by Blizzard
A few days after Doomhammer marched to Lordaeron’s capital, Gul’dan gathered his allies and revealed his plans to seek out the Tomb of Sargeras. He promised power to all who followed him, more power than they could ever hope to gain by continuing with the Horde’s pointless war. Nearly every member of the Twilight’s Hammer and the Stormreaver clans pledged their support to the warlock. Yet there were a few noticeable holdouts among the Horde in Quel’Thalas.
The Amani trolls had no interest in Gul’dan’s call. They continued their siege on the elven capital. The Dragonmaw also defied the warlock, and they moved to bar his path. In the end, neither side risked fighting. The threat of mutual annihilation was too great.
The Dragonmaw set out west to rejoin the main Horde force and warn Orgrim of what had transpired. Meanwhile, Gul’dan and his followers headed south. They met occasional resistance from humans along the way, but nothing that truly gave them pause. In Hillsbrad Foothills, the renegades commandeered a portion of the Horde fleet and sailed west.
Unbeknownst to Gul’dan, the Black Tooth Grin orcs had nearly caught up to him. They boarded the rest of the orcish vessels and followed in his wake.
The Black Tooth Grin were not the only threat to Gul’dan. Far from it. Kil’jaeden soon learned of Gul’dan’s reckless betrayal, which had come as a surprise. The warlock had hidden his intentions well from the demon lord. Kil’jaeden prepared to annihilate his former servant for single-handedly dooming what should have been a momentous Legion victory.
Sargeras himself ordered the demon lord to stand down. It was not out of mercy. No, Sargeras wanted to punish the warlock in his own way. If it was power Gul’dan wanted, then the Legion’s ruler would let him find the Tomb of Sargeras. He would let him come within reach of what he desired, let the foolish orc taste what could have been his.
Then Sargeras would rip it all away, just as Gul’dan had done to the Horde’s hopes of victory.
Based on the information he had gleaned from Guardian Medivh’s mind, Gul’dan plotted a course to the Tomb of Sargeras. The voyage was long and harsh. Colossal waves and fearsome storms lashed Gul’dan’s fleet. It was as if nature itself were rising up to thwart the warlock’s quest. As Gul’dan neared the tomb, he could sense the godly energies emanating from within. The promise of so much power, so close at hand, consumed his every thought.
The Tomb of Sargeras rested at the bottom of the sea, and it would require the combined efforts of Gul’dan and his allies to lift it to the surface. The warlock led a ritual, weaving his followers’ magics into a single immense spell. The skies turned black as pitch, and the winds lashed the sea into a frenzy. Slowly, ever slowly, the tomb rose from the depths.
A rocky island breached from the churning ocean. At its center was the colossal Tomb of Sargeras, an imposing tower that dominated the barnacle-covered ground.
Not long after the Tomb of Sargeras surfaced, the Black Tooth Grin approached the island. Gul’dan knew he did not have the numbers to defeat his pursuers, but if he could harness the tomb’s power, he could survive. He did not know what, if any, dangers lurked within the tomb, but he had little time to prepare for them. Gul’dan ordered Cho’gall and the Twilight’s Hammer to hold off their enemies while he took the Stormreaver clan into the structure. As the warlock and his adherents hurried through the tomb’s shadowy corridors, they eventually discovered that they were not alone…
Long ago, when Aegwynn had transported Sargeras’s avatar into the tomb, she had also imprisoned a number of his demon followers at the site. Most of these creatures were dead or barely clinging to life. The Guardian had believed that the tomb’s enchanted seals would keep them contained. That much was true—the demons would never have been able to escape the structure on their own. Yet over the millennia, some of them had fed on the avatar’s lingering power, regaining enough strength to prowl the tomb.
At Sargeras’s command, the creatures leapt from the shadows to tear Gul’dan’s followers apart. Then they turned their wrath on the warlock and flayed him alive, ripping the flesh and muscle from his bones.
For a brief moment, his screams of agony shook the tomb. Then there was only silence.
Only a few of Gul’dan’s Stormreaver adherents survived the encounter with the demons. Before fleeing from the tomb, they recovered their master’s head, believing that it held great power.
