Warcraft Fanfic Rec - Idea & Discussion Thread

Zam

Well-known member
Hello ya'll, figured seeing as I know some very good fanfics from this setting I should share them here and lay out a place for people to discuss their own ideas or offer their recs.

So if you know a story, have one of your own or just want to toss around a concept or quest idea feel free to post and share :)

Recs:

Travels Through Azeroth and Outland (Has its own tv tropes page)
Destron (a Forsaken mage who can still pass for a living human) sets out to explore. As he does so, he keeps a journal, offering wryly insightful commentary on each region and culture that he happens upon. The author attempts to stick with the setting's established lore as much as possible, while at the same time expanding and embellishing upon it.

It's a very lengthy work, but is constructed in such a way that you don't have to read the whole thing, or even read it in order. If you do decide to read it in order, take care to pace yourself.

This is probably still my favorite story set in Warcraft, along with being likely my favorite take on the setting overall.


The Wrath of Sabellian
Summary

Sabellian, the elder son of Deathwing left abandoned with the rest of his brood in the unforgiving Blade's Edge Mountains, and Wrathion, who thinks himself to be the last Black dragon left, learn of each other's continued existences worlds away, resulting in a violent struggle with consequences that are left unchecked.

An epic story I got so wrapped up in I read it all within 24 hours of starting it, much to the agony of my sleep schedule XD


I also recommend 'Increments of Longing' by QuickYoke on AO3 (Which due to a NSFW chapter I cannot link)
This story is, simply put incredible, its long, it has amazing world building, enthralling descriptions, wonderful characterization and handles its themes and subject matters with extreme maturity and a deftly skilled touch. In the time I have taken to read it, this story has skyrocketed to being perhaps one of my favorite factions ever and I highly recommend it to anyone and everyone! (Due to having some adult content in one chapter I cannot link the story)

The set up is an unapologetic third war AU, where in the 'Zandalari trolls have joined forces with the Amani, and Prince Kael’thas seeks a new military alliance with the seafaring nation of Kul Tiras by arranging a marriage between the Ranger-General of Silvermoon and the sole Heir to the Kul Tiran Admiralty.'

The writer even does their own art!


As for ideas... Well I have multitudes and plenty of snippets but my tastes tends to lean towards 'what if' stories focussing on less explored factions, AUs or crossovers so in that order:

What if:
Garfang had won the war against Stormwind?
The Barrens natives (harpies, Kobold, Quillboar and Centaur, plus some Gnolls) had formed their own coalition in response to the Horde's invasion?
Thrall and Jaina landed in different locations, either swapping or just ending up on different sections of Kalimdor, thus meeting different peoples under different circumstances?

AU:
Thanks to Alternate Draenor one can play in alternate timelines, such as an Azeroth that split from the canon one with the Sundering losing its titan spirit to the canon Azeroth but still continuing on its own path of development, I usuallt envision this as closer to WC2 in world building and style.
'Mortals Azeroth' was a group project on SB built around the idea of crafting a Warcraft setting minus the titans, so anything along those lines which allows one to remove aspects of world building they may dislike.
I often tinker with similar concepts to the above, such as the Titans only being Old God tier and Greater Loa/Deities being on part with them and independent of the titans but from the astral plane.

Crossover:
With Draenor collapsing the Alliance Expedition & the Horde remnant leap through portals & find themselves on different lands on early Iron Age earth.
In a bid to escape her prison http://wiki.drowtales.com/index.php/Diva'ratrika_Val'Sharen uses an ancient spell to open a portal to another realm and crashed upon Azeroth.
A singular or multi pronged effort to summon powerful demons goes awry thanks to outside interference and opens gateways/a gateway to the world of Remnant, I usually focus on the White Fang.
 

Zam

Well-known member
Warning for a lot of references to blood.
Faceless Whispers

The sun battered his fraying body without mercy, its ray more punishing than any beating or wound Gul’dan had yet suffered.

‘From Childhood… My deformity, made me an easy target for mockery and dismissal…’

The bones of long dead giants crumbled upon the advancing desert, offering no relief from the suns light or the cracked, burning earth.

‘I knew I was meant for more, than the clan would ever allow of me, and I hated the, for it.’

The vultures swirled above him, their screeches echoing, but his burnt body could scarcely hear them.

‘But after months, alone and starving. I began to consider the safety and shelter of a clan might be better than endless suffering…’

His body was nothing but bone and sinew, barely held together by a raw, bubbling spite that ate at him even as it sustained him, step through aching step. Gnarled fingers cracked and popped as he clutched his walking stick, chest heaving, brain pressing against his skull so much it might burst.

A dusty heave escaped his ruined jaw and Gul’dan took another aching step forward, everything creaked and popped, feeble muscles strained, every sense in his body screamed for rest but if he stopped…

You will die…’ Something whispered in his mind, or maybe it was him, he was not sure, he could not… remember the sound of his own voice anymore. All he knew now was to live to spite the pain, forcing step after step, out of his silently screaming body.

Only for the frayed ropes holding his cane together to snap, casting off its handle and sending Gul’dan crashing to the salt planes with a guttural heave.

Violent vibrations ran across his brittle bones, muscles spasm as he drags broken nails through sand so sharp its like daggers on his skin, drawing flood from beneath the nails.

‘Yes… Yes… Your body is failing, but your blood is strong.’

He strained to look up even as exhaustion and gravity tried to force his head down.

A demand for who was speaking died on his lips as he saw the vultures surrounding him; hands skittering across the ground, seeking his cane.

‘Won’t die. Will not die. Not like this!’

He coiled his fingers around it when the voice returned, a hiss and a roar, a bloodhawks caw boomed all at once in his mind.

‘Do not move!’

His gaze remained locked on the vultures, a shiver running through his spine as it whispered, so gentle and assuring. Kindly tones he had never heard save from the shaman, but unlike them there was no pity in the faceless one’s words.

‘Wise hunters know to strike at the right moment.’

Vultures loved eyes, he knew this, always the first thing to go.

‘Lure them in and- Strike!

It lurched forward, beak spearing towards his eyeballs.

The blood beneath his nails sizzled, and a viscus snarl escaped his maw.

Gul’dan lurched back and slashed the beast’s skull with his cane and heard a crack!

‘Devour your prize!’

The bird screeched and thrashed clumsily as Gul’dan fell upon it, chipped fangs tearing through flesh and feathers and bone; blood filled his mouth, sweeter than any wine, purer than any water.

The other vulture screeched at the loss of its mate and pounced upon him.

Gul’dan did not fear.

For with every bite of flesh, every crack of bone and slurp of blood he felt a strange strength fill him, a warmth unlike that of the sun’s heat, as cool scales pressed protectively around his frame.

‘This one is where your true lessons shall begin…’

The touch of scales faded, but with the bloodlust upon him, Gul’dan did not need them. He threw himself back violently and captured the bird in his fingers, crushing its wings in his grip.

‘Let its life blood flow freely and offer it to me… Now!’

Sensing a terrible power behind those words and knowing a bargain when he saw one, Guld’an did as he was bid. Frustration gnawed at him, at the idea of letting a meal go to waste but…

‘Offer it to me, your patron, your one and only god, Hakkar!’

“You…” he wheezed, “are no spirit…”

‘I am not something so small as to be bound to this one dot, floating in the Dark.’

Something beyond spirits? Ogre legends claimed as such but to all the elders and Shamans there was nothing but the spirits and the ancestors, only maddened fools thought otherwise and yet… Why would those who were worshipped share words of things greater than they?

He sensed a smiled from the creature, the entity that seemed to envelop his very essence.

“Why me?’

You are wise, and resolved, you know pain and you know rage, you know starvation!’ Its voice grew violent and shrill.

Before hm rose a mountain of crimson red scales that shone like gems, wings wide enough to blot out the sun, casting him in shadows as a fanged muzzled unhinged with every word.

‘You are one where there were many, their cruelty and this land has stripped all false notions from you only now may you be reborn in a baptism of blood. For Gul’dan, you will be my Priest and through me, you shall gain power unlike any before imagined by your people. Offer me succor, be granted my blessings and know glory unlike any other of your kind has ever experienced!’

‘This is my destiny!’

‘Now speak the words!’


Gul’dan held the dying vulture aloft, “Your servant offers you this gift, eat your fill mighty one!”

The vulture’s form stilled, a final screech escaping it before its body hissed and shriveled in his grasp, its very form fading into nothing and a pleased rumble echoed in his mind, yet even now he could feel a terrible gnawing hunger like his own.

Gul’dan’s gaze snapped to the last vulture as it flew away, screeching, he almost reached out for it, something powerful dancing on hi fingertips, but a raspy whisper said no.

‘There will be more hunts, more feasts, for now, eat what you have and regain your strength, then your training can intensify, my Priest…’

Gul’dan dipped his head. “As you say, my god,” before burying his face in his preys’ body and devouring it with the savagery of a beast.

_________________________​

It was in that desert; he was born anew.

