Staring at Jaina Proudmoore, Rognak finds himself at a loss for words. He knew who she was, of course. Though during their first meeting, he hadn’t fully understood. His other set of memories had still been rather muddled back then, and while something about her had caught his attention, he hadn’t truly understood what until much later.
However, he HAD recognized that she represented danger at the time. Dressed in the robes of the Kirin Tor, talking about how special he was and making promises that he’d been sure she wouldn’t keep, Jaina had terrified him during and after their first meeting. In the end, he’d had no choice but to flee the internment camp in the wake of her departure.
It had seemed obvious to him at the time that she was lying to keep him placated and docile. He’d been so certain that she would return with an entire squad of human soldiers to take him into custody that he’d run away that very same night.
In hindsight, knowing what he did now about her, given what he remembered of her from the other world, Rognak no longer believed Jaina was lying. Perhaps she had been, but knowing her strength of character, he thinks she might have actually been telling the truth. Still, if he could go back and do it over again, he wouldn’t have. Fleeing the camp in order to get away from the Apprentice Mage had ultimately led him right into the Warsong Clan’s arms and put him on the trajectory to where he was today. Demon Slayer and Chieftain of the Warsong Clan.
The second meeting, however, had been completely by coincidence… and his own instincts acting against him. He’d heard a woman cry out and it had caused him to go running in that direction. He hadn’t known at the time that it was Jaina Proudmoore, of course. At first all he’d seen was a bunch of masked bandits menacing a woman with crossbows and other weapons.
So he’d acted, and in doing so he’d dealt with the bandits in a most decisive manner. He might not have liked killing as much as the average orc did, but he wasn’t a pacifist or anything like that. Nature was just as savage and unforgiving as civilization at the end of the day, and Rognak had embodied those aspects of nature as much as he’d embodied life and renewal.
Those bandits hadn’t been deserving of the life they’d been given. So he’d taken it from them. By burying them beneath the earth, their bodies would be used as fertilizer to create something better, something more beautiful. Of course, that was his thinking at the time anyways. If he’d known then what he knows now, Rognak might have tried to burn them. As it is, they’re likely to be raised as undead with the rest of Lordaeron’s dead by this point.
Regardless, when he’d realized who he’d saved and seen how she so easily handled the bandit leader with just a couple of spells, Rognak had quickly realized that not only did Jaina not need his help, but she somehow recognized AND remembered him… which couldn’t possibly be a good thing, or so he’d figured at the time. In the end, he’d run away as fast as he possibly could, transforming into a stag to escape the scene before she could turn that prodigious magical talent of hers onto him.
Now here they were, and unfortunately he couldn’t very well run away this time. Even if he might have wanted to. Looking back and forth between the two of them, Thrall’s eyes narrow and he looks every bit the Horde’s Warchief in this moment.
“You two know each other?”
The suspicion in his voice is heavy, but then it’s also rather fair Rognak supposes. After all, until just a short while ago, the Horde and Jaina’s refugees had been enemies. For her to recognize and name him on sight made it seem as though Rognak was spying for Lady Proudmoore or something. Luckily, the truth would set him free.
“No better than you do I imagine, Warchief. Our paths crossed a couple times back in Lordaeron. That’s it.”
Honest, factual truth. Nothing to hide. Nothing to see here. Thrall peers at Rognak, clearly looking for a hint of deception, but Rognak stares right back, standing tall with his jaw set. Luckily for him, Jaina coughs a bit and finally backs him up. It would seem the human mage sees what her familiarity with him looks like, because she’s quick to set the record straight.
“O-Oh. Yes, ah… apologies. What Rognak says is true. I’ve met him twice and both times our conversations were short to the point of nonexistent. All I know is his name, and he mine.”
Glancing at Jaina, Thrall hums for a moment… before the tension in his shoulders eases up ever so slightly. Seriously? The Warchief was more inclined to listen to his former enemy than Rognak? The orc druid tried not to take it too personally, but he couldn’t quite help but cross his arms over his chest, feeling more than a little defensive. He’d known he’d be in for a grilling when Thrall finally came down from Stonetalon, but Jaina’s presence and recognition had somewhat thrown him off his game. He’d been prepared for Thrall. He hadn’t been prepared for her.
