He wishes it hadn’t come to this, but as the Mak’gora continues… deep down, he always knew it would. Funnily enough, Grommash Hellscream looks almost happy now that Rognak is fighting back.
Heh, Rognak. That was his name in this world. It was the only name he answered to these days. He wasn’t… he was born here. On Azeroth. In this universe. But once upon a time, he’d been a human in another universe, one that treated this one as though it were a video game series. Needless to say, growing up on Azeroth had been somewhat strange for Rognak. It wasn’t like some of the stories he could recall, where the reincarnation remembered everything from the moment they were born.
No, he’d had to wait. Whether it was some arbitrary restriction put on him by whatever decided to send his memories to this world, or whether it was simply a matter of waiting for his brain meats to develop enough to be able to comprehend the knowledge he held, the orc didn’t really know. What he did know was that he was Rognak of the Warsong Clan… and he was a druid in a world where his people weren’t supposed to be able to BECOME druids.
Even longer then the memories of a past life, Rognak had felt a connection to nature. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when the world around him did not respond to his call. Plants and trees were easy to talk to, easy to work with. They were easier than people, that was for sure. And ultimately, Rognak’s affinity for wildlife had always been very, very high.
Still, knowing that he was an anomaly on a Death World had left Rognak muddling his way through life for the past few years. His previous self was not what he would call a confident or courageous man. He’d been an introverted writer who spent his days indoors as much as possible. By comparison, Rognak loved being outside. He loved being surrounded by nature, loved having it sing to him with all its possibilities.
He wasn’t a very good orc. He wasn’t a very good human either. But… he was a decent enough druid. As the fight continues between him and Grommash Hellscream, Rognak knows he’s stunned the watching orcs of the Warsong Clan into shocked silence. Grom comes at him with that wicked axe of his, aiming to once again deliver a quick killing blow that will end the Mak’gora on the spot… but this time Rognak doesn’t bother blocking. He knows Grom will be expecting that.
Instead, he morphs into a massive jungle cat, dodges out of the way, and rakes his claws down the Warsong Chieftain’s back. A roar of anger erupts from Grom, and even as Rognak darts back, the immediate retaliatory swing manages to catch on his fur, cutting into him and drawing blood. Grommash Hellscream is not to be underestimated, that much is for sure.
Returning to his orcish form, Rognak calls upon his magic, and a moment later he begins healing, the axe wound vanishing quite quickly, much to not just the shock of their audience, but also the shock of one Grommash Hellscream. He can see it in the Warsong Chieftain’s eyes now… he’s beginning to realize he underestimated Rognak’s abilities massively.
But then to be fair, how could he not? Rognak had never shown half of his druidic powers before this moment. Back in Lordaeron, growing up in one of the humans’ internment camps for orcs until he’d finally broken free, he’d learned early on how to hide his innate powers. He knew even before memories of his other life started coming back to him that to stand out was to invite the hammer down upon his head.
As far as the Warsong Clan was concerned, all they’d ever seen Rognak do was use his druidic magic to influence the bushes and trees to rapidly grow a harvest. Or talked with the plant and wildlife around them to be able to warn them that humans were getting ever closer to wherever their latest encampment was located.
Compared to now, he had likely given off the impression of a vaguely useful, but ultimately cowardly creature. But that was only because Rognak didn’t have something worth fighting for.
He couldn’t explain it. Back in Lordaeron, it was like he was moving through a fog. Those lands were not HIS lands, and for whatever reason, he knew he had to hold himself back. Even as they’d crossed the sea, he had felt this small voice in the back of his head, telling him to wait.
And then Grommash had pissed off Thrall and got them sent to the forest of Ashenvale where, as far as the Horde’s Warchief was concerned, they could do no harm. After all, what trouble could Grom possibly get up to while cutting down some trees and retrieving some much needed lumber for the Horde?
The instant that Rognak laid eyes upon the forest’s edge, he knew. He not only remembered exactly what trouble Grommash would get up to, but also knew that HE had to do something about it. It was as if every fiber of his being had lit on fire all at once. This was where he had to make his stand. This was where he needed to step in, because if he didn’t stop Grom here, then he was dooming his people.
