Garbage Day

(About a third of the way through the timeskip)

What now?

It was the thought that ran through Arthak's head as he made his way towards Stormreaver Spire.

He'd served the Shadowmaster's will.

There had been no doubt in Arthak's mind about what his choice to join with the Shadow Council might entail. The choices he would have to make.

But Garrosh's murder had been...a painful task.

And now Gul'dan requests my presence again.

It took little time for Arthak to find the path to the inner sanctum of the elder.

"Elder Gul'dan, I was told you wished to see me."

But for what purpose?

Gul'dan ran a steel-coated claw across the profane altar, his eyes alight with fel magics. In his mind's eye, he sped across the waves, seeking his quarry. Even now, the edges of his magicked vision crackled with felfire.

Where are you hiding? the warlock puzzled. For weeks since the Ban'dinoriel's fall, he had sought answers as to the source of this exceptional disturbance which ravaged this world. A locus of unbound chaotic magics that interfered with magic of any kind. Power waiting to be claimed.  And yet, despite everything, it eluded even he.

Gul'dan clenched his teeth. That such power remained beyond his grasp was unacceptable. He would find it, and he would have it.

He pushed onwards, thrusting his might upon the felfire, willing it to bend to his command. But, like a hand trying to bend a mountain, he was rebuffed. A flash of magic seared his hand for a moment, recoiling him from the altar and inciting a spiteful curse from his lips as the old orc staggered backwards from his spell.  A low, malicious growl interspersed itself between his panting as he held himself aloft by his staff.

"Elder Gul'dan, I was told you wished to see me."

Gul'dan turned to face Arthak, his twisted countenance softening immediately into one of satisfied relief. "Ahh," he sighed, "Arthak... my most punctual of friends," he said. "You will forgive me; I seem to have... lost track of time in my own efforts to further the Horde's strength."

He turned briefly to the altar and, with a wave of his hand, lit three candles, which had been extinguished in the aftershock of his... unsuccessful search.  Each was more melted than the last, the largest of which was placed upon the skull of a humanoid creature, melted wax acting as an adhesive towards it.  The felfire illuminated the room once more. Though the sanctum clearly still held the scars from the Resistance's raid, and Gul'dan's subsequent blast of felfire, much of it had been replaced or repaired - including the dark metal cages that once held the test subjects, liberated by the other elves.

He had ensured to replace the stolen prisoners as soon as he could. He turned to one of those elves now; an emaciated young man. Though not broken by exposure to the Red Mist, he was more worse for wear; indeed, it was impossible to tell if he once held enough strength to hold a sword, or enough power to weave a spell.  The elf looked up at Gul'dan, wordlessly, eyes wide and full of terror.  The warlock reached forward with his gauntleted hand, and at his command, the man's body went stiff and upright, his expressions wide. From his eyes and mouth, wisps of spiritual energy issued forth in a terrifying chorus of yells and cries. In unison, the handful of other prisoners winced and cowered as the magic wove itself into Gul'dan's hand, the white magic dancing across the tips of his fingers, his eyes glowing with bright green as his strength was restored.

With a rough wave of the gauntlet, the energy ceased, and the prisoner crumpled back down, panting weakly, his body nearly limp, his eyes barely able to stay open. Gul'dan sighed, the pain in his mind subsiding with the restoration of energy. "There," he said, turning back to Arthak once again. "You heard correctly, my dear friend. The war for this world has begun, and it is time for us to make preparations to ensure it falls to our might. Our strength was unmatched upon our world, but this one has already proved to be a worthy challenge of our strength. And so, it falls to us to ensure that the Horde gains the power it needs to emerge victorious upon the ashes of their walls and strongholds.

"Which brings us to our next move - and your next assignment. It is by your word that we will secure the loyalty of allies who will undoubtedly turn the tides of war upon those who oppose our conquest."

Arthak did not allow himself to look away as Gul'dan replenished himself using the unfortunate captive. There were many facets of the warlocks' lore that disturbed him, but this leeching of life for magical power was chief amongst them. On the battlefield, it was just another tactic to be used; that much he could appreciate. But upon those who could not fight back, who posed no threat, it was unconscionable.

But it was not something he would stop. He did not know if he could stop it, but he chose not to make the attempt.

I am letting this happen.

He held onto that thought as a rejuvenated Gul'dan turned back to him. But, word of a new assignment was distraction enough. He drew out a cigarette and lit it, his mind already beginning to consider the possibilities.

"Would these new allies be the...trolls I believe they're called? The elves' ancestral enemy." Selin and other Shadowsword had made reference to them before, and as far as Arthak understood it, the enmity between the quel'dorei and the...Amani he believed they were called, was a long running conflict.

As the saying went, the enemy of one's enemy.

"What more can you tell me?"

Gul'dan nodded, slowly and meticulously, a wide, yellowed grin spreading across his face. "Yes... that's correct. I see you have done your research. Hard-working as ever, my young friend. Yes... the tribes of the forest trolls, once united under the Amani Empire, until it was obliterated thousands of years ago in no small part to the machinations of the very elves who's kingdom we have crushed underfoot."

