A low rumble starts to build in Thrall’s chest, one that he recognizes as the prelude to a full-blown growl. Needless to say, hearing that his chosen path isn’t ‘enough’ doesn’t sit well with the Warchief of the Horde. He was Warchief first, but shaman second before all other things. Fighting to bring shamanism back to their people had been an uphill battle, but Thrall had never given up.
He was used to hearing from the older generation that the shamans of their childhood hadn’t done nearly enough to be worth keeping around. He was used to facing down orc warriors who thought listening to the Elements and to the Spirits was a waste of time. The number of times that Thrall had overheard an orc scoffing at his shamanistic talents and saying to their neighbor that all a real orc needed was a strong arm and a good axe… he couldn’t even begin to count them, truth be told.
But he’d never been told that it wasn’t ENOUGH before. He’d never had anyone with the balls to say that his chosen vocation was the first step on some greater path. Thrall didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.
His discontentment must show on his face. Either that, or Rognak hears the rumbling building in his chest and sees the way Thrall’s nostrils are starting to flare. Before the Warchief can begin to argue the point with the Warsong Chieftain, Rognak holds up a hand.
“Before you say anything Warchief… please, let me show you what I’m talking about.”
Thrall grinds his teeth, before grunting and nodding sharply. Rognak leads him from the tree and out into the encampment once more, this time walking to a different part of the camp on the opposite end of where Thrall had entered from. Already, he sees some of his Horde starting to mingle with the Warsong Clan and the Night Elves.
Mostly orcs however. Cairne and his tauren look nervous, likely because of their stories regarding these immortal forest dwellers. Meanwhile, the Darkspear Trolls have mistrustful looks directed at the Night Elves, and the handful of glances Thrall sees these ‘Sentinels’ throw in their direction aren’t any better. And finally… Jaina and her humans also seem to be holding back. Not surprising, he supposes. Their alliance with the humans is still incredibly uncertain.
Before Thrall can think much more about all of that, however, he and Rognak round a corner and the Warchief stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as he takes in a sharp inhale of air. Rognak stops after a moment as well, glancing between Thrall and the source of his shock.
“Ah, yes. That’s Cenarius, Warchief. I told you about him, remember? He’s the Lord of the Forest and the main reason we were able to beat Mannoroth.”
… Yes, Rognak had spoken of this Forest Demigod, hadn’t he? That said, Thrall frowns and shoots the Warsong Chieftain a sharp glance.
“Were you not the one to deliver the killing blow to the demon, Rognak?”
Chuckling ruefully, Rognak inclines his head.
“I was… but without Cenarius’ blessing of Gorehowl, I cannot say things would have ended as they did. Not to mention, he brought along the Night Elf Sentinels. Without their help, Mannoroth might have wiped the entirety of the Warsong Clan out. The demon’s defeat was a joint effort, to be sure.”
Thrall grunts at that. Rognak sounds a lot like him at times. And that’s throwing him for a loop. Thrall is used to being surrounded by orcs who seek nothing more than glory and honor through bloodshed. He’s used to orcs who fight to get the final blow and secure the kill for their own prestige, who are always looking for their next battle.
But the way Rognak has spoken about… everything, from the Mak’gora with Grom to the defeat and destruction of Mannoroth… he talks as though these things were necessary but not glorious. He talks as though he did what he had to, but was not overly excited for it. For a moment, Thrall sees himself in Rognak… and then he grunts and shakes his head, reminding himself that the other orc had not only killed his brother, but also had strange ideas about this ‘druidism’ thing.
“You’ve seen Cenarius. Now see what he’s doing. Look upon the orcs who even now have begun to learn at his feet.”
Thrall’s eyes follow Rognak’s hand as the other orc throws it out towards the clearing they stand on the edge of. Indeed, while the Lord of the Forest is the most imposing entity in the clearing by far… he is not alone. Before him are a couple rows of orcs, each and every one on their knees, working with the soil and grass before them.
They are of the Warsong Clan, Thrall recognizes that much. However, they are all young. Most are older than he and Rognak, but none can be called veterans he doesn’t think. These are orcs that he and Grom freed from the internment camps on their way off out of Lordaeron. In the aftermath of their great escape, there had been so many of their kind that the existing clans such as the Warsong had taken on a great number of new recruits.
