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Diplomacy 101: Chapter 15
🕑 Added 2024-08-04 21:18:41 +0000 UTCLor'Themar was tired.
Tired of war.
Tired of politics.
Tired of death.
Tired of being tired.
Lor'Themar was weary of it all.
4,332 years of age, too young to miss the founding of Quel'Thalas, old enough to fight in the first Troll War.
He was hopeful, once. He believed in the system, and the king upon the throne. Time had made him a cynic.
Born poor and to a commoners family in a rural village, Lor'Themar found he didn't have the patience to study dusty tomes for magic. During those heady days of endless spring, Lor'Themar was pleased to help his family carve shoes for the rich and famous.
He could still remember when he put those carving skills into making his first bow. Lor'Themar was so proud, showing it off to the other children. That bow was his constant companion for a hundred years. It was that bow that saved his life on many an occasion.
Back when he was a young man of 114, he had gone practicing late one day, and had come home to a village on fire, and both the men and women were defiled unto death.
Losing his parents, and the people he had grown close to all his life set something ablaze in his heart.
Lor'Themar hunted down a dozen Trolls that day. By taking advantage of their natural healing ability, he made sure they suffered slow, agonizing deaths.
Having succeeded in revenge, Lor'Themar had found himself in a clearing with his own hunting knife pointed at his neck.
Ready to end it then and there, Lor'Themar’s knife was shot out of his hand by an arrow.
That was the beginning of his infatuation with the heir to the Windrunner clan, Lireesa Windrunner.
She convinced him to live, to join up with her new group of elite rangers. The Farstriders she called them.
Throughout the years, their hard work, and constant skirmishes with the Trolls were rewarded. Lireesa attained a new position according to royal decree: Ranger General.
During those magical times, Lor'Themar eventually became her second in command, both in love and on the battlefield.
Together they would command the respect of every Elf in the nation.
But Lor'Themar did not care for fame or accolades. All these years, he was but that simple shoe carver at heart. He left the politics of Silvermoon to his lover. It was due to those same politics that he refrained from marrying her, to save the Windrunner family face and refrain from weakening their position as councilors on the Convocation of Silvermoon.
Lireesa, oh Lireesa was prepared to throw it all away, the name, the title, her future seat on the Convocation. All so they could be official.
Lor'Themar politely declined of course. He could not in good conscious sully her good name. He saw the fragility of their system, the damage done to the Windrunners might just be the spark that set the nation ablaze. As a consummate patriot, Lor’Themar flatly refused to destroy the country he had put his entire life into serving.
She was wroth, and things eventually became cold between the two of them as Lireesa spent more and more time in politics. Ultimately, she married the King’s advisor, and they rarely spoke thereafter.
Once Lireesa completely divested herself of the Rangers, Lor'Themar silently raised her daughter, Sylvannas to be her mother's replacement. Every day, he wanted to tell Sylvannas that he loved her like a father. That he was proud of her achievements.
Ina decade of training, Sylvannas accomplished more than most would do in a millenia. She was something special, something Lor’Themar hoped would lead their people to a golden age.
So he trained Sylvannas in the ways of the Ranger General, and eventually served as her second in command. She was head strong, decisive, and when caught in a good mood, very playful.
Spending time with his all-but in name-daughter tore at him, yet was balm to the hole his partner had tore into him.
The days and years dragged on until one day during the Orc War, a band of Amani ambushed Lireesa and a unit of Rangers, slaying them all.
A piece of Lor'Themar died that day. That little carver boy in the woods thought that he would make things up with the first love of his life. After all, Elves lived forever, right? Well forever came sooner than either of them had expected. That little carver boy was dead, and so too would be those damned Trolls if he had anything to say about it.
He went on a mad quest to avenge her, going on a massacre so fervent, so violent in nature, his fellow Highborn shied away from him, such was his intensity.
Eventually he tracked down and ambushed the mastermind behind his beloved’s death. Zul’Jin was young, cocky, and looked down upon Lor’Themar during their fight. He never could’ve imagined the pain and torture Lor’Themar would put the green bastard through.
Ironically, that very same Troll escaped, and had ambushed Lor'Themar in turn, replying with a torturing of his own. He only narrowly escaped due to the help of his mage friend, Dar’Khan Drathir. For his failed revenge, their entire people must suffer the Trolls invasion.
