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- Oct 18, 2010
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Inspired by the game Wow. This story is about Garrosh or (Groms son) Journey from the outland to the present day Horde.
Chapter 1
“Hmm...”
The brown skinned orc stepped off the ship, many of his people following behind him. The red land was strange, and it was far more similar to the peninsula of Hellfire than the rolling grasslands of Nagrand.
“This is Durotar?” he asked, somewhat confused. “Why must our people live in such a harsh land?”
“It is good land,” the nearby commander nodded happily. “Harsh, yes, but strong. Like our people.”
“Hmm...” Garrosh nodded. “I understand.”
He waited for his companion to disembark. Another orc, of bistre skin tone and bare-chested, shortly descended the gangplank.
“Durotar? he asked, looking around. “The land of our people.”
Garrosh nodded. “They say it is a strong land,” he smiled. “A fitting land for our people.”
“Indeed,” Dranosh nodded. “It is not Nagrand...” he paused, looking up at the red sky, “but no other land is. Our people will thrive in whatever land they dwell. Durotar is a good land.”
“It certainly is,” Garrosh nodded. “Come. Let us make way to the city of Orgrimmar. I would like to see the remains of this... Mannoroth that my father slew. Thrall says that they have mounted his skull and armor near the entrance to the Great Hall...” he nodded, smiling.
“I would enjoy seeing it as well,” Dranosh agreed. “Never again shall the Horde be enslaved. Your father died with honor, perhaps the greatest honor an orc will ever know.”
“Yes,” Garrosh nodded happily. “An orc like no other. It is an honor to be his son.”
“That it is,” Dranosh nodded. “I look forward to meeting my father, as well. They say he is the Warchief's right hand. I cannot wait to see him for myself, to speak with he who's blood runs in my veins.”
“I was told he led the charge against some sort of god on this world," Garrosh added. “If this is true, then he must truly be an amazing warrior.”
“Indeed,” Dranosh nodded. “It will be good to see warriors amongst the orcs again. I do not wish to be helpless any longer.”
“Me neither,” Garrosh nodded, his face drawn into a serious expression. “For a long time I was weakened by the pox and useless to defend Garadar. And then I was too depressed to be of any use. I blame myself for that. But no more. From now on, I will fight to keep my people safe. No member of the Horde will go hungry as long as I still draw breath.”
“Well said,” Dranosh nodded.
They continued walking, many Mag'har behind them along with several of Thrall's escorts, walking north towards Razor Hill.
“What is that?” Garrosh asked, gesturing to a stone tower rising in the east, near the coast. “That doesn't not look like Orcish construction.”
“I am not sure,” Dranosh nodded. “Commander Agmar?”
“Hmm... That is Tiragarde Keep,” the orcish commander nodded. “Built by the humans. Only a few years ago they tried to wipe Orgrimmar off the map.”
“Have they been disposed of?” Garrosh asked, surprised. He had heard of the humans, and even seen several fighting for the Alliance in Halaa, but he hadn't expected them to be actively attacking his people on their own soil.
“Mostly,” Agmar grunted. “Lieutenant Benedict was commanding this one, but ships keep coming from ancestors know where...” he paused, listening for a moment. “There's one now, it seems.”
Garrosh peered out onto the water where he could just make out two ships engaging in cannon fire, one bearing a great resemblance to Horde design, but the other seeming far more foreign.
“The... humans, they attack us on our own lands? Why?” Garrosh asked. “I thought the warchief had established a truce of some sort?”
“Bah...” Agmar grunted. “These humans care nothing for truce or ceasefire. Their... Adrimal, or Amdiral, or Admiral... Whatever they called him... He tried to lure our Warchief into a trap through dishonesty and deceit. He was a coward. These humans care nothing for honor.”
Dranosh scowled. “Perhaps we should not judge the entire race by the actions of a single group,” he pondered aloud. “After all, if we were to judge the entire orcish race by the likes of Gul'dan...” he paused, looking to Garrosh.
“Perhaps you are right,” Garrosh nodded, tapping his chin. “Still... We have a right to defend ourselves. I hope the humans learn soon that it is unwise to cross the Horde.”
“Agreed,” Dranosh nodded. “Let us continue on. Orgimmar is close, is it not, Commander?”
“Just beyond this canyon,” Agmar nodded, still scowling.
Chapter 2
It had been seven months since Garrosh had arrived in Orgrimmar. The human tower built on the orcs’ land had bothered him, and he had been relieved when it was finally demolished. But still, the humans had attacked them on their own land already. He didn’t trust that they wouldn’t try again.
He had learned so much in the past months. The orcs had been imprisoned, enslaved, beaten… for fourteen years. The Warchief Thrall had been forced to fight for the humans’ amusement and beaten to unconsciousness at their cruel hands. They had even followed the orcs across the sea to continue to hunt them. Garrosh didn’t trust them to keep to their treaty at all. Now he walked the night, trying to clear his mind.
He came upon a small farm, it’s primary hut unfinished, apparently. It was still lacking several support beams, and at the moment it was hardly a tent, merely stones and small branches gathered in a semi-circle with skins stretched over the top.
He was about to pass by when he heard a faint crying sound. Concerned, he followed the sound to the shelter, finding a family of orcs shivering under a large kodo skin. The crying came from a small child, who appeared quite faint.
“By the ancestors…” Garrosh mumbled. “Can I help you? Why do you live like this? You’ll freeze to death!”
The male shot him a harsh glance but said nothing.
“At least let me start you a fire,” Garrosh nodded, taking out a piece of flint rock.
“And burn what?” the male orc growled.
Garrosh hadn’t thought of that. There was hardly any wood in Durotar. Of course they had nothing to burn. That would explain why their hut was so poor.
“At least come with me to Orgrimmar…” he asked.
“Bah…” the male grunted in reply. “No room there. No food. At least here I can hunt. At least we still have pigs to eat here. Orgimmar already hunts all the game near the city, and they do not have enough to feed us as well. We would starve there.”
“But you could freeze like this!” Garrosh answered.
“I need not your sympathy,” the orc spat back. “I am well aware that it is cold. My son is already feeling ill. But what choice do we have? We cannot board our animals in Orgrimmar, and we have nothing to burn here.”
Garrosh wanted to help them, to do something, but he knew it was useless. He couldn’t do anything, and already the male was growing angry at his prying. He couldn’t blame him. Angered that he couldn’t do more, he began walking back to Orgrimmar. Finally, he found Dranosh in the Hall of the Mag‘har, where most of Garrosh‘s brethren from Nagrand were staying.
“What ails you, brother?” Dranosh asked, his brow furrowed with concern at Garrosh’s frustration.
“My people freeze to death out there, that is what ails me,” Garrosh growled back, slamming his fists down on the table. “They lack shelter, fire…”
“Wood is not easy to come by in this land,“ Dranosh shrugged. “What can we do?”
“Not in this land,” Garrosh growled, turning north. “But there is a forest covering half the continent less than a days march north.”
“That land belongs to the Night Elves,” Saurfang nodded thoughtfully. “They will not let us take from it.”
“Bah…” Garrosh grunted angrily. “They live in luxury, with wood and fire and food and all these things that we lack. Who are they to claim a forest? Why should we die to respect their claim to some blasted trees?”
“Your clan already fights for those resources, brother,” Dranosh nodded.
“But that is not enough,” Garrosh nodded. “The Warchief has pulled so many troops out of Ashenvale that it is all they can do to hold what land we have, much less engage in any lumbering operations.”
“Then speak to the Warchief,” Dranosh shrugged. “You are a chieftain, after all. It is your right.”
Garrosh blinked. That thought had not crossed his mind.
“Indeed,” he smiled, “I shall do that. I can tell him what I’ve seen. No longer shall our people freeze like animals. Thank you, brother,” he nodded, turning and making haste for Grommash Hold.
Finally, he reached the Warchief’s chamber, to once again find Rehgar Earthfury--a shaman and former slave master--standing next to the Warchief’s throne.
“Hello Hellscream,” Rehgar grunted.
“Hello Earthfury,” Garrosh grunted back, turning to Thrall. “Warchief, I must speak with you.”
“Speak,” Thrall nodded, pressing his fingertips together. “Anything I can do for you, so be it.”
“I come to ask that reinforcements be sent to Warsong Gulch,” he asked. Rehgar grunted, but Garrosh ignored him. “Our people freeze to death in half-constructed huts, lacking the precious wood to survive.”
“That is Night Elf land,” Rehgar nodded. “We could spark a war. A war that we do not need.”
“Bah,” Garrosh growled. “The Night Elves have plenty of trees. They do not need them all. If it means our survival, then we must take them.”
“The Night Elves have allies, Hellscream,” Rehgar growled angrily. “Or have you not heard of the Alliance?” he chuckled bitterly, turning to Thrall. “The humans will attack us, should war break out! We must comply to their demands, on this matter at least.”
“It is madness, Rehgar, to suggest to Thrall that we should cooperate with the humans!” Garrosh shouted furiously, losing his temper.
“Collaborative coexistence is not madness, Garrosh!” Rehgar screamed in return. “It’s common sense! Orcs and humans have common enemies!”
“Pfahh…” Garrosh scoffed, “The Alliance is the enemy!”
“Was, perhaps. Before we signed a treaty--”
Suddenly Thrall stood, a glowing stone in his hand.
“You’ve both made excellent points…” he nodded. “But we must table this discussion for another day. I’ll be leaving Orgrimmar for a short while,” the Warchief finished, walking out of the Hold.
Garrosh grunted angrily. How could Thrall just walk out like that? His thoughts drifted back to the young child out there in the plains of Durotar. Would it survive the night? Something had to be done. He looked to Earthfury again, wishing he could strike the shaman.
Instead, he turned and returned to the Hall of the Mag’har, sitting in his private quarters, trying to think. He had been a useless leader in Nagrand. He had sat by and let their enemies taunt and threaten them. After he had come out of his depression, he had vowed never to let that happen again. He would not be useless again. No more would he let his people live in fear of starvation or living without shelter. But if the Warchief would not listen, what could he do? He slammed his fist into the wall in anger.
Chapter 3
Garrosh sat in his quarters, thinking. So many things needed to be dealt with. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let his people down again. Never again. Anything he could do to make this world better for his people, he would do it.
“Lord Hellscream?” a voice asked from behind his door.
“Enter…” Garrosh grunted, staring at his boots.
“Throm‘ka, chieftain,” nodded a large male orc as he entered the room. “I am Lieutenant General Korm Blackscar, and I was hoping to speak to you.”
“Speak,” Garrosh grunted again.
“Certainly, chieftain,” Korm began, sitting in a chair opposite the Mag‘har orc, “I heard what you told the Warchief. And I agree.”
Garrosh looked up, looking the orc in the eyes for several seconds before looking back down at the ground.
“Our people are being persecuted by the Alliance,” Korm nodded. “Just as we have been for years. You have seen it, yes?”
“I have,” Garrosh nodded, looking to the fire. “It hurts me to see them this way,” he paused, thinking. "Perhaps some of our people deserve it…” he paused again, before closing his eyes and shaking his head. “But not the children. They have done nothing to earn this hardship.”
“Indeed,” Korm nodded. “The Alliance hunts our people. Even in these times of ‘peace,’ they still work in subtle ways to drive us into the sea. The humans hate us. They would have our little ones killed and left to stiffen on the ground. The elves starve us, killing us slowly by depriving us of the vital resources we need. All around us, this world seeks to crush our people.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Garrosh asked, looking up into the eyes of the older orc.
“Because,” Korm paused, rubbing his beard, “we will not be crushed.”
Garrosh nodded thoughtfully, a small smile appearing on his face, before vanishing.
“How will we stop them?” he asked, thinking he knew the answer, but wanting to hear it anyway.
“We will drive them back,” Korm smiled. “And when they rise up in anger to wipe us out, we will drive them back. And we will keep driving them back. We will let them know that we will not be denied. That we will not simply take their persecution like an old dog…” he paused, moving to the window. “Imagine it… A new home for our people, from sea to sea…”
“Like Nagrand?” Garrosh asked, thinking back to his home in Garadar.
“Better,” Korm nodded. “No longer will our people freeze to death in the desert nights. No longer will they starve for lack of fertile soil. No longer will they be hunted in the forests and attacked on the plains. Kalimdor will be our new home. All of Kalimdor.”
Garrosh grunted, thinking about Korm's words.
“But what of those whose homes we are taking?” he pondered, rubbing his chin. “What of the elves and the humans? Surely they have children? Is this not their home as well?”
“Hmmph…” Korm grunted, blowing hot air from his nostrils. “Those children will grow and take up arms against us…” he growled, looking south to where the lights of Theramore were barely visible. He turned to Garrosh, laying his hand upon the Mag’har’s shoulder. “It is us or them, Garrosh,” he nodded with a frown. “Your father knew that…” he paused, looking down. “They will never stop hunting us. We can choose to lie down and die, or we can fight those who would have us all dead.”
Garrosh sighed and turned away.
“I have much to think about, then,” Garrosh nodded. “Thank you, Korm.”
“Thank you for hearing me, chieftain,” Korm answered, leaving the room.
Garrosh waited for Korm to leave, and then looked back out the window.
“Is that really how it must be, father?” he asked, looking over the water. Suddenly, a vision came upon him. He saw a hundred ships out to sea, all of Alliance design. They would come for Durotar. And the time of the orcs would be over.
No. He couldn’t let that happen.
He sighed, wishing that his father were here to help him. He had never even seen him, as far as he could remember. Suddenly he had an idea. He paused, looking around the room, before finally reaching for his fur cloak, and pulling it around his shoulders and finally running to the stables for his wolf.
* * *
Garrosh rode for hours, north, ever north. Soon he had passed the borders of the great forest of Ashenvale, it’s mighty trees beautiful even in death, as he knew that their wood would sustain his people in the great shamanic circle of life.
Soon he had passed the Warsong Lumber Camp, and saw his destination rising in the distance. There. In the mountains. He spotted a green taint that confirmed that this was the right spot.
