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Old 03-22-2015, 02:15 PM
Quirnheim Quirnheim is offline

Join Date: Oct 2011
Location: Niagara Region, Canada
Posts: 4,850
BattleTag: kam#1475

Default the iron tide rises

(so this is my take on khadgar's sentence of the "assault on karabor" destroying the draenei's "eastern fleet"

anyhow, enjoy

The Temple of Karabor – one of, if not the most holy sites for the Draenei people here on their new home, Draenor. The structure itself was a magnificent testament to the power and devotion of the sacrifices they had made in being able to evade the wrath of the Burning Legion for this long. The grounds milled with acolytes and priests, warriors and townsfolk, all of whom lived in harmony with the land and with one another.

Off of the coast of the temple, however, things were much different.

Less then an hour ago, six draenei destroyers had departed from Karabor, moving at full speeds – their crews working feverishly to coax more speed from the already taxed sails and crystal propellers that bid them forward. They were only a small part of an even larger group of ships – another dozen or so had already been mustered at a point far to the east of their current position, as they awaited the arrival of their commander, Admiral Barros.

Barros sighed as he stood at the helm of his flagship, the Light's Grace. Looking out over the deck of his ship, the aged draenei studied the movements of the crew – sailors raced back and forth, some carrying various supplies while others worked feverishly to increase the speed of the ship as per his instructions. The crew had been prepared for this inevitability – but even with such training, the odds of such an emergency happening had been catastrophically low – and it had caught his fleet offguard as a result.

Stepping back from the wheel and allowing his helmsman full control, Barros paced to the edge of the deck. Peering out over the water, he saw the remaining ships trailing close behind them. Good, he mused, his eyes stinging slightly from the sea breeze, they've got their propellers operational.

“Admiral!” a voice barked, snapping Barros from his reverie. Turning about to face the source of the voice, he found Captain Andraal standing at attention before him. Andraal was the captain of the Light's Grace, and Barros had hand-picked the man to command the crew of his flagship. He was slightly shorter then the Admiral and possessed all of his facial tentacles – something that Barros envied, having lost all of his during the last twenty-five thousand year journey across the stars.

Returning the salute Andraal offered, Barros nodded. “Captain. What've you got?” he inquired cautiously.

The captain held a small parchment in his hands which seemed to be fresh with ink – Barros could see it dripping onto the floor. “Sir, a report from the Dawnglory. The fleet is in position and battle-ready as you ordered.”

Barros allowed a small smile to creep onto his lips as he took the parchment from Andraal. “Thank you, Andraal.” Glancing down, Barros briefly viewed the report; over two dozen vessels, that of the Draenei Eastern Fleet, had assembled at the mouth of the Karabor Straits, as it was so named. The Straits were a key region for the draenei – as they allowed direct access to Karabor itself. Less then a day ago, draenei scouts had reported an orcish fleet of some ten ships sailing into the straits. This alarmed the Exarch Council, who had ordered Admiral Barros, the commander of the fleet, to secure the Strait at all costs.

Glancing back to the captain, Barros tilted his head slightly. “Any news on the type of ships we're facing?”

Andraal shook his head. “Negative, sir. No sighting of this fleet so far. But when they do come, we'll be ready.”

Barros let the parchment flutter into the wind as he idly licked his lower lip. “The Iron Horde has technology behind it. We've all seen it. It's likely that these ships are as armed to the teeth as the rest of their army.” Barros had reason to be afraid; the Iron Horde was well-armed, well-trained and devoted to the idea of conquering the entirety of Draenor.

“We've the experience behind us, sir. I've no doubt we'll succeed. “ Andraal smirked confidently, idly resting his right hand on the railing.

Barros gestured dismissively with his left hand. “Don't get arrogant, Andraal. We've still got to reach the fleet yet. But rest assured – I won't let the Strait fall into the hands of this Iron Horde – they'll have to destroy the entire fleet before that happens.”

Andraal nodded, saluting crisply. “We're all with you, sir.”

“Iron Stars loaded and ready, Admiral!”