It would seem Thrall was of a similar school of thought, because after another moment and one final glance between the two of them, he grunts.
“Chieftain Rognak. I would speak with you privately about what has happened in my absence.”
Despite Rognak’s immense successes, Thrall still manages to sound grave and make it seem like he’s been met with nothing but failure since becoming Chieftain. It takes every fiber of the druid’s being not to snort derisively and instead keep a respectful tongue as he nods sharply.
“Of course, Warchief.”
With that, the two of them leave Jaina and Cairne behind, with Rognak leading Thrall deeper into the encampment, to his personal home. Built into a large tree, Rognak is rather proud of the small domicile he’s made for himself. He’d done every last bit of the nature magic to influence the tree’s growth after all. He notices the way Thrall looks around them in disguised wonder, before focusing on the matter at hand.
“I know about the Mak’gora. Tell me why it happened. Why did you decide to challenge Grommash Hellscream?”
With Jaina no longer there muddling the waters, Rognak was on much sturdier ground now. This conversation he was more prepared for, even if he’d been dreading it all the same.
“He left me no choice. Ask any member of the Warsong Clan and they’ll tell you that I tried to talk him down first. I didn’t want to challenge him. I wanted him to see reason on his own and keep from making the same mistake that saw you exiling him to Ashenvale in the first place.”
Thrall stiffens at that, growling slightly. It’s clear that the Horde’s Warchief does not like having his choices thrown back in his face. Before Rognak ever challenged Grom to Mak’gora, Thrall started the chain of events by sending him away in the first place.
“I did not exile Grom! I sent him to this forest to procure lumber for the Horde, lumber that we had sore need of! It was an important mission that I could entrust to no other!”
Rognak resists the urge to scoff derisively. They might be the same age, but Thrall is Warchief and he is only a Clan Chieftain. He has no desire to supplant the current Warchief either. He has enough on his hands as it is with just the Warsong Clan. However, he won’t let Thrall try and strip him of his title either. Leadership of the Warsong Clan might be a burden, but it is also a responsibility and an opportunity that Rognak will not shirk.
“The Warsong Clan has retrieved your lumber and then some, Warchief. The Clan’s actions are beyond reproach.”
He says it evenly and without anger, speaking with as stoic a tone as he can manage. Thrall still bristles in response.
“The Clan’s actions might be beyond reproach, but that does not mean yours are! Why did you challenge Grom to Mak’gora? WHY DID YOU SLAY MY BROTHER?!”
And there it was. Rognak lets Thrall realize his own folly, watching as the Warchief pulls himself back after a moment, reining in his anger. Almost any other orc might have held onto it, even stoked the fires of his rage… but Thrall wasn’t like most orcs. It was part of the reason Rognak was happy to leave him in charge of the Horde.
“As I said, he left me no choice. You’ve come down from Stonetalon with the humans as your allies despite Grom’s actions. But if I had let him have his way here in Ashenvale, then he would have made you different, even stronger enemies. He also would have fallen back under the control of demons.”
Thrall goes abruptly still at that, looking caught between shocked and enraged. His voice, when he finally responds, is that of a deadly whisper.
“What?”
And so Rognak explains, knowing full well that Thrall is balanced on a precipice. The wrong word will see the Warchief attacking him, but at the same time… he needs to hear what Rognak has to say. The druid tells Thrall all about what else the Warsong Clan has done since arriving in Ashenvale. How the Lord of the Forest, a demigod named Cenarius, had made contact with them and given them a quest.
He tells Thrall of the corrupted pool and Mannoroth’s arrival, and their victory over the massive demon. Partway through his tale of the battle, Rognak pulls what used to be Gorehowl off of his back and lets Thrall see it properly. The Warchief of the Horde takes it out of his hands, running his fingers over the vines that now wrap around the haft, his eyes glued to the glowing green nature energy wafting off of the axeblade.
