Thunderlord Stronghold (guest post!)

Dahakha sped through the night, barely registering the receding lightning storms as he weaved his way between dragon corpses impaled upon the spears of stone that gave Blade's Edge Mountains their name.

His mind reeled. What in the name of Mu'sha had happened back there? Why the....the goblin...netherstorm.....ethereals.....it made no sense! He realised that he was automatically winging his way towards Evergrove. After thinking for a moment or two, he decided that although the comforts of a druid grove were tempting, what he really needed were answers. Banking south, Dahakha headed for Thunderlord Stronghold.

Flying in low over the moonlit treetops, Dahakha landed on the walls of the stronghold. He scanned the buildings.....there. The distinctive shapes of the windriders led his eye to the nearby hut. With a hop he glided down to the open doorway and shifted into his birth form. Inside was a young orc sorting through scrolls on the candlelit table. At Dahakha's sudden appearance, he gasped and shot to his feet, hand going to the handaxe at his belt. Dahakha spread his hands wide to indicate peaceful intentions, and as his tauren shape registered on the orc, the tension in the air dissipated.

“Agadai. I need to speak with your master immediately.”

The orc's face creased in confusion. “Have we met?”

“What do you mean, have we met? It's me, Dahakha!” At the orc's blank look, he sighed. “I helped you with that windrider problem last year! You said that you would be in my debt for eternity!” Still no flicker of recognition. He twitched. “I brought that little orphan boy to see you a few weeks ago? You showed him how you look after windriders? No?” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Is Unoke here? I need to speak to him urgently.”

Agadai looked uncertain, but as he caught the dangerous glint in Dahakha's eyes he quickly nodded and motioned for him to wait. Disappearing upstairs, there was thumping and grumbling which resolved in the clump of hooves on wood as a tauren climbed down the ladder-like stairwell.

Unoke turned and froze at the sight of Dahakha. His eyes darted around the room, to the doorway, out into the night. Seemingly satisfied, but still very wary, the tauren inspected Dahakha carefully. Uncomfortable under this unexpected scrutiny, Dahakha found himself cracking his knuckles nervously. With a mental shake he stilled his hands, and spoke to the windrider master.

“Unoke. You do recognise me, right?”

“I.....am not certain.”

Dahakha twitched, frowning. “What is that supposed to mean? We trained together back in Mulgore! How could you not know who I am?!”

Unoke was still regarding him suspiciously. “I know who you look like. I know who you claim to be. But I do not believe it.”

“Gahhhhh! This is ridiculous! First Agadai pretends to not know me, now you doubt your own eyes? You know I am Dahakha! Why would you think otherwise?”, he bellowed in frustration.

Unoke met his eyes calmly. “Because Dahakha is dead.”

Dahakha gaped at the windrider master. “What. Are. You. Talking. About.”

“I watched Dahakha die, in the Orgrimmar arena. Hundreds of others saw it as well. You – he – Dahakha was slain. There is no doubt about it.”

“But here I am!”

“But here you are.”

He twitched again. “Okay, I don't know what the fel is going on here, but I need some answers. What is this I hear about Cairne being dead and Baine becoming Chief of Chiefs? Who is this Hellscream pretending to be the Warchief? It had better not be that young idiot Garrosh.....”

Unoke looked at him strangely. “You really don't know, do you?” At Dahakha's low growl of frustration he waved to the table. “Okay, okay. Sit down. I will get us something to drink. Then we can try to sort this out.”