The barking voice of one of her deckhands brought Admiral Gar'an out of her reverie. Looking about for the source of the voice, she nodded. A group of deckhands had finished priming the main cannon on her ship. “Excellent! And what about the rest of the fleet?” she quipped back, gesturing to the ships on either side of hers.

The deckhand nodded as he slid down a rope attached to the cannon line. “All ships report ready, ma'am.” With a salute, the sailor jogged off, presumably heading to the quarterdeck where the majority of the cannons waited to be primed.

Turning back to face the guardrail on the deck, Gar'an could not help but chuckle to herself. She knew that many of her deckhands and officers resented having to take orders from a female – but all of the social stigma that came with being a female orc had vanished in the face of the Iron Horde's formation. They had to obey her – she was the strongest and the most able-bodied of the new nation's fleet, and her will was by extension that of their Warchief.

The ten ships she had at her command were the first ten destroyers crafted by the Blackrock Clan at their foundry in Gorgrond. Building upon the plans provided to them by Warlord Garrosh, Blackhand and his engineers had crafted a lethal naval platform of supreme design – ready to go forth and conquer the waters of this world in the name of the Iron Horde.

As one of the first officers in the new fleet, she had proven her loyalty and skill to the Warchief through combat; with only three ships under her command, she had sailed them out of the Foundry's waters and into combat with four Gorian warships without any orders – and destroyed them without a single casualty among her crew. This had pleased Hellscream so much that he had named her the Admiral of the Iron Horde – a title well deserved, she mused.

And now, much like when she was a youngling, she was on the hunt. Her ships waited behind a small bed of Zangar fungal growth nearest the entry into the Karabor Strait – they had been there for three days, constantly observing the arrival of the enemy fleet – two dozen draenei destroyers, with another six en route, she was told. Normally, a contest such as this would be paltry – two dozen versus ten? But the Draenei had not faced the newest additions to the orcish fleet – until today. Gar'an intended it to be a lovely surprise for the blue-bloods.

“The prey has never been sweeter.” Gar'an mused out-loud to herself, ignoring the bustling noises all around her. “After today, the blue-bloods will see the might of the Iron Horde for themselves – and we will be masters of the seas as we rightfully deserve.”

A feral glint caught her eye as she saw the last six destroyers pulling into position with the fleet. Turning about, she nodded towards a signalman to her right, who darted off to grasp two large colored flags. Hoisting them in the air, she bellowed at him:

“Signal the fleet. ATTACK!”

“Come about! Bear starboard by fifty degrees!” Barros shouted, his voice barely audible above the din of battle. Thankfully, the sailors under his command were able to hear him, and they rushed to carry out his instructions.

All around him, the seas had become a battlefield. Not even five minutes after he and his remaining vessels had caught up to the rest of his fleet had the orcs begun their assault. Ten iron-clad, heavily armed warships had sailed out from some of the fungal growths, firing wildly into his fleet. Four of his ships were sunk before the crews had a chance to respond, while the rest returned fire as best as they could.

The battle had been going on for well over two hours now, and needless to say, Barros knew the day would not end well for him or his crews. Nearly half of his fleet was gone in that time frame, sent to the bottom of the sea by destructively strong cannon blasts from those new destroyers the Iron Horde possessed. The weapons that his destroyers possessed – charged arkonite crystals primed to explode upon impact – were barely making a dent in the new armor plating that the ships carried; in two hours time, his fleet had managed to sink only two ships. Now, as the Iron Horde cut a swath through his battle lines, Barros did his best to coordinate his surviving vessels.

“Close up the left flank!” he cried into the communicator at his side, connected to the captains in each of his ships. “Have the Frontier and the Valiant attack the destroyers trying to breach! We have to close that gap!” All around him, his crew worked to return fire against the enemy, the crackle and boom of their own cannons rising above the din of battle.

The crackle of the communicator came to life as more updates were relayed; another three ships had been sunk, including the Frontier, having suffered a breach to it's ammunition stores. Scowling, Barros barked towards the helmsman, “Hard to port!”, as the sailor quickly began to spin the wheel as fast as his muscles could bear.

