The fires raged throughout the once beautiful green woods. They stretched all the way from Lakeshire to Stormwind, from Westbrook to Duskwood. The Horde had come and had come at full force, Troll, Orc, and Tauren carved through the people living in the forest. Goldshire had been annihilated, covered in a thick green fog as pools of plague bubbled up. A force rode North into the city of Stormwind, pausing at the gates as the Boy King had been strung up as was per the course for the sacking.
The party rode forward as they made their way into the city, Forsaken necromancers rose citizens into life, the people cursed to Undeath. They continued forward, as they examined the progress the forces have made. As they came to the keep, a Deathguard stopped them. “Where is she?” The Orc commander growled low at the guard who motioned up to the keep. The party dismounted before walking in, examining as several Horde soldiers celebrated their victory. The steps thudded heavily as they entered the Throne room. Genn Greymane was chained to the Throne, seeming beaten and bloodied, pacified even. The party looked to the Warchief who sat in the throne, studying the new arrivals. “Warchief..” The Orc growled as he gave her a salute.
Sylvanas Windrunner leaned forward in her seat, studying the group before her. She was happy to see such diversity in her Horde as the Blood Elf, Troll and Orc looked at her, but frowned, her eyes narrowed as she stood. “You're late.” She paused as she saw the frowns on their faces, studying how they viewed her. “What is wrong? Haven't I provided you such glory and honor for the sacking of this city?” Her eyes flashed as her lips curled into a smirk, “I've even got a present for you.” She snapped her fingers as a pair of doors flung open. A man was dragged in, a chain around his neck and wrists. He struggled against them as he was pulled in and thrown into the room. “I present Lord Scorvash Darkvalor. A friend of yours from Silithus I believe?” Her eyes drifted to the Orc who stared at the man in shock. “Oh and of course.” Her fingers snapped and a second figure was brought in, a Half Elven girl who was thrown at the ground. “His daughter, your niece I believe Lord Dawncrest?” Her eyes flicked to the Blood Elf who stepped forward, “Ah ah ah. Not yet.”
The trio stared at Scorvash, he had been beaten and looked like he hadnt been fed in days. The girl looked no better as she tried to pull away from her captor who yanked her back by her hair. “Release my niece to my custody Warchief, she won't cause trouble.” Lord Dawncrest looked to the Banshee Queen who nodded and he walked over to the girl and pulled her away from the captive. She struggled and screamed as she was pulled away from her father who gave her a sad smile. “Its okay little one. Its okay.” The Blood Elf whispered as he held her tightly.
“Now, Ordax Wolfmaul.” She eyed the Orc who looked distant as he was wrapping his head around this. “I order you to execute Lord Darkvalor.” She sat back upon her throne, watching the Orcs actions, he stared back at her and shook his head. “Do not disobey me. Do as your Warchief commands.” She commanded as he flinched at her. She was pleased as the Old Orc stepped forward his axe in hand.
He took a deep breath as he looked down at his old friend. The boy who had fought with him against the Silithid swarms, Demons in Outland and Undead in Northrend. The boy who had shown great Honor in the fights he had seen him in, cooperation was hard with the Alliance, but he was different. “Lok’tar Ogar.” He saw the look of recognition in the man’s face and raised the axe high over his head, he would have one shot at this, the chains were exposed, he could do this.
The scream of the Banshee Queen caught him and Scorvash off guard. They looked to the scream and saw her bow drawn and smokey magic flowing off her. Ordax turned and the Axe slipped from his hand at what he saw. A little Half-Elven girl, stood with an arrow in her chest. She looked at it, dropped the knife in her hand and fell to the ground. “SYLVANAS!!” Scorvash erupted as he struggled against the chains, his eyes red with rage. “YOU DARE!! YOU DARE!!!” He cried out as he felt the two guards restraining him pull at the chains. “I WILL END YOU!!” the chain suddenly snapped and Scorvash was rushing forward at the Banshee Queen, two arrows hit him in the chest rapidly but he kept going, a third hit him in the leg but he kept going. “YOU DIE NOW!” He summoned a flow of dark magic to his hand and unleashed it at the Banshee Queen, an arrow hitting him in the throat just a second after.
The Deathguard sprung into action and began to stab Scorvash repeatedly as he died. The Troll Shaman Fowambi leapt forward tearing the Forsaken away from the dying Half Elf before they began to turn on him. Lord Sil'thorn Dawncrest protected his niece’s body from the Forsaken trying to protect the Dark Lady, being torn apart as he did. With his final breath, Fowambi unleashed a fireball that engulfed the bodies of his friends, and the child leaving Ordax alone with the Forsaken. He gripped his Axe tightly as he stared at the now army between him and the Dark Lady. He stared at the bodies on the ground, at the girl covered in blood.
He let out a mighty roar as he charged forward. “Lok’tar Ogar!! Strength and Honor!! For the True Horde!!!” He swung his axe as arrows and swords struck him. The full fury of the Horde as he kept fighting, he felt the adrenaline pumping through him before a sword through his heart stopped his rush. “You are not...my Warchief….” He said with a growl as the life he had lived, ended.
“Father! Wake up!” Draenax shouted as he shook his father awake. The Old Orc had been screaming for hours in his sleep, something about a ‘Scorvash', who the younger Orc knew to be an old comrade of his father. “Father it is just a nightmare! Awaken!” He roared as he pushed his father from his bedroll. Finally the Old Orc stopped screaming as he shot awake. “Are you alright?” The young Orc stared at his father concerned, his nightmares began to get worse the further into Nagrand they traveled. They had returned here for a spiritual journey and the Old Orc had begun to have them the day they entered the ruined worlds of the Outlands.
Ordax panted heavily as he looked to his son, and nodded his head. The worst nightmare had shown glory and honor to his people, defeating the Alliance, but so much worse had happened during the dream. He saw friends and brothers being cut down at the Warchief’s orders. Not his Warchief, not anymore. Not after he could see a sword plunged into the World, and she chose war. Not after that. He left the Horde and now, in Garadar had hoped to find peace, but none would be given here.
The dream had given him what he needed. He knew what he had to do. He stood from his bedroll and gathered his armor. “Father? Where do we travel today?” Draenax asked as his father began to dress. “I believe Oshu’gun is within reach today if we take the Wolves.” He was cut off as his father looked back at him and shook his head. “Then to the Throne of the Elements?” He received another headshake. “Where do we go father?”
Ordax stood straight as he hefted the Axe he carried to his back. He exited the hut and looked back to his son. “We are going back to Azeroth. To show there is still honor in the Horde.”