Outside, the Twilight’s Hammer fought for their own survival. Led by Dal’rend and Maim Blackhand, the Black Tooth Grin cut down the betrayers and left their bodies to rot in the tomb’s shadow.
Cho’gall suffered grave wounds in the fighting. He survived only due to his Twilight’s Hammer followers. A few members of the clan took the wounded ogre aboard a ship and set sail from the tomb. The winds carried the vessel west, into uncharted waters.
With vengeance served, the Black Tooth Grin orcs boarded their ships and sailed east. As proof of their victory, they retrieved Gul’dan’s skull from one of the warlock’s followers.
The orc who had sold his race into demonic servitude was no more.
GUL’DAN RAISES THE TOMB OF SARGERAS
Far from the Tomb of Sargeras, the Horde continued its desperate retreat to Khaz Modan. The orcish army in the Hinterlands fought through Lothar’s forces and raced toward the Thandol Span. Orgrim and his half of the Horde followed close behind. Lothar and Turalyon soon rallied, recombining their armies and storming after the retreating Horde.
With his fleet gone, Orgrim had little choice but to retreat on foot. Long weeks of hard marching and sporadic battles with the Alliance had taken their toll on the orcish armies. Before long, Orgrim and the remnants of the Horde limped into Khaz Modan, pushing through the Wetlands and into the colder, mountainous parts of the region.
En route to the dwarven homeland, Orgrim had dispatched dragon riders to look for the Black Tooth Grin and learn what had become of them. Some of these scouts returned with news. They had spotted the Black Tooth Grin sailing back toward Khaz Modan. The orc sailors had told the dragon riders of Gul’dan’s demise. Orgrim took pleasure in this development. If nothing else, at least the traitorous warlock would never again manipulate the orc race. Orgrim only wished he’d been the one to deliver the killing blow.
Yet the satisfaction of Gul’dan’s death faded as Orgrim took stock of his forces. The war had annihilated over half of his armies. With the Black Tooth Grin still at sea, he had no navy. The Horde would not find victory in its current state. It wouldn’t even be able to hold Khaz Modan against the Alliance, especially if the dwarves and the gnomes joined the fight.
Orgrim dispatched a messenger to gather reinforcements from Draenor. Whether or not the bloodthirsty clans there were ready to fight mattered little. He needed them now. Then he ordered his soldiers to gather in Blackrock Spire, where they could wait until the reinforcements arrived.
Blackrock Spire was deep in Horde-controlled territory. If the Alliance chose to pursue, Doomhammer would make them pay for every step. He told Chieftain Kilrogg and his Bleeding Hollow to remain in Khaz Modan. Throughout the Second War, they had kept the dwarves and the gnomes confined in their mountain cities. Now they would have an even greater role. They would delay the Alliance army and prevent it from smashing into the Horde’s rearguard.
Doomhammer gathered Chieftain Zuluhed and as many able-bodied warriors from the Dragonmaw as he could. The dragon riders were still scattered across Lordaeron, but Orgrim knew that they were too valuable a weapon to simply abandon. He ordered Nekros to rally the remaining beasts of war at Grim Batol and then transport them, Alexstrasza, and the rest of his resources to Blackrock Spire. Orgrim also commanded the orc to send some of the dragon riders to seek out the Black Tooth Grin, inform them of the Horde’s new rendezvous point, and guard their ships from any Alliance naval forces.
Lothar knew that the Horde was wounded. One swift and merciless strike was all it would take to shatter the orcish army forever. Though the Alliance soldiers were fatigued from months of b
attle, Lothar pushed them onward. This was their chance to end the war.
The Alliance’s swift march south would have never been possible without Turalyon and the other paladins. The holy warriors worked day and night, mending the wounded and filling their hearts with resolve and courage. The Alliance soldiers poured into Khaz Modan and made short work of the Bleeding Hollow. The paladins led hunting parties to root out the orcs and drive them from the region.
In defeating the Bleeding Hollow, the Alliance also liberated Ironforge and Gnomeregan. The Bronzebeard dwarves and the gnomes emerged from their mountain strongholds jubilant and eager for retribution. Both peoples pledged their forces to the Alliance. They would lend their hammers, axes, and technologies to the war effort.