It was here, among the scavengers and insects, he practiced his arts, learning the ways of survival and ambush.

It was here, when the sun that that he looked up and truly saw the stars and beheld their true magnitude and sheer power.

It was here, upon the cracked, dried earth so nearly bleached of its life that he saw the smallest fractal of life’s essence, woven even into a grain of sand.

All of this was under the tutelage of his patron and god, Hakkar.

Through the Soulflayer he came to no longer fear the sun or shiver in the cold, for he was protected, he was powerful, he was free.

The Blood Gods teachings took him into mountain valleys where he ripped fished from lakes and felt the essence of life pulsing through every tree and blade of grass. Gentle, strong, but nothing when compared to the blood that now flowed through his veins, through all creatures.

Blood was the essence of the hunt, of the body be it in health or illness and it was the purest and most primal of life’s gifts and Gul’dan was its god’s chosen preacher.

He journeyed through the swamps without fear, building humble shrines and learning how his blood and that of others could do more than sustain and strengthen him. Through it he learned how to pierce the darkness with a crimson light, how to heal his wounds and to strike down his foes.

Now he walked upon the vast planes of Nagrand, ancient holy land of his people and bastion of what had once been his destination but was now… Gul’dan chuckled as he felt his god’s presence at his back… Now the Elements were but another pale and petty aspect of life and deaths grand dance.

The beasts, great in size and strong in fury were no match, their bodies were offered up to his god and Gul’dan’s body and mind swelled with divine power and wisdom.

“Go no further, broken one, you will not taint the Throne of the Elements with your vile presence!”

Ah, so they have revealed themself,’ Gul’dan mused,

Your last tests appear before us at last,’ his god hissed approvingly.

A Shaman stepped out from behind a great boulder, their aged form draped in hide; still spry and strong, bursting with life and energy as they held their stave aloft.

Gul’dan grinned, hands resting atop his repaired cane as he met the other orcs furious gaze.

“Why bar a fellow Orc from such a sacred place?” he intoned.

The shaman spat, “I have sensed your coming, feeble one! Such a weakling has no place before the Furies, let alone one who reeks of blood as you do.”

Gul’dan’s smile did not fade, in fact it only grew in glorious anticipation of what was to come as he lifted his cane and took another step.

“I told you to leave, you feeble freak!” The Shaman roared, drawing their staff back, eyes growing wide and wary as the air roiled and crackled in their fingertips.

“So afraid of humble hunter such as me?” Gul’dan hummed as he took another step.

“You are no hunter, no shaman, you are no orc, now leave!” Sweat was running own their brow, hands shaking as he grew closer, meagre prey trying to scare off its predator, nothing more.

Gul’dan waved a hand. “I am more than a Shaman, hunter or warrior, I am an acolyte of the Blood God and harbingers of his glory.”

“You are nothing!” The shaman shrieked, a stream of lighting roaring as it tore from their stave.

Gul’dan had faced storms before, with and without his patron’s protection. He simply held out his palm, letting the lighting surge through him and into the earth, its power expelled with but a flex of his bloody essence that left the earth crackling beneath his feet.

The Shaman was frozen, a single terrified gasp, “What?” Escaped their lips before Gul’dan swung his cane and with a violent crack of stone against bone shattered the shamans jaw and sent them crashing to the ground.

“You… You can’t…” They whined.

Gul’dan smirked and drove the pointed base of his cane into their knee, drawing an anguished howl.

“You chose this,” he intoned.

Fire surged in the Shamans hand and practically snarled as they tried to unleash it upon him but Gul’Dan simply slashed his cane through the air and all around them the spirits grew silent and the fire faded.

“I-Impossible!” They garbled through shattered tusks.

“No. Nothing is impossible,” Gul’dan whispered, driving his cane through the Shaman’s heart.

The light faded from their eyes and Hakkar whispered, ‘Now, just as we spoke of, show me you can imbue the dead with false life.’

Just like the Necrolytes,’ Gul’dan had once mused, not realizing how painfully limited that secretive sects powers truly were, but they would learn, as he had learned, one day soon, all Orcs would be united behind a single banner.

But until then,’ he mused, Gul’dan still had work to do.

And so, he called upon the blood running through his veined, tapped into the bones and muscles of his mortal form and flared his very souls’ essence to call forth a power, bright and primal.

He sent it flowing through his cane as rain might run down a leaf and stirred the dormant body, suffusing it with a pulsing shockwave of energy that stimulated every muscle and nerve.

He felt the lingering touch of death and weaved his own power through it, bound and lashed it to his will and in those once empty eyes he saw new life spring, crimson red pin pricks in the pupils as all other color faded into shadows and the body lurched up and bowed before them.

Casting his gaze back from whence he came, Gul’dan’s thought and his gods were as one.

‘The time has come.’

With his new servant in toe, Gul’dan turned his back on the Throne of the Elements and began the long march to the village that bore him, heart racing with anticipation.

____________________________________

Hands on his throat.

“You have no people, Gul’dan!”

“I have no clan. But I have found my people!”

His psychic scream tore through the air and brought the warriors to their knees.

His servants tore through the gates to finish his work, but Gul’dan still had one last lesson to embrace and share.

He placed his hand upon the old Shaman’s shoulder, rough voice almost gentle as he murmured, “I know the importance of paying a debt, Shaman.”

“Go”

It was not mercy, it was not kindness, it was to balance the scales.

All prayers demanded a sacrifice, just as each offering called forth a boon.

Gul’dan understood this truth, and soon, all Orcs would share his god’s ways.

The orcish people would be reborn, baptized in blood and given new life under Hakkar’s wings.


‘Let the universe yowl in terror and worlds tremble at our approach, for this is the genesis of a new empire!’

As the sun rose, casting the ruined village in a reddish hue, Gul’dan smiled as he looked upon his work, the shamans stave clutched tightly in his hand.

Just as promised.

He had found his destiny.

Notes:

So, this is an idea I have had for aaaaages, but only recently had the where with all to write, I hope it made for an engaging read.

The Advancing Desert thing was taken from Travelogue & the fact he clearly marched through a desert in Harbingers, but I could not find one on any pre-Outland map.

I am generally a fan of classic Gul’dan in truth, but there’s no denying to me that his trailer was very good, and that this kind of backstory makes Gul’dan uniquely to stories along these lines where his counterpart might not be.

I have some vague ideas for how this timeline might go but they are in flux:
The Legion may have missed Draenor, or were not able to get their claws into the orcs fast enough to compete with Hakkar.
The Hakkari in the Swamp of Sorrows could serve to bring the Orcs to Azeroth if one wanted to play with the First War.
The Legion might turn to the Ogres, which suits Gul’dan & Hakkar fine as it gives the Orcs a need to unite.
Hakkar likely devours the Blood Moon and may be summoned to effectively end the world, not sure.

Anyway, thanks for your time and if you have any feedback, questions, or something else you might want to say, please share it 😊
 

Zam

Well-known member
The Druid and the Emperor

Investigating the Great Trees to ensure they did not grow corrupt as sorrowful Vordrassil had done was not a decision anyone had come to easily. But Fandrel had felt a certain amount of responsibility for the horrific bloodshed he and his followers efforts had helped ferment in the frozen north and so while Bough Shadow's Great Tree showed no signs of corruption, he felt it would be wise to investigate all of them every two two thousand years or so.

This was the 'inspection' since their planting, and so far things had gone splendidly. Feralas and the Southern woods had been deemed safe and secure, the draconic oversees bored but content. The last location to check upon was in the Northern woods of the Eastern continent and it had been save for last for a very specific reason.

Trolls.

In the South of Kalimdor no power could threaten the Night Elves, and in the South the local trolls had been in a state of collapse and lacked the necessary unity to pose any kind of threat. Such was not the case in the Northern forests though, there the Amani Empire remained and by all accounts still ruled a domain that rivaled the Kaldorei's own!

Of course it lacked their unity, immortality, but even Fandrel had been amused and pleased to find these trolls held nature in high esteem and though they'd been... Difficult to negotiate with, made worse by him only having a passing skill in Zandali at the time, they'd been able to work out an arrangement for they hate the Saronite as much as he. and so the ancient ruin the trolls had already preferred to avoid was 'given' to them and the Green Flight provided they stopped the Saronite's spread.

Despite this agreement, mortals died quickly and forgot deals quicker, and so the Northern woods were deemed risky enough that they should be approached last and with great caution.

'Not enough, apparently!' He thought, scowling at the troll "escorts" surrounding he and his party of Druids and Sentinels.

They'd been caught before even making landfall and only swift use of Zandali and revealing the five hundred year old stone tablet bearing the tribal leaders signatures had stopped a fight. Still they had been decreed "Suspect" and so the ship was impounded and Fandrel, with his elite escorts, was to be taken to meet with the Amani's newly anointed emperor in the city of his namesake.

The city was, admittedly, impressive.

