The Order of the Black Heart (Warcraft 3)

[torroar]

The Order of the Black Heart: Part Sixteen
Zealousness
A Warcraft III AU​

There were twenty of them. Some were still dressed in the dreaded black plate of their station, while others had changed to featureless grey steel. Some held in sheathes the terrible and monstrous runeblades of their kind – that which rent souls and hungered for blood – while others either had far more mundane equipment or no weapons at all. A disturbing blue light emanated from their eyes, a light that only Uther Lightbringer himself no longer possessed in exchange for a faint golden sheen.

"Koltira Deathweaver. Thassarian. Bloodrose Datura," Uther gestured towards the death knights in question as he walked through the small camp.

He was not alone, of course. The other two founding members of the Silver Hand walked behind him, as well as the Grand Magus of the Kirin Tor. High Priest Isilien had not been offered a place in the short excursion over worries that they might do something…aggresive. The young Brigitte Abbendis and her companion Taelan had come as well, seemingly always at the side of the Lightbringer even after his erstwhile imprisonment had been officially ended. Saidan would have grimaced if he had felt the inclination for it, as while the young woman seemed disturbingly reverent of Uther her father on the other hand seemed determined to stalk after him in constantly muted fury. No others had come either, as the location of such a camp of potentially devastating combatants so near to Hearthglen needed to be kept secret. As Uther had said before they had set off, there was no need to cause any undue panic.

"And…all of them, are like you?" Saidan mused as he looked at them all.

"No, few are capable of using the Light anymore, but they have mastered the unholy powers forced upon them with vigor," Uther shook his head. "They would never have been freed if Arthas hadn't decided to throw his greatest against Dalaran…and perhaps if he had not Dalaran would not have fallen."

"Antonidas knew what he was doing," Rhonin said quietly, his tone somber. "He made his choice to save as many of the Black Hearts from being trapped as they were over escaping."

"And we shall not let his sacrifice be in vain, Rhonin, this I swear," Uther bowed his head.

It was easy to see how Rhonin and the rest of the Kirin Tor grieved. Their city had been plundered, wiped clean of all life, and many of their greatest were dead or worse – risen again in undeath. Antonidas himself was gone, along with many of their greatest and most powerful. The entire balance of power and influence that had existed in the Alliance had been utterly torn asunder. Of all of their people, only a third had been able to escape at the sacrifice of Antonidas and many of the other Archmagi. Still, that was significantly more than was estimated would have survived otherwise.

"I have a question, if you would indulge me, Uther," Saidan ran a hand through his greying hair. At his old comrade's nod, he sighed and spoke in careful tones, "All of you are freed from the Scourge, yet…you do not call yourselves members of the Silver Hand any longer."

"Ah," Uther raised a hand to interrupt, "I was wondering when you would ask."

"It is a fair question, abomination," the elder Abbendis sneered, speaking up for the first time since they had arrived. "You claim freedom, but continue to truck with dark and unholy forces. We well know how many of the Alliance's citizenry turned out to be traitors, to be members of the Cult of the Damned. You-,"

"Abbendis!" Saidan cut off his zealous ally with a single raised hand, clad in plate and mail. Then he looked towards the man who had, in life, been one of his brothers. "Disregarding the last of what he said, it is a question that demands an answer, Uther."

The Lightbringer sighed, and looked off into the middle distance for a moment before shaking his head. Turning to his longtime friend and fellow founder of the Silver Hand, he offered up his hands as if in sacrifice.

"Look at us, Saidan," Uther implored as he flexed his hands. "The Light has not forsaken us, nor have we it…but the things that were done to our bodies and souls at the hand of Arthas shall be part of our beings until we die."

Rolling his shoulders, the massive man ran a hand through his hair.

"We cannot be part of the Silver Hand, not with the taint that we shall carry throughout our existence. What Arthas did to us…what we did for him…," Uther mumbled a faint prayer as he shuddered.

"What guarantee do we have then," Abbendis hissed, his tone acidic and his words poisonous, "That you will not turn back to him? You admit your taint!"

