her with one simple unasked question.

“Your father is well enough to see you both right now,” she said with a small smile, her statement causing some joy to return to her children’s faces. “But be calm and try not to tire him out too much. He needs his rest.”

“Yes, mother,” Crown Prince Arthas and Princess Calia said simultaneously as they rushed past her and into the bedchamber itself. They quickly passed through the large room to their father’s bedside.

King Terenas Menethil II rested upon a large comfortable bed and was reclining in as comfortable a position as was possible. A high-ranking priest of the Holy Light was sitting by the king’s bedside at all times to see to his health with a tray of potions and artifacts of the Light.

Sadly, despite all the care given to him, he was a shell of the man he once was. Gaunt, pale, and sickly looking, his horrid-looking injuries, covered by bandages and robes, caused him constant pain he could not escape. Most times it was a struggle for him to stay awake, but he sometimes had enough energy and clarity of thought to speak to his wife about the state of the kingdom, the Alliance, and most importantly about their children.

Once she became aware of the situation, Alexstrasza had personally come to Capital City to attempt to heal King Menethil’s injuries, but the Void had already done much damage to his body. As it was, it was a miracle he was alive at all and not corrupted by the Void, but even the stray shot on the palace from the C'Thrax had left its mark and crippled him.

The Dragon Queen claimed she would have been able to easily heal most instances of Void corruption, but the C’thrax who had attacked their city was known as Zakajz the Corruptor for a reason. It was well known for possessing an unprecedentedly virulent form of Void magic that constantly shifted and changed, which made any injuries from the creature extremely difficult to cleanse.

The Void was especially insidious and attempts to prevent it from further spreading throughout the King’s body had left him weak and often tired. During his best times, he smiled warmly and greeted his children lovingly despite his injuries and general lethargic state.

A true King stayed strong for those they loved after all.

“My children, I hope you are well,” he said weakly, reaching out to them. Brother and sister gently hugged their father so as to not cause him any additional pain. “Keeping up with your lessons, I hope. I can’t be looking over your shoulder all the time anymore.”

“Of course, father,” Arthas said with a strained smile. “I’m studying hard, training in the yard every day, and I ride with Invincible through the city to look over reconstruction efforts.”

“I’m using the bow now, too!” Calia said with pride, before speaking again with some fear. “I have to help protect everyone if a monster comes again.”

“I’m sure it won’t happen again, darling. But in case it does, I know you two will be there to protect our people,” Terenas said with a strained but genuine smile. “Just keep working hard and help your mother as much as you possibly can, but also find time to have fun for yourselves too. All work and no play will turn you both into dull elves,” he mockingly warned.

His children laughed at his words, cherishing these rare moments when life almost felt normal for them again as they talked with their father about everything, from important matters to the most trivial of things just to have something to do with him since he could not move far from his bed anymore.

But even like this they could enjoy their father’s company for a time… until, that is, his energy left him and he started to violently cough.

The royal siblings could only stand still in worry as the priest’s hands glowed and he ran them over their father’s form to provide some form of comfort. The coughing slowly stopped, but it was clear that their father was no longer in the state to receive them.

With great amounts of regret on both sides, the siblings said goodbye to their father and promised to return when he was better. They then slowly exited the bedchamber, passing their mother nearby who kept a respectful distance while her children spent time with their father.

She could see the tears in their eyes even as the door closed behind them.

Lianne could only sigh as she turned back to her husband and sat by his side.

“They miss you terribly and pray constantly for you to recover,” she told him.

“Heh, I’m afraid that if a being as powerful as Alexstrasza cannot fix me then there isn’t much that can,” Terenas laughed sardonically, which turned into a wheezing cough. “Ah, worse than death but better than what could have been. I’m so sorry to put all the responsibility on you and Arthas now. He shouldn’t have had to bear the duties of a king so early.”

“Life rarely makes things convenient for us all,” Lianne pointed out. “Still, despite everything I am glad you still live and I promise to look after Lordaeron in your stead until you recover or Arthas is able to take the throne. He is working harder than ever these days. He and Varian practically live in the courtyard now sparring. Arthas wants to make you proud and he’ll be a great ruler one day.”

“Since he has you as a mother I’m sure he will be a better king than I ever was,” Teranas chuckled lightly.

“One can only hope our children take most after me,” she agreed with a smirk.

“Hehe, the Queen knows best… Now, what news about everything else?” he asked seriously.

“Are you sure? Maybe after you rest for a bit-”

“I’m not dead yet, and if my wife has to shoulder the whole kingdom for me the least I can do is stay informed and offer what counsel I can when able,” he interrupted her while taking her hand. “Please let this worthless bag of bones be of use to you for as long as I’m able.”