Compounding this hurt from losing his ex lover, was the death of her daughters, and the betrayal of his best friend, Dar'Khan Drathir. A betrayal that was only possible because he provided Dar'Khan with the codes to disable Silvermoon's shields. He had thought his friend only wished to study them, to see if he could improve upon their design. How wrong he was.
The Quel'Dorei's two largest crises in a thousand years could be traced to him. His family was dead, all those he cared for were dead, yet so long as Quel’Thalas endured, he would give every ounce of his flesh to keep it from falling. Here he was, on a sandy beach commanding the Elven force to combat a foe that outnumbered them 6 to 1, and no matter how tired, how world weary he was, he would not be anywhere else on Azeroth than defending the people he so loved.
Lor'Themar did not know what the wise, or Prince Kael’Thas thought when they appointed him as commander, considering his failures, but he would give everything he had if that was required to achieve victory. .
Keeping his face composed so as not to subtract from their already dismally low moral, Lor'Themar stood proud, he stood tall, and he stood aloof like an all seeing god.
He may be tired. He may be ready to retire for good. But this was his element. He had been fighting the Trolls for 4,000 years. He could do it one more time.
If the boy Vandercross could throw himself into the left flank, and his protege-Halduron Brightwing-could hold the right flank, then he, Lor'Themar Theron would not let them down.
He did this for his parents, wife, and all the innocents butchered over the years. Most importantly, he would be doing it for that young, innocent boy who only wanted to carve shoes, and practice his bow in his tiny, peaceful village.
Zul’Jin was angry.
No, angry was an understatement, he was enraged, furious, apocalyptic with intense emotion.
Tens of thousands of Trolls had lost their lives, and they had just barely made landfall.
His chief advisor had told him that the Elves had lost a catastrophic defeat within the last five days, that his visions told him now was the time to strike.
Consumed with the thought of revenge, and emboldened by Malacross’ binding of the Loa, Zul’Jin embarked on a crusade of righteousness.
To right the greatest wrong, and prove to all Troll kind that the Amani were the best, the strongest, and the greatest of all tribes!
But instead of walking through familiar routes, and emerging through the ancient forests, his wise advisor had them take boats.
He said that the Elves would never see it coming. That they would be unprepared.
He was wrong.
Not only were the Elves set up and waiting for them, but the only place of attack was a natural chokepoint!
Malacross of course, had a solution for this, but at the cost of sailing in a storm that claimed the lives of dozens, if not hundreds of his kin!
Zul’Jin took great pride in his people, and every needless death felt like a stab to the heart. Their screams to be rescued were drowned out by the sound of thunder, and Malacross’ cackling laughter.
If he didn't need the short runt for his prophetic insight, and bindings, he would've punted him into the sea long ago.
Zul’Jin had watched as they lost one totem ship after another, witnessed the Elves slaughter his people while all the great shaman did was laugh as he interpreted entrails.
For the last half hour, Zul’Jin had wanted to be the first onto the beach, yet his advisor had repeatedly told him to wait. Cautioning that if the leader died early, the entire army would disappear.
Aware of the truth in those words, Zul’Jin reluctantly remained seated within the lightning totem ship.
It was during his brooding that a soul wrenching pain assaulted him out of nowhere.
“Malacross, you slime! I have waited and waited for the right moment, yet my connection to Halazzi and Nalarakk has been cut! Explain yourself!” Zul’Jin roared to mask his pain.
Standing up from the throne, Zul’Jin grasped Malacross across the neck, and choke slammed him to the ground. One of his feet kicked him in the ribs, forcing Malacross to tumble across the deck.
Another stomp, and Malacross’ ribs cracked. Followed up by a brutal knee to the side of the head, and Malacross was spitting out teeth alongside a broken tusk.
‘Go on runt, make my day. Fight back.’ Zul’Jin internally snarled, hoping for an excuse to put this goblin sized Troll in his place.
“De Elf magics be strong mon. We know day be actin tough for centuries. Otherwise why would we be hidin an slinkin in the shadows all dis time? You know better than me, aye?” Malacrass said with a bloodied, mocking smile.
The verbal attack pressed all of Zul’Jin's buttons. The betrayal of the Orcs still stung two decades later. It was his biggest failure. Before today, the Trolls could field over 500,000 combatants! Yet now, they were a shadow of their former selves. It was only thanks to this piece of filths help that they could return to their former glory.
Whether it was the trapping of grand elementals into these monumental totems, or binding their sacred Loa, forcing them to help their faithful, Malacross was the center of it all.