Thrall hands Rognak’s weapon back wordlessly and lets Rognak continue in his explanation of how they’d ultimately managed to not just kill Mannoroth but use the newly blessed axe to destroy the massive demon’s body entirely so that it could not corrupt the forest around it. The Warchief even looks vaguely pleased by this. He’d heard, after all, how the veteran warriors of the Warsong Clan had to be held back when they came face to face with the pool of corrupted blood.
Finally, Rognak’s explanation comes to a close. Of course, Thrall takes umbrage with one thing in particular.
“You cannot know for certain that Grom would have succumbed to the temptation of the demon’s blood. He hated the demons for what they did to our people. More than anyone.”
Shaking his head, Rognak sighs.
“No one ever told you, did they? Thrall… the demons didn’t just enslave our people back on Draenor. Ask any of the veterans. Demand the answer from anyone who was there if need be. They’ll tell you the truth. The orcs willingly sold their souls to the demons. The first time they drank the blood, they did it of their own volition.”
Thrall rears back as if struck at that, the Horde’s Warchief as appalled as Rognak feels. He opens his mouth, clearly wanting to deny it… but in the end, his teeth click shut and he grinds them for a moment.
“But Grom…”
“You knew Grommash Hellscream as a peer and a brother. But even you saw the recklessness he barely held at bay, Warchief. It was why you sent him to Ashenvale in the first place, exile or no. I’m not saying you made the wrong decision in sending us away so that there would be no further bloodshed between the humans and the Horde. But in doing so, you set Hellscream on a path of further bloodshed with another species entirely.”
Rognak looks down at his hands for a moment. He’s made his peace with what he had to do, but part of him will always regret that Grom had to die so Cenarius and so many others could live.
“I’ve told you twice now and I shall tell you a third time… I tried to get him to see that there was another way. And when he refused in that stubborn way of his, I was forced to act.”
Silence falls and for a moment Rognak just waits. When Thrall doesn’t immediately speak up again, he finally lifts his head to see the Warchief looking off into the distance. It’s clear from the expression on his face that Thrall doesn’t want to hear all of this. He doesn’t want to hear that Grommash couldn’t be talked down, even if he knows its true.
The Hellscream obeying his Warchief’s orders and taking his Clan to cut down some trees was one thing. But listening to some whelp from within his Clan trying to tell him what to do… there was no way Grom was going to do that. Not in a million years. Rognak had accepted that fact. Now, Thrall was having to work through the same acceptance and realization.
The proof of Rognak’s words can be seen all around them. He’s made an alliance with the Night Elves. He’s killed a demon who sought to re-enslave their people. He’s struck a bargain with a Forest Demigod. But at the same time, he’s also killed the orc that Thrall called brother. The orc that helped Thrall free their people back in Lordaeron, and then helped Thrall get their new Horde across the sea.
Finally, Thrall grunts and seems to almost shake himself. In the end, he decides that a change in subject is apparently for the better here.
“… How did you manage to construct an encampment like this in such a short period of time? How did you manage to turn this tree into a home without carving away at it?”
Waving a hand around them, Thrall lets a note of wonder creep into his voice. The Horde’s Warchief frowns and tilts his head to the side.
“Do the Elements whisper to you as they do me, Rognak? Have you taken up our people’s ancient practice of shamanism, as I have?”
He could have lied and probably had Thrall wrapped around his finger in no time. Hell, he could have probably taken Grom’s place as Thrall’s ‘brother’ by pretending to be a shaman just like the Horde’s Warchief. But… no. That was a temporary solution at best.
“It was not the Elements that I spoke to, Warchief… but Nature itself. Shamanism is not enough. It is a step down the right path, but only one step down that path. If we orcs are to rise up and leave our bloody and corrupted past behind, we must turn to druidism and embrace it entirely.”
It’s not what Thrall wants to hear, and Rognak doesn’t think he’ll actually be able to convince the Warchief to switch from shamanism to druidism on a personal scale. But he knows he needs to convince Thrall that druidism is just as poignant a discipline and important a practice as shamanism in their New Horde. For the sake of everything, there must be orc druids going forward. This Rognak knows beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Staring at Jaina Proudmoore, Rognak finds himself at a loss for words. He knew who she was, of course. Though during their first meeting, he hadn’t fully understood. His other set of memories had still been rather muddled back then, and while something about her had caught his attention, he hadn’t truly understood what until much later.