… He’d hoped it could be any other way. Truly he did. He hadn’t wanted to come to this, but as the two of them fight, as Grommash struggles to land blows on him, only for the blows that DO land to heal up over just a few seconds of rejuvenating nature magic… Rognak recognizes the truth. It was ALWAYS going to come to this.
If not now, then it would have been later when Grom drank Mannoroth’s blood and fell back into the orcish blood rage anyways. And even if Rognak could have headed that off as well, he knows it would only have been a matter of time. Whether Grommash Hellscream did as the Burning Legion wanted and killed Cenarius or not, the demons would ALWAYS find a way back in.
Only in death, only in his defeat of Mannoroth, did Grom Hellscream truly redeem himself. Unfortunately, Rognak couldn’t afford to let that story play out. Not when it would cause so much harm to so many others along the way. And so here they were, locked in Mak’gora. Honor Unto Death. It was, truly, Rognak’s only way out.
“… Heh. You’ve been holding out on me, brat. To think, I thought you and Thrall were nothing alike.”
Rognak’s jaw clenches at that, even as Grom takes a moment, panting heavily. The old warrior is still fighting fit of course, still holding his axe high… however, unlike Rognak, Grommash’s wounds are still open. Every blow that Hellscream lands on him is healed. Every blow that Rognak lands… is not.
“I suppose I was just looking for something to fight for.”
His response prompts anger from the Warsong Chieftain. A snarl leaves Grom’s lips as he surges forward again, growling angrily.
“And your people weren’t enough for you?!”
Rather than shifting into a beast form again, Rognak brings up his arm, thick roots coalescing around it and blocking the majority of Grom’s latest strike like a makeshift shield. The force of the blow still makes Rognak’s knees buckle, but he holds Grommash off, even as his other hand comes up and discharges a moonfire, right into the other orc’s face.
Roaring, Hellscream is forced back, even as Rognak follows him, a snarl of his own spreading across his orcish features.
“This IS for our people! You would have us create more enemies! A never-ending tide! And for what? To satisfy your precious honor?! To regain what you lost when the Horde fell against the Alliance in the Second War?”
To his credit, Grom recovers fast. He’s not a legend for nothing. Rognak wishes he could say he pushed the Chieftain back again and again after that, but no, the older orc quickly finds his footing, sets himself, and snarls, swinging around wildly until his vision comes back. Rognak dodges his blinded opponent’s swings, ducking under them and shifting back into an ursine form to thrust both of his massive paws right into Grommash’s chest.
CRUNCH!
The sound of ribs snapping under this latest blow is followed by Grom being sent flying once more. The Warsong Chieftain hits the ground like a sack of bones… but even then, he’s still moving. Perhaps Rognak could have followed things up. Perhaps he even could have forced Grommash’s surrender by pinning the older orc down right then and there and demanding he give up.
But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t try to disarm Grom or stop him from rising once more. Even with broken ribs, Hellscream gets back to his feet. Even breathing through what sounds like a punctured lung, he stands tall, axe still in hands, glaring at Rognak from across the clearing.
And yet, for all that he’s glaring, Rognak also sees respect forming in the older orc’s eyes. He’s not unaware of how Grommash Hellscream views him. He’s not unaware of the fact that his Chieftain has never truly respected him. Coward. Soft. Weak. These are undoubtedly some of the things that Grom equated with Rognak before today.
But not anymore. Hellscream sees him for what he is now. For the force of nature he’s become. It’s only too bad that the respect only comes on the day of Grommash’s death. Rognak wishes it could be different. He wishes it didn’t have to be like this. But it does.
To his credit, it’s not as though the older orc would ever even hope for mercy. No part of Hellscream wants for Rognak to offer him the chance to surrender. No part of the old Chieftain wants for Rognak to let him live. In fact… alongside the respect, alongside the anger at being bested, he sees the acceptance. Even still, he’s not expecting what the old warrior says next.
“You, hah… Rognak Warsong… will… be a strong leader for the Warsong Clan… after I’m gone.”
