Shattrath City: Once the pristine capital of the Draenei people on the aptly named world of Draenor – now lay sacked and in ruins. Fires raged throughout the once pristine crystaline buildings, while the screams of women and children could be heard echoing over the entire circular lower tier. Debris littered every possible pathway and corridor, with one exception – the Port of Aldori. The port was the only connection point for large scale travel in the region – with connection points going north up to Farhalon, or south to Karabor – and it was now in the hands of the enemy.
"Yes, this will do nicely."
Grommash Hellscream, Warchief of the Iron Horde, stood atop a crumbled crystal spire overlooking the harbor. While debris littered the pathways and stairwells of this part of the city as well, the fires had been quickly extinguished at his order, and warships from Tanaan had begun sailing in at once. Below, where several of the warships sat, Draenei – survivors from Shattrath and elsewhere – were being loaded inside, under the careful watch of the Iron Sentinels – orcs armed with great rifles that poked and prodded the prisoners as they boarded. The ships were all bound for Gorgorond, industrial heart of the Iron Horde and home to the Blackrock Clan – there, the prisoners would labor for the Horde and help them to conquer this world.
Grom hopped down from the spire and walked over to his retinue. These included his adviser, Kalgro, his honor guards, standing stiff and forlorn as they peered out over the city from their closed-face helmets, and various other clan representatives looking to pay tribute to their Warchief.
Kalgro bowed deeply as Grom walked over to him. An orc of the Blackrock Clan, Kalgro had been offered to Grom as a gift by Blackhand, the clan's chief. Pale skinned and brown eyed, Kalgro's appearance was deceiving – he was a deceptive, cunning individual. Grom had come to rely on the man for handling many of the useless tasks of diplomacy among the clans.
"Warchief," Kalgro nodded. "The city is fully in our hands. There is still some..minor resistance upon the upper rise, but Warmaster Saurfang assures me that it will be stamped out within several hours."
Grom nodded. He expected this – the Draenei were not apt to give up without a fight. In a way, that is what Grom respected about their foes. They fought against his Horde and they fought hard – but in the end, they would fall before the might of the Orcish people just as the other species of this world would.
Grom waved away the clan delegates, who shuffled away to the waiting area beyond the building they sheltered in. Grom despised one aspect of the vaunted position – the sycophants who always groveled at his feet, singing praise of him one minute and conspiring to kill him the next. He had dealt with this within his own clan, the Warsong, but it was much more widespread in the other clans of the Iron Horde, sadly.
"Save as many of their warriors as you can." Grom mused. "Gorgorond needs strong labor."
Kalgro nodded. "But of course, Warchief." Clearing his throat, he paced backwards and forward slightly, observing where his leader made court. Grom admitted that this area was rather strange – from his questioning of the Draenei prisoners, it was the port administrative building – what was left of it. One of the spires had caved in and smashed through the main room, but otherwise, the building was largely intact and free of harm – scattered furniture and various debris littered the area. Grom had propped up a large plush chair and was using it as his "throne".
Sitting down in the chair with a confident grunt, Grom grinned towards Kalgro a moment. He knew his adviser all too well; Kalgro only paced when he had something bad to tell him. It was a common trait in the man.
A little too common, Grom thought. Perhaps he is hiding something.
"There is something you wish to tell me, Kalgro. I know you."
Clearing his throat, Kalgro nodded abruptly. "Y..yes, Warchief. Herald Zaela has arrived and wishes to see you at once."
A cringe went through Grom's body as Kalgro spoke the name. Zaela – the Herald of the Iron Horde, as she was called. An orc, much like Grom but – different. She had been there when Grom's 'benefactor', who hid under a hood and kept his identity secret, had exposed the plot of Gul'dan and his Stormreaver Clan to corrupt their race with demon blood.
The slaughter of the Draenei had already begun in earnest at that time, and the words spoken by the benefactor were shocking for all orcs to hear. But it was true – Zaela and the mysterious orc spoke of the future, where the orcs had been reduced to a pathetic rabble living on another world, mingling with other creatures who despised them.
Thereafter, no orc had drank from the blood – except for Gul'dan and his Stormreavers, of course. There would be no demon manipulation here. Nothing but pure of mind, body and spirit orcs. No one would manipulate Grom or his Horde – they would become masters of this world, without falling to the foul taint of tricksters like the Stormreavers.
