Post by Skreeran
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.