“I may be young, but that does not make me ignorant. I have heard the stories. I have listened to you all speak around the campfire. We were not always this way.”
Grommash had given him his vote of confidence, before the end. The older orc had quite literally forced himself to speak through a pierced lung and shattered ribs in order to do so. Now, it was up to Rognak to make good use of those final words. It was up to him to show that Grom wasn’t wrong to say he would be a strong leader. Up to him, to make sure he didn’t show weakness now to the orcs of the Warsong Clan who surrounded him.
Slowly turning, he looks them all in the eye, spinning around to observe everyone in the circle. He can see it. They won’t just accept him for who he is. They need more. He’ll damn well try and give them more, if he can. Of course, there’s a reason he’d ended his first statement with something so general and vague. As he looks at them all, as the silence builds…
“And what way is that?”
There it is. One of the orcs speaks up, growling as he lets Rognak provoke him. Turning to that orc in particular, he pins the Grunt with his gaze. Immediately, the other orc goes stiff, knowing full well that if Hellscream couldn’t beat him, he can’t either. But Rognak isn’t trying to make an example of anyone. He’s already done that with Grom.
“Slaves. Slaves to the demon blood. Slaves to our emotions. Slaves to our worse impulses.”
A ripple goes through the Clan at that. He has their attention for the moment. No one likes being called a slave, after all.
“We were not always slaves. We were not always green. It was the Fel Magic that did this to us. It was Gul’dan and his Warlocks who turned us against our Shamans at the behest of their demonic masters. They turned us into monsters. They twisted us and made our greatest attribute into our worst weakness.”
With a vicious snarl, Rognak lifts his bloodied hand into the air, forming a fist. The eyes of many an orc are drawn to that fist, stained as it is with their former Chieftain’s heart-blood.
“We are warriors! We of the Warsong more than most! But that does not mean we must be fueled by blood and death and wanton destruction! Where was the honor in the First War?! Where was the honor in the Second?! Our people ruined their original world. The ORCS are the ones who destroyed Draenor. And then we came here… for what?! To do it again?!”
Some of the Warsong Clan feel the weight of his words. The oldest warriors are impacted the most. Rognak watches carefully, keeping track of the effect his speech is having on each of them. Some… some agree with him. They would never admit it out loud, but they’re old enough to remember. Old enough to recall what resulted from the original Horde’s conquest of Draenor.
Rognak wasn’t there for it of course. But he remembered a different life long ago and reading a book about the Rise of the Horde. And in fact, as he stands there, seeing the veterans of the Warsong Clan torn between wounded pride and poorly concealed guilt… he remembers something. A small fact that he puts to use now.
“Those of us who came from Draenor remember, don’t they? What happened after we conquered Draenor? What happened after the Horde stood triumphant over the corpses of self-made enemies? The victory was won… and yet, did it feel like victory? Did it TASTE like victory, when our Warsong Wolf-Riders had to turn on their very own mounts and use them as a source of food?!”
That provokes a wave of murmuring. The eyes of the younger members of the Warsong Clan widen at that piece of information, while the veterans almost unanimously flinch. There’s a small schism then, as the younger orcs look to their elders, expecting them to speak up in defiance of Rognak’s words. Surely it wasn’t true, right? Surely the Warsong Clan had not been reduced to such barbarity? Conquering Draenor was one thing. Genociding the Draenei people… well, that was just war, and war was what the Warsong Clan was good at.
But their wolves? They weren’t just mounts to the Warsong Clan; they were their companions. They were FAMILY.
Not a single veteran can counter Rognak’s statements, however. In the end, as the older orcs squirm under the increasingly judgmental gaze of the younger, one of them finally speaks up, growling softly and muttering almost too low for anyone to hear.
“… We did what we had to do to survive…”
He latches onto that immediately, of course.
“Not the words you would expect from the victors of a war, wouldn’t you say? The Horde’s conquest of Draenor resulted in such famine that our people became scavengers! We lost ourselves to our baser instincts, turning into little more than maddened beasts, controlled by our bloodlust!”