“Of course, my love,” she returned as she started updating him about the state of the world and decisions going forward.

For no matter how much pain he suffered, the world moved forward and it was still the job of a monarch and a father to leave behind a better life for his subjects and his children, something he was determined to do even from a sick bed.

—----------------------

With the end of what scholars were already calling ‘The Second Great War’ or just ‘the Second War’ for short, preparations to reestablish control over the southern half of the continent was beginning to take place. Part of the Alliance military had been sent off to help repair the damage done by the Horde during its destructive invasion through the various lands and kingdoms.

Although the Horde had failed in its objective to break the Alliance and most of its leadership and forces were defeated or captured, they had devastated the villages, roads, and the farmlands along their path and much work had to be done to restore them.

Many noble sons and daughters, who joined the Alliance’s military, also received special leave of absence to return home and help in rebuilding efforts on their family lands which had been heavily affected by the Horde’s passing.

Othmar Garithos, knight and heir to House Garithos, found himself returning to Eastweald and his hometown of Blackwood built along a lake of the same name.

Sadly, it was far from a joyful return… but it wasn’t the worst that it could have been.

Othmar had asked his father’s permission to leave home and join the Alliance of Lordaeron’s war effort against the Horde to uphold the honor of his house. He left with dreams of stopping this evil force, protecting the innocent, and defending places like his home.

All of which he did… but at a terrible cost. While he was away, the Horde had come for Blackwood.

By all accounts, it wasn’t even their main target. Rather a random band of orcs, ogres, trolls, and whatever other foul monster saw an easy mark while the rest of the Horde invaded Quel’Thalas and the Alliance focused its efforts on fighting them and aiding the high elves.

His father, the brave and noble man that he was, had rallied the few remaining defenders to protect their people… and had fallen in doing so. Blackwood as a whole would have met the same fate, its defenders nearly overwhelmed, were it not for timely reinforcements from an unlikely source.

Before the war, Othmar would have admitted that he didn’t care much for spiders at all, especially the giant variety. But when he returned home to see nerubians, those strange spidermen from Northrend, aiding in Blackwood’s defense and restoration he was quite gobsmacked. More so when his mother explained the situation to him.

He mourned his father and those who died defending his home, but thanked the Light profusely for preserving the rest of his family and the people under his family’s protection. Most of all, he profusely thanked the nerubians who came to their aid, even when they tried to write it off as part of their mission to perform reconnaissance of enemy raiding forces.

And now he helped direct the rebuilding of Blackwood alongside his newest allies and getting to know the spiderfolk better, finding them pleasant company.

“I recommend that the human known as Kristoff be appointed as your clerk and handle other administrative duties,” the female Weaver, the one in charge of this group and aiding in Blackwood’s reconstruction, known as Kamet'kavad suggested. “His skills in such things would have likely made him a Vizier if he were nerubian.”

“I will speak with the man first, but trust your assessment,” Othmar noted as he looked over the most recent reports on his desk. “Blackwood’s reconstruction is going well. Soon it will be as it once was, perhaps even better. I’m sure my father would have been pleased,” he said with a grunt of pride.

“It is natural for each generation to seek to improve upon the last,” Kamet, as he had taken to calling her for ease of use, agreed. “Soon this settlement will be productive again and can add its resources to the growing need of the Alliance as a whole.”

“Feh, using our food to feed murderous prisoners? Such a waste,” Othmar growled.

“It does seem like an ill-use of feedstock, but it has been made clear that exterminating the Horde is not an option the red dragons will agree with,” Kamet seemed to shrug carelessly. “Thus the best course of action is to concentrate and contain them so that they are properly controlled. Mayhaps in time they can be put to productive use to make up for the resource drain.”

“Least they can do after burning our homes,” Othmar agreed. What were a few decades of indentured servitude to those who caused such damage after all?

“At least the magical ability of the red dragons and high elves will stem the worst of the predicted famine and merely turn it into a lean year or two,” Kamet added.

“How magnanimous of them to come in and save the day after all the fighting is over,” Othmar growled.

First, the high elves insulted the Alliance as a whole by sending a pathetically minor force to aid the army and then they relied on the Alliance troops to save them when the Horde finally reached their front door. The dragons had defeated the Horde in a single day, but why did they wait until so many Alliance lives had been lost, countless homes destroyed, innocent people slain, and his home nearly overrun? He had trembled with anger at the news that the Capital City had been assaulted by a giant monster and nearly destroyed. Garithos had wept at the death of the Archbishop who had helped so many over his long life.

Why did the rest of them have to sacrifice so much for the sake of others who barely seemed to care?!

At least the nerubians, strange as they may be at times, were upfront and honest about things.