Just as the ship began to change direction, several cannon blasts hit the water off the starboard side of the Light's Grace. Turning to the communicator, Barros began to relay his instructions:

“Lightbringer, Stormherald and Kan'ia, try to block their left thrust! Give the K'ure the support it needs! Now!”

“Admiral!” Captain Andraal appeared from the stairs leading down to the quarterdeck, his face covered in arkonite powder.

“What's the situation?” Barros yelled as he surveyed the battle the best he could.

“It's bad, sir.” Andraal panted, putting his hands upon his knees briefly as he tried to catch his breath. “Our crystal supply is running low – at the rate of fire we'll be empty within twenty minutes.”

Scowling, Barros grabbed a hold of the captain's collar. “Make those supplies last, Andraal! We have to hold out – somehow! I won't let this crew go down without a fight!” Barros released the startled man's uniform as he spat his words, sighing audibly.

For his part, Andraal remained un-fased as he snapped to a salute. “Yes, sir! I've ordered the crew to choose their shots better! No more blind fire!”

As he turned to respond, a massive explosion tore into the ship to the left of them, the firestorm consuming the destroyer almost immediately. Barros and those on deck glared towards the wreckage in shock and fear. Turning about, he pointed down to the deck. “Find out what just happened! Go!” he cried, sending the panicked sailors scrambling for the observation devices.

“And pray that it doesn't happen to us..”

Glee was the only emotion that Admiral Gar'an could use to describe this moment. The Iron Star had fired perfectly from the cannon on her ship – and it had sailed right into one of the draenei ships, obliterating it entirely in a firestorm of molten fury. Just as the Warchief promised! As she continued to laugh aloud, the sounds of battle faded away – if only for a brief moment. This moment – right now – was even more then the hunt, back on land. This was the truth of where she belonged – at sea. Fighting against the enemies of the Iron Horde – the smell of the ocean at her nostrils, the soot from cannon fire wafting up from the lower decks. As her flagship sailed along, the draenei's cannon blasts impacted into the hull of the ship uselessly, with most of their shots not even penetrating the thick iron armor plating. Of course, they sometimes were lucky enough to score a hit – having sunk two of her ships – but overall, the battle was clearly in her favor, much as it should be.

As the battle carried on around her, oblivious to the sounds as she was, Gar'an could not help but think of her family. Growing up in a traditional family, she was always made to feel lesser then that of her brothers in the clan. The rampant sexism present in orcish society had embittered her, as she felt her talents were wasted on fishing and hunting as she was forced to do. She always remembered the look on her father's face as she marched off to war with the Iron Horde – the old man's normally smug face was glazed over with a mixture of fear, anger and shame. She wanted nothing to do with the 'old ways' that her family were so fond of – they clung to those backward and outdated traditions as though they meant something. To Gar'an, they were a hindrance to her and to her progress. And finally, at long last – there had been some among her peers who had the same vision.

As the dim of battle returned to her ears, she turned to face the helm. “All forward!” she barked towards the signalman, who diligently began to raise the flags necessary to detail the command to her fleet. Ahead of her was a single draenei vessel, it's cannons firing wildly towards the ship. “Increase speed!” she howled towards the sailors, and within moments the ship began to lurch faster, heading directly for the enemy vessel. A savage grin plastered upon her face, she howled mightily as her ship smashed into the destroyer in front of her, the violet vessel smashing apart with a resounding smash akin to the stomping of a gronn's feet.


As her ship passed through the wreckage of the destroyer, she set her sights upon her newest prey.

It had been three and a half hours since the battle had begun.

And it had taken the orcish fleet only three and a half hours to destroy Admiral Barros's entire fleet. Twenty-three ships were now at the bottom of the Barrier Sea, their crews having joined their ships in eternal slumber. The Light's Grace was the only ship left standing now – and it's crew knew that.

Admiral Barros spun his right arm in the air as though it were a windmill. “Ready the marines! Get them up on deck, now!” he barked, as several of his sailors ran down below deck to carry out his order. Draenei marines were among the best soldiers among his kind – being picked from Rangari when they showed potential for cross-skill fighting, to be assigned as a marine was considered a great honor for one of these rangers. Once chosen, they were trained in the art of ship warfare and donned heavy plate armor – useful for repelling attacks by all sorts of threats.

