A Savage Nature (Warcraft)

What the fuck? No seriously, what the actual fuck?
 
Don’t get him wrong… Rognak was grateful that Kael’thas and his forces had shown up. The Prince of Quel’Thalas couldn’t have arrived at a better time to be honest. While the orc druid had been aware that the Nerubians were a thing and had even mentioned them to Cenarius and Tyrande at one point, he’d clearly completely underestimated the threat they posed.
 
His second set of memories had failed him a little bit on that front. There was something called the War of the Spider, but Rognak hadn’t been sure whether it had taken place under Ner’zhul’s tenure, or not until after Arthas had taken the throne. Likewise, he thought he remembered something about the Nerubians having pockets of resistance and still fighting all the way up to the point where Arthas had to be put down in the original timeline.
 
He definitely hadn’t thought they would be able to field such a massive force, but that was clearly very, very wrong. For a moment there, the Nerubians’ numbers had seemed unending. And they hadn’t even brought out any of their casters, which he was sure had been lurking nearby, ready to deal the finishing blow once all was lost.
 
Only Kael’thas and his Blood Elves had turned the tide and likely sent those hidden masterminds skittering back into the depths. The Prince of Quel’Thalas’ dragonhawk riders had managed to take air superiority from the Nerubian Flyers, and ultimately had provided much needed relief at a critical juncture.
 
But even still… what the actual fuck? How the hell was Kael’thas even here? Everything Rognak thought he knew told him that the Blood Elf Prince and his forces should have still been back on Lordaeron, either working alongside a begrudging Garithos because Baroness Vashj wasn’t there to give him an excuse anymore… or imprisoned because the human leader was incredibly racist and would have used any excuse to get rid of Kael’thas and his forces.
 
To find Prince Kael’thas here in Northrend without Illidan or Vashj to direct him here… it was throwing Rognak for quite the loop.
 
As Tyrande hesitates, seeming uncertain how to address the other elf’s greeting, Rognak pulls himself back together, forcing himself to drop the form of the Akali, the Drakkari Trolls’ Rhino Loa. The woolly rhino form had served him quite well in this incredibly lethal battle, and Rognak made sure to send a feeling of gratitude along the connection he could feel with the Loa.
 
Far from the amusement he got from Har’koa, all Rognak feels from Akali is gruff acknowledgment, before the Rhino Loa turns his attention elsewhere. Which is honestly quite fine, because Rognak has enough on its plate as is.
 
“Greetings, Prince Kael’thas of Quel’Thalas, and well met. Your timing could not be better. We are in your debt.”
 
Seeing as Tyrande didn’t seem to know what to say, Rognak stepped forward and said it for her. Perhaps it was a little bit of a faux pas, but his curiosity drove him forward. He yearned to know exactly how it was that the Prince and his newly named Blood Elves had come to be here without Illidan and Vashj’s interference.
 
Of course, the moment he speaks, he knows he might have fucked up again. The look on Kael’thas’ face as he takes in Rognak’s appearance is one of mild confusion… and massive disdain. The Blood Elf Prince’s eyebrows climb and his nostrils wrinkle in disgust as his eyes slide up and down Rognak’s orcish form before sweeping past to take in the other orcs among the expeditionary force.
 
It makes sense that he wouldn’t have noticed Rognak or his Warsong Druids before… most of them had been transformed into different animal forms, and the others had been locked in axe-to-mandible combat with the Nerubians.
 
After a moment, Kael’thas marshals himself, what looks like centuries of political experience causing him to turn his instinctive sneer of disgust into a cold, unfeeling smile. But the hatred and anger is still presence in his eyes, even as his tone proves to be exceptionally icy.
 
“An orc… druid. Well now, never did I think I would see the day. Hm. When the Prophet told us that we would find our vengeance here in Northrend, he did not mention that our allies would have orcs among them. Then again… I can see why he would hold such a thing back.”
 
And just like that, Kael’thas has unknowingly answered Rognak’s most burning questions in one fell swoop. The Prophet. Of course… Medivh. The former Guardian of Tirisfal had apparently been busy, even after Archimonde’s defeat. The same man who had prompted both Jaina and Thrall to cross the ocean and settle on Kalimdor had apparently had a hand in bringing Kael’thas and his Blood Elves to Northrend as well.
 
Smiling slightly, Rognak inclines his head.
 
“Mm, I know who you speak of, thanks to my Warchief. He is fond of riddles and vague statements, isn’t he? But… his words are nevertheless reliable, as contradictory as it might seem.”
 
