A/N: If you've enjoyed reading this story and want to hop on board my next story right at the moment of its conception, please check out The Soul Engine for me! It just started and I'm really excited for it~
-x-X-x-
It was good to be home.
As Rognak and his fellow Warsong Druids all wing down from the sky towards the Horde Capital he can’t help but reflect at how strange it is to call Orgrimmar home. Not least of which because he had another lifetime of memories trying to tell him that it was simply a point of interest in some video game that his other self had sunk way, WAY too much time into.
And yet… it was actually fairly easy to differentiate his Orgrimmar from that Orgrimmar. While both cities were nestled in the same series of valleys surrounded by high craggily mountains… that was about where the similarities came to an end. The influence of druidism on orcish culture could be seen everywhere in this new Orgrimmar. Rather than having all of its valleys exposed to the sky, much of it was covered in a thick canopy of greenery, massive trees grown by druid magic properly providing shade from the heavy sun beating down overhead.
No more was this canopy thicker than in the Valley of Strength, where the Warsong Grove stands proud even now. It fills Rognak’s heart with joy to see that everything looks like it’s been just fine in his absence. Better than fine even, because everywhere he looks, he sees progress. Not that that’s too surprising. It’s been months since they left for Northrend. Months spent at sea going both to Northrend and coming back.
In fact, more of their time had been spent traveling then in the actual campaign against the Lich King. Traversing the frozen continent and having to go back and forth as they’d faced setbacks and then a resurgence in strength HAD taken weeks, but chronologically, it was the shortest part of their trip… even if mentally, it felt like it had been the longest.
… Yeah, it’s good to be home. Though, there are still things that weight on Rognak’s mind.
For one, there was Kael’thas and his Blood Elves. The Sunstrider Prince had finally swallowed his pride and spoken to Tyrande, Cenarius, and even Ysera about aid for his people. The plight that his Blood Elves faced was a dire one, and given their valor against the Lich King, they truly did deserve some help. While none of the three had been able to make concrete promises, they had all said they would try.
In the end, Kael’thas had decided to take his people back to Silvermoon. A promise from a Dragon Aspect, even if it’s a vague promise, was apparently enough to keep the Blood Elf Prince from going off-world. Then again without Illidan or Vashj to influence him, it was entirely possible that leaving Azeroth to try and find a cure for his people never even crossed Kael’thas’ mind.
Whether it would be enough to keep Kael’thas from going off the deep-end or not, Rognak couldn’t say. Would the Sunstrider Prince be a hero in this world, when his second set of memories had largely defined Kael’thas by his villainy? Or was he predestined to fall and hopefully just not take his people with him?
Rognak, personally, had chosen to largely stay out of it and let the chips fall as they may. He and Kael’thas would never be friends, after all. Comrades on a temporary basis? Sure. Friends? No shot in hell. Frankly, he’d just counted his lucky stars that the Blood Elf Prince had never learned of his and Jaina’s relationship during all their time as allies in Northrend. That would have been… complicated to explain. If he would have gotten a chance to explain in the first place.
But no, in the end they’d left the Blood Elf fleet behind a few days after leaving Northrend, the two forces splitting up and going their separate ways. The Blood Elves would return home to Quel’Thalas to see what they could rebuild for themselves, and the Kalimdor Fleet had turned its sights towards home as well.
Landing back on Kalimdor had been a beautiful moment, though instead of Auberdine they had ended up dropping anchor on the coast of Azshara at the rebuilt port-town of Nendis where he, Maiev, and Naisha had originally fought Detheroc and his mind controlled Naga all those months ago. There had been no reason to push the fleet all the way back to Auberdine when they could stop at Nendis and resupply, as well as drop off Rognak and his Warsong Druids since Orgrimmar was just a quick flight away.
Rognak would have liked to have taken Tyrande up on her offer to travel with her to Astranaar to see Shandris as soon as possible, but he knew better. He had a duty to report to Thrall as soon as possible, and a duty to check in on the Warsong Grove as well. They all had their responsibilities at the end of the day, and one way or another, they would find themselves back together. Of that he was sure. Besides… it put off having to explain certain events that had taken place in Northrend to his beloved. Sure, Shandris had all but asked him to try for it, but even still…
Regardless, that led to right now. As Rognak and the rest of the veterans from the Northrend Campaign come in for a landing in the Valley of Strength, he shifts out of his wyvern flight form and rises to his full height, shaking his shoulders. It was a little disappointing to no longer have access to the forms of the Drakkari Loa that he’d had in Northrend, but he hadn’t found himself completely stripped of their power at least.
