A New Dawn

His name will not die. His sacrifice will always serve to show the way.
Roshanar frowned as he read the passage. He had found his copy of The Horde's Hellscream tucked away in a corner of his bank vault, and it gave his muddled musings some focus. He sighed, his mind drifting away from the text and towards recent events.
He had spoken with Alexander. Though he was worried, he was comforted to know that even the arcanist himself was affected much as he was by the recent attacks. It gave him solace to know that his reaction to the attempt on the life of the tauren Chieftain was shared by one he respected so highly.
Ihoni had returned. Because of the attack on Cairne, the Circle had created a temporary honor guard for the Chieftain, and she had been assigned to it. She had found him here, in Booty Bay, in the middle of a fight with Mithis. Together, she and he had cried, shared stories, and supported each other as brother and sister.
Roshanar smiled as her mischievously grinning face appeared in his mind's eye. She had grown stronger in her time away, more mature. She was, without question, a true warrior-druid, now.
Still smiling, Roshanar glanced back at the open book on the table in front of him. Shackles once that choked the inhale of honor's breath no longer bind us.
The tauren nodded to himself. That part made sense. Grommash had made himself and his clan slaves to the demon Mannoroth, dishonoring himself and betraying those who needed him. But in the end, he had redeemed both himself and his followers, casting off the pit lord's control in a final act of honor. Because of that defiance, they were free of the Legion's control. 
"Comforting," Roshanar mumbled to himself as he watched the tavern guards toss the last drunk patron out the door, "to know that such a hero had such flaws, and was able to come to terms with them, in the end." He turned the page.
We must remember his strength in the face of death. His dream, now made real.
Roshanar sighed. "Simple words," he thought to himself, "but such a task. Grommash was able to lift the weight of the bloodlust, turn against it. But he was strong, a born leader. I'm fighting with myself to do what I can, and it isn't enough. I'm not strong enough."
Roshanar glanced up, noticing that the common room had emptied, and the goblin behind the bar had fallen asleep. He sighed and read on, thankful for the flickering lantern above him.
Dangers everywhere! Enemies seek to bring us back to the shackles.
Roshanar blinked, rereading the passage. He frowned. 
Enemies seek to bring us back to the shackles.
The warrior stared through the page, thinking to himself. As he was the night of the attack, he was certainly shackled. His rage and grief had overwhelmed him, and rendered him useless. But so had been Grommash Hellscream, when he had given in to the demon's temptation. He had been laid low, but had risen to deliver his people from their darkest hour...
In a moment of epiphany, Roshanar made a realization. He was the source of his own shackle. He had assumed that what the Vanguard needed was an untouchable, unbreakable Cerberus, and he was not strong enough to provide that. But here, before him, was an example of a true hero of the Horde, a leader of his people, and inspiration to all. Yet this great hero had not been untouchable. He had been corrupted, he had been defeated, yet he had endured.
He had not let his enemy destroy him, nor had he allowed himself to.
The Vanguard needed him, the Horde needed him. He could not stand without weakness, but such was not required for him to serve. He had flaws, he had grief, but he was still useful. He would not allow his circumstances to dictate his ability.
Roshanar read the last passage of the poem, then closed the book. He stood and walked out of the tavern, the final phrase echoing in his mind.
When we fight, think of he who did what must be done. Hellscream, forever!
Category: Horde Stories
Category: Stories