“Chieftain. What did that creature say to you? Where are we going?”
Glancing at the veteran warrior who’s finally worked up the courage to ask questions, Rognak grunts, shaking his head.
“That was no mere creature. That was a Demigod, the Lord of the Forest. He is called Cenarius, and you would be wise to tread carefully around him.”
The veteran just snorts at that, but it’s not necessarily a disrespectful snort. It’s more the kind of snort that Rognak takes to mean ‘yeah, no shit’.
Indeed, when Cenarius had made himself known, the Warsong Clan hadn’t quite known what to do. Rognak was just glad that none of them had chosen to attack. Not that they could have done much to the Lord of the Forest, but ‘it’s the thought that counts’ can just as easily be turned into a negative. After all he’d done to stop Grom from leading the Warsong Clan right back into demonic service, having his warriors try to strike Cenarius down immediately after would have been… frustrating to say the least.
Luckily, that hadn’t happened, not least of which because Cenarius was smart. Smart enough to wait until Rognak had given his speech and begun the process of converting his fellow orcs to a more harmonious way of thinking. Oh, don’t get him wrong, he knew full well that the Clan wasn’t quite ready to all become druids just yet. But he liked to imagine they’d taken the first steps… and that Cenarius’ appearance had only helped.
Certainly, the conversation he’d had with the Lord of the Forest had been enlightening for Rognak if nothing else. Apparently, the Demigod had known to expect him. Him, specifically. How that was possible, the young druid didn’t know. Maybe it had to do with his connection to nature? Or maybe it was something else. Cenarius was definitely playing his cards close to his chest on that front.
Still, Rognak was even more glad that he’d taken his stand when he did. If Grommash and Cenarius’ clash had taken place this early on, Rognak didn’t know if any of them, even he, would have survived the ensuing battle. This Cenarius seemed much more… knowledgeable, after all. Not only had he somehow known to meet them on the edge of the forest before the Warsong Clan could even enter the woods, but there was also the other thing… the task that the Wild God had given them.
“As for where we’re going… the Lord of the Forest has given us a mission to complete.”
There are murmurs from the other orcs following behind them, letting Rognak know that they’re all listening closely to his conversation with the veteran. Meanwhile, the older orc grunts, shifting from side to side.
“A mission… when we were already on a mission for Warchief Thrall? If the Warchief returns with the Horde and we have nothing to show for our troubles, the Warsong Clan will be even more disgraced then it already was.”
As much as the admonishment rankles his orcish pride, Rognak also notes that the warrior recognizes they lost honor when they followed Grommash in disobeying Thrall’s orders in the first place. By giving into their bloodlust, by giving into Grom’s bloodlust, they had gone against the Warchief of the Horde. This mission might have just been Thrall’s way of keeping the Warsong Clan out of further trouble (heh, and look how that would have turned out) but for many among the Clan, this was their way of showing they could still be trusted.
Put through that lens, Rognak could understand the other orc’s concern. He inclines his head in the veteran’s direction to show as much, before turning and looking at the rest of the Clan as he continues to walk backwards without fear. He was one with the forest around him… he wasn’t about to trip.
“Lord Cenarius is one of this forest’s many protectors! As I said before, we do not need to make enemies in order to accomplish the Warchief’s task! Instead, Cenarius has given us an opportunity to not only earn the lumber Thrall seeks, but also make allies in the process that can help the Horde in settling our new lands!”
There’s some more shuffling and muttering at that, but all in all, it seems as though his words come across pretty well. It helped that Cenarius showed up when he did, right after Rognak got done telling the Warsong Clan all about how Ashenvale was guarded by its denizens. The Lord of the Forest made for an intimidating foe. If he’d been a completely unknown, the orcish response would have been to immediately try and fight him. But because of Rognak’s speech, caution had prevailed.
Though he had to admit, finding out that he was speaking druidic the entire time he and Cenarius were conversing was rather strange. He hadn’t even realized it until afterwards, when he’d looked at his Clan and realized that the lot of them were absolutely befuddled, having not understood a word of what was said.
Still, with that taken into consideration…
“The Lord of the Forest has told me about a pool of corruption located nearby! It is protected by our true enemy… demons! If we can destroy them and destroy it as well, then we will have proven ourselves to be stalwart enemies against the demon threat! Cenarius has promised to supply all of the wood that we could possibly want if we succeed… so prepare yourselves, Warsong Clan! There will still be battle! But not with the protectors of this forest. No, we shall do battle against only those who deserve to taste our axes!”
