Recent events have been enough to make Thrall’s head spin of late. In just a few short months he’s landed on Kalimdor, lost a brother, made unexpected and unforeseen allies, and discovered that he’s set his people up for a fight that might just be unwinnable. Still, what other choice did they have? If there was one thing that Thrall knew for sure, it was this; If they did not fight for their new homeland, then they deserved to lose it.
The demons who enslaved his people, who pushed them into invading this world so long ago… were here now, seeking to destroy everything and everyone. Thrall refused to let that happen. Even still, that didn’t mean he was thrilled with the plan they’d come up with-
“Warchief! The human settlement has fallen!”
Torn from his thoughts, Thrall lets out a growl, his head jolting upwards as the remaining wyvern riders come over the ridge, ascending the mountain to the Horde’s camp. His grip on Doomhammer tightens and he grits his teeth for a moment before grunting and spinning in place.
“Cairne! Vol’jin! The time is now! Get your people ready!”
The Chieftains of the Bloodhoof Tauren and the Darkspear Trolls both pound their fists upon their chests, nodding resolutely.
“It will be done, Warchief.”
“Dey Darkspear will be ready, mon. Dis not be a fight we can afford ta miss.”
Thrall nods to the both of them, even as they split off to get their troops together. Thrall, meanwhile, focuses on all of his orcs… or rather, most of them. There is one glaring absence among his forces, and he won’t deny that it rubs him the wrong way even now. The majority of the Warsong Clan was here, but its Chieftain and his druid neophytes were not. Instead, they were with the Night Elves at their base, preparing for the final stand.
It agitated Thrall something fierce, but once again Rognak had had all the perfect excuses. And indeed, when Thrall had seen what the other orc had in mind for their defense with the Night Elves, he was forced to admit that that was where Rognak and his neophytes were best placed. It didn’t mean Thrall was happy about it though. Still, that was something that can be discussed after the battle. For now…
“Warriors of the Horde! Heed my words! The humans have been forced into retreat! The demons ascend the mountain, which means they come for us next! With them come their undead lackeys, and a desire to unmake everything! If we give them the chance, they will destroy our new home. I refuse to let that happen! If the Defiler wants that damn tree, he’ll have to go through us first! Lok’tar Ogar!”
“””LOK’TAR OGAR!!!”””
A savage grin of satisfaction etches itself across the Orc Warchief’s face as he turns back to wait for the coming attacks. His warriors will fight with all their might on this day. And though some will die, there will be no doubt that all who do will have done battle with honor.
It still frustrated him that he couldn’t tell anyone but Cairne and Vol’jin the true plan. Even his orc chieftains, save for Rognak, had been left in the dark about what they were really doing here. And yet, it made sense, as much as Thrall hated to admit it. The demons and undead DID have spies everywhere… and he could not deny that his people, the orcs, were more susceptible to corruption and deception than most.
In the end, it didn’t really matter whether everyone thought they were making a doomed final stand or not. Archimonde would be convinced by their sheer fighting ferocity of the fact that they wanted to stop him. He would never realize what was truly going on until it was much too late, or so Thrall hoped.
He-
KABOOM!
Thrall jolts again, straightening up as the first explosion rocks the earth beneath him and a plume of smoke can be seen down the slope a ways. And then…
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
More landmines begin going off as the Scourge begin making themselves known, a tidal wave of undeath crawling its way up the slope towards the Horde’s fortifications. However, in doing so… they begin setting off the field of buried explosives that were set before this battle even began.
The goblins that Thrall had originally worked with in order to fly over Jaina’s bases back in Stonetalon had come through one last time. Even though Rognak had expressed displeasure over their assistance and what their machines and practices did to the nature that the Warsong Chieftain so highly venerated, Thrall had been insistent on putting his trust in them for at least this much.
And indeed… while the landmines don’t last long, they do enough. Five minutes of continuous explosions as the Scourge throw themselves upon the explosives, desiccated limbs and rotting torsos and exposed skulls getting blown sky high all across the field in front of the Horde base. All the while, Thrall and his forces are getting ready, preparing for the battle that is to come.
