A Nerubian's Journey

“What is this?” Alexstrasza asked as Archaedas handed her a large metal enchanted disc.

The Aspects were currently gathered within Wyrmrest Temple in the Chamber of the Aspects, the Keeper having teleported in after informing them that he had something important to give them.

“Tyr passed this on to me before his death. He brought it with us along with the Discs of Norgannon when we fled south for Uldaman and I have been keeping it in a separate section of the facility for safekeeping,” Archaedas explained in a gravelly voice. “He requested that in the event of his death, I should pass this on to the Aspects, but could not explain why before he expired. I have determined that it is of similar function to the other discs, but this one is magically encrypted so that only you may access it.”

“What could he possibly have wanted to tell us?” Malygos asked curiously. “This would have been recorded well before the Sundering or the Burning Legion’s first invasion.”

“Nozdormu?” Ysera asked her brother.

“I… don’t know,” Nozdormu said with a hint of surprise.

That made all present look at him in shock.

“You don’t know. That’s never a good sign,” Malgyos muttered, as he examined the disk with significantly more caution.

“How could you not know, Nozdormu?” Alexstrasza asked in worry.

“It's not so much warded from my sight… but more like someone is actively interfering with my ability to perceive it,” The Aspect of Time explained. “I assume that this is due to the actions of my Flight’s worse half. Whenever something unexpected occurs, they are usually to blame.”

“Then it must be important if they are hiding it from you,” said Ysera, her tone thoughtful. “But I fail to see the point if we can access it now.”

“Let’s find out,” Nozdormu said, to which Alexstrasza nodded and turned to the disc in her hands. She channeled her magic through it and at once it responded, but not in the way any of them expected.

“MESSAGE PLAYBACK AND DATABASE CANNOT BE ACCESSED AT THIS TIME UNTIL ALL ASPECTS ARE PRESENT,” the disc played in Tyr’s voice, but with none of his usual emotion.

The dragons stared at the disc in confusion before Malygos finally roared at the disc in annoyance. “All the Aspects are present, you piece of junk!”

“CORRECTION, FOUR OF THE FIVE ASPECTS ARE PRESENT. ALL ASPECTS MUST BE PRESENT FOR MESSAGE AND DATABASE TO BE ACCESSED. PLEASE GATHER ALL ASPECTS.”

With that the issue became clear. Tyr had created this disc when the Aspects were once five, and during a time when he likely didn’t believe that any of them could so thoroughly fall from grace.

It was a shame that they had proven unworthy of the Keeper’s confidence.

“Well… that explains it,” said Nozdormu. “We can’t access it now and I’m unable to see it in our future. How perplexing.”

“And Tyr trusted we’d all be together…” Ysera said sadly.

“Unfortunate,” Archaedes said simply. “But not an impossible obstacle to overcome.”

“What do you mean?” Alexstrasza asked.

“He is likely referring to our fallen brother’s power we currently have locked away,” Malygos explained.

“Indeed. While we cannot use it alone to bypass the security system, passing on Neltharion’s mantle and power would most likely allow you all to access the disc,” Archaede explained.

“Of course, that requires finding a suitable black dragon to carry said mantle,” Nozdormu pointed out. “And the only uncorrupted black dragon is currently in a self-imposed exile on the Broken Isles. Which means that we are at an impasse.”

“For now at least,” Alexstrasza admitted before looking down at the disc once more. “But we can wait until the time is right.”

“We could always ask the nerubian if he knows,” Ysera pointed out.

“He doesn’t or he would have already mentioned this artifact,” Nozdormu immediately responded.

“I suppose then, that we’ll just have to wait until the time comes,” Malygos grumbled impatiently. The Guardian of Magic glared at Archaedas and suddenly felt the desire to return to his lair and sleep for a decade or two. The world had gotten far too complicated ever since he’d been pulled back into Azeroth’s affairs.

“Leave the sleeping to me, brother,” Ysera spoke up, seeming to read his thoughts.

Malgyos didn’t even bother responding and giving her the satisfaction.

Drek'Thar lifted his blind eyes to the tent entrance at the sound of Palkar’s shout. The young orc had gone on a long reconnaissance mission to examine the ‘orc internment camps’ set up by the humans in the south and had only returned recently.

“Chieftain, I have come back with news of our people,” Palkar said breathlessly.

Drek'Thar gestured to the gathered shamans in the tent and said, “Very well, young shaman. Report on what you have seen.”