They had not joined the Alliance’s war with the Horde right away. They were still new after all and still trying to understand their suddenly expanded world, but they did provide access to their war beasts and specialists. Once they did join the war, they moved as fast as they could to get soldiers and powerful Spiderlords to the Eastern Kingdoms to assist despite the difficulties in moving their troops all the way from Northrend. Compared to the uppity high elves, who only cared to send their main army after the war affected them personally, and the dragons, who made demands for ending the war, the nerubians had acted in good faith with the Alliance. Now that the fighting here in the north was over, he had no doubt that the high elves were attempting to wiggle out of any future responsibility.

Self-important cowards!

“There is still much work to be done, and defenses should be strengthened to account for future threats such as Horde remnants, forest trolls, gnolls, bandits, and other potential issues that could plague a post-war environment,” Kamet listed. “You should also attempt to expand farming and other industries here in Blackwood and surrounding lands under your control to improve overall production.”

“We’ll get to it then,” Othmar confirmed. “While our soldiers go to reclaim the south we must be here to support them.”

“Indeed,” Kamet said simply. “We hope to continue our mutually beneficial relationship with each other, Baron Garithos.”

“And I, the same,” Othmar said honestly.

If the war had taught him anything, it was that in the face of crisis, you learned who were your true allies, who were the enemies that had to be destroyed, and who were the snakes in the grass ready to use you until you had nothing left to provide and then tossed you aside.

It had been humanity who helped save the high elves during the Trolls Wars and most recently, it was the dwarves and gnomes who helped occupy the Horde in the south, and the nerubians who fought with the Eastern Kingdoms without taking the easy option of staying back at home.

Othmar Garithos intended to take this lesson to heart.

—----------------------

While most of the Horde and its leadership were defeated and captured thanks to the efforts of the Alliance and its allies, that did not mean that the fighting was done.

There were still large numbers of the Horde’s soldiers squatting in the ruins of the kingdom of Stormwind, and naturally, the Dark Portal itself that connected their homeworld to Azeroth in the first place.

Already the Alliance was preparing a combined military force made up of the Seven Kingdoms, Aerie Peak, Quel’Thalas, the Church of the Holy Light and their paladins, Azjol-Nerub, and even a few of the Dragonflights to help reclaim it all and push the Horde back to the portal.

But there was much to be done at home still, such as dealing with other threats within their borders. Namely in the form of bands of Horde remnants who escaped capture into the countryside of various kingdoms that needed to be hunted down and dealt with one way or another. The last thing the Alliance wanted was threats at their backs while their forces were away, something Capital City had dealt with to terrible effect.

These remnants though would not be easy to find, their small size making it easy for them to disappear into the little-known places of the world. Which is why specialized task forces and groups were made to track them down, utilizing the skills and abilities of all the members of the Alliance while also encouraging interkingdom cooperation.

One of said groups would become legends in time, but for now were some of the most effective hunters of the Horde’s remnants throughout the Eastern Kingdoms.

Rhonin of Dalaran, Vereesa Windrunner of Quel’Thalas, and Falstad Wildhammer of Aerie Peak.

Three unlikely people made allies, fast friends, and for at least two of them… something more.

---

Rhonin still felt like a man who had to prove himself and make up for his mistakes. The Kirin Tor and the Council of Six, or Four as it currently was with Archmage Krasus’ leave of absence due to conflicting loyalties and Archmage Runeweaver still recovering from his injuries, had released him from his probation due to his brave actions in aiding in the defense of Capital City during the C'Thrax attack.

As an up-and-coming member of the Kirin Tor, Rhonin was as headstrong, reckless, and eager to prove himself as he was skilled in magic. Which is why early on in the war, his foolishness directly led to the death of several comrades. His actions were only forgiven due to the fact they helped prevent a group of orcs from using dark magic to summon a demon and cause more deaths.

Then came the C’thrax attack. Archmage Krasus or Korialstrasz, as he now preferred to be called, had commanded all available mages from Dalaran to defend the Capital City. He had yet to fully process that one of his teachers was secretly a dragon of all things for centuries. The fighting had been tough and he had found his magical spells barely sufficient in defeating the voidling creatures spawned by the monster.

Still, the whole series of recent events made it clear to him that he had much to learn, and not just about magic.

Thus when the Kirin Tor asked for volunteers among its members to assist in efforts to track down remnants of the Horde he had jumped at the chance, as a personal penance and further learning experience.

Which is why in recent weeks he had been traveling all over the Eastern Kingdoms alongside two companions, Vereesa Windrunner, and Falstad Wildhammer.