However, he HAD recognized that she represented danger at the time. Dressed in the robes of the Kirin Tor, talking about how special he was and making promises that he’d been sure she wouldn’t keep, Jaina had terrified him during and after their first meeting. In the end, he’d had no choice but to flee the internment camp in the wake of her departure.
It had seemed obvious to him at the time that she was lying to keep him placated and docile. He’d been so certain that she would return with an entire squad of human soldiers to take him into custody that he’d run away that very same night.
In hindsight, knowing what he did now about her, given what he remembered of her from the other world, Rognak no longer believed Jaina was lying. Perhaps she had been, but knowing her strength of character, he thinks she might have actually been telling the truth. Still, if he could go back and do it over again, he wouldn’t have. Fleeing the camp in order to get away from the Apprentice Mage had ultimately led him right into the Warsong Clan’s arms and put him on the trajectory to where he was today. Demon Slayer and Chieftain of the Warsong Clan.
The second meeting, however, had been completely by coincidence… and his own instincts acting against him. He’d heard a woman cry out and it had caused him to go running in that direction. He hadn’t known at the time that it was Jaina Proudmoore, of course. At first all he’d seen was a bunch of masked bandits menacing a woman with crossbows and other weapons.
So he’d acted, and in doing so he’d dealt with the bandits in a most decisive manner. He might not have liked killing as much as the average orc did, but he wasn’t a pacifist or anything like that. Nature was just as savage and unforgiving as civilization at the end of the day, and Rognak had embodied those aspects of nature as much as he’d embodied life and renewal.
Those bandits hadn’t been deserving of the life they’d been given. So he’d taken it from them. By burying them beneath the earth, their bodies would be used as fertilizer to create something better, something more beautiful. Of course, that was his thinking at the time anyways. If he’d known then what he knows now, Rognak might have tried to burn them. As it is, they’re likely to be raised as undead with the rest of Lordaeron’s dead by this point.
Regardless, when he’d realized who he’d saved and seen how she so easily handled the bandit leader with just a couple of spells, Rognak had quickly realized that not only did Jaina not need his help, but she somehow recognized AND remembered him… which couldn’t possibly be a good thing, or so he’d figured at the time. In the end, he’d run away as fast as he possibly could, transforming into a stag to escape the scene before she could turn that prodigious magical talent of hers onto him.
Now here they were, and unfortunately he couldn’t very well run away this time. Even if he might have wanted to. Looking back and forth between the two of them, Thrall’s eyes narrow and he looks every bit the Horde’s Warchief in this moment.
“You two know each other?”
The suspicion in his voice is heavy, but then it’s also rather fair Rognak supposes. After all, until just a short while ago, the Horde and Jaina’s refugees had been enemies. For her to recognize and name him on sight made it seem as though Rognak was spying for Lady Proudmoore or something. Luckily, the truth would set him free.
“No better than you do I imagine, Warchief. Our paths crossed a couple times back in Lordaeron. That’s it.”
Honest, factual truth. Nothing to hide. Nothing to see here. Thrall peers at Rognak, clearly looking for a hint of deception, but Rognak stares right back, standing tall with his jaw set. Luckily for him, Jaina coughs a bit and finally backs him up. It would seem the human mage sees what her familiarity with him looks like, because she’s quick to set the record straight.
“O-Oh. Yes, ah… apologies. What Rognak says is true. I’ve met him twice and both times our conversations were short to the point of nonexistent. All I know is his name, and he mine.”
Glancing at Jaina, Thrall hums for a moment… before the tension in his shoulders eases up ever so slightly. Seriously? The Warchief was more inclined to listen to his former enemy than Rognak? The orc druid tried not to take it too personally, but he couldn’t quite help but cross his arms over his chest, feeling more than a little defensive. He’d known he’d be in for a grilling when Thrall finally came down from Stonetalon, but Jaina’s presence and recognition had somewhat thrown him off his game. He’d been prepared for Thrall. He hadn’t been prepared for her.
