They abandoned the would-be shamans in the wastes to survive for three days with the help of the spirits. Drek’Tar had forgotten the ancient rites, it seemed, or perhaps he thought the Frostwolves had been the harshest in their trials. He had given literal pounds of flesh to tbe Furies at the Throne of the Elements, he had fought the shamans of the bird-people and the wizards of the Ogres and bested them in battle. He had earned his position in blood and pain. Yet Ner’zhul the real Ner’zhul, fumed in his icy confinement. The Ner’zhul of this time was every bad impulse of the old Orcs shaman made flesh, their blindness in front of the unknown, their resentment of the warriors whose glory in battle against the rapacious ogres eclipsed their own, their indolence in enabling a snake like Gul’dan to join their councils. The Shaman marveled at the contradiction. He was Elder Shaman of Shadowmoon, respected holy man but his ambition burned deep and he dreamed to be called “lord” and “master. He played the doddering old fool, claiming a respect he had only earned by his years. The Shaman smiled for even under the white facepaint he recognized old, blind Drek’Tar of the Frostwolves, who had been barely less a shaman than himself. The dance presented Ner’zhul, well their version of Ner’zhul. The Orcs were children of violence, worshipping the spirits who were their kin and readily commanding them. Indeed, there had been gods who actively fought to decide if they preferred their world a chaotic mass shaped by ice and fire, or a great forest whose trees blocked all light and hunted all that walked or ran. Draenor was a world of death, full of strangling vines, great beasts larger than a dragon, great forests hungry for the flesh of animals and elemental energies. Did the Orcs of this time really think their people lived in harmony with nature, living idyllic pastoral lives without greed nor vice? They had always been a people of warriors, they needed to. The Shaman laughed hard and harsh as he listened to the tales of Yod Hesed. The Orcs of Nagrand had considered the place sacred with good reason but they had never learned why exactly their oldest ancestors journeyed there. The dying one, Ku’re for the Draenei, had been entombed in Oshu’gun, and in his half-dead state he transformed his tomb in a place of power where the dead lingered. The “corpse” of the dead one had been entombed in great Auchindoun who quickly became the necropolis of the Exiles, which should still exist now as a place of untapped potential. So when Velen guided his people in the construction of city, he built tombs for his fallen gods. One of the Naaru’s guide seemed to had died, although what dead was for the Lightbearers none could say. The great city-ship was crewed by some of the Naaru, these beings of Light who had saved the Draenei by corruption.Īlas for reasons the Shaman did not completely understand, the Exodar’s landing on the Red World had been far from gentle. Many times the Legion had found them, and many times the Draenei had fled, without ever offering a fight. The Shaman wondered if they had spared a single thought on the planets consumed in their mad journey through the stars. It began on a world named Argus when Velen the Divine, member of the ruling triad of the Eredar refused the offer of Sargeras the Dark Titan and sailed the sea of stars aboard the city called Exodar Countless were the worlds visited by the Exiles in their long flight, some inhabited, the others not. The story truly began well before the time represented by the dancers, the flutes and the memories of distant home. Such revelations had the power to destroy faith after all. Actually, the Shaman doubted any except Exalted Velen’s inner circle knew the whole story. As for the others, he didn’t blame the people who had forgotten their very pantheon, both ancestors and the very elements of Draenor to know a tale who had long been the Draenei’s exclusive secret. Even Varimathras, knowledgeable as he was had not been there to read his thoughts.
Most of the private details of his fall had been never revealed to anyone. Part of him didn’t exactly blame the Orcs of this time to not remember. Well he knew the real story, unadulterated by bloodlust or faulty memory. Yod Hesed part 4.5: The Corruption of the Orcs
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