Last Exodus - Foreshadows

This was some fiction I wrote to set the scene for the start of the Last Exodus campaign. It showed the state of Tarok and his clan and explained several in-game facts, typically ones that mingled with official lore.

---




The fire flickered, playing about shapes with the shadows across the tents of the camp. It was night time. A small emblem of the Shining Talon clan stood lifeless near a tent, as the orc known as Tarok passed by it and approached the fireplace as it cast a gentle, warm glow upon his green skin.

"What do I do...?"

The orc figure, wearing wolf-skin garments and a fine robe for clothing. As the flames gently crackled on their own, like someone slowly eating some crispy krinaks, the orc flicked back his robe and sat upon a log. The fire's he had heard lately, however, were not so light. They had been fires involved in clan warfare, that of funeral pyres and of burning conflict.

"Cannibalistic imbeciles!" he burst out under his breathe, unable to maintain his temper, for he had seen much death. Too much.

He was referring to the Bonechewer clan, a deranged clan of orcs that relished consuming their own kind, such that they had their own distinct fear about them. Being slaughtered in battle was painful yet an honourable way of doing, but having one's bones and organs eviscerated and worn as trinkets brought much disdain to even the average orc in the lands, let alone the scholarly variety of the Shining Talon. The orcs that were fearless of the Bonewchewers, though, simply respected their battle prowess and would have no easy quarrel with them for such shocking habits. There had been primitive, tribal type of orc clans in the past, but they had always remained a scattered minority - not an entire clansworth with its own territory like the Bone Chewers.

"All of this ... carnage ... over nothing. It makes no sense."

That it made no sense was logical in itself, Tarok thought, realising the extent of the Bone Chewer's dementedness. A messenger had arrived less than half an hour ago. The news with him had brought Tarok's unease to that of dread. 'There will not currently be intervention by other clans in the Shining Talon and Bonechewer dispute.' it had read.

"And he calls himself a shaman, which by our definition is a balancer of nature. Pah."

The shaman Ner'zhul, practically the overlord of the scattered clans of Draenor, had sent the letter. Tarok looked down at the glowing embers around the fire.

"My allies grow thin, and my enemies greater."

It was a simple state of affairs, he thought, that had been blown utterly out of proportion. The Bonechewers had never been the most social of neighbours, as clans went, but one 'wrong' message by Tarok to their leader, the ever tempermental Tagar Spinebreaker, had been a catalyst for war.

"Wrong? Pah, all I did was parody their lewdness to me back in their own style."

Where the Bone Chewers had mocked the shamans of the Shining Talon for being close to nature, Tarok had in turn had their primitive culture mocked by message. Unfortunately, the deliverer of it was immediately decapitated by a furious angry Tagar, who then, true to his name, had their spine cut out used as a 'necklace' on his person. The dispute continued to rage on. A few battles of orc against orc around the borders had taken place, and all were most bloody.

Tarok's warriors were not as patient as himself. No, some of the eager, young orcs wanted immediate retaliation, yet, as their chieftain explained, this was not possible. The Shining Talon had never been a clan capable of fighting in such an open war, nor would it ever be so under his way. They were traditonalists, keen to archive the past ways of the orcs, even through these turbulent times, and maintain their culture which had previously been endorsed by all of Draenor for thousands of years. Perhaps it was because some orcs that left their original clans, disgusted with the new tendency for mindless violence, and joined the Shining Talon which had angered other chieftains. Battle had always been the pinnacle method of proving oneself, yet only when necessary. In recent years it had been driven to excess throughout the world, splashing blood over the red world.

He raised his eyes to the centre of the fire, attempting to focus. Frustrated further, he reached over to a small log and threw it upon the fire, splashing embers.

"What IS causing this ... this lust of aggression? It is as if they are intoxicated on a new, highly potent blend of Tringa drink ... but far, far worse. No, it is as if a disease had spread, claiming each clan, gripping and inciting them into a frenzy ... but I can not certify it. Not with the way things currently are."

He rested an elbow upon his knee and stroked his grey beard.