Thrall can tell that these are those new recruits, or at least some of them. It’s not many. Maybe a dozen or two at most. But they kneel before Cenarius and listen to the great entity speak. Thrall also leans forward, focusing on Cenarius’ words, his brow furrowing in concentration.
“-ocus. Life is all around you. You are one with Nature. Let your presence and mind seep into the grass, into the earth, into the trees around you. Reach out to it, and it will reach back. Nurture it, and it will nurture you in turn. Let Nature use you as a conduit to breathe new life into this world.”
Some of the orcs look disgruntled and aggravated. That doesn’t surprise Thrall. While Cenarius’ words are good, strong words that partially resonate with Thrall, your average orc warrior isn’t going to be inclined to meditate. And that’s what this seems to be.
And yet… some of the Warsong orcs look surprisingly peaceful. And to Thrall’s mild shock, one of them even lets out a cry of delight.
“I did something! Look!”
His hands come up from the ground as he leans back. Every other orc in the clearing, Thrall and Rognak included, peers at the grass in front of him. There, sprouting from the grass… is the smallest of wildflowers. By all rights, it might have been there already. Thrall would have no way of knowing. And yet… the orc in question looks so very pleased with himself. His fellows grumble and refocus their efforts, while Cenarius gives him a nod.
“Good, young one. Very good. But do not stop now. There is much more to learn.”
“Y-Yes… yes!”
A hand suddenly falls on Thrall’s shoulder, causing the Warchief to startle as he turns his head to see Rognak regarding the scene with supreme fondness. The new Chieftain of the Warsong Clan looks pleased as can be, even as he turns his eyes to Thrall.
“Do you see now, Warchief? This is the future of the Warsong Clan… and I hope the Horde as well. These are the first Warsong Druids. But not the last. Not by a long shot.”
Something stirs in Thrall’s chest. Something… hopeful. Unfortunately, that small kindling of hope is dashed on the rocks as soon as his brain catches up with just who’s inspired it. With a snarl, Thrall yanks himself free of Rognak’s grasp and turns away, leaving the clearing. As he stomps away from Cenarius and the Warsong orcs learning druidism at his feet, he feels Rognak following after him quietly. Another oddity. Any normal orc would have taken Thrall’s actions as disrespect and either slunk off to nurse wounded pride or otherwise confronted him.
… Thrall wanted Rognak to confront him. He wanted the other orc to give him an excuse to pick a fight. This… initiative of his was certainly something else. Warsong Druids. Thrall could already see a dozen ways in which they would strengthen the Horde. And not just in battle either, but in day to day life. In the long-term, they would even represent a shift in Horde Culture. Shamans and druids together, working to change the Orcish Horde one mind at a time. No more would the bloodthirsty and petty rule. No more would they be conquerors lusting after their next battle.
But at the same time… Grom was dead. And it was at Rognak’s hands. Deep down inside, Thrall knows the truth. He knows that Grom’s death wasn’t Rognak’s fault, not truly. It was Grom’s own doing. And… it was Thrall’s as well.
If he hadn’t sent Grom to these woods, the old warrior might still be alive. If he hadn’t thrown Grom away, then he wouldn’t have died here so far from Thrall’s side. Oh, Thrall knew that Hellscream desired a warrior’s death. He’d known it in the back of his mind for a long, long time. Grom was old, and while he’d still had quite a few battles left in him, the years had been beginning to wear on him. His mind and body were starting to go.
Thrall had always expected Grom to fall in battle sooner or later. But he’d thought it would be by his side. Standing as one, together as brothers until the end. It hadn’t happened back on Lordaeron, but Thrall had prepared himself for it to happen here, on Kalimdor. Except… except now it had and he found he wasn’t nearly as ready as he’d fooled himself into thinking he was.
Grom was dead and Rognak was his killer and his successor. And worse still, he was one of the most reasonable fucking orcs Thrall had ever had the displeasure of dealing with. As the druid stands quietly to the side, Thrall growls, knowing that Rognak won’t give him an excuse to fight him even though that’s all his heart desires at the moment.
In the end, he drops to his knees, places Doomhammer on the ground before him, and closes his eyes. He focuses himself on the elements, on the spirits. He calls for their guidance as he’s done more than once since taking up the mantle of Warchief. To his shock… he gets an answer much faster than he’s expecting.
Heh. Sentimental fool.