Rognak’s eyes widen at that. He almost just stands there stupidly as Grom charges forward one last time. But no. The dying Chieftain is not going to have him now. Taking the jungle cat form one last time, Rognak bats the axe from Grom’s hands and takes him to the forest floor in one fell swoop. His claws dig into Hellscream’s chest, past the already destroyed ribs, and this time he finds the old orc’s still-beating heart… and crushes it.
He’s back in his orcish for a moment later, staring down into Grom’s eyes as the light fades from them. The Warsong Chieftain is dead. Long live the Warsong Chieftain. It really only starts to hit him a few moments later. What he’s done… it changes everything. It will have to. Certainly, Grommash Hellscream’s time was almost up anyways. He was a few short weeks, maybe months at best, from his expiration date.
But the things he would have done before he finally died were etched into this world’s history, or at least that was what Rognak’s other memories taught him. Those things would not happen now, at least not at Grommash’s hands. And if Rognak had his way, they wouldn’t happen at all. He knew now what he wanted to do.
He wanted to stop the initial hostilities between the Night Elves and the Orcs. If he could prevent his people from cutting down the trees that housed the Night Elf Spirits, then perhaps hatred between their two races was not an inevitability. He also wanted to save Cenarius, to make sure the Lord of the Forest stayed alive in spite of the demonic machinations currently aiming for his death.
Killing Grom went a long way towards saving the Forest Demigod, but it did not mean the danger was entirely past. Mannoroth and his pool of blood was still out there, just waiting for orcs to stumble upon. And if not orcs, then maybe someone else. He had to stop that from happening.
There was just one issue. The Warsong Clan. Slowly, Rognak stands up. As he does so, his hand closes around the haft of Hellscream’s axe. The Mak’gora is over now. Gorehowl is his by right. As is leadership of the Warsong Clan. In slaying Grom, Rognak has become the new Warsong Chieftain. However… that does not mean he will be allowed to keep the title.
Well aware that his youth and relative unpopularity make him an easy target, the first thing Rognak does is look around, fist clenched around Gorehowl, eyes meeting the eyes of each Warsong Warrior staring at him from the circle they’d formed.
“Well? Does anyone else wish to declare Mak’gora? The fight is over. I am victor. If you would dispute my right to lead the Warsong Clan… speak now so that we can get this over with.”
His words go a long way to cowing some of the orcs. Certainly, none of the Peons are going to pick a fight with him. But the others… well, there are plenty of members of the Warsong Clan who look displeased with this outcome. It’s not surprising, in the end. Magic was not unheard of, and Grommash had allowed Rognak to choose his magic as his weapon for this honor duel.
However, from their perspective… it still must have seemed patently unfair. After all, Grommash was just one orc with one axe. Rognak was not just an orc, but a number of different hulking animals too, all with the intelligence of an orc behind him. To say nothing of the healing he’d called upon in battle. Orc Shamans had healing capabilities, but nothing that worked so fast or so well with a moving combat like he’d just displayed.
Yet, the reason for their discontent was also the reason none of them dared say a word. If he had won by the skin of his teeth, then maybe. If he stood before them all covered in wounds and barely remaining on his feet, Rognak doesn’t think for a second that some of the Clan would have taken the opportunity to try to take the title of Chieftain off of him.
It wouldn’t have been honorable or fair, and indeed it would have led to no end of infighting as orc after orc challenged each other until one ruler remained… but they still would have done it. He can tell.
Unfortunately for those among the Warsong Clan who might have aspirations of becoming Chieftain, it’s quite obvious to them that they don’t have a chance against him. The fight against Grommash might not have been a completely one-sided slaughter, but the aftermath certainly made it look like it was. With him standing over the other orc’s corpse, without a single visible scratch on him, holding Hellscream’s axe.
No one dares say a word… but Rognak knows in that instant that it’s not enough. That he can’t just leave it at this. He has to do the one thing he’s dreaded in both of the lives he’s lived. He has to talk. He has to give a speech here and now, if he wants to have any hope of swaying the hearts and minds of the Warsong Clan.
