I
mentioned that many of my guildies had left the game. One of them is my Insane buddy, who you will recall from basically every post I ever wrote about that achievement. He has written a lovely piece to honor his druid Dahakha, which I am pleased to share with you now!
*****
I can't open my eyes.
The only sound is a faint roaring.
Distant, but I can feel it thundering through me. It presses me down
like a physical weight. I struggle to move, but it is too much. I am
too heavy.
As I struggle against the weight,
barely able to breathe, I become aware of another sound under the
roar. It is...familiar. I have heard it's like before....but where?
Oh yes.....
His hands clenched
the rail before him, and Dahakha was unsure whether he was bracing
himself against the wall of noise created by the crowd around him, or
holding himself up as his world dropped away. He stared in disbelief
as below him, on the arena floor, Garrosh Hellscream raised his axe
and, turning away from the body at his feet, screamed out his triumph
to those looking on.
“No....”
Dahakha had seen
many things since the Cataclysm had torn Azeroth apart. Deathwing's
return had caused untold suffering for all races, not just the
tauren, yet Dahakha had made it his personal mission to visit the new
settlements and revisit the old, extending his help wherever possible
and wreaking vengeance when grief overcame compassion. This was
Cairne's way as well, and Dahakha had followed his chieftan's lead in
trying to heal the wounds of the shattered world. He had heard with
growing disquiet of the widening breach between Cairne and Garrosh,
and was almost relieved when the challenge of honour came. Garrosh
had led the Horde away from an honourable future, undermining or
rejecting much of the work Cairne and Thrall had begun both before
and during the Northrend campaign. It was time to correct that, and
if his chief saw no other way to do so than single combat, so be it.
Cairne had been
right. He had been true to his people, to his honour, and to
the Horde. Yet, as he faced Garrosh and – clearly in control of the
fight - moved to finish it, he had faltered. It was unbelievable.
The acting Warchief, though, had not hesitated, and Dahakha's true
leader, Cairne Bloodhoof, was dead. How could this be?!
Though most of the
crowd was shouting its approval of the spectacle, the pocket of
tauren around Dahakha was more muted. Many, like him, were silent,
staring at their chieftan's body in stunned amazement. Some, however,
had joined in their voices to the crowd's. The deep tauren bellows
were filled with grief, and here and there, with anger and suspicion.
Dahakha had spent
months moving around Azeroth, dealing with the many problems faced by
the Horde in the new, devastated world. But as he gazed down at
Cairne's lifeless body, he experienced his own personal
Cataclysm......
The
weight lessens slightly. I force my eyes to crack open, though all I
see is a blurry light. Then shapes slowly form in my sluggish mind,
faces. Many tauren faces, far off. I fix on one....I know
it.....Cairne! But, Cairne is gone?.....no, his son.....
After Cairne's
death, and the Grimtotem uprising, Dahakha was busy with his duties
both to the Horde and to the Cenarion Circle, but he still found time
between these missions to journey back to Thunder Bluff. The mood in
the tauren city was changed greatly. While the revelation of Magatha
Grimtotem's betrayal had calmed things somewhat between Thunder Bluff
and Orgrimmar, resentment and lingering suspicion remained among many
tauren. Baine Bloodhoof, the new chief, worked tirelessly to hold the
Horde together, despite urging by many young braves, and a few older
advisors, to avenge his father.
Dahakha sought to
gain his chieftan's ear, but after the first meeting he was dismissed
as another troublemaker, and Baine would not spare more time for him.
He asked to be appointed as the Cenarion Circle's representative in
Thunder Bluff, but the Archdruids assigned him other duties, more
'suitable' tasks. While these duties were in fact important, Dahakha
could not help but feel that he was being deliberately blocked from
Baine's council.
So he spent his
time in Thunder Bluff speaking to the braves, young and old alike,
gauging their sentiment and loyalty to their people and to the Horde.
Slowly he became acquainted with a number of tauren who felt, like he
did, that the Horde was losing its way. Plans were made and
discarded, each more fantastic than the last.
Finally, he
returned to Thunder Bluff to be met with restrained excitement. They
had a chance, at last, to make a difference.