As a parting gift, they’d all come together and infused him with just a bit more of their strength. It effectively made him the only non-troll Champion of each of the Drakkari Loa to have ever existed… but as Har’koa had explained, it was well-earned in their eyes. He appreciated that… just as he’d appreciated Cenarius taking him aside shortly after their arrival back in Kalimdor.
It had been just before he and the rest of the Warsong had left for Orgrimmar. The Lord of the Forest had publicly declared that Rognak would be granted the title of Archdruid. Privately, Cenarius had confided in Rognak that many would think him too young for the title… and even Cenarius himself had his reservations given Rognak’s age. But the orc druids that he had been teaching needed to know that their leader was respected among his peers.
Of course, Cenarius had gone on to explain that Rognak was being named Archdruid mostly because Broll Bearmantle had gone behind Cenarius’ back while they were all away in Northrend and formed the ‘Cenarion Circle’. It wasn’t that the Night Elf Archdruid had any nefarious purposes or anything like that to be clear… but Cenarius was still annoyed that the druidic organization had been named after him without his input or opinion.
Rognak, who knew that the Cenarion Circle would have come about in the other timeline as well, albeit more as an homage to Cenarius’ memory than anything else, had been quietly amused and mostly just happy that the Circle still existed in spite of Cenarius’ survival and not BECAUSE of his death this time around.
Still… it was a little bit daunting even now, to be named Archdruid. Rognak honestly didn’t know what to think about the title, even at this point. And yet…
“What would you have of us, Archdruid?”
Turning, Rognak regards the Warsong Druids who came with him to Northrend. Orcs as a general rule were all warriors and tended to be veterans of a hundred battles, especially if they lived a handful of decades. But these orcs standing in front of him now… they were veterans of a different kind of battle indeed. A battle for the very soul of this world. They’d seen things that put even some of the Battle for Mount Hyjal to shame.
Smiling a big, toothy, orcish grin, Rognak spreads his arms wide.
“Rejoin our brothers, my friends. Tell them what has happened. Teach them what you’ve learned. Let the Warsong Grove grow stronger through your shared experiences.”
There are solemn nods and a few matching grins in response to that, though one of them grunts.
“And what about you, Archdruid?”
Snorting in amusement, Rognak rolls his shoulders.
“Me? I’m to report to the Warchief, of course.”
-x-X-x-
To his credit, Thrall doesn’t make Rognak wait long to see him. If he’d found himself twiddling his thumbs because the other orc wanted to prove some sort of point, Rognak probably would have just left and come back later. But no… Thrall wasn’t that kind of orc. He wasn’t that kind of leader.
Thrall was the rare kind of leader who wasn’t in it for selfish purposes or his own personal gain. He had ambitions yes, but those ambitions generally revolved around their people and rebuilding the Horde into something that they could all be proud of. Thrall was the sort of leader who saw leadership for what it truly was… a responsibility and a duty. A weight upon his shoulders that kept him in check every damn day.
It was why Rognak was so happy to leave the title of Warchief in Thrall’s capable enough hands. Sure, his memories told him of the ways Thrall might misstep, of the mistakes that the other orc might make… but so long as Rognak was there to help him when he stumbled, he figured it would be fine.
Regardless, Rognak waits maybe five minutes before being ushered into the Warchief’s Throne Room. Thrall waits for him, already standing from his throne or bones and furs, looking… a little antsy. That doesn’t stop him from moving forward and clasping arms with Rognak though, nor does it stop him from pulling the other orc into a hug.
“Chieftain. It’s good to see you hale and hearty. I assume from your uneventful return that your mission was a success.”
Rognak grunts as they pull apart, nodding sharply.
“Aye, it was. The Lich King is gone, Warchief. Ner’zhul… Ner’zhul has been laid to rest at long last.”
Thrall’s eyes widen at that. They both might be young, but they knew their people’s history. Thrall knew who Ner’zhul was the same as Rognak did. Perhaps not quite as much as Rognak knew, but then… Rognak was a filthy cheater. Still, the Warchief knows enough to let out a shuddering breath at the news. Clearly, he has a thousand questions regarding Ner’zhul’s existence and how the orc shaman came to be the Lich King.
But rather than ask them… Thrall shakes his head.
“We have a problem, Rognak.”
The solemn note in the Warchief’s voice as Rognak alert and standing up straight. His eyes narrow as he frowns.
“What sort of problem is that, Thrall?”