Thrall’s head shoots up and he stares, eyes wide, at the ghostly visage of Grommash Hellscream standing before him. The alien forest has fallen away. Rognak isn’t there. This… this is a spirit vision.
“You… Grom…”
Snorting, Grom offers Thrall his hand and then yanks him to his feet.
You’re afraid, brother. You shouldn’t be. Our people’s future is bright. Brighter than ever.
“How… how is this possible? How are you here?”
Here, a shadow crosses Grom’s spectral face.
I never told you, Thrall. But the brat had the right of it. Me and the other Chieftains back on Draenor… we did drink the blood willingly. We bound our very souls to the Legion. I thought myself free of it, but the truth was… the Blood Curse followed us, even to Azeroth. Even through our many defeats and all these years.
Thrall’s breath hitches at the confirmation. Grom, meanwhile, glances to the side for a moment before looking back at him with a half-snarl, half-grin.
The brat ended it. Mannoroth’s death ended the blood curse on our people. Freed me from my justly deserved torment too. Rognak is the reason I’m able to speak to you now like this, Thrall. Going forward… the spirits of our dead will rest here on Kalimdor.
Thrall can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. They do not fall, but it is still a near thing.
“He killed you, Grom. Brother.”
Aye. That he did. Little brat was holding out on me and the clan all this time. Don’t let him hold out on you. Keep him accountable. He wants his peace? Make sure he knows he has to fight for it. Oh and one more thing…
Thrall nods, listening carefully.
That axe of his… it’s not Gorehowl anymore. Make sure he knows he needs to find a new name for it.
“I will. Grom, I-!”
But Grom just snorts, smirks… and the spirit vision ends. Thrall comes back to himself with a gasp and the concerned tone of the Warsong Clan’s new Chieftain in his ear.
“Warchief?”
Reaching forward, Thrall picks up Doomhammer, feeling its comfortable haft in his grasp as he rises to his feet. Even with that incredible encounter… there’s still a part of him that thinks he might never be able to forgive Rognak for what he did. But he doesn’t need to forgive Rognak to work with him. In the end… he’ll kill two birds with one stone, offering a peace offering while fulfilling Grom’s last request in the same breath.
“Chieftain Rognak.”
Turning, he watches as the other orc stiffens.
“Warchief Thrall.”
“Your weapon… it will need a new name. Gorehowl was forged on Draenor and said to have been fed the hearts of six legendary Gronn. It was the weapon of three generations of Hellscream. But now… now you hold something else. Something different.”
It is an acknowledgment that the weapon belongs to Rognak, as well as an acknowledgment that Thrall accepts Rognak’s place as Chieftain of the Warsong Clan. Ultimately, it’s the best the other orc is going to get.
Blinking slowly, Rognak draws the axe from his back, staring down at it for several long moments in silence. Finally, he nods.
“Wolfsong. From now on… the axe will be called Wolfsong.”
Thrall inhales deeply, even as he hears an approving chuckle on the wind. From the way Rognak’s ears twitch, he might just hear it too.
“Very well. Well met, Chieftain Rognak of the Warsong Clan. You have told me much of what you’ve uncovered here in Ashenvale. Now I shall tell you of the warning that the Prophet gave to us, of the Burning Legion’s return and the alliance I made with Jaina Proudmoore and her humans. Mannoroth was not the end… he was only the beginning.”
He’s expecting to blindside Rognak at least a little bit with his grave warning. Which is why it’s a little irritating when Rognak just nods along in agreement, not seeming surprised in the slightest. In fact, Thrall is the one who is surprised by Rognak’s next words.
“Aye, Warchief. The situation grows more and more dire by the day and our new Night Elf allies need our help. It’s not just demons who invade their forests with increasing frequency, but the Legion’s undead servants as well. The leader of the Sentinels that helped us slay Mannoroth has gone on to talk to their High Priestess, and we are currently waiting for word back. As soon as we get it, we need to be ready to move.”
Grunting, Thrall takes this all in… and then nods, offering Rognak his arm, much to the other orc’s surprise. Rognak steps forward and returns the favor, and they clasp arms for a long moment.
“Then we shall be ready, Chieftain. And we shall make sure the demons know that no matter how new to this world we might be… we are ready to protect it.”
Rognak grins a savage grin of agreement in response and Thrall thinks that maybe, just maybe… they might be able to get along after all.