My gaze
shifts slowly, up to the sky. The clear blue is unbroken, except for
a lone hawk circling lazily above me.....
Dahakha drifted
through the air high above Mulgore, lazily spiraling around the path
his quarry was expected to take. As he instinctively sought the warm
air currents, his mind went back over the plan he and the rest of the
malcontents had hammered together over the previous days. Satisfied
that they had taken every precaution, he allowed his attention to be
drawn back to earth. Spying a large and brave, if foolish, rabbit in
the grass, he aligned himself with it and prepared to stoop.
There! At the edge
of his vision, he caught movement on the path. Aborting his strike on
the fortunate rabbit, Dahakha drifted toward the group that had
appeared in the distance. After a few minutes of observation he was
sure, and casually changed course towards a copse of trees.
As he landed and
shifted, Dahakha was met by low greetings and questions from the
braves gathered. “They are coming. Now we wait for them to pass.”
A veteran of many a
campaign, he rested with his back to a tree trunk, quietly letting
the peace and harmony of life fill him. Soon enough, the sounds of
booted feet, clinking of mail and creak of leather grew easily heard,
and he flowed into lionform, padding to the edge of the copse and
settling in amongst a thicket.
Approaching along
the path, a group of orcs. Garrosh and his entourage. Interspersed
with them were tauren soldiers, tribal markings and armour
identifying them as the guard of the Chief of Chiefs. There was
Baine, striding back to speak to a guard, then making his way to
Garrosh's side again, pointing out various landmarks.
Dahakha growled,
low at first, but building strength until his roar echoed around the
hills. The group stopped, hands going to weapons and looking about
with care. As time passed, slowly they relaxed, and started moving
again. A pang of worry went through Dahakha – that had been the
signal. Why were his colleagues in the guard not acting? He looked
more carefully.....it was difficult to tell from here, but at least
one of the guards he had been assured was going was missing from the
escort. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Behind him, he heard
agitated whispering, questioning the delay. He crawled back to them.
“This is not
good. Our guards are not there. We cannot proceed, not with Baine at
risk.”
This was met with
exclamations of dismay and outrage. Confusion.
“We did not come
here to fail, Dahakha. We must try!”
“No. We must
wait. There will be other opportunities.”
He went back to the
thicket, ignoring the low arguments behind him. Sharp disappointment
– another chance like this would be a very long time coming.
Suddenly he became aware that the arguments had stopped. He glanced
back and found the braves gone. Alarm turned to shock as a cry went
up from around him, the braves bursting out of cover towards Baine
and Garrosh.
“Nooooo!”
In desperation he
dashed after them, barreling into legs to trip them, but most
continued unchecked, bellowing warcries, not least among them “For
The Horde!” and “Cairne!”. Baine and Garrosh stood together,
weapons ready with their guards ranged about them. Garrosh laughed at
the oncoming braves, roaring his own challenge.
There was no hope.
Dahakha watched in despair as the guards met his braves, orcs mowing
them down with ruthless efficiency, tauren aiming to neutralise
rather than kill. Baine waded in, clubbing braves to the ground,
whilst Garrosh leaped forward with abandon, clearly relishing the
opportunity to fight. Dahakha did what he could, healing the worst of
the injuries, but he was not as attuned to the tree of life as many
of his fellow druids, and his efforts were only enough to prevent
some deaths. Tears blurring his vision as the battle raged about him,
he never saw the strike that turned the world black.
The
weight comes crushing down on me again, and this time with the pain.
Ah, but this pain is welcome, for it drowns out the pain I have
carried for so long. The pain of betrayal, the pain of loss, the pain
of grief.....
As consciousness
returned, Dahakha groggily became aware of someone standing over him.
Slowly his vision cleared, and in the firelight of the tent he saw
Baine's sad face before him. He started to rise, but the clink of
metal brought awareness of the weight of chain at his ankles and
wrists. The instincts of the wild, the fear of being trapped and
caught, took over and he shifted into catform – or tried to.
Something blocked him....the chains were enspelled, locking him into
his tauren shape.
After a moment of
panic and struggle, with great effort he calmed himself and focused
on his chieftain once more. Baine sighed.