And lucky they do too, because-
“Flyers!”
There had been no reports of flying undead from the human base defense, but it was clear that their enemies had held some things in reserve. Thrall grits his teeth and raises Doomhammer into the sky.
“Beat them back!”
Putting actions to his words, he fires a powerful bolt of lightning from his hammer, striking one of the screeching gargoyles as it approaches and reducing it to ash in a moment. In response to this, others with ranged options begin to react as well, while the remaining wyvern riders take to the sky in an effort to clear it of their enemies.
It’s not long before the hippogryph riders from the Night Elves make it back from their resupply and healing as well, lending much needed aid… but they never quite manage to regain air superiority. Instead, the air simply becomes another deadly facet of this battle, with neither side truly controlling it.
Meanwhile, the landmines have all been cleared out by this point, and Thrall grunts as he charges forward, slamming Doomhammer into a ghoul that one of his warriors is grappling with. Thrusting Doomhammer forward towards the enemies at their gates, Thrall roars his defiance.
“FOR THE HORDE!”
His call is answered by not just orcs, but tauren braves and troll headhunters as well. Thrall’s heart swells with pride at the unity they’ve managed to achieve since arriving on Kalimdor. He refuses to let it die today. No, if anyone is going to perish, then let it be him. So that the rest of the Horde might survive.
“Your presence here is unnecessary, dreadlord. I have this well in hand.”
“Do you, Lich? Or has your poor performance against the humans already annoyed our master enough to force him to interfere once already?”
Thrall blinks as the dark, malevolent voices wash across the battlefield. He grits his teeth and sets his stance as he sees two of the enemy leaders stepping out into view behind their waves of undead and lesser demons.
“Behold, mortals! I am Anetheron, and I am here to tell you the truth that has been kept from you. You, all of you, are defenders of a doomed world. Flee before my might and perhaps you might just manage to prolong your worthless, meaningless lives.”
For a long moment, Thrall is floored by the audacity more than anything else. These creatures were so confident in their victory that they took the time to banter with one another? They were so assured of this battle’s outcome that they were even being as ‘generous’ as to offer a chance to escape. Not that anyone in the Horde’s camp takes Anetheron up on his offer. There’s silence for a beat… and then a roar of defiance that echoes from one end of the camp to the other as the warriors all around Thrall begin fighting even harder.
The Lich just cackles, while Anetheron’s face falls into a displeased scowl. Then, both of them wade forward into the fight, making things… dramatically more complicated.
The two aren’t frontline fighters. If they were, Thrall could confront them face to face and defeat them. No, they stay in the back, the Lich firing deadly bolts of frost magic every which way, and the dreadlord doing the same with fel magic. Worst of all, they’re targeting what little combatants that the Horde still has in the air. If they’re allowed free reign to continue that, then they’ll gain air superiority and the Horde’s base will be finished in an instant.
Growling, Thrall spins around, finding Vol’jin amidst the chaos. The Shadow Hunter wields his spear with deadly precision, taking down any and all opponents who get too close to him. At the same time, his shadow magic seems to wreathe him in power, increasing the force of his blows tenfold. But most important of all, at least in that moment as Thrall stares at the troll… is the bow on his back.
Racing over, Thrall swings Doomhammer through another opponent, clearing the space around Vol’jin with the troll’s assistance. Once they have a moment to breathe, Thrall outlines his plan.
“Vol’jin. So long as the Lich and Dreadlord remain in play, we are set to be ground down all the faster… too fast, in fact. Can you do anything?”
Vol’jin tilts his head to the side for a moment and nods, his eyes sliding over to the enemy commanders in question.
“… Yah mon. I can take care of da Lich.”
Thrall feels another savage grin spread across his face at the confirmation. Clapping Vol’jin on the shoulder, he turns and races back to the frontline, the Shadow Hunter at his side. Off in the distance, the enemy leaders have no idea that they’ve attracted such attention. It’s for the best, really… Thrall lets his eyes drift shut for a moment, feeling the power of the elements and the spirits within him. At his side, he can also hear Vol’jin drawing back his bow.