One of his hands had found its way to the blade at his side, and Saidan could only raise an eyebrow incredulously. Both Taelan and Brigitte stared at the almost frothing High General. His irises had narrowed to pinpricks, his chest heaved like a forges bellows. Uther, for his part, kept a schooled expression as he walked forward and placed a hand on one of the other death knight's shoulders who looked back and nodded.

"Faith, and the Light," Uther answered gravely.

Many of these death knights had not been, priests, though a few of the original Silver Hand had, but none could deny the bedrock deep faith in the Light that Uther and his comrades possessed. For the sake of all things good, they had manage to be dragged out of the filth that the Lich King's greatest servant had dredged them in. There was clear evidence that the Light was not lost to them, exemplified in the man who had become known as Lightbringer. Others amongst the freed were still capable of touching the Light, and even those that for some inexplicable reason were unable to do naught but use the powers grafted to them could feel it's comforting touch without pain.

"The Light girds us, as it always has, even for those who remain unable to use it as before," Uther pointed towards one of the more powerful among them, the High Elf Koltira. "Koltira was no paladin, but instead a member of the Farstriders. Yet now he stands free, with all of us."

"Not a paladin!? How – we – how many of your cursed number had no succor from the Light before their corruption!?" Abbendis practically screamed this, both hands at the blades he carried, his voice almost hysterical.

"Abbendis…" Saidan growled.

"No," the man spat at Saidan's feet, "I have heard enough! You – you know nothing! You weren't there as the Scourge ravaged our homeland, you didn't walk the roads as men, women, and children screamed and died all around you!"

Adrien Abbendis screeched as he practically leapt away from the reaching hand of the paladin.

"I – I saw it, we saw it all you bastard. We watched as Lordaeron died all around us, I was there I was there when Arthas slew the King!"

"Adrien, calm down!"

"Father, please," Brigitte called out, slowly approaching the elder Abbendis. "It is the glory of the Light that returns them to us and keeps them from the Scourge's control, do you not see?"

Privately, Rhonin found it a little disturbing that the same mania evident in Adrien Abbendis seemed to exist in just as great a quantity in his daughter only for it to be going in a different slant.

"No no no no," Adrien howled, "They. Are. Undead! How do none of you see it! They are murderers, they are the ones who destroyed our homeland, they are nothing more than butchers!"

"Abbendis," Uther frowned, "We brought you here on good faith, and to prove ourselves. We are not the Silver Hand, and though we may take the name of the Order of the Black Heart-,"

That was it, and a blade flashed out of its sheath as Adrien held it steadily in the direction of the Lightbringer.

"See, see! They take the name-,"

And the patience of the Lightbringer began to wear thin.

"- in order to redeem it," he interrupted, his voice booming. "Arthas twisted us into his own servants, but we are free of him. In return, we shall take the name of the Black Heart and forge it into a fellowship of the free!"

"There. Is. No. Such. Thing. As. Free. Undead!" Abbendis screamed, but instead charging he began to back away, the tip of his blades wavering between the various targets.

His own daughter, who looked existentially horrified at her father threatening the Lightbringer.

Taelan Fordring, confused and concerned as one of the remaining top military officials of Lordaeron screaming at them.

Grand Magus Rhonin, of the Kirin Tor, who had slowly begun collecting arcane power to himself should things truly become violent.

Saidan, one of the founders of the Silver Hand.

Last of all, Uther Lightbringer. Behind him stood the ranks of the apparently redeemed Black Hearts.

Adrien Abbendis sneered at all of them, even as he backed away further. Then, he raised one of his blades high towards the night sky.

"I knew it would come to this, I knew it, I knew it the moment that you all let this," he wriggled the other blade at Uther, "Abomination come into our camp!"

"Adrien what are you-," Saidan began to say.

"I don't know what you are," Abbendis howled over his former friend's words, "You tainted creatures, you twisted undead and your servants, but I will not let you succeed! Thank the Light," he said with relish, "That others have seen through your façade!"