That gets them excited. Orc Warriors growl and roar as they thrust their axes into the air. The sight makes Rognak smile, and he thrusts Gorehowl high over his head as well. It feels good to be on the same page as his people. It feels good to see a path forward for the Warsong Clan that doesn’t end up with all of them under the control of demons again.
After all, he’s not an idiot. He knows exactly what this pool of corruption Cenarius has sent them after is. The pool is of Mannoroth’s making, and if he hadn’t killed Grom, the older orc would currently be on a collision course for drinking of it so that he and his Warsong Clan could break through Cenarius’ protections and kill the Lord of the Forest.
This is an opportunity and a test all wrapped up in one. Cenarius is giving him the chance to show the orcs that there’s a better way of doing things. He’s also giving Rognak and the Warsong Clan all the rope they need to hang themselves. Sending a bunch of orcs to deal with a pool of demon blood? It’s like sending a bunch of recovering drug users to bust up a crack house. They’re going to have to tread carefully here, but Rognak has hope. More than that… he has conviction.
In the end, while it takes them long enough for the sun to set and the moon and stars to shine overhead before they locate their objective, the Warsong Clan eventually stumbles into a clearing. There, they find their quarry. Dozens of Satyrs are scattered around the area, most of them just ambling about or sitting on the ground or talking to each other. In the center of the clearing sits a pool filled with dark red liquid, burning with power. But power that came with oh-so-many strings attached in the process.
Rognak and his Clan are not exactly subtle. Perhaps if it was just him he would have tried to move at least somewhat stealthily into the area, but he knew better than to expect the warriors of the Warsong Clan to do ANYTHING with stealth. As such, they all but pour out into the clearing… still managing to startle the Satyr, who clearly aren’t expecting them.
“What?! Orcs! You lot aren’t supposed to be here yet!”
There’s a brief pause, as even the other Satyr give that one a weird look, as though to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Realizing what he just blurted out, that Satyr steps back, hanging his head sheepishly. Another steps forward at the same time however, hissing as he brings his hands up and summons dark shadows to his claws.
“Foul orcs! The burning masters have charged us with protecting this well! You are unworthy of drinking from these dark waters!”
Well now, that line certainly rang a bell. Snorting derisively at the pageantry, Rognak hoists Gorehowl in one hand, his other gathering nature magic surreptitiously behind his back.
“Just as well, demon. We aren’t here to drink from your filthy pool. We’re here to destroy it.”
The second Satyr’s eyes widen in shock and Rognak is quick to capitalize on that surprise, as well as his small bit of misdirection. Whipping his hidden hand out from behind his back, he fires a concentrated ball of nature energy right into the demon’s midsection. It’s oh so satisfying, watching the Satyr promptly fold over, his stomach promptly carved out by the energy, burning away his flesh and organs as he falls to the ground, already dead.
“Warriors of the Warsong Clan! These demons seek to re-enslave us! What do we say to that?!”
“””NEVER!!!”””
“””LOK’TAR OGAR!”””
Rognak grins as the Warsong Clan charges forward. The Satyr put up a pitiful fight in the somewhat one-sided slaughter that follows. But then to be fair, they were never supposed to win. For creatures such as them, playing the easily massacred patsies was just another walk in the park. They were demons after all, which meant that when they died, they would then reform in the Twisting Nether, eventually being reborn and then sent out again by the Burning Legion to do more despicable acts in the Legion’s name.
That does somewhat diminish the satisfaction Rognak feels as he swings Gorehowl through one Satyr, while calling upon nature and covering another in roots. All over the battlefield, he summons roots to hold the demons in place, allowing his warriors to cut them down in the scant moments of surprise at being restrained, time and time again.
Eventually, before long, the last Satyr falls and the only living creatures left in the clearing are orcs. Panting heavily, the Warsong Clan growls as they look around for further enemies but find none. Slowly, the adrenaline begins to fade. Rognak, meanwhile, turns his attention towards Mannoroth’s Pool. This was what they were really here for. The Satyr were merely their target’s guardians, and they were deliberately designed to be piss-poor guardians at that.