His words are getting to the younger orcs. The Warsong Clan has been through some tough times over the years. Most recently, it’s numbers were replenished from the orcs that Grom helped Thrall free from the humans’ internment camps back in Lordaeron. Those same orcs don’t know the full history of the Warsong Clan, and some among them don’t even know the full history of the Horde. But the longer the veterans do not contradict him, the more they’re coming to believe Rognak is speaking the truth. And that the honor they thought they could lay claim to as members of the Warsong… might just be a lie.
Rognak is not alone in recognizing this, of course. With a growl, one of the older orcs steps forward, stomping the ground angrily.
“What would you have us do then? Shall we put down all our weapons and take up shamanism again? The spirits abandoned us first! We would never have had to turn to Gul’dan and his warlocks if our ancestors had not left us!”
Rognak doesn’t back down. He can’t, not now and possibly not ever. His position as Chieftain of this Clan is built on shaky foundations and likely always will be. Even still, he can at least change his tune a little bit, even as he nods to the other orc.
“It’s true. We lost touch with our ancestors. They stopped speaking to us and so our people turned to the only source of power left to us. The Horde embraced its demon masters wholeheartedly. But that was just another part of Gul’dan’s deception! Our ancestors did not ABANDON us! They were taken from us! The Warlocks and their demons CUT them from us. They cut us off from our history… so they could manipulate our people all the better!”
The veteran orc takes a step back at that, his eyes wide at Rognak’s words. Perhaps he’d never considered that possibility before. Looking around at the other older orcs, the ones who would remember the most about the time from before the Horde and before the Conquest of Draenor… Rognak sees some who are nodding along. It seems that not everyone was gullible enough to believe that their ancestors would abandon them just as this new, darker power offered itself up.
Of course, Rognak wasn’t there. He wasn’t even born yet when Gul’dan and the Burning Legion began their schemes, cutting the orcs off from their ancestors and forcing them down their dark path. He half-expects one of the Clan to mention that, to bring up his youth and ask him how he knows what he knows. To his surprise, no one does. There’s some murmuring, and quite a few speculative looks… but no one questions him on that particular aspect.
Taking that to mean he’s actually getting somewhere with them, that he’s reaching a point where they actually WANT to listen to him, Rognak continues on, raising his voice once more.
“I would not have you set your weapons down. I would not have you commune with the elements as our new Warchief does. It is not enough to call upon our ancestors, especially in this new world where they cannot hear us. It is not enough to ask the Elements to intercede on our behalf. This is a new world… and a new opportunity for us. We must go beyond the Elements… and call upon Nature itself!”
Holding Hellscream’s axe Gorehowl up in one hand, he lifts his other hand, coated in Grom’s blood, and holds it above his head. Calling upon the magic in his mind, he’s grateful when it responds purely by instinct… and smiles as the Warsong Clan all startles as one, feeling his spell settling into their bodies. They all go wide-eyed, straightening up and staring at each other, and then back at him.
“This is the Gift of the Wild. This is Nature’s power. Feel it fill you with life, with energy. Tell me, honored veterans, does it feel twisted and tainted as the demon blood did? Do you feel as though you are losing yourself in the madness and bloodlust once more?”
Once again, the younger look to the older, the new generation of the Warsong Clan, most of them adopted into the clan just as he was, looking to their elders. The veteran warriors left after so much conflict and so much death, all gaze at each other for a long moment. Finally, one of them shakes his head.
“No. It feels… fine. Good, even.”
Perfect. As he’d hoped, a demonstration is exactly what was in order. One might argue that his defeat of Grom in front of all of them was a demonstration of its own, but that was that and this was this. Looking at everyone, Rognak can tell that they’re impressed by his strengthening magic… though a few are looking mulish, no doubt wondering why he had never used it before. Before such thoughts can form into full-blown questions, Rognak continues on with his speech.