Now, more then ever, Barros hoped that their training held true. As the two dozen or so soldiers marched onto deck, their heavy crossbows already primed and ready, he knew what was to come. The Light's Grace was dead in the water, having taken a direct hit to their crystalline propellers less then ten minutes ago. The ship, while badly damaged, was not sinking; this was due to the arkonite isolators installed in every draenei naval vessel, that would seal hull breaches into compartments; this bought the ship a great deal of time.

Before him sat three of the orcish destroyers, their guns primed and ready. The fleet could destroy Barros's ship in a fraction of a second if the order was given – but yet, the commander of this fleet seemed to hesitate. Why?

Barros did not know or care enough to find out, as he grit his teeth together and grabbed one of the swords off a weapon rack. As his marines trained their crossbows on the enemy vessels, a voice began to overtake the dim sound of burning debris.

“Draenei vessel. I am Admiral Gar'an of the Iron Horde.”

Barros quirked an eyebrow in surprise. The voice he heard was distinctly female – as far as he knew from orcish history, women were relegated to a second-class role among the clans. Though, it was quite possible that things had changed now that the clans rallied to the banner of the Iron Horde, he mused.

“Your fleet is broken, your ships destroyed. You have lost this battle. Surrender and you will not be harmed further. Refuse, and I will not hesitate to have you join the rest of your ships at the bottom of the sea.”

Barros could hear his heart beating in his chest – a mixture of fear and anger – and he stepped forward, his eyes glaring at the lead vessel. He had to assume that this Admiral Gar'an was aboard.

“Admiral, you make a generous offer. But as commander of the Draenei Eastern Fleet, I must decline! My orders are to resist your efforts to control the Strait until I cannot resist any longer. I will not shame my people and my Prophet by bowing down to you.”

After a moment's pause, Gar'an's voice became audible once more. “Think of your crew then, draenei. You may not value your life, but value the lives of those who serve you. Where is the honor in disgracing them?”

Growling, Barros looked about to his crew. The sailors and marines both looked at him, many of them nodding their silent approval towards him. His people knew the risks of this assignment – and they knew that becoming a prisoner of this Iron Horde was a worse fate then ascending to the Light's embrace.
“My crew stand with me. They stand ready to oppose you until you slaughter us all. So come then, Admiral! Show me the might of your so-called 'Iron Horde'!” Barros bellowed, as a mighty cheer went up from those around him.

It was not even a moment after he made this declaration that the boarding hooks shot out from the lead vessel and the Iron Horde's boarding parties fell upon them.

The battle aboard the lone vessel had not taken more then half an hour. With her soldiers falling upon the ship like waves onto shore, Admiral Gar'an's forces had secured the vessel and taken their commander – now identified as Admiral Barros – captive. As she stood at the boarding ramp of her ship, she saw the admiral being lead across in chains, his face and body bloody and covered with bits of debris. Yet, the man still wore the same scowl he had on when he refused her terms of surrender.

A small smirk danced on Gar'an's lips as Barros was shoved forward to stand in front of her. “So, you are the fool who refused my generous offer.” she chuckled maliciously towards him, her pointed teeth making her smirk appear that much more unnerving.

Barros grunted towards her a moment before answering. “You have what you want, Admiral. You've destroyed my fleet, my crew and my ship. What point is there in taking me alive?”

Gar'an nodded, a look of amusement evident in her eyes. “Very true, Admiral. I have no reason for taking you alive – I simply wanted you to see something before you die.” With that, she grasped him by the collar of his tattered uniform and shoved him forward towards the port side of her ship. As his knees hit the deck with a satisfying thud, she grabbed him by the back of his head and pulled it up, to look out upon the waters – waters that were now strewn with flaming debris from the shattered remains of his fleet.

“Look upon the might of the Iron Tide! Our strength is absolute.”

The draenei appeared unfazed by her aggression, but she knew the look in his eyes – he would never admit it, but it was the sign of a beaten animal. Something she relished in seeing – especially from a naval commander.