Carved out of a mountain with natures permission it was a tiered city, each respective tier being signified with grand walls of carved stone bearing inscriptions, blessings and artistic carvings and no small amount of gems, jade in particular, and gold dust. The homes were large and comfortable looking, a mix of stone and carefully treated wood that was offensive to his senses but given the verdant forests below had clearly been taken with care, wild gardens grew and vines ran through the city sprouting fruit and flowers for all to enjoy. The people carried themselves with pride and adorned themselves in fine leathers, cloth made of expertly sewn hemp and gleaming steel that was a near match in quality for even his people's artisans.

'What is this energy in the air? So many troops, such activity, it looks like they are preparing for a crusade, but that cannot be because of us, can it?'

He kept his piece, for now, fiery as he was often reputed to be, Fandrel knew the importance of watching and listening as any good beast of the hunt did and so he tried to pick up what he could from conversation and observation. Words like 'reinforcements', 'allies' popped up quite often, as did 'invasion', 'Azotha' and 'WItherbark'.

'It sounds like these Witherbark have lost land recently, to Azotha and perhaps they think us coming to aid them?' It was a guess, but it felt incomplete at best.

"We are here," their escort announced, a towering woman of raw muscle, with crimson read hair styled as a mo-hawk.

Before them rested a large, but not overly so, home in the domed style popular among the trolls and sitting atop a pool of crystal clear waters, it clearly had several other rooms on upper levels and further back but it was clear they were being taken in the front room, or more accurately, an audience chamber.

"Remember," their guide said, "you stand before the Warlord Jin'tha, the fearless warrior and he who unites the tribes, so speak with respect."

"My people are well known for our manners," Fandrel said scathingly, drawing a chuckle from across the chamber.

Comfortably seated on a golden circlet chair, was a tall, lean troll, dark green hair braided down their back and over their shoulders and a matching circlet adorned with wings resting atop his head, ceremonial armor akin to robes made of treated leather and adorned with jade jewels and gleaming gold.

This had to be Jintha.

"Manners are not thing I knowingly associate with any elf, approach, Druid Fandrel and justify your incursion into our lands," they said, voice sharp and clear.

Huffing, he shrugged off their escorts attempt to motion him forward and strode over the map laid out in the center of the chamber to stand as near to eye to eye with the 'emperor' as he could before the trolls guards got in his way and spat.

"You know why I am here, to ensure the Great Tree has not been corrupted! That land was offered to us by your ancestors as a gift for freeing them of the Sarontie curse and this is how you treat us?"

Jintha waved a copy of the treaty mockingly, "This script is thousands of years old, perhaps a short time for you elves but long to us, empires have risen and fallen while it seems you have not changed at all."

"Eternity is our gift and our burden," Fandrel snapped back, drawing an amused chuckle from the troll, "If you know why we are here, why go through this charade?"

Jintha tilted their head to the side and offered a humorless grin, "Do you seek to mock me with such a question, elf?"

"... What do you mean?" Fandrel conceded.

Rising to his full height, the trolls scoffed, "You expect be to believe after more than a thousand years after that deal was struck you and yours decide now, now of all times would be ideal to investigate your precious tree? Now, when we are marching in war against your damned cousins!?"

Fandrel reared back at the pitch of the shout.

Then he blinked in obvious confusion.

His followers much the same.

"Cousins?"

Now the false smile was entirely gone, and Jintha looked ready to spit, "Yes, elf, your cousins, the Highborn, Quel'Dorei, High Elves, are these words sparking any memories or have you simply forgotten them in your oh so burdensome life?"

"Those traitors are alive!?" his Warden escort hissed, fangs bared, chest heaving.

Now it was Jintha who looked confused, wary and suspicious as he sat back upon his throne, rippling muscles tense as he glanced at his guards and muttered, "What did you march them into the sea or something?"

'The sea... So they arrived here, rather than surviving the Sundering... Oh Elune no...' Fandrel thought, staring up at the troll who met his gaze.

"We banished them," he said breathlessly, "Thousands of years ago we banished them for their reckless use of arcane magic, no one even knew if they survived sailing across the sea!"

"They should have died there," another of his followers cursed.

"Woulda been better for us if they had," Jintha said, oddly dour. He waved his hand and huffed, "Assuming you are not lying, then you are merely ignorant fools."

Fandrel scowled at that remark but his rejoinder was cut off by Jintha hissing in Zandali with his guards for a few moment, before chucklingand rising to his feat, every movement that followed theatrical as it was sardonic.

"Let me give you all a history lesson. Thousands of years ago the Amani Empire had recovered from the tragedy brought down by your people's reckless use of the Worlds Heart, times were good and peaceful, the era of tyrants was over and our people thrived! Then, one day, the High Elves attacked. Sickly and pale compared to you, they landed upon a sacred sight and proclaimed it their own, when we challenged them they stole our enchantments and struck down wise Zanzil to steal his Archonite. Still we fought, but they raised a great source of power, their accursed Sunwell and with it they rained fire down on our armies, our cities, our villages!"

Spears and fists struck the floor, gutteral chants of grief and anger echoing around them.

"None were spared do you hear me? Not babes in their cribs, not children cowers in the woods, each one hunted down by arrow or ended by blade and spellfire! Those few who were captured were lashed in chains of arcanite and forced to build monoliths that would be the bane of their descendants, creating magical barricades that suppress the spirits and empower the elves!"

He leaned over Fandrel, eyes burning with hatred.

"Our Shamans hear the lands wail beneath their curses that you are evidentally deaf too! Forests forced into eternal autumn, animals twisted into tame pets, their spirits broken by magic and now, now as we finally prepare to reclaim what is ours you arrive and you expect me to think this is a coincidence!?"

Fandrel could not even guess the expression upon his own face,or that of his comrades. The shock ran too deep. High Elves, elves, another Azshara forests, fire raining from the skies and-

Jintha was laughing again, sharp and wicked, "That look, that look upon your faces, in your eyes, haha, even your scent tells it all... You're shocked aren't you and," h leaned in, "utterly terrified."

"I don't fear those heathens!" Fandrel howled. "If what you say is true then I shall challenge them myself and tear down every vile monument they've built and drive their accursed magic from the land!"

Jintha was cackling, clapping him on the shoulder as he strode passed, "Let's see if you're telling the truth then, boyo!"

"What?"

"Your little tree, we'll inspect it together, but then you gotta come with me, on your ship is you're scared, cos I wanna show you. I wanna show you their precious Quel'Thalas in all its tainted glory and if I decide you've been telling the truth, you'll get to be there to see me put an end to their wickedness."

Fandrel nodded, steeled his shoulders and answered, "If you'd welcome it, I'd like to do more than just watch, this is your war I can see that, but they are our responsibility, it would be," he smirked, "impolite of us to not help clean up this mess."

Jintha's laugh echoed across the chamber as he strode towards the door, "Come then Elf, let's put your words to the test."

"Fandrel," he said, "My name is Fandrel, and I assure you Jintha, I will not disappoint."

With that, they set off towards the Great Tree atop the backs of Griffons.

And thus, with one fateful meeting, the world began to shift.

Who knows what will come of this, but assuredly.

The world shall never be the same.
 

Zam

Well-known member
So an idea discussed in the past (on other sites) has been trying to make the Warcraft universe feel more alive by extrapolation on or creating original species, factions ETC and with that the idea of crossing over/integrating certain factions from other series for expediency.

Even as a thought experiment I think it is rather engaging and as it has been a week since She-Ra season 5 concluded I thought I would go into the Galactic Horde and what (relatively minor) adaptions would be needed to mesh it into Warcraft and how it would operate in this universe.

Last warning, spoilers below, where in I will discuss the nature of the Galactic Horde, then the minor tweaks, there will also be an alternate read in the notes, now, let's begin:

The Galactic Horde
An absolute theocracy ruled by the 'divine' Horde Prime, who was the Horde's creator, engineer and architect, having created it by cloning an army based on his genetic template and linking the clones to him in a hive mind, which he oversees, giving rise to the phrase "Prime knows all, Prime sees all." They rule over hundreds of worlds and several galaxies. Their ultimate goal is to bring all people's in the universe to their 'light' and 'cast out all shadows' bringing peace and order. Unsurprisingly Prime is the aforementioned light & anything that distinguishes one from him is deemed shadows.

Structure:

Horde Prime is the Galactic Horde's absolute leader and creator, revered as a god, he is a brilliant scientist and engineer who he as mastered the art of blending technology and biology as all his technology can interface with his biological creations and can be integrated into other organic lifeforms. Horde Prime has ruled through centuries and even millennia as he can move from one member of the Hive Mind to the next whenever a vessel "fails" him, his true 'form' is a sort of pseudo spirit; though thanks to the sheer volume of memories he does occasionally need to link up with former hosts to ascertain specific details, which is why he keeps all of his former selves on his ship. He also feeds on the life force of his clones, though exactly why is unclear. His main weakness is that magic deemed too primal & wild is something he struggles to integrate with his technology and what he cannot use he destroys.
Titles: Prime, Emperor of the Galactic Horde, Ruler of the Known Universe, Regent of the Seven Skies, He Who Brings the Day and the Night, Revered, One of the Shining Galaxies, Promised One of a Thousand Suns, The Emperor of the Known Universe (by Hordak), Brother, Big Brother (by Catra), Lord Prime, The One Who Destroys (Melog)

Generals: While only one example was seen in the series (A banished general) horde Prime does apparently make use of a command staff to oversee warfare, though like all of his clones they are bound to his will.