"If one thing is certain, it is that I shall receive no help."

He checked over that thought.

"At least not from conventional sources."

Tarok rose, standing alooft, already expanding his idea within his mind and deciding to set it into motion, for he realised that it could very well work.

---


The following day, many of the orcs in the Shining Talon were called to the clans meeting place, the Cave of Karroi. The cave was part of a large set of areas built into the large mountain near their capital town, with the main chamber containing a large enchanted rock in the centre, with many story weavings adjourning the walls. The rock glowed several shades of blue, acting at least as an effective source of light, but more importantly it was in memory of the founder of the clan, the brilliant shaman Karroi who had documented a great deal of the shamanistic heritage and taught a vast amount of pupils. There was enough space for the whole clan to gather with many carved seats for them to sit on while speeches were made and issues discussed, hence its use as a place of meeting.

Orcs were entering and sitting down in the chamber. They ranged in their kind - males and females, initiate shamans and masters to younglings and the elderly. As they sat themselves down, many were talking amongst themselves, very curious as to what Tarok's announcement would be, for everyone had rightly assumed it would be about the situation with the Bone Chewers encroaching on their territory. Several of the elders feared Tarok was falling into the tragedy of the Grand Masters lack of decision to act against Gul'dan, while the young orcs believed they would finally be able to fight back and prove their worth in combat.

At last, with what seemed to be everyone important present, Tarok himself walked in from a side room and went to the speaking podium. Placing his hands on the stand, he took a moment to look around at the many anxious faces and reminded himself what he was going to tell them.

"Greetings to you all. I shall skip the normal processions of domestic issues as I am sure you are all eager to find out what is to be done about the enemy."

He paused, again checking his plan in his mind.

"I have indeed reached a decision, but it has not been an easy one to make. I believe it is best for our clan, for our culture, for our very way of existence ... to leave Draenor ... and journey to Azeroth. We would pack everything up and leave, but also escaping our enemies."

People seemed surprise, yet not enough to give outcry, though after a moment an orc to the centre of the left hesitantly stood up. He was Sollahon, an orc who had recently grown from an initiate to that of an adept shaman.

"Chieftain, I fear that I must speak against this. Though I hope I am not compared to Grizzar for doing so-"

Grizzar had been a former student of Tarok's, but had grown impatient with the lack of action against their enemies. It had been too much for him to bear and he had angrily left the clan.

"Rest assured, my fellow shaman, you shall not be. You at least do not shout!" Tarok smirked. "I hope that is clear - now, please, continue."

"Thank you, my chieftain. We know little of this world of Azeroth. Even if we take our possessions, wolves and people it shall still be an unusual and strange place. Most likely a dangerous one."

"Every day the Bone Chewers gloat over destroying every one of us and have groups of their ravenous warriors move into our territory. I am not sure if Azeroth would be more hospitable."

An elder orc, with a very long grey beard and resting on his staff, spoke from his seat near the front of the right, with his head down but listening actively.

"Do note that the Second War has changed. The humans and their allies are bearing down on the Horde right now. We would certainly not be welcomed by them, Master Shaman."

"I am aware of that, elder. Zirik's tribe, the trolls that have lived alongside us for several months now, have received news from scouts of their kind in Azeroth. It will still be quite a while before the Horde is meet by the humans in full force and then the war will be ended, I should expect. Thus I do believe there is enough time. I have studied a map of the world and there are several havens we could travel to. The best one, I believe, is in the kingdom of Stormwind."

"Stormwind?! That is where the First War took place! " muttered, albeit aloud, a cranky elder who was sitting next to the one that had previously spoke.

"Yes, I doubt the humans would stand our very sight, let alone tolerate our presence, especially after the brutality we heard of in that war, which I think we all agree probably happened." spoke Sollahon.

"Please note that I said in the kingdom, not in its cities. Stormwind is a large continent and has a great many forests for us to seek refuge - I believe that it would be not be too obvious a place for us to travel to, thus we can remain out of harm's way as long as we cover our tracks."

"And what of our heritage?" spoke a young scholar in the left side of the chamber.

