There are a lot of epic and fantastical stories in the World of Warcraft about epic battles of good versus evil, heroes dueling fearsome monsters and slaying gods from strange aeons, swarms of demons arriving hellfire from the sky, and earth shattering events with implications ringing through history for generations to come. This isn’t one of those stories. At least not yet. There might be some strange aeons a little later but for now this is just a small story about some unimportant people. Unimportant sounds mean though. Inconsequential? Pedestrian? Insignificant? What I mean to say is that if this story had a title it would be called something like “That Time I Did Something Pretty Neat” not “That Time I stopped the Apocalypse”. This story probably won’t go down in the history books, but it will definitely be told over a beer or ten.

This story starts where a lot of other stories start: at a bar on a Saturday night.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, and you all might be too. This story begins long before a lot of those other fantastical and epic stories we just talked about. This is before Hellscream formed the Iron Horde. Before the mists unshrouded Pandaria. Before the Nefarion tried to end the world. At a time when the Lich King still sits on his Frozen Throne and the Dark Portal has been closed for as long as anyone can remember. This is before all that, but not all the cool things happen after this story. The orcs have already made and reneged on two blood pacts with the Burning Legion, the Burning Legion itself has been beaten back a half dozen times most recently at the battle of Mount Hyjal, and, most importantly for us, a nice orc shaman by the odd name of Thrall has declared himself Warchief of the newly reforged Horde.

One of his first acts as Warchief was to found a new capital for his Horde that he called Orgimmar, in a land that he called Durotar. The land and the city had already had names before that the quillboars knew it by, but the orcs and other creatures of the Horde aren’t really the types be bothered by that sort of thing. The Horde “relocated” the quillboars from their ancestral homes and set about carving their glorious capital into the twisting canyons and valleys of eastern Kalimdor.

This story starts in one of those twisting valleys. This valley is mentioned in a lot of stories as a great place to go, recoup, reflect upon the experiences, and grow as adventurers. This personal growth is generally done at one of the dozens of bars, inns, and taverns that line the streets of the valley.

This is where the story begins. In the Valley of Savagery at a bar called The Sleeping Dragon. The bartender, Tiny the Gnome, sends a half dozen drinks out to a table where a few of his best customers sit. They are a party of powerful warriors and mages who are just back from an exciting adventure and are now spending their loot on a good time tonight. This story isn’t about them though. When they stand up and leave before even taking a sip of their drinks, another party of adventurers takes the table, this one more would-be than powerful.

Dungeons and Dragons in the World of Warcraft

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