Clone Soldiers make up the heart of his empire, acting as captains, overseers, scientists, engineers, caretakers and seemingly as both priests and supplicants. They are usually equipped with arm mounted cannons when they do enter combat. Clone organizations are usually called flocks.

Robotic soldiers serve as the pilots of fighter ships and make up the bulk of his military, Prime may be linked to them as well given how well integrated into his whims they are at any given time. With one arm serving as a piercing weapon and the other as a cannon, these soldiers pilot by interfacing with his ships and are designed expressly to enforce Prime's will at blade point if deemed necessary.

Technology:

The Velvet Glove is Prime's flagship and usually rests at the heart of his empire, a gargantuan vessel it is likely comparable with a moon or Sargeras's blade at the very least and given it has been shown overseeing an obliterated moon it clearly possesses a terrible degree of power unto itself.

Command Towers, Space faring vessels equipped with teloporters, living quarters, holographic projectors and speakers capable of projecting images and sound on an epic scale and capable of monitoring swaths of land, these are central to any occupation.

The Horde Armada is comprised of countless battleships capable of blockading entire worlds and even bombarding them.

Scanners are used for information gathering and spying, they are everywhere in occupied territories and posses some minor combat abilities.

Lazer cannons have already been established as has interstellar travel & teleportation.

Cleansing pools are electrified life essence liquids designed to purge memories and independent thoughts from those bathed in their waters while causing intense pain, though they can't erase all memories they do aid in suppressing them and making the subject more malleable. "All being must suffer to become pure! All being must suffer to become pure! All being must suffer to become pure! All being must suffer to become pure!"

Horde-Chips, perhaps his most insidious creation, these chips are attached to a subjects neck and overtime will completely bond with a subjects nervous system, but even before that will link up to their mind and connect the individual to the Horde Hive Mind. This allows Prime to move his essence into their body at will, leaves himself aware of (seemingly) all their goings on and keeps the entire Horde united and organized. Clones are born linked up to the Hive Mind, but those integrated into it still can show flashes of their former selves but whether this would survive the bonding process is unclear. Strangely he does not seem to use this on all conquered people's, though absorbing nearly all of Etheria showed no sign of impacting him, so his motives may be ideological.

Conclusion:
The Galactic Horde is an immense interstellar Empire built around a cult of personality in its leader who is god and prophet; they are completely united, loyal and devote unless disconnected from the Hive Mind and convinced to change side (Which requires breaking the propaganda they were raised on) and are bother technologically advanced and utterly ruthless in all things.

I feel this faction would mesh quite neatly with World of Warcrafts wider universe and will outline here how I think it would work and some minor tweaks to make it integrate better.

Magic and Technology:
This is fairly easy to square, Horde Prime showed the ability to integrate and understand magic into his systems in many instances just not all types and we see Gnomes utilize none magical fuel sources. This means the Galactic Horde likely uses a combination of technologically generated energies and a bastardized form of life magic (Arcan could also be n the list) as their main sources, given the emphasis on technology and biology.

Religion:
This one requires more adaption, in She-Ra when Prime could not control a planet he would wipe it off life and erase all records of his defeat to maintain the illusion he is all powerful. However with the Legion, Army of the Light, Void Lords and Sargeras around that is not feasible. (This does mean his god complex likely never gets quite as carried away as it does in canon)

The way I feel to adapt this is to emphasis his role as the religious leader over its god and rather than worshiping a higher power, they worship his wisdom and ideology, IE all things that come from Prime still. There would still be the same emphasis on 'peace' and 'order' with the ultamite goal of integrating all the universe into the Hive Mind under Prime as the ideal state (possibly implying an Apotheosis as well).

Hive Mind:
As he has more enemies and competitors Horde Prime cannot be as reliant on his Hive Mind as canon as it could become an Achilles Heel. With this in mind he will have subtly lessened the Hive Minds Influence into a form of 'more than mind control' that can still become all consuming or allow him to possess the user when deemed necessary. This has the fringe benefit of allowing more creativity on the battlefield.

Empire:
With more competitors and foes, Horde Prime cannot simply occupy worlds willy nilly, he needs to show at least some diplomacy and integration to avoid revolts. Broadly speaking, life under Horde Prime is... livable, you are provided a place to live, the necessities to survive and basic comforts, provided you don't stoke rebellion some degree of personal expression in public or the home is allowed, though more so on recently assimilated world than older one's where the 'faith' has had more time to become law.

(Its to avoid problems like this and this.)

Military and Governance:
With the added threats and the need for integration, Horde Prime has a problem into a solution, by creating a tiered hierarchy of command beneath him on individual planets and within the military. People on occupied worlds who wish to command some degree of power within the empire as a whole must either join the magistrates or the military and in either case agree to the installation of a Horde-Chip.

However to make this process appealing and less daunting, Prime has created a system of integration.

To simply be a part of one's own local government or military, the chip will not be activated save in emergencies or when searching for specific information, this is tier 1. Tier 2 is for travelling off world, here the chip is always active but its influence is stifled, muffled and overall subtle, only activating in battle or to receive orders; this acts as a sort of subtle 'more than mind control' means of control, and the bearer is usually only subconsciously influenced. The final tier, is tier 3, where the connection to the Hive Mind is constant, (as noted some degree of freedom of self is still tolerated) and this is reserved for clones or the higher ranked none clone members who act as command staff or even generals.

In terms of warfare against peers, the Galactic Horde is able to handle Void related entities with greater ease than anyone as their Hive Mind drowns out, ejects, subsumes or overwhelms and destroys the telepathic entities the Void relies on so often and their highly control and order based magi-tech is hard to corrupt. Meanwhile the struggle more with the Legion compared to the Army of the Light (which is vulnerable to the Void) as it is so wildly chaotic its energies cannot be readily harness or used against it but can corrode their forces to varying degrees. Meanwhile they are evenly matched with the Army of Light.

Diplomacy:
Thanks to the universe being a more threatening place, Prime must engage in diplomacy, though it irks him and those he engages with too. He has trade deals established with the Consortium who 'would never share the secrets of an illustrious customer' along with a none aggression pact with the Army of the Light (His propaganda portrays them as false beacons) so they can coordinate against the Legion and Old Gods but otherwise leave each other the heck alone.

Those no assimilated into the empire are addressed as 'cousins' (while members are addressed as some variation on little sibling and Prime a variation on big bother) as all beings are family and part of the great skein that makes up reality and when united in peace and order, shall all know paradise.

Generally Prime relies on assimilated species for first contact as he knows an array of clones can be disconcerting to many, though he usually watches from within whoever is doing the speaking but will not take over, preferring to hide that ability. Ideally he wants people and planets to simply welcome him and embrace his message but he can and will invade, though he sometimes also turns pre-existing conflicts into one's that serve him by choosing a singular side to aid, (Whichever one will compromise with him more) to legitimize his claim. Obviously the Hive Mind eventually comes up but it is brought up gently and downplayed, but treated as no oddity and as something one can 'turn off' at whim even when that isn't true.

Goal:
The goal remains the same, the ideology is unchanged, and Prime is still the supreme overlord, though be it one that has had to mildly disperse some of his overwhelming influence to avoid his empire becoming totally reliant on his hive mind being 100% active at all times.

Notes:
Anyway that's how Id handle such an integration.

One idea I toyed with was Prime having created a gargantuan restraining cleansing pool for if he ever captured the likes of Kil'jaden or Archmonde to try and turn them, not sure but thought it was a neat idea.

Also I mentioned an alternate read. To put a long story short, given trolls can become Loa and Horde Prime feed son the Life essence of and is worshiped by his clones and subjects having him basically self upgrade into a super entity tier threat via that doesn't seem impossible and could put him, at a minimum, on par with the likes of Kil'jaden or rate him even higher.
 

Zam

Well-known member
Apologies for the nerco but I wanted to make a happy announcement that would also cover why I've not posted any snippets here in two months.

Namely I've been writing a large scale Warcraft fic and its been consuming all my attention but now the first draft is done and it is over 160 thousand words, so once I think of a name and edit it I can hopefully start publishing, though if anyone wants to beta feel free to hit me up ;)

Anyway hopefully with that I'll be more active here again, in the meantime, here's a fun thought experiment for anyone interested:

Name a character you'd like to see get more attention in fanfic?

Any premise or theme is open.
 

Zam

Well-known member
So, the fact that WOW is rather crowded with species hasn't escaped eve a mob aficionado like myself and while it doesn't get too me much, it did lead to an interesting conversation about condensing some species and factions that gave me the idea of Gnomes actually being Dwarves, (I love Gnomes & wish they got more to do but the idea was interesting to me) but letting them keep a distinct feel, so here's how that would work.