He rode up the path, past the skeletal remains of demons long dead, and into the gorge where a large marking stone stood.
Garrosh smiled and rode closer to the stone, dismounting and approaching it slowly. He ran his fingers over the letters of the stone and smiled.
“May the Warsong never fade,” he whispered, setting his head against the cold stone. “I only wish I could be like you, father…” he nodded, closing his eyes and saying a short prayer to the ancestors. “What should I do?”
Suddenly, distressed yelp split the air, and Garrosh felt a sharp burning in his leg. He turned quickly, to find his wolf bleeding out upon the ground. He ran to the wolf, hardly even noticing the arrow lodged in his own leg. The poor beast had been shot through the heart, and now it’s warm blood pooled at the orc’s feet. He felt another twinge of pain and a hot burning as a second arrow pierced his shoulder.
“No…” Garrosh growled, looking up to spy two elven sentinels in the shadows. “Not here! Not on my father’s grave!” he cried, reaching for his axes. “Die, you long-eared demons!”
He lunged forward, not even noticing the third arrow as it ricocheted off of his chest plate. Instantly he was upon one of the elves, hacking through flesh and bone as if it were nothing. The other elf gasped in horror as her partner was slain, and leapt backwards to fire another arrow. But Garrosh was too fast. He immediately charged for the second elf, ending her life as easily as the first.
Finally, standing in a pool of purple blood, he cried out to the heavens, letting the entire forest ring with his rage. He screamed with anger and pain. And nearby, in the Warsong camp, every orc turned to the source. For they had heard a sound that they had thought long dead. A sound that meant victory would soon be at hand.
The Hellscream.
Chapter 4
“Hmmph…” Conquerer Krenna grunted, looking over at Thrall’s company.
Garrosh glanced over to where she was looking and then back at her. Krenna was legendary among his clan, and her ferocity was known throughout all of the Horde’s forces. She was a veteran of hundreds of battles on all of the Horde’s fronts. From what he had heard, she had lost her eye in her first battle, back in the Hillsbrad Foothills when she was liberated from her camp. She seemed quite proud of her disfigurement, and Garrosh smiled briefly. This was a warrior. Like his father. The ideal orc.
“Thrall goes to a peace meeting…” she muttered, before spitting to the ground. “What a waste…”
“Indeed,” Garrosh grunted, his brow furrowing with frustration. “The Horde should defend itself against those who would destroy our people. That is the orcish way…”
“Yes…” Krenna smiled, her scarred face twisted in a grin. “The orcish way. We do not sit and let our enemies cripple us under the guise of ‘peace.’ That is the human way. But it seems the Warchief was taught too much by the humans…” she paused, scowling, before turning back to Garrosh. “Make no mistake,” she nodded, “he is strong. A mighty orc and a mighty shaman, but he is not what our people need as a leader.”
Garrosh grunted in thought, feeling a small twinge of agreement in his soul.
“We need someone like Doomhammer…” Krenna smiled, closing her eyes and recollecting. “Or your father. I fought many battles under his banner. He was a bit rash at times, but he was an orc through and through. He’d know the folly of this so-called ‘peace meeting.’ I wouldn’t be surprised if the humans tried foul play. They’ve already tried once…” she nodded. “No… Thrall is a great orc, but he is naïve. I’d challenge him myself if I could, but tradition dictates that only a chieftain can instigate a Mak’gora.”
“Hmmph…” Garrosh nodded, wondering if she meant something by that, but banishing the thought as he saw Thrall approach.
“…not yet,” Rehgar finished saying.
“Is this the best way to spend your energy, Thrall?” Garrosh asked, stepping away from Krenna. “Conferring with Stormwind?”
“But you’ll be there with us,” Rehgar shrugged.
“To protect the interests of our people…” Garrosh added.
“As you see them…” Rehgar grunted.
Garrosh ignored that statement. Food, water, shelter, freedom… These were the interests of all orcs. Instead, he changed the subject. “And I’m curious to see this ‘impregnable’ fortress.”
“To determine how easy it will be to drive the humans out?” Rehgar snarled, his eyes crackling with elemental fury.
“Kalimdor should be home to the orcs, Rehgar,” Garrosh grunted back. “All of Kalimdor!”
Garrosh paused a moment. That last part had slipped out. He hadn’t meant to say it, but he had. Korm was right. These other peoples sought to drive the orcs out of their lands, why shouldn’t the orcs share the sentiment? They attacked the orcs on sacred lands, they starved the orcs of precious food and shelter… They should know what it means to oppose the Horde.
“We destroyed our own homeworld,” Thrall objected. “We are guests on Kalimdor… As are the humans…”
Garrosh grunted and boarded the zeppelin, trying to balance his thoughts. Thrall had a point, but he was an idealist. He saw things as they should be, if the Alliance could be trusted. But all too clearly Garrosh had seen that they couldn’t. The Alliance would have the orcish race destroyed, and thus, they were the enemy. To attempt peace was a waste of precious resources, and a risk to the entire Horde. If the Warchief fell, the Horde would be thrown into chaos.
* * *
It was a long flight, and Garrosh overheard Thrall and Rehgar speaking about the human, Jaina Proudmoore. From what he heard, she was a good and honest human--the exception that proved the rule. But that meant nothing if the other humans could not be trusted, and nothing he had heard or seen gave him that impression. But that was fine. Let them challenge the Horde. The Horde would benefit greatly from the precious natural resources that this land held.
“Well, she is welcome to this place,” Rehgar nodded, continuing his conversation with Thrall. “I prefer the desert of Orgrimmar. My old bones creak in this damp climate.”
“Of course you prefer Orgrimmar,” Garrosh thought. “Try living with half a home in the freezing cold of the Durotar nights…” he paused, looking up at the two. “It’s wet, yes, even without this foul storm! But there’s timber… and the stone for the keep was quarried somewhere nearby,” he nodded. “This place is rich in many things out people need.”
“There she is, waiting for us!” Thrall smiled, paying little heed to Garrosh words. “Greetings, Jaina!” he shouted.
“You should never have agreed that we surrender our weapons in order to parley with the human king,” Garrosh grunted, trying to get Thrall’s attention. “Armed, we could have made our point--one way or another,” he chuckled, jesting slightly.
“Unlikely…” Rehgar answered. “As they also would have been armed. And Thrall is well aware that anything can become a weapon… when one is needed.”
Garrosh smiled and nodded. Indeed, that was the orcish way.Chapter 5
Garrosh pulled his hood over his head, grunting in slight irritation at the pouring rain. Still, the fortress of Theramore seemed just as formidable in the rain as it did in fair weather, and he knew better than to let his guard down over a little drizzle. He grunted again as a thunderclap echoed menacingly through the stone walls of the keep.
“An inauspicious start to your summit…” he nodded to Thrall.
“This is merely a storm, Garrosh,” Thrall assured him. “Not some portent of disaster,” he added, turning his attention to the human sorceress approaching them.
“Thrall, I’m glad you’ve come!” she called out, taking Thrall’s hands in her own. “Though I’m amazed you can walk, for bearing the weight of so many weapons…” she chuckled, glancing behind him at the heavily armed guards unloading the zeppelin.
“What point in having a ceremonial laying down of arms, Jaina, if there are no arms to lay down?” Thrall chuckled in response as he regarded the human.
“And you’ve brought Kor’kron bodyguards?” Jaina asked, a slightly nervous look on her face.
“For demonstration purposes only,” Thrall nodded with a smile. “Once this ceremony is complete, they’ll return to Orgrimmar,” he paused. “A show of force never goes amiss, as you well know.”
“You and Varian think much alike,” Jaina laughed. “His crew is bristling with blades. It seems we’ve already found one thing on which you agree,” she nodded, turning to the tall human and his company walking towards them.
“Thrall, Warchief of the Horde,” Jaina nodded respectfully as she gestured to the human, “may I present Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind,” she finished, allowing the two leaders time to size each other up. “I have invited you here to peacefully discuss your differences with an eye toward mutual gain. It is not time to lay down our weapons and enter Theramore Keep.”
Garrosh grunted suspiciously and glanced back toward the Warchief and the human.
“Father…” a smaller human—who Garrosh correctly assumed to be the prince—nodded. “Lord Thrall…” he paused again. “For the duration of our summit… peace!” the prince finished, laying down his bow.
“Ha!” Thrall grinned. “It seems there is a diplomat amongst us after all,” he nodded, laying down the Doomhammer and turning back to the prince. “What is your name, my young diplomat?”
“I am Anduin, my lord. Son of Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind,” the prince answered.
“Then lead on, Anduin, son of Varian Wrynn,” Thrall nodded with a hearty smile, “and we will follow.”
“Hmmph…” Garrosh grunted. “The prince shows respect for orcs. A healthy trait and a sign of wisdom. But only time will tell if the heart of a warrior or the heart of a noble beats within him…” he thought.
“My lords,” Jaina was saying. “Trusted guards will carry your weapons out of the rain, into the armory where they will be well cared for. Now come inside! The feast is waiting!”
Garrosh grit his teeth in mistrust as he watched human guards carry away his weapons, but said nothing. If they did decide to betray the trust of the Warchief, he would be ready. They might have had Thrall fooled, but Garrosh knew better than to let his guard down. Already he had spotted several guards that were tired and lethargic from the storm. An easy source of weapons, if the need came.
The group entered the keep and immediately moved to the feasting hall, where an elaborate display of food was laid out. Garrosh immediately sat down and pried a leg off of some manner of roasted bird, tearing at the flesh with his teeth and swallowing it mostly whole. Thrall grunted with an air of slight disapproval and took his seat next to the Mag’har, taking a plate and piling it high with foods of various types.
“I see that the humans of Theramore have not lost their good taste,” Thrall chuckled, taking his knife and beginning to cut apart his meat, before finally moving the bite to his mouth with a pewter fork.
“Hmmm… Fork…” Garrosh thought, regarding the word with discomfort and slight disdain. “A human tool,” he mused, glancing down at his own before taking another bite from his drumstick.
Rehgar glanced over at Garrosh, his enmity barely concealed beneath a façade of politeness, before preparing his own plate and beginning to eat.
Soon, they had all eaten their fill and the servants had taken the remainders away. Garrosh couldn’t help but wonder what would be done with the leftovers. He wondered how many orcs were hungry and cold now, while the humans hid away in their castles and squandered their food.
“So you see, Thrall,” Jaina began as the last of the food was taken away, “before the previous summit, Varian was kidnapped and ensorcelled…”
“It is clear, Valeera, that you and Lo’gosh have come up in the world…” Rehgar interrupted. “While your winnings made me rich, when Lo’gosh and Broll escaped, I realized my heart was with them instead of the profit I could have made from their service,” he nodded. “At that moment, I knew I had had my fill of the Crimson Ring. I chose, instead, to offer my services to Thrall.”
“Humpf…” Garrosh grunted. Earthfury was not in service to the Warchief. He was the Warchief’s pet. He had probably been outed as a slave master and now doted on the Warchief in exchange for pardon.
“You let them escape…” an elf—presumably Valeera—was saying. “But you sold me! Why?”
“Have you forgotten already?” Rehgar answered. “You and Broll fought constantly. Then Helka offered a fortune for you…” he paused, tapping on his tusk thoughtfully. “…and offered you leadership of her group—a role you were well quited for,” he nodded. “It was a kind of advancement. But I see you, too, chose… a new career path…” he paused, thinking of something else. “Where is Broll?”
“The champions you created stayed together,” Varian answered. “He and Valeera helped me kill the dragon Onyxia…”
Garrosh suddenly turned his attention to the human. He had slain the Broodmother of the Black Flight? He had heard legends of the great black wyrm that lived in the swamp here, but had paid little heed. That a mere human could slay her was impressive, even to him.
“Now he’s returned to Teldrassil, on urgent business,” Varian finished.
“I, too, was once a gladiatior… owned, in my youth, by one of king Terenas’ subjects in Lordaeron,” Thrall replied. “I, too, escaped and became a ruler of my people. I imagine we also share a dislike of slavery.”
Garrosh scowled, remembering the stories he had heard of his people here. Captured, beaten, enslaved… Well… Except for his father.
He smiled slightly, and turned his attention back to the conversation.
“Slavery is wrong,” Varian was saying. “But Broll, Valeera and I did learn to fight as a team. It was us against the world.”
“Even when you didn’t know your true identity, your body had not forgotten how to fight,” Rehgar smiled.
The elf began speaking with Earthfury and Varian, recollecting matches that Garrosh cared little about. He sat frustrated in his seat as his listened to them ramble.
“We orcs have found a homeland on Kalimdor across the sea from the Eastern Kingdoms,” Thrall was saying. “But we lack certain resources.”
Garrosh’s ears perked up. This was why he had come.
“We are engaged in constant conflict with the night elves over the felling of trees for timber,” Thrall continued. “You can only build so much out of sand and mud.”
“Our merchants might be glad to trade their timber. What can you offer in return?” Varian answered.
“We have large copper deposits near Orgrimmar, and exotic hides from the creatures that roam the Barrens,” Thrall answered.
“Bah…” Garrosh grumbled. The Orcs couldn’t afford to give up any more. The copper was needed for weapons and armor, and the hides kept his people warm.
“A discussion fit for merchants,” he grumbled absently. “Why should we orcs make concessions when we have the strength to take what we want?”
“But, sir,” the human prince interjected, “why waste your warriors and resources in battle when a few words will bring you greater profit?”
“Well said, young prince,” Thrall nodded.
Garrosh sighed, but said nothing. The prince was right. There was a time for diplomacy. Sometimes, words were more useful than blades. But the Alliance could not be trusted. They would never give enough. This ‘peace’ that had been set up was starving his people. The Alliance was using this peace to withhold resources that the orcs needed, and the orcs would never get what was fair.
Yes, words were useful in a conflict where ones opponent plays by the rules. But when your opponent plays unfairly, what choice does one have?
Garrosh remained mostly silent for the rest of the meeting. Thrall and the human king agreed to meet again to better negotiate trade, and there was talk of a firmer peace treaty. Mere pieces of paper as far as Garrosh was concerned.