“At our core, we are primal beings. Savage warriors! I am not asking any of you to set that aside. I am just as savage, as you have seen.”
Eyes drift down to the body of Grommash Hellscream. Indeed, plenty of them had seen how savage he could be already.
“This power that I have, this connection with Nature… it can be shared, as I just showed you. It can also be taught. We can, each and every one of us, become one with our inner savagery… so that the demons can never use it against us ever again!”
Give them an enemy to focus on. That was political speech one-oh-one, was it not? Rognak didn’t always focus very hard on the memories of his past life, seeing how most of them were… faded at best. But he’s drawing on quite a lot of thoughts from that other world now and using them combined with his knowledge as an orc to the best of his ability here and now.
The demons were a better enemy than most, to be fair. Certainly, they were a better enemy than the Night Elves or even the Humans. If Rognak had his way, then the Warsong Clan would become the focus for an Order of Orc Druids, and that started right here and right now. But first… he had to bring his argument home.
“Our savagery must be focused. Back among the Human Kingdoms, we survived as parasites, existing on the edge of their lands. We survived but did not truly live. Do any of you want to go back to that existence? Do any of you wish to make the same mistakes here in these new lands, in this place we hope to call our home?”
There are grumbles and mutters, but the answer is unanimously no as orcs, both young and old, shake their heads and growl at the idea of being reduced to such a state once more.
“Then we must show that we RESPECT our new home! These lands can be ours. We can walk among the people of them freely… if we can show that we are the creatures of honor that we claim to be!”
One of the veterans speaks up again.
“… Earlier. You said to Hellscream that you had a way of getting the Warchief’s lumber without cutting down the trees. How? How’re we supposed to make an ally out of a damn forest?”
Despite his somewhat abrasive language, his tone is one of true curiosity. He’s actually interested, and so are plenty of others among the Clan. Rognak has not swayed all of them, but he’s swayed enough.
“We just have to approach things the right way. These forests are protected. If we can find those guardians and show them we mean no harm, we can find a way to earn the lumber that the Warchief seeks… and make new allies at the same time. There will be a time when blood must be shed for our new home, warriors of the Warsong Clan. But that time does not have to be today!”
Though… admittedly, Rognak was flying by the seat of his pants by this point. Convincing the Warsong Clan of the benefits and upsides of druidism had been his main goal. Securing his role as Chieftain after being forced to kill Grom was the second. But now? Actually finding the Night Elves and making an alliance with them was so far outside of his wheelhouse it wasn’t even funny.
He could only hope that avoiding cutting down their trees kept the Night Elves from starting out so hostile. Indeed, if he led the Warsong Clan into the forests of Ashenvale and it turned out to be to their deaths, he would be left feeling quite foolish.
That said, Rognak didn’t really have a plan at this point. Find Night Elves… and try to be friends. That was about it. He couldn’t very well tell the Warsong Clan that though. They were expecting more from him, he assumed. But what? What was he supposed to say to them to convince them at this point? And really… why were they all letting him just stand there in silence while he thought about these things?
Blinking at that last thought, Rognak looks up, curious why the rest of the orcs around him have all fallen so quiet. They’re all staring at him with wide eyes, as though they’ve seen a ghost. No… they’re not staring at him. They’re staring ABOVE him. Blinking owlishly, Rognak slowly turns around, wondering precisely what they’re all looking at.
And thus does the young orc come face to chest with the hulking form of Cenarius, Lord of the Forest. The Wild God looms over him, having proved excessively stealthy despite his deceptive size. Gazing down at Rognak, Cenarius cracks something of an amused smile as he gives him a simple nod.
“Well said, young druid.”
Rognak just gapes, mouth open but no words coming out. Here he was, wondering how he was going to get the Warsong Clan through Ashenvale without provoking the Night Elves so that they could locate Cenarius and warn him of the danger he was in… and instead, Cenarius had come to him.
Well… shit.
