A/N-

Typically I don't write author's notes or anything of the sort, but there was one thing I wanted to state here, and since the description has a character limit… Well, only thing I could think of. Long story short, there will be a few differences between WoD and this story in not just the present. For one thing, I'm not going to have Golmash Hellscream being killed off by the gronn before the story begins. He will have killed the gronn to get the same title of Giantkiller, and will have escaped injured but still alive. The reason will be explained in the story.

Apart from this, magic will be explained as an extension of the Force in a similar way to how the Nightsisters of Dathomir can use 'magic' of their own. There won't be any elementals or the like just wandering around – they'll just be in the ancient legends and the like. Same for the Magnaron and Ogre-lords. Too elemental-like. The Ogre evolutionary chain will mainly be gronn, gronnlings, ogron, and ogres. All other species on Draenor will remain, however – the only other difference is that the Draenei will be native to Draenor as well, but will have been mostly wiped out due to events explained in later chapters. There might still be a few pockets of survivors, however.

Anyway, sorry for the long A/N, but just wanted to explain those few things before starting.

Shadow had fallen over the plateau as the cloud coverage started to form in the sky above the lone Mandalorian surveying the land. A few black drops of now polluted rain started to fall, quickly being absorbed by the thirsty land – poisoning it even further. The Mandalorian could only sigh quietly as he gripped his vibro-axe.

The land had changed so much over the years. In some ways, he remembered it perfectly. But in other ways? He could only shake his head ever so slowly. No, this was not the land he remembered. Every moment he saw the ravaged remains of the Oshu'gun, the moment he saw what was left of the now polluted landscape… The Mandalorian growled quietly. The moment he saw the corpses or slaves of his people… These were the moments that drove him to remember. This was not his land, but it would become his land again. Of that, he was sure.

Glancing up again to the ruined remains of the stone circle on the plateau, the Mandalorian growled. He would drive the cowards off the face of the world if he had to. He would make sure they paid dearly for the pain they brought to this world, to his people. Putting a hand to his helmet, the Mandalorian slowly removed it. He knew he had to see the shape of the world now – with his own eyes, not from behind the view of his helmet.

After setting his helmet gently on the ground, the Mandalorian stood. Golden eyes scanned the horizon as he turned to face the east. Before he could make the cowardly 'Hutt Cartel' pay, he knew full well what he had to do. The Mandalorian knew he would have to free his people, to give them a proper banner to rally under. But first? First he would need to grant his people a symbol to inspire them, to give them the will to fight back. And he knew exactly what symbol he would bring to them. He heard tales of how the slavers had murdered his father and took his axe as a trophy, hanging it on the wall of their compound as a simple decoration.

Grommash Hellscream shook his head slowly. The axe would be a trophy no longer. It would become the very banner his people needed to rally under. And he knew if the axe could think, that it too would hunger for battle. For the war that would decide the fate of Draenor. But first, to retrieve it from the wretched compound built over the ruins of Hallvalor. To retrieve the symbol of his retribution, and the instrument that would bring his people closer to freedom.

"Gorehowl."

Ten Years Earlier

Grommash stood at the river's edge, staring out into the dark jungle surrounding Oshu'gun as he waited for the remainder of the Clans to arrive. This would be his first gathering, now that he was deemed old enough to come, at the age of twelve. He was anxious for the events to begin.

Grommash whipped around as he heard a crunching sound behind him. Calming slightly as he recognised the all too familiar laugh, he bowed his head in greetings to the newcomer. "Father."

Golmash Hellscream slowly approached his son, still chuckling quietly. His legendary axe still strapped to his back as he moved to place a hand on Grommash's shoulder. "I hope I didn't scare you, Grom."

Grommash frowned. 'Grom'. Only a few people used that with him. Although he didn't mind his father using it, he still couldn't help but frown. It made him seem like half of who he was. "No. I was just… thinking. Do we know how many clans we're waiting for now?"

The elder Hellscream nodded slightly. "Yes. We're just waiting for the Thunderlords. The Frostwolves arrived about ten minutes ago."

"Are you sure they're going to come? Durgas was talking about the hostility between the-" Grommash was cut off slightly by the sound of a horn. In the distance, a small patrol of orcs in armour made of bone and metal were walking in, riding two white-furred clefthooves.

Golmash chuckled quietly. "It would seem we will be starting soon." Pushing slightly on his son's shoulder, the elder Hellscream nodded slightly. "Let's join the others."

Grommash nodded slowly, not actually responding. He was anxious to see how this would go, but something in him wanted to turn around and leave. Shaking it off as only nerves, the young Hellscream slowly moved to follow his father. A few yards in the distance, from the cover a large tent, he heard the chieftain of the Blackrock clan call out to the gathered orcs. "Gather! We begin the Kosh'harg now!"