For the first time in the war, nearly every noble race in the Eastern Kingdoms was united.
Northwest of Khaz Modan, the Black Tooth Grin continued their sea voyage. Dragon riders sent by Nekros had found the vessels and delivered word of the Horde’s retreat to Blackrock Spire. Dal’rend and Maim ordered the Black Tooth Grin to alter course and sail to Stormwind, which was still under Horde control. From there, the orcs would travel to Blackrock Spire by land. Yet if Dal’rend and Maim were hoping for an easy passage south, they wouldn’t find it.
Admiral Proudmoore was patrolling the waters. Near the island of Crestfall, the Alliance navy overtook the Horde fleet. Just as in the battle near Zul’Dare, Proudmoore outmaneuvered his foes and hammered them with cannon fire. And just as before, the Horde had dragons. The beasts swooped down from the skies and engulfed the Alliance ships in sheets of fire.
This time, Proudmoore did not retreat. Wildhammer gryphon riders had arrived to support his fleet. After being defeated by dragons in Quel’Thalas, the dwarves had learned new tactics. They used their gryphons’ mobility and speed to their advantage, outmaneuvering their larger foes and drawing their attention away from the Alliance boats. Lightning-infused stormhammers and dragon flame set the heavens alight, while cannon fire painted the waves red.
Dal’rend and Maim’s ship and a few other vessels escaped the battle intact, but most of the Horde’s fleet was sunk by Proudmoore’s superior forces. The dragon riders scattered in all directions, fleeing before the wrath of the fearless gryphon riders.
The Alliance had won a decisive victory at sea and destroyed the Horde’s navy, but the cost had been great. The red dragons had decimated Proudmoore’s own ships. Many brave sailors had died, including the admiral’s son. Proudmoore would never forget his child’s death, and his hatred of the orcs would fester like an open wound until the end of his days.
From Blackrock Spire, Doomhammer watched the Alliance army wind into the Burning Steppes like a serpent of silver and gold. Thousands of Alliance soldiers arranged themselves around the Horde stronghold, and then they began their relentless siege.
The fortress’s gates would hold, but not for long enough. The dragon riders from Grim Batol hadn’t arrived yet, and neither had the Black Tooth Grin clan or the reinforcements from Draenor. They would never get there in time.
Despair took root in Doomhammer’s heart, but he crushed it down the moment it reared its head. He would not give in. Not now. Not ever. This war was about more than glory, about more than him. It was about restoring honor to his race and ensuring its survival. Doomhammer had only two choices, the same two he’d always had: secure a home on Azeroth, or return to Draenor and die.
DEFEAT OF THE AMANI
While the Alliance was besieging Blackrock Spire, King Anasterian led efforts to drive the Amani trolls from Quel’Thalas. The battles were costly, but the elves managed to secure their homeland. In the years to come, Anasterian would withdraw from the Alliance, accusing it of abandoning the high elves in their most desperate hour. Not all high elves believed that, but enough did.
If death was his fate, he would die in honorable combat, not by hunger or disease.
In the fortress of Blackrock Spire, he stoked the fires of the Horde’s bloodlust. He called on his forces for one last charge, one final battle to decide their destiny. They were the unstoppable Horde. They had conquered the draenei, Stormwind, and many other foes. This world called Azeroth was theirs for the taking, and the Alliance would not stand in their way.
As Alliance siege engines hammered at the mountain, the metal gates suddenly yawned wide. Thousands of howling soldiers spilled from the stronghold.
Orgrim himself led the Horde’s assault. He was under no illusions that he could defeat the Alliance by force. Instead, he cut a path toward Lothar. Doomhammer had learned of human culture in recent years. Much like the orcs, the humans revered and idolized their leaders. Killing a chieftain could often break the will and resolve of an orc clan. Doomhammer hoped that striking down Lothar would have the same effect on the Alliance.
The Horde’s suicidal charge caught the Alliance off guard. Doomhammer stormed through the siege lines and launched himself at Lothar. The supreme commander did not flee. He met Doomhammer in single combat, just as any honorable warrior would.
A hush fell over the Horde and Alliance soldiers near Doomhammer and Lothar. The crash of sword against hammer rang out across the Burning Steppes.