He wishes it hadn’t come to this, but as the Mak’gora continues… deep down, he always knew it would. Funnily enough, Grommash Hellscream looks almost happy now that Rognak is fighting back.
Heh, Rognak. That was his name in this world. It was the only name he answered to these days. He wasn’t… he was born here. On Azeroth. In this universe. But once upon a time, he’d been a human in another universe, one that treated this one as though it were a video game series. Needless to say, growing up on Azeroth had been somewhat strange for Rognak. It wasn’t like some of the stories he could recall, where the reincarnation remembered everything from the moment they were born.
No, he’d had to wait. Whether it was some arbitrary restriction put on him by whatever decided to send his memories to this world, or whether it was simply a matter of waiting for his brain meats to develop enough to be able to comprehend the knowledge he held, the orc didn’t really know. What he did know was that he was Rognak of the Warsong Clan… and he was a druid in a world where his people weren’t supposed to be able to BECOME druids.
Even longer then the memories of a past life, Rognak had felt a connection to nature. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when the world around him did not respond to his call. Plants and trees were easy to talk to, easy to work with. They were easier than people, that was for sure. And ultimately, Rognak’s affinity for wildlife had always been very, very high.
Still, knowing that he was an anomaly on a Death World had left Rognak muddling his way through life for the past few years. His previous self was not what he would call a confident or courageous man. He’d been an introverted writer who spent his days indoors as much as possible. By comparison, Rognak loved being outside. He loved being surrounded by nature, loved having it sing to him with all its possibilities.
He wasn’t a very good orc. He wasn’t a very good human either. But… he was a decent enough druid. As the fight continues between him and Grommash Hellscream, Rognak knows he’s stunned the watching orcs of the Warsong Clan into shocked silence. Grom comes at him with that wicked axe of his, aiming to once again deliver a quick killing blow that will end the Mak’gora on the spot… but this time Rognak doesn’t bother blocking. He knows Grom will be expecting that.
Instead, he morphs into a massive jungle cat, dodges out of the way, and rakes his claws down the Warsong Chieftain’s back. A roar of anger erupts from Grom, and even as Rognak darts back, the immediate retaliatory swing manages to catch on his fur, cutting into him and drawing blood. Grommash Hellscream is not to be underestimated, that much is for sure.
Returning to his orcish form, Rognak calls upon his magic, and a moment later he begins healing, the axe wound vanishing quite quickly, much to not just the shock of their audience, but also the shock of one Grommash Hellscream. He can see it in the Warsong Chieftain’s eyes now… he’s beginning to realize he underestimated Rognak’s abilities massively.
But then to be fair, how could he not? Rognak had never shown half of his druidic powers before this moment. Back in Lordaeron, growing up in one of the humans’ internment camps for orcs until he’d finally broken free, he’d learned early on how to hide his innate powers. He knew even before memories of his other life started coming back to him that to stand out was to invite the hammer down upon his head.
As far as the Warsong Clan was concerned, all they’d ever seen Rognak do was use his druidic magic to influence the bushes and trees to rapidly grow a harvest. Or talked with the plant and wildlife around them to be able to warn them that humans were getting ever closer to wherever their latest encampment was located.
Compared to now, he had likely given off the impression of a vaguely useful, but ultimately cowardly creature. But that was only because Rognak didn’t have something worth fighting for.
He couldn’t explain it. Back in Lordaeron, it was like he was moving through a fog. Those lands were not HIS lands, and for whatever reason, he knew he had to hold himself back. Even as they’d crossed the sea, he had felt this small voice in the back of his head, telling him to wait.
And then Grommash had pissed off Thrall and got them sent to the forest of Ashenvale where, as far as the Horde’s Warchief was concerned, they could do no harm. After all, what trouble could Grom possibly get up to while cutting down some trees and retrieving some much needed lumber for the Horde?
The instant that Rognak laid eyes upon the forest’s edge, he knew. He not only remembered exactly what trouble Grommash would get up to, but also knew that HE had to do something about it. It was as if every fiber of his being had lit on fire all at once. This was where he had to make his stand. This was where he needed to step in, because if he didn’t stop Grom here, then he was dooming his people.
