Chapter 16: Volume 1: Epilogue
Lost Lion
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Volume 1: Epilogue
***The Black Morass- Blackrock Camps***
When Blackhand left, their army was so large that it covered the immediate landscape, such that not even a patch of ground could be seen. Their very footsteps was like the thundering hooves of a stampede of wild elekks. However, the army that returned couldn't even be called an army by their standards. There was no thundering sound of tens of thousands of orcs warriors, and the ground was very much visible. Instead, all that was left was a broken force, muted as they marched back to their home. Absent were the war chants nor were there any songs of battle ; the once barely contained bloodlust seemed spent, and the fierce spirit of each orc warrior was nowhere to be seen.
Furthermore, instead of Blackhand at the head of the broken force, there was another. It was a large and familiar orc–famous and respected–in black armor with the largest warhammer of any. All knew of the mighty Orgrim Doomhammer, Blackhand's second in command. Orcs from all clans came out of their tents as news of their army's return spread. They began to whisper amongst themselves upon witnessing the survivors of the assault on the humans' lands.
'They know,' Doomhammer thought and let out a soft sigh. They knew of Blackhand's defeat and more importantly, his death.
What the human did still surprised him to this very hour. The power that they called upon was staggering and overwhelming. He dared to say that, had the Draenei utilized such a powerful spell during their siege on Shattrath, they would have won and beaten back the Horde.
It was time for Doomhammer to admit that these...humans were worthy foes.
"Doomhammer! Doomhammer!" Familiar twin voices called out to him.
Doomhammer looked up to see the two sons of Blackhand, the aged up Dal'Rend and Maim, approaching him. They were left behind with one-third of their army to keep the other clans in line. That was all that was left of Blackrock's fighting forces now...the humans had destroyed the rest. The worst part was that not a single one of them could have anticipated such an attack. They were outfought, both on the field of battle and in warlocktry.
"Is it true, Doomhammer?! Tell me!" Dal'rend stalked forward, puffing up his chest aggressively.
Doomhammer snarled and–with controlled strength–slammed his namesake weapon into the boy's chest, sending him flying.
"Urrrk!" Dal'rend was thrown onto his back while looking at Doomhammer in fear.
"Watch your tone with me, boy!" Doomhammer roared as he set his shoulders and turned to Maim to see what Blackhand's other son would do. The boy, unlike his brother, held up his hand and slowly stepped back.
"Forgive my brother, Orgrim, but the news that Kilrogg brought back, that the other survivors said…is it true? Is our father truly dead? Were our army destroyed? Have the humans really defeated the Horde?" Maim seemed to be getting more incensed at the thought but then saw Doomhammer's expression and simmered down.
Females of their clans, the old ones, and the clan leaders began making their way over searching for husbands, fathers, and sons. Many would never find them, the most devastating thing about the entire situation was that most of their soldiers never even receive a warrior's death.
"It's true." Doomhammer could only admit the truth. He looked at Dal'rend who was helped to his feet by his brother. "As of right now, I am taking leadership of the Blackrock Clan and the Warchief position of the Horde."
Doomhammer made sure to stare the two boys down, but he had to give them the chance to stake their claim.
"Do you wish to dispute it?" Orgrim lifted up his warhammer, ready to fight them both.
For a moment, the two boys shared a look before they both got to their knees. When they did, the rest of the clan also went to their knees.
"All hail Orgrim Doomhammer, the Chieftain of the Blackrock clan!" Maim said quickly.
"Doomhammer! Doomhammer! Doomhammer!" The remaining Blackrock warriors stomped their feet to show their approval. Dal'rend and Maim were surprised by such enthusiastic support from their clansmen.
"You forgot to acknowledge me as your Warchief, boy," Doomhammer growled.
"...I can't, but not because I don't want to," Maim spoke up quickly in his older brother's stead. "Ner'zhul is here among us and has denounced our father and Gul'dan for leading the Horde foolishly. He now wants to nominate another Warchief in our father's place. We had hoped the defeat was just mere rumors but..."