Neither warrior gave ground. Not at first. But Orgrim was simply mightier than his opponent. The warchief shattered Lothar’s greatsword with a swing of his warhammer. The Alliance commander fell to his knees.
With his next merciless blow, Doomhammer crushed Lothar’s skull.
Watching their warchief vanquish the enemy commander inspired the orcs, and they pressed their attack. Orgrim’s gambit had paid off. He could see the sorrow and despair in his enemies’ eyes. The Alliance soldiers were flagging. Many of them were losing their will to fight.
Yet Turalyon did not give in to sorrow or despair. Such feelings were of no use to him. They would not bring Lothar back. They would not avenge his fallen friend.
The young paladin unleashed his holy powers. The Light radiated out from Turalyon, blinding all around him, including Orgrim, and bringing the fighting to a standstill. The paladin took up Lothar’s broken blade and knocked the stunned orc warchief unconscious. He then called on his allies to stand tall in this dark hour, just as Lothar would have. Through every trial the Alliance had faced, their commander had never hesitated. He had led them with wisdom and bravery. He had treated them as more than soldiers, as friends and family. They were all Lothar’s sons and daughters, and they would carry on his dream of ridding the world of the Horde.
Now was not the time for uncertainty, not when victory was within reach. Now was the time to fight. For Azeroth. For the Alliance. For Lothar.
Hope burned bright in every Alliance soldier who heard Turalyon that day. With a final battle cry, the paladin rallied his comrades. The Alliance crashed into the Horde, and the orcish armies buckled from the onslaught. Some fled north, east, or west. Others raced south toward the Dark Portal. A brave few continued fighting outside Blackrock Spire, hoping for death in battle.
They would not find it. Turalyon and the other paladins overwhelmed these soldiers, but they did not put them to the blade. They bound them, along with their warchief, in chains.
Led by Teron Gorefiend and his death knights, some of the Horde escaped the Alliance and fled toward the Dark Portal. Reaching the safety of their homeworld was their only hope of survival.
Turalyon and the Alliance hounded their every step, the memory of Lothar’s death still raw and painful. They were eager for vengeance, but just as eager to track the Horde to the Dark Portal. Little was known about the gateway or its exact location, and Turalyon hoped that the retreating orcs and death knights would lead him to it. They did.
Outside the Dark Portal, in the Black Morass, the Alliance overtook the Horde. The battle that unfolded was one of the most brutal and desperate fought in the Second War. Gorefiend and his death knights called upon the fury and terror of their necromantic arts. They could not defeat Turalyon’s forces, but it was enough to allow
the Horde to slip through the portal.
Turalyon did not pursue the Horde. He had already pushed his soldiers to the breaking point, and he did not know what horrors awaited them on the other side. There was only one thing left to do: destroy the Dark Portal and prevent the Horde from ever returning.
For this, Turalyon called on Khadgar and his fellow magi. The sorcerers gathered around the looming gateway and began a great spell. Khadgar led the other magi as they unraveled the portal, pulling apart each ethereal thread until the rift slammed shut. The backlash of energies shattered the portal’s stone frame in a blinding explosion of arcane light.
The Dark Portal, which had brought so much ruin to Azeroth, crumbled to dust. A roar of approval sounded through the Alliance lines. The soldiers, who had fought so hard, who had seen their friends and loved ones die, fell to their knees in celebration. Many wept tears of joy.
The war was over.
The Alliance had won.
The Horde had lost.
Such was the news that Teron Gorefiend and his followers carried back to Draenor. What was worse, the way to Azeroth was closed. When Khadgar had destroyed Azeroth’s side of the Dark Portal, the resultant blast of arcane energy had lashed into the orcish homeworld, and the gateway on Draenor had exploded in a flash of errant magic. The portal’s physical frame had shattered into rubble. There would be no escape from the Horde’s dying world.
After so much bloodshed and war, the orcs had accomplished nothing. They had little food and no enemy to conquer. They had no future except for a slow, agonizing death.
Some powerful clans had remained on Draenor. As was the case before the First War, bloodlust consumed them. Over time, the orcs’ numbers had dwindled, but they were still slaves to anger. Word of the Horde’s defeat on Azeroth fueled their rage.