"As Sollahon mentioned - we will indeed have to take everything with us, but the important point is that where we go our culture comes with us! For we have many of great intellect and scribes, and traditions too to join my proposed journey."

Several faces seemed relieved and glad to hear of this, as the members of the Shining Talon were especially proud of their archives of the old days, of the orcish race and a great deal of their history.


"You seem to have thought this out with your usual array of precise thought, chieftain. If you truly wish it so with such conviction then you have my backing." spoke the first elder firmly, still resting on his staff.

"Thank you, elder. To any others whom are unsure - I ask you, one and all, to also trust my judgement and instinct. I believe in saving you, my people, my culture - and to the very best of my intelligence and abilities. I believe that should we risk the travel of Draenor, should we risk the Bone Chewers snarling at our heels like rabid beasts, should we make it to Azeroth then we shall reach a new dawn, a new place for us to live in peace!"

Tarok was smiling in his mind like the clan members in the chamber's had on their faces. A few murmurs of conversation, seemingly of agreement, took place seemed to be taking place. Tarok was very glad that some of them agreed and allowed them to confer. As he thought about what next to say, it was then that a muscular, veteran warrior, with several scars on his torso, in the middle of the front of the chamber spoke up.

"I have seen many leaders blindly take their orcs to death. They believed they would win due to their strength, but rarely did they bother to think about anything else. But you, chieftain, are the first of whom I have seen to be exceptionally certain in his hope and calculation. As well, you have done exceptionally well to get this far, to have your clan survive against barbaric enemies. I believe that once more you make the right choice and I place my trust in you. I, Drakal, support you."

Even though he was the clans Battle Lieutenant, Drakal was not an original member and had joined later in his life. However, his dedication had been proven since.

"There is one detail I must mention, or, rather, that I must say of which I can not mention." Tarok spoke, with a small quiver of uncertainty in his voice.

Some of the orcs pondered his words over in their heads, confused.

"I know that I am often very open with my plans and their details, but I think this time it would be appropriate not to discern something, that is to say of one part of this journey of ours - I shall not be going with you. Not at first, since for my plan to work I need to acquire a 'something', of which I shall say no more."

"Again, I for one trust you, chieftain." spoke Drakal.

"My thanks go to you, Drakal. Everyone should know that my doing is fully linked to the ensuring of our eventual safety and continued survival."

Tarok had, through one of his few spies planted about Draenor, discovered that the Skull of Gul'dan himself was in the hands of Mogor the Ogre, chieftain of the Laughing Skull clan in the North of the world. Gul'dans skull was still emanating a great dark power. Tarok theorised that if he could acquire it then as the Bone Chewers attempted to attack them as they left Draenor, which seemed likely, he could use it to dissuade them using the skull's emanations, at least to grant enough time. That was his plan, as risky as it seemed to be.

"It is true that we will leave much behind. The journey itself shall commence tomorrow - you shall split up into several convoys to allow everyone to go at the same speed and not separated. Our warriors shall protect you at all sides as best as they can. Only take what you need."

Tarok paused and allowed them to take in the information, even if it would be repeated by the counsellors.

"Even the rock of Karroi before you, it saddens me to say, for it is too heavy for the constant travel I believe we must endure."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a few faces looking disheartened and unsure. Tarok took in a long breath and then spoke with great vigour.

"But Karroi himself once wrote that a risk is worth it if the result is for a peaceful future rather than a tense present. We may gain much by this one gamble, this one chance to escape certain doom in a world of that has seen the largest light of the shamans, to the darkest glimmer, where our kind rests on an edge. But I say - the embers still remain, and they are about to explode and shine once more, brighter than ever!"

Tarok's face suddenly reared upwards, shaking off the hood of his robe. His face was now utterly full of meaning and vitality, and looked much younger for his age.

"I, Tarok, pledge to save my people of the Shining Talon. I shall deliver them to Azeroth through the Dark Portal!"

And at this his hands went to his side and a howl emerged from his lips. It grew steadily in its volume and length, but it lacked somewhat and clearly showed Tarok's actual age, as several faces in the crowd seemed to be holding their faces from grimacing. Such acts were supposed to be immensely loud and a show of an orc's character, but none expected so much out of Tarok.