Doomhammer eyes widened. He turned to look at the silent ogre, the one known as Cho'gall. The ogre had seen better days with many parts of his skin showing clear signs of burnt flesh. He was pulling a small rickety cart that held their clan's warlock, Gul'dan. The warlock had been found during the storm of fire, his magic protecting him until suddenly, Draenei magic poured from his mouth, eyes, nose, and ears. After letting out a horrendous scream, he collapsed, leaving even his pet ogre at a loss as to what had happened. The brute was able to gather that his master suffered a soul attack of some sort. One that was beyond his power to do anything about as Fel magic was not made to heal. Since then, the beast had been taking care of the unconscious warlock. It was strangely loyal.
With Gul'dan now incapacitated, that meant that Ner'zhul's words would hold more weight with the remaining chieftains.
"Varok," Doomhammer called upon his second lieutenant. He was newly promoted when his right hand, Broxigar, was burnt to ashes from the mighty fire twister. "Get our warrior settled and something to eat. Do not let anyone approach our camp."
"Yes, Chieftain," the burly orc said as he pounded his chest subduedly and left. The loss of his brother was still affecting the powerful warrior.
"Cho'gall." The ogre looked up when Doomhammer called his name. "Hide him and yourself. Ner'zhul would like nothing better than to kill his former apprentice for usurping his position from back then."
Cho'gall was always intelligent for an ogre and realized what the new chieftain meant and nodded.
"Now, Dal'rend and Maim come with me," Doomhammer walked into the largest tent as if he owned it. He didn't even need to turn around to know that the two sons of Blackhand were obediently following him.
The inside of the tent was the same as he remembered it. Only now, there was no Blackhand in the chieftain seat. With ease, he walked to the seat that represented the leadership of the Blackrock clan and sat in it. He could see that his being there rankled the two brothers, but he welcomed their challenge anytime.
"Now, tell me what has happened since we've been gone. What is this about Ner'zhul? Also, send a runner to call Kilrogg here," Doomhammer ordered but saw the brothers did not move. "What is it? Did something happen to Kilrogg?"
"Kilrogg took his clan and left Doo–Chieftain, about a week ago."
"What?!" Doomhammer stood up from his seat. "Where to?!"
"North. He said that he will join Kargath's forces," Maim explained.
"What news do you have of Kargath? Did his attack fail?" Doomhammer growled. He once again cursed Gul'dan. The humans were not supposed to be this strong! The warlock had led them into a slaughter.
"No, Doomhammer. He sent word of his success against the humans." Dal'rend finally gave him the first good news in a long while. "He had pushed them back from their lands, but ran across short squat creatures that were...troublesome."
"Another race?" The new chieftain was not surprised. Once more, he cursed Gul'dan. "Was he defeated?"
"No, Chieftain. Kargath was victorious and sent many of those creatures back here to be camp slaves," Dal'rend clarified. "They are very good weapon smiths and are being made to make weapons for our warriors."
"That's good," Doomhammer nodded as he stroked his chin. At least his suggestion to split the forces was yielding results. Had they gone with Blackhand's original plan to march together, the Horde would have been finished. "Tell me more of these new squat creatures."
"They are like the Goren and prefer to live underground. Kargath's last news was that he had driven them back to their mountain fortress. He wanted our remaining stock of Red Mist to smoke them out of their holes.
Doomhammer was surprised at that request, they really didn't have much of the concoction left after using most of it to break the Draenei at Shattrath. Well, he was welcomed to it.
"And Kilrogg?" he prompted Dal'rend to continue.
"He left to deliver it to Kargath," Maim answered instead. "We do not understand why he needed this entire clan to do so."
Doomhammer agreed, why would Kilrogg need his entire clan to deliver the remaining stock of red mist? It was not adding up.
"What else?"
"Zuluhed reported that he had taken the human lands to their south and destroyed two of their great cities, though at great loss. He had already called his clan over to begin settling the area." Maim frowned. "Ner'zhul had called him back, but Zuluhed wanted to see if Blackhand was alive before he made a move."