“At least the rain has stopped,” Varian nodded, stepping out of the keep. “But I may have to cut short our summit, Thrall. I just received word of simultaneous Scourge attacks on Southshore and Goldshire in Stormwind.”
“Yes,” Thrall nodded. “the Lich King has stirred, and now begins a new campaign again the living. I’ve already begun to send a few ships to Northrend…” he paused. “It would be good to have some level of cooperation between our peoples before we face this common enemy. Neither of us wants to fight a war on two fronts.”
“Indeed, you’re right,” Varian answered. “Perhaps it is time that the Horde and Alliance made a lasting p—”
“Varian! Thrall! Above you! Look out!” Valeera screamed.
Suddenly, a massive wyvern bore down upon the two leaders, a green-skinned female figure atop it.
Chapter 6
“Down! Now—” Valeera yelled, tackling Varian to remove him from the beast’s path. She winced with pain as the assassin caught her shoulder with her blade. Behind her swooped in dozens more of her comrades.
“Guard Anduin!” Varian ordered, picking himself up off the ground.
“With my life,” Valeera swore. “Who are these assassins?”
“Hmmmph…” Varian grunted grimly, looking at the orc riding the leonine wyvern, staggering hatred clear on his face, though he said nothing more.
Thrall and Rehgar immediately sprung into action, unleashing the power of the elements on their attackers, while Garrosh caught a dwarf off of a large bat, killing it quickly with his bare hands and arming himself with his foe’s weapon, a massive axe, crude, but a weapon nonetheless.
“Human treachery!” Garrosh yelled, kicking the body of the human he had just felled.
“Have you no eyes, Garrosh? There are plenty of Tauren, Orcs, and Trolls!” Valeera retorted.
“Hired by the human king to bring death to out own!” Garrosh snarled, striking another human. “Just as the elder Proudmoore attacked our Warchief under the guise of peace, so too does this king! They are all the same!” he snarled as he ripped a gnome from its flying machine.
“Just as I anticipated…” Garrosh thought as he hacked clean through an oncoming wyvern and quickly dispatched its rider. “Bah… Let them come. Perhaps now the Warchief will see…” he thought with a grunt. He smiled slightly as a human rushed at him from the left. He quickly caught up a large hammer in his off-hand and struck the attacked across the face with it, grinning as the human sailed backward through the air. “Die, scum!” he added, turning his attention to a nearby troll, who he happily bashed with the backswing.
Suddenly, the battle was over. The assassins were retreating. All except for one.
“It makes no sense, Varian…” Valeera was saying. “Why would the undead witch abandon the assassin but take her son?”
“No matter,” Garrosh chuckled, hefting his axe up and moving towards the female orc. “The assassin will not live for long…”
Suddenly, he found himself stuck in place, frozen in his tracks by an icy spell.
“Stay your hand!” Jaina Proudmoore cried. “The attack is over! The enemy is vanquished! And I am still the ruler of Theramore!” she paused, aggressively pulling her hair out of her eyes. “Garona is my prisoner. Guards, take her to the dungeon and prepare her for questioning!”
“A wise move,” Varian nodded. “Garrosh means to dispatch the b*tch before she implicates his master! Clearly the orcs are in league with my father’s murderer!”
Garrosh snapped his head in the human king’s direction. How dare he? To not only hire these assassins to kill him and his Warchief, but then to suggest that it was the orcs doing? “For that offense, human, you will die!” he snarled, charging at the king.
Thrall was quick to intervene.
“You forget yourself, Garrosh!” he growled. “Despite this carnage--and the insult given to our people--there is still a truce! Lower your weapon,” he demanded. “Now.”
Garrosh growled angrily and shot the human king a bitter glance, but obliged.
“Battle rage is still on you and the others,” he nodded. “None of you are thinking clearly,” he added, turning to Varian. “We, too, were attacked!”
“The prisoner is the orc assassin Garona,” Varian spat, “who murdered my father. I claim her for public execution at Stormwind.”
“I suppose we all look alive to you!” Thrall growled angrily. “Perhaps I was wrong to expect better from a human. Look again, and pay attention this time. The female is but a half-orc at best--”
“Full or half, and is orc an orc,” Varian sneered. “None of your blood can be trusted.”
“Back off, both of you!” Jaina demanded. “Whatever her birth, for some unknown reason, Garona has been ensorcelled and abandoned here!” she paused. “Until we know the reasons, she is my prisoner and will remain here at Theramore!”
“The guilt of you humans is obvious!” Garrosh retorted. “You protect the prisoner! You lured Thrall in a situation where he’s unarmed and threatened!” he paused, turning to Thrall. “Stormwind is behind this… with Theramore as their ally!”
“Had I planned this attack,” Varian chuckled grimly, “you orcs would be lying dead on the parapets,” he grimaced. “I’ll question her myself. Before I leave for Stormwind, I will get to the bottom of this.”
Garrosh snarled as the king walked away, but turned back to Thrall. “I told you,” he grunted angrily, before returning back toward the zeppelin. Thrall sighed and shook his head.
Garrosh waited aboard the zeppelin, and soon they were departing once more.
“As I have said, Thrall,” Garrosh grunted. “You cannot trust the humans. They are weak, and cowardly, and will not hesitate to resort to dishonorable methods to get what they want.”
“You’re wrong, Garrosh,” Thrall sighed. “I do not know how to make you see it, but not all humans are that way. I have known humans with the strength and honor of ten orcs, and I have known humans as low and scum-like as the most detestable warlock. They cannot be generalized as you do.”
Garrosh shook his head in sad frustration. “There may be the rare human that we can trust,” he paused. “The truly exceptional few… but as a whole, we cannot trust them. It will only hurt our people. They understand only force from us, and so that is what we must use to protect ourselves.”
Thrall sighed and looked out over the water.
“He doesn’t understand,” thought Garrosh. “His judgment is clouded by his human indoctrination.”
He looked down at his palms. He knew. He knew what needed to be done. Just as his father had known
Chapter 7
“I think you should really take a moment and think about what you are saying,” Dranosh Saurfang nodded. “Mak’gora is a very serious thing. Not only do you risk upsetting the very delicate political balance that Thrall has brought about, but also you risk your own shame and banishment.”
“I know, Dranosh, I know…” Garrosh shook his head. “But I see no other way. I merely seek to do what is best for my people.”
“As do we all,” Dranosh nodded. “At least, most of us…” he shook his head, “but you’ve not been here a full year, and already you seek to make changes that may or may not need to be made. I think that we should be a little more patient. Those such as us are not equipped to handle the heavy burden of inter-faction politics. We are warriors, you and I. Thrall is a politician, and he may very well know better in those matters.”
Garrosh shook his head, but grunted in agreement
“Perhaps you are right, Dranosh,” he nodded. “It pains me, though, to see our people so far from where they should be. Our people deserve better than this, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would,” Dranosh nodded. “No orc should have to watch their children go hungry, this is true. However, we are only a part of this world. There are many other peoples on Azeroth, and they deserve no less than us. We cannot merely take what we desire.”
“But think of the beast,” Garrosh nodded. “The wolf pack. They will not hesitate to kill the talbuk to feed their cubs. It is not out of malice to the talbuk, but rather out of necessity for survival. It is nature’s way. If war must be made to keep our race alive, then we must not hesitate to take up the cup of war.”
“All I ask is that you wait a little while further, Garrosh,” Dranosh nodded. “You do not yet know if what you speak of is necessary or not.”
“So be it,“ Garrosh nodded. “You have stayed my hand, at least for now. I thank you for the honor of your counsel.”
“The honor is mine, Hellscream,” Dranosh nodded with a smile. “I am glad to help a friend.”
Garrosh smiled and left the hall, and was surprised to find a wolf-mounted orc riding towards him. The wolf appeared to be on the brink of exhaustion and the orc had air of urgency about him.
“Lord Hellscream!” the orc called out. “The Crossroads is under attack!”
“What?” Garrosh barked, his eyes widening in surprise. “By whom? The Alliance?”
“Nay, Lord Hellscream,” the orc answered. “On of our patrols past the town did not return as scheduled, and so my company went to investigate. When we arrived, we found the whole town taken over by undead. Fresh undead. Horde. We helped the survivors escape to Far Watch Post, but there were too many to take by ourselves,” he nodded. “Reports indicate that it is not localized to Crossroads either. Camp Taurajo has also reported a smaller infection. We have not yet heard back from Ratchet.”
“Did you warn Thrall?” Garrosh asked.
“Yes, someone has already been sent to the Warchief,” the orc nodded. “He is assembling a retaliatory force now.”
“Very well,” Garrosh nodded. “I will join them. I am interested in knowing what the undead are doing so far from any known Scourge-controlled land. I will take Dranosh and a full platoon of raiders,” he finished. “You’ve done good, brother,” he added. “Get yourself and your wolf some water.”
Garrosh quickly informed Dranosh of the situation and they both immediately mounted their wolves and rode to the Valley of Wisdom.
“Ah, excellent timing, Garrosh,” Thrall nodded as the two Mag‘har rode up. With him were Vol‘jin, Varok Saurfang, Eitrigg, and Rehgar Earthfury. “I was just about to send for you.”
“Indeed,” Garrosh nodded. “Let us be off, then. We must not waste time.”
“Agreed,” Thrall nodded, mounting his wolf, Snowsong.
The trip was long, but they finally arrived at the Crossroads, where scores of undead orcs, trolls, and tauren lumbered about.
“By the Ancestors,” Garrosh spat. “So many… Lost…”
“Indeed,” Dranosh nodded. “Let us at least give them the peace of death.”
Varok Saurfang was the first to charge, leaping from his wolf and immediately cutting through a half-dozen zombies. Thrall followed the High Overlord’s attack with a burst of chain lightning that jumped through the crowd of undead. Soon, they were all boiled in combat with their reanimated foes.
Garrosh hacked apart a female orc, blood and gore covering his armor and skin, before setting into another. “By the spirits… Where did they come from?”
“Plagued food, I would wager,” Thrall nodded as he set a large group of undead aflame. “That is what happened to Lordaeron in the Third War.”
“But where is the source?” Rehgar asked, hurling a lightning bolt at a particularly large tauren zombie.
“Well, we don’t know that yet,” Thrall nodded, bashing in the skull of a ghoul. “I have already ordered that no food be consumed without a shaman’s inspection, but that could take days to spread to the whole Horde.”
Finally, the last zombie had been killed, and what remained of the Horde forces took a short respite.
“Huh…” Garrosh nodded, examining a crate inside he inn. “These crates bear the markings of Booty Bay. Could the goblins be working with the Scourge?”
“While possible, I would not say that it is likely,” Thrall nodded. “Some goblins will do anything for money, but even the stupidest goblin knows that delivering plagued grain will kill your business. Quite literally, in fact.”
“I see,” Garrosh nodded. “Then who is to blame?”
“The Scourge, certainly,” Thrall nodded. “I suspect that their cultists are to blame. Using Booty Bay as a distributor, they must be sending the grain out.”
“Then we must cut off trade with Booty Bay,” Garrosh answered.
“Indeed, it seems we must. At least for the time being,” Thrall nodded. “I sense that this is not the end, however.”
“Agreed,” Garrosh nodded. “As you recall, the human king also spoke of Scourge attacks.”
“Let us hope that we are wrong,” Dranosh added.
Chapter 8
Garrosh piled the last corpse on the pile outside of Orgrimmar. It was unsanitary to leave them within the city, and thus they had to be moved. He shook his head in sadness and frustration as the pile was set alight.
The last few days had been hard. The infected grain had been distributed in Orgrimmar without the Warchief’s authorization. It was against Horde law, but people were hungry, and willing to risk it for cheap food. The following plague was so terrible that the Horde had been forced to ask the aid of the Argent Dawn to control its spread. The majority of the plague had been brought under control within Orgrimmar, but the surrounding land was not so lucky. The Barrens and the other surrounding lands were teeming with undead, and the Horde was stretched thin in its defense. As soon as one settlement was cleared, another would ask for help on the other side of the world. Finally, a brilliant Forsaken Apothecary had discovered a cure. Now the Horde and Alliance both were working to cleanse their lands of the remaining undead, but it was not an easy task.
“Blasted Lich King…” Garrosh thought bitterly, walking back within Orgrimmar. “He has engaged a war with the Horde. Soon he will learn that no king can threaten our people with impunity. I will etch that message into his skull myself.”
He walked past his clan, the Warsong, ready at his orders for war. He could see the looks on their faces, thirsty for vengeance. Many had lost their families and friends. They all looked to him for leadership, to let them loose against their enemy. And he would do it. He would take them to Northrend, and their enemy would suffer.
He continued walking to the Ring of Valor, where Thrall was speaking with High Overlord Saurfang and the Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner.
“Thrall!” he called out, before realizing that it was improper for him to address the Warchief by name, even though he was a chieftain himself. “Warchief… your armies await your command. Let me lead them to Northrend to remove this undead menace! “
“Yes, Thrall,” Sylvanas agreed. Garrosh ground his teeth together in irritation. She knew nothing of the orcish ways. “The time has come to kill Arthas. You can take my grand apothecary with you,” she nodded, a small, bitter, smile on her face as she gestured at the Forsaken next to her. “His knowledge will be invaluable against whatever the Scourge will throw at you.”
“It would be an honor, Dark Lady,” the Apothecary answered, a subtle bitterness in his own voice.
“What say you, Saurfang?” Thrall asked, turning to his favorite advisor. Garrosh regarded the old orc. He certainly reminded him of his old friend, in body and in spirit. Just the little things about his attitude were a mirror of Dranosh.
“Warchief, it is clear that Northrend represents the gravest threat to our people, and that we must act against it,” the High Overlord answered, shifting his grip on his axe.
“My soul burns for revenge,” Thrall confessed, “but the elements tell me to think clearly. The Lich King is a ruthless opponent...one who must be handled carefully,” he nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “We will send scouts to assess the situation. I will also convene with the Lady Proudmoore and see what plans the Alliance has.”