But then the howl suddenly raised in its pitch twofold and a huge ferocity came in the voice. The majority of those watching were now fully alert by it, several orcs now with enlarged eyes, and some younglings looked on in awe with their jaws lowered. Many of the elderly had never heard such a well-made Oath Cry. It continued on, being both solemn and ferocious, both full of honour and energy for a minute.

And then it ended.

A short moment of silence passed over the chamber.

"For the sceptical, I hope that proves my commitment to you all, my people. My pride."

The shock of the Oath Cry still seemed to be in place and then Tarok spoke once more, with an invigorated voice.

"And to our uncompromising enemies, I hope it shall prove that our strength is discrete - and shall be unleashed with gigantic fury should they threaten my pride!"

Suddenly, an orc shaman in the middle of the front row stood up.

"I, Frasharn, pledge an oath - I pledge to defend the clan on its journey to the Dark Portal and Azeroth!"

And a deep roar burst from his mouth. Another orc immediately stood up and spoke, with Frasharn's cry continuing.

""I, Barik, pledge my oath likewise!"

A few of the orcs chuckled at Barik's statement, for Barik had never been good with neither words nor timing, but he still smiled with them before performing his roar. By then more orcs were standing, declaring their oath, then roaring at the top of their voice. Before long, the whole cave was echoing a symphony of honour-binding cries. Only Drakal's was significantly unique, given his huge chest and voice.

Three minutes of cries had now passed. Tarok smiled. Though his Oath Cry had been issued and his entire honour would be held to succeeding, he knew that, with his clan in such determination, he now had a very good chance of doing so.

---


The sun struggled to rise, as it always seemed to, and was only beginning to envelop the lands in its blood red light. A lone figure rode quickly on his shiny-coated mount, a wolf he had named Silvio for its silver hair. Like Tarok, it looked quite old due to the colour but did not act it.

Travelling in early morning was critical for Tarok, but he could not deny that he would have enjoyed a few more hours of sleep. At least one victory his clan had achieved over the Bonechewers was intelligence, he thought. They could always rely on the times of their patrol routes, and that they, due to an overly-energetic lifestyle, were always lethargic at this time of day. One rumour was that the Bonechewers sometimes celebrated the 'gift of body' in a massive ceremony where they all feasted their cannibalism with captives or slaves, culminating in an orgy.

Though he was older than the typical orc, he was yet younger than the most wizened shaman. Travel was not too strenuous to him. Even if alone - he was used to it and enjoyed using the time to think matters over.

"I am one of the few non-corrupt or mad of the shamans. I am used to it."

He thought some more, beyond images of past shamans.

"And I am used to being along the border of the enemy. And I'm used to the burden of doom raging through my mind."

He sighed and cleared his mind of such thoughts and remembered the axiom of strength of mind over strength of body. It had brought him up well since his early years.

The stench of the marshland was making itself aware even several miles away, but nothing would turn Tarok back. His Oath Cry was issued so that he would be be bound to saving his clan from the conflict - not just that of the Bone Chewers but of the whole world. As good as it had been to him, he sometimes felt that the world was majorly flawed in how it allowed his kind to be driven berserk with rage. It was part of freewill, he concluded, as Silvio reached the top of a hill and continued running at a fast pace.

The journey took several days, taking Tarok North and through the Shattered Hand Clan's land, which he passed without incident, through forests, wastelands and then to the coast. An old sailor allowed Tarok passage on his ship which was of better quality than Tarok had actually expected - being more than a few bits of wood nailed together, with carpet in the cabins and a relatively comfortable bed for the master shaman to rest on, and even some salted meat for Silvio, as the captain had a great fondness for wolves and missed them whenever he was at sea.