A low rumble starts to build in Thrall’s chest, one that he recognizes as the prelude to a full-blown growl. Needless to say, hearing that his chosen path isn’t ‘enough’ doesn’t sit well with the Warchief of the Horde. He was Warchief first, but shaman second before all other things. Fighting to bring shamanism back to their people had been an uphill battle, but Thrall had never given up.
He was used to hearing from the older generation that the shamans of their childhood hadn’t done nearly enough to be worth keeping around. He was used to facing down orc warriors who thought listening to the Elements and to the Spirits was a waste of time. The number of times that Thrall had overheard an orc scoffing at his shamanistic talents and saying to their neighbor that all a real orc needed was a strong arm and a good axe… he couldn’t even begin to count them, truth be told.
But he’d never been told that it wasn’t ENOUGH before. He’d never had anyone with the balls to say that his chosen vocation was the first step on some greater path. Thrall didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.
His discontentment must show on his face. Either that, or Rognak hears the rumbling building in his chest and sees the way Thrall’s nostrils are starting to flare. Before the Warchief can begin to argue the point with the Warsong Chieftain, Rognak holds up a hand.
“Before you say anything Warchief… please, let me show you what I’m talking about.”
Thrall grinds his teeth, before grunting and nodding sharply. Rognak leads him from the tree and out into the encampment once more, this time walking to a different part of the camp on the opposite end of where Thrall had entered from. Already, he sees some of his Horde starting to mingle with the Warsong Clan and the Night Elves.
Mostly orcs however. Cairne and his tauren look nervous, likely because of their stories regarding these immortal forest dwellers. Meanwhile, the Darkspear Trolls have mistrustful looks directed at the Night Elves, and the handful of glances Thrall sees these ‘Sentinels’ throw in their direction aren’t any better. And finally… Jaina and her humans also seem to be holding back. Not surprising, he supposes. Their alliance with the humans is still incredibly uncertain.
Before Thrall can think much more about all of that, however, he and Rognak round a corner and the Warchief stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as he takes in a sharp inhale of air. Rognak stops after a moment as well, glancing between Thrall and the source of his shock.
“Ah, yes. That’s Cenarius, Warchief. I told you about him, remember? He’s the Lord of the Forest and the main reason we were able to beat Mannoroth.”
… Yes, Rognak had spoken of this Forest Demigod, hadn’t he? That said, Thrall frowns and shoots the Warsong Chieftain a sharp glance.
“Were you not the one to deliver the killing blow to the demon, Rognak?”
Chuckling ruefully, Rognak inclines his head.
“I was… but without Cenarius’ blessing of Gorehowl, I cannot say things would have ended as they did. Not to mention, he brought along the Night Elf Sentinels. Without their help, Mannoroth might have wiped the entirety of the Warsong Clan out. The demon’s defeat was a joint effort, to be sure.”
Thrall grunts at that. Rognak sounds a lot like him at times. And that’s throwing him for a loop. Thrall is used to being surrounded by orcs who seek nothing more than glory and honor through bloodshed. He’s used to orcs who fight to get the final blow and secure the kill for their own prestige, who are always looking for their next battle.
But the way Rognak has spoken about… everything, from the Mak’gora with Grom to the defeat and destruction of Mannoroth… he talks as though these things were necessary but not glorious. He talks as though he did what he had to, but was not overly excited for it. For a moment, Thrall sees himself in Rognak… and then he grunts and shakes his head, reminding himself that the other orc had not only killed his brother, but also had strange ideas about this ‘druidism’ thing.
“You’ve seen Cenarius. Now see what he’s doing. Look upon the orcs who even now have begun to learn at his feet.”
Thrall’s eyes follow Rognak’s hand as the other orc throws it out towards the clearing they stand on the edge of. Indeed, while the Lord of the Forest is the most imposing entity in the clearing by far… he is not alone. Before him are a couple rows of orcs, each and every one on their knees, working with the soil and grass before them.
They are of the Warsong Clan, Thrall recognizes that much. However, they are all young. Most are older than he and Rognak, but none can be called veterans he doesn’t think. These are orcs that he and Grom freed from the internment camps on their way off out of Lordaeron. In the aftermath of their great escape, there had been so many of their kind that the existing clans such as the Warsong had taken on a great number of new recruits.