Their benefactor, as he was called, had vanished after supplying the orcs with the so-called "Iron Star" technology, and the means to build it. Within months, the orcs had militarized the items and built a full fledged fighting force, based entirely on these present day technologies. When first tested against the Draenei at Telhamat, they had destroyed the temple and the defenders within an hour.
It was from that event that the Iron Horde was born – and Grom was its leader.
Zaela, however, was not a pleasant woman. She was gruff, arrogant and spoke as though she were superior to Grom. She was the only orc who ever spoke with their benefactor, and it was her voice that relayed his wishes. And so, Grom had followed what she said – even if reluctantly. How could he disobey the one man who gave him the tools to become a Warchief?
"Send her in, Kalgro. And...go. Find the delegates. I must speak with her myself."
Kalgro nodded and departed from the room. Several tense minutes went by as Grom sat waiting until the familiar black skin of Zaela entered the room. She was clad in a strange set of armor that she claimed came from her clan in the future, the Dragonmaw. A sneer was still smeared across her rather war-ravaged face.
"Herald Zaela." Grom stood to his feet and bowed respectfully. "I am always honored at your visits."
Zaela nodded briefly before looking about. "Warchief. Well done on your conquest of Shattrath. Our benefactor is most pleased at your actions of late." Zaela spoke with an underlying tone of condensation that always managed to irritate Grom.
"I am...pleased." Grom shuffled uncomfortably. "But this is just the beginning, Herald. We still have much to do to fully grasp this world – and conquer it fully for the Horde. Obstacles still remain, and they will be eradicated in time."
Zaela narrowed her eyes. "Of course. However -" Zaela walked over to a blown out chunk of wall, looking towards the boats with Draenei prisoners. "- the fact that you do not just kill these mongrels outright perplexes me."
Grom walked over to her side, keeping a respectful distance. "It would be a waste to kill them, Herald. The Iron Horde needs all the laborers and workers that it needs to complete our goals. All of them – therefore, killing them now would not be productive to our cause."
"That is of course, your choice." Turning back, Zaela walked towards the centre of the room where Grom held court. "Our benefactor has left the Iron Horde's operation to you – the only thing he is concerned with is your efforts on building the portal."
Grom nodded. Of course that was why she was here; she wanted an update on the portal. The portal Zaela spoke of was a device, that according to the benefactor, would enable the Iron Horde to travel to the world that he and Zaela came from, known as Azeroth – there, they would find whole new continents to conquer, and Grom would become Warchief of an Iron Horde the spanned the cosmos.
It would be glorious.
Of course, it needed to be built first – something that the Iron Horde had begun shortly after unification. Zaela had recalled that the original portal in Azeroth was built in an area known as Hellfire Peninsula – a region that did not exist on this world – but after clarification, Grom realized she meant Tanaan. The jungle was a hazard to his soldiers – the wildlife itself tried to slaughter everything that trod upon it. Not to mention, Grom had heard that Draenei survivors remained in the city of Sha'naar, near the boarder to the Zangar Sea, having resisted multiple attacks on their position even before the Iron Horde had been formed.
Grom had dispatched a large portion of the Iron Horde's army to Tanaan as a result, and entrusted Kilrogg Deadeye, leader of the Bleeding Hollow Clan, with the main defense and construction of the portal.
"The portal will be completed on schedule, Herald. This I assure you." Grom turned to face her, and grinned. "I've already told Kilrogg that if he fails the Horde, I will take his other eye as punishment."
"See to it that the Bleeding Hollow remain on schedule, Warchief. Our benefactor wishes the connection be made – just as soon as the Draenei are subjugated." Waving her right hand out towards the shattered remains of Shattrath, Zaela continued. "Once this world is yours, the portal will be opened and Azeroth will be yours too, Grommash Hellscream."
Grom could not help but grin. The prospect of another world to conquer – more creatures to test his strength upon excited him greatly.
Zaela strode her way over to the exit of the building. "Remain vigilant, Warchief. Do not allow your own pride to get in the way of the Horde's path. Those around you who grovel and snivel at your feet -" she motioned to the delegates, who were in discussion with Kalgro, "- will be the first to try to claim your glory." She smirked, her sharpened teeth glaring at Grom as if they had eyes of their own. "I have seen it far too many times back on Azeroth. Let us hope you will not fall prey to the mistakes of the past."
Grom shook his head, anger welling up inside him. He was not weak. He was not a coward, or a spineless dog, afraid to stand with his people in unity and embrace the destiny that this world was theirs.
