By the Light!
After all this hustle, it seems we've been winking at a blind man! What a waste of effort!
Anduin and Llane stared in disbelief, jaws dropping wide enough to fit a large apple.
They had discreetly approached with the plan, seeing Duke nodding off. They wanted to console him, as politics can be a tricky game. Even seasoned politicians can have a fall from grace just before retirement.
Duke's influence has grown immense. Though not outwardly suppressed, the Alliance leaders have been trying to downplay his impact. They wonder about the Alliance's future after the Horde's defeat. If their soldiers idolize another hero, it would be a tragic blow to their leadership.
But Duke, while appearing uninvolved, had a secret ace.
Anduin and Llane asked for his opinion on the plan, to which Duke casually remarked, "Just go for it. If things turn south, I got your back."
"How exactly?"
"I'll call in the Red Dragonflight to do a ground sweep with their dragon's breath."
The two Alliance leaders almost choked in astonishment.
Sleepily, Duke whispered, "Just because the Red Dragonflight avoids the wars of mortals, doesn't mean individual dragons can't settle scores with the Horde."
Their faces were a sight to behold.
Duke's list showcased an impressive roster, enough to blind anyone: up to 10 ancient dragons and hundreds of younger ones, all loyal to Duke and the Stormwind cause.
With the imposing might of the Red Dragonflight, if the Alliance couldn't defeat a demoralized Horde, they might as well take a leap into the Endless Sea.
The battles were decisive.
Without Duke in this timeline, Anduin Lothar would undoubtedly shine as the era's greatest military strategist.
In just three days, Anduin's 5,000-strong strike force held their ground against the combined onslaught of the Horde from the north and south, firmly establishing their position at the Thandol Span. The Red Dragonflight didn't even get a chance to join the fray.
When Magni Bronzebeard's forces arrived, victory was sealed.
On the 18th of September, two years after the Dark Portal, the once-occupied Arathi Highlands were liberated. Stromgarde's flag flew over the ruins of Refuge Pointe.
On the 25th, Wetlands were reclaimed.
By October 10th, Ironforge, under siege for over a year, was relieved.
The Horde gathered a massive defense. Their newly-adopted bunker strategy, learnt from humans, initially posed a challenge. Over 20,000 Alliance soldiers fell to troll spears. However, the Red Dragonflight rendered these defenses useless.
By October 16th, the combined fleets of Kul Tiras and Stormwind landed on the northern shores, commencing the liberation of Stormwind.
Daelin Proudmoore expected a tough beachhead, but met minimal resistance. With ample supplies secured from Westfall, the Kingdom of Stormwind was rapidly reclaimed.
By the end of October, only Redridge Mountains remained contested. The Horde's reinforcements were locked in a tug of war with Stormwind's forces.
In the north, the Alliance, now including Gnomeregan, pushed the front to the Burning Steppes of later eras. At Blackrock Spire, Orgrim Doomhammer rallied the Horde's last defenses.
On November 1st, the Horde sent an emissary, challenging the Alliance.
"In five days, beneath Blackrock Spire, let's decide the fate of the Horde and the Alliance."
The west wind howled, and the autumn chill made everything on the Burning Steppes even more parched.
The barren and desolate land emitted an almost endless heat, sourced naturally from the towering active volcanoes of the steppes. This included Blackrock Mountain to the northwest. These volcanoes continuously oozed molten lava, with the fiery magma constantly reshaping the landscape.
Sitting on the eastern terrace of Blackrock Spire, nestled within Blackrock Mountain, Warchief Orgrim looked somewhat lost as he gazed at the distant horizon.
To call it Blackrock Spire was a bit misleading from the outside; the 'spire' wasn't so apparent.
The entire 'spire' was embedded within the soaring Blackrock Mountain. Numerous streams of molten lava flowed from the mountainside, creating vertical lines that divided the grey-black mountain into several segments.
Blackrock Spire would be more aptly named Blackrock Fortress.
Orgrim had no way of knowing that this very platform would one day be the final resting place of the black dragon prince, Nefarian. He merely stared out, lost in thought.
To the north was the equally blazing Searing Gorge. The Dark Iron dwarves, who recently allied with the Horde, were forging weapons day and night in their rudimentary forges within the gorge.
To the south lay the Burning Steppes, where over 150,000 orc warriors were encamped beneath Blackrock Mountain. These orcs, who had just crossed the Dark Portal to Azeroth, knew nothing of the Alliance's might or the terror of the Red Dragonflight. They eagerly awaited the forthcoming battle of glory.
Meanwhile, a hundred thousand orc laborers were excited about the superior weapons they were receiving, seeing this as a chance to change their status.
At that moment, Zuluhed the Whacked, chieftain of the Dragonmaw clan, approached. Glancing at Orgrim, who sat at the edge of the platform, he gruffly said, "Warchief, the new Horde warriors wish for you to speak."
"Speak? I'll go. But not now," replied Orgrim without turning his head.
"Why? You know our kin have little patience, especially after drinking that... stuff."
"Aye! Perhaps we should thank the demon blood for making our kind aggressive and warlike without worrying about morale," Orgrim said with undisguised sarcasm. "Yes, thanks to the demon blood, we orcs still have unwavering confidence in victory, and can tolerate a wretched chief like me. No warrior has yet challenged me in Mak'gora."
Zuluhed remained silent.
From Blackrock Spire, the orcs below, mainly newcomers to Azeroth, were simple-minded. They had never experienced the frustration of having the upper hand yet failing to secure victory, nor the agony of being pushed back by humans after nearly conquering half the continent.
Where are the once mighty clans of the Horde now?
The once dominant Blackrock clan was nearly annihilated after the battles of Elwynn Forest, Stormwind, the overseas campaign, and the Siege of Lordaeron. Now, with less than 5,000 members, they were weaker than even a minor clan.
The Warsong clan, once fierce warriors, were now hiding in the Tirisfal Glades, led by Grommash.
The Bleeding Hollow clan was nearly wiped out, mostly at the hands of the Alliance and the Red Dragonflight. Kilrogg Deadeye now had fewer than 10,000 clan members under him.
The Frostwolf clan, once exiled by Gul'dan, had severed ties with the Horde after the death of Durotan.
The Dragonmaw clan faced a brutal culling due to the Red Dragonflight's rebellion, leaving Zuluhed with fewer than 1,000 warriors.
The list went on, with each clan's fate more tragic than the last.
However, any orc with half a brain could see the writing on the wall: the Horde was doomed.
Orgrim didn't blame his lieutenants.
He sighed deeply, "I've been pondering the meaning of this impending, doomed war."
"Meaning?"
"Yes," Orgrim replied, looking up at the northern sky.
The Dark Portal's first year, as the humans called it, was the Horde's most glorious and ambitious. The Horde's territories expanded madly to the north, nearly equivalent to the entirety of the known world.
Yet, like all dreams, this grand vision of conquering Azeroth within three years met its reality. The Horde's unity fractured, seemingly by chance, but it was inevitable.
Orgrim sighed heavily, "Looking back, even without Duke Markus, we were destined to fail."
"Why?" asked Zuluhed, puzzled.
Orgrim's rugged face was etched with regret.
"We were too arrogant. Initially, we nearly exterminated every sentient race we encountered in this world, alienating nearly all against the Horde. If I could turn back time and lead the Horde sooner, I would have been gentler. I'd first occupy unclaimed wildlands, then eliminate weaker races for more living space for the Horde. Only when we had an absolute advantage would we destroy potential alliances."
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