If Thrall is offended by Rognak dropping his title, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he takes him by the shoulder and leads him over to a nearby table, upon which sits an insignia of some sorts. The rune carved into the insignia sets Rognak’s teeth on edge… it radiates small amounts of Fel Magic. Barely there, but…
“Where did this come from?”
Thrall grunts as he stares down at it too right alongside the orc druid.
“A group that I’ve just started investigating called the Searing Blade. Demon Worshippers, from what my sources tell me.”
Rognak’s eyes widen at that as memories from his other life rear their ugly head. The Searing Blade had been a cult operating out of the bowels of Orgrimmar itself. They’d been set up in a ‘dungeon’ in the game called Ragefire Chasm. A place that, despite all of their terraforming on the surface, likely still existed today, just as he knew the Cleft of Shadows still existed.
Letting out a shuddering breath, Rognak pulls away from Thrall’s hand… and snarls at the Horde’s Warchief.
“Really Thrall? After all the warnings I gave you? You let warlocks infiltrate the heart of our city all the same?!”
Anger wells up inside of him. He teeters on the edge of going into a full-blown rage. He feels about ready to blow a gasket. He’d thought he made it abundantly clear to Thrall that warlocks and undead were deal breakers. And yet… here they were all the same with history repeating itself… and even faster than before if Rognak had his timeline correct.
“What? What are you talking about?!”
Rognak’s eyes narrow at Thrall’s defensive, confused tone. The Warchief looks offended. But why? The Searing Blade were a pretty clear cut case of Thrall’s failure to manage the Horde. They were a byproduct of one of his earliest missteps… allowing himself to be convinced that orc warlocks should have a place in the Horde.
And yet… Thrall grabs up the insignia and holds it out, shaking it in Rognak’s face.
“This was found on a body in the Northern Barrens. What do you MEAN by ‘infiltrated the heart of our city’ Rognak?!”
Slowly blinking, Rognak feels some of his anger ebbing away as he realizes he might have misunderstood the situation.
“You… haven’t allowed warlocks to set up shop in the Cleft of Shadows while I was gone?”
Wrinkling his nose, baring his teeth, Thrall snarls.
“Of course not! I’ve outlawed all use of Fel Magic and Demonology in the Horde, just as you advised! The Cleft of Shadows harbors some of our more… roguish elements, but it does NOT harbor warlocks, I can tell you that much. There is no Fel Magic in my Horde! And there’s certainly no Demon Worshipping in Orgrimmar!”
… This changed things. Rognak tilts his head to the side and in a much calmer tone, speaks plainly.
“You’re wrong, Warchief. Tell me, have you heard of a place called Ragefire Chasm?”
Thrall’s confused expression is answer enough.
“What? No.”
Rognak just nods, feeling more and more confident by the moment. There’s a small possibility that somehow the chasm doesn’t even exist… but he doubts it. And if he’s wrong, well, he’ll gladly eat crow. Still, if he’s right…
“They must have already summoned a couple of their demonic masters if they’re able to obfuscate its existence from a shaman of your caliber. Ragefire Chasm lays under our feet, beneath the Cleft of Shadows, in the bowels of Orgrimmar. It’s there that the Searing Blade has made their home. It’s there that the warlocks have snuck in right under our noses.”
He’s no longer angry at Thrall. Sure, the Warchief had let this happen, but not consciously. And he’d been investigating it even before Rognak returned. So, he does his best to soften the blow by making it ‘our noses’ instead of ‘your nose’. Thrall still grits his teeth, taking some offense to Rognak’s words all the same.
“… How could you possibly know that?”
With a shrug, Rognak falls back on the usual fare.
“Nature speaks to me, Thrall, in the same way the elements and our ancestors speak to you. Long ago, I was presented with the possibility of something like this happening. Its why I advised you to keep the warlocks out so strongly. A future where fel magic was an accepted tool in the Horde’s arsenal… is not a good future. But… I should have known they would try to infiltrate our heart anyways.”
With that said, Rognak turns and begins walking towards the door, prompting Thrall to call after him.
“Where are you going, Rognak?!”
Without missing a beat or even looking over his shoulder, the orc druid grunts.
“To deal with the rot growing in our city’s heart, Warchief. Leave this to me, Thrall. There won’t be a Searing Blade left to worry about once I’m through with them.”
-x-X-x-
If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out Hentai-Foundry.com and QuestionableQuesting.com where I have over a thousand stories!
If you'd like to contribute to funding my writing at all, check me out on Patreon.com/Cambrian
Thanks for reading!
