pt 50 A reckoning denied

Garrosh Hellscream sits on his massive throne in his beloved hall.  He has missed this place, it's smells, it's very atmosphere. Around him are his loyal honor guards, confident that each one would gladly give their lives in his service. 

His hall lies in the middle of Warsong Hold, his massive fortress in a land that he conquered.  Placed in charge of the Warsong Offensive in Northrend with scores upon scores of determined and fanatical orcs, tauren, trolls, blood elves, and forsaken, all at his beck and command.  Their purpose, to hunt down and destroy the human called Arthas, who has taken the title of Lich King.

In the past two years he has worked tirelessly to advance across this frozen continent.  Facing all manner of horrors, and defeating them.  His Horde scratched, clawed and slashed their way to the very gates of Icecrown, only to have the weakling Thrall order them to form a pact with Trion Fordring and the Argent Crusade.  A pact that forced them to fight alongside the cursed humans in order assault Icecrown and kill the Lich King.

Still, he was determined to get to Arthas first, and took great efforts behind the scenes to insure that the best and the brightest of the Horde were ready and equipped to do the job.

However, this night despite the news that Arthas has indeed been slain, Garrosh is in the foulest of moods.  Trion refuses to tell him how the Lich King was killed or who did it.  None of his mercenary units have returned to report directly, and none of his spies have information.  It is all a festering secret bent on robbing him of the ultimate glory of his command.

If he can take direct credit for killing the Lich King and leading the Horde to victory, then perhaps he can have the leverage to challenge that weakling Thrall for the title of Warchief.

His mug of hot Nagrand ale tastes stale and lifeless, just like his mood.  He ponders this situation like a pouting child.

"Garrosh!" a familiar voice calles out from the ramp into his war room.  "Garrosh, it is Eitrigg!!"

The elderly warrior steps off the ramp and approaches Garrosh's throne.  Behind him walks another elderly orc that is vaguely familiar, dressed in the robes of a shaman.

"Eitrigg!" Garrosh says with a scowl "What brings the decrepit dog of the warchief into the frozen north?"

For a moment Garrosh wonders where his spy from Orgrimmar is, the bloated festering death knight is long overdue.

"You speak too boldly and without reverance for your elders boy!!" Eitrigg exclaims "I come with words from your warchief!"

Garrosh clenches his teeth hard, his nostrels flaring in anger.

Suddenly, a terrifying roar echoes from the upper reaches of the fortress.  It's rattle reverberating down the stout walls of Warsong Hold.

The Guards leap to attention, moving to shield their beloved Overlord.  Garrosh stands, grabbing his matching pair of battle axes.

A shout calls from above "We are under attack!!"

Garrosh and his guard push past the startled emissaries and charge up the ramp to the roof.  Each one grinning as they relish the idea of a fight to end the monotony of guard duty.

Once on the lift, the assembled warriors begin to snort and froth, preparing themselves for the fight ahead.  Above them, the sounds of a battle echo into the night.  Screams and growls along with blood spattering raining upon them from high above.  The lift rattles and starts to climb.  From the ramp Eitrigg and his shaman come running towards the lift, only to be left behind.  Several of the guards along with Garrosh chuckle at the desperate looks on the faces of the elderly orcs.

"They can catch the next lift.  Stupid old fools." Garrosh hisses.

The slow moving lift takes forever as the sounds of battle above begin to subside.

"Aye Chief looky ere" one of the honor guards gestures to a broken battle axe on the lift.  "Dat looks like Morgut's axe."

Garrosh stares hard at the shattered weapon.  He remembers giving that blade to Morgut as a reward for leading a warband that held off a particularly vicious scourge attack.

As the lift finally reaches the top of the fortress Garrosh sees several of his faithful honor guard sprawled like bloodly rag dolls across the icy platform.  Against the battlements stands Morgut, and before him crouches a gore covered tauren druid in lion form.

"Who dares to interrupt my celebration!!" Garrosh Hellscream bellows

The oily beast turns around, his baleful yellow eyes shining in the night, in them everyone present can see a sort of intelligent madness.  The beast snorts and moves cautiously towards Garrosh, neglecting the former object of his attention.

