Into the Red, Out of the Blue

Into the Red, Out of the Blue

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Battle-cries were sounded and we charged on the Dark Portal. For the Horde! For the Alliance! For the Blood of the Tribe! Blood, Fire, Death! Death to the Living!

It was a raucous racket of sound, and if it didn’t intimidate the Iron Horde even a little, it was enough to make me nervous of the sheer numbers involved in this so-called suicide mission. I adjusted my bright yellow helmet anxiously — it was tantamount to having a bullseye painted on my head, but I needed the protection.

Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunkthunkthunk—

My feet thudded against the worn stone of the Portal’s entryway. They were likely my last footsteps on Azeroth, whether we failed or succeeded. The hot, dry air of the Blasted Lands surrounded me, the whiff of oil and gunpowder thick in the air. I tried my best to savour and remember the sensation, but everything was happening in an instant. Pardon my Thalassian, but this was the most densely clustered of clusterfucks I had ever been a part of.

We ran and ran, Iron Horde blades swinging at our flanks. It was a crescendo of screaming, deflected steel and all manner of meaningless noise. I looked in vain for Kyrazha, feeling like now would be the time for some meaningful last words or even a last knowing look at her. I wanted to let her know that I would wait for her, in this realm or the next, no matter what. But it was too late. I couldn’t see her — my eyes darted from side to side, seeing the faces of my tribe and its allies but not her.

She had better not die — I’d never let her live it down. Or at least, she had better not die if I survived. It wouldn’t be so bad if we both died. Being both relatively-honorable orcs, we might roam the Eternal Plains beyond this mortal realm together. That would not be so bad after all. Perhaps we should have arranged some sort of mutual suicide pact. But it would be altogether preferable that we both lived — no matter what lay on the other side of this Portal, we had twin-spawn to birth and raise.

Everyone was yelling and screaming, in anger and fury and excitement. At long last, we reached the border between dimensions — we charged through the rippling crimson-red gateway and in a blinding momentary flash, everything changed. My eyes narrowed as they strained to discern what was before me. It was still hot, but not the same dry heat. It was a damp heat that immediately seized me and weighed me down, oppressive in its extreme humidity.

I could see better now. This was no desert — I saw jungle in the distance and more pertinently, legions of heavily-armored, aggressive orcs who were none too happy about their uninvited guests in this strange, savage land. Their battle cries rained down upon us, and we answered in turn.

And then it began.

Our lines almost immediately broke, or so I recall. I could hear yelling, possibly from our forces or theirs, or the Alliance for that matter — I had inadvertently broken from whatever passed for a battle-formation within moments, and found myself back to back… or back to butt with a rabid Dark Iron dwarf mountaineer, his red eyes lit up with joy and his cheeks flushed with ale.

Midway through reloading his rifle, he was seized upon by a hostile orc who found the dwarf’s rusted bayonet embedded in his chest — moments later, the dwarf reloaded and launched a strange form of ammunition into his head, which made a bloodcurdling whirring noise as it started embedding itself inside of his skull.

“The feck be that, shortstack?” I managed to splutter out in a loud Common, keeping a lightly-armored skirmisher at bay with an entropic blast of arcane energies.

“Drill-crawlers, lad!” the dwarf responded, cackling in delight as he was showered in finely-diced brains. “Love it!”

I frowned, looking around frantically for an ally with less volatile weaponry. Though we had a common foe, I had no doubt an inebriated dwarf might mistake green skin for brown and fire without hesitation.

I spied Cera’s towering form in the distance — completely unmistakable, her horns impaling an enemy with ferocity I thought impossible from such a usually-docile herbivore. Whether it was Kyrazha’s instruction or her own survival instinct, I almost pitied the Iron Horde infantry that faced the heavily-armorer direhorn in melee. I was in the middle of that particular thought when I spied a Shadowmoon ritualist in my peripheral vision, clad in his clan’s colors, with the effigy of a skull forged on his helm. He channeled some manner of dark spell, completely focused on me, despite the carnage around him.

I was too late. I dived to one side, but he adjusted the course of his cantrip with honed reflexes and I was struck directly with the shadow energies, falling down hard on the stone, my helmet sliding out of reach. I tired to gahter ym thshtogu sa I lay hteer, ym echts inisrg dna aflling -- ggguilnrts to hccta ym atbhre. Teigrevyhn saw riguhnt, and eh oolekd so vamleolnltey nodw nupo em with a neser ihdnde bdhein sih kusll-ilke mkas.

Then everything started growing even fainter, my vision distorting and obscured by some sort of blood-red haze. I could feel my heart pounding and my head thumping harder. It felt like the rhythm of some tribal drum. It sounded like some melody I’d half-forgotten, and I gave in to its irresistible rhythm and began to dance with it.

My arms flailing and my heart pounding and my legs kicking and my head throbbing and my teeth gnashing and my eyes wide open, unblinking…

…

…And then I felt a startling, frozen wind blow over me, and I groaned in pain as I rolled to one side.  My eyelids were so sore and heavy I daren’t open them, and there was a bitter, stale taste of blood in my mouth. Recoiling in disgust, I spat thick drool out onto my matted beard. I moved to wipe the spit away, but couldn’t — I felt a strain in my arms, somewhere behind me.

Then I felt the cold metal against my skin, through my shredded armor, and I knew I’d been shackled — bound with my wrists behind my back. I pulled against the bonds again, but it was no use. This was no flimsy metal — it was rigid, inflexible and freezing. So I lay there for a time, curled on my side, then eventually pried my eyelids open, the light flooding in uncomfortably.

I was laid on wood with dark metal rivets — the lopsided ground tilted to one side. My vision was slightly blurred — I was gazing through metal holes over my eyes. I was wearing a helmet — but my old helmet didn’t cover the face. It was mind-numbingly cold and I was seemingly alone. I rolled myself up with a pained wheeze, noticing a dulled pain in my chest, and gazed around slowly.

I was on a heavily-armored ship, likely of the Iron Horde’s own construction. Given my shackles, it would seem I had been taken prisoner — but we had wrecked on the coast, that much was clear. Beyond the rocks which the ship precariously lay upon was a vast, alien landscape of barren frozen desert. Even more desolate than the Dragonblight, I could see no signs of civilisation, be it friend or foe.

So I slowly walked to the edge of the ship’s deck, and started looking around for a way down. It would have to be one I could take without use of hands. Everything was spinning slightly — I must be faintly delirious. I briefly considered plunging into the frozen sea, no doubt the most dramatic exit — but concluded it would prove my death by drowning or hypothermia.

I would have to retain what was left of my cunning and sanity to survive this one — I had no friends to rely on, no enemies to manipulate, and no clue about my surroundings.

As I eyed a hanging frayed rope curiously and began to imagine whether it could support my weight, and if I could rappel downwards while holding it with my teeth, I knew I had my work cut out for me.

I finally concluded that if I should die, being entombed in ice would not be the worst of all evils — at least my remains would be well-preserved so future generations would know what a complete fool looked like.