"Hello and welcome to all of you new members of the Gnomish Guild of Innovation, I am Guild Master Gelbin Mekkatorque and as you may have noticed this is your welcoming ceremony! (Faux whispers)

(Chuckling)

We tried to keep the banners subtle ;)

Still, while this is a day of warmth and celebration it would not do to leave the facts unacknowledged or our history un-reported. For while some among you are here with family and clan others are not so lucky and nor were our founders.

(For more details see origins of the Gnomish Guild of Innovation, a history)

17 years after the end of the Frost War and with Ironforge's construction progressing smoothly, an unnamed clan birthed a Dwarven child they described as sickly, frail and cursed. They blamed trolls, they blamed sickness and even rival clans, but in the end they could find no cure for this so said affliction and smothered the child in their crib. This was not the last time such a travesty would be committed, nor was it the first merely it was the first on record.

(See the records of Lives Un-Lived for for information)

For a society built on mighty mountain king, strong soldiers and muscular miners, those who were deemed fragile and weak were cast aside. Over the next fifty years more Dwarven children would be born with this alleged affliction to the point where they were given a name. Gnomes (Derogatory).Many were killed, a few loving parents accepted banishment from the clan to protect their young, while others were passed onto the church whom were obliged to care for them if not love them, while others were reared until their twelfth year before being disowned and cast out.

(For more information on the treatment of Gnomes in the Dwarven Priesthood consult Cruel Mercies)

However, this story does have a happy continuation, for as survivors of this treatment reached adulthood, many sought each other out, seeking kinship in the fact they were no longer alone. Some were farmers, others temple attendants, or even cutthroats, at least one among them was Ironforge's first Warlock!

(See Gnomish History & Demonology, Siezing independence)

They came together, from across bloodlines and duties, location and lived experience and aided one another when times were rough, sharing knowledge rather than hording it seeking an advantage over other clans, and through their efforts they began to study and learn. Eventually, the founders of this guild hit upon that which would bring them glory, gunpowder! They were the first on our world to invest these alchemic concoction!

(The Amani strenuously disagree with this assertion)

So useful was this invention that clans raced to re-adopt their cast out kin, priests sought acclaim and the Mountain King himself sought to honor the Gnomes, referring to them as true Dwarves.

He was rejected.

They were all rejected.

Because while we are Dwarves, we are also Gnomes, for that is the name given unto us by a society that deemed us broken and worth less than our peers and so while we will be respected and our voices will be heard, it shall not be on anyone's terms but our own. And thus, rather than form a clan, rejoin their blood relatives or accept exclusive royal patronage the Gnomish Guild of Innovation was founded; at first to act as a unified body of representation, that quickly expanded into a school, and workshop, teaching and pooling skills and knowledge from across the lands.

(See the Birth of Guilds, a Dwarven History for more information)

But while, yes, our founders were engineers, they could not have made their breakthroughs without support from the farmers, could not have survivors on the streets without protection or split asunder stone without magic. And so while they came to be associated with machinery and prosthetics, a reputation we still hold to this day, the true purpose of this guild is t be a support network for all those forgotten or not accommodated by the systems of our society, (Not just Gnomes either).

So whether you seek the support to chart the stars, or start a family, you will find friends and aid in this guild, and together we shall strive for a better tomorrow for us all.

Thank you, and welcome my friends."
 

Zam

Well-known member
The Travels of Torntusk
A series of journal entries covering the exploration and adventures of Chieftain, Primal Torntusk of the Revantusk Tribe.

Day 1, The Journey Begins:

I am Primal Torntusk, or more, I am now Chieftain Torntusk since my honored husband was struck low by Vilebranch ambushers.

Ours was an ceremonial marriage of politics and ritual rather than carnal creation or passion, but I cared for him well and weep at his passing. He had a steady hand with our people and a caring touch one who bears claws struggles to match.

Still, I did my best, for what time I could, but it was not enough, the Vilebranch are in a frenzy and the Witherbark are no help at all; Elves hunt us from the trees and Dwarves in the sky.

I can do nothing but lead us to our Warlord, our emperor Zul'jin's tribe and pray to the Loa he lived and would harbor us.

Day 35, The Final Day:

Our fortunes were fair and though the journey hard and the humans bearing arms as if to go to war their guard forces were slim and our steps subtle, we passed some orcs who proved fair companions, but would not bear to beg for charity of any even if it meant risking the camps.

We trekked through backwoods, mountain passes and deep forests that have never known the touch of an axe, the air suffused with primal power I could feel my inner beast bristling and bearing claws, only with hymns and songs did I ground myself and carry my tribe forward to our people's capital.

Day 40, Zul'Aman:

This place is on hard times, once a mighty temple city of trade ports and naval work, Zul'Aman is now the heartland of our kind and it is ailing. Once great apartments are cracked and crumbling, replaced with humbler houses woven into the tree line for safety. The temples live as homes and forts, but the food they gift is dull and bare.

The city heart, a center of bureaucracy and our heroes home shows the same signs of lost splendor; where once cracks in walls might have been touched with gold to show both the history but the resilience of the Amani, now were touched up with hasty plaster and dusty paint.

Still I felt the need to cheer, the Warlord lives!

His eye taken and his lost arm cursed to never return he holds the same majesty as ever and despite their hard times he welcomed us as guests, feeding and housing my tribe as though old friends and family.

Still I sense there is more at play here than I see.

Day 45, The Offer:

I suspected something was afoot but not this, and I am unsure how to feel, honored or shirked, nervous or excited, perhaps all of these and more? Great risks abound but so to do great opportunities I would think.

I should organize my thoughts.

Warlord Zul'jin took me and my advisors aside to make us an offer. He said his tribes morale had been low, as is to be expected and that he sought a way to raise their spirits and bolster them.

His plan?

To send a small fleet to the East seeking cousins across the sea on the the continent of Kalimdor, near lost to a myth among my tribe but well recorded in Amani almanacs as having been a sight of trade and exploration in ages past, and a home to the Farraki and Dark Troll tribes.

Why send us? Well, besides I am sure removing the strain my tribe might place on food stores, he spoke warmly to me and said that our comportment upon arrival bore truth to our reputation as affable souls and able speakers who would be ideal for engaging with out cousin tribes and any other people's we may meet. This goal of this is not to steal land or plunder after all, merely explore and seek camaraderie and new resources.

A dangerous quest to be sure, but he assured us the use of a fine fleet of ships crewed by his finest sailors and despite all that surrounds this offer, I know his faith is us, his hope for this mission is true.

Can I refuse?

Perhaps.

Should I refuse?

No.

Day 49, The Sea:

I understand now why my ancestors never took to the oceans.

It is not the sea serpents that harass us, or the Kraken that buffet us, or the storms that Shamans must duel with.

No, its the infernal rocking, its the lack of fruit, its the sickly taste of fish forever, I long for this voyage to be over and to never look upon another fish ever again.

Day 56, Land:

Jubilation that we had found land turned to carefully guarded disappointment when the wisdom of Shamans and the eyes of bat riders returned word of a dusty and ruinous place of dried earth and bone.

And yet, we pushed on, the cryptic words of priests begging us to stay by the rough coastline and why soon became clear.

For not only did we finally find something more than dust and rock, but instead a delicate but blooming line of green coast, but also we did find people, unknown to us, they bore the lower quarters of a horse, but the upper bodies akin to strange humans and by their small camp and waving it was clear we were expected.

Let this be a lesson, the Loa are wise and their priests words to be heeded.

Day 58, Uthek the Wise:

These people, the Centaur, are rough and harsh to be sure, but Uthek the Wise, the leader of this camp and second only to her clans Khan is both wise and powerful.

It was her powerful visions that brought her to the coast and expedited the study of language so that now she and my Speaker can chat fluently in either language, I am still learning.

Despite the cultural and language barriers, Uthek is well versed in the making of deals and treaties, arts not lost to us, and so I am hopeful for for the coming meetings.

Day 60, The Gelkis:

Success, small and humble though it may be, for we have struck an acceptable accord, I hope this spells good tidings for our efforts to come!

As of now the oft despised coast of the Gelkis territory shall be loaned to we of the Amani Empire to build upon it and live as we please provided a humble price of purified water and fish is paid to bolster the Gelkis's own stocks.

This matter is simple enough and serves as a groundwork for future trade and accords, for while the Gelkis are distracted by rivalries abroad, they are not bereft of curiosity or intrigue in the wider world. Already, Navarch Kazra'jin thinks of their speed on the open planes and versatility in warfare, while I am more interested in their enchanted tool and bound Elementals for protection and labor.

There is much more they have to offer of course, new gems unlike any I have seen before, unfamiliar but potent elixirs as well as furs and spices gathered from ranging broad and they too are interested in our metals, woods and untold spices. But with the resting season drawing to a close and word needing to be sent back to Zul'jin to ratify our accords, future trade will need to be orchestrated by the Amani's Speaker come the next season.