The ship travelled surprisingly swiftly over the green waters of the Devouring Sea. Myth spoke that the new came from how the sea was actually a huge beast that fed on sailors whenever they took the wrong route on its surface. The captain brought news to Tarok of Azeroth, of the war with the Human Alliance, and that it seemed the next major battle would take place at Blackrock Fortress. The final battle, if the humans won the previous which seemed evident, would be at the Dark Portal itself. Whether the humans would be brave enough to enter, Tarok did not know, and he had no idea what would happen if his clan encountered them. He hoped it be of a scene of two wolves circling one another, each intent to kill the other, but then deciding to leave the other alone and moving away.

"Azeroth..." Tarok thought.

An entirely different world, yet similar in several aspects. It would truly be a fresh slate to begin upon, at the expense of staying at their home world. Perhaps his clan could even thrive there, but that seemed to be wishful thinking. Then his mind turned to the Laughing Skull and their huge chieftain, Mogor.

"Perhaps he can bring a shorter way to end this ... Or perhaps I am too desperate."

He knew, and feared, there was a chance Mogor would laugh and dismiss him brashly, that nothing would be worth the skull, as seemed to be typical of the chieftain. Yet the inkling of the concept of a lethally placed blade, courtesy of the Laughing Skull, in Tagar's deranged mind and the effects it would bring ... the insidiousness of the thought disgusted Tarok somewhat, yet he was still intrigued all the same time as Tagar had brought much misery on his people. It could be a solution, if a sly one.

"We shall see." he said to himself quietly, quoting an old mentor.

Departing at a bare shipyard, with hardly any orcs in sight, as the pale yellow banner of the Laughing Skull flapped in the wind. It was a marker of the territory - a long yellow banner with an image of a black skull with its mouth in a sinister laughing motion. The clan were famed for their trickery and preference to thieving instead of combat, which enraged some chieftains. The clan did not care for honour or what others thought, as long as they were able to gain out of a situation they would try anything. The captain said he would wait for Tarok to do his business, but asked that he would not take long as he did not like the clan in power here.

Tarok walked up the pier and noticed that the banner was held up by a spear, with a skull painfully impaled on its top. The spear was probably owned by someone who most likely crossed by, or even attempted to cross, the clan, with their skull on it. Everyone's loyalty here was questionable, due to the paranoia generated by none within the Laughing Skull being trustworthy. While practically every other clan naturally disliked their dishonourable and 'desperate' stratagems, absolutely none denied their skill or audacity.

Tarok spoke to a nearby guard who had emerged his hut. Given his size and demanour, the orc seemed more like a guard than a thief and so, after throwing a pouch with several gold coins to his feet, Tarok asked for and received the location of Mogor's fortress. After mounting Silvio, he began his journey once more at a fast pace.

After two hours, he came across a large town, surrounded by a huge stockade. The Laughing Skull didn't seem to like anyone getting in - or out. From a distance, the settlement seemed like any other. Buildings of loose brick and clay with an array of functions - farms, a barracks, lumber mill, homes and to the centre and a large stronghold. Despite Tarok's caution when dealing with members of this clan, the guarding orcs seemed standard for their clan. The adviser to Mogor was a morbid Death Knight, a living skeleton cloaked in a dark robe, with an air of decay about him. He told Tarok that he knew whom he was and that he had been coming, though naturally he declined to tell Tarok when he knew of his arrival in their lands. After being formally told he was granted an audience with their chieftain, Tarok was lead through through several corridors by the Death Knight, before he was pointed into a chamber with an open door.

Tarok looked over the area. It was a large room of stone with various decorations and banners. Swords seemed to be Mogor's preferred decoration, though to the huge figure they were probably knives. A rectangular table was in the centre and a large fireplace, big enough to push an orc into, Tarok noted, was on its left side. He contemplated over the situation once again, as he had many times over the past few days. Mogor, chieftain of the Laughing Skull. An entire clan of treacherous creatures.

"How can I trust someone who trusts no one himself?" he thought to himself, getting worried if this was a waste of time. As he remembered about the Skull and the advantage in having it, the beaded veil at the opposite end of the chamber shimmered, as the massive two-headed figure entered. Mogor was big, even for an ogre, and Tarok noticed that his heads were too - surely a sign of intellect. Tarok kept his manners, deciding not to speak until he was addressed first, as this was not land he owned. Despite the impending doom of his clan, he would still bother with dignified courtesy.