In the same moment, the two of them strike at the same time. Thrall with another powerful lightning bolt, and Vol’jin with a barrage of arrows wreathed in shadow that all find their mark. Neither the Lich nor the dreadlord see it coming and Thrall takes a vicious sort of satisfaction from the shocked look on Anetheron’s face just before the lightning strikes him and he’s electrocuted to death.
Meanwhile, the Lich’s reaction is… interesting to say the least.
“What… this… no! NOOOO!”
Before Thrall’s eyes, the arrows Vol’jin fired sprout chains that flow down into the earth. A pool of pitch black shadow coalesces under the Lich and he screams as he’s dragged downwards, disappearing from sight. That was… unexpected. Thrall blinks, shooting Vol’jin a glance, but the Shadow Hunter just shrugs.
“Dey Loa of Death not appreciate being cheated, mon. Won’t be able ta keep the Lich locked away forevah, but should be enough ta keep him outta dis fight.”
That was… good enough. More than good enough, in fact. With the enemy commanders both defeated in a single moment, Thrall feels a resurgence of confidence and hope. The fighting continues unabated, but now the greatest threats on the battlefield have been dealt with in a permanent fashion.
For a brief moment, Thrall even wonders if they truly need the plan that the others had come up with. This idea of setting a trap for the Defiler and blowing up the massive tree behind them in order to slay Archimonde once and for all… it had seemed like the only possible path forward back when they’d described it. But maybe not? Maybe the Horde could defeat the Legion and Scourge forces here and now.
That thought lasts for all of five minutes before Thrall begins to realize just how truly endless their enemies are. He’d been told of course, and he’d fought his fair share of undead and demons over the last several weeks, so he wasn’t completely blind to how vast their forces were. However, it was one thing to fight their way through masses of undead and lesser demons. It was another entirely to have to stand their ground and face the relentless onslaught forever and ever with no end in sight.
As time marches ever on, Thrall watches several brave warriors fall. Not to any particular enemy… but to mere exhaustion. The battle hadn’t even been going for thirty minutes, but already he suspected there were some among his Horde who had killed hundreds of enemies by themselves. And it was wearing on them.
They couldn’t last forever, but their foes could. The undead did not tire, nor did they falter. They could not feel fear and they could not be turned away by overwhelming power. Meanwhile, the demons seemed to almost exult in the battle. They were relentless in their onslaught, in their drive to corrupt and destroy and defile everything they could get their claws on.
Thrall feels a sinking sense of finality even before it happens. Even before a voice more malevolent and evil than even the commanders that he and Vol’jin slew suddenly resonates across the battlefield.
“Truly? Stymied again? Must I do everything myself? Winterchill and Anetheron have failed me. Begin preparations to summon Kaz’rogal and Azgalor for the final push. I shall deal with these pathetic mortals myself.”
Thrall’s heart sinks as Archimonde himself takes to the field, striding forward. The Defiler lets out a laugh as warriors of the Horde throw themselves at him to try and stop his advance… but to no avail. He shrugs off every last attack, batting away proud orcish warriors before their axes can even find purchase, stomping hulking tauren braves into the ground with one smash of his massive hooves and shooting beams of glowing fel energy right out of his eyes to take out those who dare to fire arrows and spells at him from range.
In an instant, a slow grinding defeat turns into an inevitable slaughter. The battle is imminently lost, and for a moment Thrall feels despair. Then, as if a whisper on the wind, he hears Orgrim’s voice in his head.
“Never lose sight of what you’re fighting for, Thrall.”
And right after him, Grom’s voice, even stronger, right in his ear.
“Aim for the bastard’s crotch, brother.”
As proud orcs, tauren, and trolls die all around him, Thrall lets out a singularly savage roar, charging forward and slamming Doomhammer into the ground, pulling on his connection to the elements with all his remaining might. Archimonde turns to him, the Demon Lord chuckling as Thrall’s weapon begins to spark and shake with power.
“Ah, the orc leader come to die. You should have taken Mannoroth’s offer when you had the chance, mortal. Then you and your orcs could have at least been on the winning side.”