Day 66, Feralas:

We were told by the Gelkis of a forest to the South.

To them it is a haunted place all Centaur fear to tread for a war was once waged there where upon their ancestors were so brutally eliminated that only one messenger for each tribe survived. It is a thick, shady and overgrown place stalked by hunters and spirits alike.

All in all in sounded lovely.

Thus leaving a detachment on the coast of Desolace at our new settlement of Kazra-Kis, we sailed South for many days and nights, eventually spying long reeds and branches hanging from looming mountains, hinting at the forests above. We saw signs of habitation in the form of net traps and nests but even though I had us wait a day and night none arrived to use them, perhaps abandoned or merely sensibly wary of interlopers such as we?

In the end, I was overjoyed to find us land upon an island, one of great size and splendor neighbored by another even longer island housing mighty twin headed beasts of lightning and fangs.

At first I felt dread, spying buildings, but days and days of scouting found not only no inhabitants but no signs of inhabitation in centuries. The gnarled wood of warped trees was home only to mindless beasts and dust, and so with some trepidation we moved in, cleaning, repairing and constructing new homes from the local timber that was notably humbled than the gargantuan trees we could spy from the looming forests.

It is with great pride I am using a parting gift offered to me by Zul'jin and dubbing this new island to be Revantusk Island, our humble port city shall still need to bear a name in the future. Some have honored me by suggesting my own name but we shall see, I feel we should perhaps honor a Loa with a name, no? Such fortune we behold this day.

Day 69, Harpies:

Nice is not a word I would use to describe our first forays onto the coastline.

Towering Sea Giants bereft now of the speech they once possessed attacked and tried to eat us and had to be fought off and things did not improve from there as cagey beasts proved challenging prey in the overgrown forests and many plants stranger still.

We were fortunate enough to find a road, still infused with magic it has survived millennia but was clearly underused, it made travel simple but any steps off the road could lead to danger from flying serpents or warped mountain giants and the odd green dragon whelp covered in pustules and belching sickening, acidic gruel upon us in a bid to slay.

I was beginning to fear some truth to the idea that these woods were haunted rather than merely dangerous, the Shamans still speak ill of a place to the North our new friends know as the Dragon Grove.

But who are these new friends? Why the Northspring Harpies.

Nice, again is perhaps not the right word for them, they are fiercely territorial and competitive hunters, but they have made some trade with the Gelkis in ages past for magical trinkets (Uthek had alluded to them but I do not believe she expected us to make it this far.) and while wary, the tried and true method of placing an offering of food, water and gifts near where we sighted one of their kin and retreating to let them claim it proved sufficient to prove our good graces.

The Harpies are a strange lot, terribly small one would be forgiven for assuming them delicate, especially when carried on vibrant wings of blue, pink and purple, but their small frames and light bones bely fiercely powerful muscles, spiked teeth and giant talons. They show skill as Shamans but I saw nothing divine in their magic, instead they turn to the arts so beloved by Elves and humans, the arcane, as was explained by our resident Amani'shi Flame Caster, Tal'Sha.

Given their sharp but delicate features and angled ears one might mistake the Harpy for some manner of elf, but when the matter was broached they express no small amount of scorn for any people's bearing such a name, citing raids in ages past and calamities of which we Amani have records to know are true but are mere myth to the flying folk.

I must wrap this entry up, but I would be remis not to mention their mistress, Edana, or as she is known when at war, Hatetalon.

An above average sized Harpy, she bears crimson feathers and is of notable age being over a hundred years old and personally recalls dueling with a smatter of surviving elven like 'creatures' hailing from a distant ruined city, earning her rank as queen from these battles. She shows great skill in the realms of arcane magic and is intrigued by our efforts and potential trade.

As usual, Kazra'Jin is reflecting on their versatility on the battlefield, he really is a boring troll.

Day 106, Ogres:

Navarch Kazra'Jin is dead.

He fell in battle while joining us on an excursion to meet with the mysterious Tauren we had heard so much about.

Instead he and his party were assailed by a band of purple and blue skinned ogres in rough armor and bearing demonic magics; the fighting was fierce, but many were captured and some killed, Kazra'Jin died ensuring those in the back could escape, I am mournful I did not know this side of him before he lay dead and his body lost to us, denying event he chance as resurrection.

Word has been sent to the Warlord that our areal scouts have determined the Ogres spread deep into the forests of Feralas, we must arrange a rescue mission before this however!

Day 150, Slavery:

Our efforts to gauge the Ogre threat and save our kindred bore some fruit, less though than I would like as the Gordunni continue to ravenously expand across the forests, even the Northspring tell of dueling them on occasion.

The motive for their raiding and captures?

Slavery.

Those captured are forced to fight in arena, or serve their Ogre masters as laborers in a hidden city, and if they do not, they are eaten alive.

We saved a small band of our own captured souls, but only half that were taken, the rest are dead or beyond our rea

Day 152, Tauren:


We were fortunate that we had saved not only some of our kin, but some among the locals as well, including a beloved Tauren Shaman who was able to guide as through the woods after the Gordunni found our camp, leading us to her kindred deeper in the woods.

Her people have lived here for generations, after having been chased from Desolace after a terrible magical tragedy turned it into such and bore the Centaur down upon them as a punishment and curse. (I did not mention our trade with the Gelkis, nor will I inform the Gelkis of theTauren's interpriation of their existance.)

Since then several Tauren tribes have lived in the shadows of elven ruins and looming forests, hunting, foraging and living peacefully, save for the occasional duels with Harpy, Yeti and Gnoll over hunting ground, but rarely did this last long.

The Tauren have suffered much since the Ogres arrival nearly a year ago, telling tale of how they bled in from across the mountains to pillage and plunder, driving the tribes from their favored homes and further South where tainted whispers buzz on the air and Gnolls hunt freely.

I promise them our aid, I only hope it will be enough.

Day 298, War:

It is official, Torntusk Town is now the TornTusk outpost and the main staging ground for our efforts against the Gordunni Ogres.

We hold the coast, have forces stationed at Ravenwind and Sky Riders in the South East supporting the Tauren, but for now we are merely holding firm, too many warships leaving Amani territory would alert the Elves or Alliance surely and we cannot have that.

I have made efforts to build bridges with the Northspring, Gnoll and Tauren tribes but it has proven... Difficult.

While the crimes against one another are not horrific in nature, they are petty, numerous and built across generations, and furthermore, food is still a battle to come by and even our fishing trawlers can only do so much. The Gelkis meanwhile have little interest in aiding us for now, save trading scrolls to summon Elementals, though those are proving their worth.

Day 310, Confusion:

I am at a loss to explain how the Ogres sustain themselves, they destroy the environment, hunt carelessly and even their pig arms should not be able to sustain so many.

What's more, they seem strangely driven, even in contrast to their past raiding, why I am not sure.

Day 310, Changing Tides:

We have some hope, a Gordunni traitor, Karrga, has turned on her kin after the elite of her people, the Gordok, slew her father to have him as a meal and she has informed us a cabal of goat legged demon worshippers have emboldened King Gordok, they age stolen 'Kodo' beasts into adulthood to bolster food stocks and advise the king in his war.

But she has also told us that if the king is defeated in a duel, her people shall follow anyone who proves themselves worthy of being king, but it must be a martial trial, which is why the Ogres beat to death the Satyr princeling that tried to supplant King Gordok some months ago.

Still, King Gordok is said to be a fierce foe, our local allies leaders are all dabblers in magic or spirits first and foremost, and my own Primal powers would disqualify myself as well, but this gives us a chance to end this war in one strike, a single challenge, one duel.

Day 323, The Warlords Arrival:

Warlord Zul'jin has arrived, I was not told of this, no one was, for he did not arrive by ship but instead in the newly refurbished City state of Ravenwind, home of the Northspring Harpy.

According to his own words, his Hex Lord and Edana had been trading tips and tricks and with some effort had created a temporary gateway between Zul'Aman and Ravenwind that carried our warlord to us in an instant, it can only be used sparingly for now, but this is a joyous day indeed!

Day 330, The Plan:

Tomorrow we set out on our mission, Northspring Haries and Amani assassins shall scour the city assassinating any Satyr we find while Warlord Zul'jin shall make his way into the city to challenge King Gordok for the crown, if we both succeed, this war shall end in a single day.

I only hope he can win this fight.

Day 330, Deadly Duels:

The Satyr's leader has created a monster of tree and burning crystal it begs for death but rages to slaughter and kill, it is coming for us, this may be my last entry.

Day 332, Wars End:

I survived, though battered and sore it was my claws that ripped asunder the princes throat and the efforts of our Tauren allies and skilled Shaman that purified Ironbark, bringing the gargantuan ancient to our side.

Meanwhile Warlord, or should I say Emperor, Zul'jin dueled King Gordok, allegedly trouncing the brutish ogre with ferocity and piercing strikes before ending his life as an offering to Ula'Tek, empowering his voice to echo across the city.