The pool though… the pool was a blight upon Ashenvale Forest, tainted with demon’s blood and a temptation to great for some to resist. In fact…
“Chieftain… are you sure we should destroy this pool? It seems almost too good of a resource to let pass us by.”
Glancing to the veteran who speaks, Rognak shakes his head.
“This resource is tainted. Demon blood may have won us Draenor but remember what else it won us! Famine! A dead world! And decades of living as scavengers after the Warlocks and demons abandoned the Horde on this world!”
That reminder gets the older orc to back down, a grunt leaving his lips. He still stares at the pool hungrily though… and he’s not the only one. Some of the veteran warriors have even moved all the way to the edge of the clearing, clearly not liking the way the demon’s blood tempts them whenever they look at it. The others stay where they are but have begun twitching in a way the young druid doesn’t like the look of.
Turning his full attention onto the pool of corruption currently proving to be such a temptation for his Clan, Rognak growls in frustration. He would not let events go the way they could have. He would not let the Warsong Clan fall.
Reaching up towards the sky, Rognak grasps at the very stars themselves. A moment later and burning bright lights come crashing down from above as he casts Starfall upon the pool of demon’s blood. Immediately, the toxic substance begins to hiss and spit as it’s slowly but surely destroyed. He steadily starts to burn away at the pool, wanting to make sure every last drop is-
“NO!”
One of the veteran’s breaks and begins to rush towards the pool. For a second, Rognak thinks he will have to stop his cast to prevent the orc from drinking, but before he can pull the trigger on that, one of the younger orcs, a newer addition to the Warsong Clan, lunges at the other, holding him off.
“Stop! Remember the Chieftain’s words! Remember the Warchief’s teachings! We are not our rage! We are not our hunger!”
Bolstered by the young orc’s defiance, more of his fellows also step in, wrestling the veteran to the ground. Seeing this, Rognak continues casting Starfall, erasing more and more of the pool. It’s not easy… the demon’s blood doesn’t want to go, and it fights his burning magic every step of the way. A couple more of the veteran’s break in that time, making their own attempts at the pool… but none of them get close.
The Warsong Clan comes together, and this time they do not come together to drink of the pool and kill Cenarius. Instead, they come together in defiance of their former demonic masters. Rognak can only hope that it will be but the first in a long series of defiant acts to come.
For now though… the pool is gone a few minutes later. By the time he’s done, he’s panting a little bit. It has to be the most intensive, longest spell cast he’s done yet, in fact. But at the same time, it’s finished. The pool is no more and their mission for Lord Cenarius is complete. They are victorious.
The orc druid turns to tell his clan as much, but before he can, a deep, craggily voice cuts him off.
“Filthy… stinking… orcs. I offer you a chance to make up for your failures, I offer you an opportunity to atone for your mistakes. The Burning Legion does not often give second chances, and yet you dare spit in my face.”
Turning back around, Rognak can’t deny that his eyes go wide as Mannoroth himself steps out of the shadows, the Pit Lord’s hulking form coming forth from between two of the forest’s trees as he sneers down at them all, stomping forward.
“Stupid, pitiful creatures. What are you without your rage? What are you without the blood? The Legion gives you direction. It gives you purpose. This world will drown in chaos soon enough… but first, I will personally ensure that you all drown in your own BLOOD!”
Pulling forth an absolutely massive glaive, made for his equally massive size, the Pit Lord spins it around, letting out a deep, rumbling laugh. All around him, the Warsong Clan readies themselves for battle… and to be fair, Rognak does the same. But he has to admit, he doesn’t think they can win this. Not without some serious help. Is this where the Warsong Clan ends? Is this what his interference has amounted to?
As if summoned by his thoughts, arrows suddenly sprout from Mannoroth’s hide, causing the Pit Lord to roar and throw his head in the direction they came from. Many an orc’s head turns in that direction as well, in time to see a dozen Night Elf Sentinels racing out of the woods, bows in hand and another arrow already drawn. At their head is Lord Cenarius himself, with one Sentinel in particular right in front of him.
“Andu-falah-dor!”
The Sentinel’s battle cry is echoed by her sisters, as they all skid to a halt and continue firing upon Mannoroth. Seeing this, Rognak begins to grin. This… this was more like it. Turning back around, he hoists his predecessor’s axe high into the air and then points it at Mannoroth.
“Lok’tar Ogar, brothers!”
“""LOK’TAR OGAR!”””