On the final word, soldiers began to appear from the woods. Dressed in scarlet armors and tabards, all of them with that same look of hatred in their eyes, they came. Dozens of them crept forward out of the shadows and leading them all…

"Oh, Isillien," Saidan whispered, his voice heavy, "Not you too."

"Do not speak to me, traitor," the High Priest snarled.

"Traitor, traitor to what," Saidan shook his head at them, "What is wrong with you two?"

"What is wrong," Abbendis growled, "Is that you are all of you, traitors! Traitor to the cause! To the living! All of you, betraying the Light and Lordaeron for your secret Scourge masters!"

"What the hell are you talking about," Rhonin cried out, "None of us serve the Scourge!"

"LIES! The Cult of the Damned, they were everywhere, are everywhere," Isillien cried out, "You wizards as well! How can we trust you, when Kel'Thuzad was one of your number!"

"I don't know what you're-," Rhonin began before having to dodge a lash of searing Light.

"Oh, you thought I didn't know, but I do, I did! It only took a few hours to extract the knowledge from your pathetic kind," Isillien smiled toothily, "But I learned. Kel'Thuzad, one of the greatest necromancers of the Scourge, came from the Kirin Tor!"

"You are, all of you, garbage," Adrien yelled. "Tainted, traitors, abominations alike! Well we will stand for it no longer," he gave Saidan a look of pity and scorn as he continued to speak, "I had thought to invite you among us, Saidan, but I know now that you are too far gone, too lost to the shadow."

"We," Isillien called out, his arms raised high in exuberant rapturous prayer, "Are the Scarlet Crusade, and we will break the back of the Scourge and free our lands!"

"Starting," Abbendis glared at Uther, "With you."

"Father no!"

Brigitte gasped as she was slapped aside the moment she got close enough to her father, flung to the floor by his strength. With one hand she cupped her check and stared up at him, uncomprehending.

He did not even look at her.

"You are corrupted, and have spent far too long in this…false idol of yours," Adrien said with a calm he did not seem capable of possessing, "But do not worry, child. Isillien will save you."

"As for the rest of you…Scarlet Crusade, prove yourselves…your High General demands it!"

"FOR THE CRUSADE!"

Saidan reached out with one hand, and with a blast of holy Light scattered some of the frothing crusaders as the entire band of crimson clad zealots began to charge. Uther regretfully drew a blade of his own while the rest of the freed Black Hand began to unsheathe their own weapons. Those that had possessed none previously began to charge up unholy bolts of death, while Rhonin began casting his own spells. Brigitte screamed as the High Priest reached for her and she began to scramble away, drawing her own weapons in defiance. She spared only one glance of pure venom for her own father before she rushed for her allies.

"Damn you, Adrien!" Saidan cried out for his friend, whose hatred had finally overwhelmed what reason was left to him. "Don't do this!"

"Kill them all, my brothers and sisters, all of them," Abbendis called out, before he went forward himself as the first of the vanguard were brought down by a collection of some of the mightiest former servants the Scourge had ever possessed.

Above it all, the moon glowed faintly through the clouds.

 

[Evillevi]

It Yet Lives!!!!

*Cough Cough*

Seriously it's good to see a update, especially so since fanaticsm is a concept that few people touch on.

 

[Necron_Lord]

Oh the Scarlet Crusade, you silly geese.

 

[Deathwings]

Oh boy, those guys. Were they formed that early in canon ? I though these morons came about after Archimonde got his shit pushed in.

 

[torroar]

It's muddy, actually, as to when they formed in canon. Right after Lordaeron fell, while Arthas was running about? Or after Archimonde died, and it was in the wilderness...it's kind of odd.

As it is, the principle founders are all here, just differently aligned.

The elder Abbendis and Isillien were pretty much always insane, and were largely responsible for making the Crusade as insanely paranoid as it was - something that was only aided when Saidan was possessed by Balnazzar (who is dead in this fic because Antonidas) - to the point of attacking anyone who wasn't them in case they were undead - were about to become undead - were living servants to the undead - and so on and so forth.