Doomhammer banged on his chair angrily. Ner'zhul was breaking up the Horde with his grab for power. However, he saw Maim's expression look like he had something more to say.
"Continue," he growled out.
"The Frostwolves clans have also left, and they have taken the newly arrived Whiteclaw clan with them north."
"What?!" Ogrim's eyes widened in disbelief. "Tell me what happened!"
"All we know is that Ner'zhul approached Durotan's mate, perhaps to get her to support him. Afterward, she declared that they were going to secure our newly conquered lands until our father's return and left shortly after."
'So she did not abandon the Horde after all. She was most likely avoiding Ner'zhul machinations,' Doomhammer concluded. This was unacceptable, the Horde must be more united than ever in the face of the humans' tenacity. He reached for his hammer and gripped it. It looked like he would be wetting it with orcish blood.
"Maim, tell Ner'zhul that I want to have a meeting with him."
The brothers looked at one another and then at him with uncertainty. There was something else.
"What is it?" Doomhammer demanded. He intended on making Ner'zhul bend to his will; they could not afford to fracture the Horde.
"The reason why Ner'zhul is gaining so much power is because he has the backing of Grom Hellscream and his Warsong clan," Dal'rend said finally.
"Grommash Hellscream is here?" Doomhammer stared at the oldest of Blackhand's sons. "His Warsong clan is here?"
"Yes, already a third of them have arrived," Dal'rend answered.
Doomhammer let go of his hammer now that he realized exactly what was going on. Grom had as good of a chance of leading the Horde as Blackhand did when the Horde formed, it just so happened that Grom didn't care for leadership and was content to follow. However, if Ner'zhul backed him due to Blackhand's defeat, this changed everything.
"Tell Varok to get the warriors ready," Doomhammer saw the two brothers' confused expressions, not understanding what he was doing. "We are leaving."
"We're running away?!" Dal'rend blurted out but flinched from the seated orc's frosty glare.
"We cannot hope to challenge the Warsong clan as we are now. We need time to recover." Even had the Horde not been fractured, he would have had to consolidate their newly conquered lands and settle their people before renewing the offensive. While the Horde had been defeated, the humans did not fare much better. Hopefully, by that time, Gul'dan would awaken.
"Send a message to Ner'zhul to tell him that the Blackrock clan will be joining the Dragonmaw in securing the new lands."
If he recalled the humans' south most lands were verdant and rich, a perfect place for their clan to recover. Orgrim knew that he could not challenge a healthy Warsong clan yet and if it came down to a Mak'gora, he was not sure he could defeat Grom. Their battle could go either way. He would bide his time and perhaps in a year, he could reunite the Horde and possibly lure Grom to his side.
*** Elwynn Forest – Stormwind Keep***
King Llane and his generals looked at the map again discussing the latest development. The map had been redrawn and the lion pieces that represented their forces were less than half of what they initially had been. Around the map were the nobles of Stormwind and the remaining high-ranking officers of his kingdoms.
"–and you say they haven't pushed anymore into Elwynn?" Lothar, his best friend and Supreme Commander of his forces, asked one of the generals who had been stationed along the forest borders.
"Yes, milord," the General responded. "They seem to have pulled back from the forest borders, and the Westfall commanders also sent news of the same. They seem to be content staying in Brightwood, sir."
Llane saw Lothar turn to him, his face filled with emotion. "It looked like your gambit worked, my friend, and that our people's sacrifices were not in vain."
All of the nobles and military commanders present closed their eyes at the reminder of the immense loss of their fellow soldiers. Seventy thousand were wiped out in their ill-fated expedition and another seventy during the battle for Brightwood and Westfall. As for Redridge, they were still waiting for word. Llane could see Lothar's worried eyes, he was anxious for news of what was happening on that front–or more specifically, for a certain person there.
"Then now is the time to strike! Give us the order, and we'll drive the beasts out of Brightwood, my king!" A noble spoke out what many were thinking. He was dressed very frugally, but then again, none of the nobles of Stormwind dressed as opulently as their northern counterparts. It just wasn't sensible.