"No, I don't believe I can trust him, that is the simple answer ... but I have little choice but to do so."

"Tarok the Shaman." the right head mused almost proudly, as he walked over to his side of the table.

"Mogor the Ogre." quipped Tarok back, as the ogre smirked.

He would let Mogor amuse himself, even if he had to seem edgy, like someone caressing the edge of a knife.

"Unsurprised we are, at your coming here." spoke the left.

Some believed his speech was merely a cover up for an intelligent and calculating mind while most believed that he was just dumb. Some believed he actually was a puppet, covering up a council of secretive clan leaders, as had happened to Blackhand through Gul'dan. Tarok was unsure and it mattered little to him regardless.

"Sit, sit." gestured each head in unison, as Mogor sat down upon his own huge steel chair that two adult orcs could easily fit in to.

Tarok, continuing his gaze, yet keeping it unthreatening, did so and sat in the wooden chair, though it had a pleasant cushion on it. Worrying if it had a poison secreted in it, Tarok decided to shake the paranoia from his head and focus on the matter at hand.

"I shall begin by thanking you for your time, chieftain." he began.

"Go on then!" burst out the right head and began chuckling, to the dismay and annoyment of the other head as the left hand smacked the back of the right.

"Shut up, you! He's important! I've told you before - he's not worth a joke you idiot!" berated the left head, as the right stared at the floor. In a moment both refocused their attention to the shaman across the table.

"Allow me to explain my whole situation. For though you seem to be a master of spies, I doubt you know everything, for even I tell no one several ... segments."

"Ah, you got us there!" said the right head of Mogor, effectively shouting to Tarok but he made no sign of being affected.

"Well, I can cut it short actually - the Bone Chewers are pushing to engage us in war. We are the last shamanistic tribe here in Draenor. My culture is something I very much wish to preserve."

The heads looked on, with their huge eyes staring intently and interested.

"I shall be blunt - the Laughing Skull seem to be one of my last sources for aid of 'any variety'."

Mogor paused for a moment, looking down at the table, as if in a trance as both heads thought. Tarok wondered if they were connected in their minds at all, but then both heads suddenly looked back up.

"We can't just kill ... that chieftain, if it's what you hinted at. Tagar's careful, even if he's sometimes stupid. Lots of guards he has. We've struggled to get spies into his clan, since not many Skull's will drink blood and eat body organs just for our 'telligence." boomed Mogor's left head in slight annoyance. He seemed to want full knowledge of whatever was going on in Draenor.

"We know what to do though. Best action is covered up. You's can bring 'arm to the Boneychewers and not get caught!" slurred the right head and wiping some drool with his corresponding hand.



Tarok remained quite motionless, but was curious inside.

"It come to my - ... our possession, it has ... a certain artifact. Very important, it is." continued the right.

"A bauble? Pah, I will not be fooled by his trickery." thought Tarok, growing in irritation.

"Time is an issue here, Mogor. Do not waste my time with trinkets. I know what is magical and what is not..." spoke Tarok, but his slight suggestion of anger trailed off.

The ogre paused, slowly thinking over again, and then got up. He moved over to the mantlepiece and seemed to move some objects about. There was a clunk and something in the wall moved.

"A secret panel?" thought Tarok.

The figure turned around, and held a skull in its left hand and an open box in the other.

"The skull of Gul'dan?" burst out both heads, grinning to themselves like never before.

The air around Tarok instantly froze his body as the skulls dark emmanations sprang forth. So it was certain - deadly certain. Mogor did have it.

Before Tarok was, the skull of he who had brought many deaths, and countless other ruthless deeds, and it was something he could use to at least affect or distract the Bone Chewers.
Gul'dan ... the very name surged a chill upon Tarok. The master warlock. The destroyer of dreams. Darkness incarnate. Leader of the Shadow Council. So many titles, yet all for one sinister being who had shown a new definition of evil. Gul'dan sought the implementation of his warlocks and their nefarious dark magiks, while Tarok was one of those who still wanted the shamans to remain true and continue the ways of the orcish culture. Many trusted friends of Tarok's had perished by this cursed being, who was now dead.