Soon enough all knew of his victory as the chants of "Zul'jin" shook the foundations, now we simply must stay in control.

Day 335, Peace?:

This has been more hard won than I'd like to admit, but easier than we had any right to suspect.

As his first orders, Zul'jin freed the captured slaves and put the Gordok and Gordunni to work using their magic in tandem with our own to banisheor capture the spirits haunting this city.

Soon enough we found great obelisks of arcane power and the demon contained within and the Elves who lived in a fortified bunker below, having slaughtered their own kin to retain power, when the demon was banished they tried to slay us or flee, both efforts failed. Now imprisoned in acceptable quarters these strange Night Elves will be serving out their sentences helping us secure and maintain their once mighty city, those who surrendered or rose up against their mad prince have been granted clemency but refuse to leave and will be helping us master the obelisks and study arcane magic. I cannot day they are happy, but there is a palpable sense of relief to no longer be ruled by a monster.

We had some trouble in trying to secure peace, even with moving the Ogre tribes nearly entirely into the city, we've had some rebel elements among the Ogres rise up. This was more helpful than I'd like to admit as it means less Ogres to feed, as even with fishing, hunting, trade, magic and new farms things shall most assuredly be touch and go for a few years. Ironbark has promised us some aid in this at least and I have heard word of people from a place called Razorfen known to be skilled farmers that mayhaps we can trade with.

Still, Dire Maul is now keeping the Ogres from ruining the forest and soon the chosen Queen Karrga will ensure Zul'jin need not remain here at all times to manage them.

Some measure of permanent peace has been secured between the local tribes, once again the the Tauren returned to their traditional homes and with our farms and fishing the harpies have little need to hunt. Word from the Gnoll tribes does tell us of disturbing problems in the mountains and deserts to the South but that shall wait for another day.

Meanwhile, we have been gifted control over the Frayfeather Highlands in the High Wilderness, the local Hypogryphs, while not as fierce as the Chimera on the Isles of Lightning, they are more numerous and are of fairer temperament; they shall make running messages and aerial scouting a simple matter. We have claimed the central temple for the Loa, much to their amusement is seems, and work to turn the nearby hills and woods into sustainable farmlands and rice plantations to sustain ourselves and our allies.

Meanwhile, new explorers shall continue the mission we set out on, travelling into the Thousand Needles and deserts of Tanaris.

Others will fly over the mountains to finally peak the pristine fields of Mulgore and the vast savanna of the Barrens.

All while ships shall traipse South and Northward to spy any potential lands or people we might have missed, and to assess the near mythical thread of the Insect Gods.

I pray for all of them.

But for now, I shall place down my ink and brush and turn my attention to this thriving city I call home and am honored to lead, in but a few months there shall be a ceremony to commemorate our arrival, celebrate new friends and honor those lost along the way.

May all who have fallen know pride, may all who have survived this know joy, and may our descendants know prosperity in the Amani Empire.

Notes:
I took some minor details from the Travelogue series for this and expanded upon my own headcanons and some old ideas I've been toying with, gotta say this is a very efficient style of storytelling, but please tell me your thoughts!
 

Zam

Well-known member
So I've been publishing a Fic on the other chat sites and on AO3:

New Dominion by vase

Summary​

As the dust settled and the Second War drew to a close some sought to capitalize on old rivals’ weakness and reclaim long lost lands, only to risk destruction by incurring the Alliance's wrath.

Forced to flee their homeland, the Frostmane Tribe travel to the one place that may provide safe haven, Zul'Drak.

Having risen from humble means to attaining the title of Frost King, Malakk and his people are drawn into the wider world by the arrival of refugees begging their aid.
Now, with a murdered Speaker and the dead rising to the West, the Drakkari Empire stirs, and the world shall never be the same.
 

Zam

Well-known member
Warcraft - Unto Evil
An alternate timeline where Daelin voted for the genocide of the orcs and the world weeps for what horror this unleashes.

Preface:
Could this have been prevented, or was what came to pass preordained?

No doubt some would wish the latter be true, for though our world has become one of nightmares and terror, it would be so much easier to accept if it had not been, at least in part, wrought by our own hands.

Unfortunately, the path of damnation is one people choose to walk.

Some would say it began in the closing days of the Second War, others would say the seed was planted much sooner with the burning of Amani cities, or the mutilation of Garfang, perhaps even the War of Three Hammers?

Sadly, evil does not have a singular birthing point, but let us begin with the Second War for clarity, no?

The Dread Horde:
All glory to the Alliance, for today was a victory day, the Orcish Horde was defeated, their people and armies captured by the thousands and though we mourn the loss of the great Anduin, his apprentice Turalyon shines like a Beacon of Light!

But the question arises, what to do with this motley force of monstrous foes?

King Teranas, wiser perhaps than many know, argued for clemency, for treaty and truce. But with the murderous escape or Orgrim Doonhammer from the royal palace his words fell on deaf ears, for there can never be peace between man and Orc.

So when time came to cast the deciding vote, Daelin made a fateful decision.

The Orcs would be killed, down to the last. Turalyon and the Alliance armies in the Blasted Lands saw to the most bloody of the work, bodies piled high and burnt, blades turning to rust from shed blood and Orc after Orc thrown into the lava pits when soldiers grew tired. It was a nightmare for some, others a dream, for many it became almost mundane. But while a few brave and noble souls like Uther would sneak away those he could, many who would break from this did not realize until it was far too late, one among then was Turalyon himself.

But that is for later, for now, all that need be known is that the Horde's numbers were decimated, the act of murder becoming like some Gnomish machine, a systematic assembly line of death that, one year hence would come to haunt all the world, and not just those who felt guilt. For with one years passing, the scorched lands of the South knew again the cries of Orcish warriors; raised from death by the collective power of their shared demise, a legion of undying ghosts sallied forth across the burning planes.

Thus the Dread Horde came to be.

Orcs and Ogres who when struck down shall simply return to the bowls of Blackrock and regrow. No exorcism or blade can stay them permanently, and only the mightiest wards now keep them contained to the Burning Lands. Though this did little to spare the Dark Iron. Not even victims of the Dread Horde alone, their own slaves began to rise in vengeance, the death magic soaking the land ensuring death was no escape. Thousands died as the rest fled for their lives be it deeper into the Earth or across the lands seeking salvation or revenge for their miserable fate.

Now the Dread Horde rides upon the backs of spectral wolves and ghostly spiders and all who die in the lands of ash shall join their number; pray, pray to whatever you believe in that the wards hold, or we all may share their fate of endless war.


The Dragon Queen's Fate:
Woe upon ye who thinks our fate miserable and daunting, for at least we are free to live and die as we see fit. No such mercy has been granted to the one's merciful Alexstraza and her kindred Flights.

With the return of Rend Blackhand to the mainland, the Warlord despaired for the fate of his people, and yet would not fall into despair and malaise. Instead becoming a pirate along the coastlines, stealing ships and saving Orcs, Ogres & trolls who had escaped the death order, while pillaging village after village.

It was thought they would be run to ground eventually, that they could not keep this up forever, but oh how quant such notions seem now.

For Rend was canny enough an orc to see the writing on the wall as well and as he had been raiding and rescuing, he too had been in contact with the last remaining Horde hold out of Grim Batol, arranging for the extradition of its Orcs and the Dragons within.

There was no warning of when it came, save that if one had seen the foul Deathwing they would know something in his schemes had gone awry for one day the dragons were contained and the next, an army of Gnolls, displaced by the Dread Horde attacked in waves wielding orcish weapons and melee. This was the break in the siege needed to unleash the Red Dragons upon the unsuspecting Alliance forces, breaking through the lines and making for the coast.

Days earlier, Rend's fleet had come under pursuit by the Alliance Fleet after a daring but seemingly insane raid on Kul'Tiras that would lead Daelin on a chaotic chase across the seas. Just when all hope seemed lost or victory assured, the roar of dragons chilled Daelin to his bones and he was forced to watch as the Red Flight descended from the clouds and struck his fleet from behind, the once purifying flames of the Life Giver twisted by Blood Magics and Fel.

With the fleets destruction and the dragons in hand, Rend's Horde would sail West, seeking new lands to conquer and more dragons to bind to their will, dreaming of the day when they are strong enough to return and claim the East for themselves. All while the mournful cries of the Dragon Queen grow cruel and twisted as all she was fades away into something new and terrible.


The Helsworn Fleet:
Daelin did not doubt his decision to order the Orcs to death not publicly, not privately.

He could not for to do so would be to accept the blame, would be to open the way to guilt and to concede that he had let bitterness blind him to horror and through it he had become as vile as those he once sought to fight.

So when he led the Alliance fleet in a great pursuit of the remains of the Orcs, it was with a manner bordering on mania, he needed to win, needed to clean the slate and cleanse himself of any guilt or shame.

Thus, it was much to his horror when his fleet was once again laid low by dragon fire and as flesh bubbled and burnt, sinking into the sea he was open to the whispered words of Helya.

