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Blood River War Unabridged

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 The following is an in-progress fan-fiction and should not be taken as canon. Unless you want to, of course.



Before the darkest hour of Draenor, the Orcs were a people of deep spiritual character and a profound desire to safeguard the world they had begun to share with such a disparate collection of species and realms. When the world had been virgin to the influence of the Burning Legion and the sinister Kil'jaeden, when the folly of Ner'zhul was but a shadow of the future, for this was a time of the forging of heroes. Though forgotten by many Orcs today, the Warchief had tasked me with the gathering of all that is known, and all that had once been known about the terrible time of the Blood River War. 

The name itself is paradoxical, for according to the records provided to me by Palkar, the period that the war encapsulates (between fifty-one and forty-five years before the opening of the Dark Portal) is known as the Years of Dust, as whatever climate dominated Draenor before the shattering- a climate I am unfamiliar with- is oft compared to the worst of the great drought that plagued the world after warlocks had become widespread. Whether this is merely a coincidence or, in hindsight, serves as an ominous portent for the tragedy that befell my people in the years to come.

 The first true war between clans that resulted in the annihilation of the Dark Scar Clan and the weakening of the Whiteclaw Clan- my ancestral cousins- to the point of their destruction in the events of the Rise of the Horde, another penned chronicle of mine. Much like that one, this is an assembly of anecdotes passed through word of mouth and what little writing remains after the breaking of the homeworld of my people. Yet, at the time, it had been a glorious affair, for the honour and glory, and the heroes forged in those grim days of war. 

Unlike my other chronicle, which details the Rise of the Horde as told by my mentor Drek'Thar and the wise Geyah, along with a number of other key witnesses to events of note, this tale relies on the word of descendants of a number of unimportant figures in the scope of the conflict, but their diligence, and the persistence of their descendants ensured that such a record could exist in the first place. Three such figures I shall note here for posterity. The first is the fur trader Y'zag, whose presence at the Kosh'harg prior to the war's outbreak and his choice to record all things said by the Stormbreaker on clay tablets, which were subsequently brought to Azeroth by his children, meant that we know a great deal of the context as to why the war even began. The second, albeit slightly less pronounced witness is a curious one indeed, an orc by the name of Hurzan, claiming to be of the Lightning's Blade, a clan which sent warriors to both sides of the war. Lastly, and perhaps the most dubiously, the Gorian mercenary Rokk, whose tales are often regarded as exceedingly fanciful, though even an unreliable source boasts some truth. Other words I have gathered from the Lok'vadnod of Kash'drakor, among other war songs and poetry from the period.

Chapter I
The Greed of the Dark Scar

The Years of Dust began with a remarkable drop in the produce of foodstuffs upon orcish farms. The usual diet at the time had included a great deal of oats, barley and milk churned to butter and cheese from the talbuk of the world, but a bout of dryness in Nagrand turned into a desperately dry land with arid grass that ill-suited the grazing clefthoof or the talbuk herds that had become such an invioable part of the habitat. When the first harvests failed, many had simply ruled it as a punishment from the ancestors, and the Kosh'harg of that summer saw fierce debate between chieftains, shaman and clan elders on the future of the orcish people, The most vocal of these, according to the account of Y'zag, was the Chieftain of the Dark Scar Clan, a fiercely proud shaman and warrior named Bi'ruk, titled Stormbreaker;

"Have we gotten so tolerant of the ways-that-are that we have forgotten the singular rules of the Breaker, the great Grond? I look at those gathered around me and I see weakness! Ample food and homeliness has rendered you all soft of muscle and great in the gut. We, the Dark Scar, do not have the ease that the clans in the lowlands carry. You speak of hardship, yet what hardship is there when the clans barter and bicker as if they were all of one blood? Even the Kosh'harg, the sacred ritual that had once been of fasting and deep meditation has been reduced to little more than an excuse to gossip and brag! You snarl and bare your fangs, yet those same fangs are as dull as stones washed up from the Zangar Sea. The chieftains foster friendship among one another! You, Frostwolf, when was the last time you had to gather your own ores, to work your own forge bellows? Blackrock, when had you felt the touch of dough to knead, or broke your back working in a field. I can speak even less of the wilder clans, the Shadowmoon, who turn their minds to mush with potions and tinctures, claiming rights of livestock from their neighbours on some vague promise of spiritual freedom! A lie, all of it, and by the rise of the next moon, you shall see it too!"