"Garrosh Hellscream!" the beast utters in an otherworldy voice that echoes across the battlements and into the cold northrend night. "At last justice can be done.  At last we can have a reckoning for the bloodshed and evil you have brought to this world!"

"Then come demon, and I will bathe this fortress in your blood and entrails!"

"Your broken body will be dragged across Azeroth for all to see.  Only when you have suffered, as you made poor Meekha suffer, and you have made me suffer, will be dismembered and allowed to freeze into the glaciers of Northrend for all eternity."

Morgut takes his opportunity to inch forward as the beasts back is turned to him.  Clenching his sword tightly he prepares to leap.

"No!  This abomination is mine!!"  Garrosh steps forward, his brown knuckles turning white as he grips his axes tightly.  The honor guard step backwards, each one greatly anticipating the chance to see their master in action.

Suddenly, the fell-druid changes into a massive bear.  Then, to their amazement his bones begin to crack, his flesh begins to boil, and the wretched beast begins to grow.  It howls in pain as it's body takes on a massive shape.  It's fur turns black and oily, it's broad face lengthens and looks something like a cross between a dire bear and a worg.

With an unnatural and earthshattering roar the abomination lunges forward, his massive black claws like glistening sabers.  The power in his hind leg buckling the wooden timbers as he charges, his thundering paws shaking the ground like cavalry.

With one smooth and graceful motion, Garrosh steps to the side to avoid being trampled, and brings his mighty axe down into the forehead of the beast.  The razor sharp blade bites into his thick skull.  Stopping the mighty monster in it's tracks.  With a sickening crash the druid falls and slides across the icy platform.

The honor guard suddenly roar with cheers and shouts as Garrosh stands triumphantly over the carcass of the defeated attacker.  Never did they think he would bring the loathsome animal down with one strike of his axe.

Before their eyes, the creature shrinks down to a dire bear, then it shifts form to that of a gore covered tauren as it sighs it's final breath.

"So much for your pathetic reckoning beast!" Garrosh exclaims with a toothy smile.

Without warning, Morgut leaps at Garrosh, his sword swinging wildly at the brown skinned orc.  His blade bites into Garrosh's thigh, drawing a thin trickle of blood.

"My reckoning has just begun Nagrand dog!!  By your death Calmfury will be redeemed!!" Morgut says in a other-worldly voice.

A surprised Garrosh swings wildly with his axe, catching the orc corporal in the midsection.  His body falling to the floor, nearly severed in two.

Instantly, a troll guardsman charges forward, and once again Garrosh spins around and slices the assailant in half. 

"What is happening!?!"  Garrosh exclaims

Another orc guardsman hurls his axe at Garrosh and lunges forward to grab him.  The axe narrowly missed his head as Garrosh brings both of his blades down, severing the shoulders of the guard at his neck.

"You cannot stop me!!  You will have to kill everyone in this fortress.  You cannot fight forever boy!!"

Wide-eyed, Garrosh swings his axe and severs the head of the possessed orc.

Behind him the bloodied form of an orc woman in armor leaps on Garrosh's back.  A thin dagger in her hand plunges into his shoulder.  Garrosh howls in pain and anger as he grabs the woman and tosses her into the nearby wall.  Her body making a sickly crunch as she hits hard, her battered face staring blankly at the Overlord.

"This is madness!!  What kind of demon is this?!?  Who is Calmfury....  Calmfury?!?"

Garrosh's eyes widen in realization.

A guardsman rushes forward, his shield held in front of him and his sword swinging wildly above him.  Garrosh swings hard, imbedding his axe in the broad shield.  The orc stabs clumsily with the sword, trying in vain to sink the blade into the Overlord's brown flesh.

"Haha  You fight like a worthless peon with your sword.  You don't even know how to use it.  Give it up Calmfury, if you are that pathetic wretch I slaughtered so long ago."

The possessed guard howls in contempt as another guardsman moves behind him and splits his skull with his axe.

Then, the avenging guardsman drops his axe and rips off his thick breastplate.

"You are correct Garrosh, killing you with my claws is much more rewarding."

Before Garrosh can react the orc fluidly changes into the twisted form of a hairless green bear.  The foul beast lunges with its claws slashing at Garrosh and biting down on his thigh.  The Overlord howls in pain once again as blood trickles down his leg.