She made an offer, simple and seemingly fair.

Swear fealty unto me, renounce all gods save for me, serve unto me for all time and I shall return you the world of the living, you shall have life eternal, the power to complete your quest, you shall have salvation in me.

Suffice to say, many took her bargain, be it in fear of death, desire for life on an obsession with completing their task, the fleet bound their souls to the queen of the damned and would, in a few years time, rise from the ocean floor.

And thus it was, a fleet of sailors no longer mortal but not dead in nature would set sail, bringing woe and terror to all they saw and ensuring their glorious goddess would glut her realm on spirits of the heroic dead.


The Blood Curse:
Would that we had know, would that we have learned, would that we had an ounce of restraint!

But this was before the Dread Horde, before the Helsworn, before even the fall of Turalyon and drunk on victory and vindictive vengeance, the Alliance voted again for the destruction of a race, the Trolls. Put forward by Quel'Thalas and sponsored by Trollbane, the motion passed, no longer would we tolerate enemies nipping at our heels and borders, this ancient foes time in the world was done, or so we thought.

Perhaps seeing that his very efforts to spare his people a genocide at the hands of the Alliance had led them to that fate, or merely knowing this was to be no matter what, Zul'jin would make a fateful decision. He traveled to Jintha'Alor and surrendered his soul to destruction in the eyes of the Loa and devoured the egg of Hakkar the Soulfayer, the Faceless one, the Blood God, and then allowed his own capture as Zul'Aman was besieged.

Not content with executing Zul'jin before the gates of his beloved city, the Alliance forced took him to Falconwing Square, where he was lashed and burned, tormented and jeered in what even to the most hateful must have been a mock trial. Then, the king of Quel'Thalas stepped forward and drove the nations holy blade into Zul'jin's heart.

What the troll said none know, some say it was a curse, others whisper he promised never to forgive, in the end the truth does not matter. Zul'jin was dead and Hakkar's curse was unleashed. None can say how exactly it happened, or how swiftly, for none in the capital survived, millions killed in less than a day, as Zul'Aman had only begun to burn.

Quel'Danas was not spared, those fleeing to seek the power of the Sunwell spreading it to the guards and ensuring none upon the isle survived, while others scattered into the forests, spreading the curse ever further until it was stopped at the rivers edge. Even Dlaran was no spared, the city turning to a tomb before weeks end.

What followed was a brutal quarantine by the rest of the Alliance, no ship left Quel'Thalas for they were shot down, no flier left its borders for they would be burnt, all portals from the land locked and Dalaran scoured in golden fire. The Southern Tribes have near uniformly sworn fealty to Jintha'Alor, who now use the threat of a second Blood Plague to keep others from their lands.

Meanwhile, the remnants of Quel'Thalas and Zul'Aman duel for control of the woods, still barred from fleeing South, while the North lands have become overgrown with toxic and blood hungry plants, courtesy of the Soulflayer's ouch. None save the Naga invaders dare set foot on the overgrown Quel'Danas, now the domain of maddened arcane elementals and twisted monsters.


The Draenor Dustbowl:
Ignored by the distracted forces of the Alliance, the Dark Portal became active once again.

Stepping through its rippling surface where Ner'zhul's Horde. Having received visions of their kindreds fate, the Dark Shaman was careful in his chosen agents, relying on stealth and cunning over speed and distractions. Aligning with Deathwing and Alterac further, his agents were able to quietly obtain the artifacts needed for his scheme.

Not pursued by the Alliance, Ner'zhul had time to rally his forces and ultimately, orchestrate the fall of Deathwing by forging a truce with Gruul and betraying the mighty dragon, reclaiming the skull of his would be apprentice. Enacting his plan with time to spare, a singular great gate was opened and through it his Horde marched to an unknown and unspoiled world to begin their plunder.

Meanwhile, the twin gates and the great ritual would sap more life from a world already dying, leaving the advancing desert to grow ever stronger, as Draenor became a dueling den between the resurgent Gronn and their ogre vassals, the twisted nations of the Broken, the Cult of Terrok and a burgeoning Legion presence.

But what will the mortals of Draenor do when the last plant dies and the last animal is hunted?


Turalyon's Fall & the Argus Wake:
It is true what they say, from the most intense loves can be born the deepest hatreds and thusly that there is no greater evil than a hero whom has fallen.

Once the beloved son the Alliance, its champion and leader of their grand armies, Turalyon was broken by his part in the Orcish genocide, though he tried to hide it. His efforts to find some redemption, or restitution, even just a piece of mind led him astray of the Church and into the waiting arms of Kil'Jaden and his dear Dreadlords and sly Shivara.

Incarnated into the world by lingering Orcish servants, they leashed themselves to Turalyon be it in disguise, or openly and in the guise of prisoners. None can say for sure what it was they said to him, what their demonic touch came to mean to him, or even where the line between corruption and madness lies.

All that is known is that the sacking of Alterac for Perenolde's part in the raids of Ner'zhul's Horde was the final grain of dust that built a mountain. In one terrible moment, Turalyon slew the Archbishop of the Church and unleashed a terrible emerald light upon his fellow followers of the Light, scouring the Monastry of all who did not serve his new order and fleeing into the night, his loving attaché of demons at his back.

Rallying the displaced Alterici and sending out a call to the marginalized and the downtrodden, the broken and the baleful, the mighty and the greedy, Turalyon now calls his favored the awakened. Together they sings praises to his masters who will recreate the cosmos through a cleansing fire where all evils are undone and, where death stops having meaning and all shall live in glory.


The Dragon Prince:
As the world grew ever more hostile, the Alliance would fracture and fracture again, guilt and blame, shame and strained funds tearing it apart at the seams, while ghosts, cults and Helya Sworn fleets ravaged the lands, decaying the nations ties ever further.

In this sea of swirling controversy and chaos a bastion of peace was found by one Prince Arthas in the form of Katrana Prestor, daughter to the late and well beloved Lord Prestor and and a loyal courtier.

Some like to say she corrupted the prince with malevolent magic and twisted words, but such things would make the Dragon Queen laugh, for there was no corruption, no magic, no nothing Arthas did not want to accept. All she needed do was charm him, tell him of how wise and strong he was, promising him all he desired with no fear of consequence and advised him on how best to beguile those around him.

It was Arthas, always Arthas, who made the choice to descend into darkness with his Draconic mistress, always he could have turned back but he did not for he desired all she offered, and welcomed the heady rushes of power, pleasure and prestige. He became a hero in the eyes of the people, for his daring duels with cultists and monsters alike, but beneath the armor was skin turning to scale.

In the bowls of the capital horrors were wrought upon flesh and bone to make new weapons and soldiers. The Church, still fraught with grief, found the esoteric and the strange raised to prominence. Before long, Dragonkin would march alongside soldiers enforcing the wheel of their lieges, and Arthas would surrender himself entirely in the face of his own destruction to his queen and be reborn as her champion.

The Kingdom of Lordaeron has fractured, but the Queendom of Drakan seeks to reclaim all that has lost to the rebellious Crusaders and beyond.


The Remnants of the Alliance:
Stormwind was never truly rebuilt, the funds and motive to do so falling to the wayside before the capital was even half finished as fleets fell and and disease ran rampant. Now the land is divided between dozens of claimants and feuding powers, while corruption spread through the woods, out from the Blasted Lands and up from the coast. All who reside her watch the North with terror, fearing the day the wards fails.

Ironforge and Gnomeragan had almost weathered the Storm, but in their bids to claim the knowledge of the Titans in a bid to save their allies, or perhaps just to satisfy their curiosity the Troggs were unleashed, swarming over the lands. With Dark Iron terrorist cells and Frostmane Reclaimers stalking the mountain paths and the Dread Horde growing stronger every day, only Ironforge's capital remains safe.

Stromgarde stands, but after a swift and brutal civil war, it is a shell of its former self, only partially repopulated by refugees from other lands. Relying on deals with Ogre Clans and Gnoll Packs to retain influence outside the capital, Galen is straining to keep out baleful influences and invaders.

Gilneas is tearing itself to shreds in the name of the Packlords. Awoken by the desperate or perhaps the mad, the Worgen sleeping within the most hidden glades were turned lose and spread their curse like a wildfire across parchment and there seems to be no end in sight.

The WIldhammer remain steadfast, with their residents bolstered by thousands of elves who had no where else to turn as the world became hostile and their lands were barred to them, the skirmish on and off again with the the Theocracy of Jintha'Alor.


Conclusion:
I feel my hands growing weak as my own tale does end, and yet it feels there is so much more to say.

I am told that metal men and giants make war upon Trolls, Bear and Spider in the North, and as to your word of this land 'Kalimdor' I can only take you on faith.

But my time is short and life is ending, I hope what I have told you serves well, strange traveler.

For as the light dims in my eyes, I can only pray that when I pass from this world I shall not awaken again and that those who come after me, can find a new dawn.
 
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