A/N: If you've enjoyed reading this story and want to hop on board my next story right at the moment of its conception, please check out The Soul Engine for me! It just started and I'm really excited for it~
-x-X-x-
It was good to be home.
As Rognak and his fellow Warsong Druids all wing down from the sky towards the Horde Capital he can’t help but reflect at how strange it is to call Orgrimmar home. Not least of which because he had another lifetime of memories trying to tell him that it was simply a point of interest in some video game that his other self had sunk way, WAY too much time into.
And yet… it was actually fairly easy to differentiate his Orgrimmar from that Orgrimmar. While both cities were nestled in the same series of valleys surrounded by high craggily mountains… that was about where the similarities came to an end. The influence of druidism on orcish culture could be seen everywhere in this new Orgrimmar. Rather than having all of its valleys exposed to the sky, much of it was covered in a thick canopy of greenery, massive trees grown by druid magic properly providing shade from the heavy sun beating down overhead.
No more was this canopy thicker than in the Valley of Strength, where the Warsong Grove stands proud even now. It fills Rognak’s heart with joy to see that everything looks like it’s been just fine in his absence. Better than fine even, because everywhere he looks, he sees progress. Not that that’s too surprising. It’s been months since they left for Northrend. Months spent at sea going both to Northrend and coming back.
In fact, more of their time had been spent traveling then in the actual campaign against the Lich King. Traversing the frozen continent and having to go back and forth as they’d faced setbacks and then a resurgence in strength HAD taken weeks, but chronologically, it was the shortest part of their trip… even if mentally, it felt like it had been the longest.
… Yeah, it’s good to be home. Though, there are still things that weight on Rognak’s mind.
For one, there was Kael’thas and his Blood Elves. The Sunstrider Prince had finally swallowed his pride and spoken to Tyrande, Cenarius, and even Ysera about aid for his people. The plight that his Blood Elves faced was a dire one, and given their valor against the Lich King, they truly did deserve some help. While none of the three had been able to make concrete promises, they had all said they would try.
In the end, Kael’thas had decided to take his people back to Silvermoon. A promise from a Dragon Aspect, even if it’s a vague promise, was apparently enough to keep the Blood Elf Prince from going off-world. Then again without Illidan or Vashj to influence him, it was entirely possible that leaving Azeroth to try and find a cure for his people never even crossed Kael’thas’ mind.
Whether it would be enough to keep Kael’thas from going off the deep-end or not, Rognak couldn’t say. Would the Sunstrider Prince be a hero in this world, when his second set of memories had largely defined Kael’thas by his villainy? Or was he predestined to fall and hopefully just not take his people with him?
Rognak, personally, had chosen to largely stay out of it and let the chips fall as they may. He and Kael’thas would never be friends, after all. Comrades on a temporary basis? Sure. Friends? No shot in hell. Frankly, he’d just counted his lucky stars that the Blood Elf Prince had never learned of his and Jaina’s relationship during all their time as allies in Northrend. That would have been… complicated to explain. If he would have gotten a chance to explain in the first place.
But no, in the end they’d left the Blood Elf fleet behind a few days after leaving Northrend, the two forces splitting up and going their separate ways. The Blood Elves would return home to Quel’Thalas to see what they could rebuild for themselves, and the Kalimdor Fleet had turned its sights towards home as well.
Landing back on Kalimdor had been a beautiful moment, though instead of Auberdine they had ended up dropping anchor on the coast of Azshara at the rebuilt port-town of Nendis where he, Maiev, and Naisha had originally fought Detheroc and his mind controlled Naga all those months ago. There had been no reason to push the fleet all the way back to Auberdine when they could stop at Nendis and resupply, as well as drop off Rognak and his Warsong Druids since Orgrimmar was just a quick flight away.
Rognak would have liked to have taken Tyrande up on her offer to travel with her to Astranaar to see Shandris as soon as possible, but he knew better. He had a duty to report to Thrall as soon as possible, and a duty to check in on the Warsong Grove as well. They all had their responsibilities at the end of the day, and one way or another, they would find themselves back together. Of that he was sure. Besides… it put off having to explain certain events that had taken place in Northrend to his beloved. Sure, Shandris had all but asked him to try for it, but even still…
Regardless, that led to right now. As Rognak and the rest of the veterans from the Northrend Campaign come in for a landing in the Valley of Strength, he shifts out of his wyvern flight form and rises to his full height, shaking his shoulders. It was a little disappointing to no longer have access to the forms of the Drakkari Loa that he’d had in Northrend, but he hadn’t found himself completely stripped of their power at least.