Thrall can tell that these are those new recruits, or at least some of them. It’s not many. Maybe a dozen or two at most. But they kneel before Cenarius and listen to the great entity speak. Thrall also leans forward, focusing on Cenarius’ words, his brow furrowing in concentration.
“-ocus. Life is all around you. You are one with Nature. Let your presence and mind seep into the grass, into the earth, into the trees around you. Reach out to it, and it will reach back. Nurture it, and it will nurture you in turn. Let Nature use you as a conduit to breathe new life into this world.”
Some of the orcs look disgruntled and aggravated. That doesn’t surprise Thrall. While Cenarius’ words are good, strong words that partially resonate with Thrall, your average orc warrior isn’t going to be inclined to meditate. And that’s what this seems to be.
And yet… some of the Warsong orcs look surprisingly peaceful. And to Thrall’s mild shock, one of them even lets out a cry of delight.
“I did something! Look!”
His hands come up from the ground as he leans back. Every other orc in the clearing, Thrall and Rognak included, peers at the grass in front of him. There, sprouting from the grass… is the smallest of wildflowers. By all rights, it might have been there already. Thrall would have no way of knowing. And yet… the orc in question looks so very pleased with himself. His fellows grumble and refocus their efforts, while Cenarius gives him a nod.
“Good, young one. Very good. But do not stop now. There is much more to learn.”
“Y-Yes… yes!”
A hand suddenly falls on Thrall’s shoulder, causing the Warchief to startle as he turns his head to see Rognak regarding the scene with supreme fondness. The new Chieftain of the Warsong Clan looks pleased as can be, even as he turns his eyes to Thrall.
“Do you see now, Warchief? This is the future of the Warsong Clan… and I hope the Horde as well. These are the first Warsong Druids. But not the last. Not by a long shot.”
Something stirs in Thrall’s chest. Something… hopeful. Unfortunately, that small kindling of hope is dashed on the rocks as soon as his brain catches up with just who’s inspired it. With a snarl, Thrall yanks himself free of Rognak’s grasp and turns away, leaving the clearing. As he stomps away from Cenarius and the Warsong orcs learning druidism at his feet, he feels Rognak following after him quietly. Another oddity. Any normal orc would have taken Thrall’s actions as disrespect and either slunk off to nurse wounded pride or otherwise confronted him.
… Thrall wanted Rognak to confront him. He wanted the other orc to give him an excuse to pick a fight. This… initiative of his was certainly something else. Warsong Druids. Thrall could already see a dozen ways in which they would strengthen the Horde. And not just in battle either, but in day to day life. In the long-term, they would even represent a shift in Horde Culture. Shamans and druids together, working to change the Orcish Horde one mind at a time. No more would the bloodthirsty and petty rule. No more would they be conquerors lusting after their next battle.
But at the same time… Grom was dead. And it was at Rognak’s hands. Deep down inside, Thrall knows the truth. He knows that Grom’s death wasn’t Rognak’s fault, not truly. It was Grom’s own doing. And… it was Thrall’s as well.
If he hadn’t sent Grom to these woods, the old warrior might still be alive. If he hadn’t thrown Grom away, then he wouldn’t have died here so far from Thrall’s side. Oh, Thrall knew that Hellscream desired a warrior’s death. He’d known it in the back of his mind for a long, long time. Grom was old, and while he’d still had quite a few battles left in him, the years had been beginning to wear on him. His mind and body were starting to go.
Thrall had always expected Grom to fall in battle sooner or later. But he’d thought it would be by his side. Standing as one, together as brothers until the end. It hadn’t happened back on Lordaeron, but Thrall had prepared himself for it to happen here, on Kalimdor. Except… except now it had and he found he wasn’t nearly as ready as he’d fooled himself into thinking he was.
Grom was dead and Rognak was his killer and his successor. And worse still, he was one of the most reasonable fucking orcs Thrall had ever had the displeasure of dealing with. As the druid stands quietly to the side, Thrall growls, knowing that Rognak won’t give him an excuse to fight him even though that’s all his heart desires at the moment.
In the end, he drops to his knees, places Doomhammer on the ground before him, and closes his eyes. He focuses himself on the elements, on the spirits. He calls for their guidance as he’s done more than once since taking up the mantle of Warchief. To his shock… he gets an answer much faster than he’s expecting.
Heh. Sentimental fool.