Dropping his axes, Garrosh grips the unnatural creature tightly as if he is squeezing the life out of it.

"The rest of you guards...  jump off the battlements before the demon steals your body." Garrosh commands.  The bewildered guards stand in confusion as they consider this horror that is using them to kill their leader.  Not one of them obeys his command.

With a sickening crack, the back of the orc bear is broken and the beast falls limp to the ground before changing back into an orc guardsman.

A tauren guard springs on Garrosh, slamming his massive fists into his head.  He pummels and pummels the brown orc drawing blood from a split lip and his nose.  Garrosh grapples the tauren in desperation, lifting the bull off the ground.  The possessed tauren slips his meaty hands around Garrosh's neck and begins choking the life out of him.  For a moment the overlord's strength fails and his eyes begin to bulge in his head as he gasps for breath.

"Feel it ebb away Garrosh.  Feel your wretched life pass away.  You will never live to be a great leader like your father.  Instead, you will die in this cold wilderness, killed by your own guardsmen."

Suddenly, the taurens eyes go blank as he releases his grip on Garrosh's throat.  The overlord staggers back as he gasps for air.  He assailant falls helplessly to the ground.  Behind him, Eitrigg and his shaman companion stand.  From the hand of the shaman comes a magic that seems to suck the very soul out of the tauren.

"I have him brother.  Whatever that was is now contained" Orkimedes whispers.  He opens his hand to reveal a glowing soulstone.

"Garrosh, are you okay?" Eitrigg says in astonishment.

The brown orc looks at the pair with fury and confusion in his eyes.

"Where did that thing go?"

"It is gone" replies Orkimedes.

Four very timid honor guard cautiously step forward.  All that is left of the mighty host that joined Garrosh on the lift.  The rest left broken and bleeding on the fortress platform.

"Garrosh, I have come by order of Thrall himself to bring you back to Orgrimmar." Eitrigg says in a commanding tone.

Garrosh stares at him blankly for a moment...  as if he is trying in vain to make sense of the whole situation, of everything that has happened this night.  Was that, thing, Calmfury the defiant, miserable tauren he killed last year in Icecrown?  Who the hell is Meekha?  So many of his beloved guardsmen lay dead at his feet.  Some that he even called friends, killed by his own hand.

If this beast comes again he will be prepared.  He must consult with the warlocks in Orgrimmar on this matter.

"Very well" replies the Overlord as his retrieves his bloodied axes.  "Guardsman, prepare my things for departure.  The sooner I am out of this place the better."

Orkimedes stares out at the frozen horizon as he palms the soulstone into his pack.  He knows that the elements will never forgive him this sin, using this forbidden power.  His only recourse will be to return to the Throne of Elements and try to atone.  Felika will not understand.

pt 49 Death comes on a bloody wing.

The cold, merciless wind of Northrend howls across the battlements of Warsong Hold.  Several figures huddle in the darkened night around a flaming brazier.  Drinking up every ounce of warmth that the inadequate flame can produce.

"So, wut do yous tink about dah Garrosh coming back frum Icecrown tuday?  A burly orc warrior in menacing armor says.  His red tabard flapping in the icy wind.

Another warrior, this one a female, dressed in thick hides adored with spiky metal studs look at her fellow guardsman and rolls her eyes

"Isn't it obvius?  I thout even ah kodohead like yerself would figur eet out.  Dah Lichking is ded!  Weer all goin home soon!"

The burly orc scoffs loudly, his hot breath rising like a vapor cloud into the night sky.

"Yew may be be-youtyful Anga but you sur ar stoopid sometimz.  Har har!!  Dah Lick King cant beh killd.  Dats why heez dah king of dah undead!!

The orc woman glares balefully at the guardsman.  A low growl rising up in her throat.

Off in the distance, the familiar sound of the zepplin motor cuts through the frosty night.

"Sumone should make yah eat yer tusks Morgut!!" The woman hisses.

"Haha!!  is dat gonna be you yah lousy git?  I dunt tink so!  Ya coldnt even raize a welp on my hide yah old hag!!

Morgut turns in disgust and look about the  icy platform at the collection of vigilant yet miserable guardsmen.  The rattle of the nearby elevator chain breaks the tension.

