Chapter 4: Chain of Command.
A/N: Hello again, new chapter! not much to say, hopefully you'll leave satisfied and with a review. Cheers and enjoy!
The same morning where Warlord Kargath Bladefist left, Garrosh peered out of his bedroom window to see the grey orc take his leave, with the rest of the Shattered Hand's company. Reluctantly Garrosh yawned, stretching his muscled frame, closing one eye, leaving the other to witness Kargath disappear through Grommashar's massive gates. The new and almost official Warsong Warlord pondered what the day would bring, as he stood up and took notice of his new chambers. It was his father's chamber: it was huge in a circling structure, high to the ceiling and decorated with plenty of trophies and distinguished furs, some seemed rare and soft to the touch. As he glanced around his new lodge, he's eyes focused on a glimmering object in the distance across the room. With closer inspection, Garrosh saw a small skeleton fish on the wall, with a glowing deep blue gem between its fragile ribs. The son of Hellscream wondered why his father would have something so… out of place, in his warrior's sanctuary. The skeleton was surely showing signs of age, it was yellowish and even had brown spots on its forehead, yet it fangs remained strong, with a gleaming milky white nature. Picking up the item, and fiddling it in his hands, Garrosh felt it had a presence to it. "It must be magical" he thought, observing all its curves and edges. He took in a deep breath and the exhaled air from his nostrils whiffled the ancient dust from its small bones, revealing orcish runes, carved into the fish. Garrosh's brows heightened in surprise and he smirked, showing the entirety of his two ring-decorated tusks. The orcish language was old and hard to make sense of, but still readable with some effort on Garrosh's part.
Garrosh read it aloud.
"To Golmash, my Warchief, my brother in arms and my dearest friend." Garrosh stood awhile before he returned the odd object to its casing. He sat down on his bed, the furs soothing and relaxing. At that very moment, Garrosh was at peace, he remembered the night he spent on the shores of Dragonmaw, with its warlord, weeks before the siege of Ogrimmar. However, he didn't think of the siege, he thought of Zaela, leader of the Dragonmaw, bender of dragons and one of the strongest orcs he'd ever known. His heart ached for a moment; she was on Azeroth still, in hiding and waiting for the Iron Horde, her former Warchief and her love.
Garrosh looked down on the floor, clenching his fist on his kneecaps. "Worlds apart and you still haunt me." He shook his head and started gearing up, gathering his heavy boots and searching for his trusted axe- Gorehowl in the huge room. As he buckled his boots, he felt the wounds of the great escape from Azeroth coming down on him like a scorching wave of fire. He didn't flinch, it would quickly disperse as it came, he knew that much. The activities from great feast the night before didn't help either, since tradition demanded Garrosh to participate in 'honor-fights' in the pit, even 'friendly' fights for sport and fun had its downsides, the hulky monstrous orc the clan had named Tini'ork have had its turn on Garrosh as the last honored contester, and the son of Hellscream had been on the edge of defeat. It didn't matter if it was only for fun, to Garrosh- wrestling like wolves with an orc way taller than him needed to be won nevertheless. A Warlord could NOT lose the celebration games, and certainly not a Warlord claiming to be a Hellscream. The victory over the small giant was narrow and Garrosh remembered how tired he was. Tini'ork had the strength of three warsong at least. Last night had its fortunes as well, Garrosh's slim victory was met with great roars and plenty of applause and back-clapping. As he recalled, his drunken 'carcass' was supported by two children, each with a special painted mark on their forehead, and they escorted him from the arena, all the way to his new chambers where he would rest till the next day. Garrosh could still remember their youthful faces, wild curiosity and beaming jollity occupied their eyes and movements as they tried their best to support the weight of their Warlord.
"Why would they send children to aid me…" he wondered. He found it strange; it was an unfamiliar tradition, never a witness of it in the days of his youth, in the old Nagrand, before he met Thrall. Or Go'el that was the shaman Warchief's real name. He didn't see the aid of children something bad, perhaps it was to show the strength, in even the youngest, perhaps it was to show that they too, could wield power enough to help grown-up adults in need. Besides, it could only be good, that the youngest of the clan willingly participated to see their leader, up and close. Even though the two orclings didn't say a word, or so he recalled, they kept ogling, their innocent green and brown eyes exploring his battered frame as they halted home.
He got to his feet- Gorehowl in hand, ready to face today's challenges, as far as he knew, this day would be spent on the issue with him and the restless elements, who was growing more and more aggravated by the presence of an 'out-of-worlder'.