“Gragh!” Garrosh spat. This was too much. The Lich King would not wait patiently while Thrall visited the humans again. “I cannot take this! While you talk and deliberate, our enemies grow stronger! Were it my choice, I would have put all our available forces onto that frozen rock and conquered it for the Horde!”
“If this is a trap, it is one I will not blindly walk into! Do not make the same mistakes as your father, Garrosh!” Thrall snapped.
Garrosh stood there a moment, his mouth hanging open.
“After all that he did for YOU and YOUR people?” he snarled, pausing a moment and recalling Dranosh’s words. Now it was time. “MAK'GORA!”
“You challenge me boy? I don't have time for this.…” Thrall shook his head in anger and disappointment.
“So you refuse? Is the son of Durotan a coward?” Garrosh smiled, goading the Warchief on. He would not let Thrall back down on this one.
“Inside!” Thrall roared in indignation.
Garrosh grinned and rushed inside the Ring, gripping his axes tightly in anticipation.
“Let's finish this quickly,” Thrall spat angrily.
“You duties as Warchief can wait. For now... we fight!” Garrosh answered. “You know the rules. No magic. We fight this orc against orc,” he called out.
“Agreed,” Thrall nodded angrily, holding the Doomhammer tightly.
Garrosh stood a moment, waiting for an attack, but finally gave in and charged at the Warchief.
Thrall grinned, and stepped aside, planting the Doomhammer directly in Garrosh’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The Mag’har coughed and snarled, quickly catching his breath and leaping at Thrall, axes high. Thrall swung his hammer in a wide arc in response, knocking aside the twin axes with its massive head.
Garrosh growled, unable to get a clear hit in. Thrall had already hit him. If he was to win, he would have to hurt Thrall soon, or he would tire out first. He ducked under a swing of the mighty Doomhammer, grinning as he planted his axe blade in the thick wood of the hammer’s handle, and quickly brought his other axe down on Thrall’s arm, between the plates of his armor. Perfect. The heavy hammer would be even more difficult to direct with an injured arm.
“GYAH!” Thrall hissed in anger and pain as he stepped back a moment, hefting his hammer up in a defensive stance to make up for his injury.
“So, son of Durotan, what--”
Suddenly, a cold, thin voice carried through the air, loud, but drenched in death. “PUPS OF ORGRIMMAR! HEAR ME, BRASH UPSTARTS OF THE HORDE! TREMBLE, AND KNOW YOUR DOOM, FOR THE LICH KING'S GAZE IS FIXED UPON YOU!”
“Warchief! Scourge forces are attacking Orgrimmar!” High Overlord Saurfang cried, rushing outside.
“We will finished this later, son of Grom,” Thrall growled, rushing back up the steps of the Ring to where the voice came from. Garrosh followed, furious that the Scourge would interrupt, let alone dare to attack his city.
Outside, dozens of Frostwyrms flew overhead, and Saurfang and Sylvanas were both busy cutting down even more undead abominations. Garrosh was quick to join in the combat, cutting down any of the undead in his path. Soon, piles of decrepit undead flesh lay at his feet. He wiped the fetid gore off his face and continued fighting.
Almost an hour they fought, until finally the last enemy fell.
“ARGH! THIS SMALL VICTORY WILL AVAIL YOU NOTHING! COME! COME TO NORTHREND. MY MINIONS ARE WAITING, AND THEY ARE HUNGRY.…” the disembodied voice cried, before fading at last.
“Well, Warchief?” Garrosh panted, while a Warsong shaman tended to his wounds. “What say you now? Will you send me to Northrend?”
“Saurfang…” Thrall sighed, turning to his advisor with a weary expression.
“Yes, Warchief?” the High Overlord answered quietly.
“Contact our goblin shipwrights,” Thrall nodded. “The Horde prepares for war!”
“As you command, Warchief!” Saurfang answered, mounting his wolf and riding away.
“Excellent…” Sylvanas smiled with the same bitter smile. “Most excellent.”
Garrosh smiled tiredly. It hadn’t happened exactly as he would have liked, but he was at least going to lead his people to victory.
Chapter 9
Garrosh’s ship beached itself on the shore, followed by dozens others. Garrosh quickly disembarked, leaping over the side and onto the sand while the others waited for the gangplank to be dropped.
“Do you see this land, Saurfang?” he asked, the older orc walking behind him. “All of this will belong to the Horde one day. The Lich King has begun a war with us, and so he will fall. As all who oppose the Horde will fall. And it shall be glorious.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, young Hellscream,” Varok Saurfang nodded, looking into the distance. “Do you smell that? There is death on the air. The Scourge infest this land, and conquering them will not be easy. We must take this one step at a time, or we will fall, and with us, all of Azeroth. We must be careful. Methodical. Unerring.”
“Of course it will not be easy,” Garrosh retorted, turning and watching as siege engines and other tools were unloaded from the ships. “Nothing worth having is easy. But while it may be difficult, I am confident that we will exceed and overcome anything that the Scourge can throw at us. We are the Horde. Nothing can stand in our way.”
Saurfang paused and looked into the horizon, composing his thoughts. “The Horde is great,” he nodded, rubbing his chin. “But it is made great by great people. Thrall, your father, Doomhammer… They have all shaped the Horde into what it is today. But we must not take victory as a given, nor may we let our guard down. Even Doomhammer was brought to his knees by a mistake in judgment. The Horde is not invincible. It is only as strong as its people.”
“Our people are strong!” Garrosh answered, pounding his fist against his chest. “You underestimate your own kind!”
“Perhaps,” Saurfang answered with a small shrug, turning back to Garrosh. “But I would much rather underestimate our forces and come into a slow and cautious victory than overestimate them and see them ruined.”
Garrosh grunted, beginning to grasp the wisdom in the elder orcs words. “Perhaps…” he paused, looking over the fleet. “But still… We will defeat the Lich King. This I know as surely as I live and breathe. Even if he is stronger, we have will. Our will to survive, to overcome, to be victorious no matter the odds… This is something that our enemy lacks. This human prince knows nothing of our people’s hardships, what we have survived. And we will continue to survive.”
Saurfang smiled slightly. “That we shall, young Hellscream,” he nodded, before noticing that his son was disembarking from a newly arrived ship.
“Greetings Father; Garrosh,” Dranosh smiled, inhaling deeply. “The Scourge is near.”
“Indeed,” Garrosh nodded, turning back to the wide landscape of tundra. “I would wager that they have a small force beyond that hill, but I cannot be certain by smell alone,” he paused, snapping his fingers and turning to a tauren woman that was tending a wyvern. “Turida!” he called out, “I wish for you to take a company of windriders and go scout out the surrounding area. Report to me any Scourge that you see.”
The tauren saluted and began assembling her group of windriders.
“Now, let us begin assembling a camp, and then we can begin work on a more permanent base,” Garrosh nodded, watching as one of his peonmasters began ordering the construction of a camp. “Excellent. I think that hill right there would serve as a good spot for a keep. It looks like there is solid stone there, which would make a good foundation, and can also be quarried for use in construction.”
“I agree,” Dranosh affirmed. “I think the main structure should be composed of iron. We have brought a great deal of raw iron with us, as you know, and this land looks fertile for mining. An iron fortress would be far more difficult to assail than one of stone, and that is an important factor in the composition of our primary base.”
“Indeed,” Garrosh agreed. “We shall create a fortress that even the Scourge fear. It shall be called Warsong Hold.”
Chapter 10
“Here,” Garrosh nodded, pointing to a spot on the map laid out before him. “Agmar, you shall spearhead the assault on the Dragonblight. The Kor’kron respect you, as do I. I want you to establish a base there, roughly… here,” he paused, pointing to a large area to the western side of the draconic graveyard known as the Dragonblight. “Our Forsaken allies shall take the east, and we shall hold the area in a vice as we close in on the gate to Icecrown,” he grinned.
He paused again, looking back at the map of Northrend.
“Krenna,” he smiled, looking over to the grizzled female. “I have an excellent task for you.”
“What are your commands, lord Hellscream?” Krenna grinned, cracking her knuckles and regarding the large Mag’har.
“You shall take the Grizzly Hills,” Garrosh answered, gesturing to the map. “The area is rich in lumber and other resources. Fuel for the war machine. Scouts have reported a local population of humans. I trust that you can handle them?” he nodded with a wide grin.
“Certainly, my lord,” Krenna answered, smiling brightly herself.
Garrosh nodded with approval and turned to Korm.
“Korm,” he paused, looking respectfully into the older orcs eyes. “We have a great airship in production. The finest Azeroth has ever seen. It’s name alone will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. Orgrim’s Hammer…” he smiled, savoring the words. “And just as its namesake shatters the bones of our enemies, so shall the Hammer shatter the bones of Icecrown. From henceforth, you shall be Sky-Reaver Korm Blackscar!” Garrosh finished fervently, letting the announcement sink into the old orc. “You shall represent our own clan as you rain terror down upon the enemies of the Horde. You shall represent the Horde everywhere! Can I trust you with this task?”
“Of course, my lord,” Korm smiled, beating his chestplate in salute.
“Excellent,” Garrosh smiled, turning finally to his friend and counsel, Dranosh Saurfang. “And you…” he paused again, laying his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You shall have the greatest honor of all. It will be you who leads our people through the very gates of Icecrown. It shall be you who leads the Horde to our glorious victory. I am giving you leadership of the final assault on the Lich King’s kingdom. You will strike him down, and you will earn your place besides your father and uncle in our songs.”
Dranosh was speechless. Finally, he smiled and nodded to his friend.
“I shall do no less!” he answered, pounding his chest in salute. “But the glory will be yours my friend,” he smiled, clasping Garrosh’s hand. “For though I will lead the assault, I am merely a commander. It will be you who have taken this land for the Horde. The glory of Hellscream will live again. This I swear,” he nodded, looking his peer in the eye. “Now… I must tell my father the glorious news. I am eternally in your debt, my friend,” he finished, turning to find his father.
Garrosh smiled and looked back down at the map
Chapter 11
Garrosh paced back and forth inside Warsong Hold. This task was proving to be far more work than he had anticipated. He had expected simply to lead the army in battle for a decisive victory against the Lich King, but it seemed he now only waged war against the ever growing stack of paperwork that his commanders sent him.
“Overlord Hellscream,” Varok Saurfang announced.
Garosh frowned. Saurfang had been testing his patience lately. Of all those stationed at the Hold, only Saurfang was his equal. It wasn’t right. He was a chieftain. Saurfang wasn’t. They should not be equals. All orcs save the Warchief himself bowed to him, except Saurfang. He was the father of his friend, but Dranosh respected his power and decisions. Varok seemed only to lecture.
“What is it?” the Mag’har grumbled. He hoped that the old orc would finish quickly and leave him alone.
“We are surrounded... Our enemies press in from all sides, young Hellscream. The Scourge descends like locust from the north,” the elder orc began, looking down at the map at their feet. “The Alliance holds the only secure shipping lane in this region and even that is at risk of being lost to those dreaded mists. Our only viable port for resupply is held by the Forsaken on the other side of this blasted continent! Anything our zeppelins cannot haul must be brought in by ship and travel the length of Northrend to reach us,” Saurfang finished.
Garrosh grunted in annoyed amusement.
“Shipping lanes... supplies... You bore me to death!” he laughed, looking the older orc in the eye. “We need nothing more than the warrior spirit of the Horde, Saurfang! Now that we are firmly entrenched in this frozen wasteland, nothing shall stop us!”
“Siege engines, ammunition, heavy armor... How do you propose to shatter the walls of Icecrown without those?” Varok asked calmly, not raising his voice.
“Propose? I will show you what I propose!” Garrosh laughed, stomping on the small wooden flag representing the Alliance’s base at Valiance Keep. “There... Now we now have a shipping lane,” he laughed, spitting on the broken flag. “And just for good measure...” he grinned, snapping the other flag at Valgarde.
“So the prodigal son has spoken!” Varok grunted, his annoyance beginning to show through. “Your father's blood runs strong in you, Hellscream. Impatient as always... Impatient and reckless. You rush headlong into all-out war without a thought of the consequences.”
Garrosh frowned angrily. “Do not speak to me of consequences, old one,” he answered bitterly.
“I drank of the same blood your father did, Garrosh,” Varok continued, a mixture of anger and pain in his voice. “Mannoroth's cursed venom pumped through my veins as well. I drove my weapons into the bodies and minds of my enemies. And while Grom died a glorious death - freeing us all from the blood curse - he could not wipe away the terrible memory of our past...” he paused, an intense sadness washing over his face as he closed his eyes. “His act could not erase the horrors we committed...” he finished quietly.
“The winter after the curse was lifted, hundreds of veteran orcs like me were lost to despair,” he nodded, opening his eyes, though they seemed lost in another time. “Our minds were finally free, yes... Free to relive all of the unthinkable acts that we had performed under the Legion's influence,” he paused again, nodding his head in recollection.
“I think it was the sounds of the draenei children that unnerved most of them... You never forget...” he shook his head, looking up to Garrosh. “Have you ever been to Jaggedswine Farm? When the swine are of age for the slaughter... It's that sound. The sound of the swine being killed... It resonates the loudest,” he nodded, closing his eyes. “Those are hard times for us older veterans.”
Garrosh said nothing at first, somewhat stunned by what Saurfang had said. What would his father say in response?
“But surely you cannot think that those children were born into innocence? They would have grown up and taken arms against us!” he finally replied, confident that he had poked a hole in the elder orc’s argument.
Varok merely shook his head. “I am not speaking solely of the children of our enemies...” he answered quietly, looking down at the ground in thought. “I won't let you take us down that dark path again, young Hellscream. I'll kill you myself before that day comes...” he finally finished, his voice clear that he meant what he said.
“How have you managed to survive for so long, Saurfang? Not fallen victim to your own memories?” Garrosh asked, irritated again.
“I don't eat pork...” Saurfang answered, spitting on the ground and turning to return to his chambers.