As a parting gift, they’d all come together and infused him with just a bit more of their strength. It effectively made him the only non-troll Champion of each of the Drakkari Loa to have ever existed… but as Har’koa had explained, it was well-earned in their eyes. He appreciated that… just as he’d appreciated Cenarius taking him aside shortly after their arrival back in Kalimdor.
It had been just before he and the rest of the Warsong had left for Orgrimmar. The Lord of the Forest had publicly declared that Rognak would be granted the title of Archdruid. Privately, Cenarius had confided in Rognak that many would think him too young for the title… and even Cenarius himself had his reservations given Rognak’s age. But the orc druids that he had been teaching needed to know that their leader was respected among his peers.
Of course, Cenarius had gone on to explain that Rognak was being named Archdruid mostly because Broll Bearmantle had gone behind Cenarius’ back while they were all away in Northrend and formed the ‘Cenarion Circle’. It wasn’t that the Night Elf Archdruid had any nefarious purposes or anything like that to be clear… but Cenarius was still annoyed that the druidic organization had been named after him without his input or opinion.
Rognak, who knew that the Cenarion Circle would have come about in the other timeline as well, albeit more as an homage to Cenarius’ memory than anything else, had been quietly amused and mostly just happy that the Circle still existed in spite of Cenarius’ survival and not BECAUSE of his death this time around.
Still… it was a little bit daunting even now, to be named Archdruid. Rognak honestly didn’t know what to think about the title, even at this point. And yet…
“What would you have of us, Archdruid?”
Turning, Rognak regards the Warsong Druids who came with him to Northrend. Orcs as a general rule were all warriors and tended to be veterans of a hundred battles, especially if they lived a handful of decades. But these orcs standing in front of him now… they were veterans of a different kind of battle indeed. A battle for the very soul of this world. They’d seen things that put even some of the Battle for Mount Hyjal to shame.
Smiling a big, toothy, orcish grin, Rognak spreads his arms wide.
“Rejoin our brothers, my friends. Tell them what has happened. Teach them what you’ve learned. Let the Warsong Grove grow stronger through your shared experiences.”
There are solemn nods and a few matching grins in response to that, though one of them grunts.
“And what about you, Archdruid?”
Snorting in amusement, Rognak rolls his shoulders.
“Me? I’m to report to the Warchief, of course.”
-x-X-x-
To his credit, Thrall doesn’t make Rognak wait long to see him. If he’d found himself twiddling his thumbs because the other orc wanted to prove some sort of point, Rognak probably would have just left and come back later. But no… Thrall wasn’t that kind of orc. He wasn’t that kind of leader.
Thrall was the rare kind of leader who wasn’t in it for selfish purposes or his own personal gain. He had ambitions yes, but those ambitions generally revolved around their people and rebuilding the Horde into something that they could all be proud of. Thrall was the sort of leader who saw leadership for what it truly was… a responsibility and a duty. A weight upon his shoulders that kept him in check every damn day.
It was why Rognak was so happy to leave the title of Warchief in Thrall’s capable enough hands. Sure, his memories told him of the ways Thrall might misstep, of the mistakes that the other orc might make… but so long as Rognak was there to help him when he stumbled, he figured it would be fine.
Regardless, Rognak waits maybe five minutes before being ushered into the Warchief’s Throne Room. Thrall waits for him, already standing from his throne or bones and furs, looking… a little antsy. That doesn’t stop him from moving forward and clasping arms with Rognak though, nor does it stop him from pulling the other orc into a hug.
“Chieftain. It’s good to see you hale and hearty. I assume from your uneventful return that your mission was a success.”
Rognak grunts as they pull apart, nodding sharply.
“Aye, it was. The Lich King is gone, Warchief. Ner’zhul… Ner’zhul has been laid to rest at long last.”
Thrall’s eyes widen at that. They both might be young, but they knew their people’s history. Thrall knew who Ner’zhul was the same as Rognak did. Perhaps not quite as much as Rognak knew, but then… Rognak was a filthy cheater. Still, the Warchief knows enough to let out a shuddering breath at the news. Clearly, he has a thousand questions regarding Ner’zhul’s existence and how the orc shaman came to be the Lich King.
But rather than ask them… Thrall shakes his head.
“We have a problem, Rognak.”
The solemn note in the Warchief’s voice as Rognak alert and standing up straight. His eyes narrow as he frowns.
“What sort of problem is that, Thrall?”