Here, seeing Saidan and his own daughter associating openly and happily with these disgusting murderous abominations who destroyed Lordaeron drove them and those in their groups who were already zealously crazy enough to form the Scarlet Crusade in this instance. I will note however that due to Uther and the others being around and openly using the Light, and 1/3 of all Dalaran escaping and joining in, and just generally a lot more safety and Light powers being used...there are/were far fewer people in danger of going over the tipping point into full Scarlet Crusade-hood.

 

[torroar]

The Order of the Black Heart: Part Seventeen
Recrimination And Regret
A Warcraft III AU​

​

Unnamed Forest Clearing, Western Plaguelands

Uther grunted as he dragged his hammer back from the corpse of another 'Scarlet Crusade' member with a loud sucking sound. The chest cavity had been essentially pulped in that last single swing, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Uther had offered surrender multiple times before finally concluding the matter, each time having been refused. It was a very disheartening state of affairs. In point of fact, none of the 'Scarlet Crusade' as they had been so named had surrendered. So convinced of their insane course that they had rather died than be spared. Despite the fact that success would mean that not only would the Black Hearts have been struck down but also some of the greatest living heroes remaining to Lordaeron.

"Father…," Brigitte Abbendis whispered in horror as she stood above her prone father, the blood of the man who had raised her dripping from her blades.

"Do not…," the former general hissed at her before hacking out a bloody cough, "Speak to me…you Scourge filth!"

"How could you do this…," she whispered again, gesturing with the blades she had plunged into his belly. "How could you do this…?"

Saidan approached her, then, and placed a hand on her shoulder which the young woman leaned into, tears beginning to drip down her face. It was a dark day, this, where they had to kill so many. Worse, that Brigitte had in fact been the one to clash with her own father. Given by the wounds, she had ensured his death if the man did not receive treatment. That, coupled with the rather obvious fact that he was insane, meant that he would more likely than not refuse any aid whatsoever from any of them. Blackheart or Silver Hand.

"I am sorry, child," the greying man murmured, but Brigitte shook her head slowly.

"They…you deny the Light," she said, looking down at the hate-filled gaze of her own father. "The greatest revelation that the Light has ever given us, and you…,"

Uther blinked as he looked at her, the tightening of her grip on her weapons, the horrified expression that was sliding into something else entirely.

"You would have…you…heretic! You fool!" Brigitte finally screamed, shocking some of those who had been finishing up across the clearing. It was hard to ignore, after all. "YOU WOULD HAVE-!"

"Brigitte," Saidan began to say, before the woman shrugged him off and dove forward, screaming all the while, her eyes wide and expression locked into a rictus.

"DIE!" the daughter screamed to her father, as she stabbed down again and again, sinking her blades through the body and into the soil beneath down to the hilt with insane fury.

The shock evident on the man's face disappeared soon after along with the rest of his head as Brigitte stabbed down again and again. Within seconds Saidan had grabbed her around the waist with a single thick arm and dragged her back, but the damage was done. Her father was left a bloody ruin, while the woman kicked and screamed at him all the while spitting curses and oaths. It was, Uther found, singularly disquieting to see what almost looked like the same madness that had possessed the Crusaders turned against them, but he was soon distracted by the approach of Rhonin.

"Isillien escaped," the Grand Magus grunted, running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. "A few of his followers got away."

All around them, whatever wildlife had remained in the trees had fled from the sound of violence. The explosions of Light and arcane magic hadn't helped matters either. Uther sighed, before lifting a hand and clenching it. Rhonin blinked and suddenly relaxed from wounds he had not yet fully begun to register, aches that were no longer present. The wizard gave him a nod and smile, before continuing on with his report, all the while the rest of the Black Hearts assembled once more.

"Do you think he'll head back to Hearthglen?"

"I doubt it," Rhonin shook his head, "According to my communications to the rest of the Kirin Tor, a full third of the camp picked up and left, and any attempts to question them were met…violently. They disappeared into the wilderness, though we have scouts and mages trying to track them now.