It would seem Thrall was of a similar school of thought, because after another moment and one final glance between the two of them, he grunts.
“Chieftain Rognak. I would speak with you privately about what has happened in my absence.”
Despite Rognak’s immense successes, Thrall still manages to sound grave and make it seem like he’s been met with nothing but failure since becoming Chieftain. It takes every fiber of the druid’s being not to snort derisively and instead keep a respectful tongue as he nods sharply.
“Of course, Warchief.”
With that, the two of them leave Jaina and Cairne behind, with Rognak leading Thrall deeper into the encampment, to his personal home. Built into a large tree, Rognak is rather proud of the small domicile he’s made for himself. He’d done every last bit of the nature magic to influence the tree’s growth after all. He notices the way Thrall looks around them in disguised wonder, before focusing on the matter at hand.
“I know about the Mak’gora. Tell me why it happened. Why did you decide to challenge Grommash Hellscream?”
With Jaina no longer there muddling the waters, Rognak was on much sturdier ground now. This conversation he was more prepared for, even if he’d been dreading it all the same.
“He left me no choice. Ask any member of the Warsong Clan and they’ll tell you that I tried to talk him down first. I didn’t want to challenge him. I wanted him to see reason on his own and keep from making the same mistake that saw you exiling him to Ashenvale in the first place.”
Thrall stiffens at that, growling slightly. It’s clear that the Horde’s Warchief does not like having his choices thrown back in his face. Before Rognak ever challenged Grom to Mak’gora, Thrall started the chain of events by sending him away in the first place.
“I did not exile Grom! I sent him to this forest to procure lumber for the Horde, lumber that we had sore need of! It was an important mission that I could entrust to no other!”
Rognak resists the urge to scoff derisively. They might be the same age, but Thrall is Warchief and he is only a Clan Chieftain. He has no desire to supplant the current Warchief either. He has enough on his hands as it is with just the Warsong Clan. However, he won’t let Thrall try and strip him of his title either. Leadership of the Warsong Clan might be a burden, but it is also a responsibility and an opportunity that Rognak will not shirk.
“The Warsong Clan has retrieved your lumber and then some, Warchief. The Clan’s actions are beyond reproach.”
He says it evenly and without anger, speaking with as stoic a tone as he can manage. Thrall still bristles in response.
“The Clan’s actions might be beyond reproach, but that does not mean yours are! Why did you challenge Grom to Mak’gora? WHY DID YOU SLAY MY BROTHER?!”
And there it was. Rognak lets Thrall realize his own folly, watching as the Warchief pulls himself back after a moment, reining in his anger. Almost any other orc might have held onto it, even stoked the fires of his rage… but Thrall wasn’t like most orcs. It was part of the reason Rognak was happy to leave him in charge of the Horde.
“As I said, he left me no choice. You’ve come down from Stonetalon with the humans as your allies despite Grom’s actions. But if I had let him have his way here in Ashenvale, then he would have made you different, even stronger enemies. He also would have fallen back under the control of demons.”
Thrall goes abruptly still at that, looking caught between shocked and enraged. His voice, when he finally responds, is that of a deadly whisper.
“What?”
And so Rognak explains, knowing full well that Thrall is balanced on a precipice. The wrong word will see the Warchief attacking him, but at the same time… he needs to hear what Rognak has to say. The druid tells Thrall all about what else the Warsong Clan has done since arriving in Ashenvale. How the Lord of the Forest, a demigod named Cenarius, had made contact with them and given them a quest.
He tells Thrall of the corrupted pool and Mannoroth’s arrival, and their victory over the massive demon. Partway through his tale of the battle, Rognak pulls what used to be Gorehowl off of his back and lets Thrall see it properly. The Warchief of the Horde takes it out of his hands, running his fingers over the vines that now wrap around the haft, his eyes glued to the glowing green nature energy wafting off of the axeblade.