… He’d hoped it could be any other way. Truly he did. He hadn’t wanted to come to this, but as the two of them fight, as Grommash struggles to land blows on him, only for the blows that DO land to heal up over just a few seconds of rejuvenating nature magic… Rognak recognizes the truth. It was ALWAYS going to come to this.
If not now, then it would have been later when Grom drank Mannoroth’s blood and fell back into the orcish blood rage anyways. And even if Rognak could have headed that off as well, he knows it would only have been a matter of time. Whether Grommash Hellscream did as the Burning Legion wanted and killed Cenarius or not, the demons would ALWAYS find a way back in.
Only in death, only in his defeat of Mannoroth, did Grom Hellscream truly redeem himself. Unfortunately, Rognak couldn’t afford to let that story play out. Not when it would cause so much harm to so many others along the way. And so here they were, locked in Mak’gora. Honor Unto Death. It was, truly, Rognak’s only way out.
“… Heh. You’ve been holding out on me, brat. To think, I thought you and Thrall were nothing alike.”
Rognak’s jaw clenches at that, even as Grom takes a moment, panting heavily. The old warrior is still fighting fit of course, still holding his axe high… however, unlike Rognak, Grommash’s wounds are still open. Every blow that Hellscream lands on him is healed. Every blow that Rognak lands… is not.
“I suppose I was just looking for something to fight for.”
His response prompts anger from the Warsong Chieftain. A snarl leaves Grom’s lips as he surges forward again, growling angrily.
“And your people weren’t enough for you?!”
Rather than shifting into a beast form again, Rognak brings up his arm, thick roots coalescing around it and blocking the majority of Grom’s latest strike like a makeshift shield. The force of the blow still makes Rognak’s knees buckle, but he holds Grommash off, even as his other hand comes up and discharges a moonfire, right into the other orc’s face.
Roaring, Hellscream is forced back, even as Rognak follows him, a snarl of his own spreading across his orcish features.
“This IS for our people! You would have us create more enemies! A never-ending tide! And for what? To satisfy your precious honor?! To regain what you lost when the Horde fell against the Alliance in the Second War?”
To his credit, Grom recovers fast. He’s not a legend for nothing. Rognak wishes he could say he pushed the Chieftain back again and again after that, but no, the older orc quickly finds his footing, sets himself, and snarls, swinging around wildly until his vision comes back. Rognak dodges his blinded opponent’s swings, ducking under them and shifting back into an ursine form to thrust both of his massive paws right into Grommash’s chest.
CRUNCH!
The sound of ribs snapping under this latest blow is followed by Grom being sent flying once more. The Warsong Chieftain hits the ground like a sack of bones… but even then, he’s still moving. Perhaps Rognak could have followed things up. Perhaps he even could have forced Grommash’s surrender by pinning the older orc down right then and there and demanding he give up.
But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t try to disarm Grom or stop him from rising once more. Even with broken ribs, Hellscream gets back to his feet. Even breathing through what sounds like a punctured lung, he stands tall, axe still in hands, glaring at Rognak from across the clearing.
And yet, for all that he’s glaring, Rognak also sees respect forming in the older orc’s eyes. He’s not unaware of how Grommash Hellscream views him. He’s not unaware of the fact that his Chieftain has never truly respected him. Coward. Soft. Weak. These are undoubtedly some of the things that Grom equated with Rognak before today.
But not anymore. Hellscream sees him for what he is now. For the force of nature he’s become. It’s only too bad that the respect only comes on the day of Grommash’s death. Rognak wishes it could be different. He wishes it didn’t have to be like this. But it does.
To his credit, it’s not as though the older orc would ever even hope for mercy. No part of Hellscream wants for Rognak to offer him the chance to surrender. No part of the old Chieftain wants for Rognak to let him live. In fact… alongside the respect, alongside the anger at being bested, he sees the acceptance. Even still, he’s not expecting what the old warrior says next.
“You, hah… Rognak Warsong… will… be a strong leader for the Warsong Clan… after I’m gone.”