“What did you
hope to accomplish, Dahakha? Why risk splitting the Horde with such a
foolish action? You had to have known that the orcs would never rest
until they had vengeance for such a betrayal.”
“We only planned
exile, my chief. We never wanted to kill anyone.”
“And yet many
were killed. My people. Your people.”
“Yes. I could not
stop them....I wanted to abandon the plan. Our people were not in
place, we needed you kept safe – wait. You knew. That is why the
guards were changed. How long?”
“Long enough,
Dahakha. I tried to talk Garrosh out of continuing with the tour, but
he insisted on drawing the rebels out so he could crush them at once.
I had hoped that by changing the guards you would see sense and not
do anything stupid. I share your responsibility for these deaths, I'm
afraid.”
“I am sorry that
we caused you such pain, my chief. It was our hope that a new
Warchief would be more like Thrall, if he could not come back. More
like your father.”
“Garrosh was
appointed by Thrall himself. Do you doubt his wisdom?”
“Then why did
Cairne challenge Garrosh, if not to save the Horde, to stop the
descent into savagery that we are seeing with the new Warchief? You
know that we are losing our honour, our chance at peace with the
Alliance by being a part of such a Horde. We can only guess how long
Thrall will be needed by the Earthen Ring. What if he comes back to
find a Horde as merciless and destructive as it was before Mannoroth
was destroyed? Can we afford to wait until that happens before we
act?”
“Even so. But
your way was not the right way. We cannot prevent that by becoming it
ourselves. You will be judged tomorrow.”
With another sigh,
Baine left Dahakha alone with his responsibility and failure.
It is
hard to breathe. I seek Baine again, slowly...everything is so slow.
Finding him, For the first time I notice my spiritual leader next to
him. Archdruid Hamuul......his face is impassive. I do not regret
defying you, Archdruid, only that you must be witness to my
failure......
Before they took
him to face the council that would judge him, Dahakha was visited by
Archdruid Hamuul Runetotem. The old tauren said nothing for a long
while, regarding him solemnly. Dahakha remained silent, patiently
waiting for the remonstrations, the disappointment and shame that he
had already taken upon himself. After a time, as he looked at the
floor between them, the Archdruid spoke.
“I am to sit on
the council.”
His head jerked up
with shock and, as little as he deserved it, hope.
“Yes, Archdruid.”
“I am not here to
plead your innocence. I am here to determine your punishment. You
have caused major diplomatic conflict within the Horde, Dahakha. This
is not a thing to be treated lightly.”
“Yes, Archdruid.”
“Not only that,
but the Warchief's trust in the Cenarion Circle has been dealt a blow
as well. A member of the Circle does not, can not, become
involved in the internal politics of either the Horde or the
Alliance. You know this, it has been a part of your training from the
beginning. Has our faith in you been so misplaced?”
“No! Archdruid,
Garrosh does not respect the Circle like Thrall does. He resists any
counsel that could slow the spread of the Horde, even though it
destroys the wild places, the sacred places. His relationship with
the goblins of the Bilgewater Cartel is a foreshadowing of the
future! He allows them to pillage the forests and destroy the
wildlife, leaving nothing behind. If he has his way, Ashenvale Forest
will be felled to fuel the Horde war machine. Where will it stop?
When the Alliance is defeated? When the Horde is defeated? When he
has conquered all of Azeroth? What of Draenor? No, Archdruid, I am
convinced that Garrosh Hellscream is – or will be soon – an enemy
of the Circle.”
“So. You took it
upon yourself to determine what is best for the Circle.”
“Archdruid, my
people – our people – revere nature and the elements. Where we
see life, to be tended and cultivated, the goblins see only profit.
Garrosh only sees fuel, war materials, and enemy hiding places. I do
not deny that I did what I did because I feel the Horde is losing its
nobility and honour, but I also cannot see any other way to avoid the
undoing of the Circle's work than by replacing Hellscream as
Warchief.”
The Archdruid
studied him intently. Then he nodded to himself and turned away.
“Archdruid?” He
stopped and looked back at Dahakha, bound and chained. “I do not
regret what I tried to do. I did not have murder on my mind.”
“So be it.”
My mind
drifts.....I laugh as I remember the look of shock on the faces of
the council, only the laugh is more of a gurgle now.....