Thrall narrows his eyes and grits his teeth, the skin of his knuckles stretching as he strains to hold Doomhammer in his hands.
“We will never serve you or your Legion again, demon! My people have broken your shackles! We are your slaves NO LONGER!”
He doesn’t bother waiting for Archimonde’s response. Or rather, he uses the moment when the Defiler opens his mouth to speak to swing Doomhammer up and unleash every last drop of power that he’s managed to accumulate in the last little while. The lightning that he conjures from his connection to the spirits and from the head of his hammer has to be the most spectacular bolt he’s ever managed to produce.
Unfortunately, he misses Archimonde’s crotch, despite it being such a big target. Instead, the lightning bolt lances out and hits the Defiler right in the chest, sending him reeling back a couple of steps from the blow and leaving a black, charred mark on his exposed flesh.
A loud roar of anger is Archimonde’s response to Thrall’s defiance, followed by a sweep of the Demon Lord’s hand. Immediately, a massive wave of sickly green fel magic appears in front of the Defiler, sweeping forward in an instant. Thrall knows he can neither escape the wave nor withstand it. He knows that this is his end. A smile spreads across his face all the same, for he hears over the blood rushing in his ears Archimonde’s muttered words.
“-etched little whelp actually managed to hurt me…”
But just before the fel wave can overtake him and the other surviving members of the Horde’s forces… a miracle happens. It was always the plan of course, but Thrall hadn’t really expected it to actually work out. And yet, in an instant… he and his remaining warriors are all teleported out by Jaina Proudmoore’s magic.
The Lady Proudmoore’s forehead is covered in sweat as they all vanish from their base and appear in front of her and her survivors. Immediately, she collapses to her knees the instant the casting is done. Clearly, the mass teleport has taken everything out of her that remains. And yet… she’d still done it. She’d saved him and his people at great expense to herself.
Thrall goes to her, to lend what little strength he has remaining in order to get her to her feet. Then, his eyes go to where the Night Elves have set up for their final stand at the base of their World Tree. The rest was up to them.
-x-X-x-
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Recent events have been enough to make Thrall’s head spin of late. In just a few short months he’s landed on Kalimdor, lost a brother, made unexpected and unforeseen allies, and discovered that he’s set his people up for a fight that might just be unwinnable. Still, what other choice did they have? If there was one thing that Thrall knew for sure, it was this; If they did not fight for their new homeland, then they deserved to lose it.
The demons who enslaved his people, who pushed them into invading this world so long ago… were here now, seeking to destroy everything and everyone. Thrall refused to let that happen. Even still, that didn’t mean he was thrilled with the plan they’d come up with-
“Warchief! The human settlement has fallen!”
Torn from his thoughts, Thrall lets out a growl, his head jolting upwards as the remaining wyvern riders come over the ridge, ascending the mountain to the Horde’s camp. His grip on Doomhammer tightens and he grits his teeth for a moment before grunting and spinning in place.
“Cairne! Vol’jin! The time is now! Get your people ready!”
The Chieftains of the Bloodhoof Tauren and the Darkspear Trolls both pound their fists upon their chests, nodding resolutely.
“It will be done, Warchief.”
“Dey Darkspear will be ready, mon. Dis not be a fight we can afford ta miss.”
Thrall nods to the both of them, even as they split off to get their troops together. Thrall, meanwhile, focuses on all of his orcs… or rather, most of them. There is one glaring absence among his forces, and he won’t deny that it rubs him the wrong way even now. The majority of the Warsong Clan was here, but its Chieftain and his druid neophytes were not. Instead, they were with the Night Elves at their base, preparing for the final stand.
It agitated Thrall something fierce, but once again Rognak had had all the perfect excuses. And indeed, when Thrall had seen what the other orc had in mind for their defense with the Night Elves, he was forced to admit that that was where Rognak and his neophytes were best placed. It didn’t mean Thrall was happy about it though. Still, that was something that can be discussed after the battle. For now…
“Warriors of the Horde! Heed my words! The humans have been forced into retreat! The demons ascend the mountain, which means they come for us next! With them come their undead lackeys, and a desire to unmake everything! If we give them the chance, they will destroy our new home. I refuse to let that happen! If the Defiler wants that damn tree, he’ll have to go through us first! Lok’tar Ogar!”
