04-18-2020, 09:59 PM
January 2nd, evening. Aboard the Smiling Eye.
Garrosh watched as Gramgun'kur disappeared into the distance and sighed. He was more than concerned about Zaela and the others, but he would rejoin them soon enough. And when he did... it would be time to strike back against the Shadow Council.
No matter what happened at the battle to the south, things were changing fast. He could no longer work safely within the Horde. Gul'dan's wretched eyes would be on him constantly, and unless he put some distance between himself and his twisted minions, his people would start disappearing. He couldn't let that happen. Not at this stage of the Plan.
And then there was the matter of Arthak. What the hell was he thinking, joining the Council? He was smart and cunning, but Gul'dan has been doing this for longer than both of them have been alive combined together. He wanted to believe Arthak would not be corrupted by the Elder's evil influence, but he had his suspicions. Blackhand used to be an orc worthy of honor and respect once, too.
He played with the fingerbone necklace Jorin had given to him before they had left to find Frostmourne - a mystic charm that he told him to wear for the moment. One that he assumed would protect him from prying eyes. Don't make me kill you someday, Arthak, he thought, a genuine hope.
"Captain," he said, turning back to the orc directing the vessel. "What's our destination?"
The orc didn't respond.
"Captain," he repeated. The captain remained silent, facing forward. Hellscream stormed over to the orc. "Captain, I am speaking to you. What's our destination?" Garrosh's blood boiled at the third slight and grabbed the orc, turning the man to face himself.
Something was wrong. He was cold. Hard. Light. Bereft of emotion and thought. The crew had been silent, yes, but he had not taken that as anything but caution.
Not until now.
An illusion!
He grit his teeth and swung with a haymaker, crushing into the false orc's face. He felt his head give and shatter as he connected with the creature, it's skull splintering into bloodless, fleshless bone fragments. "Dae'mon-made abominations. What is the meaning of this?" he said to himself.
He reached down and grabbed the axe from the pile that was once a skeletal captain and charged at the next nearest crew member, burying the weapon into its chest, crumpling it immediately. Three more crew members fell... but not a single one lifted a finger to defend itself.
"What is-"
There was an explosion, and Garrosh's feet left the deck. His senses filled with bright light and a piercing sound as he sailed into the sea and sank beneath the waves, fading out of consciousness.
It was dark.
Then, suddenly, his eyes snapped open, his lungs filling with water. He was alive, somehow, but sinking. He struggled against the dark water, swimming his way back to the surface. As he breached, he saw the wreckage of Arthak's vessel, still burning above the water's surface as it slowly sank into the depths.
His mind raced with a dozen possibilities. Were we under attack? Was this an assassination attempt? A setup?
There was no way to tell. Not yet. But he was alive. He coughed some of the water out of his lungs and gripped onto a piece of wreckage nearby and caught his bearings.
He needed to get back to land. But right now, that was unwise. If this was an assassination attempt, they would likely come to finish the job. If the Shadow Council was involved, returning to Gramgun'kur would put Arthak in danger. Unless...
"Hellscream," a low voice called to him. His attention was drawn to a small wooden boat floating silently through the evening drift. A orc in a thick cloak that obscured his form was aboard, controlling the vessel with a long oar. "Come. We don't have much time before their scouts will find us."
"What is this?" he said. "Who are you?"
The orc lowered his hood, where Garrosh saw the one-eyed visage of Jorin Deadeye.
"Jorin? What the hell are you doing out here?"
"Saving you," he said. "Arthak has betrayed you to the Shadow Council. If he finds you, he will make sure you did not survive." Jorin held a hand out to Garrosh.
The warsong champion knew it was true. It made too much sense for it not to be. That stupid, ambitious fool had already sold his soul to Gul'dan. Even if he thought this would get him poised to strike... the only thing that would die would be his honor, his integrity as an orc.
"Dammit," Garrosh said as he took the orc's hand and climbed aboard the vessel. The two sailed into the darkness under a veil of silence.