Kael’thas stiffens up at that, his smile vanishing in an instant. At first Rognak thinks it might be because he spoke so casually with the Elven Prince, his familiarity striking a nerve with the stuck-up Blood Elf. But… no, that’s not it.
 
“Your… Warchief you said? So the rumors are true. The Horde walks Azeroth once more, does it?”
 
Here, Kael’thas sneers, his eyes glowing flinty.
 
“I’d heard tell that the orcs used the chaos caused by the Scourge to escape their camps and flee across the sea. But never had I thought you would find an open-armed welcome from our ancient kin in Kalimdor. Tell me, Night Elves? Do you know what these creatures are capable of? Do you know of their crimes?”
 
Ah. Right. Shit. Rognak was honestly kind of terrible at this diplomacy thing, wasn’t he? As everyone on both sides bristles, he finds himself grimacing. On the one hand, Kael’thas was a snooty asshole who would have only become snootier and more of an asshole with time, especially if he’d wound up signing on with Illidan like in Rognak’s other memories.
 
On the other hand, the Prince was incredibly loyal to his people if nothing else. So loyal in fact, that it would drive him mad in his pursuit of a way to save what remained of his people from the terrible fate of the Wretched. He and Arthas shared some parallels there in fact. In seeking to cure his people, Kael’thas would eventually be slain and then resurrected into a puppet for the Legion, much in the same way that Arthas had been tricked into losing his soul to Frostmourne and becoming a puppet of Ner’zhul.
 
The difference here was, Kael’thas wasn’t too far gone just yet. There was still a chance for him to go down a different path. His descent into madness started here in Northrend, when he along with Illidan and Vashj failed to stop Arthas from becoming the Lich King. If he were to succeed instead of fail, then he would not have reason to flee to Outlands… and maybe his future could still be salvaged.
 
On top of all of that, Kael’thas had every reason to hate Rognak’s people. Long before Arthas and the Scourge cut a swathe through the heart of Quel’Thalas and perverted the Sunwell, during the events of the Second War, Warchief Orgrim Doomhammer and his Orcish Horde had rampaged through the High Elf Lands, ultimately forcing them to retreat behind a shield that covered the whole of Silvermoon City… and nothing else.
 
Countless High Elves had died to Orgrim’s Horde, so frankly… Kael’thas had ever right to be distrustful and hateful here and now. That said… if there was one thing this attack showed, it was that they needed him and his Blood Elf forces.
 
“We know them well, Prince.”
 
As if on cue, Tyrande finally speaks, stepping up alongside Rognak and placing a hand on his shoulder. Blinking in surprise at the support, he watches on as the High Priestess of Elune stares down her nose at the Prince of Quel’Thalas.
 
“We know them to be honorable warriors and stalwart defenders of the Forests of Kalimdor. And we know them to be victims of the Burning Legion, survivors of atrocities committed against their people on another world long ago.”
 
Ah, now there was an opportunity. Kael’thas looks confused, but Tyrande falls silent, clearly meaning for Rognak to take over from here. And with her words, he actually sees exactly how he might. Clearing his throat, he speaks not as some politician… but from the heart. Channeling the same feelings as he had so long ago when he’d spoken to the Warsong Clan on the edge of Ashenvale Forest, he tries his best to find common ground with the Prince of Quel’Thalas.
 
“She’s right. What the Old Horde did to your people was wrong, Prince Kael’thas. There is no denying that. But long before my people came to your forests, we were a peaceful, if savage race. We lived on our own world, rather simply, with no thoughts of conquest or war in our minds. And then the Legion came and turned us into what you and yours faced during the Second War. They fed the orcs demon blood and tied my people to them via a blood curse set by the Pit Fiend Mannoroth.”
 
Rognak pauses and hefts his axe pointedly.
 
“A Pit Fiend I am proud to say was slain with this very blade less than a year ago now.”
 
Kael’thas looks at the axe, and then back at Rognak. He doesn’t look wholly convinced… but he also doesn’t speak, seeming to mull over Rognak’s words. Taking that as a good sign, he hurries to try and reinforce whatever gains he might be making with the Elven Prince.
 
“I was born here on Azeroth, shortly after my people arrived through the Dark Portal. So was my Warchief. I will not try to deny that much of the New Horde is made up of the Old… but my people know that they’ve made mistakes. We strive to make up for those mistakes every single day. My fellow druids especially work to heal the land and tend to the forests, to bolster Nature itself. We lost Draenor to the Legion… but we will not let the demons have Azeroth as well. Nor will we allow ourselves to be used as their patsies ever again.”
 
