It had been three days past since he and the mysterious prophet had spoken. By that time, Thrall had gathered his warriors and proceeded to relay a message for the Horde to assemble. They had moved deeper into the Arathi Highlands where he would await most of his warriors so that they can sail across the sea to the forgotten lands of Kalimdor. It had made little sense, Thrall had to admit, but it was best course of action for his people. Here, they were outcasts and hunted like lambs to the slaughter. Across the world . . . they could forge their own destiny, free from the stigma bound by the humans. They would never have been able to live in peace in Lordaeron.
Thrall and his soldiers had found the suitable place for a base camp and immediately set up camp a day ago. It wasn't ready for the entire Horde yet but it made do for just Thrall and his orcs. He hoped that his message would have reached all of the Horde. He had sent the first summons to his old friend and deemed brother, Grom Hellscream of the Warsong clan. He had thought it most likely he would reached the camp first. Had something happened to him? It was not a secret that Grom had trouble controlling his bloodlust like most of the orcs were but he was unusually more susceptible to it than most. He hoped that he had not gotten himself in trouble along the road with the Alliance. He was gazing intently at a nearby waterfall lost in his thoughts when a grunt had approached him. Thrall hailed him as he approached.
"Warchief, the clans are assembling as you ordered, but it will take them some time to reach us." the grunt said.
Thrall nodded in approval and ordered, "Then we must prepare this camp immediately. I want my warriors to have food and proper lodgings when they arrive." The grunt saluted in acknowledgement and had turned back to the camp to relay Thrall's orders before Thrall called out to him. "Warrior, has there been any word from Grom? He and the Warsong clan were supposed to have been here by now." The grunt only shook his head and said, "No, Warchief. We haven't heard from Hellscream in some time." With that, the grunt turned his back and returned to the camp proper. Damn it, Grom. Where the hell are you? he thought. His misgivings were starting to overtake his mind as a flurry of possibilities raced. He could've been captured or . . . no, he can't be dead. He's too tenacious to just simply die in battle and besides, I would have sensed some sort of disturbance within the spirits. He shook his head. Whatever the case, the camp had to be prepared regardless. He turned back to the camp as well.
By four days past since erecting the camp, Drek'thar and a contingent of the Frostwolf clan had arrived. They arrived, riding white wolves true to their banners. Thrall greeted the old shaman.
"Throm'ka, Drek'thar. How was your journey?"Thrall said.
"Uneventful." Drek'thar said with a hint of smile. "Though, I suppose better uneventful than a swarm of human attacks, I should say."
Thrall, however, had other pressing matters to attend to. He instructed his warriors to saddle and shelter the newly arrived clan to their respective tents and Thrall led Drek'thar to his personal quarters. The quarters was crudely made, with stone and wood forming a basic outline of a shelter for the Warchief, though for a brief shelter, it was relatively well-made. The inside contained a wooden table that had maps laden on the surface. A few torches lit up the room and there was only one window that let in sunlight. His wolf, Snowsong, was slumbering in one corner. Thrall put up two chairs, one for him and one for Drek'thar. He then sat at the opposite side of the table and waited respectfully for the old shaman to sit.
"So, young Warchief, what is it that troubles you so?" Drek'thar said.
"It is Grom, Drek'thar. It's been days since we have last heard from the Warsong. By all means, he and his warriors should've been here first. If something happened to him and the Warsong, I-" Thrall cut off. He felt liberated to have finally spoken his woes. He let his head down. "I fear for him, Drekthar." he finally said.
"You love him. It is only natural to fear for his safety." Drek'thar put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"He is my brother, not by blood mayhaps but by bond, forged in fire." Thrall said.
"Perhaps, he is only a bit late, young one. Possibly evading human patrols have delayed their arrival. Come tomorrow, he and the Warsong may-" Drek'thar did not finish his statement for at that moment, a knock came from outside.
"Come in." Thrall instructed. A young orc warrior came inside, a scout from the looks of his armor. He bowed respectfully towards him and Drek'thar. "Your pardon, Warchief, master shaman, but you have to see this at once." Perplexed, both Thrall and Drek'thar accompanied him. He led them through the road further down from the camp that lead to a river. They had discovered this river a few days ago and though, it lacked a bridge, Thrall did not take any chances. He had his men set up defensive towers to bleed any enemy that might cross the river. It would be bad to be ambushed and captured by human patrols while his camp did not have the sufficient manpower to counterattack yet. On the other side of the river stood unmistakably, a human patrol group. One of the men that stood on the other side had the armor of a captain, he caught sight of them and marched near the bank of the river and called out to them.
"You orcs are in violation of the Alliance Internment act! We've already captured one of your leaders. If you surrender now, we'll spare your lives." the captain roared.
The scout looked at him and said ""Warchief, they say they've captured one of our leaders! Maybe they're referring to Hellscream?"
Thrall felt light-headed at the notion and feebly muttered,"I hope not." Thrall then felt fury overcome his sick feeling. "But if they have captured Hellscream, I'll make them regret it!" He then turned back to the camp with Drek'thar and the scout at his heels. He turned to the scout and said, "Gather all the available warriors, brother. We'll give the humans a lesson they are not likely to forget." The scout bowed his head respectfully and went quickly to gather them.
Hang on, Grom. We're coming to save you.