“Chieftain. What did that creature say to you? Where are we going?”
Glancing at the veteran warrior who’s finally worked up the courage to ask questions, Rognak grunts, shaking his head.
“That was no mere creature. That was a Demigod, the Lord of the Forest. He is called Cenarius, and you would be wise to tread carefully around him.”
The veteran just snorts at that, but it’s not necessarily a disrespectful snort. It’s more the kind of snort that Rognak takes to mean ‘yeah, no shit’.
Indeed, when Cenarius had made himself known, the Warsong Clan hadn’t quite known what to do. Rognak was just glad that none of them had chosen to attack. Not that they could have done much to the Lord of the Forest, but ‘it’s the thought that counts’ can just as easily be turned into a negative. After all he’d done to stop Grom from leading the Warsong Clan right back into demonic service, having his warriors try to strike Cenarius down immediately after would have been… frustrating to say the least.
Luckily, that hadn’t happened, not least of which because Cenarius was smart. Smart enough to wait until Rognak had given his speech and begun the process of converting his fellow orcs to a more harmonious way of thinking. Oh, don’t get him wrong, he knew full well that the Clan wasn’t quite ready to all become druids just yet. But he liked to imagine they’d taken the first steps… and that Cenarius’ appearance had only helped.
Certainly, the conversation he’d had with the Lord of the Forest had been enlightening for Rognak if nothing else. Apparently, the Demigod had known to expect him. Him, specifically. How that was possible, the young druid didn’t know. Maybe it had to do with his connection to nature? Or maybe it was something else. Cenarius was definitely playing his cards close to his chest on that front.
Still, Rognak was even more glad that he’d taken his stand when he did. If Grommash and Cenarius’ clash had taken place this early on, Rognak didn’t know if any of them, even he, would have survived the ensuing battle. This Cenarius seemed much more… knowledgeable, after all. Not only had he somehow known to meet them on the edge of the forest before the Warsong Clan could even enter the woods, but there was also the other thing… the task that the Wild God had given them.
“As for where we’re going… the Lord of the Forest has given us a mission to complete.”
There are murmurs from the other orcs following behind them, letting Rognak know that they’re all listening closely to his conversation with the veteran. Meanwhile, the older orc grunts, shifting from side to side.
“A mission… when we were already on a mission for Warchief Thrall? If the Warchief returns with the Horde and we have nothing to show for our troubles, the Warsong Clan will be even more disgraced then it already was.”
As much as the admonishment rankles his orcish pride, Rognak also notes that the warrior recognizes they lost honor when they followed Grommash in disobeying Thrall’s orders in the first place. By giving into their bloodlust, by giving into Grom’s bloodlust, they had gone against the Warchief of the Horde. This mission might have just been Thrall’s way of keeping the Warsong Clan out of further trouble (heh, and look how that would have turned out) but for many among the Clan, this was their way of showing they could still be trusted.
Put through that lens, Rognak could understand the other orc’s concern. He inclines his head in the veteran’s direction to show as much, before turning and looking at the rest of the Clan as he continues to walk backwards without fear. He was one with the forest around him… he wasn’t about to trip.
“Lord Cenarius is one of this forest’s many protectors! As I said before, we do not need to make enemies in order to accomplish the Warchief’s task! Instead, Cenarius has given us an opportunity to not only earn the lumber Thrall seeks, but also make allies in the process that can help the Horde in settling our new lands!”
There’s some more shuffling and muttering at that, but all in all, it seems as though his words come across pretty well. It helped that Cenarius showed up when he did, right after Rognak got done telling the Warsong Clan all about how Ashenvale was guarded by its denizens. The Lord of the Forest made for an intimidating foe. If he’d been a completely unknown, the orcish response would have been to immediately try and fight him. But because of Rognak’s speech, caution had prevailed.
Though he had to admit, finding out that he was speaking druidic the entire time he and Cenarius were conversing was rather strange. He hadn’t even realized it until afterwards, when he’d looked at his Clan and realized that the lot of them were absolutely befuddled, having not understood a word of what was said.
Still, with that taken into consideration…
“The Lord of the Forest has told me about a pool of corruption located nearby! It is protected by our true enemy… demons! If we can destroy them and destroy it as well, then we will have proven ourselves to be stalwart enemies against the demon threat! Cenarius has promised to supply all of the wood that we could possibly want if we succeed… so prepare yourselves, Warsong Clan! There will still be battle! But not with the protectors of this forest. No, we shall do battle against only those who deserve to taste our axes!”