Llane turned his attention to the golden-haired noble who was around his age. The man was staring at him with a fervent gaze. It took him a moment to place where the noble hailed from. House Ellerian was a moderate power in Westfall if he recalled correctly. They also had a daughter only a few years younger than his own son, one of the few noble ladies of appropriate age and standing for a marriage match for his son. He shook his head at the thought, he had to ensure the future first before there could be any such talks.
"No, Lord Ellerian." Lady Ebonlocke of Grand Hamlet shook her head. She was a handsome woman who did not look anywhere close to the fifty-year-old that she was supposed to be, save for one part. Though her hair was as black as her namesake, one could see a few strands of silver in her luxurious black mane. "Our people have already lost too much. We must take the time that Lord Lothar bought us to rebuild."
Lord Ellerian looked incensed at his fellow noble's words. "But your lands–"
"–is lost!" Lady Ebonlocke pounded her fist on the table. "I can only thank the Light that the majority of my people escaped due to our soldiers' efforts! I will not tarnish their sacrifice, and my husband's, by foolishly throwing away more lives in a bid to retake that land!"
The rest of the nobles were stunned at the Lady of Grand Hamlet's rebuttal. Only she and her daughters had made it out of the Horde's attack. The Lord of Grand Hamlet had fallen with his lifelong friend, the Lord of Sunshire. The latter's family too fell as did their retainers when they helped delay the Horde long enough for their citizens to escape. The survivors of Grand Hamlet and Sunshire now looked to Lady Ebonlocke to lead them.
"We now must protect the people we can and..." Here, Lady Ebonlocke turned back to Llane and bowed in subservience to show that what she said next was not meant as an insult to the King. "...and we must seek out allies from the north. From the dwarves, if we could...but this Horde is too much for us to combat alone, even with what Lothar had done to cripple them."
If there was one problem that the nobles of Stormwind had, it was that they were too proud. Each of the houses had been loyalists who were hand selected by Lothar's ancestor to follow when their disloyal retainers went on to settle the richer lands up north. That their Kingdom had risen to prominence and was a match for all of the other six human kingdoms combined was a point of pride for them. The thought of having to ask for help from their distant northern kin rankled them.
"I already sent an envoy," Llane replied, shocking everyone, even his friend. Now was not a time for pride, and Llane would humble himself before Terenas if it would bring their armies here to save his land.
"Truly?" Lothar stared at his friend. He knew how much Llane valued Stormwind's independence. Asking for outside help meant that he was prepared to concede some territory in exchange. "Who did you send?"
"Lord Prestor." Llane saw the other nobles looking around, puzzled. Prestor was a minor noble with a small household in the kingdom. However… "He has some relation to the royal line of the Kingdom of Alterac."
The other nobles slowly nodded and understood. The prestige of a Stormwind noble might mean little to the northern kingdoms, but one with ties to one of the royal families up north? Well, that would make it harder for them to be dismissed.
"We can only wait for Prestor's good news." Llane sighed. "Light willing, he'd get us the help we need."
Llane looked back down at the map again and took out a piece of blue charcoal. He began to trace a line over the area that they were still in control of.
"I want to build a series of fortifications along the borders, manned by a full legion. That way, the Horde would be unable to ignore it lest they be attacked from behind. The rest of our legions that are not in the forts will patrol between the main roads of Elwynn and Westfall, ready to respond to any incursion."
The nobles all looked at the map, and most found that the idea had merit. The Horde would now have to extend their lines but thanks to Lothar's gambit, there was hope the Horde would be shy about attacking en masses anytime soon.
"I agree with the king," Lothar said before he then moved a couple of legions down to several spots. "However, some areas along the border need to be more heavily garrisoned than others, we don't have enough men right now so we'd need to be smart about where we place our remaining power."
The generals all studied the map. Some stroked their beards while others set their jaws as they tried to figure out the best place to reinforce.
"Any news of Redridge yet?" Lady Ebonlocke asked but gave Lothar a meaningful stare. That prompted the rest of them to look at Lothar since they all knew that his son was there.