They let him appear
before the council unbound, undoubtedly due to the Archdruid's
influence. It was a short hearing, with the guard who had confessed
the plan to Baine standing witness against Dahakha and the surviving
braves. To his credit, he did emphasize that the plan had been to
take Garrosh alive, not to assassinate him. Dahakha understood the
guard's embarrassment at admitting his betrayal, but he had forgiven
him even before he knew who the 'spy' was. After the initial burst of
anger and shock, he had to ask himself, was I not also betraying
those around me to do what I thought was right? Can I judge him for
doing exactly what I did?
Garrosh leaned
forward. “If I had my way, you would be summarily executed,” he
growled. “But since you attempted this cowardice in Mulgore, I have
decided to allow Bloodhoof to set your punishment. I am assured that
it will be very, very unpleasant.” He flashed a nasty grin. “But
if I don't think it is unpleasant enough, I will have your
head!”
Dahakha looked to
Baine. The chief of chiefs sighed again before he spoke. “Dahakha,
you have breached the trust of members of the Horde, but also that of
the Cenarion Circle. Archdruid Runetotem and I have discussed the
matter, and the decision we have come to is this: you will be taken
to Moonglade, never to return. Your presence outside of that
sanctuary is upon pain of death. All Horde commanders will have
orders to that effect.”
With visible
effort, Dahakha choked back a groan of anguish. Then the Archdruid
added, “Your rank within the Circle will be revoked permanently.
You will be be required to serve, to meditate, and – perhaps, in
time – to teach new druids. If you leave Moonglade, you will be
forever outcast, and all Circle members will be empowered to hunt you
down.”
Garrosh had been
following this with impatience, his face growing more and more
thunderous as the sentence was revealed. Clearly about to intervene,
his outrage slowly faded as he noticed Dahakha's obvious distress. A
smug smile appeared. “I hope you do decide to run, Dahakha. I will
enjoy having you hunted down like a dog.” A gesture to the guards.
“Take him away.”
“Wait.” It came
out as a croak. “I have one request.” A little stronger.
“What is there to
say? You have been sentenced, worm. Unless you would like to beg for
death?” Garrosh laughed at his own joke.
“No. Just what I
should have done from the start.” Standing tall, gathering what
pride and dignity he had left, Dahakha looked into Garrosh
Hellscream's eyes. “You killed Chief Cairne through treachery,
though most believe it was not your own.” The Warchief
roared to his feet, and the room was filled with tension and rage.
Dahakha raised his voice to be heard over the noise.
“Garrosh
Hellscream, I challenge you to an honour duel.”
The orc's eyes
gleamed, as his fury turned to anticipation. “To the death?”
“To the death.”
Now the
roar of the crowd has gone – is it quiet or am I unable to hear?
But no, I hear the crunch of boots on sand as Garrosh approaches. My
bane. I see his feet and legs at the edge of my vision as I look to
my true leaders. “You fought well, tauren.” Grudging. He can
afford to be magnanimous in his triumph. “Maybe you deserved this
death after all. At least you weren't a coward.” I ignore him, lift
my arm – so heavy, so slow – to point at Baine and Hamuul......
The duel is held in
Orgrimmar. Dahakha uses every trick of the wild, every part of his
druid training, every skill he has learned throughout his campaigns
in Draenor and Northrend as well as against the Twilight's Hammer.
Yet it is not enough. Garrosh anticipates most of what he does, and
the rare occasions that he is surprised, he reacts with lightning
speed. Slowly, Dahakha weakens. In a last, desperate flurry of
attacks, he launches himself at Garrosh. But this was anticipated as
well. The axe that, so long ago now it seems, killed his beloved
chief, is buried in his chest. With a twist, the Warchief rips the
weapon out, and Dahakha slumps to the ground. Through the roar of the
crowd, Dahakha hears the Hellscream howl of victory.
I clench my fist. Bring it back
across my ruined chest, a salute to Baine Bloodhoof, Chief of Chiefs,
and Archdruid Hamuul Runetotem. For our people, for the Horde...
I try to shout my last words, but I
can't tell whether anything comes out or if my mouth is moving
silently....
Strength...
and....
Honour........