Hurzan speaks of this speech as having been uttered by Veskar, son of Bi'ruk, an equally prideful warrior by all measure, and one known to boast of the difficulty the Dark Scar often faced. Having chosen to settle in the harshest mountains of western Gorgrond, known by other clans as the Blade's Edge Mountains, for their large quantities of ogre holds and mines still held by loyalists to the old empire of Highmaul. Rather than splitting away, as had the tyrants of Bladespire, the Gorgrond clans- creatively lacking names such as Bloodmaul, Stonemaul, Ashmaul- turned to mercenary work, either for one another, or for the other powers in the region. More often than not, they loaned their services to the ruling Gronn of the range.

According to the same orc, the Dark Scar had been caught up in a war against one of the many children of Gruul, thus, their presence at the Kosh'harg was minimal save for the Chieftain and his son, having come to Nagrand to seek out help from less opportunistic clans. By all accounts, the Blackrock Clan was more than eager to get involved, but only at the expense of seizing Dark Scar territory, including their vital hunting grounds. Faced with annihilation, either Bi'ruk or Veskar sought to stoke the fires of war by provoking others, and one voice answered immediately.

While we do not know his name, the Whiteclaw chieftain (known simply as the Great Fanged) rose to the challenge of Bi'ruk, demanding Mak'roghan on the spot to settle sullied honour. Yet, they were on sacred ground, and no weapons had been permitted by the shaman out of fear for exactly this. Despite the lack of blades or clubs, the Fanged and Stormbreaker wrestled one another beneath the shadow of the arrowhead mountain of Oshu'gun before the gathered chieftains. Unfortunately, neither tapped or faded, resulting in only more ill-placed rage between the clans. 

By the same clay tablet that provided us the first speech, we know the final words of Bi'ruk before he departed in humiliation and the needs of his people not being met; 

"By the next moon, I have warned you once, I warn you again! Sense is clouded by your honour, chieftains, and now you dry meats to store, instead of seeking glorious combat against a rising foe, with me!" 

When the next moon came and went, nothing had, initially, been reported to have happened. The morning after, however, it was found that a colossal wildfire had wiped out the grain stores set aside for the Whiteclaws, Thunderlords and Frostwolves to bring with them after the Kosh'harg leaving only charred and blackened remains from what had been vital foodstuffs to stave off a potential famine threatening to break out in Frostfire Ridge. Needless to say, blame immediately fell upon the absent Dark Scar, and three clans departed the Kosh'harg, readying for war. 

The slight of the flames wasn't the only assault against the clans of Frostfire, for while the chieftains and shaman gathered to ruminate on the future of the conflict with the Dark Scar, the clan struck again, or at least, it was not known that they had been responsible. The village of Kadav, a Whiteclaw settlement on the coast of the Bay of Blades, had been attacked by Mok'nathal hirelings, those among the village that could not fight back were taken into the vast ice-deserts, while survivors fled south to the protection of the Thunderlord bone-holds. Bi'ruk did not claim responsibility, according to all who knew him, of the attacks, but spoke of them as if they were a coincidence of bizarre origin, a sign from the ancestors speaking of the warmongering clans disapproval. It would, unfortunately, become a common trend in the orcish people to claim the right of defence in any slight or battle, warping the truth in their favour, and now, with his justification given, Bi'ruk rallied the Dark Scar for war, searching for willing blades in exchange for lands and loot from the alliance of the Frostfire clans.


Chapter 2
Battle of the Drums

The first major battle did not come immediately, for the world then known as Draenor had been in the height of a drought heading into the winter, thus, what would be considered weeks for campaigning were instead hard-pressed to gather foodstuffs and building materials for what most feared would be a harsh cold spell. 


Edited by Rogan
Chapter 1 completed; Chapter 2 started





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