“””LOK’TAR OGAR!!!”””
A savage grin of satisfaction etches itself across the Orc Warchief’s face as he turns back to wait for the coming attacks. His warriors will fight with all their might on this day. And though some will die, there will be no doubt that all who do will have done battle with honor.
It still frustrated him that he couldn’t tell anyone but Cairne and Vol’jin the true plan. Even his orc chieftains, save for Rognak, had been left in the dark about what they were really doing here. And yet, it made sense, as much as Thrall hated to admit it. The demons and undead DID have spies everywhere… and he could not deny that his people, the orcs, were more susceptible to corruption and deception than most.
In the end, it didn’t really matter whether everyone thought they were making a doomed final stand or not. Archimonde would be convinced by their sheer fighting ferocity of the fact that they wanted to stop him. He would never realize what was truly going on until it was much too late, or so Thrall hoped.
He-
KABOOM!
Thrall jolts again, straightening up as the first explosion rocks the earth beneath him and a plume of smoke can be seen down the slope a ways. And then…
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
More landmines begin going off as the Scourge begin making themselves known, a tidal wave of undeath crawling its way up the slope towards the Horde’s fortifications. However, in doing so… they begin setting off the field of buried explosives that were set before this battle even began.
The goblins that Thrall had originally worked with in order to fly over Jaina’s bases back in Stonetalon had come through one last time. Even though Rognak had expressed displeasure over their assistance and what their machines and practices did to the nature that the Warsong Chieftain so highly venerated, Thrall had been insistent on putting his trust in them for at least this much.
And indeed… while the landmines don’t last long, they do enough. Five minutes of continuous explosions as the Scourge throw themselves upon the explosives, desiccated limbs and rotting torsos and exposed skulls getting blown sky high all across the field in front of the Horde base. All the while, Thrall and his forces are getting ready, preparing for the battle that is to come.
And lucky they do too, because-
“Flyers!”
There had been no reports of flying undead from the human base defense, but it was clear that their enemies had held some things in reserve. Thrall grits his teeth and raises Doomhammer into the sky.
“Beat them back!”
Putting actions to his words, he fires a powerful bolt of lightning from his hammer, striking one of the screeching gargoyles as it approaches and reducing it to ash in a moment. In response to this, others with ranged options begin to react as well, while the remaining wyvern riders take to the sky in an effort to clear it of their enemies.
It’s not long before the hippogryph riders from the Night Elves make it back from their resupply and healing as well, lending much needed aid… but they never quite manage to regain air superiority. Instead, the air simply becomes another deadly facet of this battle, with neither side truly controlling it.
Meanwhile, the landmines have all been cleared out by this point, and Thrall grunts as he charges forward, slamming Doomhammer into a ghoul that one of his warriors is grappling with. Thrusting Doomhammer forward towards the enemies at their gates, Thrall roars his defiance.
“FOR THE HORDE!”
His call is answered by not just orcs, but tauren braves and troll headhunters as well. Thrall’s heart swells with pride at the unity they’ve managed to achieve since arriving on Kalimdor. He refuses to let it die today. No, if anyone is going to perish, then let it be him. So that the rest of the Horde might survive.
“Your presence here is unnecessary, dreadlord. I have this well in hand.”
“Do you, Lich? Or has your poor performance against the humans already annoyed our master enough to force him to interfere once already?”
Thrall blinks as the dark, malevolent voices wash across the battlefield. He grits his teeth and sets his stance as he sees two of the enemy leaders stepping out into view behind their waves of undead and lesser demons.
“Behold, mortals! I am Anetheron, and I am here to tell you the truth that has been kept from you. You, all of you, are defenders of a doomed world. Flee before my might and perhaps you might just manage to prolong your worthless, meaningless lives.”