“I may be young, but that does not make me ignorant. I have heard the stories. I have listened to you all speak around the campfire. We were not always this way.”
Grommash had given him his vote of confidence, before the end. The older orc had quite literally forced himself to speak through a pierced lung and shattered ribs in order to do so. Now, it was up to Rognak to make good use of those final words. It was up to him to show that Grom wasn’t wrong to say he would be a strong leader. Up to him, to make sure he didn’t show weakness now to the orcs of the Warsong Clan who surrounded him.
Slowly turning, he looks them all in the eye, spinning around to observe everyone in the circle. He can see it. They won’t just accept him for who he is. They need more. He’ll damn well try and give them more, if he can. Of course, there’s a reason he’d ended his first statement with something so general and vague. As he looks at them all, as the silence builds…
“And what way is that?”
There it is. One of the orcs speaks up, growling as he lets Rognak provoke him. Turning to that orc in particular, he pins the Grunt with his gaze. Immediately, the other orc goes stiff, knowing full well that if Hellscream couldn’t beat him, he can’t either. But Rognak isn’t trying to make an example of anyone. He’s already done that with Grom.
“Slaves. Slaves to the demon blood. Slaves to our emotions. Slaves to our worse impulses.”
A ripple goes through the Clan at that. He has their attention for the moment. No one likes being called a slave, after all.
“We were not always slaves. We were not always green. It was the Fel Magic that did this to us. It was Gul’dan and his Warlocks who turned us against our Shamans at the behest of their demonic masters. They turned us into monsters. They twisted us and made our greatest attribute into our worst weakness.”
With a vicious snarl, Rognak lifts his bloodied hand into the air, forming a fist. The eyes of many an orc are drawn to that fist, stained as it is with their former Chieftain’s heart-blood.
“We are warriors! We of the Warsong more than most! But that does not mean we must be fueled by blood and death and wanton destruction! Where was the honor in the First War?! Where was the honor in the Second?! Our people ruined their original world. The ORCS are the ones who destroyed Draenor. And then we came here… for what?! To do it again?!”
Some of the Warsong Clan feel the weight of his words. The oldest warriors are impacted the most. Rognak watches carefully, keeping track of the effect his speech is having on each of them. Some… some agree with him. They would never admit it out loud, but they’re old enough to remember. Old enough to recall what resulted from the original Horde’s conquest of Draenor.
Rognak wasn’t there for it of course. But he remembered a different life long ago and reading a book about the Rise of the Horde. And in fact, as he stands there, seeing the veterans of the Warsong Clan torn between wounded pride and poorly concealed guilt… he remembers something. A small fact that he puts to use now.
“Those of us who came from Draenor remember, don’t they? What happened after we conquered Draenor? What happened after the Horde stood triumphant over the corpses of self-made enemies? The victory was won… and yet, did it feel like victory? Did it TASTE like victory, when our Warsong Wolf-Riders had to turn on their very own mounts and use them as a source of food?!”
That provokes a wave of murmuring. The eyes of the younger members of the Warsong Clan widen at that piece of information, while the veterans almost unanimously flinch. There’s a small schism then, as the younger orcs look to their elders, expecting them to speak up in defiance of Rognak’s words. Surely it wasn’t true, right? Surely the Warsong Clan had not been reduced to such barbarity? Conquering Draenor was one thing. Genociding the Draenei people… well, that was just war, and war was what the Warsong Clan was good at.
But their wolves? They weren’t just mounts to the Warsong Clan; they were their companions. They were FAMILY.
Not a single veteran can counter Rognak’s statements, however. In the end, as the older orcs squirm under the increasingly judgmental gaze of the younger, one of them finally speaks up, growling softly and muttering almost too low for anyone to hear.
“… We did what we had to do to survive…”
He latches onto that immediately, of course.
“Not the words you would expect from the victors of a war, wouldn’t you say? The Horde’s conquest of Draenor resulted in such famine that our people became scavengers! We lost ourselves to our baser instincts, turning into little more than maddened beasts, controlled by our bloodlust!”
