Conflict and hatred afflict the world of Azeroth, a disease that has been spreading for generations. Horde and Alliance march to war endlessly, and no accord seems to put an end to the hostilities.
Teldrassil has burned.
Lordaeron is in ruins.
But i...
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In the desert, an oppressive heat punishes travelers during the day, while torturing them during the night with a cold that has nothing to envy to the most icy glaciers. The Badlands were no different, but Dunris welcomed each night with a certain joy. He liked the cold; it allowed him to think more clearly, to rest more deeply. He felt stranded, though; not in the land, but inside his thoughts.
They hadn't had a single day of peace after their incident with the Titanguard, but when they left the Burning Steppes, they had managed to lose their pursuers. Their enemies had used several weapons and tactics, but Argheros' strategy had been to just outrun them. That way it was easier to face each threat, as the Titan colossi were slower than, say, the Blood Reavers. The group of Ambassadors was strong and powerful enough to fight many dangers, but this time they were forced to confront a foe that wielded mysterious and even forbidden powers.
There hadn't been many opportunities to think about the future during their escape; they could only think in their survival. The worst part was that they were short on supplies and had almost no weapons of their own. The Titanguard had taken everything from them: their equipment, their coin, their food and drinks. They had been fighting with what little weapons Argheros and the others had managed to steal, and they had been living on mana biscuits thanks to Topijin, since they didn't even have time to hunt or cook a meal. The troll Mage hated the role that had fallen upon him.
"I didn't learn arcane magic to do dis...", he constantly said, glaring at the Titanguard forces that chased them.
Wolfeye refused to run away. He wanted to stand his ground and force a battle against their enemies, but Argheros and Ishgo had insisted on making the smartest move. Even the other orcs wanted to leave the Burning Steppes as fast as possible, even though his people would never forfeit a combat. He knew they were right, but a great part of him wanted to go back and rescue the Blackrocks, including Degarok, just as he had planned. It was so frustrating: he intended to leave the region with more allies, but now the group had been divided and deprived of some of its members.
A couple of Reavers reached them at the third day, but just as Irondawn had predicted, they were able to eliminate the chasers with a quick fight. Shortly after, some Necromancers mounting a couple of horrible skeletal flying beasts tried assaulting them, without any success. Two days later, when the mountains between the Steppes and the Badlands were near, a group of brutish Warriors that wielded huge weapons had tried to bring the Ambassadors down, but they were quickly repelled. It was during the crossing of said mountains when Dunris and his allies had managed to finally escape from the Titanguard.
Nevertheless, they were far from being safe, as they had spotted many trackers trying to find them. But the greatest dangers they were facing right now were hopelessness and an overwhelming sense of defeat. They were nowhere close to achieving their goals; in fact, it seemed they were worse than when they started.
It seemed almost impossible to reach the La Suerte and regroup with Augustus and the others; moreover, they had also lost some allies along the way. Degarok had decided to stay with his people, and who knew what wicked intentions the Titanguard had for him. However, it was Erkagg who had more to be sorry for: three of his clan member had been killed during their escape. The Whiteclaws were a small clan, who were dedicating their lives to find inner peace; they didn't want war, and yet, there they were, helping in a fight that wasn't their doing.