He was not Durotan.
Durotan was the leader of the Frostwolf clan, and hailed from Nagrand, much as Grom and his Warsongs did. However, Durotan was unlike Grom in that he and his Frostwolves were fools. They had rejected the Iron Horde – Durotan's reasoning was that there was too much uncertainty with the benefactor and Zaela to trust them. Furthermore, he said, the slaughter of the Draenei ran contrary to the Frostwolves and their shamanistic traditions.
Therefore, Grom had exiled Durotan and the Frostwolves to the northern part of Draenor, to Frostfire – there, they would hopefully find their death among the ogres, or among the savage winters prone to striking the region.
Coward, Grom sneered in his mind. I hope you rot, Durotan. By the spirits, I hope the ogres are using your carcass as food for their beasts even as we speak.
"I am not weak, Herald." Grom exhaled sharply, nodding in her direction. "the Iron Horde will make this world ours. None – the Draenei, the ogres, not even the land itself – will stop us, now. Rest assured that our benefactor will see his dream realized."
Zaela's grin did not fade. "I will hold you to that, Warchief." As she turned to walk away, she fired off a final parting comment.
"Else we will find someone else to take the reigns of the Iron Horde."
Turning back to his chair, Grom crashed into it with a heavy sigh. Raising his right hand to his face, he mopped beads of sweat from his brow – the fight and slaughter of the Draenei warriors still sang in his head, but he found no joy in it now, having spoken with the Herald. The woman always knew how to make a glorious battle seem petty in the grand scheme of things.
"Warchief.."
Looking up, it was Kalgro. Grom raised a brow in concern – the Blackrock's face was unusually pale, and sweat dripped from his own brow. The man was nervous – and frightfully so, something that Grom was not used to.
"What is it, Kalgro? Why do you look so scared?" Grom barked, annoyedly.
"Erm..." Kalgro hesitated, his words seemingly caught on his tongue like a talbuk caught on a spear. He stammered for a few moments before Grom shot out of his chair, irate.
"Speak, Kalgro! Else I remove your ability TO speak!" Grom growled, reaching for Gorehowl, his beloved axe, which hung at his side.
Kalgro bowed deeply and composed himself.
"You have a visitor, Warchief."
"And who would that be, Kalgro?"
"...Gul'dan. He has come with a sizeable escort of his demon-blooded Stormreavers."
Grom's face grew hot with rage. The worm dared come to his territory?!
"Kill him! I care nothing for that mongrel and his foul tricks."
Kalgro hesitated. "Warchief, Gul'dan wishes to make a trade. He claims that he has information that will highly benefit the Horde."
"I care nothing for his foul words. Gul'dan is a liar and a betrayer. KILL HIM!"
Kalgro shook his head. "He claims that all he wishes in exchange is a meeting with the Iron Horde's Warchief. That is all. This information, he says, he gives freely."
Growling, Grom paced back and forth – it seems he was picking up on Kalgro's habit.
By speaking with Gul'dan, Grom would expose himself to the worm's honeyed words once again. The warlock – as he called himself, now – had been thrown out of the Iron Horde in disgrace with his Stormreaver Clan – those who followed him – after his betrayal was revealed by their benefactor. He planned to enslave the orcish race to the Burning Legion, a race of demons from beyond the stars, to serve as their dark army in some kind of plot.
However, Gul'dan often did not venture out of his own comfort zone without cause. This information he possesses must be valuable, if he thought to seek me out in person, Grom mused. Perhaps...perhaps the liar was being forced to tell the truth, for once. Even if he were lying, Grom reassured himself, it would be easy to slaughter the fool where he stood.
A meeting wouldn't hurt. And perhaps I could gain an advantage over the slippery eel.
A deep sigh escaped Grom's lips.
"Send him in. Only him. And ensure that he is not harmed. If there is killing to be done, I will deal with him myself. Do you understand, Kalgro? If any of my warriors even touch Gul'dan without my order, I will kill the offender myself."
Kalgro bowed. "Of course, Warchief.", before scurrying away to find the warlock.
The foul stench of fel magic caught Grom's nose as he snapped out of his reverie. Standing before him was the Betrayer and the worm, Gul'dan. The man's very appearance made Grom's soul heave with revulsion – he was nothing like an orc. Not anymore.