Thrall hands Rognak’s weapon back wordlessly and lets Rognak continue in his explanation of how they’d ultimately managed to not just kill Mannoroth but use the newly blessed axe to destroy the massive demon’s body entirely so that it could not corrupt the forest around it. The Warchief even looks vaguely pleased by this. He’d heard, after all, how the veteran warriors of the Warsong Clan had to be held back when they came face to face with the pool of corrupted blood.
Finally, Rognak’s explanation comes to a close. Of course, Thrall takes umbrage with one thing in particular.
“You cannot know for certain that Grom would have succumbed to the temptation of the demon’s blood. He hated the demons for what they did to our people. More than anyone.”
Shaking his head, Rognak sighs.
“No one ever told you, did they? Thrall… the demons didn’t just enslave our people back on Draenor. Ask any of the veterans. Demand the answer from anyone who was there if need be. They’ll tell you the truth. The orcs willingly sold their souls to the demons. The first time they drank the blood, they did it of their own volition.”
Thrall rears back as if struck at that, the Horde’s Warchief as appalled as Rognak feels. He opens his mouth, clearly wanting to deny it… but in the end, his teeth click shut and he grinds them for a moment.
“But Grom…”
“You knew Grommash Hellscream as a peer and a brother. But even you saw the recklessness he barely held at bay, Warchief. It was why you sent him to Ashenvale in the first place, exile or no. I’m not saying you made the wrong decision in sending us away so that there would be no further bloodshed between the humans and the Horde. But in doing so, you set Hellscream on a path of further bloodshed with another species entirely.”
Rognak looks down at his hands for a moment. He’s made his peace with what he had to do, but part of him will always regret that Grom had to die so Cenarius and so many others could live.
“I’ve told you twice now and I shall tell you a third time… I tried to get him to see that there was another way. And when he refused in that stubborn way of his, I was forced to act.”
Silence falls and for a moment Rognak just waits. When Thrall doesn’t immediately speak up again, he finally lifts his head to see the Warchief looking off into the distance. It’s clear from the expression on his face that Thrall doesn’t want to hear all of this. He doesn’t want to hear that Grommash couldn’t be talked down, even if he knows its true.
The Hellscream obeying his Warchief’s orders and taking his Clan to cut down some trees was one thing. But listening to some whelp from within his Clan trying to tell him what to do… there was no way Grom was going to do that. Not in a million years. Rognak had accepted that fact. Now, Thrall was having to work through the same acceptance and realization.
The proof of Rognak’s words can be seen all around them. He’s made an alliance with the Night Elves. He’s killed a demon who sought to re-enslave their people. He’s struck a bargain with a Forest Demigod. But at the same time, he’s also killed the orc that Thrall called brother. The orc that helped Thrall free their people back in Lordaeron, and then helped Thrall get their new Horde across the sea.
Finally, Thrall grunts and seems to almost shake himself. In the end, he decides that a change in subject is apparently for the better here.
“… How did you manage to construct an encampment like this in such a short period of time? How did you manage to turn this tree into a home without carving away at it?”
Waving a hand around them, Thrall lets a note of wonder creep into his voice. The Horde’s Warchief frowns and tilts his head to the side.
“Do the Elements whisper to you as they do me, Rognak? Have you taken up our people’s ancient practice of shamanism, as I have?”
He could have lied and probably had Thrall wrapped around his finger in no time. Hell, he could have probably taken Grom’s place as Thrall’s ‘brother’ by pretending to be a shaman just like the Horde’s Warchief. But… no. That was a temporary solution at best.
“It was not the Elements that I spoke to, Warchief… but Nature itself. Shamanism is not enough. It is a step down the right path, but only one step down that path. If we orcs are to rise up and leave our bloody and corrupted past behind, we must turn to druidism and embrace it entirely.”
It’s not what Thrall wants to hear, and Rognak doesn’t think he’ll actually be able to convince the Warchief to switch from shamanism to druidism on a personal scale. But he knows he needs to convince Thrall that druidism is just as poignant a discipline and important a practice as shamanism in their New Horde. For the sake of everything, there must be orc druids going forward. This Rognak knows beyond a shadow of a doubt.
