To start things off, this is a work of fiction based on the characters and content of the World of Warcraft.  There is no intention by the author to to steal copyrighted material or abuse it in anyway whatsoever.  This is only to tell a story of a direction that I would take the game if I had the ability to do so.  It also only tells the story from just one side, that of the Alliance.

                            The Azeroth Chronicles

                                            Book II

                                 The Return of the Kingdoms

                                    by Sir Horratio of Goldshire

                                          Chapter 1

                                         Korrock the Barbarian

                     Not far from what was once Darrowshire, a solitary figure rides out from the woodland.  This rather coarse and scarred warrior looks to be of no affiliated army or garrison.  His armor is dirty and damaged from many fights that looked to be too close for comfort.  It seems as if he has pieced the protective plates together from various styles and affiliated orders and principalities.  The blood stained fur cape he wears looks out of place in this region of Azeroth.  In all, he seems to be a man out of place and out of his own time.  He removes his helmet to show a hardened face of much anguish.  His bald head, scraggly beard, scars and wrinkles look to a man whose like has been riddled with battles and tragedy.  The man is Korrock, the barbarian.  He hails from barbarian villiages from throughout Dun Morogh and Loch Modan.

          Though raised in the Glacieral regions of the Dwarves and Gnomes, the barbarians mostly kept to themselves.  They lived among the rocky crags of Dun Morogh and along the Loch Modan/Badlands regions.  Like most boys and some girls, when the time of ascension came he was spirited off from the only life he ever knew into the training camps of the Badlands.  There you would either become a man… a slave of the Dark Iron Dwarves… or you would be dead.  There you would learn to fight.  And so this became the life of the man that would come to save Azeroth and the great kingdom of Stormwind.  And this will be the tale which I have to tell; put forth by me, witness to facts, Horratio of Goldshire, illegitimate brother to the King of Stormwind, Varian Wrynn. 

          So there astride his warhorse was Korrock, still searching for the remnants of his shattered family and household.  When he left them early in the last war at the beckoning of the Dwarven King Magni Bronzebeard they were a bustling outpost there in the Loch Modan Desert.  There were traders and hunters from all over at the fortress, both alliance and horde.  Korrocks Stronghold is now overrun with Dark Iron Dwarves and renamed Angor Fortress.  This will be dealt with later, after he can resolve his current quest.  What brings him to the ruins of this once prosperous region are the stories of a staunch warrior that fought for the heroes of Darrowshire.  The warrior sounds much like his eldest son, Arden.  As Korrock surveys his surroundings he knows that he is closing in on the unified Alliance and Horde encampment at Lights Hope Chapel.  It is true that politics make strange bedfellows… but then the Scourge can do that to people.  Korrock replaces his battered helmet and begins a gentle gallop towards the camp.  For a once gentle rural area the evil and twisted life (both natural as well as undead) seems so out of place.  It looks more attuned with the ghost stories rendered about the nighttime campfires than for a once peaceful, faithful countryside.  Finally, Korrock is within sight of the fortified encampment; a rag-tagged group is ever he had seen one.  But, he is not here to join in the defense, he is here for answers.

          As the warrior rides into the camp many take notice.  He is not unknown among many there.  An old Orc Shaman and a scraggly and scarred dwarf approach him with the smirk only an old war comrade would understand.  “Aye… ye old war-mace you!”  The battle worn dwarf absolutely beams at the sight of his old friend.  “I have-na seen ya since we butchered those rottin’ undead bastards at Shadowfang Keep.  What brings ya ta these parts old man… come ta help us take it ta the Scourge here as well have ya?”  “Yes… old warriors like Korrock can smell the blood of the enemy like an Orc warchief.”  It seems strange to here the common language uttered by an Orc.  But as I said before, politics makes strange bedfellows.  The old barbarian warrior has a stern yet haggard look upon his face.  It is a look of seeing too much battle and wasteful death.  “No, I come not for this.  I have journeyed half a continent in search of my kin and servants.  I have heard of a great battle near here at Darrowshire.  It is said that a young warrior helped lead the defense and inflicted massive casualties on the Scourge filth.  The description of this warrior is close to that of my eldest son Arden.  Does anyone here know of this battle?”  “Nay… not I” says the old dwarf.  “At the time of the battle of Darrowshire, me battalion was tied up at the Stratleholm Fortress doin’  our level best to fend off the undead monsters there.”  The old Shaman, Aargh, has a story to tell though.  “Yes old comrade, I was there.  I was helping to heal the wounded as quickly as possible so that they could go back into battle.  I also helped to throw the dead bodies upon the pires to keep them from the Scourge.  I remember the warrior of which you ask about, but only from a distance.  We never spoke.”  Korrock asks, “Do you recall his name?”  “No, great one, I am sorry.  Though I am sure that I had heard it many times, some things become lost to an old Orc memory.” 

          A young boy comes running up to the group.  He appears to be no more then 15 or 16 years of age.  The tabard he wears looks almost ridiculous on him because it is so over sized.  As he takes his place in front of the group he comes to attention and announces, “My Liege!”  The old dwarf, Argomond, says, “Aye laddie… out with it now!”  The boy hesitates for a moment and then announces, “My Liege, my Commander at the front sends word that the Scourge are gathering their forces to the west.  Our spies report that the Lich King is leading with the Highlord Darion Mograine and the Death Knight Yoriv flanking him.  My Commander sends warning to prepare for the coming attack.”  Aargh and Argmond are both horror stricken.  Argomond turns to Korrock, “Ye can look fer ye son later old man.  Right now, we need every warrior we can get!”  The Shaman and dwarf run off to their appointed positions for the defense.  Korrock ponders for but a moment before he dismounts his horse.  Flipping back a furry hide on the rear of his saddle he pulls out an old battle-scarred double-bit war axe.  He swings it up and props it against his shoulder, places his helmet back on his head and dismisses his mount with a slap on the rump.  “More carcass to crop.  Let the bastards come.”  Korrock turns and begins walking towards the perimeter line.

(to be continued)