"If yah didunt have such a thik skull yah mite see dat Garrosh haz been down in dah hall celibratin and laffin.  Weez goin home soon an yew dont wanna admeet it!!"

The loud horn of the goblin zepplin sends a shudder through all the chilly guardsman as the bloated skyship enters the docking area of the massive fortress below.

The orc guardsman turns and spits as he leers at the tauren wind rider master standing nearby.  His glob of phlem and spit turning to ice before it hits the platform.

"If dats tru den why hasnt he told anywon yet?  And why didunt Saurfang come bak wit ehm?

"I heard that Saurfang found his son in Icecrown, and that the Lichking had changed him.  The pathetic old orc had to kill his own beloved son." says another nearby guardsman, this one a Forsaken.

"Ey shoult break yer rotten back fer talkin about Saurfang like dat.  He's a hero!  Yah festering whelp!" The burly orc says with a growl.  "As fer you...  Imma gonna make sur yah never get home!  Dunno wut yer all fired up tah leave for, yer weedy husbands prolly ran off wit some troll wench!!  Harhar!!"

With a loud clatter the sword and shield of Anga hit the floor and she leaps forward like a vicious lioness at the guard corporal.  With vengence and rage fuelled strength she wrenches him off his feet and slams him into the battlements.  Morgut's massive axe falls from his grip and skitters across the platform, falling down the shaft of the nearby elevator lift.

 The startled corporal rises to his feet and lunges at the defiant orc woman with a growl.  The pair lock in mortal combat pulling and wrestling with one another.

The half a dozen guardsman scurry across the platform, not to stop the fight, but to watch every bloody detail of the attempted coup.  Anything to break of the monotony of the endless frozen night.

"Stop it you two!!" Turida Coldwind, the Tauren Wind Rider Master barks out.

Morgut deftly slams the defiant woman onto her back and straddles her to hold her down.

"I'm gonna give dat purty face of yers a nasty scar tah teech you a lessun!!"

The Corporal slams his fist into Anga's face, knocking her leather helmet off her head.  Then again, snapping one of her tusks and sending a shower of blood across the deck.

The woman tries in vain to push him off of her, but another flurry of fists into her head knocks her senseless.
With wide-eyed abandon Morgut continues to pummel the helpless guardsman.  Savoring the lucious feeling of battle, of taking something that is beautiful and turning it into a bloody pulp.

Suddenly, out of the frosty night sky a massive shape falls onto the deck.  Its black oily fur contrasting with the icy wooden planks of the platform.  The creature slams into the crowd of unsuspecting guardsmen with a terrifying howl.  In an instant steely claws and ripping fangs tears through armor, sending a spray of blood into the night.

Morgut lifts himself off the prone woman and stares wide-eyed for a moment at the nightmare that is tearing into his guardsmen.  It looks vaguely like a black lion with bloody horns jutting from its head.  He has seen plenty of tauren druids in his time, but somehow this one is larger, with malevolent yellow eyes, filled with a sort of madness.

The creature sinks his fangs into the belly of the Forsaken guard, and then with its claws it tears the poor rotten bastard in two.  One of the guards manages to draw his sword and take of swipe at the lion, but the creature deftly ducks out of the way and leaps on the guardsman in return, knocking him to the floor and mauling him like a ragdoll.

Morgut suddenly comes to his senses and grabs Anga's nearby sword.  He then turns to the wind rider master.

"Turida!!  Climb on yer wyvern and go git some elp!!  Tellum to raise dah alarm, weez under attack!!"

The horrified tauren shakes her head and leaps on the back of her nearby flying mount.  The addled wyvern, shaken by the smell of blood and the sounds of fighting, leaps clumsily into the night sky.

Morgut turns to see the last guardsman finished off by the monsterous, insane druid.  He steels himself for battle, gripping his sword tightly.

"Aye am Morgut Spineripper!!  Corporal of dah Warsong Battleguard an da veteran of da Great War!  Ey surviv'd dread lords, I suffer'd at dah hands of the alliance, and I fougt my way into dis icy land.  All deese tings I survived...  and I weell come ta victery ova you!"

The yellow-eyed sable lion licks the gore off it's fangs as it turns to face the corporal.  It moves with cat like grace towards him, ready to pounce.  Suddenly it's muscles tense up, Morgut braces himself for the inevitable clash.

