The Promise

The red sun sank at an angle behind the mountains west of Stratholme. The evening glow spilled across the land, painting the whole world gold and crimson. A white tower stood atop a hill in the fiery landscape, its gleaming surface tinted red. The slanting sun stretched its shadow far across the land below, covering the foothills.

East of the hill where Northland Fortress stood, near the road between Darrowshire and Thalassian Pass, there was a simple camp enclosed by a stockade of logs. Fresh logs as thick as a bowl were sharpened at both ends and driven deep into the ground to form the outermost defenses. Along the double wooden wall, watchtowers stood at intervals of a few hundred meters, evenly spaced around the camp. Gnoll warriors kept watch from their platforms, monitoring every movement outside.

The wooden buildings were rough and wild in style, clearly not built by human hands. The Blackpaw Gnolls had used local materials and tools supplied by humans to build the camp.

In the center of the large, somewhat primitive camp, in front of a crooked wooden hut, Tagg, the new chief of the Blackpaw Clan, sat quietly before a small fire, staring at the bright flames licking the little iron pot hanging above them.

Before long, the soup in the pot began to boil, bubbles rising as fresh wilted leaves, chopped mushrooms, and slices of meat swirled around, filling the air with an enticing aroma. The Gnoll warrior pulled a branch from the ground, sniffed the roasted meat glistening with golden fat, then opened his mouth and took a hearty bite. He nodded with satisfaction.

"Compared to this delicious food seasoned with refined spices, the crude seasonings we used in the clan were garbage!"

At the urging of the Gnoll Shaman Logul, Tagg had spent several months using the prestige he had built up to rally a large group of warriors willing to follow him. At last, with Logul's help, the Gnoll warrior and his followers overthrew the Great Shaman who had ruled the clan and led more than half its remaining members into submission to the humans.

After spending these past days among them, he could clearly tell that the human soldiers did not think much of his people. But while the camp was being built, the food and tools that Logul had promised would be supplied by the human kingdom had never run short. That had finally put Tagg's lingering worries to rest.

The Gnolls were changing, and so were the leaders of the human kingdom, who were revising their former attitude toward them. That was good news for him. But it wasn't enough. Only by proving their worth could the Gnolls truly earn the humans' trust and join their "civilized society."

Zul'Aman, the forest and valley occupied by the Mossflayer Trolls, would be where he led his people to prove their worth to the Kingdom of Lordaeron. To that end, on Logul's advice, the new chief of the Blackpaw Clan had sent nearly half his warriors into the forest to scout the Troll territory, where none of his people had once dared to venture.

As a result, this new camp now held fewer than two thousand warriors, along with a large number of women and children. As for the elderly, under the Gnolls' rules of survival, those unable to fight could not survive. And that was only the Blackpaw Clan; with so little time, they had no way to gather the scattered settlements in the mountains and forests.

Although he had shown the Kingdom of Lordaeron unprecedented obedience and cooperation, he was still the clan chief. He could not send every strong warrior in his clan to a battlefield that might become a meat grinder. The Gnoll warriors' orders were to scout and harass, not engage in direct combat. For Gnolls who had spent their lives wandering forests and wilderness, and knew this land well, that would not be a difficult task.

Although Logul's persuasion and the clan's future had left him no choice but to ally with the humans, the seemingly savage and ignorant Gnoll warrior had his own plans. Unlike the Gnoll Shaman, who had wholly sided with the Kingdom of Lordaeron, Tagg understood that the warriors under his command were the only ones who could secure his future.

Logul had already told him that the Kingdom of Lordaeron planned to use the coming autumn to train its troops by purging the Gnolls within its borders. Tagg understood that, after that autumn campaign, more suitable cannon fodder would be sent to this battlefield: prisoners who had failed to withstand Lordaeron's army.

Everything he had done so far was simply to show his loyalty to the Kingdom of Lordaeron, so that he and his people might be treated differently from those potential prisoners. Perhaps those prisoners might even become stepping-stones for the Blackpaw Clan.

Tagg ate his fill and began to dream about the future. Having seen the gap between the Gnolls and humans, the newly appointed chief had not even noticed that he was starting to draw closer to Logul, the Shaman who had become a "traitor."

"Tagg, my friend, are you getting used to this new home?"

The Gnoll Shaman, who had left Northland Fortress, returned to the camp just before the last rays of sunlight vanished from the ground. The old Shaman walked up to the fire and sat down without waiting for an invitation. He pulled a branch bearing roasted meat from the ground and wolfed it down, glancing sideways at the towering Gnoll chief.

The Gnoll chief did not seem bothered by Logul's familiarity. He swallowed the greasy piece of meat in his mouth and then said, "Perhaps you were right. If we can break free of our old constraints and look upon humans with less hostility, everything will be different. They're already far ahead of us—not only in their fine weapons and armor, but in their standard of living, too."

"I'm glad you've come to understand that. Peace is hard-won. We, who have always lived in the wilderness, can't withstand the human tide of steel."

Logul swallowed his roasted meat, then used the branch in his hand to gently stir the dimming fire. With a crackle, red flames leapt up again, driving away the chill of nightfall.

Feeling the warmth in the air, the Shaman continued, "Just now, at Northland Fortress, I met the prince of Lordaeron. His Highness Alvin Menethil made me a promise: if we swear an oath of loyalty in the name of our ancestors and the Elemental Spirits, he will bring us peace and grant us a land of our own."

"In Lordaeron?"

There was a note of surprise in Tagg's voice. From Logul's earlier account, he knew that the prince would not inherit the Kingdom of Lordaeron. How could he have the authority to grant land to the Gnolls?

"No, on a new continent."

The Gnoll Shaman shook his head. "Though we'll be far from this ancient land, we'll have a new life—a peaceful, prosperous life. All we have to do is prove our loyalty and worth to the Kingdom of Lordaeron in the time ahead."

"Fine. You win, Shaman."

The Gnoll warrior shrugged and grinned, baring his teeth.