"So far they've seen nothing," Uther finished for him.

Both turned to look at the approaching Saidan, the younger and now sole Abbendis having fallen back on her behind, glaring still at the cooling corpse of the father she'd slain. At the least she did not seem inclined to attack the body again. Even so, the rest of the Blackhearts gave her a wide berth as they moved about the clearing, dragging most of the bodies into one pile for disposal of. None seemed willing yet to get close to the slain general's body.

"Uther, Rhonin," Saidan greeted, "I heard you say that Isillien escaped?"

"Aye, Saidan. And it gets worse."

Saidan very slowly raised his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Light preserve me," he muttered before lowering his hand, shaking his head slowly as he put his hands on his hips.

"I am sorry, old friend," Uther murmured, "I did not mean for any of this to happen."

"None of us did," his fellow paladin replied with another weary sigh, "Though I suppose Arthas is laughing his head off. Here we are, trying to simply survive, and then all of a sudden these…idiots decide now is the best time to try and slay you?"

"It wasn't the best timing, no," Rhonin supplied, before looking past them at the still sitting Brigitte. "Ah…before my bad news…Brigitte?"

"I'll talk to her. It is a dark day when a daughter must kill her father, but I can't say that she was wrong to put him down. I should have seen it sooner," Saidan half-turned to look at her, "I knew that he and Isillien had been…traumatized by their experiences during the fall of the Lordaeron City, but…this…"

"We cannot foresee where some men crack, and others stand," Uther said quietly. "You cannot punish yourself for the madness of others."

Saidan only shook his head again as he stared up at the night sky, and the stars twinkling above.

"Perhaps. Now then," the old paladin glanced at Rhonin, "You said you had bad news?"

=====================================
​

Hearthglen, Western Plaguelands

"Once," Tirion spoke, the normally quiet man finding his voice as he looked upon the ruins of his former ruling, "Hearthglen was a populous place. Strong. Hearty."

"It will be again," Uther promised, a hand clasping on Tirion's shoulder as they walked into the tent city which spilled out of the very bounds of Hearthglen itself. "It will again."

"Perhaps, but not under me," the once disgraced paladin muttered, before lifting his eyes to look at the back of his son who was even now speaking eagerly to Saidan who had led them back. "It will be Taelan, not me."

"He is your son," Uther murmured, "And you have proven many times over that despite our foolishness…the Light did not forsake you. Can you so forsake him?"

"I have my honor, Uther, and made my decision long ago. The more I show myself to him, the worse it will be for my family."

The Lightbringer chuckled, though it was tainted with a weary darkness.

"Perhaps that would be true in another time, old friend. But not now. There are no sneering courts of lords and ladies waiting throughout Tirisfal, in the capital, of your 'dishonor' in freeing the orc."

"Karandra…," the paladin's voice broke at the name of his wife, "Told me on the day of my exile that she would not be following me. That she refused to let me ruin their lives like I had ruined my own."

"I…," Uther found his voice failing him, "I did not know that."

"She was right, though," Tirion said, tears drawn unbidden to his eyes but refusing to drop at the mention of that day, keeping his gaze resolutely forward. "She was right to say it."

"I think," Uther finally said, "That maybe she was right, or maybe she was wrong, but in the end…it doesn't matter anymore. Every paladin is needed, Tirion, you cannot simply disappear into the wilderness for the past's punishment."

"Watch me," Tirion grunted.

"You haven't left yet," Uther reminded him, but the conversation was by then most certainly over.

Uther would have said more, but he had much more to do before the day was out. Behind him, the rest of the freed Black Hearts walked, their stances and gazes cautious and guarded in a mirror match to many of those who stopped to pause at those who were returning. The news of Uther Lightbringer's return to the side of the living had been shared by now, his displays of the holy Light convincing many of his sincerity and the truth of his status. The testimony of Saidan had done more. But it was one thing to accept him…and entirely another to accept some of the more…darkened death knights. Their black and spiked armors, the eldritch runes upon their weaponry as well, and the distinct different aura shown between them and some of those who could still call upon the Light did not inure them very well.