For a long moment, Thrall is floored by the audacity more than anything else. These creatures were so confident in their victory that they took the time to banter with one another? They were so assured of this battle’s outcome that they were even being as ‘generous’ as to offer a chance to escape. Not that anyone in the Horde’s camp takes Anetheron up on his offer. There’s silence for a beat… and then a roar of defiance that echoes from one end of the camp to the other as the warriors all around Thrall begin fighting even harder.
The Lich just cackles, while Anetheron’s face falls into a displeased scowl. Then, both of them wade forward into the fight, making things… dramatically more complicated.
The two aren’t frontline fighters. If they were, Thrall could confront them face to face and defeat them. No, they stay in the back, the Lich firing deadly bolts of frost magic every which way, and the dreadlord doing the same with fel magic. Worst of all, they’re targeting what little combatants that the Horde still has in the air. If they’re allowed free reign to continue that, then they’ll gain air superiority and the Horde’s base will be finished in an instant.
Growling, Thrall spins around, finding Vol’jin amidst the chaos. The Shadow Hunter wields his spear with deadly precision, taking down any and all opponents who get too close to him. At the same time, his shadow magic seems to wreathe him in power, increasing the force of his blows tenfold. But most important of all, at least in that moment as Thrall stares at the troll… is the bow on his back.
Racing over, Thrall swings Doomhammer through another opponent, clearing the space around Vol’jin with the troll’s assistance. Once they have a moment to breathe, Thrall outlines his plan.
“Vol’jin. So long as the Lich and Dreadlord remain in play, we are set to be ground down all the faster… too fast, in fact. Can you do anything?”
Vol’jin tilts his head to the side for a moment and nods, his eyes sliding over to the enemy commanders in question.
“… Yah mon. I can take care of da Lich.”
Thrall feels another savage grin spread across his face at the confirmation. Clapping Vol’jin on the shoulder, he turns and races back to the frontline, the Shadow Hunter at his side. Off in the distance, the enemy leaders have no idea that they’ve attracted such attention. It’s for the best, really… Thrall lets his eyes drift shut for a moment, feeling the power of the elements and the spirits within him. At his side, he can also hear Vol’jin drawing back his bow.
In the same moment, the two of them strike at the same time. Thrall with another powerful lightning bolt, and Vol’jin with a barrage of arrows wreathed in shadow that all find their mark. Neither the Lich nor the dreadlord see it coming and Thrall takes a vicious sort of satisfaction from the shocked look on Anetheron’s face just before the lightning strikes him and he’s electrocuted to death.
Meanwhile, the Lich’s reaction is… interesting to say the least.
“What… this… no! NOOOO!”
Before Thrall’s eyes, the arrows Vol’jin fired sprout chains that flow down into the earth. A pool of pitch black shadow coalesces under the Lich and he screams as he’s dragged downwards, disappearing from sight. That was… unexpected. Thrall blinks, shooting Vol’jin a glance, but the Shadow Hunter just shrugs.
“Dey Loa of Death not appreciate being cheated, mon. Won’t be able ta keep the Lich locked away forevah, but should be enough ta keep him outta dis fight.”
That was… good enough. More than good enough, in fact. With the enemy commanders both defeated in a single moment, Thrall feels a resurgence of confidence and hope. The fighting continues unabated, but now the greatest threats on the battlefield have been dealt with in a permanent fashion.
For a brief moment, Thrall even wonders if they truly need the plan that the others had come up with. This idea of setting a trap for the Defiler and blowing up the massive tree behind them in order to slay Archimonde once and for all… it had seemed like the only possible path forward back when they’d described it. But maybe not? Maybe the Horde could defeat the Legion and Scourge forces here and now.
That thought lasts for all of five minutes before Thrall begins to realize just how truly endless their enemies are. He’d been told of course, and he’d fought his fair share of undead and demons over the last several weeks, so he wasn’t completely blind to how vast their forces were. However, it was one thing to fight their way through masses of undead and lesser demons. It was another entirely to have to stand their ground and face the relentless onslaught forever and ever with no end in sight.
As time marches ever on, Thrall watches several brave warriors fall. Not to any particular enemy… but to mere exhaustion. The battle hadn’t even been going for thirty minutes, but already he suspected there were some among his Horde who had killed hundreds of enemies by themselves. And it was wearing on them.
