Mohrg lay there, the soft light of his totems guttering out just as swiftly as his own spark was fading, the quiet glow from the enchanted wooden icons casting rainbow hues across the old orc's now-greyed hair and beard. "I... have lived a good life..." he whispered, smiling faintly. His walk along the Great Path had ended, and he was happy. His children stood in the doorway; the youngest with tears in his eyes, the eldest facing her father's passing with a warrior's resolve. His apprentice was there, seated at his right hand, the young Wildhammer dwarf biting back tears of his own.
"When I was young..." the aged shaman began, "... humans and their allies were the enemy. Horde and Alliance, two factions, fighting over old grudges and past mistakes..." Mohrg coughed harshly, his apprentice startling, but who soon calmed at Mohrg's raised hand. "I... am glad to see that peace was met in my lifetime. Thrall and Jaina, united as one... and even an heir to their throne on the way. Truly, life holds many surprises... Even I could never have dreamed I would adopt a dwarf as my apprentice, after the events at Hyjal when I myself was only an apprentice..."
By now, even the eldest was shivering, pinprick of imminent tears stinging at her eyes. The youngest was weeping, the orc-child's cries muffled as he buried his face in the folds of his elder sister's skirts.
"Korgan... you have learned much under my tutelage, loyal apprentice... no, not apprentice, my comrade... The spirits, they speak as gladly and freely to you as they did to me in my youth. I ask you only one thing, my friend..."
"Aye, master? What is it yeh wish of me?" Korgan's richly-accented voice trembled, the young dwarf fighting to maintain his resolve with the same stubbornness that Mohrg once said any orc would be proud of in the old days.
"Take care of my children, dear Korgan. Love them as you would your own, and continue to teach them of the spirits as I have taught."
"Aye, always, master. I will nae disappoint yeh."
Mohrg underwent another coughing bout, then was silent a moment, his breath ragged now. "Children, attend to your father... Go'el, Draka, come here, my proud ones."
Draka approached, the young Go'el clinging to her leg. He did not truly understand what was going on, as he was still very much a child, only knowing that his father was very sick, and the spirits would soon make him sleep for a very long time.
"Draka, Go'el, my precious children... It is time, I think, to tell you of your names, and why you bear them. Draka, my proud beauty, you bear the name of a mighty warrior orcess of a chieftain's bloodline. I named you after the mother of our own Warchief Thrall, in memory of the great gift she gave, that led to the freedom of our people... Go'el, my little one, you too share a link to our mighty Warchief - the name you bear, was the name his parents first chose for him, before the events of the wars came, and he took the name 'Thrall' in defiance of the humans who would have been his masters. Both of you, be proud of your names, and the ancestry behind them - they are of noble blood, and a great heritage... Just as I am and always will be proud of you both."
By now, tears ran freely from the eyes of all present, save for Mohrg himself - for his eyes had closed, never to again open in this life.
--
Mohrg stood there, light and warmth surrounding him, the spirits of past and present and future all around him. Before him stood a familiar figure, though the face bore far fewer lines than they did in life, and the crest of hair was a rich crimson rather than the familiar grey Mohrg had once known. But the single ivory spear jutting from that moments-from-laughter smile was unmistakable.
"Master Wu'jin..."
"Na, mon..." The troll shaman chuckled and patted his former apprentice's shoulder. "I be nobody's mastah anymore. I just be ol' Wu'jin now. Welcome home, my son, welcome home."