There’s another long pause on Kael’thas’ part at that, before finally the Prince of Quel’Thalas flicks his fingers out rather dismissively, offering up a cold smile.
 
“I am not here to rehash the past. Nor am I here for the Legion. No… my people and I were told that the Scourge’s true Master can be found in these frozen wastes. Tell me… did the Prophet speak true?”
 
Beside Rognak, Tyrande bristles on his behalf, likely offended for his and his people’s sake at Kael’thas’ rather cavalier attitude when brought face to face with their suffering. But Rognak recognizes that the haughty Elven Prince is actually offering an olive branch of peace in a way, for all that he’s as standoffish as ever. Truth be told, this was the best they were going to get.
 
This time, it’s Rognak who places a hand on Tyrande’s shoulder, keeping the High Priestess from speaking up in his defense once more. As Tyrande goes still at his touch, Rognak nods to Kael’thas, his face solemn.
 
“Yes. There is an entity in Northrend called the Lich King. It is he who commands the Scourge… on behalf of the Burning Legion. It was he who lured Arthas Menethil to Northrend in order to corrupt and twist the Human Prince into a monster. It was he who made Arthas his Champion and sent him back home to lay waste to Lordaeron and Quel’Thalas alike.”
 
There’s movement among the Blood Elf forces at that. Elves exchange glances, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation. This was why they were here after all. Vengeance was all that was left for many of them. And maybe, just maybe… if they actually got the vengeance they sought this time around, things could be different. Maybe they could be better.
 
Kael’thas has the most pronounced reaction of all, letting out a slow sigh as he accepts Rognak’s words. Frankly, the orc druid considers it a good sign that the Elven Prince isn’t immediately calling him out and doubting whether he speaks truly or not. That Kael’thas is willing to trust him must mean something good, right?
 
“… The Prophet also assured us that this… Lich King would be weakened. Dying even. And yet, we come upon you under severe attack by a truly massive amount of his forces. What exactly is the situation here?”
 
Ah. Of course Medivh hadn’t told them everything. The man couldn’t help but be vague, could he? Rolling his shoulders, Rognak grimaces and gestures to Tyrande.
 
“Arthas Menethil is dead, killed at the hands of High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind here over half a year ago. More importantly, his Runeblade, Frostmourne, was shattered at the same time. Frostmourne was apparently very important to the Lich King’s power. With its destruction, he is weak… dying even. He has turned to his Legion Masters for help, and a greater demon known as Kil’Jaedan the Deceiver, the same Demon Lord that corrupted and twisted my people back on Draenor, has answered that call.”
 
Looking around at the devastation wrought by the Nerubian Ambush, Rognak grimaces.
 
“No doubt the demons have some way of slowing the Lich King’s demise and shoring up his power. We will need to work together in order to reach the Frozen Throne and put an end to the Scourge’s Master once and for all.”
 
Rognak finishes his sales pitch with a sense of finality, even as he expects Kael’thas to latch onto one specific fact in particular… that being Arthas’ dead. Indeed, the Prince of Quel’Thalas has frozen in place, and more than a few of his people have also stopped moving entirely, their eyes wide as they stare at Rognak in disbelief. Arthas was their boogeyman after all. The Traitor Prince had destroyed their entire way of life.
 
… And yet, Kael’thas surprises Rognak by not immediately demanding more information. Instead, once again showing that he has centuries of political experience and diplomatic acumen backing him up, the Elven Prince takes this information in… and finally nods.
 
“You are correct. My Blood Elves and I will join your expedition. Frankly, with the number of betrayals we’ve suffered in recent times at the hands of humans, perhaps it is only fitting we fight alongside orcs and our ancient elven kin instead.”
 
Ah. It sounded like something had happened with Garithos after all, despite the absence of Baroness Vashj and her Naga. Rognak very carefully doesn’t mention that the current Lich King is technically a remnant of an orc spirit. If all goes well, then Kael’thas never needs to know Ner’zhul’s true identity. Honestly, it’s not that important anyways.
 
Smiling at Kael’thas, Rognak gives a single nod.
 
“Welcome aboard.”
 
The Elven Prince reluctantly nods back, his decision to join them clearly not without reservations. But at least the elf was reasonable enough to recognize that hard times made for strange bedfellows.

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