Rognak’s eyes widen at that. He almost just stands there stupidly as Grom charges forward one last time. But no. The dying Chieftain is not going to have him now. Taking the jungle cat form one last time, Rognak bats the axe from Grom’s hands and takes him to the forest floor in one fell swoop. His claws dig into Hellscream’s chest, past the already destroyed ribs, and this time he finds the old orc’s still-beating heart… and crushes it.
He’s back in his orcish for a moment later, staring down into Grom’s eyes as the light fades from them. The Warsong Chieftain is dead. Long live the Warsong Chieftain. It really only starts to hit him a few moments later. What he’s done… it changes everything. It will have to. Certainly, Grommash Hellscream’s time was almost up anyways. He was a few short weeks, maybe months at best, from his expiration date.
But the things he would have done before he finally died were etched into this world’s history, or at least that was what Rognak’s other memories taught him. Those things would not happen now, at least not at Grommash’s hands. And if Rognak had his way, they wouldn’t happen at all. He knew now what he wanted to do.
He wanted to stop the initial hostilities between the Night Elves and the Orcs. If he could prevent his people from cutting down the trees that housed the Night Elf Spirits, then perhaps hatred between their two races was not an inevitability. He also wanted to save Cenarius, to make sure the Lord of the Forest stayed alive in spite of the demonic machinations currently aiming for his death.
Killing Grom went a long way towards saving the Forest Demigod, but it did not mean the danger was entirely past. Mannoroth and his pool of blood was still out there, just waiting for orcs to stumble upon. And if not orcs, then maybe someone else. He had to stop that from happening.
There was just one issue. The Warsong Clan. Slowly, Rognak stands up. As he does so, his hand closes around the haft of Hellscream’s axe. The Mak’gora is over now. Gorehowl is his by right. As is leadership of the Warsong Clan. In slaying Grom, Rognak has become the new Warsong Chieftain. However… that does not mean he will be allowed to keep the title.
Well aware that his youth and relative unpopularity make him an easy target, the first thing Rognak does is look around, fist clenched around Gorehowl, eyes meeting the eyes of each Warsong Warrior staring at him from the circle they’d formed.
“Well? Does anyone else wish to declare Mak’gora? The fight is over. I am victor. If you would dispute my right to lead the Warsong Clan… speak now so that we can get this over with.”
His words go a long way to cowing some of the orcs. Certainly, none of the Peons are going to pick a fight with him. But the others… well, there are plenty of members of the Warsong Clan who look displeased with this outcome. It’s not surprising, in the end. Magic was not unheard of, and Grommash had allowed Rognak to choose his magic as his weapon for this honor duel.
However, from their perspective… it still must have seemed patently unfair. After all, Grommash was just one orc with one axe. Rognak was not just an orc, but a number of different hulking animals too, all with the intelligence of an orc behind him. To say nothing of the healing he’d called upon in battle. Orc Shamans had healing capabilities, but nothing that worked so fast or so well with a moving combat like he’d just displayed.
Yet, the reason for their discontent was also the reason none of them dared say a word. If he had won by the skin of his teeth, then maybe. If he stood before them all covered in wounds and barely remaining on his feet, Rognak doesn’t think for a second that some of the Clan would have taken the opportunity to try to take the title of Chieftain off of him.
It wouldn’t have been honorable or fair, and indeed it would have led to no end of infighting as orc after orc challenged each other until one ruler remained… but they still would have done it. He can tell.
Unfortunately for those among the Warsong Clan who might have aspirations of becoming Chieftain, it’s quite obvious to them that they don’t have a chance against him. The fight against Grommash might not have been a completely one-sided slaughter, but the aftermath certainly made it look like it was. With him standing over the other orc’s corpse, without a single visible scratch on him, holding Hellscream’s axe.
No one dares say a word… but Rognak knows in that instant that it’s not enough. That he can’t just leave it at this. He has to do the one thing he’s dreaded in both of the lives he’s lived. He has to talk. He has to give a speech here and now, if he wants to have any hope of swaying the hearts and minds of the Warsong Clan.