"Who dares to interrupt my celebration!!" Garrosh Hellscream bellows as the lift rises to the top of the platform.  With him are several heavily armored guards.
Morgut breathes a sigh of relief.

pt 48 The price of failure

"Do not walk away from me little brother!! I don't understand why you won't listen to reason." Eitrigg says as he stands indignantly in the shade of the gates of Orgrimmar.

The midday heat is nearly stifling.

"No brother, no I say! I cannot accept the fact that you betrayed the truth for the sake of peace! I watched you lie to your warchief, to protect a sniveling brat!!" Orkimedes barks harshly in response.

His tiny little gruntling standing nearby gets a wide eyed look on his face as he drops a heavy backpack on the ground.

Eitrigg bounds foreward and grabs his brothers arm forcibly.

"Keep your voice down!" he hisses. "I did what I did to protect our nation and our people. Besides, you should be thankful, I brought you glory and accolade for exposing the entire plot against the orphans."

"But, without telling him that Garrosh is responsible, that glory you speak of is hollow."

The two brothers square off and stare at one another for a long, painful moment.

"Eitrigg, you did not see what Garrosh was like while he was in Nagrand. Before Thrall found him he was a brooding, abusive, hatefilled child. Without his father to instruct him properly, he became a festering sore to the orcs of Garadar. Brother, he is still that spoiled child, only difference now is that he has a purpose, and a much bigger group to bully and abuse." Orkimedes whispers.

Eitrigg walks past his brother, and into the burning midday sun. The hot Durotar wind stirs up a cloud of red dust.

"Dretrigg, you don't understand what is really going on here.  Our enemy stalks us like a hungry lion.  The humans and their allies are closing in all around us, and our people are fearful.  The drums of war are pounding relentlessly.  As much as I am sick of war, this conflict will be at our gates if we don't prepare.  Also, the shamans keep telling of a sort of stirring with the elements, like an impending doom is coming.  Thrall himself has felt it as well."

Eitrigg pauses as the creaking goblin zepplin slowly comes to a stop at the tower above them.

"We need Garrosh!  The Horde puts great faith in him.  He is the kind of leader that they once saw in the Great War, full of fire and fury.   If the future holds conflict for our people, then Garrosh may be the kind of relic we need from our bloody past."

Orkimedes stares contemptuously at his older brother, his nostrels flaring in rage and frustration.  The truth of his words ring clear.

"You made your point brother.  If anything, living in the court of a warchief has given you a sharp tongue for political maneuvers"

 A loud, earsplitting horn blows from the zepplin above.  The sound echoing off the sandstone hills of Durotaur.

"Good!!  Now lets hurry, we have a boat to catch to Warsong Hold.  Thrall wants this message delivered to Garrosh as quick as we can." Eitrigg snorts with a wily grin.

The nearby Gruntling heaves his heavy pack out of the red dust and turns to follow the two orcs up the long ramp to the Goblin Zepplin above.  As they top the tower and step onto the deck of the zepplin, they notice that the railing on one side of the boat has been tore off.

"Captain, what happened to the railing here!?!" Eitrigg exclaims to the weedy little goblin in the big hat.

"Some git got in a fight wit another git." Sky-Captain LaFontaine exclaims in his raspy voice.  "They both took a tumble off the side.  Serves them right!"

Orkimedes glaces across the deck and notices a strange brown raven of unusual size sitting on the bow of the ship.  Two sharp horns jut from it's head and dried blood and gore covers it's feathery hide.  The bird glares at him with intelligent and malevolent eyes.

"Well, get that railing repaired!  The warchief doesn't pay you as well as he does to maintain a ragged ship!" Eitrigg exclaims with a snort at the ostentatious goblin.

"Brother, I have a bad feeling about this trip.  I am seeing fell omens" the grey shaman says with a whisper as the obnoxious motor of the goblin ship roars to life.

Eitrigg stares wide-eyed at his brother for a moment.  Knowing full well not to question the word of a shaman, even if he is his little brother.

"We must go Dretrigg, we are on an important mission for the warchief.  May the ancestors protect us!"

"Indeed" Orkimedes says, as the zepplin pulls away from the tower.