Unrepentant 2 (Patreon)

Unrepentant
Chapter 2

-VB-

Who was I?

I was the new King of the Alterac Kingdom, the smallest kingdom of the Lordaeron human nation-states (Dalaran was not a kingdom and thus did not have the title of being the smallest kingdom).

My name was Alan of the House of Perenolde, of which I was now the only legitimate and non-disgraced member of. Though I was the king, I became a king with a heavy political debt. I’d spent nearly all of my House’s fortune in a new push to gain legitimacy and I was spending even further, selling off some of the confiscated nobles lands and titles, to pay for the next stage in the Second War’s campaign against the Horde.

With my momentum, I’d asked the Alliance of Lordaeron to strike against the fortress city of Grim Batol, the heart of the dragon riding orcish Dragonmaw Clan.

The dragon riders and their hold over the dragons have been a significant force of the Horde. It was they who broke the Alliance fleet. It was they who burned down farmlands and towns. It was they who kept a stranglehold over the dwarvish wetlands.

To allow them to continue to exist so close to Lordaeron was not only foolhardy but stupid. Considering that the Alliance actually wanted to ignore the dragon riders because they haven’t been active for the last two months of war, it was allowing the Horde the chance to strike at our rear when we made our way deep into the continent of Azeroth.

The other leaders might have forgotten, but I did not because I was there in the frontlines, fighting the bloody battles.

“Your highness.”

I turned to the soldier who’d come to me. By the insignia on his left shoulder, I saw that he was a scout of the Alliance.

“Speak, scout.”

Both of us were in the snowing and freezing mountains of Alterac Mountains, and more specifically, we were right at the edge of the Alterac Valley. While the location was not a hidden one by any means, it was hard to reach and barely any of the Alteraci went there due to its harsh conditions and lack of arable land.

I knew, however, that one of the Horde’s orc clans had split from the Horde and settled here.

The Frostwolf Clan.

And just as I saw the existence of Grim Batol and the Dragonmaw Clan as a threat to the continued push to remove the orc from all of Azeroth, I saw the Frostwolf Clan as a threat not just to the Alliance but specifically the Alterac Kingdom.

I would not have a threat to my back when I went out to kill orcs.

“The orcs are aware of our presence, though none of our mages have detected any spies or scouts of theirs…” the scout reported sullenly. “We apologize for our incompetence, your highness.”

“No matter,” I said, almost whispering it out. “I never intended to meet the orcs in battle anyways. If they are aware of our presence, then send the envoy.”

The scout stood up, saluted, and then backed away without turning from me until he was ten paces away.

The Alterac Valley, as I stated before, housed the Frostwolf Clan. While it was just fine now and suited their clan’s needs just fine, things tended to change as time went on. While such a change wouldn’t happen naturally, I knew that I was going to make a change whether the elements or the orcs or even my subjects objected or not.

I watched as the scout made it down the small hill where I and a few of my bodyguards set up camp. From the lower camp where the normal Alteraci soldiers set themselves up, I saw a man I’ve come to respect a little, Ronathson Winterblack, one of the last old nobles, get up on his horse with four cavalrymen, and slowly trot towards the Frostwolf Clan’s main village.

---

His name was Ronathson Winterblack of the House of Winterblack.

A loyal subject of the Alterac Kingdom, he had been one of the few among the nobility to object to the king’s decision to open their gates to the Horde.

It was what saved his House from exile when the second prince, now king, Alan Perenolde returned from the frontlines and dethroned his father and brother with the help of the rest of the Alliance of Lordaeron.

He objected to this as well. The kingdom did not need the help of other kingdom to settle its own internal affairs, but yet, he was not the king but a lowly baron.

Well, he was a lowly baron. As a reward for his loyalty to the kingdom, King Perenolde granted him the title of Count of Eastern Uplands and the lands tied to the title.

However, titles came with responsibilities. Instead of a few villages, he was now in charge of the third biggest city of the Alterac Kingdom as well as having to serve in public office as appointed by the king.

In this instance, he was serving as an envoy to the orcs.

Again, he did not like this. He objected to the king in private, asking why such a method was necessary.

It was only when the king spoke to him sincerely and in detail about his plan that Ronathson realized how blessed Alterac Kingdom was. To have such a mind for politics, warfare, and leadership within a single person who was also their king?

Ronathson Winterblack did not envy the rich farmlands of the northern Lordaeron or the Hillsbrad orchard of the cowardly Gilneans. Why would he envy them when he had his brilliant king with him? Still, this was a risk he had to take, to serve as an envoy to the barbaric orcs. The king gave him reassurances. Not personal ones but ones for his house and its future prosperity.