That gets them excited. Orc Warriors growl and roar as they thrust their axes into the air. The sight makes Rognak smile, and he thrusts Gorehowl high over his head as well. It feels good to be on the same page as his people. It feels good to see a path forward for the Warsong Clan that doesn’t end up with all of them under the control of demons again.
After all, he’s not an idiot. He knows exactly what this pool of corruption Cenarius has sent them after is. The pool is of Mannoroth’s making, and if he hadn’t killed Grom, the older orc would currently be on a collision course for drinking of it so that he and his Warsong Clan could break through Cenarius’ protections and kill the Lord of the Forest.
This is an opportunity and a test all wrapped up in one. Cenarius is giving him the chance to show the orcs that there’s a better way of doing things. He’s also giving Rognak and the Warsong Clan all the rope they need to hang themselves. Sending a bunch of orcs to deal with a pool of demon blood? It’s like sending a bunch of recovering drug users to bust up a crack house. They’re going to have to tread carefully here, but Rognak has hope. More than that… he has conviction.
In the end, while it takes them long enough for the sun to set and the moon and stars to shine overhead before they locate their objective, the Warsong Clan eventually stumbles into a clearing. There, they find their quarry. Dozens of Satyrs are scattered around the area, most of them just ambling about or sitting on the ground or talking to each other. In the center of the clearing sits a pool filled with dark red liquid, burning with power. But power that came with oh-so-many strings attached in the process.
Rognak and his Clan are not exactly subtle. Perhaps if it was just him he would have tried to move at least somewhat stealthily into the area, but he knew better than to expect the warriors of the Warsong Clan to do ANYTHING with stealth. As such, they all but pour out into the clearing… still managing to startle the Satyr, who clearly aren’t expecting them.
“What?! Orcs! You lot aren’t supposed to be here yet!”
There’s a brief pause, as even the other Satyr give that one a weird look, as though to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Realizing what he just blurted out, that Satyr steps back, hanging his head sheepishly. Another steps forward at the same time however, hissing as he brings his hands up and summons dark shadows to his claws.
“Foul orcs! The burning masters have charged us with protecting this well! You are unworthy of drinking from these dark waters!”
Well now, that line certainly rang a bell. Snorting derisively at the pageantry, Rognak hoists Gorehowl in one hand, his other gathering nature magic surreptitiously behind his back.
“Just as well, demon. We aren’t here to drink from your filthy pool. We’re here to destroy it.”
The second Satyr’s eyes widen in shock and Rognak is quick to capitalize on that surprise, as well as his small bit of misdirection. Whipping his hidden hand out from behind his back, he fires a concentrated ball of nature energy right into the demon’s midsection. It’s oh so satisfying, watching the Satyr promptly fold over, his stomach promptly carved out by the energy, burning away his flesh and organs as he falls to the ground, already dead.
“Warriors of the Warsong Clan! These demons seek to re-enslave us! What do we say to that?!”
“””NEVER!!!”””
“””LOK’TAR OGAR!”””
Rognak grins as the Warsong Clan charges forward. The Satyr put up a pitiful fight in the somewhat one-sided slaughter that follows. But then to be fair, they were never supposed to win. For creatures such as them, playing the easily massacred patsies was just another walk in the park. They were demons after all, which meant that when they died, they would then reform in the Twisting Nether, eventually being reborn and then sent out again by the Burning Legion to do more despicable acts in the Legion’s name.
That does somewhat diminish the satisfaction Rognak feels as he swings Gorehowl through one Satyr, while calling upon nature and covering another in roots. All over the battlefield, he summons roots to hold the demons in place, allowing his warriors to cut them down in the scant moments of surprise at being restrained, time and time again.
Eventually, before long, the last Satyr falls and the only living creatures left in the clearing are orcs. Panting heavily, the Warsong Clan growls as they look around for further enemies but find none. Slowly, the adrenaline begins to fade. Rognak, meanwhile, turns his attention towards Mannoroth’s Pool. This was what they were really here for. The Satyr were merely their target’s guardians, and they were deliberately designed to be piss-poor guardians at that.