With a wave of his hand, felfire whipped across the area between the two of them as a life-like figure joined them in the room. The tall, muscular troll was crouched behind an invisible bush, an aerodynamic axe held aloft in his hand, ready to sail off at an invisible target. The hunter was tall and dangerous, and were he standing tall, he would dwarf the two orcs by at least a foot and change. This particular troll's face was obscured by the deep purple cloth of a scarf which wrapped around his left shoulder, absent of arm, one eye socket empty and full of hatred for an unknown target.


(Original by Blizzard Entertainment)

"Zul'jin. A powerful and charismatic leader, and a hero of the Amani. A warrior responsible for assassinating nearly all the kings of Azeroth in a single night across the entire continent. A weapon who would wipe out every elf from the face of this world if only he would be given the chance." Gul'dan slowly circled the room, moving to Arthak's side as they examined the illusory warrior. "We will give him this chance. We will direct him at our foes. And through us - through the Horde - he will gain the power to claim the vengeance he has sought for so very long."

The warlock placed his bare hand upon Arthak's shoulder. "If we can convince this headsman to our conquest, the shattered tribes of the Amani will join him in victory... or be crushed in defeat."

Zul'jin.

Arthak stared up at the troll, taking in the details, the missing eye and arm, the hateful resolve his expression held. 

A slayer of kings.

Interesting.

"So the goodwill of the Amani is tied to the goodwill of this warlord. The damage we have already inflicted to his enemies will likely be a strong point in our favor, and I imagine my being the killer of the elves' champion is a factor in my being chosen as representative. We can no doubt offer them vengeance, though..."

He looked to the elder beside him pensively.

"It will be difficult to do this without poisoning our ties to the Shadowsword. Managing two allies who are bound by a ancient hate...there is a risk of the Horde being forced into a position of picking one over the other. That will have to be managed; framing the dictates of this alliance so that neither side is given reason to think the other is more favored."

Both will have to be bribed with what they want, but skirting around where their desires become mutually exclusive. A very interesting problem.

If Selin does not know of this already, he will need to be informed. Keeping such a thing quiet would only lead him to suspect treachery.

"I have a few ideas. But...questions first. What specifically does the Horde wish from these Amani? Obviously the strength of their warriors, but is there anything else? Intelligence, resources, favors? And to what extremes will I be allowed to make promises on the Horde's behalf? Am I to be the only representative or will there be a team? Have the Shadowsword been consulted on this? And finally..." Arthak hesitated a moment, his expression darkening. "The Warchief. What role does he have in this?"

I suspect Gul'dan chose me without consulting him, but I could be wrong. And if I am not, what will his response to such a thing be?

"The Horde was forged of disparate clans that once warred among one another for territory, resources, and differing notions of honor. If a mighty spear such as the Horde can be forged from such differing metals, then surely our allies of the Shadowsword can set aside their blood feud with our newest potential allies. After all, they now share a common enemy - the foolish elves that resisted our occupation. If their old hatreds blind them to the strength we can offer them, then they will be cast out and obliterated like any other fool that opposes us. And, if these trolls cannot see the elven blood on the hands of Runesight and his lot, and take up their blades against us? Well..."

Gul'dan waved his hand, and the illusory image of Zul'jin vanished in a cloud of viridian smoke. "I would hate to lose such a potential resource." Gul'dan's eyes flickered back to Arthak and smiled as both hands caressed his staff for a moment. "Arthak... you have already began to forge bonds of brotherhood with Overlord Fireheart, yes? All the more reason for you to be the tip of this spear of diplomacy - as I see it, no one else is as uniquely equipped to make peace between these factions. I will leave him to you."

The warlock slowly stepped forward, occupying the same place within the room that the illusory warlord had been, then turned to face the young orc once again. "But... your questions," he said, his gravelly voice dwelling on the word for a moment as he answered them one-by-one in his mind. "The Horde requires two things from the Amani: their might, and their minds. They are masters of guerilla warfare, who's mastery of forest ambush rivals that of the elves, or the Bleeding Hollow's domination of the jungles. Their breed of magic is unknown to me, and their hatred is a weapon that yearns to be directed against our enemies... and not against the Horde. Additionally... the forest trolls are significantly more adept at seafaring than we are. If we are to challenge the blockade the humans have erected, we will need all of the assistance we can muster."

The Shadowmaster scratched his beard for a moment. "Their intelligence will also be invaluable. They have fought the smallteeth for as long as our people have existed. The knowledge of the Shadowsword has lent us no small amount of might against our enemies. To gain the perspective of the tribes of the Amani will lead to many victories."

Gul'dan grinned once again, an unnerving twinkle in his eye.  "As for the Warchief... it was he who assigned me to this venture, upon my advice. Blackhand trusts me to bring only those most qualified for this diplomatic mission... and so I am. The specific individuals of whom I choose to bring along for the purposes of this venture are beneath the concern of the man responsible for crushing the opposition we face south of Quel'thalas." A low chuckle interrupted the warlock's words for the briefest of moments before he continued. "Together, you and I will make this possible. I have selected a small team of trusted advisors and protectors to ensure we will not fall prey to ambush or slaughter, and that we will have the resources required to add their might to the Horde. As such, it comes to you and to me to decide what concessions the Horde can or cannot offer to Zul'jin and his warriors."