Palkar reported dutifully, “I watched the dragonmen and the giant spiderfolk guarding the camps, and the orcs within do not seem to be treated too badly. They are being fed grain and sheltered from the elements in wooden huts.”

One of the other shamans present spoke up, “That is good. We have time to prepare to release our people from captivity then. It is unfortunate that Doomhammer was executed before we were able to send young Palkar here to scout the camps.”

Palkar nervously held up a parchment and said, “I was able to bribe some goblins with some of the trinkets you gave me to sneak into the camps. One of them managed to filch Orgrim Doomhammer’s final letter to his people. The goblins say that a human paladin had nailed the letter to a post in the middle of the camp.”

The circle of elders and shamans suddenly broke out in uproar at the news. Drek'Thar raised his fist and pounded it on the wooden chair for silence.

As he motioned for Palkar to read the letter, he said, “Tell me of Orgrim Doomhammer’s last words to our people. He was an orc of honor at one point and Durotan, our long-dead chieftain, trusted him.”

…

I thought that by purging the Shadow Council of all the foul warlocks, I could redeem the Horde and gain the favor of the spirits of our land. I curse the day that I left Gul'dan alive and let the poisonous whispers of Cho’gall into my ears. Alas, I did not overthrow the shadowy demon overlords controlling the Horde. Instead, I merely replaced them with another shadowy master led by the one known as Deathwing and his ilk.

In my captivity, many of the clan leaders cursed me and said that we lost our honor when we surrendered to the Alliance. Fools! We had lost our honor long ago when we disregarded the spirits of Draenor and our ancestors to drink the demon blood. Everything we have done since has been lacking honor. I was simply too blind and too proud of being a Doomhammer to notice our descent into that dark path.

Did the prophecy given to my line not say, “Until the elements cry unheard, and pride turns to unbridled rage”? Indeed, I will be the last of my line to wield the great hammer of my ancestors. My only hope is that if the final portion of the prophecy which states that “a stranger will raise the hammer high, and with it justice shall reign” holds true, then our people may still be saved. I know deep in my heart that an orc will come, who will be able to redeem our people and bring honor amongst the next generation. I know that the Doomhammer will find its way back to our people from that dragon’s hoard and command the orcs to glory.

Whoever takes up the Doomhammer after me, know that you carry the weight of an entire people’s hopes and dreams. Do not make the same mistakes I did. Seek the wisdom of the spirits of the land around you to lead our people to a better future. A future in which they can regain their honor and live without the shame that my generation has placed on their shoulders. The future of the orcs now lies in your hands. May you be the salvation they so desperately need.

I hope that you who will read these chronicles of the failures will not make the same mistakes. Follow the spirits of the earth and the wind of this land and you will never be led astray. Do not be blindly tempted by easy power and rage.

—

The tent was silent after the letter was read out. Drek'Thar could only hear the sound of the fire crackling as the clan elders and shamans considered the Doomhammer’s words. He knew what Doomhammer must have felt as he had considered all that had gone wrong for his people.

He himself had forsaken the elements in his youth for the cursed fel magic that had corrupted his people. He still remembered those days filled with bloodlust and madness as he had participated in the battle against the draenei. Durotan had stopped him on that path and helped him to return to the spirits of his ancestors and the land. Sadly, Durotan, his mate Draka, and their son Go’el were no longer with them and the heavy weight of the clan leader had fallen on his shoulders.

Drek'Thar ran his hands through the mane of Wise-ear, his wolf, and asked, “Is the letter modified in any way? Are those words truly the last written by Doomhammer?”

Palkar handed the letter over to the gathered clan leaders and answered, “The words are written in orcish and there are no additions to the text.”

“This is the handwriting of Orgrim Doomhammer,” confirmed Captain Galvangar.

“Doomhammer’s words fill me with sorrow. Our people were used as puppets by two different masters, because we did not heed the spirits of the land around us. Why did Doomhammer listen to Gul’dan and not purge all the remaining warlocks? It is fortunate that he found the wisdom of his ancestors before he met his end.”

Drek'Thar paused and continued, “Durotan had told us that our people had been corrupted by Gul’dan’s foul pact with the demons as Go’el was born with green skin. I hope that this dragon and his evil magic have not further corrupted our people. Cho’Gall and his Twilight’s Hammer clan wielded void magic anathema to the living.”