"Not yet–" Lothar was about to say more until a messenger holding two missives was let in by the Kingsguard.
"News, your Majesty! From Redridge and Northshire!" The messenger breathed heavily as he bent his knee and presented the two missives to him.
Llane, seeing Lothar's anxious look, took the Redridge letter first and opened it right there. He quickly read it and felt his eyebrows climb up higher as he read about what had transpired.
"What does it say, Llane?" Lothar was so worried about the content of the report that he forgot to use his friend's title.
"Your son is truly your son, my friend." Llane smiled as he handed Knight-Champion Gregory's letter to Lothar.
The worried father took the letter without care for etiquette and quickly scanned its content. Llane enjoyed the slight widening of his friend's eyes as he got deeper into Gregory's report.
"What does it say, Lord Lothar?" Lord Ellerian asked as he too wanted to know how Redridge fared.
"Callan did this… He held… My son..." Lothar absentmindedly gave the letter to one of the generals to read who quickly did so and passed it on.
"Hah!" Lady Ebonlocke let out a short laugh, the first one she did since the fall of Grand Hamlet. "It looks like our lion champion has a worthy cub."
"Here, here!" A General laughed and patted Lothar on his back. "All hail the Cub of Stormwind!"
" My dear Lord Lothar, my daughter will be of age in a few years," Lady Ebonlocke said coyly. "What do you say to the match?"
"My lady..." Lothar's voice sounded strained, but it was a rare moment of humor, and they did not want to let it go. It was Lord Ellerian who came up and patted the famous Champion on his shoulders.
"It is a shame my Tiffin is too young, but I have a pretty niece of appropriate age for your boy." Lord Ellerian grinned widely, showing off his teeth.
"My Lord Ellerian, are you trying to undercut my daughter?" Lady Ebonlocke faux gasped.
"My lords and ladies...please..." Lothar begged off. He was technically a noble, but had never honed the skill of words as they did. Give him a battlefield any day.
There was some good natured laughter at Lothar, and a sense of rare respite pervaded the atmosphere. After all, many of them had children of their own so they knew what it was like to worry as parents. It allowed them one of the rare moments of joy during a bleak time. The news was not too good, but it could be worse; they had stopped the Horde from completely taking the Redridge mountains and in these times, any sort of victory against the innumerable Horde was a welcomed one.
Llane smiled and was happy for Lothar. His friend's son was truly beloved by the Light. Then and there, he decided to reward Callan by naming the fort there after him. As the nobles and generals cheered on Lothar, with some even throwing their own daughters into the mix, Llane opened the Northshire missive. He recognized the Abbot's personal seal as he broke it. Unfurling it, he read the contents and, moments later, sucked in a sharp breath.
"What is it, my king?" Lothar saw his friend's happy expression morph into a grave one as he read more of the Abbot's letter. "Did something happen to Northshire?"
"Let us take a recess and gather in an hour's time." Llane's tone had the others concerned, but it didn't seem important enough for them to know. Thus, the generals and nobles politely excused themselves. "Lothar, you may stay."
When the room emptied except for his Kingsguard, Llane handed Lothar the letter. He waited as his friend read the letter and then appeared to read it again.
"Callan did what?!" Lothar finally exclaimed, reading the set words once again as if he could glean new information from them. "How could Gavinrad make such an accusation!"
"But is Gavinrad a liar? You know him best. Is he the dishonorable sort to make false claims like this?" Llane did not know the Brotherhood Knights as Lothar did so in this case, he really wanted to know.
"No." Lothar shook his head. "Gavinrad is one of the most loyal and steady knights I had the honor of serving with. He would not make such wild claims without a good reason."
After hearing the praise from his own mouth, Lothar frowned at himself.
"Yet, your son has a High Cleric of some renown and other high ranking clerics in his defense." Llane pointed out, though he was also confused. Why would Callan attack Medivh? Worse, Medivh still had not woken up from whatever Callan did, even with Alfred's help.