Yet the most important part was that they were not being attacked. It seemed that the most of the zealous populace that had taken up residence in Hearthglen had left with the rest of the Scarlet Crusade. It was just unfortunate that some of those were of the Kirin Tor and clergy, and had proved adept enough as they moved east to lose those who had been trying to track them. Even so. He would take glares and muttering over dozens of dead men and women driven to violent madness any day.

"Hearthglen will take much expansion," Uther heard Taelan saying to Saidan up ahead, "If it is to accommodate all of these people in the longer term. We'll have to carve into the mountains themselves to grow the area as well."

"Not all can stay here regardless, young Fordring, many more will have to head east, perhaps towards Tyr's Hand. I hear that they are still holding strong, thus far. Not to mention what refugees we locate over time across the Plaguelands…if there are any left."

=========================================
​

Eastern Ashenvale Forest

"METALFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIST!!!"

"Kill him, kill him!"

Two orcs bellowed at the top of their lungs as they charged at one another over the leaf covered ground. High above, the twilight of the night sky twinkled through the lush canopy of the forest, but all hints of the previous tranquility that had been present had disappeared entirely with the violence unleashed in but a moment. The band of orcish raiders had whirled at the arrival of their pursuers, and upon seeing that it was in fact but two, had elected to use quantity over quality. At the least, their leader the warlock Klass Metalfist had ordered them to. Even as he summed fel flame to his side, the raiders charged forward in a single mighty mass of demon-fueled might.

That was their mistake.

As Grom sprinted forward, Gorehowl whistling through the air, Rexxar churned the dirt beneath his boots into mud along his flank. While Metalfist met the former leader of the Warsong in single combat, the only Mok'Nathal on Azeroth reaped a bloody toll amongst the Burning Blade and Shadow Council-aligned orcs who had fled the camps of the New Horde. Rexxar growled at the misfortune of the wolves who had been set against him, but he remained merciless throughout, using his own innate strength and brutal strikes to decapitate and rend with his axes.

"By fang and claw!" Rexxar heard himself call, but the roar was deafened beneath the wave of howling wolves and their riders.

"Traitors!" Grom growled as he cut down the orc facing him, uncaring of the wounds that had been cut into his flesh. "DEMON-LOVERS!"

"Just like you, Hellscream," Klass called out, before lobbing a sphere of roiling energies which exploded where it landed, melting two of the orcish raiders who had accompanied him while both Grom and Rexxar had leapt clear. "JUST! LIKE! YOU!"

Another three Burning Blade orcs died, not so much from being struck by any particular weapon, but instead from being so bodily thrown aside in a bone-shattering charge as Grom pushed through all sent to oppose him as he continued forward towards Klass whose snarling expression grew more and more into focus by the second. The warlock was not without his defenses, however, and within an instant and a curling of his fingers let loose a series of curses which would have brought low any number of foes. The blood began to boil beneath the flesh, the soul itself began to shriek as it was assaulted, yet throughout it all Grom continued forward at the same time as Rexxar killed more and more of the Burning Blade. For every blow the duo took, they lashed out with three more upon their foes.

Grom took the next ball of green flames directly to his chest and did not slow even for an instant as the flesh around his chest was scorched black. Klass Metalfist, in turn, one of the few remaining warlocks to the Burning Blade left on Draenor, had just enough time to roar in impotent fury one last time before Gorehowl sang its way through his guys. As it did so the choking dark magic which had been unleashed up until that point flickered out of existence while Metalfist's concentration was abruptly more focused on trying to pick up his spilled innards which slid steaming out onto the ground of the forest he had fled to. As his killer stood above him with blackened chest heaving Klass could see in the background the rest of his acolytes and servants being overwhelmed by the sheer violence that the fur-wearing stranger unleashed upon them.

"Damn you Hellscream, you could have…," Klass gurgled before Grom's boot planted itself into his throat and drove the dying warlock further into the dirt.