Palkar spoke up, “Seer Drek'Thar, the goblins did mention that the orcs in the encampment seemed to be sluggish and lacking energy. Could this be the result of Gul’dan and Cho’gall’s actions?”

Captain Galvangar mused, “I know that I too seemed to experience a sluggishness when I forsook the Horde and joined with the Frostwolves. I only regained my energy after listening to the spirits of the wind and used them to guide my blade.”

“Perhaps, our people can be lifted from this curse by teaching them of the shamanistic traditions of our ancestors and helping them to listen to the elements,” a fellow elder stated thoughtfully.

Drek'Thar replied, “This will make rescuing our people from the encampments more complicated. Yet, the words of Doomhammer’s prophecy give me pause. Can they be truly freed if we don’t find the prophesied stranger?”

Another elder asked angrily, “How do you think we can bring our people back to the old ways of our ancestors while they are in those camps?”

Palkar replied, “One of the camps contained a contingent of dwarves who wielded the elements of lightning and the wind. I saw some orcs sitting around while they called down lightning from the sky. Have the humans already come to the same conclusion?”

As the debate got heated, Drek'Thar listened as the council of the Frostwolf clan discussed what should be done. Some wanted Palkar to return to the camps to scout out what was going on with the dwarves. Others wanted to start smuggling orcs from lesser-defended camps back to the Frostwolves. A small minority suggested waiting for the prophesied stranger to show themselves before taking any action.

Drek'Thar cut through the discussion and commanded, “We must consult the spirits of the land before we make any hasty decisions. I suggest that we hold a ritual tomorrow before deciding on the course of our actions.”

The gathered shamans quickly agreed to his proposal and the meeting soon came to an end. Once they had all left and Drek’Thar was alone, the Chieftain turned his attention back to Doomhammer’s letter and felt a profound sense of melancholy flow through him. It was incredibly unlikely that the Frostwolf Clan would be able to free the rest of the orcs from the camps the humans had placed them in, or that anything good would come of it if they did.

Drek’Thar dearly hoped that Doomhammer was right about the prophecy. Otherwise, the fate of his people would almost certainly be a dark one.

Deep within Durnholde Keep a man-sized green-skinned creature slept fretfully in his cage, something that he had grown used to for as long as he could remember. This life behind bars was the only life he knew, because he was an orc, one whose given name literally meant slave in the human tongue.

He was known as Thrall, and he awoke to the sound of shouting not far from his cell.

He stood up from his rough cot and walked up to the bars out of curiosity. Thrall had already finished all of his training for the day and there was little reason anyone would be making so much noise in this part of the Keep.

He hoped that one of the guards hadn’t caught Taretha smuggling letters to him through the books his master assigned him to read. Thrall pushed up against the bars and tried to make out what was happening. After a few moments, Thrall was able to pick out one of the muffled voices as his combat trainer, a man he only knew by Sergeant.

“You can’t go-mugh!” the Sergeant’s voice cut off suddenly, followed by lots of muffled yelling.

Not long afterward, Thrall heard the door to his cellblock unlock and the door open. He listened as two pairs of legs started oddly skittering toward his cell. His eyes widened when he realized it was not two people as he had assumed, but rather one person with multiple insect-like legs!

This strange red half-spider half-humanoid creature in front of his cell could only be a ‘nerubian’. He had only learned about them relatively recently, considering no one had known about them until they arrived from Northrend. This one seemed strange, as it had some lizard-like bits on it that Thrall hadn’t seen in the pictures and descriptions from the books that he had to read.

The face and the lower body reminded him a bit of the giant spiders he occasionally fought in the arena. However, there was a clear glint of intelligence in its many eyes.

The two stood in silence as they studied one another for a moment, before the nerubian spoke up.

“You are… much bigger than I expected,” the nerubian spoke in a surprisingly almost human voice despite its appearance.

“W-What were you expecting?” Thrall asked hesitantly, his attention drawn to the nervous twitching of the fingers on the four hands of the nerubian.

“Well… correct me if I’m wrong, but you are roughly six to seven years old, right?” the nerubian asked.

“Yes… I was told that it’s normal for orcs to grow faster than humans,” Thrall said, wondering if the nerubian wanted to size him up for an upcoming fight.

Thrall recalled that his sudden growth spurt was something that also surprised his master, but Aedelas Blackmoore had seemed to appreciate it since it meant ‘fewer years with a brat’ as he had put it.

“No worries, I can’t exactly say it's weird considering that we nerubians are considered full-grown when we are four and all,” the nerubian shrugged.

