Conquest of the Horde

Why does the drum bring thunder?

Disclaimer: If you knew Khal'Ali pre-reset, you probably no longer do.

Why does the drum bring thunder? Why was I born with blue eyes? Why do the spirits bless some, but scorn others? Why does the sun chase the moon, and when an eclipse comes, why does it not take what's so hard worked for? The boggled Ghan climbed the crags and hills that surrounded the Valley of Trials. He took back roads, shimmied trees, and leapt across cliffs so high. What had once been ground for warlocks and a small band of outlaws a few years ago, had become Ghan's home, welcomed by his mentor, Khal'Ali, who took this plot of land as his own. Ever since the two first arrived here, he always felt it was haunted… cursed even. Perhaps that was why Khal'Ali lived here. It further caused the apprentice's mind to question the most simple of things.


He had but one last winding path before him before he arrived in a very sacred place to his mentor. The sacred place before him was a great cliff with a long drop. It was there he saw Khal'Ali in meditation. Therefore, he left the supplies he'd behind. When he looked back at Khal'Ali a second time, Ghan noticed something peculiar in the way the elder shaman sat. He noted the way he slumped over. Ghan came forward and nudged Khal'Ali's arm, but the shaman did not move or respond to the young apprentice. Never has this happened. Ghan tugged upon man's mantle. This upset his balance, and caused Khal'Ali to fall back. His eyes were partially open when he was lying this way, but still stiff. Ghan pressed a thumb to the elder's neck, but there was no pulse. Death restricted the elder's heart.


Slow in movement and reaction, Ghan sat to prepare Khal'Ali's grave. No pyre, as commanded of him, would be built, and the shaman would return to the Earth. He sung a deep throat-song in Orcish as he dug. Usually songs of this sort were reserved for heroes, but to Ghan, Khal'Ali was most certainly a hero. His mind wandered to what he'd gathered of Khal's youth and life growing up in the middle of the song. These thoughts transformed into the song. A life is a long thing, so the song would be long. It started off dark, when Khal'Ali blasphemed against the spirits of Draenor as a warlock, but grow in power for the second war. The song became more tranquil with the camp and tone softer to show Khal'Ali's redemption. From this point on, he personally knew the old man, and he recalled how his redemption brought him to search out and find Shamanism. His death, age, seemed unfitting. It seemed wrong, and unfair. Khal'Ali deserved death in battle. The lok'vadnod ceased. He retreated away from the earthy red cliff's edge.


For days, he mourned and tore at his hair. He pounded his chest and roared during the whole chain of events. At some point in the mourning he gripped up the ends of his hair, and with the only metal weapon he had, he shaved his head bald. In the darkness of his lament, Ghan saw wisdom. He returned to the bag of good he retrieved for his fatherly mentor. It made no sense to him at first why he had ordered food, water, and a rope, but sure enough, he realized the meaning of this entire situation. He recalled when Khal'Ali had pushed him into a hole, and demanded the meaning of the hole he had found himself in. He related such a meaning, to this, and realized the answer to both were the same.

Ghan, now hungry for wisdom, knew he had trapped himself in his security and selfishness, and he'd have to dig himself from this hole if he wished to become a great Shaman. The young Orc vowed to leave behind his taking and not fully giving mentality, and he meditated for long on the mountainside. His mind cleared, and he focused fully on the wind, which whispered, in his pointy ears; he focused on the distant mirth of the sea; the Earth he sat upon spoke warmly, and proud, and it filled Ghan with pride; lastly, he made a fire, and sought the favor of flame spirits for his journey. The world became alive, and the Shaman needed to protect its spirits, and bring honor to his name. He promised himself, he'd call upon the spirits never in abuse, but with rightly guided intentions.


He stared at the human fortress before him, ruined and held by desperate survivors. He felt not pity for them, as he once had, and realized their choices in life lead them to further wisdom, even if they may soon experience death. He admired that about his foe, and wished to one day be in their position, in a foreign land kept under the watch of an opposing force that one day may attack, and he would need to muster up all of his Orcish fury to hold on.


Finally, he stopped rejecting his calling. He gripped up the bear-hide mantle of Khal'Ali, and placed them upon his own broad shoulders. Ghan gave one last look down the path, which lead to Durotar's flat desert. He drew in a deep breath, and carried on. This Orc had quite the journey ahead of him, and he dared not waste time in familiar turf.

Why does the drum bring thunder? So that all may hear its call.

Honorable Foe and The Hunt



Below his oiled feet rushed a magnificent flow of water. A rite reserved for dire haste across the water, the Shaman's goal served his cause for victory. Such a glorious feeling, he felt only days before, drove him. He knew he would need to give back to the spirits of the river before the sun set, and promised he would.

Along the side of the river ran a great gray dire wolf, Mok'Ali, his late mentor's companion. Its mouth hang open revealing a trap full of pointy teeth, a panting tongue, which raced like a heart, and trailing clear saliva. Mok'Ali's thick gray coat brushed back with the wind against his mane, and gray eyes never left the land ahead of its snout. It kept to Ghan's side along the Barrens-side of Southfury due to the loudness of Ghan's steps and splash each time his foot came down upon the water. Not but three minutes passed before the two were separated by a river.

Familiar red dust dirtied Ghan's soles, and the fish oil clung to the red soil. Durotar appeared as vicious as ever, and even during day, the dry muddied landscape homed many threats which could leap out at a man when least expected. With tomahawk and shield in hands, Ghan's blue eyes peered around. He hunched over and walked slowly. Mok'Ali barked for his pack-mate, but the Orc could not bark back, for he had a task before him, and to call the attention of vicious red raptors or horrible pigmen, whose hunched backs teamed with quills, seemed a horrible outcome.