His skin was twisted and green, fel energy seeping off of it like a waterfall. His face was hidden behind a hood, his yellow eyes peering out from the darkness like gemstones in moonlight. His beard was rough and unshaven, and his body was skeletally thin. He wore a thick, black robe, with a necklace of animal skulls around his veiny neck.
"Be gone, Kalgro."
Kalgro quickly escaped from the pair's presence. Standing upright, Grom walked over to the hunched over figure and glared down at him. Gul'dan, for his part, showed no fear – he bowed his head slightly to Grom, in fact.
"Warchief Hellscream." Gul'dan rumbled. "I am most honored that you have decided to hear my proposal."
"You are lucky, Gul'dan." Grom snarled. "Lucky I do not eviscerate you like the dog you are, right now. I could easily end you, and the pathetic worms who follow you, without a second thought. This is a mercy."
Gul'dan nodded. "I have no doubt that you are not happy to see me, Grom." Rumbling, Gul'dan strode around the building, peering at this trinket and that. "But, you know that I offer you information, and you..." the warlock licked his lips, "..are tempted by knowledge."
"Do not toy with me, warlock." Grom spat, turning to face him.
"But of course – you are a busy man, what, with your glorious armies and conquest." Gul'dan rumbled, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. "Let us not mince words then. I come here at the behest of..my master."
"Of course you do. Come to offer us more foul demon magic, I am sure."
Gul'dan shook his head, facing Grom. "Ah, infact no. My master has taken notice of your Iron Horde, assuredly. But he is impressed by your war against the Draenei – enemies of his for many a long age. Therefore, he wanted me to...inform you...of a matter relating to your portal."
Grom nearly sputtered in surprise. "How do you know of the portal?! You were exiled before...before anything was decided, coward!"
Gul'dan let loose a barking laugh. "Oh, Grommash Hellscream, do not think I am a fool! I am Gul'dan. I see and know all – and I am not as weak as you and the rest of the clans may think, after all."
"If you have something to say, warlock – say it."
Gul'dan paused to lick his lips once more – an action that seemed mocking to Grom.
"Through my own methods, I learned of your portal. My master – as I was saying, wished for me to inform you that there is a complication in our 'benefactor''s plan. One that even dearest Herald Zaela refuses to inform you of."
Grom's eyebrow peaked.
"Have I your attention?" Gul'dan mused. "Good. Now then. The portal is an impressive feat – one my master thinks will have a good chance of working. However – once you build the structure, then what, hmm? Do you think that a portal between worlds will magically erupt from the stone and wood? I would hope that even you are not as stupid."
Grom fought the urge to slaughter him where he stood – but a part of him, a tiny fraction – found himself oddly compelled to hear the warlock out. It was clear that he knew of the portal – perhaps there was a grain of truth in his sand dune of lies.
"Well, Grom? Do you?"
Grom shook his head. "...No. Keep talking."
Gul'dan grinned briefly. "Of course not. Now, as I was saying – there has to be some form of magic to be conjured in order for there to even be a portal to...Azeroth, is it?"
"Yes..." Grom's stomach began to knot.
"My master is an expert in the arcane. In the arts of fel casting. In everything. He foresees what you will need in order to bridge the gap, Grom. Would you like for me to tell you what that something is?"
Grom could not speak. He knew what the warlock would say, but could not muster anything more then a nod of his head.
"You already know. Fel magic. You will need me and my clan." A savage, almost demonic grin crossed Gul'dan's lips as he stepped to within physical distance of Grom, the stink of fel magic radiating into his nostrils and throat.
"No. You...you're lying! You want to trick me!" Grom erupted, breaking free from the haze that came over him. Thinking quickly, he punched Gul'dan in the face with his left hand and grasped Gorehowl with his right. While the warlock staggered from the blow, Grom grasped him by the matted hood and held the axe to his throat.
Oddly, Gul'dan still showed no emotion.
"Believe what you will, Grom. I could be lying, of course. But what would that benefit me?"
"You are a natural liar, Gul'dan. You always have been and always will be!" Grom snarled, continuing to hold the now-shaking axe at his throat. Grom's mind swam with a mixture of doubt and anger at the warlock's revelation.
"Our dear Herald failed to mention that...little detail, did she not?" Gul'dan cackled. "Kill me and the only hope you have for glorious conquest is lost. The clans will turn on you, Grom, when they do not have any one else to fight. My clan will not answer to you – they will fight until you exterminate them, Grom. But I am offering you a chance. I speak the truth to you now while our benefactor and his ally lie and deceive you."