Oh… well now Thrall finally understood why the humans would find his growth alarming as he looked the nerubian over.

“Of course, you still have some growing to do and you're already bigger than most humans! That’s impressive!” the nerubian chuckled awkwardly. “Oh, forgive my rudeness. My name is Vizier Krivax of Azjol-Nerub, head of the Foreign Outreach Division.”

“I am Thrall,” he stated simply, for there was not much else to say.

“Nice to meet you Thrall… though I wish it was under different circumstances and with you not behind bars,” the newly introduced Krivax said.

“It doesn't matter. They are to contain me when I am not needed,” Thrall said. The cage used to be scary when he was younger, but he’d already grown used to it. “My master said that I can be dangerous without guidance.”

“Well, you could say that about anything really, it doesn’t mean we lock everyone up with the potential to be dangerous,” said Krivax. Thrall couldn’t read the nerubian as well as he did humans, but the strange spider-person seemed uncomfortable for some reason.

“But I’m not everyone. I’m too dangerous to be allowed to roam freely,” said Thrall, dully repeating what his master and others had taught him.

“Well, I’ve no doubt you are strong, but that doesn’t give people the excuse to lock you up forever because of it and only let you out when they want something from you. That isn’t how you treat a person, that’s how you treat a pet at best,” the nerubian said with venom near the end. “So instead, how would you feel about getting out of here and not coming back?”

That question threw him into a loop because all his life he had never thought of the idea of just… leaving. It also made him extremely suspicious that this was a test by his master to see if he would attempt to escape. He dared not believe that the offer was genuine, even though it seemed a bit extreme to send such a strange creature to offer him freedom from the beatings and cruelty he suffered every day.

And besides… this place was all he knew…

“My master won’t allow it,” Thrall said quietly, afraid that his master was listening just outside the cell block.

“Oh, Lord Blackmoore currently has a great deal on his plate at the moment, and he is in no position to stop you,” Krivax seemed to chuckle. “I won’t go into details, but he has not been the most law-abiding individual for quite a while. Something that is now catching up with him.”

Thrall didn’t know how to react to that information. There did seem to be a lot of muffled shouting beyond the walls though.

“That… I-I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he admitted bitterly in lieu of a reaction to the news.

“Well, no one belongs anywhere. You figure it out as you go along and where you consider home to be. Though I will admit that the Eastern Kingdoms are not the most pleasant place to be an orc right now. I know that you didn't participate in the wars as you’ve been here your entire life, but people will still greet you with fear and animosity regardless of how unfairly deserved it is,” Krivax explained. “I do have a few ideas about where you will be safe and treated with dignity, though.”

Freedom and choice… Thrall had always wondered what it would be like outside of Durnholde Keep, but he’d never imagined that he would be able to actually experience it. A part of him wanted to reject this offer from such a strange creature as a cruel joke by his master, but the rest of him just wanted to find out what would happen if he actually accepted it.

If what Krivax said was true then he could leave Durnholde Keep and go anywhere, like the places mentioned in the many books he read or that Taretha spoke of…

“I refuse to go anywhere unless someone comes with me,” Thrall took a deep breath and stated with conviction.

He would not leave Tari behind, especially since his master would react to his absence and could possibly take out his anger on her. Also, he also did not like the attention his master directed toward her as she matured… If she could not gain freedom, neither should he.

“Oh? And who might that be?” Krivax asked curiously.

“A servant girl, Taretha Foxton,” Thrall said at once. “She is my friend and I refuse to leave her behind to rot here. It would be unjust, and I would rather stay in this cell than leave her trapped in this keep. It is a cage in and of itself, no matter how large.”

Krivax merely stared at him with his many eyes, but he started to chuckle and shake his head in seeming amusement.

“So young… and yet even I can see it…” he muttered under his breath before he produced a key and swiftly unlocked his cell, opening it up before him. “You got yourself a deal, assuming she agrees of course.”

“Of course,” Thrall nodded before turning around and quickly grabbing a few books and his most precious possession.

“What’s that?” Krivax asked in curiosity as Thrall exited the cell.

Thrall held up the swaddling cloth in his hands, the image of a snarling wolf woven upon it.

“The only thing that truly belongs to me. I have had it since the mast- since Lord Blackmoore saved me years ago. It is the only connection I have to my past,” Thrall admitted.

And thus started his first day as a free orc with full control over his own fate.