If Thrall is offended by Rognak dropping his title, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he takes him by the shoulder and leads him over to a nearby table, upon which sits an insignia of some sorts. The rune carved into the insignia sets Rognak’s teeth on edge… it radiates small amounts of Fel Magic. Barely there, but…
“Where did this come from?”
Thrall grunts as he stares down at it too right alongside the orc druid.
“A group that I’ve just started investigating called the Searing Blade. Demon Worshippers, from what my sources tell me.”
Rognak’s eyes widen at that as memories from his other life rear their ugly head. The Searing Blade had been a cult operating out of the bowels of Orgrimmar itself. They’d been set up in a ‘dungeon’ in the game called Ragefire Chasm. A place that, despite all of their terraforming on the surface, likely still existed today, just as he knew the Cleft of Shadows still existed.
Letting out a shuddering breath, Rognak pulls away from Thrall’s hand… and snarls at the Horde’s Warchief.
“Really Thrall? After all the warnings I gave you? You let warlocks infiltrate the heart of our city all the same?!”
Anger wells up inside of him. He teeters on the edge of going into a full-blown rage. He feels about ready to blow a gasket. He’d thought he made it abundantly clear to Thrall that warlocks and undead were deal breakers. And yet… here they were all the same with history repeating itself… and even faster than before if Rognak had his timeline correct.
“What? What are you talking about?!”
Rognak’s eyes narrow at Thrall’s defensive, confused tone. The Warchief looks offended. But why? The Searing Blade were a pretty clear cut case of Thrall’s failure to manage the Horde. They were a byproduct of one of his earliest missteps… allowing himself to be convinced that orc warlocks should have a place in the Horde.
And yet… Thrall grabs up the insignia and holds it out, shaking it in Rognak’s face.
“This was found on a body in the Northern Barrens. What do you MEAN by ‘infiltrated the heart of our city’ Rognak?!”
Slowly blinking, Rognak feels some of his anger ebbing away as he realizes he might have misunderstood the situation.
“You… haven’t allowed warlocks to set up shop in the Cleft of Shadows while I was gone?”
Wrinkling his nose, baring his teeth, Thrall snarls.
“Of course not! I’ve outlawed all use of Fel Magic and Demonology in the Horde, just as you advised! The Cleft of Shadows harbors some of our more… roguish elements, but it does NOT harbor warlocks, I can tell you that much. There is no Fel Magic in my Horde! And there’s certainly no Demon Worshipping in Orgrimmar!”
… This changed things. Rognak tilts his head to the side and in a much calmer tone, speaks plainly.
“You’re wrong, Warchief. Tell me, have you heard of a place called Ragefire Chasm?”
Thrall’s confused expression is answer enough.
“What? No.”
Rognak just nods, feeling more and more confident by the moment. There’s a small possibility that somehow the chasm doesn’t even exist… but he doubts it. And if he’s wrong, well, he’ll gladly eat crow. Still, if he’s right…
“They must have already summoned a couple of their demonic masters if they’re able to obfuscate its existence from a shaman of your caliber. Ragefire Chasm lays under our feet, beneath the Cleft of Shadows, in the bowels of Orgrimmar. It’s there that the Searing Blade has made their home. It’s there that the warlocks have snuck in right under our noses.”
He’s no longer angry at Thrall. Sure, the Warchief had let this happen, but not consciously. And he’d been investigating it even before Rognak returned. So, he does his best to soften the blow by making it ‘our noses’ instead of ‘your nose’. Thrall still grits his teeth, taking some offense to Rognak’s words all the same.
“… How could you possibly know that?”
With a shrug, Rognak falls back on the usual fare.
“Nature speaks to me, Thrall, in the same way the elements and our ancestors speak to you. Long ago, I was presented with the possibility of something like this happening. Its why I advised you to keep the warlocks out so strongly. A future where fel magic was an accepted tool in the Horde’s arsenal… is not a good future. But… I should have known they would try to infiltrate our heart anyways.”
With that said, Rognak turns and begins walking towards the door, prompting Thrall to call after him.
“Where are you going, Rognak?!”
Without missing a beat or even looking over his shoulder, the orc druid grunts.
“To deal with the rot growing in our city’s heart, Warchief. Leave this to me, Thrall. There won’t be a Searing Blade left to worry about once I’m through with them.”
-x-X-x-
If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out Hentai-Foundry.com and QuestionableQuesting.com where I have over a thousand stories!
If you'd like to contribute to funding my writing at all, check me out on Patreon.com/Cambrian
Thanks for reading!