Grom released Gul'dan from his grip and placed Gorehowl back on his side.
"I want you to succeed, Grom." Gul'dan dusted off his hood idly, keeping his twisted face hidden beneath the darkness. "My master wants you to succeed. I offer you a choice that guarantees you a world – beyond this one. A world for the taking, just as Zaela says. But I do not hide the truth from you. What you will need is me and my necrolytes."
"I will not allow you to join the Iron Horde! We are orcs, pure of blood. You..." Grom spat at the ground, looking back to the warlock. "You chose demons over your own people, Gul'dan. I will never allow your clan to become part of us. Ever."
Gul'dan laughed. "Oh, do not flatter yourself, Grom. I seek nothing of the sort. What I propose is simple."
"I will not drink any of your foul potions either! Neither will my warriors!"
Gul'dan shook his head. "Of course not. There is nothing required of you but your guarantee. Guarantee my Stormreavers safety in your lands. We will remain on the fringes, far enough away to not cause trouble – but close enough that you will permit us to commune with my master.
Do this – and when the time comes, my warlocks and I will open the way."
"If I make a deal with you, warlock – I show my weakness. The other clan leaders will have my head – or at least try to. Do you know how many assassins already strive to overthrow me and claim the title of Warchief for their own?" Grom growled, eyes narrowing.
Gul'dan nodded. "We are making an alliance of convenience, Grom. You need me – and I need your Iron Horde. It is simply a trade. But, if it makes you feel better, I will gladly provide you with soldiers who will protect you – and only you. They are -"
Grom smacked the warlock in the face. "I will NOT take any of your demon slaves! Do you take me for a fool?!"
Gul'dan raised his gnarled left hand to his face and wiped some blood idly from where he was struck. "Of course not. What I give you are pure orcs of my Stormreavers. Ones who have learned to master the arts of this world – and the power granted to them is supreme. Awe inspiring. They will defend you with their lives. If any of the other clan leaders dare try to take your seat, they will rend their flesh from their bones."
Grom sighed. The warlock had him – the cunning was strong in Gul'dan. The things he promised were exactly what Grom needed – troops to defend his stronghold home in Nagrand, as his own soldiers were stretched extremely thin – and a way to open the portal and bridge the gap. If what he said was true, his benefactor and Zaela neglected to tell him this.
They would owe him an explanation.
"Do we have an arrangement, Warchief?" Gul'dan grinned, extending a withered talon hand for him to shake.
Grom felt sick. A part of him screamed that he must not do this. He had to execute the warlock now. After everything, the lies, the betrayals, the coward would come here and use his words to soften him up, ripe for the seducing. But – the needs of his Horde came first. And Gul'dan had what they needed – a portal to other worlds.
Grom waved his hand. "I will not touch you, Gul'dan. But...yes. Your clan will have your amnesty in my lands. You will be unmolested. But rest assured, warlock...if I find out you have lied to me or betrayed me in whatever fashion possible – I will have you and your clan put to death without a second thought. Do you understand?"
Withdrawing his hand, Gul'dan bowed. "Of course, Warchief. I am pleased that you have accepted our arrangement. It will benefit you and the Horde in the long run. You will see that soon, I assure you. Now, if you will excuse me – my clan musters for an assault on the draenei burial grounds to the south. My master has need of certain artefacts found there. Farewell, Warchief."
Gul'dan turned and departed down the stairs without a word.
After a moment's hesitation, Kalgro returned, bowing to Grom.
Grom sat in silence for a moment. The silence was horribly uncomfortable. It was as if sound itself stopped. Time itself stopped – all he could hear was the ringing of Gul'dan's twisted voice in his ears. How he had made an agreement with the warlock and his foul kind – it sent shivers down his very spine. But it was necessary, Grom told himself. I will see the Horde benefit from this – at all costs.
"Distribute word. Gul'dan is not to be harmed. Nor is his clan to be harmed as long as they keep their distance from our territory." Grom sighed.
Kalgro perked up at this. "Warchief?"
Grom growled towards his adviser. "Did you not hear me the first time?! Send messengers to the other clan leaders who answer to me! Now! If Gul'dan or any of his Stormreavers are harmed, I will have the heads of all involved!"
Kalgro bowed and departed, rushing down the stairs into Shattrath.
From his seat, Grommash Hellscream bowed his head.
It was moments like these that he longed for simpler days – days of war, of wolf-riding.
Days of peace.