“Hmmph...” Garrosh grumbled, thinking on what to do.
Chapter 1
“Hmm...”
The brown skinned orc stepped off the ship, many of his people following behind him. The red land was strange, and it was far more similar to the peninsula of Hellfire than the rolling grasslands of Nagrand.
“This is Durotar?” he asked, somewhat confused. “Why must our people live in such a harsh land?”
“It is good land,” the nearby commander nodded happily. “Harsh, yes, but strong. Like our people.”
“Hmm...” Garrosh nodded. “I understand.”
He waited for his companion to disembark. Another orc, of bistre skin tone and bare-chested, shortly descended the gangplank.
“Durotar? he asked, looking around. “The land of our people.”
Garrosh nodded. “They say it is a strong land,” he smiled. “A fitting land for our people.”
“Indeed,” Dranosh nodded. “It is not Nagrand...” he paused, looking up at the red sky, “but no other land is. Our people will thrive in whatever land they dwell. Durotar is a good land.”
“It certainly is,” Garrosh nodded. “Come. Let us make way to the city of Orgrimmar. I would like to see the remains of this... Mannoroth that my father slew. Thrall says that they have mounted his skull and armor near the entrance to the Great Hall...” he nodded, smiling.
“I would enjoy seeing it as well,” Dranosh agreed. “Never again shall the Horde be enslaved. Your father died with honor, perhaps the greatest honor an orc will ever know.”
“Yes,” Garrosh nodded happily. “An orc like no other. It is an honor to be his son.”
“That it is,” Dranosh nodded. “I look forward to meeting my father, as well. They say he is the Warchief's right hand. I cannot wait to see him for myself, to speak with he who's blood runs in my veins.”
“I was told he led the charge against some sort of god on this world," Garrosh added. “If this is true, then he must truly be an amazing warrior.”
“Indeed,” Dranosh nodded. “It will be good to see warriors amongst the orcs again. I do not wish to be helpless any longer.”
“Me neither,” Garrosh nodded, his face drawn into a serious expression. “For a long time I was weakened by the pox and useless to defend Garadar. And then I was too depressed to be of any use. I blame myself for that. But no more. From now on, I will fight to keep my people safe. No member of the Horde will go hungry as long as I still draw breath.”
“Well said,” Dranosh nodded.
They continued walking, many Mag'har behind them along with several of Thrall's escorts, walking north towards Razor Hill.
“What is that?” Garrosh asked, gesturing to a stone tower rising in the east, near the coast. “That doesn't not look like Orcish construction.”
“I am not sure,” Dranosh nodded. “Commander Agmar?”
“Hmm... That is Tiragarde Keep,” the orcish commander nodded. “Built by the humans. Only a few years ago they tried to wipe Orgrimmar off the map.”
“Have they been disposed of?” Garrosh asked, surprised. He had heard of the humans, and even seen several fighting for the Alliance in Halaa, but he hadn't expected them to be actively attacking his people on their own soil.
“Mostly,” Agmar grunted. “Lieutenant Benedict was commanding this one, but ships keep coming from ancestors know where...” he paused, listening for a moment. “There's one now, it seems.”
Garrosh peered out onto the water where he could just make out two ships engaging in cannon fire, one bearing a great resemblance to Horde design, but the other seeming far more foreign.
“The... humans, they attack us on our own lands? Why?” Garrosh asked. “I thought the warchief had established a truce of some sort?”
“Bah...” Agmar grunted. “These humans care nothing for truce or ceasefire. Their... Adrimal, or Amdiral, or Admiral... Whatever they called him... He tried to lure our Warchief into a trap through dishonesty and deceit. He was a coward. These humans care nothing for honor.”
Dranosh scowled. “Perhaps we should not judge the entire race by the actions of a single group,” he pondered aloud. “After all, if we were to judge the entire orcish race by the likes of Gul'dan...” he paused, looking to Garrosh.
“Perhaps you are right,” Garrosh nodded, tapping his chin. “Still... We have a right to defend ourselves. I hope the humans learn soon that it is unwise to cross the Horde.”
“Agreed,” Dranosh nodded. “Let us continue on. Orgimmar is close, is it not, Commander?”
“Just beyond this canyon,” Agmar nodded, still scowling.
Chapter 2
It had been seven months since Garrosh had arrived in Orgrimmar. The human tower built on the orcs’ land had bothered him, and he had been relieved when it was finally demolished. But still, the humans had attacked them on their own land already. He didn’t trust that they wouldn’t try again.
He had learned so much in the past months. The orcs had been imprisoned, enslaved, beaten… for fourteen years. The Warchief Thrall had been forced to fight for the humans’ amusement and beaten to unconsciousness at their cruel hands. They had even followed the orcs across the sea to continue to hunt them. Garrosh didn’t trust them to keep to their treaty at all. Now he walked the night, trying to clear his mind.
He came upon a small farm, it’s primary hut unfinished, apparently. It was still lacking several support beams, and at the moment it was hardly a tent, merely stones and small branches gathered in a semi-circle with skins stretched over the top.
He was about to pass by when he heard a faint crying sound. Concerned, he followed the sound to the shelter, finding a family of orcs shivering under a large kodo skin. The crying came from a small child, who appeared quite faint.
“By the ancestors…” Garrosh mumbled. “Can I help you? Why do you live like this? You’ll freeze to death!”
The male shot him a harsh glance but said nothing.
“At least let me start you a fire,” Garrosh nodded, taking out a piece of flint rock.
“And burn what?” the male orc growled.
Garrosh hadn’t thought of that. There was hardly any wood in Durotar. Of course they had nothing to burn. That would explain why their hut was so poor.
“At least come with me to Orgrimmar…” he asked.
“Bah…” the male grunted in reply. “No room there. No food. At least here I can hunt. At least we still have pigs to eat here. Orgimmar already hunts all the game near the city, and they do not have enough to feed us as well. We would starve there.”
“But you could freeze like this!” Garrosh answered.
“I need not your sympathy,” the orc spat back. “I am well aware that it is cold. My son is already feeling ill. But what choice do we have? We cannot board our animals in Orgrimmar, and we have nothing to burn here.”
Garrosh wanted to help them, to do something, but he knew it was useless. He couldn’t do anything, and already the male was growing angry at his prying. He couldn’t blame him. Angered that he couldn’t do more, he began walking back to Orgrimmar. Finally, he found Dranosh in the Hall of the Mag‘har, where most of Garrosh‘s brethren from Nagrand were staying.
“What ails you, brother?” Dranosh asked, his brow furrowed with concern at Garrosh’s frustration.
“My people freeze to death out there, that is what ails me,” Garrosh growled back, slamming his fists down on the table. “They lack shelter, fire…”
“Wood is not easy to come by in this land,“ Dranosh shrugged. “What can we do?”
“Not in this land,” Garrosh growled, turning north. “But there is a forest covering half the continent less than a days march north.”
“That land belongs to the Night Elves,” Saurfang nodded thoughtfully. “They will not let us take from it.”
“Bah…” Garrosh grunted angrily. “They live in luxury, with wood and fire and food and all these things that we lack. Who are they to claim a forest? Why should we die to respect their claim to some blasted trees?”
“Your clan already fights for those resources, brother,” Dranosh nodded.
“But that is not enough,” Garrosh nodded. “The Warchief has pulled so many troops out of Ashenvale that it is all they can do to hold what land we have, much less engage in any lumbering operations.”
“Then speak to the Warchief,” Dranosh shrugged. “You are a chieftain, after all. It is your right.”
Garrosh blinked. That thought had not crossed his mind.
“Indeed,” he smiled, “I shall do that. I can tell him what I’ve seen. No longer shall our people freeze like animals. Thank you, brother,” he nodded, turning and making haste for Grommash Hold.
Finally, he reached the Warchief’s chamber, to once again find Rehgar Earthfury--a shaman and former slave master--standing next to the Warchief’s throne.
“Hello Hellscream,” Rehgar grunted.
“Hello Earthfury,” Garrosh grunted back, turning to Thrall. “Warchief, I must speak with you.”
“Speak,” Thrall nodded, pressing his fingertips together. “Anything I can do for you, so be it.”
“I come to ask that reinforcements be sent to Warsong Gulch,” he asked. Rehgar grunted, but Garrosh ignored him. “Our people freeze to death in half-constructed huts, lacking the precious wood to survive.”
“That is Night Elf land,” Rehgar nodded. “We could spark a war. A war that we do not need.”
“Bah,” Garrosh growled. “The Night Elves have plenty of trees. They do not need them all. If it means our survival, then we must take them.”
“The Night Elves have allies, Hellscream,” Rehgar growled angrily. “Or have you not heard of the Alliance?” he chuckled bitterly, turning to Thrall. “The humans will attack us, should war break out! We must comply to their demands, on this matter at least.”
“It is madness, Rehgar, to suggest to Thrall that we should cooperate with the humans!” Garrosh shouted furiously, losing his temper.
“Collaborative coexistence is not madness, Garrosh!” Rehgar screamed in return. “It’s common sense! Orcs and humans have common enemies!”
“Pfahh…” Garrosh scoffed, “The Alliance is the enemy!”
“Was, perhaps. Before we signed a treaty--”
Suddenly Thrall stood, a glowing stone in his hand.
“You’ve both made excellent points…” he nodded. “But we must table this discussion for another day. I’ll be leaving Orgrimmar for a short while,” the Warchief finished, walking out of the Hold.
Garrosh grunted angrily. How could Thrall just walk out like that? His thoughts drifted back to the young child out there in the plains of Durotar. Would it survive the night? Something had to be done. He looked to Earthfury again, wishing he could strike the shaman.
Instead, he turned and returned to the Hall of the Mag’har, sitting in his private quarters, trying to think. He had been a useless leader in Nagrand. He had sat by and let their enemies taunt and threaten them. After he had come out of his depression, he had vowed never to let that happen again. He would not be useless again. No more would he let his people live in fear of starvation or living without shelter. But if the Warchief would not listen, what could he do? He slammed his fist into the wall in anger.
Chapter 3
Garrosh sat in his quarters, thinking. So many things needed to be dealt with. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let his people down again. Never again. Anything he could do to make this world better for his people, he would do it.
“Lord Hellscream?” a voice asked from behind his door.
“Enter…” Garrosh grunted, staring at his boots.
“Throm‘ka, chieftain,” nodded a large male orc as he entered the room. “I am Lieutenant General Korm Blackscar, and I was hoping to speak to you.”
“Speak,” Garrosh grunted again.
“Certainly, chieftain,” Korm began, sitting in a chair opposite the Mag‘har orc, “I heard what you told the Warchief. And I agree.”
Garrosh looked up, looking the orc in the eyes for several seconds before looking back down at the ground.
“Our people are being persecuted by the Alliance,” Korm nodded. “Just as we have been for years. You have seen it, yes?”
“I have,” Garrosh nodded, looking to the fire. “It hurts me to see them this way,” he paused, thinking. "Perhaps some of our people deserve it…” he paused again, before closing his eyes and shaking his head. “But not the children. They have done nothing to earn this hardship.”
“Indeed,” Korm nodded. “The Alliance hunts our people. Even in these times of ‘peace,’ they still work in subtle ways to drive us into the sea. The humans hate us. They would have our little ones killed and left to stiffen on the ground. The elves starve us, killing us slowly by depriving us of the vital resources we need. All around us, this world seeks to crush our people.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Garrosh asked, looking up into the eyes of the older orc.
“Because,” Korm paused, rubbing his beard, “we will not be crushed.”
Garrosh nodded thoughtfully, a small smile appearing on his face, before vanishing.
“How will we stop them?” he asked, thinking he knew the answer, but wanting to hear it anyway.
“We will drive them back,” Korm smiled. “And when they rise up in anger to wipe us out, we will drive them back. And we will keep driving them back. We will let them know that we will not be denied. That we will not simply take their persecution like an old dog…” he paused, moving to the window. “Imagine it… A new home for our people, from sea to sea…”
“Like Nagrand?” Garrosh asked, thinking back to his home in Garadar.
“Better,” Korm nodded. “No longer will our people freeze to death in the desert nights. No longer will they starve for lack of fertile soil. No longer will they be hunted in the forests and attacked on the plains. Kalimdor will be our new home. All of Kalimdor.”
Garrosh grunted, thinking about Korm's words.
“But what of those whose homes we are taking?” he pondered, rubbing his chin. “What of the elves and the humans? Surely they have children? Is this not their home as well?”
“Hmmph…” Korm grunted, blowing hot air from his nostrils. “Those children will grow and take up arms against us…” he growled, looking south to where the lights of Theramore were barely visible. He turned to Garrosh, laying his hand upon the Mag’har’s shoulder. “It is us or them, Garrosh,” he nodded with a frown. “Your father knew that…” he paused, looking down. “They will never stop hunting us. We can choose to lie down and die, or we can fight those who would have us all dead.”
Garrosh sighed and turned away.
“I have much to think about, then,” Garrosh nodded. “Thank you, Korm.”
“Thank you for hearing me, chieftain,” Korm answered, leaving the room.
Garrosh waited for Korm to leave, and then looked back out the window.
“Is that really how it must be, father?” he asked, looking over the water. Suddenly, a vision came upon him. He saw a hundred ships out to sea, all of Alliance design. They would come for Durotar. And the time of the orcs would be over.
No. He couldn’t let that happen.
He sighed, wishing that his father were here to help him. He had never even seen him, as far as he could remember. Suddenly he had an idea. He paused, looking around the room, before finally reaching for his fur cloak, and pulling it around his shoulders and finally running to the stables for his wolf.
* * *
Garrosh rode for hours, north, ever north. Soon he had passed the borders of the great forest of Ashenvale, it’s mighty trees beautiful even in death, as he knew that their wood would sustain his people in the great shamanic circle of life.
Soon he had passed the Warsong Lumber Camp, and saw his destination rising in the distance. There. In the mountains. He spotted a green taint that confirmed that this was the right spot.
He rode up the path, past the skeletal remains of demons long dead, and into the gorge where a large marking stone stood.