"What reasons could Callan have to do that? And why would the Abbot not write what my son's being accused of?" Lothar growled. He hated not knowing.
Llane, on the other hand, knew why the Abbot was vague in his letter. "It's probably very sensitive, and the information in the wrong hands could be devastating."
"So we have to wait for them to come here before we know the full story?" Lothar impatiently asked.
"The Abbot said your son is very gifted in the Light and felt that your son wasn't one to cause unnecessary harm to anyone." Except for Medivh, for whatever reason. Llane's brows furrowed. He trusted the holy man's words; the man was not only his personal spiritual adviser but also a lifelong friend to the royal family. Personally, Llane saw him more like a favored uncle. "Right now, we cannot afford any distraction or news that could cause panic. We need to focus on strengthening our lines. The Abbot himself does not feel that it is urgent and will be taking care of Medivh personally. If he thinks Callan can help with the wounded streaming into Northshire, I'm inclined to let him have your boy help."
Lothar paced back and forth, frustration and confusion warring in his head. Why would Gavinrad accuse his son of this? Why did Callan attack Medivh? Finally, he thought about the Abbot's decision, and he had no choice but to agree. The Abbot was also correct that other than Northshire Abbey, there was no other place suited to healing Medivh…
'My son..' Lothar thought as he read the letter again.
'To his Majesty, King Llane Wrynn, long may he reign,
My king, I write to you today with a heavy heart. Medivh is unconscious and has been unresponsive to healing of any kind from me and the other High Clerics. It reminds me of the coma Medivh was in when he was younger. Only this time, it feels different. For one, Medivh now looks almost as old as I do and furthermore the vast majority of his vitality seems to have left him. My clerics and I are doing our best but so far, nothing works. Whatever happened to Medivh is beyond the Light's ability to help, just as it was before. This brings me to the cause of what happened to Medivh.
Lothar's son, Callan, was the one responsible for his current incapacitated condition. That is the one thing all parties involved could agree on. However, Sir Gavinrad thinks that young Callan's actions were because of a warlock artifact's corruption. My High Cleric, Mara Fordragon, informed me that Callan levied a very serious accusation against the Guardian. If true, it could shake the kingdom to its very foundation.
Yet, my examination of Medivh, both back then and now, yields no answer. The examination of the supposed warlock artifact also proves false. It is in fact one of the holiest objects I had ever seen and touched in all my life. Yet, many eyewitnesses had seen an orc warlock using this artifact to deal great harm to our people. Sir Gavinrad called it a cursed object while Mara said Callan calls it a gift.
I think I will leave it for you to decide, but I can say confidently, based on my conversation and examination of both Medivh and Callan, neither poses a danger to anyone at the moment. In fact, Callan has proven to be of great help to my overwhelmed clerics. As such, I would like to request his continued presence here until our work is completed with the refugees.
Of course, I truly feel that Medivh is currently too weak for such long travels and would like to ensure that he is stable before I send him to Stormwind City. I'll leave the decision to you, my king.
In the Light, we are one,
Abbot Alfred Winston
Northshire Abbey
***The Great Sea – S.K.S Antebellum***
Daval Prestor had ties with the ruling family of Alterac. It was a distant relation but still one all the same. His father chose to make his fortune in the south instead of vying for lands in the north. Thus, they were thought of fondly by the Alterac ruling family as it made them feel safer. It was also the perfect cover for Neltharion and his brood, better known to the world as Deathwing. There were real people, of course. His brood ensured the line remained active for whenever he would need to move among mortals. At the moment the man's face would have shocked his former dragon companions.
The Earth Warder was known to be the deadliest of the five dragons aspects. Yet, all of them would be surprised by the pensive expression on his face. The handsome man's brow was furrowed as he stared off into the sea, just as he did every day for the past month on the journey to the north. Many of the ship's crew tried to interact with him, but his aloofness made him unapproachable. Eventually, many decided that the noble was too consumed with worry for Stormwind and was not in the mood to entertain.
Thoughts of their homeland made the sailors work harder to get their ambassador there. Their entire kingdom depended on it.