As she took in the glorious sight before her, one of her soldiers snapped to attention at her left. “Ma'am.” he grunted, bowing respectfully as she returned his salute. “We've recovered something from the hold of the ship. It looks like some kind of vault.”

Turning around, Gar'an saw the object in question – it was a large, silver storage crate; made in the exotic fashion of the blue-bloods. Grinning towards the sailor who carried it, she returned her gaze to Barros, who had also turned to observe the exchange – and she saw the fear evident in his previous unfazed expression.

“The orb...” the admiral muttered, his voice although barely a whisper, was full of defeat.

“Orb? What's in the box, draenei?” Gar'an snarked, bending down to look at his defeated face.

Barros glared towards her, his eyes focused directly onto her own. “A device that you and your Iron Horde will never be able to master.” A faint smirk danced across his lips as he seemed to ponder his next words. “Needless to say, your so-called Iron Tide pales in comparison to the powers that can be utilized by this orb.”

Growling, Gar'an backhanded the admiral across the face before turning to face the sailor carrying the vault. “Take it below and store it with the rest of our haul. Post a guard at the door – I don't want ANY of you maggots even near it until I say so!”

“Lieutenant.” she barked, reaching out with her right hand. “Get me my rifle.”

Admiral Barros could not help but chuckle to himself as he was thrown against the heavy wall of the destroyer he now found himself a prisoner of. As he readjusted himself to face the deck, his gaze returned to Admiral Gar'an, who stood roughly ten meters away, caressing a weapon presumably of Blackrock design. Barros found himself unafraid of death as he glared towards her – every moment that the woman wasted on him was another moment that his people had to prepare for battle.

As Gar'an finished loading the rifle, she looked up towards him. “Any last words, Draenei?” she intoned mockingly, the same toothed smirk across her face as before.

Barros forced up a glob of saliva and spat it onto the deck. “You may think you've won here, but I can tell you now that you haven't. This 'orcish unity' – it won't last long. There are always those who want more and demand higher places in society – and yours is no exception. When the infighting takes you, I wonder how long your co-operation will linger.”

Gar'an shrugged her shoulders and laughed openly; as did a few other members of the assembled crew – though she silenced them with a glare. “Once Draenor is under our control as it should rightfully be – then we will see if your words have any merit. But right now...” she aimed the rifle towards him, “ are just another target.”

Barros barely heard the shot that ended his life – but even at that moment, he was one with the Light – as he always longed to be.

As the draenei's corpse hit the deck with a resounding thud, Gar'ran turned about and tossed her rifle towards a sailor. “Make ready the ship. We sail for the Foundry at full speed!” she ordered, walking back to the helm as her crew scrambled about. She would deliver the spoils of this battle – including the mysterious “vault” the late Admiral Barros had mocked her about – to Warlord Blackhand, who would, she knew, be most pleased with her find. Hopefully, she pondered to herself as she took the helm, it will convince him to build me a larger ship.

Only time would tell.
Originally Posted by Fojar View Post
Fuck your dumb gamergate shit I'd rather be pegged by Sylvanas than read it.
Originally Posted by Torch View Post
Just remember, the Alliance is only ever allowed to passively defend itself against the Horde, and Taurajo was Azeroth's equivalent of the Holocaust.
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Old 03-22-2015, 05:32 PM
Eterna Eterna is offline

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Join Date: Mar 2012
Location: Canada
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I enjoyed reading this, nice work Quirn!
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Old 03-22-2015, 06:00 PM
Quirnheim Quirnheim is offline

Join Date: Oct 2011
Location: Niagara Region, Canada
Posts: 4,850
BattleTag: kam#1475


Originally Posted by Eterna View Post
I enjoyed reading this, nice work Quirn!
thank you very much - I pieced it together based on my extrapolation of a draenei "navy" as such - mostly for me I pictured their ships a destroyers that were partially powered by/constructed with crystals and other magic from their artificers.
Originally Posted by Fojar View Post
Fuck your dumb gamergate shit I'd rather be pegged by Sylvanas than read it.
Originally Posted by Torch View Post
Just remember, the Alliance is only ever allowed to passively defend itself against the Horde, and Taurajo was Azeroth's equivalent of the Holocaust.
Reply With Quote

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