And when Blackhand finds out, the shadows coiling around him will feel even darker and deeper than they do now.

"Then we have options."

Arthak considered, one hand idly fishing for a cigarette.

"So...military aid, including intelligence and naval support in breaking the blockade. Also, I imagine you will have a desire to explore what magical lore they might offer."

And much that they would not.

"A sizeable collection of favors, but not unreasonable given that we have shattered their ancient enemies, and sent them fleeing from their lands. That provides us an opening edge, a position of strength we can make use of. And we can offer them the shared spoils of conquest, obviously. If they have been pushed to the fringes, we can offer them not just vengeance but a chance to reclaim all that has been taken from them and more. Debts repaid with interest."

Broad sweeping predictions though. Nothing specific to plan around. Unfortunately until we are at the negotiating table, it will be difficult to know what exactly they might want.

So. Specific advantages we might draw upon.

"I would guess that we are going to use magic to provide translations for this meeting? The only allies we have who might know the language are the Shadowsword, and obviously that is not a feasible choice...though. I may reach out to Commander Firewing, and see if he might help me learn the language of the trolls. It may ease things if I'm up front about what is coming, and knowing their tongue may provide a crucial advantage, whether we choose to inform them of my fluency or not."

Arthak refocused his gaze upon Gul'dan. He brought a match up to his face, lighting the cigarette he'd set between his teeth.

"It may also be a good idea to prepare a gift for Zul'jin specifically. Something practical, but that demonstrates our power. I was thinking...we could perhaps provide him with something to replace that missing arm."

Gul'dan nodded along with Arthak's plans. "A sound strategy, young Arthak. I am certain that the warlord of the Amani will appreciate the effort, should you learn their own tongue. I will have my own means of communicating with them, so I am gladdened to hear your enthusiasm towards this task. I trust you will be able to mollify any concerns Fireheart brings about.

"As for the gift, that is a wonderful idea, if you can muster it," The old orc pondered after Arthak's last suggestion, tapping a metal-encased finger upon his staff as he thought. "Though... that does bring me to a certain... curiosity. From all reports on the trolls, they carry a... healing factor, of sorts.  A natural capacity for regeneration. While not so pronounced as that seen by some of the fallen Primals of our homeland, or some of the most powerful of demons, it is enough to transform a convalescence from weeks to days. I have discovered more than a few pieces of literature suggesting that those with strong enough connections to their gods and spirits can recover from grievous injuries; knit shattered bones, even regrow lost limbs. Curious, then, that Zul'jin has not done this. Perhaps their gods have abandoned them, or perhaps the tales of the abilities of these trolls are... exaggerated, or that at least Zul'jin does not have them.

"Nevertheless, preparing such a generous gift of goodwill would prove that we have been watching him - and that we wish to extend a helping hand. After all, I can attest from firsthand experience that your craftsmanship is nothing to scoff at." As he finished, he brought up the clawed gauntlet and flexed the rune-carved fingers to punctuate his statement.

"I am glad you continue to be pleased with the Stormtalon, elder," Arthak said, a thin, but genuine smile playing on his face. Regardless of everything else, he could not help but claim satisfaction from other's pleasure with his creations.

"But the question you raise is a curious one. And one that may be useful to know the answer to. After all, wounds such as those that mark Zul'jin are often the kind that define a warlord's legend. Whether it be the abandonment of the gods, some curious choice or deficiency on his part, or perhaps even some curse inflicted upon him by the Quel'dorei, knowing why his wounds do not heal would tell us much of the man."

At least that is my own experience.

"As for the prosthetic, I believe I could work up such a thing. Though, there's only so much I can do without magical aid to animate it. I could likely gain such expertise from Halno or Prince Azgadaan of course. Ideally, I would try and create something that has magical enchantments beyond mere animation, but I'm unsure if I can afford the expense at this juncture. So..." He trailed off, his mind already running through some schematics he'd already been considering. "I may be able to compensate for a lack of magical...flair with the mechanistic."

His smile widened. There were many possibilities.

"As for Selin, I believe I can mollify him for now. There is much to admire in the man, including wisdom enough to know how tenuous his people's position is. Assisting me in this matter will be a favor I owe him, which will be some comfort for him. It will be a tenuous balance, between our old allies and the new. But it is an...exceedingly interesting problem to consider."

Gul'dan waved his hand dismissively, a grin on his face as he saw the young chief's mind begin to turn. "Worry not about material burdens, Arthak. This is, after all, a diplomatic mission for the glory of the Horde, not simply a personal project. You will have the supplies you need, so long as they are within my power to acquire for you, of course."

The elder moved forward and placed his bare hand on Arthak's shoulder again, looking up at him. "I am gladded to see your eagerness towards tackling this particular predicament, my young friend. I knew that you would be... uniquely suited for such a task, given your experience with fine lines."

A weak squeeze of his shoulder predicated an unnervingly genuine and supportive smile from the old orc. "I look forward to seeing your handiwork, both through craftsmanship and diplomacy."