Unfortunately, Deathwing was thinking nothing of the sort. He had been in a deep slumber, being driven madder each day by the dark whispers until the opening of a hole in Azeroth's defense awakened him. He easily took over the current form of Daval Prestor and got the information from his brood on everything that had transpired since his sleep.
The dark whispers had been angry when these new orc creatures attacked; they had no love for the Burning Legion, and these green beasts were their tools. Yet, it was sowing chaos in the world and that, they liked. Some of their spell casters even used Void magic which further pleased them. It seemed they were all set to side with the orcs when something changed. Something they wouldn't explain to him and just like that, the dark whispers stopped.
For the past few months, it had been the longest that he could ever remember being alone with his own thoughts. Every now and then, he could hear the dark whispers in the background but not directed at him. No, their attention was on each other. To Deathwing, they sounded confused. Neltharion knew that the dark whispers loved chaos and thrived in it, but it appeared that something was creating chaos that they had not planned on. Chaos, from what he could gleam, that was running rampant instead of their controlled machinations. Then their worshipers ran across the orcs, and the assistance that he knew that they were originally willing to give was held back. Now, their worshipers were being systematically exterminated.
Neltharion thought with certainty that the dark whispers would tell him to assist the Dark Iron dwarves in some way. Yet, it was as if they didn't have time to deal with what was happening to them. Without the dark whispers' presence, the itchy sensation, like ants crawling under his skin, was gone. He knew their power still suffused him; they were him and he was they… yet, it did not seem as much as before.
Then something completely unexpected, both to him and the dark whispers, happened. Nozdormu's brood attacked the boy beloved by their nemesis. They attacked him in full view of the mortals, the most secretive of dragonflight, and they outed themselves like that for a mortal boy. What made that boy so special?
Finally, the most surprising thing happened. Agents of the dark whispers from a corrupted Nozdormu clutch attacked the untainted ones. Deathwing could recognize the dark whispers tainted stench anywhere. However, all they did was simply drive off Nozdormu's brood and left the boy alone.
Why?
Now that he could think without the dark whispers, a sort of clarity hit him. What was he doing here? Why did he need to get involved in mortal affairs? He had intended to sow seeds of discord against Stormwind as their ambassador, but why did he need to waste his time to do so? It was beneath him! Wasn't his time better spent elsewhere? His own brood was scattered. Wouldn't they benefit more from his oversight?
Deathwing froze at the notion, expecting the dark whispers to come roaring back and insisting he sowed the seed of chaos, but nothing of the sort happened. His deliberation was interrupted from further traitorous speculation when one of the sailor crewmen arrived with his lunch. It was an appearance he kept up to blend in with the mortals, yet why was he reducing himself to their level to play along? What more, the sailor interrupted his musing, and he realized, with growing ire, that they would keep interrupting him everyday.
No. He was done with them.
"Lord Prestor, lunch is ready if you are so inclined to–huh?!"
The sailor stared wide-eyed as the noble's form began to shift and expand. He didn't have time to run as his body was crushed. The ship broke and shattered into pieces as Deathwing took on his true massive form.
Those that survived the breaking of the ship were drowned by the tsunami the leader of the Black dragonflight made with a mighty flap of his wings, even as he flew away. The fact that he killed everyone on the ship didn't even register to Deathwing; he just wanted to leave and, for once, finally be alone with his thoughts.
Epilogue End.
AN: First of all, thank you to my pah-nah in writing crime, Icura for helping me read it over. Second thanks for the awesome discussion and comments, I really do appreciate it! It actually makes me smile when people expect one thing but are surprised by something else.
Thirdly I showed Icura my maps and he said that I could probably show one as it fits so after brushing it up a bit to double check I will be posting it soon after this chapter.
As for this chapter, there will never be a chapter that answers ALL the questions without posing more questions. Its plot threads that will be explained as more chapters are written. But hopefully it answers enough in the epilogue to make you all anticipate Vol 2 Prologue.
Once again thanks you for all the comments and discussion. I love it! It nourishes my writing soul.