The pool though… the pool was a blight upon Ashenvale Forest, tainted with demon’s blood and a temptation to great for some to resist. In fact…
“Chieftain… are you sure we should destroy this pool? It seems almost too good of a resource to let pass us by.”
Glancing to the veteran who speaks, Rognak shakes his head.
“This resource is tainted. Demon blood may have won us Draenor but remember what else it won us! Famine! A dead world! And decades of living as scavengers after the Warlocks and demons abandoned the Horde on this world!”
That reminder gets the older orc to back down, a grunt leaving his lips. He still stares at the pool hungrily though… and he’s not the only one. Some of the veteran warriors have even moved all the way to the edge of the clearing, clearly not liking the way the demon’s blood tempts them whenever they look at it. The others stay where they are but have begun twitching in a way the young druid doesn’t like the look of.
Turning his full attention onto the pool of corruption currently proving to be such a temptation for his Clan, Rognak growls in frustration. He would not let events go the way they could have. He would not let the Warsong Clan fall.
Reaching up towards the sky, Rognak grasps at the very stars themselves. A moment later and burning bright lights come crashing down from above as he casts Starfall upon the pool of demon’s blood. Immediately, the toxic substance begins to hiss and spit as it’s slowly but surely destroyed. He steadily starts to burn away at the pool, wanting to make sure every last drop is-
“NO!”
One of the veteran’s breaks and begins to rush towards the pool. For a second, Rognak thinks he will have to stop his cast to prevent the orc from drinking, but before he can pull the trigger on that, one of the younger orcs, a newer addition to the Warsong Clan, lunges at the other, holding him off.
“Stop! Remember the Chieftain’s words! Remember the Warchief’s teachings! We are not our rage! We are not our hunger!”
Bolstered by the young orc’s defiance, more of his fellows also step in, wrestling the veteran to the ground. Seeing this, Rognak continues casting Starfall, erasing more and more of the pool. It’s not easy… the demon’s blood doesn’t want to go, and it fights his burning magic every step of the way. A couple more of the veteran’s break in that time, making their own attempts at the pool… but none of them get close.
The Warsong Clan comes together, and this time they do not come together to drink of the pool and kill Cenarius. Instead, they come together in defiance of their former demonic masters. Rognak can only hope that it will be but the first in a long series of defiant acts to come.
For now though… the pool is gone a few minutes later. By the time he’s done, he’s panting a little bit. It has to be the most intensive, longest spell cast he’s done yet, in fact. But at the same time, it’s finished. The pool is no more and their mission for Lord Cenarius is complete. They are victorious.
The orc druid turns to tell his clan as much, but before he can, a deep, craggily voice cuts him off.
“Filthy… stinking… orcs. I offer you a chance to make up for your failures, I offer you an opportunity to atone for your mistakes. The Burning Legion does not often give second chances, and yet you dare spit in my face.”
Turning back around, Rognak can’t deny that his eyes go wide as Mannoroth himself steps out of the shadows, the Pit Lord’s hulking form coming forth from between two of the forest’s trees as he sneers down at them all, stomping forward.
“Stupid, pitiful creatures. What are you without your rage? What are you without the blood? The Legion gives you direction. It gives you purpose. This world will drown in chaos soon enough… but first, I will personally ensure that you all drown in your own BLOOD!”
Pulling forth an absolutely massive glaive, made for his equally massive size, the Pit Lord spins it around, letting out a deep, rumbling laugh. All around him, the Warsong Clan readies themselves for battle… and to be fair, Rognak does the same. But he has to admit, he doesn’t think they can win this. Not without some serious help. Is this where the Warsong Clan ends? Is this what his interference has amounted to?
As if summoned by his thoughts, arrows suddenly sprout from Mannoroth’s hide, causing the Pit Lord to roar and throw his head in the direction they came from. Many an orc’s head turns in that direction as well, in time to see a dozen Night Elf Sentinels racing out of the woods, bows in hand and another arrow already drawn. At their head is Lord Cenarius himself, with one Sentinel in particular right in front of him.
“Andu-falah-dor!”
The Sentinel’s battle cry is echoed by her sisters, as they all skid to a halt and continue firing upon Mannoroth. Seeing this, Rognak begins to grin. This… this was more like it. Turning back around, he hoists his predecessor’s axe high into the air and then points it at Mannoroth.
“Lok’tar Ogar, brothers!”
“""LOK’TAR OGAR!”””