He exited his father's dim chambers, the light uncovered all the dark corners of the room, revealing yet even more secret items that Grommash presumably valued, he took a quick look over his shoulder, before closing the door behind him, letting the room dwell in peaceful darkness once again.
When Garrosh entered the hall of command, he was sincerely surprised and almost stunned by Lorkz's formal greeting, so unexpected. Garrosh didn't show it, but he was glad it had come to this. It would seem Lorkz really believed Garrosh a Hellscream, therefore earning the old orc's respect and recognition on a whim. The warlord quickly gathered his posture and moved with assured steps towards the great table.
"I'm pleased to report the attack on the northern outpost was a success, warlord." The general paused, waiting for a response, the waiting was not mistaken. Garrosh quickly inquired about the lost trinkets from the Bleeding Hollow clan. To that- Lorkz could positively tell that most of the desired items were recovered and scheduled to arrive soon.
"My trust in Malerok was well placed." A dry laugh came with the comment.
"Or so it would seem." Lorkz said dismayed, hiding a message between the lines. Garrosh's face darkened and his question filled with impatient snarling.
"What is it…?"
Lorkz cleared his throat and as he gave his answer, his voice was hollow, empty of any emotion.
"He died, while retrieving the cargo." They both stood in silence for a time, Garrosh in deep thought in contrast to Lorkz's very empty-looking face.
"He died a warrior's death, like true orcs should. His replacement will have a legacy to fulfil." The stern proclamation ending the topic, flatly. Or so it would suggest.
"Replacement, Warlord?" Lorkz showed keen skepticism, but faked interest anyway. Garrosh turned his back and started walking out of the room, gesturing the general to follow. They didn't say anything as they strut across the plain dusty earth, turning around a corner to the training-grounds, Garrosh seemed eager to get there, making it slightly difficult for the older Lorkz to tag along.
Lorkz could finally rest when they reached the terrace of the chieftains. It was atop the arena, shaped like the one in Highmaul. Its construction to have an inner ring, where the fighters would be, an outer ring that held the crowd of spectators and finally the chieftain's terrace, where a great throne made out of a white tree. This was the very oak whom Grommash was once chained to, after his capture by the departed Ogre Warlord years ago. It stood now as a testimony to Grommash Hellscream's greatness, his legend. Before Garrosh took his seat on the wooden throne, he admired the craftsmanship, it was a truly magnificent sight to behold, his armored hand caressed the armrest for a few moments, Garrosh's eyes wetted somewhat, but not a single tear formed. Lorkz took his stands beside the warlord.
"I've been prepared for this since I came here. " Garrosh didn't turn to look at Lorkz, but instead did the fiery golden eyes roam the grounds. Perhaps searching for someone specific?
"Warchief Hellscream does not tolerate weakness, as you know. Both Malerok and Nark'rim undermined our clan, the first being too weak and narrow-minded, the other a foolish coward." Lorkz grunted at this.
"The time for change is upon us. New blood will flow through the clan's ranks and wash over these lands, claiming every inch of it before the portal is finished." Did the sun just become warmer on Lorkz's skin. He could feel the pebbles of sweat coming forth on his forehead, this did Garrosh notice immediately which made Garrosh laugh half-heartedly.
"Do not fret general." He turned his head to the one-eyed orc "No harm will come your way. You have earned your place here through many years of service. I need experienced advisers and seasoned warriors. You own both tools, even though the latter may be rusty." A warm grin appeared on Garrosh's face. He landed his hand on Lorkz's shoulder "I know you'll be useful to Iron Horde."
A little smile found its way through the many scars and wrinkles on Lorkz's old frontier. "It will be my honor to serve you and the Iron Horde. Warlord Hellscream."
Garrosh leaned back on his borrowed throne, clasping his hands together in front of him, his stern look giving away that he was very, very concentrated regarding something else. Lorkz broke the awkwardness and finally asked why they were here, even though he did have a good guess. Garrosh had a guard come forth and said a series of names, who Lorkz didn't quite recognize, perhaps only a few had he heard of. The general stroked his brown beard, the small bones jiggled as he did so, having a trail of thought himself.
"Nark'rim was cursed by dread to lose his authority and status. Therefore he took it upon himself to see who would be worthy candidates and stationed them far away from Grommashar, purposely to die at the fronts." Garrosh let out a deep sigh before continuing. "It took me some time to gather them all, not many left to pick from." Lorkz could see in the distance a small group of orcs, perhaps three to four, the heatwaves blurred the figures so much it could have been one big individual, it could have been Tini'ork walking to the terrace for all the general knew.