With that promise in mind, he picked up the banner of the Alterac Kingdom and slowly rode towards the last orcish clan still on the Lordaeron continent.

‘This might be the last time I live to see my homeland,’ Ronathson thought as he slowly took in the white beauty of his snowy homeland. He had played in the snow since his childhood. It was there when he was born, it was there when he became a man, and it was there for the birth of all of his children, Samuel, Ronathson II, and Morgana. Would he die today, a snowy day?

“Milord?”

He paused his internal thoughts and looked to his left. Armed in the new colors of Alterac Army, the grey steel and dark green armored soldier with him gestured to the front. “We’ve arrived.”

Ronathson blinked his green eyes and black eyelash once before he saw who the soldier was pointing to.

Up ahead on the packed dirt road were three wolf-riding orcs, and one of them was a blind one with a banner.

He brought his horse to a stop.

“Wait here.”

The soldiers saluted.

He urged the horse to continue, and despite its hesitance in the face of three giant predators, it obeyed. He gave it a stroke along the side of its neck as a show of approval.

When he was within talking distance of twenty paces, he pulled the reins and got the horse to stop.

“... I am Count Ronathson Winterblack of Alterac Kingdom, and I am here as an envoy from the kingdom to the Frostwolf Clan and its leader, Drek’thar.”

That got the three orcs to fidget before one of them spoke up in … ah. They did not understand him.

Instead, he reached into his robe and pulled out two letters.

How his highness learned how to write orcish, he would never know.

He extended one of them to the orcs, and one of them, the blind one, got off his wolf and walked over to him. There was hesitation in both of them. The orc took the letter and opened it. He looked surprised by the words within before he looked back up to Ron.

He gave the orc the second letter.

The orc took the second letter and opened it too. Oh, was he a high ranking orc?

The way his face purpled told Ron all he needed to know.

“Impossible demand!”

Ron looked at the blind orc in surprise.

“You speak common?”

The orc grunted. “Little. Impossible demand. Outrageous. Clan not submit to human. Impossible.”

Ronathson hummed. “You settled illegally - without permission - in our lands. Isn’t it only fair to submit to the land’s ruler?”

“No.”

“... Are you sure? It means war.”

“Sure. Try us.”

Ronathson sighed. “Very well. I hoped for a bloodless integration… perhaps I was asking for too much.”

And to his surprise, they allowed him to leave unmolested along with the four cavalrymen who’d come with him. He supposed that these orcs were honorable compared to the barbaric orcs of the Horde. It made sense why they broke off from them.

Considering that the king intended to make the orcs suffer, he thought they were being too honorable.

War, after all, was not a place for honor or glory.

He returned to the base camp and his king with a grim face.

“They refused, your highness.”

“Fortunate.”

Ronathson shuddered.

While it would have been good to have someone willingly bend the knee to the Crown of Alterac, the fact of the matter was that no one wanted a free orc clan to reside within their borders.

The plan, as his highness had first explained, needed the Frostwolf Clan to reject the offer of vassalage because it would give the kingdom the much needed legitimacy to put them down however they sought to.

After all, the kingdom and the king gave the orcs a merciful offer! Why, it’s only the orcs’ fault that they had to fight afterwards! There was a peaceful option!

This was merely a method for the king to show the people of Alterac Kingdom that he was both merciful and, once the subjugation of the Frostwolf Clan was complete, ruthless when the need presented itself. It would boost the morale of the people to know that their king was merciful and that he would defend them ruthlessly should anyone attack them.

What was an orcish clan if they refused to bow to the king but settled in their lands? Invaders!

Invaders in their lands!

Invaders that threatened their children and wives and farms and homes!

And the king would put the threat down.

Such was the basics of the plan.

Ronathson shuddered.

He wondered what would have happened to the kingdom if his highness hadn’t taken over. No doubt the now exiled nobles would have selfishly tore the kingdom apart.

Ron watched as the king turned to the siege masters waiting for his call.

“We start our siege at dawn.”

-VB-

The Frostwolf Subjugation Campaign spearheaded by King Alan Perenolde proved to be a nasty campaign. Though the Alterac Kingdom suffered almost no battle casualties, the kinds of suffering its soldiers were forced to commit against the orcs of the Frostwolf Clan turned many into quivering wrecks unable to leave their homes. The Frostwolf Clan itself would never recover and fade from history from the devastation to their clan and decimation of their people they suffered.

Princess Sereni Perenolde, Year 661 of the King’s Calendar