Garrosh smiled and rode closer to the stone, dismounting and approaching it slowly. He ran his fingers over the letters of the stone and smiled.
“May the Warsong never fade,” he whispered, setting his head against the cold stone. “I only wish I could be like you, father…” he nodded, closing his eyes and saying a short prayer to the ancestors. “What should I do?”
Suddenly, distressed yelp split the air, and Garrosh felt a sharp burning in his leg. He turned quickly, to find his wolf bleeding out upon the ground. He ran to the wolf, hardly even noticing the arrow lodged in his own leg. The poor beast had been shot through the heart, and now it’s warm blood pooled at the orc’s feet. He felt another twinge of pain and a hot burning as a second arrow pierced his shoulder.
“No…” Garrosh growled, looking up to spy two elven sentinels in the shadows. “Not here! Not on my father’s grave!” he cried, reaching for his axes. “Die, you long-eared demons!”
He lunged forward, not even noticing the third arrow as it ricocheted off of his chest plate. Instantly he was upon one of the elves, hacking through flesh and bone as if it were nothing. The other elf gasped in horror as her partner was slain, and leapt backwards to fire another arrow. But Garrosh was too fast. He immediately charged for the second elf, ending her life as easily as the first.
Finally, standing in a pool of purple blood, he cried out to the heavens, letting the entire forest ring with his rage. He screamed with anger and pain. And nearby, in the Warsong camp, every orc turned to the source. For they had heard a sound that they had thought long dead. A sound that meant victory would soon be at hand.
The Hellscream.
Chapter 4
“Hmmph…” Conquerer Krenna grunted, looking over at Thrall’s company.
Garrosh glanced over to where she was looking and then back at her. Krenna was legendary among his clan, and her ferocity was known throughout all of the Horde’s forces. She was a veteran of hundreds of battles on all of the Horde’s fronts. From what he had heard, she had lost her eye in her first battle, back in the Hillsbrad Foothills when she was liberated from her camp. She seemed quite proud of her disfigurement, and Garrosh smiled briefly. This was a warrior. Like his father. The ideal orc.
“Thrall goes to a peace meeting…” she muttered, before spitting to the ground. “What a waste…”
“Indeed,” Garrosh grunted, his brow furrowing with frustration. “The Horde should defend itself against those who would destroy our people. That is the orcish way…”
“Yes…” Krenna smiled, her scarred face twisted in a grin. “The orcish way. We do not sit and let our enemies cripple us under the guise of ‘peace.’ That is the human way. But it seems the Warchief was taught too much by the humans…” she paused, scowling, before turning back to Garrosh. “Make no mistake,” she nodded, “he is strong. A mighty orc and a mighty shaman, but he is not what our people need as a leader.”
Garrosh grunted in thought, feeling a small twinge of agreement in his soul.
“We need someone like Doomhammer…” Krenna smiled, closing her eyes and recollecting. “Or your father. I fought many battles under his banner. He was a bit rash at times, but he was an orc through and through. He’d know the folly of this so-called ‘peace meeting.’ I wouldn’t be surprised if the humans tried foul play. They’ve already tried once…” she nodded. “No… Thrall is a great orc, but he is naïve. I’d challenge him myself if I could, but tradition dictates that only a chieftain can instigate a Mak’gora.”
“Hmmph…” Garrosh nodded, wondering if she meant something by that, but banishing the thought as he saw Thrall approach.
“…not yet,” Rehgar finished saying.
“Is this the best way to spend your energy, Thrall?” Garrosh asked, stepping away from Krenna. “Conferring with Stormwind?”
“But you’ll be there with us,” Rehgar shrugged.
“To protect the interests of our people…” Garrosh added.
“As you see them…” Rehgar grunted.
Garrosh ignored that statement. Food, water, shelter, freedom… These were the interests of all orcs. Instead, he changed the subject. “And I’m curious to see this ‘impregnable’ fortress.”
“To determine how easy it will be to drive the humans out?” Rehgar snarled, his eyes crackling with elemental fury.
“Kalimdor should be home to the orcs, Rehgar,” Garrosh grunted back. “All of Kalimdor!”
Garrosh paused a moment. That last part had slipped out. He hadn’t meant to say it, but he had. Korm was right. These other peoples sought to drive the orcs out of their lands, why shouldn’t the orcs share the sentiment? They attacked the orcs on sacred lands, they starved the orcs of precious food and shelter… They should know what it means to oppose the Horde.
“We destroyed our own homeworld,” Thrall objected. “We are guests on Kalimdor… As are the humans…”
Garrosh grunted and boarded the zeppelin, trying to balance his thoughts. Thrall had a point, but he was an idealist. He saw things as they should be, if the Alliance could be trusted. But all too clearly Garrosh had seen that they couldn’t. The Alliance would have the orcish race destroyed, and thus, they were the enemy. To attempt peace was a waste of precious resources, and a risk to the entire Horde. If the Warchief fell, the Horde would be thrown into chaos.
* * *
It was a long flight, and Garrosh overheard Thrall and Rehgar speaking about the human, Jaina Proudmoore. From what he heard, she was a good and honest human--the exception that proved the rule. But that meant nothing if the other humans could not be trusted, and nothing he had heard or seen gave him that impression. But that was fine. Let them challenge the Horde. The Horde would benefit greatly from the precious natural resources that this land held.
“Well, she is welcome to this place,” Rehgar nodded, continuing his conversation with Thrall. “I prefer the desert of Orgrimmar. My old bones creak in this damp climate.”
“Of course you prefer Orgrimmar,” Garrosh thought. “Try living with half a home in the freezing cold of the Durotar nights…” he paused, looking up at the two. “It’s wet, yes, even without this foul storm! But there’s timber… and the stone for the keep was quarried somewhere nearby,” he nodded. “This place is rich in many things out people need.”
“There she is, waiting for us!” Thrall smiled, paying little heed to Garrosh words. “Greetings, Jaina!” he shouted.
“You should never have agreed that we surrender our weapons in order to parley with the human king,” Garrosh grunted, trying to get Thrall’s attention. “Armed, we could have made our point--one way or another,” he chuckled, jesting slightly.
“Unlikely…” Rehgar answered. “As they also would have been armed. And Thrall is well aware that anything can become a weapon… when one is needed.”
Garrosh smiled and nodded. Indeed, that was the orcish way.Chapter 5
Garrosh pulled his hood over his head, grunting in slight irritation at the pouring rain. Still, the fortress of Theramore seemed just as formidable in the rain as it did in fair weather, and he knew better than to let his guard down over a little drizzle. He grunted again as a thunderclap echoed menacingly through the stone walls of the keep.
“An inauspicious start to your summit…” he nodded to Thrall.
“This is merely a storm, Garrosh,” Thrall assured him. “Not some portent of disaster,” he added, turning his attention to the human sorceress approaching them.
“Thrall, I’m glad you’ve come!” she called out, taking Thrall’s hands in her own. “Though I’m amazed you can walk, for bearing the weight of so many weapons…” she chuckled, glancing behind him at the heavily armed guards unloading the zeppelin.
“What point in having a ceremonial laying down of arms, Jaina, if there are no arms to lay down?” Thrall chuckled in response as he regarded the human.
“And you’ve brought Kor’kron bodyguards?” Jaina asked, a slightly nervous look on her face.
“For demonstration purposes only,” Thrall nodded with a smile. “Once this ceremony is complete, they’ll return to Orgrimmar,” he paused. “A show of force never goes amiss, as you well know.”
“You and Varian think much alike,” Jaina laughed. “His crew is bristling with blades. It seems we’ve already found one thing on which you agree,” she nodded, turning to the tall human and his company walking towards them.
“Thrall, Warchief of the Horde,” Jaina nodded respectfully as she gestured to the human, “may I present Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind,” she finished, allowing the two leaders time to size each other up. “I have invited you here to peacefully discuss your differences with an eye toward mutual gain. It is not time to lay down our weapons and enter Theramore Keep.”
Garrosh grunted suspiciously and glanced back toward the Warchief and the human.
“Father…” a smaller human—who Garrosh correctly assumed to be the prince—nodded. “Lord Thrall…” he paused again. “For the duration of our summit… peace!” the prince finished, laying down his bow.
“Ha!” Thrall grinned. “It seems there is a diplomat amongst us after all,” he nodded, laying down the Doomhammer and turning back to the prince. “What is your name, my young diplomat?”
“I am Anduin, my lord. Son of Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind,” the prince answered.
“Then lead on, Anduin, son of Varian Wrynn,” Thrall nodded with a hearty smile, “and we will follow.”
“Hmmph…” Garrosh grunted. “The prince shows respect for orcs. A healthy trait and a sign of wisdom. But only time will tell if the heart of a warrior or the heart of a noble beats within him…” he thought.
“My lords,” Jaina was saying. “Trusted guards will carry your weapons out of the rain, into the armory where they will be well cared for. Now come inside! The feast is waiting!”
Garrosh grit his teeth in mistrust as he watched human guards carry away his weapons, but said nothing. If they did decide to betray the trust of the Warchief, he would be ready. They might have had Thrall fooled, but Garrosh knew better than to let his guard down. Already he had spotted several guards that were tired and lethargic from the storm. An easy source of weapons, if the need came.
The group entered the keep and immediately moved to the feasting hall, where an elaborate display of food was laid out. Garrosh immediately sat down and pried a leg off of some manner of roasted bird, tearing at the flesh with his teeth and swallowing it mostly whole. Thrall grunted with an air of slight disapproval and took his seat next to the Mag’har, taking a plate and piling it high with foods of various types.
“I see that the humans of Theramore have not lost their good taste,” Thrall chuckled, taking his knife and beginning to cut apart his meat, before finally moving the bite to his mouth with a pewter fork.
“Hmmm… Fork…” Garrosh thought, regarding the word with discomfort and slight disdain. “A human tool,” he mused, glancing down at his own before taking another bite from his drumstick.
Rehgar glanced over at Garrosh, his enmity barely concealed beneath a façade of politeness, before preparing his own plate and beginning to eat.
Soon, they had all eaten their fill and the servants had taken the remainders away. Garrosh couldn’t help but wonder what would be done with the leftovers. He wondered how many orcs were hungry and cold now, while the humans hid away in their castles and squandered their food.
“So you see, Thrall,” Jaina began as the last of the food was taken away, “before the previous summit, Varian was kidnapped and ensorcelled…”
“It is clear, Valeera, that you and Lo’gosh have come up in the world…” Rehgar interrupted. “While your winnings made me rich, when Lo’gosh and Broll escaped, I realized my heart was with them instead of the profit I could have made from their service,” he nodded. “At that moment, I knew I had had my fill of the Crimson Ring. I chose, instead, to offer my services to Thrall.”
“Humpf…” Garrosh grunted. Earthfury was not in service to the Warchief. He was the Warchief’s pet. He had probably been outed as a slave master and now doted on the Warchief in exchange for pardon.
“You let them escape…” an elf—presumably Valeera—was saying. “But you sold me! Why?”
“Have you forgotten already?” Rehgar answered. “You and Broll fought constantly. Then Helka offered a fortune for you…” he paused, tapping on his tusk thoughtfully. “…and offered you leadership of her group—a role you were well quited for,” he nodded. “It was a kind of advancement. But I see you, too, chose… a new career path…” he paused, thinking of something else. “Where is Broll?”
“The champions you created stayed together,” Varian answered. “He and Valeera helped me kill the dragon Onyxia…”
Garrosh suddenly turned his attention to the human. He had slain the Broodmother of the Black Flight? He had heard legends of the great black wyrm that lived in the swamp here, but had paid little heed. That a mere human could slay her was impressive, even to him.
“Now he’s returned to Teldrassil, on urgent business,” Varian finished.
“I, too, was once a gladiatior… owned, in my youth, by one of king Terenas’ subjects in Lordaeron,” Thrall replied. “I, too, escaped and became a ruler of my people. I imagine we also share a dislike of slavery.”
Garrosh scowled, remembering the stories he had heard of his people here. Captured, beaten, enslaved… Well… Except for his father.
He smiled slightly, and turned his attention back to the conversation.
“Slavery is wrong,” Varian was saying. “But Broll, Valeera and I did learn to fight as a team. It was us against the world.”
“Even when you didn’t know your true identity, your body had not forgotten how to fight,” Rehgar smiled.
The elf began speaking with Earthfury and Varian, recollecting matches that Garrosh cared little about. He sat frustrated in his seat as his listened to them ramble.
“We orcs have found a homeland on Kalimdor across the sea from the Eastern Kingdoms,” Thrall was saying. “But we lack certain resources.”
Garrosh’s ears perked up. This was why he had come.
“We are engaged in constant conflict with the night elves over the felling of trees for timber,” Thrall continued. “You can only build so much out of sand and mud.”
“Our merchants might be glad to trade their timber. What can you offer in return?” Varian answered.
“We have large copper deposits near Orgrimmar, and exotic hides from the creatures that roam the Barrens,” Thrall answered.
“Bah…” Garrosh grumbled. The Orcs couldn’t afford to give up any more. The copper was needed for weapons and armor, and the hides kept his people warm.
“A discussion fit for merchants,” he grumbled absently. “Why should we orcs make concessions when we have the strength to take what we want?”
“But, sir,” the human prince interjected, “why waste your warriors and resources in battle when a few words will bring you greater profit?”
“Well said, young prince,” Thrall nodded.
Garrosh sighed, but said nothing. The prince was right. There was a time for diplomacy. Sometimes, words were more useful than blades. But the Alliance could not be trusted. They would never give enough. This ‘peace’ that had been set up was starving his people. The Alliance was using this peace to withhold resources that the orcs needed, and the orcs would never get what was fair.
Yes, words were useful in a conflict where ones opponent plays by the rules. But when your opponent plays unfairly, what choice does one have?
Garrosh remained mostly silent for the rest of the meeting. Thrall and the human king agreed to meet again to better negotiate trade, and there was talk of a firmer peace treaty. Mere pieces of paper as far as Garrosh was concerned.