Garrosh watched as Gramgun'kur disappeared into the distance and sighed. He was more than concerned about Zaela and the others, but he would rejoin them soon enough. And when he did... it would be time to strike back against the Shadow Council.
No matter what happened at the battle to the south, things were changing fast. He could no longer work safely within the Horde. Gul'dan's wretched eyes would be on him constantly, and unless he put some distance between himself and his twisted minions, his people would start disappearing. He couldn't let that happen. Not at this stage of the Plan.
And then there was the matter of Arthak. What the hell was he thinking, joining the Council? He was smart and cunning, but Gul'dan has been doing this for longer than both of them have been alive combined together. He wanted to believe Arthak would not be corrupted by the Elder's evil influence, but he had his suspicions. Blackhand used to be an orc worthy of honor and respect once, too.
He played with the fingerbone necklace Jorin had given to him before they had left to find Frostmourne - a mystic charm that he told him to wear for the moment. One that he assumed would protect him from prying eyes. Don't make me kill you someday, Arthak, he thought, a genuine hope.
"Captain," he said, turning back to the orc directing the vessel. "What's our destination?"
The orc didn't respond.
"Captain," he repeated. The captain remained silent, facing forward. Hellscream stormed over to the orc. "Captain, I am speaking to you. What's our destination?" Garrosh's blood boiled at the third slight and grabbed the orc, turning the man to face himself.
Something was wrong. He was cold. Hard. Light. Bereft of emotion and thought. The crew had been silent, yes, but he had not taken that as anything but caution.
Not until now.
An illusion!
He grit his teeth and swung with a haymaker, crushing into the false orc's face. He felt his head give and shatter as he connected with the creature, it's skull splintering into bloodless, fleshless bone fragments. "Dae'mon-made abominations. What is the meaning of this?" he said to himself.
He reached down and grabbed the axe from the pile that was once a skeletal captain and charged at the next nearest crew member, burying the weapon into its chest, crumpling it immediately. Three more crew members fell... but not a single one lifted a finger to defend itself.
"What is-"
There was an explosion, and Garrosh's feet left the deck. His senses filled with bright light and a piercing sound as he sailed into the sea and sank beneath the waves, fading out of consciousness.
It was dark.
Then, suddenly, his eyes snapped open, his lungs filling with water. He was alive, somehow, but sinking. He struggled against the dark water, swimming his way back to the surface. As he breached, he saw the wreckage of Arthak's vessel, still burning above the water's surface as it slowly sank into the depths.
His mind raced with a dozen possibilities. Were we under attack? Was this an assassination attempt? A setup?
There was no way to tell. Not yet. But he was alive. He coughed some of the water out of his lungs and gripped onto a piece of wreckage nearby and caught his bearings.
He needed to get back to land. But right now, that was unwise. If this was an assassination attempt, they would likely come to finish the job. If the Shadow Council was involved, returning to Gramgun'kur would put Arthak in danger. Unless...
"Hellscream," a low voice called to him. His attention was drawn to a small wooden boat floating silently through the evening drift. A orc in a thick cloak that obscured his form was aboard, controlling the vessel with a long oar. "Come. We don't have much time before their scouts will find us."
"What is this?" he said. "Who are you?"
The orc lowered his hood, where Garrosh saw the one-eyed visage of Jorin Deadeye.
"Jorin? What the hell are you doing out here?"
"Saving you," he said. "Arthak has betrayed you to the Shadow Council. If he finds you, he will make sure you did not survive." Jorin held a hand out to Garrosh.
The warsong champion knew it was true. It made too much sense for it not to be. That stupid, ambitious fool had already sold his soul to Gul'dan. Even if he thought this would get him poised to strike... the only thing that would die would be his honor, his integrity as an orc.
"Dammit," Garrosh said as he took the orc's hand and climbed aboard the vessel. The two sailed into the darkness under a veil of silence.