"I know what I could have done. I know what I am," Grom growled down at the orc beneath him, and twisted his boot from side to side. "I will never be clean of that. But killing the rest of your kind? That is something I can actually find honor in."

Klass struggled to speak further, but between the wound to his stomach and Grom's boot, the warlock could manage nothing.

"Grommash," Rexxar growled as he approached, "We are being watched again."

The eyes of the forest were upon them once again, and while Grom acknowledged his words with a slight nod, he remained focused upon the creature before him. For Klass Metalfist truly was a creature, a despicable thing.

"Thrall…freed us, you wretch. I know what I am responsible for, but for the first time in a long time…I can see the truth of myself. And if you think for an instant," he spat at Klass's rapidly changing coloration, "That I would join you? Just…throw myself under the whip of the demons again?! NEVER!"

With that, he increased the force behind his foot and crushed the bones of Klass's neck to powder. The warlock released once more wheeze before expiring totally but by then Grom had already turned away, not even then feeling his wounds much at all. Instead he stared at the piles of dead orcs and wolves which even now bled out their corrupted blood into the ground around them.

"Are you all right?" the beastmaster rumbled from next to him, even as his animal companions began to creep out from the foliage where they had been left.

Grom did not answer at first but by the time Misha the bear had made it over to them to nuzzle at Rexxar's outstretched hand air found its way into his lungs once more.

"I look at these fools, so eager to suckle at the teat of demons once more, and I am…ashamed, once more. My very existence is a stain on the honor of the Horde, of my people, but these," he waved his arm at the entire group, "These orcs would have us be slaves again. And if it were not for…something that I do not even know the source of," Grom slowly spun in a circle, eyes glaring out at the world itself as he did so, "I might have joined them once again. Doomed our people…again."

"Something?"

Around them, the natural sounds of the forest were slowly returning, and it was in that rush of uncorrupted life slowly reasserting itself that Grom found the strength to continue once more.

"I felt the fire in me, so long burning with the rage of the Legion…go out. Has that ever happened to you, Rexxar? That something you had thought to be just a part of you for so long you had stopped thinking about it…disappear?"

Rexxar stared at Grom for a painfully long moment before finally looking away.

"Perhaps. But we should leave. Our task here is done, Metalfist is done. There yet remain more traitors, I thought I heard you say?"

The only living orc in Ashenvale sighed before calming himself.

"Yes. To the south, now, we go. Klass was closer, and had the raider compliment of those they could have gotten farther. But by now…the trail will have gone cold by now. Even for you, Rexxar."

The beastmaster grunted, perhaps affronted, but did not respond to it. In point of fact, he turned away, facing the forest. The sudden wariness in his stance was enough to draw Grom from his own introspection and raise Gorehowl once more.

"What is it?"

"He's coming."

"Who?"

And then in answer the forest itself parted before them, revealing a group of what had to be the night elves that Rexxar had spoken of before accompanied by strange centaur-like women who bore sharp spears in their hands. But it was the one leading them which dwarfed them all. The forever-lingering demonic taint in Grom's blood recoiled at the very presence of the thing, but even as it did he saw Rexxar bow deeply to the massive being, falling to one knee.

"I am Cenarius and Lord of the Forest, Grommash Hellscream. And I would speak with the two of you upon those you hunt."

Grom stared up the demi-god, and slowly lowered Gorehowl.

"I'm listening."

 

[Evillevi]

Yes Yes Yes and oh my god yes!!!!

Uther still remains best palladin, and metal fist was admittedly something that made me think of ETC rather than the Gromash plotline.

 

[Dmol8]

Yay a new chapter of The order of the Black Heart. So is the next chapter going to be in 2018 or sooner @torroar?

 

[torroar]

Dunno. I gave up on giving precise schedule timing for my muse a long time ago.

 

[Mr.rodent]

Hmm omg your updating everything . I've only read your amazing quest so I didn't even know you had stories. Well at least I have things to binge read now. Let's give this a shot.