His words are getting to the younger orcs. The Warsong Clan has been through some tough times over the years. Most recently, it’s numbers were replenished from the orcs that Grom helped Thrall free from the humans’ internment camps back in Lordaeron. Those same orcs don’t know the full history of the Warsong Clan, and some among them don’t even know the full history of the Horde. But the longer the veterans do not contradict him, the more they’re coming to believe Rognak is speaking the truth. And that the honor they thought they could lay claim to as members of the Warsong… might just be a lie.
Rognak is not alone in recognizing this, of course. With a growl, one of the older orcs steps forward, stomping the ground angrily.
“What would you have us do then? Shall we put down all our weapons and take up shamanism again? The spirits abandoned us first! We would never have had to turn to Gul’dan and his warlocks if our ancestors had not left us!”
Rognak doesn’t back down. He can’t, not now and possibly not ever. His position as Chieftain of this Clan is built on shaky foundations and likely always will be. Even still, he can at least change his tune a little bit, even as he nods to the other orc.
“It’s true. We lost touch with our ancestors. They stopped speaking to us and so our people turned to the only source of power left to us. The Horde embraced its demon masters wholeheartedly. But that was just another part of Gul’dan’s deception! Our ancestors did not ABANDON us! They were taken from us! The Warlocks and their demons CUT them from us. They cut us off from our history… so they could manipulate our people all the better!”
The veteran orc takes a step back at that, his eyes wide at Rognak’s words. Perhaps he’d never considered that possibility before. Looking around at the other older orcs, the ones who would remember the most about the time from before the Horde and before the Conquest of Draenor… Rognak sees some who are nodding along. It seems that not everyone was gullible enough to believe that their ancestors would abandon them just as this new, darker power offered itself up.
Of course, Rognak wasn’t there. He wasn’t even born yet when Gul’dan and the Burning Legion began their schemes, cutting the orcs off from their ancestors and forcing them down their dark path. He half-expects one of the Clan to mention that, to bring up his youth and ask him how he knows what he knows. To his surprise, no one does. There’s some murmuring, and quite a few speculative looks… but no one questions him on that particular aspect.
Taking that to mean he’s actually getting somewhere with them, that he’s reaching a point where they actually WANT to listen to him, Rognak continues on, raising his voice once more.
“I would not have you set your weapons down. I would not have you commune with the elements as our new Warchief does. It is not enough to call upon our ancestors, especially in this new world where they cannot hear us. It is not enough to ask the Elements to intercede on our behalf. This is a new world… and a new opportunity for us. We must go beyond the Elements… and call upon Nature itself!”
Holding Hellscream’s axe Gorehowl up in one hand, he lifts his other hand, coated in Grom’s blood, and holds it above his head. Calling upon the magic in his mind, he’s grateful when it responds purely by instinct… and smiles as the Warsong Clan all startles as one, feeling his spell settling into their bodies. They all go wide-eyed, straightening up and staring at each other, and then back at him.
“This is the Gift of the Wild. This is Nature’s power. Feel it fill you with life, with energy. Tell me, honored veterans, does it feel twisted and tainted as the demon blood did? Do you feel as though you are losing yourself in the madness and bloodlust once more?”
Once again, the younger look to the older, the new generation of the Warsong Clan, most of them adopted into the clan just as he was, looking to their elders. The veteran warriors left after so much conflict and so much death, all gaze at each other for a long moment. Finally, one of them shakes his head.
“No. It feels… fine. Good, even.”
Perfect. As he’d hoped, a demonstration is exactly what was in order. One might argue that his defeat of Grom in front of all of them was a demonstration of its own, but that was that and this was this. Looking at everyone, Rognak can tell that they’re impressed by his strengthening magic… though a few are looking mulish, no doubt wondering why he had never used it before. Before such thoughts can form into full-blown questions, Rognak continues on with his speech.