“At least the rain has stopped,” Varian nodded, stepping out of the keep. “But I may have to cut short our summit, Thrall. I just received word of simultaneous Scourge attacks on Southshore and Goldshire in Stormwind.”
“Yes,” Thrall nodded. “the Lich King has stirred, and now begins a new campaign again the living. I’ve already begun to send a few ships to Northrend…” he paused. “It would be good to have some level of cooperation between our peoples before we face this common enemy. Neither of us wants to fight a war on two fronts.”
“Indeed, you’re right,” Varian answered. “Perhaps it is time that the Horde and Alliance made a lasting p—”
“Varian! Thrall! Above you! Look out!” Valeera screamed.
Suddenly, a massive wyvern bore down upon the two leaders, a green-skinned female figure atop it.
Chapter 6
“Down! Now—” Valeera yelled, tackling Varian to remove him from the beast’s path. She winced with pain as the assassin caught her shoulder with her blade. Behind her swooped in dozens more of her comrades.
“Guard Anduin!” Varian ordered, picking himself up off the ground.
“With my life,” Valeera swore. “Who are these assassins?”
“Hmmmph…” Varian grunted grimly, looking at the orc riding the leonine wyvern, staggering hatred clear on his face, though he said nothing more.
Thrall and Rehgar immediately sprung into action, unleashing the power of the elements on their attackers, while Garrosh caught a dwarf off of a large bat, killing it quickly with his bare hands and arming himself with his foe’s weapon, a massive axe, crude, but a weapon nonetheless.
“Human treachery!” Garrosh yelled, kicking the body of the human he had just felled.
“Have you no eyes, Garrosh? There are plenty of Tauren, Orcs, and Trolls!” Valeera retorted.
“Hired by the human king to bring death to out own!” Garrosh snarled, striking another human. “Just as the elder Proudmoore attacked our Warchief under the guise of peace, so too does this king! They are all the same!” he snarled as he ripped a gnome from its flying machine.
“Just as I anticipated…” Garrosh thought as he hacked clean through an oncoming wyvern and quickly dispatched its rider. “Bah… Let them come. Perhaps now the Warchief will see…” he thought with a grunt. He smiled slightly as a human rushed at him from the left. He quickly caught up a large hammer in his off-hand and struck the attacked across the face with it, grinning as the human sailed backward through the air. “Die, scum!” he added, turning his attention to a nearby troll, who he happily bashed with the backswing.
Suddenly, the battle was over. The assassins were retreating. All except for one.
“It makes no sense, Varian…” Valeera was saying. “Why would the undead witch abandon the assassin but take her son?”
“No matter,” Garrosh chuckled, hefting his axe up and moving towards the female orc. “The assassin will not live for long…”
Suddenly, he found himself stuck in place, frozen in his tracks by an icy spell.
“Stay your hand!” Jaina Proudmoore cried. “The attack is over! The enemy is vanquished! And I am still the ruler of Theramore!” she paused, aggressively pulling her hair out of her eyes. “Garona is my prisoner. Guards, take her to the dungeon and prepare her for questioning!”
“A wise move,” Varian nodded. “Garrosh means to dispatch the b*tch before she implicates his master! Clearly the orcs are in league with my father’s murderer!”
Garrosh snapped his head in the human king’s direction. How dare he? To not only hire these assassins to kill him and his Warchief, but then to suggest that it was the orcs doing? “For that offense, human, you will die!” he snarled, charging at the king.
Thrall was quick to intervene.
“You forget yourself, Garrosh!” he growled. “Despite this carnage--and the insult given to our people--there is still a truce! Lower your weapon,” he demanded. “Now.”
Garrosh growled angrily and shot the human king a bitter glance, but obliged.
“Battle rage is still on you and the others,” he nodded. “None of you are thinking clearly,” he added, turning to Varian. “We, too, were attacked!”
“The prisoner is the orc assassin Garona,” Varian spat, “who murdered my father. I claim her for public execution at Stormwind.”
“I suppose we all look alive to you!” Thrall growled angrily. “Perhaps I was wrong to expect better from a human. Look again, and pay attention this time. The female is but a half-orc at best--”
“Full or half, and is orc an orc,” Varian sneered. “None of your blood can be trusted.”
“Back off, both of you!” Jaina demanded. “Whatever her birth, for some unknown reason, Garona has been ensorcelled and abandoned here!” she paused. “Until we know the reasons, she is my prisoner and will remain here at Theramore!”
“The guilt of you humans is obvious!” Garrosh retorted. “You protect the prisoner! You lured Thrall in a situation where he’s unarmed and threatened!” he paused, turning to Thrall. “Stormwind is behind this… with Theramore as their ally!”
“Had I planned this attack,” Varian chuckled grimly, “you orcs would be lying dead on the parapets,” he grimaced. “I’ll question her myself. Before I leave for Stormwind, I will get to the bottom of this.”
Garrosh snarled as the king walked away, but turned back to Thrall. “I told you,” he grunted angrily, before returning back toward the zeppelin. Thrall sighed and shook his head.
Garrosh waited aboard the zeppelin, and soon they were departing once more.
“As I have said, Thrall,” Garrosh grunted. “You cannot trust the humans. They are weak, and cowardly, and will not hesitate to resort to dishonorable methods to get what they want.”
“You’re wrong, Garrosh,” Thrall sighed. “I do not know how to make you see it, but not all humans are that way. I have known humans with the strength and honor of ten orcs, and I have known humans as low and scum-like as the most detestable warlock. They cannot be generalized as you do.”
Garrosh shook his head in sad frustration. “There may be the rare human that we can trust,” he paused. “The truly exceptional few… but as a whole, we cannot trust them. It will only hurt our people. They understand only force from us, and so that is what we must use to protect ourselves.”
Thrall sighed and looked out over the water.
“He doesn’t understand,” thought Garrosh. “His judgment is clouded by his human indoctrination.”
He looked down at his palms. He knew. He knew what needed to be done. Just as his father had known
Chapter 7
“I think you should really take a moment and think about what you are saying,” Dranosh Saurfang nodded. “Mak’gora is a very serious thing. Not only do you risk upsetting the very delicate political balance that Thrall has brought about, but also you risk your own shame and banishment.”
“I know, Dranosh, I know…” Garrosh shook his head. “But I see no other way. I merely seek to do what is best for my people.”
“As do we all,” Dranosh nodded. “At least, most of us…” he shook his head, “but you’ve not been here a full year, and already you seek to make changes that may or may not need to be made. I think that we should be a little more patient. Those such as us are not equipped to handle the heavy burden of inter-faction politics. We are warriors, you and I. Thrall is a politician, and he may very well know better in those matters.”
Garrosh shook his head, but grunted in agreement
“Perhaps you are right, Dranosh,” he nodded. “It pains me, though, to see our people so far from where they should be. Our people deserve better than this, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would,” Dranosh nodded. “No orc should have to watch their children go hungry, this is true. However, we are only a part of this world. There are many other peoples on Azeroth, and they deserve no less than us. We cannot merely take what we desire.”
“But think of the beast,” Garrosh nodded. “The wolf pack. They will not hesitate to kill the talbuk to feed their cubs. It is not out of malice to the talbuk, but rather out of necessity for survival. It is nature’s way. If war must be made to keep our race alive, then we must not hesitate to take up the cup of war.”
“All I ask is that you wait a little while further, Garrosh,” Dranosh nodded. “You do not yet know if what you speak of is necessary or not.”
“So be it,“ Garrosh nodded. “You have stayed my hand, at least for now. I thank you for the honor of your counsel.”
“The honor is mine, Hellscream,” Dranosh nodded with a smile. “I am glad to help a friend.”
Garrosh smiled and left the hall, and was surprised to find a wolf-mounted orc riding towards him. The wolf appeared to be on the brink of exhaustion and the orc had air of urgency about him.
“Lord Hellscream!” the orc called out. “The Crossroads is under attack!”
“What?” Garrosh barked, his eyes widening in surprise. “By whom? The Alliance?”
“Nay, Lord Hellscream,” the orc answered. “On of our patrols past the town did not return as scheduled, and so my company went to investigate. When we arrived, we found the whole town taken over by undead. Fresh undead. Horde. We helped the survivors escape to Far Watch Post, but there were too many to take by ourselves,” he nodded. “Reports indicate that it is not localized to Crossroads either. Camp Taurajo has also reported a smaller infection. We have not yet heard back from Ratchet.”
“Did you warn Thrall?” Garrosh asked.
“Yes, someone has already been sent to the Warchief,” the orc nodded. “He is assembling a retaliatory force now.”
“Very well,” Garrosh nodded. “I will join them. I am interested in knowing what the undead are doing so far from any known Scourge-controlled land. I will take Dranosh and a full platoon of raiders,” he finished. “You’ve done good, brother,” he added. “Get yourself and your wolf some water.”
Garrosh quickly informed Dranosh of the situation and they both immediately mounted their wolves and rode to the Valley of Wisdom.
“Ah, excellent timing, Garrosh,” Thrall nodded as the two Mag‘har rode up. With him were Vol‘jin, Varok Saurfang, Eitrigg, and Rehgar Earthfury. “I was just about to send for you.”
“Indeed,” Garrosh nodded. “Let us be off, then. We must not waste time.”
“Agreed,” Thrall nodded, mounting his wolf, Snowsong.
The trip was long, but they finally arrived at the Crossroads, where scores of undead orcs, trolls, and tauren lumbered about.
“By the Ancestors,” Garrosh spat. “So many… Lost…”
“Indeed,” Dranosh nodded. “Let us at least give them the peace of death.”
Varok Saurfang was the first to charge, leaping from his wolf and immediately cutting through a half-dozen zombies. Thrall followed the High Overlord’s attack with a burst of chain lightning that jumped through the crowd of undead. Soon, they were all boiled in combat with their reanimated foes.
Garrosh hacked apart a female orc, blood and gore covering his armor and skin, before setting into another. “By the spirits… Where did they come from?”
“Plagued food, I would wager,” Thrall nodded as he set a large group of undead aflame. “That is what happened to Lordaeron in the Third War.”
“But where is the source?” Rehgar asked, hurling a lightning bolt at a particularly large tauren zombie.
“Well, we don’t know that yet,” Thrall nodded, bashing in the skull of a ghoul. “I have already ordered that no food be consumed without a shaman’s inspection, but that could take days to spread to the whole Horde.”
Finally, the last zombie had been killed, and what remained of the Horde forces took a short respite.
“Huh…” Garrosh nodded, examining a crate inside he inn. “These crates bear the markings of Booty Bay. Could the goblins be working with the Scourge?”
“While possible, I would not say that it is likely,” Thrall nodded. “Some goblins will do anything for money, but even the stupidest goblin knows that delivering plagued grain will kill your business. Quite literally, in fact.”
“I see,” Garrosh nodded. “Then who is to blame?”
“The Scourge, certainly,” Thrall nodded. “I suspect that their cultists are to blame. Using Booty Bay as a distributor, they must be sending the grain out.”
“Then we must cut off trade with Booty Bay,” Garrosh answered.
“Indeed, it seems we must. At least for the time being,” Thrall nodded. “I sense that this is not the end, however.”
“Agreed,” Garrosh nodded. “As you recall, the human king also spoke of Scourge attacks.”
“Let us hope that we are wrong,” Dranosh added.
Chapter 8
Garrosh piled the last corpse on the pile outside of Orgrimmar. It was unsanitary to leave them within the city, and thus they had to be moved. He shook his head in sadness and frustration as the pile was set alight.
The last few days had been hard. The infected grain had been distributed in Orgrimmar without the Warchief’s authorization. It was against Horde law, but people were hungry, and willing to risk it for cheap food. The following plague was so terrible that the Horde had been forced to ask the aid of the Argent Dawn to control its spread. The majority of the plague had been brought under control within Orgrimmar, but the surrounding land was not so lucky. The Barrens and the other surrounding lands were teeming with undead, and the Horde was stretched thin in its defense. As soon as one settlement was cleared, another would ask for help on the other side of the world. Finally, a brilliant Forsaken Apothecary had discovered a cure. Now the Horde and Alliance both were working to cleanse their lands of the remaining undead, but it was not an easy task.
“Blasted Lich King…” Garrosh thought bitterly, walking back within Orgrimmar. “He has engaged a war with the Horde. Soon he will learn that no king can threaten our people with impunity. I will etch that message into his skull myself.”
He walked past his clan, the Warsong, ready at his orders for war. He could see the looks on their faces, thirsty for vengeance. Many had lost their families and friends. They all looked to him for leadership, to let them loose against their enemy. And he would do it. He would take them to Northrend, and their enemy would suffer.
He continued walking to the Ring of Valor, where Thrall was speaking with High Overlord Saurfang and the Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner.
“Thrall!” he called out, before realizing that it was improper for him to address the Warchief by name, even though he was a chieftain himself. “Warchief… your armies await your command. Let me lead them to Northrend to remove this undead menace! “
“Yes, Thrall,” Sylvanas agreed. Garrosh ground his teeth together in irritation. She knew nothing of the orcish ways. “The time has come to kill Arthas. You can take my grand apothecary with you,” she nodded, a small, bitter, smile on her face as she gestured at the Forsaken next to her. “His knowledge will be invaluable against whatever the Scourge will throw at you.”
“It would be an honor, Dark Lady,” the Apothecary answered, a subtle bitterness in his own voice.
“What say you, Saurfang?” Thrall asked, turning to his favorite advisor. Garrosh regarded the old orc. He certainly reminded him of his old friend, in body and in spirit. Just the little things about his attitude were a mirror of Dranosh.
“Warchief, it is clear that Northrend represents the gravest threat to our people, and that we must act against it,” the High Overlord answered, shifting his grip on his axe.
“My soul burns for revenge,” Thrall confessed, “but the elements tell me to think clearly. The Lich King is a ruthless opponent...one who must be handled carefully,” he nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “We will send scouts to assess the situation. I will also convene with the Lady Proudmoore and see what plans the Alliance has.”