"Look to the future Lorkz, its coming this way." said Garrosh proudly just out of earshot of the group approaching them.
"Hail Garrosh Hellscream!" the four Warsong candidates saluted Garrosh at the top of their lungs, the other trying to drown out the first with their fierce roaring. Garrosh motioned them to calm, and they took their seat on the ground, to Lorkz's surprise: Garrosh himself dismounted the great throne and made his way down to the group, resting on one knee amongst his chosen few. Lorkz felt uneasy. Hastily he sat down beside the kneeling warlord, sitting on his brown fur-coat for a softer seat.
"You were unfairly sent to your possible demise, by a coward fearing for his own safety, instead of the clans'." He carefully eyed each and every orc as he spoke, strange fatherly comfort claiming most of them, save for the ones who were older than Garrosh, yet still found it soothing somehow. "I brought you back, so you can fulfill your duty to your clan, to our Horde. For you to serve the clan's interest properly I will grant you the means, which you so rightfully deserve." The orcs nodded, baring teeth and clenched fists. Garrosh stood up, looking down on them with pride and they glared back with anticipation. "You will each be given the rank and task which can harness your talents the most. Then after, you will be my weapon from which I will forge this land, and built a world where all orcs thrive and live peacefully, knowing their warriors left them safe before venturing into my old one. For the glory of Grommash Hellscream, for the Iron Horde!"
And for future generations…
Kargora was given the title of Packelader. She was to take over the task whom Nark'rim the late, held, to be the clan's huntsmen, in charge of finding pray, guarding caravans from danger and organizing the general water supply. She was given his former squad, birthing the right to de-rank and excommunicate any who she felt weak or untrue to the Warsong. Upon hearing these words from her Warlord, her face brightened, almost like the children's from yesterday, her eyes shined like the sun itself, and her proud smile made the warlord smile too. Garrosh knew he made the right choice, he could see her loyalty, and sensed her strong will. A solid asset to the clan indeed, her hunts would feed the clan, plenty in time.
Nok'gar was given the title of warleader, for his exceptional skill in battle. At the front where he was stationed, he was originally sent there to die, in the Far East, battling ogres of Highmaul and their allies. There, after weeks of endless bloodshed, he earned the title 'Fleshrender' a nickname given to him by his peers, which piqued Garrosh's interest in this warsong soldier, and chose him then after to be a part of Garrosh's new organization.
Then came Vor'gash, happily seeking any rank available, he did not bearer any greater expectations like the others might have had. One could say he was a simpler orc, but fiercely loyal and conservative. He was a relatively normal orc, with a Warsong heart, but who in the clan didn't achieve that in their younger years. Garrosh chose Vor'gash because of his specialty with his enormous wolf, called 'Dreadfang', Vor'gash was a master of mounted combat. But those talents can only be stretched so far, thus earning him the leadership of Mok'gol, an outpost with its own resources, and lots of space for expansion. His primal task was to create a garrison for the Warsong to rely on, in harsh times. It would be in the clan's interest to have another base of operations, after the events in Ogrimmar, Garrosh experienced it was wise to have more than one fortress, and Mok'gol's location had endless resources: lands, fruits and wildlife. When hearing this, Vor'gash's back straightened slightly more than usual, promoting his gratitude regarding this important mission.
Garrosh dismissed them all with a salute, save for one. The forth orc didn't turn to leave like the rest. He stood like a statue, it couldn't be seen he was breathing at all, but his emerald green eyes cast aside all possible theories with him being made of actual stone.
"Kull'krosh." Garrosh began, his voice casual, but straight to the point. It felt like ages for Lorkz, who took good time, getting on his feet, cursing under his breath and dusted off the dirt from his coat. Lorkz looked to the sky, it was almost midday now. The swift breeze was delightful, he filled his lungs, inhaling deeply, as if he couldn't have enough of the sweet Nagrand air. A burdensome gauntlet placed itself on his shoulder and he returned to situation at hand.
"You may recognize one of my elder advisers, General Lorkz- protector of Grommashar and trusted friend of Grommash, our warchief." Garrosh squished Lorkz shoulder in a favorable way, yet with no smile, but rather had a form of shaded hostility.
"You two will be working together, as of now, Kull'krosh is the new General and will be supervising the construction of Ironfist Harbor. Make use of this one-eyed orc's wisdom." Garrosh turned to leave, seeing there was yet another figure approaching, with shamanistic features.
The group bid their goodbyes and turned to leave, but before Garrosh left the two and heading towards the shaman, he muttered: "It is the same wisdom that kept him alive, this far."