Their task was to track down various bands of orcs, trolls, and ogres who had escaped capture and either inform the closest army units or handle it themselves if they could. Despite his newly acquired respect for caution and clear thinking, he and his companions were usually able to deal with the Horde remnants themselves due to their not-insignificant combined skill.

Such as now…

“Warlock!” he yelled out in warning as he unleashed a bolt of fire at the dark magic user, which was sadly blocked with a Fel shield. Rhonin parried another orc’s ax with his staff before blasting him in the face with an arcane missile.

“If someone could do something about that, that would be great!”

“Did you suddenly run out of spells, human?!” Vereesa said as she fired off an arrow at a charging orc, downing it in a single shot.

“No, but it's rather hard to cast anything complex while fighting for our lives!” Rhonin pointed out as he let out a cone of frost to give them some space. “Though fighting alongside a woman as deadly as she is beautiful certainly helps encourage me to try better!”

“Will a wounding shot encourage you more?” Vereesa sneered as she dodged another strike and flashed out in retaliation with a dagger.

“Depends on the wound!” Rhonin admitted.

Thankfully, before they could be completely surrounded or the warlock could unleash any potent spells, lightning came down from the sky all around them as their third and arguably fourth companion finally arrived.

“Sorry to keep you both waiting, but it seemed like you had it handled!” Falstad Wildhammer laughed atop his mount and partner Swiftwing. The gryphon shrieked in agreement as it slashed through the orcs with his talons, while Falstad’s stormhammer unleashed small stormbolts into them as well.

Taking advantage of the momentary chaos, Rhonin finally had time to cast a proper spell and unleashed his own lightning bolt at the warlock, breaking through its shield and slaying it instantly.

After that, all that was left was the clean up.

---

Vereesa Windrunner did not expect her first official assignment as a ranger of Quel’Thalas to be as an escort to a human wizard and a gryphon-riding dwarf. She’d much rather be with her sister, Alleria, as the Alliance prepared to push into the southern part of the continent and drive back the Horde still located there.

But hunting down the foul monsters that were most likely a part of the force that attacked Quel’Thalas was a close second.

As for the why, beyond the fact they did so at all, well…

“The Horde killed my mother, my younger brother, and many extended family members when they burned through Eversong,” she stated in a deadpan voice as she sat around the fire with her ‘companions’, the arrogant human and the savage dwarf.

Silence greeted her declaration.

“Well… I’m sorry for your loss,” Rhonin, in one of the few times since she had met him, said with no wit or sarcasm. “And that I asked, honestly. Last thing I wanted was to bring up such fresh wounds. I was just curious why you were so willing to work with us and not other rangers, is all.”

“Although you vex me, I cannot deny your skill and both of your willingness to go into the deep wild places to hunt down our prey,” Vereesa admitted. “So you at least deserved the truth as to my motivations.”

“No need to explain yourself to us, lass. We get wanting to avenge kith and kin wrongly taken from us,” Falstad said as he brushed Swiftwing’s fur and feathers. “Just don’t be overly eager to join them, is all. I rather think they’d want to see you again after living a long and happy life.”

“Indeed,” Rhonin said. “Your family wouldn’t want you to destroy yourself seeking revenge on their behalf, but at least you are among friends and comrades who will support and back you up when you need it. We will help make sure their spirits and the spirits of countless others can rest well as we bring those responsible to justice. Just don’t be too willing to throw yourself into danger is all. Speaking from personal experience, that is a fast way to getting yourself or others killed.”

“I… will keep both your advice in mind,” Veressa said quietly as she cared for her bow and arrows.

‘Maybe he isn’t as vexing as I thought,’ she thought in the privacy of her own mind.

---

“On the right!”

“I see them!”

“I got both your backs!”

With each successful hunt, they grew more and more skilled as a team.

Rhonin as their magical fire support, Vereesa their tracker and sniper, and Falstad as their lightning-fast hammer and scout.

Orcs, ogres, trolls, gnolls, bandits, feral beasts; none could stand against them.

Of course, from Falstad’s perspective it was more than just their fighting ability and friendship that grew over time, however.

“Watch yourself, human! I just had to save your life again,” Veressa mock complained.

“I am honored that you think of me so dearly that you are keeping track of each time, Lady Windrunner,” Rhonin fired back with a smirk.

“Only because who else would care about your petty life?” Veressa countered, which was only betrayed by a slight blush on her face.

“Like two alphas courting each other, these two,” Falstad muttered so softly to himself that only his companion Swiftwing could hear him over the din of battle, the gryphon screeching in agreement as they both dispatched an ogre magi with talon and hammer.

Still, despite the ridiculousness of their courtship, Falstad was near certain the two would officially hit it off by year’s end, while Swiftwing was betting that it would be less than that.

And the bird was very good at gambling in his experience.