Yet his powers lived on, remarkably.

Mogor, sensing the chill in his visitor, coupled with a growing wicked smile upon his large jaw of the right head, spoke once more.

"Gul'dan reckless, yes. Betrayed Orgrim in the other world at almost the right moment. Got himself killed all the same. Good for me, it is, that one of my orcs was within Warchief's army." spoke the left head, pleased at what had seemed to be his own designated spy.

"And what is the purpose of revealing this to me? How would the skull work on the enemy?"

"I'll get to plan for you, straight. This skull Ner'zhul will want. Magic is within it. Powerful magic, that he interested in, is." boomed the right, clearly knowing, despite his lack of good speaking, the danger of the artefact.

"You suggest I bribe Ner'zhul into aiding me with it?"

"Possibly... " he said, each head raising an eyebrow in unison, like a mirror.

"But we has better thought. Tagar be the enemy, right? If Tagar receives skull, whether accidentally ... or maybe as gift for truce of blood, he be pleased. As long as he has the skull, he has Shadowmoon most irritated, he does. See? We likes our plan." chuckled the right head of Mogor.

Tarok thought about it and realised how it would come together. The skull was worthless to Tarok, for it was laced with chaotic energies, and valuable to Gul'dans former mentor, Ner'zhul. He really could offer it as a gift to Tagar, and then use the time brought to evacuate his clan. It was certainly the best chance he would be able to risk.

Even better, Tarok realised, the Bonechewer chieftain would insist upon displaying his pride at his precious object, through himself or one of his best warriors. The chaotic energies could even goad him into angering Ner'zhuls wrath. He would not last long when Shadowmoon had a more important agenda to bring about, and would deal with him quickly. Tagar and his entire idiotic clan would have their deaths be suitably ruthless too ... And not by Tarok's hand. Not exactly as such.

"Though by my will..." Tarok thought, sensing he would feel guilty through this. But then he thought back to the war Tagar had already brought about. The burning remains of his mutilated warriors, the ones that had been taken prisoner and had their very stomachs defiled and cut up, piece by piece. Tarok grew in anger, and realised he was doing so, and thought over it again.

He realised that as well, he continued to work out, Mogor would in turn be glad to rid himself of it. He most likely misunderstood the true magical potential of it, and the energies would be creating something akin to a headache, or actually two, for him right now.

The left head brought out a bottle of wine from a side cabinet and spoke some more. He grew to like Tarok, though the shaman remained sceptical that it was a facade or not, or at least to secure a good deal which was fair enough. Mogor's few spies had informed him that Ner'zhul was beginning plans of gathering artefacts for an unknown purpose. The fact he was making preparations meant that the Shadowmoon clan would definitely do some actions around Draenor soon, most likely brutally.

For Mogor, keeping the skull was risky - the Ogre most likely in fact considered it too risky. He knew about what level of which was excessive, as he certainly knew how to work out probabilities from his clans constantly sly wranglings.

It was a plan that must have been natural to the Laughing Skull - and been the sum of their shrewd skills and deviousness. Tarok abruptly grimaced from his wondering. He realised nothing had been asked of him. What would he have to pay or do in return? He paused, pretending to still be thinking over the plan, before asking a question.

"Ah, but what use is a shield for my axe?" he said, quoting the old axiom.

"Yes, we's thought that over. You's give us those Portal scrolls!" The Ogre replied calmly, both heads speaking like one being, as if he was being careful.

"What scrolls?"

"We know's you got them! Heh, don't lie to us now!" boasted the brute, both heads again as if Tarok had criminally mistrusted them. They were both amused yet irritated at the same time, gleaming both sets of jagged teeth.

