Foreshadowing, or the Tale Of One Gnome's Quest For Vengeance

Foreshadowing

Pamble Autostitch frowned at the carnage before him. Dead dwarves lay in a ruined campsite, at least a dozen of them.
What had started as a grand adventure into the forbidden jungles of Stranglethorn had rapidly devolved into a living nightmare. Within minutes of entering the jungle Pamble had been chased by insane humans, rambling about darkness beneath the trees – he had escaped these maniacs by the skin of his teeth, sheltering at a small camp hidden atop a hill. The humans living in this camp had offered him hospitality in exchange for his medical expertise; a cost he was more than willing to pay.
But this had all come unstuck when a raiding party of orcs from Grom’Gol had smashed the camp, sending Pamble scuttling into the jungle once more.
Running from the savage greenskins he bumped straight into a band of barbarian trolls. Narrowly avoiding being stabbed to death by these trolls he had turned and run away again, saved at the last second by the Grom’Gol orcs stumbling into view.
The trolls massacred the orcs, forgetting about Pamble altogether.
He spent the next few days eating leaves and drinking rainwater, which naturally led to a level of illness rapidly approaching dysentery. Adding to his woes he was chased by raptors, had things thrown at him by huge ogres and once woke up to a gorilla staring straight at him.

Weeks into his ‘adventure’ Pamble had found the dead dwarves and something snapped inside his mind.
He went from corpse to corpse, checking for life. There was none to be found.
After the last body had been checked Pamble sat down, shaking and covered in blood.

“That’s it!” he cried out, “I’ve had enough! I will avenge this horror!”

The wind whistled through the ruined camp, the only reply to his exclamation.

He looked around once more, his gaze settling on a black and red banner waving in the breeze. A crudely stitched red wolf’s head emblazoned on a black background.
This banner was clearly out of place. It was too crude to be dwarven work, too crude to be any Alliance work.
Wolves were a Horde icon. This carnage was the Horde’s work.

Pamble stood, suddenly feeling every second of the torment he had suffered since entering the jungle. He couldn’t avenge the dwarves, not against the entire Horde. It was a stupid thing to think of.

Something moved behind him, the noise of something hitting wood alerting him. Pamble turned to see the camp’s outhouse, knocked over and lying in a puddle of filth.
The outhouse’s door opened and out crawled a living dwarf.
“H…Help! Ah’m covered in shite!” the dwarf hollered, his beard and clothes soaked through and matted with the outhouse’s contents.

Pamble leapt into action, helping the dwarf from the wrecked outhouse and doing his best to clean him up.
The dwarf’s name was Brendan McTiggart and he was unharmed, apart from his pride. He had been visiting the outhouse when the camp was attacked.
According to McTiggart they had been warned of the presence of not only the usual Gurubashi savages, and the orcs of Grom’Gol but a new band of Horde renegades – the Blood Wolf Clan.
It was these renegades who had attacked the camp and slaughtered the dwarves.
McTiggart claimed they had let him live, knowing he was there. The Blood Wolves had apparently taken great delight in leaving him alive but kicking the outhouse he was hiding in over.

Pamble felt energised! He couldn’t avenge the dwarves against the entire Horde, but he could work to bring down one single Clan within it…