They couldn’t last forever, but their foes could. The undead did not tire, nor did they falter. They could not feel fear and they could not be turned away by overwhelming power. Meanwhile, the demons seemed to almost exult in the battle. They were relentless in their onslaught, in their drive to corrupt and destroy and defile everything they could get their claws on.
Thrall feels a sinking sense of finality even before it happens. Even before a voice more malevolent and evil than even the commanders that he and Vol’jin slew suddenly resonates across the battlefield.
“Truly? Stymied again? Must I do everything myself? Winterchill and Anetheron have failed me. Begin preparations to summon Kaz’rogal and Azgalor for the final push. I shall deal with these pathetic mortals myself.”
Thrall’s heart sinks as Archimonde himself takes to the field, striding forward. The Defiler lets out a laugh as warriors of the Horde throw themselves at him to try and stop his advance… but to no avail. He shrugs off every last attack, batting away proud orcish warriors before their axes can even find purchase, stomping hulking tauren braves into the ground with one smash of his massive hooves and shooting beams of glowing fel energy right out of his eyes to take out those who dare to fire arrows and spells at him from range.
In an instant, a slow grinding defeat turns into an inevitable slaughter. The battle is imminently lost, and for a moment Thrall feels despair. Then, as if a whisper on the wind, he hears Orgrim’s voice in his head.
“Never lose sight of what you’re fighting for, Thrall.”
And right after him, Grom’s voice, even stronger, right in his ear.
“Aim for the bastard’s crotch, brother.”
As proud orcs, tauren, and trolls die all around him, Thrall lets out a singularly savage roar, charging forward and slamming Doomhammer into the ground, pulling on his connection to the elements with all his remaining might. Archimonde turns to him, the Demon Lord chuckling as Thrall’s weapon begins to spark and shake with power.
“Ah, the orc leader come to die. You should have taken Mannoroth’s offer when you had the chance, mortal. Then you and your orcs could have at least been on the winning side.”
Thrall narrows his eyes and grits his teeth, the skin of his knuckles stretching as he strains to hold Doomhammer in his hands.
“We will never serve you or your Legion again, demon! My people have broken your shackles! We are your slaves NO LONGER!”
He doesn’t bother waiting for Archimonde’s response. Or rather, he uses the moment when the Defiler opens his mouth to speak to swing Doomhammer up and unleash every last drop of power that he’s managed to accumulate in the last little while. The lightning that he conjures from his connection to the spirits and from the head of his hammer has to be the most spectacular bolt he’s ever managed to produce.
Unfortunately, he misses Archimonde’s crotch, despite it being such a big target. Instead, the lightning bolt lances out and hits the Defiler right in the chest, sending him reeling back a couple of steps from the blow and leaving a black, charred mark on his exposed flesh.
A loud roar of anger is Archimonde’s response to Thrall’s defiance, followed by a sweep of the Demon Lord’s hand. Immediately, a massive wave of sickly green fel magic appears in front of the Defiler, sweeping forward in an instant. Thrall knows he can neither escape the wave nor withstand it. He knows that this is his end. A smile spreads across his face all the same, for he hears over the blood rushing in his ears Archimonde’s muttered words.
“-etched little whelp actually managed to hurt me…”
But just before the fel wave can overtake him and the other surviving members of the Horde’s forces… a miracle happens. It was always the plan of course, but Thrall hadn’t really expected it to actually work out. And yet, in an instant… he and his remaining warriors are all teleported out by Jaina Proudmoore’s magic.
The Lady Proudmoore’s forehead is covered in sweat as they all vanish from their base and appear in front of her and her survivors. Immediately, she collapses to her knees the instant the casting is done. Clearly, the mass teleport has taken everything out of her that remains. And yet… she’d still done it. She’d saved him and his people at great expense to herself.
Thrall goes to her, to lend what little strength he has remaining in order to get her to her feet. Then, his eyes go to where the Night Elves have set up for their final stand at the base of their World Tree. The rest was up to them.
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