There was no use denying it further. Tarok had once recieved information from an orc runner. Desperate for his aid against assassins, he had something Ner'zhul greatly wanted knowledge of - information about the Dark Portal, gleamed from somewhere in Azeroth. Someone thought to have Ner'zhul pay them for it, but it was clear they were not used to his 'methods of acquisition' and the orc survived an attack, barely. He came to Tarok and in exchange for his safety he sold the scroll. The runner was sent to a mountain hideout near the Devouring Sea, and was never seen again. No one would suspect Tarok or anyone in his clan, all practitioners of true, ancient shamanism, of having them. Mogor must have known he had them due to the assasins having worked for him while they were in the Shadow Moon clan.

"You give us the scrolls. We can track down the Death Knights who got 'em originally and then we can 'elp them 'elp us 'ere." struggled the right head, though the left looked at him with a stern face as if he had said too much.

"Perhaps he wants to escape somewhere himself? If so, I pity him as I pity myself."

Without speaking, Tarok reached into his side pouch and removed several pieces of rolled-up parchment and placed them on the table. He had suspected Mogor would have asked for them, so had them packed but forgot about them during his journey. Tarok was curious as to what Mogor had planned, but asking would be futile - he had already been told plenty and either head was probably much more cautious about saying any more now.

"Let it be done. The scrolls for the skull - and the content the exchange brings all three of us." Tarok spoke, turning his face into a sly grin.

Mogor soon mirrored it, twofold, briefly chuckling to himself at the joke.

He handed Tarok the skull. The energies were not too bad up close, as Tarok placed it back into his large side-pouch.

"Yeah, we be content. You take the skull and you go. We has readin', and then work, to do." boomed the right head of Mogor once more with his own brand of authority, as he spread out the first of the parchments and looked down.

Tarok bowed and left, leaving the Ogre alone to study.

Tarok felt exceptionally lucky. The scrolls and the new plans they could bring would amuse the Ogre leader so much that Tarok could escape before Mogor decided upon being more than content - by taking the skull back, probably by a cold blade through the shaman's neck. The situation was looking far better than Tarok had hoped.

"His ambition will destroy him someday, the spirits and I reckon ... but for now ... this deal shall suffice greatly."

Tarok had left the hall now and soon retracted his entry route, passed the silent Death Knight advisor, and left the building. Then he continued his quick pace and left the town and soon Silvio was sprinting back to the shipyard. The wolf seemed to recognise both the masters desire to return home and his eagerness to escape this treacherous area.

"It shall suffice greatly indeed."

Tarok was soon travelling once again over the sea upon the ship, his destination now to get straight home as quickly as possible and try and end the bloodshed.

"Or ... rather to begin proceedings for some new blood to be spilled." he thought, very pleased with the plan.

It was devious, but an answer for a devious foe.

Tarok found the journey homeward was far easier this time, for both his body and mind.

---



Krinak - A large, natural crispy substance grown in Draenor. Mostly tasteless, but popular with salt as a form of snack to be eaten when consuming Tringa.

Tringa - The typical and most popular alcoholic orc beverage. It is distilled at the few breweries in Draenor and mixed with several herbs for a spicy and strong taste. In comparison it is very strong to human brew.

'Easy quarrel' - Animosity. A petty disliking of someone, typically for little reason.

'Truce of blood' - Ceasefire. Also 'Blood truce.' Usually finalised by drops of each chieftain's blood upon the parchment of conditions, representing how each leader will give his blood on paper rather than the battlefield, at least for the time being.

'Shield for my axe' - An orcish axiom about swapping defenses for offense, especially since the latter is critical to win a war. It comes from the tale of the orcish chieftain who, desperate to protect his warriors against an approaching, more numerous enemy clan, insisted his people use shields to defend themselves from the enemy spear throwers. As the enemy army approached, he lost count of his warriors and carelessly traded in half of his axe's for shields with a merchant, whom then fled. The defending orcs were decimated for lacking offensive weapons and the chieftain was killed. The story is meant to teach that recklessness leads to death, and it's better to attack than be attacked.

Clansworth - Many people - at least a thousand, as that is the size of the smallest clans.

'Cold blade' - A blade used to assassinate someone unexpectedly. Since it is not warm or ready, it has thus been kept cold.
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