“At our core, we are primal beings. Savage warriors! I am not asking any of you to set that aside. I am just as savage, as you have seen.”
Eyes drift down to the body of Grommash Hellscream. Indeed, plenty of them had seen how savage he could be already.
“This power that I have, this connection with Nature… it can be shared, as I just showed you. It can also be taught. We can, each and every one of us, become one with our inner savagery… so that the demons can never use it against us ever again!”
Give them an enemy to focus on. That was political speech one-oh-one, was it not? Rognak didn’t always focus very hard on the memories of his past life, seeing how most of them were… faded at best. But he’s drawing on quite a lot of thoughts from that other world now and using them combined with his knowledge as an orc to the best of his ability here and now.
The demons were a better enemy than most, to be fair. Certainly, they were a better enemy than the Night Elves or even the Humans. If Rognak had his way, then the Warsong Clan would become the focus for an Order of Orc Druids, and that started right here and right now. But first… he had to bring his argument home.
“Our savagery must be focused. Back among the Human Kingdoms, we survived as parasites, existing on the edge of their lands. We survived but did not truly live. Do any of you want to go back to that existence? Do any of you wish to make the same mistakes here in these new lands, in this place we hope to call our home?”
There are grumbles and mutters, but the answer is unanimously no as orcs, both young and old, shake their heads and growl at the idea of being reduced to such a state once more.
“Then we must show that we RESPECT our new home! These lands can be ours. We can walk among the people of them freely… if we can show that we are the creatures of honor that we claim to be!”
One of the veterans speaks up again.
“… Earlier. You said to Hellscream that you had a way of getting the Warchief’s lumber without cutting down the trees. How? How’re we supposed to make an ally out of a damn forest?”
Despite his somewhat abrasive language, his tone is one of true curiosity. He’s actually interested, and so are plenty of others among the Clan. Rognak has not swayed all of them, but he’s swayed enough.
“We just have to approach things the right way. These forests are protected. If we can find those guardians and show them we mean no harm, we can find a way to earn the lumber that the Warchief seeks… and make new allies at the same time. There will be a time when blood must be shed for our new home, warriors of the Warsong Clan. But that time does not have to be today!”
Though… admittedly, Rognak was flying by the seat of his pants by this point. Convincing the Warsong Clan of the benefits and upsides of druidism had been his main goal. Securing his role as Chieftain after being forced to kill Grom was the second. But now? Actually finding the Night Elves and making an alliance with them was so far outside of his wheelhouse it wasn’t even funny.
He could only hope that avoiding cutting down their trees kept the Night Elves from starting out so hostile. Indeed, if he led the Warsong Clan into the forests of Ashenvale and it turned out to be to their deaths, he would be left feeling quite foolish.
That said, Rognak didn’t really have a plan at this point. Find Night Elves… and try to be friends. That was about it. He couldn’t very well tell the Warsong Clan that though. They were expecting more from him, he assumed. But what? What was he supposed to say to them to convince them at this point? And really… why were they all letting him just stand there in silence while he thought about these things?
Blinking at that last thought, Rognak looks up, curious why the rest of the orcs around him have all fallen so quiet. They’re all staring at him with wide eyes, as though they’ve seen a ghost. No… they’re not staring at him. They’re staring ABOVE him. Blinking owlishly, Rognak slowly turns around, wondering precisely what they’re all looking at.
And thus does the young orc come face to chest with the hulking form of Cenarius, Lord of the Forest. The Wild God looms over him, having proved excessively stealthy despite his deceptive size. Gazing down at Rognak, Cenarius cracks something of an amused smile as he gives him a simple nod.
“Well said, young druid.”
Rognak just gapes, mouth open but no words coming out. Here he was, wondering how he was going to get the Warsong Clan through Ashenvale without provoking the Night Elves so that they could locate Cenarius and warn him of the danger he was in… and instead, Cenarius had come to him.
Well… shit.