Thrall’s head shoots up and he stares, eyes wide, at the ghostly visage of Grommash Hellscream standing before him. The alien forest has fallen away. Rognak isn’t there. This… this is a spirit vision.
“You… Grom…”
Snorting, Grom offers Thrall his hand and then yanks him to his feet.
You’re afraid, brother. You shouldn’t be. Our people’s future is bright. Brighter than ever.
“How… how is this possible? How are you here?”
Here, a shadow crosses Grom’s spectral face.
I never told you, Thrall. But the brat had the right of it. Me and the other Chieftains back on Draenor… we did drink the blood willingly. We bound our very souls to the Legion. I thought myself free of it, but the truth was… the Blood Curse followed us, even to Azeroth. Even through our many defeats and all these years.
Thrall’s breath hitches at the confirmation. Grom, meanwhile, glances to the side for a moment before looking back at him with a half-snarl, half-grin.
The brat ended it. Mannoroth’s death ended the blood curse on our people. Freed me from my justly deserved torment too. Rognak is the reason I’m able to speak to you now like this, Thrall. Going forward… the spirits of our dead will rest here on Kalimdor.
Thrall can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. They do not fall, but it is still a near thing.
“He killed you, Grom. Brother.”
Aye. That he did. Little brat was holding out on me and the clan all this time. Don’t let him hold out on you. Keep him accountable. He wants his peace? Make sure he knows he has to fight for it. Oh and one more thing…
Thrall nods, listening carefully.
That axe of his… it’s not Gorehowl anymore. Make sure he knows he needs to find a new name for it.
“I will. Grom, I-!”
But Grom just snorts, smirks… and the spirit vision ends. Thrall comes back to himself with a gasp and the concerned tone of the Warsong Clan’s new Chieftain in his ear.
“Warchief?”
Reaching forward, Thrall picks up Doomhammer, feeling its comfortable haft in his grasp as he rises to his feet. Even with that incredible encounter… there’s still a part of him that thinks he might never be able to forgive Rognak for what he did. But he doesn’t need to forgive Rognak to work with him. In the end… he’ll kill two birds with one stone, offering a peace offering while fulfilling Grom’s last request in the same breath.
“Chieftain Rognak.”
Turning, he watches as the other orc stiffens.
“Warchief Thrall.”
“Your weapon… it will need a new name. Gorehowl was forged on Draenor and said to have been fed the hearts of six legendary Gronn. It was the weapon of three generations of Hellscream. But now… now you hold something else. Something different.”
It is an acknowledgment that the weapon belongs to Rognak, as well as an acknowledgment that Thrall accepts Rognak’s place as Chieftain of the Warsong Clan. Ultimately, it’s the best the other orc is going to get.
Blinking slowly, Rognak draws the axe from his back, staring down at it for several long moments in silence. Finally, he nods.
“Wolfsong. From now on… the axe will be called Wolfsong.”
Thrall inhales deeply, even as he hears an approving chuckle on the wind. From the way Rognak’s ears twitch, he might just hear it too.
“Very well. Well met, Chieftain Rognak of the Warsong Clan. You have told me much of what you’ve uncovered here in Ashenvale. Now I shall tell you of the warning that the Prophet gave to us, of the Burning Legion’s return and the alliance I made with Jaina Proudmoore and her humans. Mannoroth was not the end… he was only the beginning.”
He’s expecting to blindside Rognak at least a little bit with his grave warning. Which is why it’s a little irritating when Rognak just nods along in agreement, not seeming surprised in the slightest. In fact, Thrall is the one who is surprised by Rognak’s next words.
“Aye, Warchief. The situation grows more and more dire by the day and our new Night Elf allies need our help. It’s not just demons who invade their forests with increasing frequency, but the Legion’s undead servants as well. The leader of the Sentinels that helped us slay Mannoroth has gone on to talk to their High Priestess, and we are currently waiting for word back. As soon as we get it, we need to be ready to move.”
Grunting, Thrall takes this all in… and then nods, offering Rognak his arm, much to the other orc’s surprise. Rognak steps forward and returns the favor, and they clasp arms for a long moment.
“Then we shall be ready, Chieftain. And we shall make sure the demons know that no matter how new to this world we might be… we are ready to protect it.”
Rognak grins a savage grin of agreement in response and Thrall thinks that maybe, just maybe… they might be able to get along after all.