Zul’Jin was no idiot, he knew there would be a price to pay to whatever master the traitor served. But for now, they shared a common goal. As soon as they conquered Silvermoon and reclaimed their holy shrine, Zul’Jin would snap this mewling slime's neck like a twig.
While he was simmering with untapped rage, a scout burst into the room.
“Bad news chieftain!” The scout said hurriedly, and out of breath.
“Nalarakk and Halazzi are dead, and we have lost both fire and wind totems, I know.” Zul’Jin tiredly waved the scout off, dismissing him.
“But chieftain, there is more!” The scout gulped, and lowered his eyes to the deck in fear.
“Face your chieftain when you give a report! We are not some Humans or Elves overly dedicated to etiquette! We are de Amani Trolls! Have pride in your name mon!” Zul’Jin barked, then raised the scout's chin to look him in the eye.
Yet the scout seemed to struggle in Zul’Jin’s grasp, fearful of something.
Were the Amani nowadays this weak? Back in his day, the chieftain was respected, but there was no fear. Everyone knew he acted for the best of his people. Did he go wrong somewhere in his leadership?
No, it couldn't be, he was as Troll as Trolls came! The Trolliest Troll that ever Trolled! It must be the younger generation! After the defeat of their parents, they were raised on fear, on weakness! Well no more! After this victory, he would instill confidence in their hearts, prove to them their strength! His belief in the Amani would be shared across all their people! Starting with this scout!
“Speak scout. What do ye have to be sayin den?” Zul’Jin spoke, giving the scout his full attention.
“The Elves, chieftain! They are small in number, but they exceed us in the number of Heroes! On their left flank, one Elf, the famed Varrus Vandercross-the Hero we have learned about due to his posters and play sheets spread across the land-has defeated Halazzi, and the 10,000 strong force accompanying him singlehandedly! His current movements are unknown, however, it is only a matter of time before he presses into the center!
Their right flank is currently being held by 13 Heroes, 100 arcane golems, and a contingent of dragonhawk knights. Our sole Hero attacking on that side is barely tying down two of theirs. The remaining 10,000 Trolls assigned to that flank have surrounded the enemy, yet cannot push through to gank the Elf center. We are confident that it can be done, but half of our assault force will be lost in the process!
Lastly, the central force of Elves is 10,000 strong, and is easily repelling our main army of 20,000 Trolls. They fight as if they have not lost the Sunwell! They are led by a singular Hero, our hated enemy, Ranger General Lor'Themar. If we don't do someting and fast, we gonna lose!” The scout gave his report in a panicked, and fear stricken tone.
Zul’Jin's tusks twitched, and he felt a phantom pain from his missing eye and arm. Lor'Themar. Today was a day of vengeance, yet his hated foe was here to hold him back?
To think such a weakling could stop the might of the Amani! It was so laughable, he only just barely held himself back from snapping the scout's neck.
Were the Amani so useless that he had to do everything himself?!
“I understand. Dee Amani need to see the strength of something more than a Hero! Dey need ta see the strength of a Legend! A legend, like me!” Zul’Jin snarled, then lifted up a spear, and began to walk towards the edge of the ship with the intent of jumping down.
“Chief, don't go, we have not had de signs yet!” Malacross gripped the hem of Zul’Jin's robes in an attempt to stop him.
“Away from me ye little Goblin! I am chieftain of dee Amani. I go where I want to. Trolls of Zul'Aman, ya want revenge right?”
“Zul!”
“Zul!”
“Zul!”
“Dat be right! Follow me to reclaim our holy land!” Zul’Jin cheered as he jumped off the ship to go to shore.
On his way out, he stepped on Malacross, and addressed him while he had his back turned to the runt.
“Oh, and Malacross, you best be dealing with dat phoenix and da traitor bitch. If I be comin back from taken da shore, and she isn't locked up, it will be your head I claim.” Zul’Jin calmly stated, then disembarked.
Unseen by him or anyone else, Malacross was chuckling to himself as he nursed his rapidly healing broken ribs.
“Oh no worries mon, you’ll be the Legend you always wanted to be. But I spose no one ever told ya. Heroes become legendary, because they die. Keh heh heh-kuah-heh heh heh!” Malacross coughed blood as he grinned.
Comments
Doleful
Hopefully, with this victory, the legend of the great elf hero Varrus Vandercross grows further among the Trolls. Truly they were right to be wary.