“Gragh!” Garrosh spat. This was too much. The Lich King would not wait patiently while Thrall visited the humans again. “I cannot take this! While you talk and deliberate, our enemies grow stronger! Were it my choice, I would have put all our available forces onto that frozen rock and conquered it for the Horde!”
“If this is a trap, it is one I will not blindly walk into! Do not make the same mistakes as your father, Garrosh!” Thrall snapped.
Garrosh stood there a moment, his mouth hanging open.
“After all that he did for YOU and YOUR people?” he snarled, pausing a moment and recalling Dranosh’s words. Now it was time. “MAK'GORA!”
“You challenge me boy? I don't have time for this.…” Thrall shook his head in anger and disappointment.
“So you refuse? Is the son of Durotan a coward?” Garrosh smiled, goading the Warchief on. He would not let Thrall back down on this one.
“Inside!” Thrall roared in indignation.
Garrosh grinned and rushed inside the Ring, gripping his axes tightly in anticipation.
“Let's finish this quickly,” Thrall spat angrily.
“You duties as Warchief can wait. For now... we fight!” Garrosh answered. “You know the rules. No magic. We fight this orc against orc,” he called out.
“Agreed,” Thrall nodded angrily, holding the Doomhammer tightly.
Garrosh stood a moment, waiting for an attack, but finally gave in and charged at the Warchief.
Thrall grinned, and stepped aside, planting the Doomhammer directly in Garrosh’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The Mag’har coughed and snarled, quickly catching his breath and leaping at Thrall, axes high. Thrall swung his hammer in a wide arc in response, knocking aside the twin axes with its massive head.
Garrosh growled, unable to get a clear hit in. Thrall had already hit him. If he was to win, he would have to hurt Thrall soon, or he would tire out first. He ducked under a swing of the mighty Doomhammer, grinning as he planted his axe blade in the thick wood of the hammer’s handle, and quickly brought his other axe down on Thrall’s arm, between the plates of his armor. Perfect. The heavy hammer would be even more difficult to direct with an injured arm.
“GYAH!” Thrall hissed in anger and pain as he stepped back a moment, hefting his hammer up in a defensive stance to make up for his injury.
“So, son of Durotan, what--”
Suddenly, a cold, thin voice carried through the air, loud, but drenched in death. “PUPS OF ORGRIMMAR! HEAR ME, BRASH UPSTARTS OF THE HORDE! TREMBLE, AND KNOW YOUR DOOM, FOR THE LICH KING'S GAZE IS FIXED UPON YOU!”
“Warchief! Scourge forces are attacking Orgrimmar!” High Overlord Saurfang cried, rushing outside.
“We will finished this later, son of Grom,” Thrall growled, rushing back up the steps of the Ring to where the voice came from. Garrosh followed, furious that the Scourge would interrupt, let alone dare to attack his city.
Outside, dozens of Frostwyrms flew overhead, and Saurfang and Sylvanas were both busy cutting down even more undead abominations. Garrosh was quick to join in the combat, cutting down any of the undead in his path. Soon, piles of decrepit undead flesh lay at his feet. He wiped the fetid gore off his face and continued fighting.
Almost an hour they fought, until finally the last enemy fell.
“ARGH! THIS SMALL VICTORY WILL AVAIL YOU NOTHING! COME! COME TO NORTHREND. MY MINIONS ARE WAITING, AND THEY ARE HUNGRY.…” the disembodied voice cried, before fading at last.
“Well, Warchief?” Garrosh panted, while a Warsong shaman tended to his wounds. “What say you now? Will you send me to Northrend?”
“Saurfang…” Thrall sighed, turning to his advisor with a weary expression.
“Yes, Warchief?” the High Overlord answered quietly.
“Contact our goblin shipwrights,” Thrall nodded. “The Horde prepares for war!”
“As you command, Warchief!” Saurfang answered, mounting his wolf and riding away.
“Excellent…” Sylvanas smiled with the same bitter smile. “Most excellent.”
Garrosh smiled tiredly. It hadn’t happened exactly as he would have liked, but he was at least going to lead his people to victory.
Chapter 9
Garrosh’s ship beached itself on the shore, followed by dozens others. Garrosh quickly disembarked, leaping over the side and onto the sand while the others waited for the gangplank to be dropped.
“Do you see this land, Saurfang?” he asked, the older orc walking behind him. “All of this will belong to the Horde one day. The Lich King has begun a war with us, and so he will fall. As all who oppose the Horde will fall. And it shall be glorious.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, young Hellscream,” Varok Saurfang nodded, looking into the distance. “Do you smell that? There is death on the air. The Scourge infest this land, and conquering them will not be easy. We must take this one step at a time, or we will fall, and with us, all of Azeroth. We must be careful. Methodical. Unerring.”
“Of course it will not be easy,” Garrosh retorted, turning and watching as siege engines and other tools were unloaded from the ships. “Nothing worth having is easy. But while it may be difficult, I am confident that we will exceed and overcome anything that the Scourge can throw at us. We are the Horde. Nothing can stand in our way.”
Saurfang paused and looked into the horizon, composing his thoughts. “The Horde is great,” he nodded, rubbing his chin. “But it is made great by great people. Thrall, your father, Doomhammer… They have all shaped the Horde into what it is today. But we must not take victory as a given, nor may we let our guard down. Even Doomhammer was brought to his knees by a mistake in judgment. The Horde is not invincible. It is only as strong as its people.”
“Our people are strong!” Garrosh answered, pounding his fist against his chest. “You underestimate your own kind!”
“Perhaps,” Saurfang answered with a small shrug, turning back to Garrosh. “But I would much rather underestimate our forces and come into a slow and cautious victory than overestimate them and see them ruined.”
Garrosh grunted, beginning to grasp the wisdom in the elder orcs words. “Perhaps…” he paused, looking over the fleet. “But still… We will defeat the Lich King. This I know as surely as I live and breathe. Even if he is stronger, we have will. Our will to survive, to overcome, to be victorious no matter the odds… This is something that our enemy lacks. This human prince knows nothing of our people’s hardships, what we have survived. And we will continue to survive.”
Saurfang smiled slightly. “That we shall, young Hellscream,” he nodded, before noticing that his son was disembarking from a newly arrived ship.
“Greetings Father; Garrosh,” Dranosh smiled, inhaling deeply. “The Scourge is near.”
“Indeed,” Garrosh nodded, turning back to the wide landscape of tundra. “I would wager that they have a small force beyond that hill, but I cannot be certain by smell alone,” he paused, snapping his fingers and turning to a tauren woman that was tending a wyvern. “Turida!” he called out, “I wish for you to take a company of windriders and go scout out the surrounding area. Report to me any Scourge that you see.”
The tauren saluted and began assembling her group of windriders.
“Now, let us begin assembling a camp, and then we can begin work on a more permanent base,” Garrosh nodded, watching as one of his peonmasters began ordering the construction of a camp. “Excellent. I think that hill right there would serve as a good spot for a keep. It looks like there is solid stone there, which would make a good foundation, and can also be quarried for use in construction.”
“I agree,” Dranosh affirmed. “I think the main structure should be composed of iron. We have brought a great deal of raw iron with us, as you know, and this land looks fertile for mining. An iron fortress would be far more difficult to assail than one of stone, and that is an important factor in the composition of our primary base.”
“Indeed,” Garrosh agreed. “We shall create a fortress that even the Scourge fear. It shall be called Warsong Hold.”
Chapter 10
“Here,” Garrosh nodded, pointing to a spot on the map laid out before him. “Agmar, you shall spearhead the assault on the Dragonblight. The Kor’kron respect you, as do I. I want you to establish a base there, roughly… here,” he paused, pointing to a large area to the western side of the draconic graveyard known as the Dragonblight. “Our Forsaken allies shall take the east, and we shall hold the area in a vice as we close in on the gate to Icecrown,” he grinned.
He paused again, looking back at the map of Northrend.
“Krenna,” he smiled, looking over to the grizzled female. “I have an excellent task for you.”
“What are your commands, lord Hellscream?” Krenna grinned, cracking her knuckles and regarding the large Mag’har.
“You shall take the Grizzly Hills,” Garrosh answered, gesturing to the map. “The area is rich in lumber and other resources. Fuel for the war machine. Scouts have reported a local population of humans. I trust that you can handle them?” he nodded with a wide grin.
“Certainly, my lord,” Krenna answered, smiling brightly herself.
Garrosh nodded with approval and turned to Korm.
“Korm,” he paused, looking respectfully into the older orcs eyes. “We have a great airship in production. The finest Azeroth has ever seen. It’s name alone will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. Orgrim’s Hammer…” he smiled, savoring the words. “And just as its namesake shatters the bones of our enemies, so shall the Hammer shatter the bones of Icecrown. From henceforth, you shall be Sky-Reaver Korm Blackscar!” Garrosh finished fervently, letting the announcement sink into the old orc. “You shall represent our own clan as you rain terror down upon the enemies of the Horde. You shall represent the Horde everywhere! Can I trust you with this task?”
“Of course, my lord,” Korm smiled, beating his chestplate in salute.
“Excellent,” Garrosh smiled, turning finally to his friend and counsel, Dranosh Saurfang. “And you…” he paused again, laying his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You shall have the greatest honor of all. It will be you who leads our people through the very gates of Icecrown. It shall be you who leads the Horde to our glorious victory. I am giving you leadership of the final assault on the Lich King’s kingdom. You will strike him down, and you will earn your place besides your father and uncle in our songs.”
Dranosh was speechless. Finally, he smiled and nodded to his friend.
“I shall do no less!” he answered, pounding his chest in salute. “But the glory will be yours my friend,” he smiled, clasping Garrosh’s hand. “For though I will lead the assault, I am merely a commander. It will be you who have taken this land for the Horde. The glory of Hellscream will live again. This I swear,” he nodded, looking his peer in the eye. “Now… I must tell my father the glorious news. I am eternally in your debt, my friend,” he finished, turning to find his father.
Garrosh smiled and looked back down at the map
Chapter 11
Garrosh paced back and forth inside Warsong Hold. This task was proving to be far more work than he had anticipated. He had expected simply to lead the army in battle for a decisive victory against the Lich King, but it seemed he now only waged war against the ever growing stack of paperwork that his commanders sent him.
“Overlord Hellscream,” Varok Saurfang announced.
Garosh frowned. Saurfang had been testing his patience lately. Of all those stationed at the Hold, only Saurfang was his equal. It wasn’t right. He was a chieftain. Saurfang wasn’t. They should not be equals. All orcs save the Warchief himself bowed to him, except Saurfang. He was the father of his friend, but Dranosh respected his power and decisions. Varok seemed only to lecture.
“What is it?” the Mag’har grumbled. He hoped that the old orc would finish quickly and leave him alone.
“We are surrounded... Our enemies press in from all sides, young Hellscream. The Scourge descends like locust from the north,” the elder orc began, looking down at the map at their feet. “The Alliance holds the only secure shipping lane in this region and even that is at risk of being lost to those dreaded mists. Our only viable port for resupply is held by the Forsaken on the other side of this blasted continent! Anything our zeppelins cannot haul must be brought in by ship and travel the length of Northrend to reach us,” Saurfang finished.
Garrosh grunted in annoyed amusement.
“Shipping lanes... supplies... You bore me to death!” he laughed, looking the older orc in the eye. “We need nothing more than the warrior spirit of the Horde, Saurfang! Now that we are firmly entrenched in this frozen wasteland, nothing shall stop us!”
“Siege engines, ammunition, heavy armor... How do you propose to shatter the walls of Icecrown without those?” Varok asked calmly, not raising his voice.
“Propose? I will show you what I propose!” Garrosh laughed, stomping on the small wooden flag representing the Alliance’s base at Valiance Keep. “There... Now we now have a shipping lane,” he laughed, spitting on the broken flag. “And just for good measure...” he grinned, snapping the other flag at Valgarde.
“So the prodigal son has spoken!” Varok grunted, his annoyance beginning to show through. “Your father's blood runs strong in you, Hellscream. Impatient as always... Impatient and reckless. You rush headlong into all-out war without a thought of the consequences.”
Garrosh frowned angrily. “Do not speak to me of consequences, old one,” he answered bitterly.
“I drank of the same blood your father did, Garrosh,” Varok continued, a mixture of anger and pain in his voice. “Mannoroth's cursed venom pumped through my veins as well. I drove my weapons into the bodies and minds of my enemies. And while Grom died a glorious death - freeing us all from the blood curse - he could not wipe away the terrible memory of our past...” he paused, an intense sadness washing over his face as he closed his eyes. “His act could not erase the horrors we committed...” he finished quietly.
“The winter after the curse was lifted, hundreds of veteran orcs like me were lost to despair,” he nodded, opening his eyes, though they seemed lost in another time. “Our minds were finally free, yes... Free to relive all of the unthinkable acts that we had performed under the Legion's influence,” he paused again, nodding his head in recollection.
“I think it was the sounds of the draenei children that unnerved most of them... You never forget...” he shook his head, looking up to Garrosh. “Have you ever been to Jaggedswine Farm? When the swine are of age for the slaughter... It's that sound. The sound of the swine being killed... It resonates the loudest,” he nodded, closing his eyes. “Those are hard times for us older veterans.”
Garrosh said nothing at first, somewhat stunned by what Saurfang had said. What would his father say in response?
“But surely you cannot think that those children were born into innocence? They would have grown up and taken arms against us!” he finally replied, confident that he had poked a hole in the elder orc’s argument.
Varok merely shook his head. “I am not speaking solely of the children of our enemies...” he answered quietly, looking down at the ground in thought. “I won't let you take us down that dark path again, young Hellscream. I'll kill you myself before that day comes...” he finally finished, his voice clear that he meant what he said.
“How have you managed to survive for so long, Saurfang? Not fallen victim to your own memories?” Garrosh asked, irritated again.
“I don't eat pork...” Saurfang answered, spitting on the ground and turning to return to his chambers.
“Hmmph...” Garrosh grumbled, thinking on what to do.
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