The thunder of a drum distracted his head. Ghan crawled along the coastline, and spotted a twisted raptor corrupted by some foul evil, which plagued the rare animal in the region. Rather than a red hide, like the common raptor of Durotar, its scales reflected a faded tan with dark blue stripes horizontally trailing down its spine and tail. Lengthy black claws twisted out from tiny hands and massive feet. Strange cloth and feathers hung from the limbs of this beast, and green eyes peered down into the flowing river. It tore and thrashed at fish, fulfilling a greedy excess as the bass migrated along the fresh water downstream. The fat gut of the gluttonous animal certainly showed its intention, and bloodied red dagger-like teeth emerged from the water with a squirming creature in its maws.


At first, he wished to be hidden fore this was the balance of nature. To him, the death was meaningless, and his survival was all that mattered. Silently padding, Ghan relied on his talents to see him from the great opponent. A single kick from the dagger-claw at one's neck could spell death. However, a beast so corrupt, it knew only slaying, and spotted Ghan from the far. Its neck craned and a bestial chuckle rang across the sun-smote air. The young Shaman ran. The howling beast followed with a hellish delight, and fierce nature. Its high-pitched screech filled Ghan's ears, and instantly boiled over a headache. He could only run so far, and knew his life would be soon forfeit if he continued on this way. Skidding to a stop, Ghan pivoted with his tomahawk held wide. The dull weapon, by chance, caught the horrid beast's right foot, which set to pounce upon the Shaman. The stone dug to the bone, and repelled the possible fatal strike.

Ghan built upon this momentum. Patience was a key he believed in, but so was opportunity. With that Orcish might and fury, Ghan thrust-wide his axe, but carved only the air. The raptor pushed off the first strike and collapsed upon the ground before a second strike could be made. It rolled and tumbled on the red baked soil twice, before its cat-like agility kicked in. The head remained almost perfect in location as the body rolled far enough to allow the creature to stand upon its uneasy feet. It clawed at the ground to the over-thrown shaman and tackled him with-in the course of seconds. Ghan struggled for life under the haste of the devilish lizard. A wave flashed across his skin, and electricity instantly lacerated the scaled arms and legs of the corrupted raptor. A horrible cry filled the heavens and echoed off the near-by mountains. Twitching, the raptor boiled over and rolled onto its back, leaving fresh punctures in Ghan's yellow flesh.


The raptor's head tossed and turned in agony, and Ghan slowly rose from the ground. Ghan patted the front of his buckskin kilt, sending particles of red dirt in the air. Panic-stricken one moment, he seemed calm after the threat diffused. He stood over the raptor and closed his eyes. The slaughter, he dedicated to the water spirits, came with the axe in the raptor's jugular. Lifeblood trailed across wet stone, and fell like a river down the beast's neck to the red soil. A final death howl unleashed from the mighty foe, and it fell limp and lifeless. Ghan bowed his head to the honorable kill. He instantly grasped the complexity, which transpired from the fresh-death. No pyre or burial would be made for the animal. It needed none. Dragged by the tail, the raptor had been brought to the river and tossed in its current for the crocolisks or vultures to rip apart.


Ghan swam across Southfury as a narrow point, and reminded himself nearly an hour ago why he set out. Ghan chose not to use the fresh bounty; its size was inferior to many animals, and he had greater ideas for its use. Before the sun lingered directly overhead, the Orc had been issued a challenge by an honorable foe, a Night Elf named Hunaja. She was beautiful, as all Night Elves were, but perhaps a little playful. She stood roughly his height, but lacked in the mass Orcs so found attractive. She wore large thigh-high boots of wrapped vine and a skimpy loincloth. A thick green tunic had shielded her chest and leather gloves gripped hands. Her back, embraced by a spear and bow, remained straight at attention. Her hair flowed long and straight, but a dark green, which blended well with the moon-blue flesh, and dark lips, which could hide her well in the dark forest of Ashenvale, where such colors were common.

At first, he remembered, they were vicious foes, but he won their fight, and showed mercy and honor to the woman. Friendship may be an awkward term to describe their relationship, but it was the most accurate and based off competition and outdoing one another. He saw her travel north to bring back the largest animal, and he went south. He feared she might steal a saber of some sort, or perhaps a hulking mass of ooze and corrosion. Durotar's largest bounty, the Thunder Lizard would be far too large and dangerous to bring back, and he had only four hours left to return.

He wished to see her glowing silver eyes widen as he brought back a mighty beast though. In the Barrens, Ghan found himself reunited with the loyal Mok'Ali, and he climbed upon the dog's back. Relying on trust, he allowed Mok'Ali to find a giraffe by scent. In such parts of the world, the horned beast was not too uncommon though.


In the distance, Ghan's alert sentry spotted the long-necked creature. It finished a recent meal of crisp leaved at a near-by tree ventured to another for shade. Mok'Ali charged on, however, caring not for the peace of such an animal. Its claws kicked up dry grass as he ran, and its bark filled the giraffe with a startle. Ghan braced himself, and knew one solid kick from this beast could kill even a lion. Fearless was his wolf, however, and it lunged for the side of the giraffe. Canines dug to the ribs and the wolf's head shredded to the sides. The gore in the wolf's mouth leaked across fine-groomed fur. A could be proud of such a massacre.


“That's enough,” barked Ghan as he commanded the wolf's slaughter to end. Had not Khal'Ali or Ghan been hard on the ferocious breed as a pup, it would not have listened, but it knew its place and ceased on its consumption. He rewarded Mok'Ali with affection, before tying the giraffe's neck to Mok'Ali's own. With teamwork, the Orc and his Dire Wolf returned the bounty to the camp he set in Ashenvale. He was sure he won.